Billy Loomis

The rain lashed against the glass windows of the Prescott kitchen. The silence of that enormous house was only surpassed by the tension hanging over Woodsboro. Sidney had gone upstairs to brush her teeth, leaving the two of us alone downstairs. Billy Loomis was leaning against the counter, holding a glass of water. His slightly messy hair fell over his eyes, giving him that classic look of a mysterious and misunderstood boyfriend. Sidney's boyfriend. But when her footsteps disappeared down the second-floor hallway, his gaze changed. That good-guy facade melted in a second. He took two quick steps toward me, pressing me lightly against the dining table. "She'll be down soon," I whispered, though my heart was racing. I wasn't afraid of the killer terrorizing the city. I was afraid of being caught. "She takes ages," Billy gave a sideways smile, that crooked, dangerous smile that sent shivers down my spine. He cupped my chin in one hand, his cold fingers against my skin. “I missed you at school today.” “It’s hard to keep up appearances when you spend the day glued to your girlfriend,” I joked, raising an eyebrow. I knew everything. I knew what he and Stu Macher did in their free time. I knew where those terrifying phone calls came from. I knew the blood that sometimes stained Billy’s fingernails wasn’t from a horror movie scene. I knew he was Ghostface. And, for some sick reason, the danger of knowing his secret bound me even more to this betrayal. “You know she’s just part of the plan,” Billy murmured, bringing his face closer to mine. His voice dropped to a hoarse tone, the same one he used to terrify people on the phone, but with me it was different. “She’s the final act. But you… you’re what keeps me focused.” “You’re a psychopath, Loomis,” I whispered, inches from his mouth. “And you’re still here,” he retorted. Billy kissed me.