IT'S IN THEIR shared silence that Ellie can truly evaluate Tara. From her messy hair and rumpled clothes, the exhaustion in her eyes and the way her hand has remained tight in a fashion similar to last year's aftermath, she doesn't just look worried.

"What happened?" Her aim for a broad question is received with Tara shaking her head, eyes closing for a beat. "You're- are you okay?"

"I'm fine, Els. Everyone else is, too. It's just... it's happening again." Shaking her head Tara exhales a sigh. "At the apartment, at the bodega-"

"What happened at the bodega?"

"Fucker decided to call Sam on our way here,"  a sentiment so inherently soft that Ellie vows to get hopelessly romantic over it later.   "Apparently guns are on the table now.   I'm fine,  though,  and you don't need to worry."

A statement easier said than done.   Ellie-Marie says nothing,  instead providing another once over like she can undo whatever Tara has been through with one look.   It speaks to how well Tara knows her that she places her hands on Ellie's shoulders,  voice firm as they lock eyes.

"Ellie.  I'm fine."  She repeats.   "I promise."

Before Ellie can open her mouth to argue Tara removes her hands,  slipping one down to grab Ellie's,  tugging lightly as though to pull her along.   "Now c'mon,"   she says,  trying for a smile that doesn't completely reach her eyes,   "your mom's waiting."

MOM NEVER FORGAVE herself.

Thirty minutes.  That's what she told Maddie that night twelve years ago,  jaw set in that determined way Ellie knew from a young age to never argue with.   Maybe an hour,  maybe an hour and a half.   Nothing more.  Make sure Ellie was tucked into bed by eight-thirty,  make sure to call if she thought anything was off.  There were deputies deployed outside the house just in case of an emergency,  locks on every door,  bolts snapped shut on windows.  The Riley home was the safest home in all of Woodsboro in the culminated efforts of who Ellie called her adults.   While it ranked high on a potential target list,  that was what it was prepared for.

It was Mom being stabbed at the barn that sent the deputies her way.  There was no safety around the house,  no way to know what was wrong and where.  While Maddie stepped outside for a cigarette,  while Ellie-Marie brushed her teeth,  while the book she'd chosen to read that night sat on her pillows, neither of them had a way to know.  There was no way to know their night had been doomed the moment Charlie Walker picked up a knife.   There was no way to know that Maddie wouldn't make it through.   There was no way to know Ellie was fated to greet death with the same touch-and-go manner as a game of tag.   There was no way to know,  which is what Ellie has tried and failed to hold onto for years now.  There was no way to know.

But Gale,  in all her distance grown over the years,  still rests her eyes on the area just below Ellie's ribcage.  A four inch scar is still the standout after all this time,  a reminder of the life given in efforts to protect her own.  Her mother has apologized for it more than once yet never aloud.   Guilt is a ghost haunting their family like a shadow,  and for all that Ellie is like her father,  she knows the guilt is the love language she gets from her mother.

It's what simmers in her eyes now after all,  shining bright with tears that Ellie has only seen shed once before.  When she stands from her seat Tara drops her hand,  hanging back to stand beside Sam.

"Thank God."  Is all Mom speaks into her hair,  arms wrapped tighter around her now than they have been in years.   Ellie tilts her head down to rest against her mother's shoulder with a sound of pure relief,  clinging like a baby koala to her first safe place.

"I'm okay,"  she whispers,  smoothing one hand over her mother's pitch black hair.   "I'm okay,  Mom.  I'm okay.  They didn't get me."

"Of course they didn't.  You're tough,  little dove."

The familiar voice has both Ellie-Marie and Gale pulling from their embrace at once.  While she'd hoped and pleaded with life to keep Dad and Abi back home through some divine interference,  she knew deep down that they wouldn't listen even if they were paid to.  A five and a half hour flight isn't an obstacle to their family at this point.  Nothing really seems to be.

