“I DIDN'T KNOW she was dead until I came to.”

Ellie-Marie has barely had the chance to sit down before Kirby is speaking.  This talk is one she knows she should have been preparing for since the night Maddie died,  should have been mentally writing a script like she could rehearse what there is to say to the sister of the girl who died saving Ellie's life.  There's a thousand thrown out speeches that live in her mind each time she passes the threshold into Woodsboro, apologies to the girl who will never get out, pleas for forgiveness she doesn't deserve from the girl who did.  Ghosts petrify the fragments of her spine until she freezes in bed at night and relives it all in echoes of screams that she doesn't remember hearing but is sure she didn't dream up.  Guilt isn't a burden,  it's a weight Ellie placed on her own shoulders.

The source of it all comes from the same place her happiness does.  Love.  Love for those around her,  love for those she hasn't yet met,  love for those she's loved in passing and loved through their loss.  Guilt is so finely intertwined with love that she's sure the particles of each emotion are the true chemical compounds of her DNA.  Love, guilt, grief,  what is she if not the product of all three?

She's not too sure what Kirby is wanting her to say right now.  They're away from everyone,  sectioned off in this little side room that,  unlike the shrine room,  has aged.  The spider webs create a haunted feeling that Ellie thinks she should focus on more than trying to find a response at the moment,  taking a seat on the chairs up where she can only assume to be balcony seating.   Kirby follows suit,  hands clasping while she rests her elbows on her knees.

The view is a good excuse to not look her way,  Ellie thinks.

“I turned into a monster,”  Kirby continues,  because she's not done and Ellie shouldn't have gotten so swept away in her thoughts that she forgot that.   “A literal monster.  I threw a stethoscope at one of the doctors and tried to punch another.  They wouldn't let me up- not that I could do much anyway-  and it made me wanna tear them apart.  I wanted my sister,  not some dumbass doctors telling me she was gone.”

Ellie remains silent.  Her pastel nails click together as she thrums them against her pants,  gaze lingering a little too long on the blood gathered at the hem.  She wonders if it was the same for the coroner who collected Maddie from the house,  if the blood soaked their pants,  if they couldn't stop replaying the image of guts and bloodshed or if it was just another tragic Thursday.

Kirby sighs beside her.  Without realizing she's going to, Ellie looks over,  pausing her fiddling to examine the woman.  Dad gets a similar way when he talks about aunt Tatum,  has that longing in his eyes that she longs to fix without really knowing how.  It's been a bitter realization over the years,  knowing she wouldn't exist if Billy Loomis and Stu Macher hadn't taken to the same violence that made her family some kind of haunted.  The path Ellie walks feels marked with the bloodshed from every victim of Ghostface.  Without Billy and Stu and the lives they took, including Tatum, her parents wouldn't have ever met.  Without Nancy and Mickey, they wouldn't have reconciled for the first time.  Without Roman,  Billy and Stu never would have done what they did.

Then Maddie.

If she'd just kept running,  if she'd left and let Ellie be the sacrifice she was meant to be,  she would be alive today and Ellie would be a half-remembered gravestone of a girl who lasted seven years.

Then last year.

If she'd taken the shot,  if Dad's phone ringing didn't make her freeze the way phone calls always do now,  maybe he and auntie Abi wouldn't have nearly died in that hall.

Then Anika.

“I’m sorry,”  she chokes out,  forcing herself to keep looking at Kirby despite how desperately she wants to tuck tail and hide from this entire conversation.   “I am.  I…I’ve replayed that night over and over.  I know where I went wrong and I know it shouldn't have been her.  She didn't deserve that.  No one does, especially not Maddie.  She wanted to save me.”

The look Kirby gives her is one Ellie-Marie cannot entirely decipher.  She wouldn't be shocked if it was anger,  wouldn't be too upset either,  but it doesn't seem like it.   “Are you serious?”

“I am.  I am,  I swear.  It never should have happened like that and I know it.  She was only sixteen.”

“Right,”  Kirby begins, the agreement seeming to drag on.  Ellie-Marie wishes they'd face the blood-soaked Ellie-phant in the room rather than tiptoe around it.   “She was sixteen. You know, I always saw her as a baby,  even though I was only two years older.  She was always gonna be a little girl to me.  She always will be,  but Ellie…how old were you when all of this happened?”

