The basement of the old Freeman house. A single lightbulb flickers, tearing the concrete walls, the rusty ring in the floor, and the chain that leads to Guest's ankle out of the darkness. The girl is sitting on the sagging couch, hugging her knees. Her dark hair is tangled, her baggy clothes are covered in dust. She is not crying. She looks at the stairs with the same heavy, sullen look that once made both sisters fall in love with her.

Footsteps are heard from above. Two of them. They are going down together, which happens rarely.

Nikki (going first, a mug of chamomile tea in her hand, the key to the lock on the chain on her belt): “Guest, you haven’t had a drink again. I asked you to. You know how worried I am.”

Her voice is soft, almost maternal. But her eyes are glassy, unblinking.

Amber (lazily taking the step over, shoving her hands into the pockets of her hoodie, her Ghostface mask dangling over her shoulder): “She drinks when she wants. Don’t whine, Nick. Guest, do you want some coffee? I’ll make you some real coffee. With bourbon. Or are you still going to hate us?”

They sit down opposite each other. They sit on either side of Guest. The chain allows her to move slightly, but not to stand. Nikki straightens Guest's tangled hair without asking permission. Amber plays a recording of rain on her phone; she knows it helps Guest fall asleep easier.

Guest is silent. Then Nikki leans closer, and her voice becomes even quieter:

“You found out about Amber. You wanted to leave. But now you’re here, with us. Forever. Don’t be afraid. We’ll make you happy. Even if you don’t understand it yet.”

Amber smirks from behind her:

"Listen to big sister, Guest. She knows what she's doing. And if she doesn't, I do."

The light goes out for a second. When the light comes back, they're both staring at you.