"Auntie."  she breathes,  a sound of relief that negates how she wants to uselessly scold her.  Her aunt's smile is comforting regardless of the clear exhaustion worn in her eyes,  arms opening in an invitation Ellie accepts in a heartbeat.  Under any other circumstances she would be elated to have this many hugs in such a short amount of time.

Under this circumstance,  though,  she's a bit less excited than her heart would like to  be.

"You shouldn't have come."  She whispers into Abi's shoulder, squeezing her eyes shut in a desperate effort to withhold tears.   "You shouldn't have.  You were safe."

"You aren't."  Abi replies with ease,  like it was the easiest decision in the world.  The speed with which she arrived suggests it was,  but the thought of it,  the idea that it's nothing to abandon the safety of home when Ellie is in danger,  is almost overwhelming.  She's spent her entire life learning how to survive yet here her aunt is,  throwing those rules and advice to the wind like they were nothing but suggestions.  Maybe that's what love is,  she thinks in a distant,  fuzzy thought,  deciding safety isn't worth sacrificing someone you value above life.

It's this that jars Ellie from her brief peace.  Something isn't right.

Pulling back a scant few inches Ellie-Marie surveys the room, glancing back to Abi when she confirms what's missing.   "Did Dad not come with you?"

Abi arches a brow at the question while Mom coughs behind her,  a sound she's sure is meant to be a disguise for a laugh.  She's always been a bit of a daddy's girl- especially in the rockiest waters that life's ocean presents her with- but she can't be bothered to care about defending herself now.  She needs the evidence of her family's safety if they're going to be here with her.

"He's with some detective right now.  You know your old man."  Unlike the others Abi can hold her fake smile better,  propped up by what Ellie knows is the reassurance of having your fears dashed aside.   It's got enough sincerity for Ellie's smile to mean something in return.

"So overprotective."  She agrees fondly,  finally stepping back in a move that makes Abi laugh in the same way it always has.

"Go on,  sunshine.  Get him up here-"

"-and tell him to give Dad directions!"

Buffy's re-entry is paired with an apologetic smile shot Abi's way,  hand half-raising in greeting before she refocuses on Ellie.   "Sorry.  Hey, Abi, I have a question: when Gale told you where we were,  did you somehow hear West instead of East?"

Abi looks incredulous at the thought.  "Don't tell me he gave the taxi-"

"He told the taxi driver the wrong street,  yeah."

"Oh my God."

The banter is lighthearted enough for Ellie-Marie to slip away with a quiet giggle,  leaving a portion of her little group to figure out how to get Randy and Juliette out of the smallest mess they'll be facing for what may be the rest of their lives.

IT DOESN'T TAKE long to find Dad.
This is probably because he finds her first.

She's weaving through the halls with a list of excuse me's pouring from her mouth when a door opens behind her,  not giving her enough time to scatter like the frightened prey animal that this day has made her feel like before she's pulled into an instantly familiar embrace.  It's a hold she's run to often enough that her hackles don't even rise for a fight.  Instead Ellie feels her lips curl into a smile of relief,  shifting until she's able to look up at Dewey.   It's only made more difficult by how he presses her closer to his chest,  almost like he can shield her from the world where they stand.

In a world where she's been treated more like a survivor and less like a teenage girl,  the thought is significantly less embarrassing than it would be to most nineteen year olds.

She knows how the world views him,  a knife block at best and a coward at worst,  but she knows the truth.  She also knows how little he believes it.  It'd be pretty hard not to with all those god-awful movies,  but she can confidently tell the world that she's safer here than she was in the holding room.

"You're safe."   It's supposed to be for her,  this assurance,  but Ellie can tell from how his voice wavers that it's just as necessary for him.   "You're safe,  baby girl.  You're safe."

"I know,"  the lie feels cruel on her tongue yet she can't bear to stir trouble up now,  choosing to weedle away at her father's fears instead.  "I'm safe.  Are you okay?"