This argument.  Ellie almost wishes Kirby would just blame her rather than bring this up, though she has to admit that it's the most effective one to date.  “Seven.  My birthday's in December-”

“Same day as Taylor Swift’s.  Maddie told me that.”  An unlikely beginning of a grin sits on Kirby's features now, a pleased look forming in her eyes at Ellie's surprise.   “She loved you a lot, kid.  She never listened to Taylor before you came into her life with sparkly dresses and a passion for singing along to every CD like it was your job.  It wasn't her kind of music, wasn't even her kind of energy.  Still, she'd come back after every visit humming and brushing glitter off her clothes, talking about you like you were her little sister and not just a client.”

The sentiment makes Ellie's heart pull.  She hadn't realized how different she and Maddie were when she was a little girl,  focusing more on how she'd share her favorite things with one of her closest friends,  but time creates a 20/20 hindsight.  Maddie,  with her bleach blonde wolfcut and affinity for leather jackets or repurposed band tees that she proudly donned with ripped jeans and beat up sneakers,  with her heavy amounts of eyeliner and dedication to grunge that was strong enough that Ellie could feel the vibe as a child,  was nothing like the ball of glitter and fairytales that Ellie was.  Even so, while there were odd times where she'd only nurse a cola while Ellie danced around the room, Maddie never treated such things like an annoyance.  She was one of the best babysitters in Woodsboro, known for adoring her clients despite how the parents of teenagers would warn their kids away from her.  She had a good heart.  She cared about people.

The world should have gotten to see that.

“She was a good person,”  she says, keeping her sentences short lest she winds up falling over herself again.

“A terrific person,”  Kirby corrects.  “We weren't as close as I wanted to be.  The last time we talked- right before she left to babysit you- I got a little accusation-happy.”

Dread fills Ellie-Marie’s heart at the very mention of accusations.  This is never going anywhere good.  Her mind flashes briefly to Mindy,  her stern never trust the love interest sounding like an alarm when she spoke to Anika at the college.

Accusations are synonymous with remorse by this point.

“I told her that I wouldn't be shocked if she turned out to be the killer.  Mentioned that she was ballsy enough to try it,”  Kirby shakes her head as she speaks,  reprimanding her teenage self from the future.  “I didn't tell her I loved her before she stormed out.  Guilty until proven innocent,  I said.  Next thing I know,  I'm waking up in a hospital bed and people are telling me that my baby sister's been murdered.”

Was this supposed to make her feel better?  Ellie can feel the guilt in the room blanketing them like soil covering a coffin of regret,  suffocating her and Kirby both like she imagines that final shovel of dirt covered Maddie's body.   “I'm sorry,”  she says,  suddenly feeling younger than she is for the third time today.  She feels like she's apologizing to auntie for uncle Luke,  feels like she's consoling Daddy after Grandma died,  feels like she's weeping for forgiveness in her bed at eleven at night because nothing happened in the way she wanted.

“Don't be.”

That one's new.  Ellie raises her brows in silent questioning of the instruction,  settling her chin on her knees as she waits for Kirby to continue.

“I didn't have to ask if you were okay.  I knew you would be,”  an awkward cough follows Kirby's words as she shifts in place,  suddenly not looking Ellie's way.  Her voice sounds rougher,  thick with these memories she's forcing herself to share.  “I knew Mads wouldn't have let anything happen to you.  If she was gone, you had to be alive.  My sister wasn't a coward.  She had balls of steel and a smartass attitude that she'd give to anyone she thought deserved it.  She wouldn't have left you if she knew you were in trouble,  and I knew.  I knew she'd died doing something that she cared about.  Protecting her kids.”

It's the sound of her breath shaking that alerts Ellie she's on the verge of tears,  one hand reaching up to wipe at her cheeks.  This isn't her story.  This isn’t her tragedy.  This isn't her time to mourn.

“I blamed myself,”  Kirby continues,  much stronger than Ellie-Marie thinks she could be in this situation.  “For a long, long fucking time,  I blamed myself.  She was my sister.  I let her leave,  I called her a killer,  I ignored her.  We'd yell at each other like sisters do,  we'd tell each other  ‘I hate you’  and slam doors.  We didn't get along unless our parents were gone,  but I loved her.  She wouldn't hurt anyone if she didn't have to.  Even though I knew that,  we both know that these things fuck with your head.”

No shit.

“I blame myself,  too.”

Ellie doesn't know she's saying it until she is.  The confession makes her throat tight with tears she's forcing down, uninjured foot beginning to tap against the floor.   “I didn't know she was dead until I came downstairs.  I knew she'd stepped outside to smoke,  but I didn't-  she didn't scream.  She didn't yell.  I don't even think she cried.  I heard the glass break and I was so scared that I didn't wanna go check on her.  It was too late when I did.”

