[ waited a whole hour for a dr appointment today and so had unexpected time to write during the wait. literally don't understand why you don't get called back right when your appointment is scheduled for.

also, did the post notif go out or no? ]

✵︎

JUST THINK OF THE BOOK SALES.

IMANI WAS STANDING ALONG THE BACK WALL, watching Gale with a smile on her face. The auditorium hall was full of students, the journalism majors listening intently as she went on about what it took to reach her level of success and how she didn't plan on Total Entertainment being her peak in life.

Gale was so inspiring, Imani thought. She always had since the moment she saw the woman on her small and boxy television set up in her bedroom. Imani wanted to be powerful and strong and untouchable just as Gale was — not even the Ghostface killers could stop the woman, for god's sake.

So, despite seeing and working with Gale every day, Imani still soaked up her lecture as if she were one of the other students — as if Gale hadn't practiced the speech on her three times already.

Only for her focus to be interrupted by someone tapping her on the shoulder. It was an older man in a suit and he had the school's emblem pinned to the lapel of his suit jacket.

"Yes?" Imani asked, keeping her voice down.

"You're Miss Weathers' assistant?" he questioned.

"I am."

"I'm Dr. Stinnett. The Dean," he explained. "I've someone who wishes to speak with Miss Weathers when the lecture is over."

"Well, Miss Weathers doesn't meet with anyone without an appointment, so I'll need to meet them first," Imani said, turning her nose up a bit in the way Gale often did. Since booking Total Entertainment, Gale had gotten picky about who was allowed near her.

"Right this way. I must warn you, he's with the police," Dean Stinnett said, making her grimace.

Imani didn't know what the hell the police thought they needed Gale for. She hadn't done any recent stories that had anything to do with something serious enough to warrant the police talking to her. Truthfully, Gale hadn't had a story as big or as important as the Windsor College murders in ages — not that Imani would ever point that out in front of Gale.

So, putting on a tough front as Gale did, Imani followed the Dean out into the hallway, no longer hearing Gale once the door shut. She spotted a man from behind in a blue blazer, his eyes glued to Gale's enlarged résumé that was printed out for students to familiarize themselves with.

"I'm afraid I can't let you see Miss Weathers without good reason," Imani said, gaining his attention. "She's not fond of the poli — Mark?"

As he turned around, Imani's eyes went wide and so did his, neither expecting to see the other so soon after the night before — or ever again, admittedly.

"Imani?" he questioned, the corners of his lips turning up. "The journalist you're interning for is Gale Weathers?"

"Well, yes," she said, tilting her head. "What do you need Gale for? Has she done something wrong?"

"No, nothing like that," he said, shaking his head. "But I'm afraid we may need some of her insight on a current investigation."

"Thought you weren't fond of media intervention?" she asked, somewhat teasingly.

Mark rolled his eyes playfully. "We make exceptions on the rare occasion," he told her. "So, one has to get your approval to meet with Miss Weathers?"

"Yup," she nodded, once again crossing her arms. "And you've made a bad impression. Knocking me down and making me scrape my hands."

"Hey now," he said, letting out a mix between a scoff and a laugh. "I patched you up and bought your dinner. That must make up for it."

"I suppose," she sighed, rocking back and forth on her feet. Then she smiled. "Wait here. The lecture is almost over. I'll bring Gale out."

"I'd appreciate that."

With one last smile, Imani slipped back into the auditorium, where Gale was concluding her speech, the timing perfect.

"So, in closing, as the future journalists of America — there is one thing that you need to remember. Being the best means being willing to do what the others would not. Break the rules. Stop at nothing. Be willing to have the world hate you because that is the only way that you'll get the story, the facts, and the fame. Thank you."

While walking down the aisle and toward the stage, Imani clapped along with everyone else and grinned at Gale.

However, one man wasn't clapping. He jumped to his feet and began waving his hand around to get Gale's attention. "Excuse me. Excuse me."