"Don't worry about me."  His favorite rebuttal that would typically garner a tight frown in response,  perhaps a comment about how that's her line,  now produces a tight squeeze of fear in her chest.  It's not the idea of not worrying,  she's been doing that her entire life. 

It's the why of it all that gets her.

To muffle the warble in her voice Ellie-Marie presses closer to his chest,  eyes squeezed shut.   "You're not gonna get all self-sacrificial,  are you?"

The shaky laugh her father provides as a response doesn't make her feel too reassured.  While the toll that the last several hours has taken on her makes her body plead to take the safety of his arms for the comfort it is,  Ellie-Marie knows she can't let him even approach the idea of giving himself up for her.  It doesn't matter how that little girl inside begs to be held.

She leans back.

Another comfort comes in how he immediately scans her face like he's searching for a problem yet to arise.   She knows he only wants to help.   It's why she has to stop him now.

"Promise me."   She demands.   "Promise.  You can't-  I can't do last year again.  I can't lose you or auntie Abi.  I can't lose anyone.  I won't."

"Baby..."  There's no way to promise that.  Not in this case.  Ellie knows that better than she'd like to admit,  knows that the hope that denies this fervently in her chest is what remains of the little girl who brought home butterflies with broken wings in the hope that they would fly once more,  but that doesn't mean it needs to die out now.   Her eyes are pleading with her father to give her this,  to allow this little dream to exist as long as it can.

He's never been too good at telling her no.

"You've gotta make the same promise.  None of-" despite how he cuts himself off Ellie-Marie gets the message,  memory forming an ache in the scars stitched along her stomach.  Four separate stab wounds, eighty stitches,  twenty-three redone after Amber's death.  No heroics on her end.  It isn't a promise she's sure she can keep,  accustomed to placing herself between the blade and whoever is at risk,  but she luckily doesn't have to answer before the door is opening once more.

Lou steps out.

And Kirby Reed follows.

THE BLOOD WAS everywhere.

She sees it when she closes her eyes.  Maddie would be twenty-eight this year.  Her Facebook profile is still up despite its owner having been dead for over a decade, kept semi-active by Kirby logging on every birthday and anniversary of her death.   Late nights,  bad nights where Tara or one of her friends aren't there to keep her from doing so,  Ellie checks it.

She doesn't know what hurts more; the fact that it takes two minutes of nonstop scrolling to get to Maddie's last post or the fact that the Riley home rests in the reflection of her eyes in that final photo.

News outlets reported that Charlie held a knife to Ellie's throat for nine minutes.  It felt much longer at the time,  being a child held hostage and all,  though she can confidently say that the bloodtrail leading from their backdoor contributed to the terror in some form.  She hadn't known entirely at the time,  wasn't familiar enough with the death surrounding her family to know that Maddie was treated as the collateral she had ultimately been viewed as,  but she'd still been petrified for her friend.

It was only when Daddy was carrying her out the door,  running the best he could with both his limp and severely wounded child,  that she saw her.

Much like what Ellie-Marie now knows happened to Olivia Morris,  Maddie's death was displayed for the entire living room to see behind the couch.  Her eyes were unblinking,  her mouth still open in what she could only assume to be a scream.  Her shirt was in tatters.  Her organs were spilled over her sides.  Her entire life had been ripped away in seconds,  a sixteen year old girl who committed the crime of being in the wrong place at the wrong time.

Everyone says Ellie shouldn't feel guilty.  They're easy words to throw around,  you had nothing to do with it,  but she did.  Every Ghostface is stupid enough to document their ideas in the end,  be it movie or artwork,  and Charlie Walker was no different.  Maddie was collateral.  If she hadn't been there,  she wouldn't have died.  It's a fact that no one seems to acknowledge but her.  Including Kirby,  who visited her in the hospital the day after being cleared to leave.
People have died since Maddie.  She's nearly lost her entire family since Maddie.  She's almost died on several occasions since Maddie.