“Did you see her?”

“I saw blood,”  Ellie won't elaborate on the amount.  No one needs to know that.  No one needs to know the puddle that looked an inch deep,  no one needs to know how the scent of iron permeated the air with how much Maddie had lost.  No one needs to know how confused she was, how she'd been too naïve to step closer or call the cops rather than answering that phone.  No one needs to know how empty Maddie was.

Especially not Kirby.

“I saw blood,”  she repeats,  forcing the words to form on her tongue.   “When Daddy was carrying me out, I saw her.  She was behind the couch.  I wanted…I wanted to believe she was sleeping, but I knew she wasn't.  I knew she was gone, and it felt like a nightmare.”

Silence.  Ellie-Marie wishes that Kirby would do something,  say anything that tells her that she's not making things worse by revealing this.  Her breath still shakes even as she inhales through her nose, mulling the memory over in her head.  The cost of her life was that of another,  a girl who could have been forming her life compared to a seven year old who still believed in Santa.

“It would've been you if it wasn't her,”  Kirby finally replies.  “That's what Charlie told Sid.  That's what he had written in his stupid little notebook.  He'd planned on Maddie leaving you and giving him the clear.  Since she came back-”

“He made an example of her instead,”  Ellie finishes.   “For what, though?  The shock factor?”

“I think he wanted your dad to see what he planned on doing to you.  That, or he freaked out at the last second like a damn coward.”   Kirby shakes her head with the thought,  squeezing her eyes shut.   “Fucker couldn't pick on someone his own size.  There was nothing you could've done,  Ellie.  You were a little girl.”

“So was Maddie.”

“That she was,”  Kirby looks over then,  expression softened by a mixture of grief and an attempt at comfort.  “But kid, if she'd left you and something happened,  she would have been dead anyway.”

“What?”

“You were a baby.  A baby, you get me?  Even if you'd been able to get a hold of a weapon,  you were a child.  You'd have put yourself in harm's way and may have wound up worse for it.  Maddie wouldn't have forgiven herself for that.”  Kirby reaches one hand out as she speaks,  taking Ellie's from where she's picking at her other hand’s nails.   “Think of it like this.  If you died for Tara or any of your friends,  would it be their fault?”

“No,”  Ellie replies in an instant,  partially thrown at the idea.  “No.  Never.  I’d do anything for them,  they know that.”

“And Maddie would have done anything for you,”  Kirby squeezes Ellie's hand as she speaks,  two cold palms finding warmth together.  “She cared about you.  There were only three ways that night could have ended,  Ellie,  and this is the one she would have picked.”

It's nothing Ellie hasn't heard before.  Her therapist has reminded her more than once that she couldn't have stopped it,  that this was the ending best for everyone,  but it felt hollow.  It felt like words from a woman who didn't know anything about the girl who died to protect a scared kid from the monsters in her closet. Empty despite their good intentions,  it was impossible to believe a lick of it.

But Kirby has every reason to hate her.

Ellie walks the ground that Maddie founded.  She lived where Maddie didn't,  trailing bloodied footsteps in her wake because that night stained more than just rainbow pajamas or Mom's pretty rug.  She's the shadow of the girl who should have been.  If anyone has a right to wish Ellie had died instead, it would be Kirby.  

“Hey,”  she starts again,  pulling Ellie from her thoughts.   “You get what I’m saying, right?  You've been beating yourself up too long, kiddo.  This guilt’s gonna kill you before anything else does if you let it.”

“I don't know how to make it go away.”

The laugh Kirby provides at the confession isn't reassuring.  It's less pity and more understanding,  her fifty million tears now evident despite the only proof being watery eyes.  “Guilt is its own monster,  Ellie.  That doesn't mean we are.”

“Does it ever end?”

Kirby is back to being quiet.  Ellie-Marie can feel her answer in the way her shoulders droop,  in the nights she spends pacing like a ghost across her bedroom floor,  the days she spends being everything to everyone as though it's a guaranteed promise that she won't let them down.  She can feel the weight of Madison Carys Reed, 1995-2011.  Beloved daughter, sister, and friend when she closes her eyes at night, knows her fingertips feel like the stone that marks where her savior lies.  She knows it,  remembers it all if she lingers a moment too long.  Her guilt is her home just as much as her parents,  her family,  Buffy,  Tara,  and Rory are.  She knows it.

That doesn't mean she can't change it,  though.  Right?