"Yes?" Gale asked, leaning into the microphone.

"So you're saying that we should be ready to go out and cut each other's throats because that's what you did?"

Imani rolled her eyes at the obvious jab, thinking it was in poor taste as murmurs filled the room. Gale was clearly unbothered, just smiling tightly. "Metaphorically, yes."

"Well, tell me, Miss Weathers. Was it worth it?"

Imani knew Gale enough to notice how her jaw tightened — no doubt, her mind was on Dewey as it often was. Gale only ever talked about the policeman that she used to love when she was incredibly drunk and alone, which Imani had only witnessed twice. It was on the anniversary week of the Woodsboro murders and exactly a year after she'd left Dewey behind for the failed Sixty Minutes Two job.

So, Imani rushed up on stage, a wide grin on her face as she interrupted. "I'm so sorry. We're out of time," she lied, knowing time had been scheduled for questions. "Gale Weathers, anchorwoman for Total Entertainment. Thank you very much!"

As the students got up to leave and head to their next classes or to their dorm rooms, Imani scurried to Gale's side, keeping her voice low.

"Remember that hot detective I told you about?" she asked quickly.

Gale raised an unimpressed eyebrow. "Is that why you cut my time short? For girl talk?"

Imani huffed childishly. "No. He's outside right now and wants to see you."

"Me?" she asked, surprised. "What's your little boyfriend want with me?"

"Not my boyfriend," she muttered, rolling her eyes. "And he needs your help on a case or something. Please, oh, please, let me listen in."

Gale was sometimes selective in the interviews that she let Imani be present for — especially if they were famous. But Mark was hardly a celebrity, and she already had a semi-rapport with him, so Gale was inclined to keep her around.

"I may be needing you," she told her as they walked out of the auditorium, Gale fixing her scarf as she did so.

And Mark was there, still waiting in front of Gale's poster. As soon as he spotted the reporter, he was introducing himself. "Detective Mark Kincaid, L.A.P.D."

"Hello," Gale said while shaking his hand.

"That's quite an impressive resume," he noted, nodding his head toward the sign.

"Thank you. I assume you're not here for an autograph," Gale said before smirking toward Imani. "Or for my assistant's number."

"Gale!" Imani hissed, resisting the urge to stomp on the older woman's foot.

Clearly, Mark's joking attitude from the night before was gone — this was serious business. "I'm here because Cotton Weary's been murdered."

Imani's eyes were wide, but she wasn't as shocked as Gale, who had known and worked to help free the man when he was incarcerated. Imani only knew him from the books and his TV show, which was smartly titled 100% Cotton.

"Someone killed Cotton?" Gale asked, trying to recover.

"And his girlfriend," Mark added as they moved a bit away from the door where students were still filing out. "Someone who left something he wanted us to see."

Mark pulled a folded-up piece of paper out of his pocket and held it up. He looked pointedly between the two women, who were quite eager to know what it was. "I'll show you this because you're the Woodsboro authority and because you knew him. But I promise you, if you share this with the world, it's you I'll be arresting."

"I swear on my Pulitzer Prize, which I plan to win one day, Detective," Gale said quickly, her eyes on the paper.

"And this one?" Mark asked, nodding to Imani before meeting her deep brown eyes. "Can I trust you with this?"

"Scout's honor," she said with a small smile, thinking back on the fact that he was a Boy Scout.

The corners of Mark's lips twitched, but he didn't let himself smile while on business. "This was left on Cotton Weary's body. You have any idea who the girl might be?"

As he unfolded the paper, Imani sucked in a sharp breath as Gale took it from him. She was young — much younger get than she was in the photos in the book that Imani had read cover to cover five times — but still recognizable.

"Oh, my god," Gale muttered. "This is Maureen Prescott. This is Sidney Prescott's mother."

✵︎

"Holy shit," Imani muttered, her mouth open a bit in awe.

