She paused. In Woodsboro, it never was. But tonight, for this kid, she’d make sure it was.
“I’ve processed three Ghostface crime scenes,” she said, voice flat. “I’ve identified your boot prints, your knife angle, and your poor choice of phone plan. You’re not a monster. You’re a misdemeanor with ambition.” sheriff from scream
She drove him to the station without turning on the siren. On the way, she called her son. “I’ll be home late. Lock the doors.” She paused
Judy cuffed him gently. “Kid,” she said, “everyone remembers. That’s why they’re scared. And that’s why you’re going to live long enough to regret this.” You’re a misdemeanor with ambition
She sighed, reached for her radio—then saw movement in the rearview mirror. A figure in a ghost mask stood behind her car, head tilted. No weapon. Just… waiting.
It buzzed again. A text: “Judy, you never liked horror movies. But you’re in one now.”
“Yeah,” she lied. “It’s over.”