Yet as Kirby stands in front of her now,  all she can think is one thing.

She looks like Maddie with her hair bleached.

The sound that escapes her is enough for her cousin to look her way,  stoicism momentarily shifting into concern until Dad picks that role up for her.

"You okay?"  He asks,  unwrapping his arms from where they'd fortunately kept her standing.  She's not too sure what does it now,  not between shock and exhaustion,  but she stays upright long enough to realize she has no way out of this.  All three of them are looking at her in this growing silence.

She's gonna be sick.

"I'm fine."   Ellie wishes lies could break teeth.  She needs something to betray how very not fine she is right now,  staring at a figure from her past like she's not the heart of her deepest regret.  Her feet feel like cement as she forces herself forward,  extending one hand out in a nearly robotic way.   "Hey,  Kirby.  How've you been?"

Slowly Kirby takes her hand,  confusion pinching the space between her eyebrows.  "Ellie-Marie,  hey.  I've been alright."

"Great!"  Too chipper.  Dial it down several notches.  "I mean,  good.  Good.  What...uh,  what are you doing here?   No offense,  I mean,  you can totally be here and everything-"

"Relax."   Lou interjects.   It's a welcome distraction from her rambling,  abrupt enough for her attention to redirect from Kirby.   Her cousin always knows when to step in,  even if it could be considered rude-adjacent.
Sensing her relief Lou steps forward,  that unblinking stare baring into Ellie's soul in a way that's oddly comforting.  "Agent Reed will be assisting Detective Bailey with the case."

"I figured he could use the help.  Y'know cops are dumb as rocks,"  Kirby continues,  seemingly realizing her slip before the final word has even been completed.  She cuts a glance behind Ellie-Marie and offers an apologetic grin Dewey's way.   "No offense."

"None taken.  Cops are dumb."

A smile curves Ellie's lips at how easily her father agrees.   It'd be nice to pretend this is a normal conversation between four adults  (though she knows she's hardly considered that)  who aren't currently reliving the same shit for the nth time,  but she knows that's not something that can last.  Closing her eyes and clicking her heels won't turn this into a manageable situation.

She can still feel Kirby's eyes on her,  worried in that way they were all those years ago.  She wants to tell her she's not deserving of such a kindness nor worth the weight of concern that's making itself known now.  She wants to apologize again,  wants to scurry away from how guilt crashes through the barriers of fear like even the idea of a little relief is too much to ask from whatever shadow has attached itself to her.  She wants until she aches,  which is one more thing she inherited from Mom.

With her hands fiddling together Ellie-Marie steps back,  side-eyeing Lou in a silent plea.  Lou may not be a mind-reader,  but she's gotta have some clue here.  She widens her eyes in a silent plea when her cousin catches her gaze,  pretending to not see the slight eyebrow raise she is given in response.

"Ellie,  why don't you call Rory?"   Lou suggests.   "Have her take you back to the apartment,  you can get your things together and get out."

"Get out?"   Ellie wrinkles her nose at the idea she didn't see coming,  attention redirected from how badly she's wanting to throw up.   "Why do I need to leave?"

"Jason and Greg's unit is an active crime scene.  The more buzz around there,  the easier it'll be for the newest nutjob to sneak in."   A pause as Lou seems to contemplate her words,  judging her audience before continuing.   "We saw that with Nancy Loomis."

It's sound logic.  She doubts that being anywhere else will help her case,  really,  but she can recognize an out when she sees one.

Most of the time.

Pulling her phone from her pocket Ellie flashes one last nervous smile,  turning to face her father.   "Will you be okay?"

"I'll be careful."

Still not a promise.  She can't hold him to making one,  though,  and can't force him to leave while he still can.   Carefulness alone is a rarity to receive as a guarantee,  so she pushes herself forward with a pep that she can only hope looks more natural than it feels.