You stayed in your closet, listening intently as footsteps stormed around.  Stu was throwing open doors, and you could hear him tearing rooms apart.  But soon enough, there was sirens off in the distance.

"FUCKING BITCH ASS CUNT!!  WHERE THE FUCK ARE YOU," Stu screeched.

You held your breath as the sirens got closer, and you heard footsteps scrambling around to either find you, or to find himself a hiding place.  Suddenly, light flooded your vision as the door was ripped open.  Stu stood there for a moment, as if his brain had to register that you were sitting in front of him.  Either way, it was too late.  The police knew he was the killer.

He got that grinchy grin once more, and he grabbed your arm.  He pulled you right up off the floor, grabbing you in a headlock like he had outside.

"Found you~" he practically sang.

He dragged you towards the front door, and as he reached for the doorknob with his spare hand, you heard a clicking sound from outside.

"Stuart Macher, we know you are inside.  Come out with your hands in the air."

Stu opened the door, and exited, with you still trapped.  He grabbed a gun, and pointed it right at your temple.  He started to laugh maniacally, and you watched as the procession of cops all reached for their guns and weapons.  One grabbed a walkie talkie, and sent a message to the station that you were now part of a hostage situation.

"Get any closer, and they die," Stuart shouted.

"You want to know something kid," one of the cops asked loudly.  "Always double check the safety's off!"

Stu took a moment to glance at the gun, and with him temporarily distracted, some of the quicker gun-slingers aimed and fired.  They shot lower, and multiple bullets went through his legs.  He dropped you as he fell to the ground in pain, tumbling right down the stairs of his porch.  Multiple police officers ran over, flooding the small walkway.  Three or four quickly pulled you away from the killer, and lead you towards an ambulance.  You heard Stu groaning in pain as he was cuffed by officers and led to a police cruiser.  You assumed murderers didn't get the luxury of medical transportation vehicles.

You were quickly laid down on the bed-thing, and EMTs were quick to make sure you had no injuries, especially around your neck.  They ran a series of tests, and you were shocked they could understand each other as they shouted over one another with conflicting remarks about your 'treatment.'  You weren't too sure what they were treating, seeing as you weren't sick, and didn't sustain any major injuries.

Once you reached the hospital and the doors of the ambulance were opened, you heard a familiar voice start shouting.

"Let me through!  God damn it, I SAID LET ME THROUGH!!  THAT IS MY CHILD OVER THERE!!  LET ME SEE MY FUCKING (Y/N)!!"

"Dad!  Dad, I'm over here," you shouted, trying to wave him over.

"Oh, he needs to check in at the front desk dear," one of the EMTs told you. 

You were passed off to some nurses, and you heard sirens approach the building.  You knew who they were escorting.  You were quickly tucked away into a room, and you were stuck waiting for a doctor to arrive and check you out.  You could hear Stuart yowling in pain as he was rushed by, most likely into a surgery to remove the metal from his legs.

Soon enough, your father entered the room.  He almost broke down in tears when he saw you.  He hadn't been to a hospital since the day he had to say goodbye to your mother.  So seeing you there... similar to how she had been?  You were surprised he wasn't having a mental breakdown.

"What happened," he asked shakily.

"Sidney and Mr. Prescott are dead," you muttered.  "My friends were the fucking killers.  They killed Sidney, and both her parents, and they found a way to frame Cotton Weary-"

"Wait a second... even the little nerd was in on it," your father questioned, somewhat bewildered.

"Randal was in on it too.  According to Stu, he and Billy planned most of it."

"Jesus fucking Christ....  Were they the ones sending you those calls too?"

You nodded.  The people you thought cared about you... turns out they were killers all along.  And it felt like they had some weird relationships going on, but you were too caught up in the fact that they were fucking deranged psychopaths to care all that much.

"I'm so, so, so sorry," he told you.  "If I had just told you not to go... hell, even if I just came and took you home early because of the curfew... I could've stopped this with a fucking car ride..."

"Stop it," you demanded.  "You couldn't have stopped them.  I don't think anyone could've.  They're only dead now because they all turned on each other last minute."

"I'm sorry.  I was supposed to protect you!  I'm your father!  It's my job to make sure you're safe!  And I didn't do that!"

"Dad, I'm fine!  It's not even like they hurt me!  Please, don't beat yourself up over this," you begged.  "You didn't do anything wrong!  No one knew what they were planning!"

Your father wanted to continue.  He wanted to show you how guilty he was, and how bad he felt that he had failed to keep you safe.  You were his only child, you deserved better!  But he had left you go, even when there was a police mandated curfew in place!  But he also knew how stubborn you were.  You had gotten from your mother.  He knew that you wouldn't back down, so he should do the mature thing and stop.  Otherwise, you'd be going on, back and forth for hours.

"Hey kid... your birthday's coming up.  So's Christmas.  Anything you want," he asked.

You appreciated the change of subject.  You didn't want to see how guilty he was over something he couldn't change, and you didn't want to think about what happened back at Stuart's house.