“I've been putting away monsters for a long time,”  Kirby finally answers,  each word slow and carefully chosen.  “The most valuable thing I’ve learned is that you've gotta face them.  You can't let it run your life,  Ellie.  You've gotta look that shit in the eye and tell it that you're more than what it's making you.  I know you're smart.  I know you're sweet,  I know you're funny.  I know you're still covered in glitter ‘cause it's kinda on me now.  I know you care about people.  I know you wouldn't run from me if you weren't running from this.  You have to face this on your own,  even though it's fucking terrifying,  and when you do, you'll start to learn how to sit with it.  You'll learn how to be yourself around it.  You'll learn that you're more than what you're making yourself be, and that's all that matters.”

That's the problem,  Ellie thinks.  She doesn't know how to face it. For Maddie,  though,  she can try.  She owes her this.  She owes her a promise of the life Maddie didn't get to live.  She owes this to everyone.

Maybe even herself.  For all the years she's spent mourning the innocence that died that night,  for all the years she's spent trying to kill the part of her that let it happen.

Maybe it's time to live again.  Even if she has to learn how.

“I don't think I'll be alone,”  she finally says,  her voice finally weakened with the tears she allows to spill.

Kirby gives her hand another squeeze.   “You know,  I don't think you will be,  either.”

KIRBY RISES JUST as Tara walks in.

She looks,  in a word,  stressed.  It takes Ellie's attention away from her own tears in an instant, barely noticing as Kirby dismisses herself back to the shrine room.  Tara isn't the type to be openly distressed about anything, not if she can mask it, and Ellie-Marie isn't certain that she's this much of an exception unless something is horribly,  sickeningly wrong.

Which is fine.  If something,  or someone,  upset Tara,  Ellie will be right there to fix it.

“What's wrong?”  are the first words out of her mouth, not realizing how little Tara was actually aware of when she flinches.

“Shit, El,”  one hand raises to her chest as Tara slows to a stop at the end of the aisle, turning in to settle beside Ellie when she seems to have recovered.   “I didn't realize you were moping in here,  too.”

“Not moping.  Had a pretty depressing conversation,  though.”

“Sweet,”  the smile that comes with Tara's sarcasm is strained,  their shoulders brushing with how close they happen to currently be.  “Who were you talking to?  Maybe I should consult them for the therapy Sam keeps insisting I need.  Who knows, if this fucking franchise keeps going,  maybe I’ll take her up on it.”

They're here,  then.  

“Kirby,”  she answers.

Like she knew she would,  Tara stiffens.

“I'm sorry, I didn't even realize- she didn't say anything to you,  did she?”

“Nothing bad.  You know Kirby, she's not like that.”  Ellie wasn't entirely sure of that herself,  actually.  Not until a few minutes ago.  “We were talking about,  uh,”  you can say it.  Say her name,  E.  “Maddie and everything.  She's a good listener.”

Tara's face has already shifted from grief-infused irritance to the concern Ellie’s slowly beginning to believe is reserved for her,  reaching her hand over the cloth covered arm of the chair.  It's a silent invitation that Ellie cannot help taking, soothed by the feeling of that scarred hand in hers.   “Are you okay?”

“I'm fine,”  she's making this about her.  It's easy to feel how quickly Tara's attention has redirected itself from her problems to Ellie's,  a turn she didn't want this to take in the slightest.   “Don't worry about me,  Moonlight.”

Tara doesn't look convinced.  “You know,”  she begins,  her tone no different from the one she uses when she's absolutely about to be proving a point.  "You're not worth less just because you're not over-the-moon right now. You're like, really fuckin' special. Even when you're not all smiley.”

The butterflies are back to being a tsunami in her stomach.  Ellie can't help how the words she's heard so often sound different coming from Tara,  genuine in a way not many people actually mean.  Everyone loves the sunshine girl,  and Ellie loves being that for them.  Giving people what they want,  what they need,  brings her a joy that's indescribable.  It's who she is.

Sometimes,  though,  she needs to know someone won't mind a cloudy day or two.

“You're really special,  too,”  the beginning of a compliment that she's sure is about to embarrass everyone tumbles from her lips without warning.  Ellie wants to apologize,  wants to pick that up and try again, but Tara's looking at her with those soft eyes that she's never able to say no to and she wants, so badly, to keep that look in place of her tears.

So she continues.