Mark had just left them behind with instructions to meet at his precinct in a few hours where he'd go over the rest of the facts of the case with them. But first, he'd need to contact Neil Prescott — Sidney wasn't an option, who'd been AWOL along with Randy Meeks since the Windsor College murders.

Now, Imani was following a fast-paced Gale out to her car, rambling as she did so, keeping Gale from thinking.

"If this is happening again, this is huge! Gale, just think of the book sales," she said, a big grin on her face. "And no doubt you'll get a fourth book deal from it—"

"Imani!" Gale cut her off as they reached their rental car. Gale sighed and grabbed the younger girl's shoulders. "This is not a good thing. Two people are dead."

"Well, yeah, but wasn't Cotton like a major dick?" she asked, raising an eyebrow. "Yeah, it's tragic, but we wouldn't have jobs if not for tragedy."

Gale just sighed, knowing Imani wouldn't actually ever understand what she and the others had been through. She was just like Gale had been, thrilled by every single thing that led to a story, no matter who was harmed or killed or traumatized or exploited.

To an extent, Gale was still like that, but she'd reeled in some of that insensitivity.

"Look, we just need to focus on the story at hand," Gale told her. "We need all the facts — even the ones that the detectives aren't willing to share."

Imani frowned. "How do we get facts if they aren't going to share evidence with us?"

Now, Gale smirked at Imani. "That's where your cute little self comes in. Clearly, that Detective Kincaid had a thing for you last night. And even though he shouldn't have let you, an intern, also see the picture of Maureen, he did. So, I need you to keep charming him."

"Charming him? You mean flirt?" Imani asked for clarification, earning a nod from Gale. At that, Imani scoffed. "You want me to flirt with the detective to try and get more information out of him? That will never work."

Gale just shrugged. "Worked for me the first time around. Even got a boyfriend out of it."

Feeling defensive because Imani wasn't exactly experienced with relationships — she'd only had one boyfriend before, for god's sake — she couldn't help but reply snarkily. "And where's that boyfriend now, exactly?"

"Don't make me fire you," she said, both knowing the threat was empty.

"Please," Imani scoffed as they reached their car. "You love me too much. I'm a goddamn delight."

✵︎

"You made it," Mark said, greeting the women at the entrance of the precinct. He kept his eyes on Imani as he spoke as if she was the renowned reporter with a history in Woodsboro and not Gale. "We've got pictures of the crime scene up and evidence for you to look at, as well as Cotton's call logs from his cell phone and car phone."

"He had a car phone? That's money," Imani whispered to Gale, who just rolled her eyes as they followed Mark back into the precinct and toward his office.

"Miss Weathers, Miss Robinson, meet my partner. This is Detective Wallace," Mark introduced as they came across a slightly older man who was sitting in a desk chair in Mark's office.

Before either woman could greet him, he practically sneered while speaking with Mark. "I told you we don't need the press involved — much less her little lackey."

"Hey!" Imani said in a whining tone. "I am not a lackey. I'm a serious journalist."

"A journalist who picks up sushi," he said flatly.

Instantly, Imani looked at Mark accusingly, who rubbed the back of his neck sheepishly.

Truthfully, after meeting Imani that night, he'd told his partner about meeting a cute journalist. Then it turned out she was working with the woman they needed to help solve this case, Mark had to disclose that.

"Well, screw you too, Detective," she said defensively before rolling her eyes and moving closer to Gale, who was eying the evidence taped to the wall on the other end of the room.

Her eyes went wide, seeing the bloody photos of Cotton Weary's body along with his girlfriend. It was the goriest thing she'd ever seen — Gale's books hadn't included pictures of the bodies. There were also things like broken locks and smashed furniture, pointing to signs of a struggle. The place was destroyed and ransacked.

"God," Imani muttered. "That's gonna ruin the resale value."

"Imani!" Gale hissed at her insensitivity in front of the detectives. "Just... let's just hear what the detectives have to say. And keep your mouth shut for me."

Imani made a deal of pretending to zip her mouth shut, not noticing how the corners of Mark's lips turned up at her attitude.

And to her credit, Imani was silent for the rest of the meeting. Wallace and Kincaid kept taking turns relaying all the facts to them, and soon, Wallace was begrudgingly taking Gale to look at the physical evidence they'd collected as if that'd tell her anything more. It left Imani in Mark's office alone with him.

"So, Neil Prescott didn't have anything useful?" Imani asked, knowing that Mark had called Mr. Prescott to question him just after Gale revealed it was his wife in the photograph.

"Nothing," he sighed, leaning against his desk, right next to the chair she was in. "I suppose our next bet is Sidney Prescott."

"Isn't she, like, living in exile with Randy Meeks?" Imani questioned. "Gale doesn't even know where she is."

"We're in the process of finding her," he told her. "We have some leads."

Imani furrowed her brow curiously. "What kind of leads?"

"Not ones I can share with you," he told her, shaking his head.

She huffed and leaned closer, putting her hand on the desk. Her fingertips just barely brushed his covered thigh. "Come on, Detective. We're already here. I can't imagine anything being worse than Sidney's mother's picture being left behind at the crime scene. Besides, I'm not the New York Times best-selling author."

Mark studied her pleading expression for a second before caving. "Alright," he said, keeping his voice low. "The Woodsboro Police Department had a file on Miss Prescott, including her current address."

"Had?" she questioned.

"Someone called about it two months ago, but they wouldn't give any information, of course. Then a month ago, the station was broken into and the file room was torn apart. We suspect they were looking for Miss Prescott's file."

"Did they get it?" she asked curiously.

"No," he said, shaking his head. "It appears Mr. Dewey Riley removed the file after the call out of precaution. But he's also not being forthcoming with Miss Prescott's location either."

"Well, I'm sure Gale could get it out of him," Imani said with a shrug. Then she frowned. "Well, maybe not. Bad break up. But that's what she gets for dating a cop."

"Not all cops are bad romantic partners," Mark found himself saying, making her raise an amused eyebrow.

"What? Gotta defend your girlfriend for choosing you over, like, a respectable firefighter or something?" she asked, subtly checking to see if he was single.

Mark smirked — she hadn't been subtle at all. "I don't have a girlfriend, Miss Robinson."

"So, because we're on this case, you're not gonna call me by my first name again?" she questioned.

"Well, you keep calling me 'Detective'," he pointed out. "Call me 'Mark', would you?"

"I'll call you that when you catch the killer," she shot back, a grin on her face. "Until then, it's Detective Dreamy for you."

"Dreamy?" he asked, now grinning. "Not heard that one before, Sweetheart."

Imani laughed at that, ignoring how much she liked the nickname. "That's hard to believe. Just look at you."

Before Mark could reply with his own flirty comment, Wallace and Gale returned. And the older officer set his sights on Imani.

"Alright, Robinson, we've gotta question you."

Imani sat straighter, Gale's eyes widened, and Mark just sighed.

"Why me?" Imani asked, pointing to her chest.

"Because this is clearly related to Woodsboro," he said.

"I'm from freaking San Jose!" she argued.

"But you're Miss Weathers' assistant, which is a connection," Wallace explained.

"Um, I have an alibi, thank you very much," she said stubbornly. Then she pointed to Gale and Mark. "Both were with me last night."

"Cotton was killed two hours after we said goodnight to each other," Gale muttered, looking at her feet.

"Jesus, Gale, I get you have trust issues, but really?" Imani asked, feeling a little hurt. Then she rolled her eyes and got up. "Fine. Question away. Pretty sure I don't have the upper body strength to stab someone, but whatever. A guy so clearly did this."

"Oh, don't have that attitude. Women can do anything men can do," Gale said with a smirk, earning a playfully snide look from Imani. "Including murder."

"Laugh it up, Gale," Imani said, moving to follow Wallace and Mark to the interrogation room. "But don't come crying to me when you get shot. Again."