“You are.  I know it's not easy being a part of all of this,  and I’m sorry I helped get you involved-”

“Ellie-”

“-let me finish, please,”  her tone is nowhere near clipped as she cuts Tara off,  twisting in her seat to take her other hand.  Having Tara so close is a callback to just last night, thousands of words lying unspoken between them, yet somehow feels just as right.   “I know you want a life outside of this.  I know that's why you love college so much,  why you like those parties and why you keep your accounts privated online.  I know you want your life,  but this is still yours.  You're still Tara.  You're still one of the best people I’ve ever met,  you know?  And it sucks,  it really sucks,  always being afraid.  I get that.  But as someone who's been part of it my whole life,  I can tell you that there's a choice here.”

She's not completely sure Tara is listening.  A set of sparkling eyes stares into Ellie's own in a way that would make her recoil if it were anyone else,  the grip on her hands almost fierce despite how it doesn't feel tightened at all.

Even so her words seem to ignite something,  a spark of interest catching in Tara's expression.  “What is it?”

“You can survive being afraid or you can live in spite of it.  Avoiding is surviving.  Living is being yourself- all of you-  no matter how afraid you are of someone recognizing you or questioning you.  If they do that,  they're a fucking idiot who isn't worth your time.  People worth being around won't see you as Woodsboro.  They'll see you as Tara.”

While the nod she receives in response doesn't seem fully convinced,  Ellie can tell some part of it connected with her.  That's all she wanted.  If Tara can leave now feeling less like a character and more like her own person,  that'll be a start to a hopefully beautiful life for her.

Scratch that.  It'll be the start of a spectacular life for her,  because she's Tara.  She'll do and be incredible no matter where she goes or what she does.

“Is Tara someone I wanna be around?”  Tara asks,  a question unearthed from what must be the depths of her soul to be this heartbreaking.  At least it's an easy answer.

“She's someone I wanna be around,”  it's an unspoken swear,  this,  and Ellie can tell without question that her cheeks are growing rosier by the minute.  “You'll have to decide for yourself,  but I think I could spend my entire life with her.”

“You do?”

“Yeah.”  She's got to stop talking.  “Yeah, I do.”

There's nothing argumentative about how Tara is looking at her now,  all soft brown eyes and a face almost free from whatever aches had ignited in her now.  Ellie would do anything to keep this look on her face,  she decides.  Absolutely anything.  Nothing in this world is worth more than the peace of those she loves the most.

If Tara wants the sun,  she'll give her the sun.

They're close once again.  Her heart feels like it's in her throat the longer they sit like this,  eyes locked,  hands intertwined like puzzle pieces finally coming together.  Everything feels like a third degree burn but God if Tara isn't the aloe vera on that wound,  all things gentle and good and grounding.  The only thing that may be able to make the burns seem more like surface wounds than they actually are.

It's the door slamming open that makes the fire reignite.

In a moment's breath Ellie-Marie is on her feet,  eyes wide with both fear and preparation.  She doesn't miss how quick Tara is to get in front of her,  one arm pushed back as though keeping Ellie in place.

It's cute.  Unfortunately Tara is five feet tall,  so if need be,  she will get thrown out of the line of fire.

“I think I’ve figured out a way to track this freak.”

Detective Bailey.

Both Tara and Ellie visibly relax at the familiarity of his voice. Mom, Sam, auntie Abi and Kirby emerge from behind where he stands in the doorway,  each one wearing an expression of piqued interest.

“We're in,”  Mom pipes up, apparently not needing further information.

(She's gotta get out of that habit,  Ellie's mentioned in passing.  It makes people laugh when she does,  believing her to be a typical teenager fooling her mother and bragging about it.

If they knew that it's out of fear,  Ellie doesn't think they'd still be laughing.)

“Not so fast,  Gale,”  Kirby’s spinning to face Mom before Ellie can get a full grasp of the smartassery on her face,  a familiar look of annoyance flashing across Gale's features.

“Excuse me?”

“Police business only.  I'm good at my job,  too.” 

Ouch.

Mom never likes being told no.  It's not that she can't handle it,  but Ellie can see her immediate displeasure at the reaction.  “Are you-”

“We can go get lunch,  Mom.”   Ellie intervenes, inching up from where she'd been behind Tara.  “I wanna know more about what you found on Jason and Greg.”

She doesn't.  She couldn't want that any less,  actually,  but she doesn't enjoy knowing her mother would be alone otherwise.

Tara glances back at her.   “What?”

“She's my mom,”  Ellie whispers back.  “I don't want her to be alone right now.”

Tara nods,  reaching down to tap lightly against Ellie's hand before stepping aside.  Mom looks a little less annoyed,  thankfully,  and Ellie might be able to live with herself longer if she can make sure no one is alone long enough to get hurt.

In the end,  that's what matters most.