CHAPTER 1: the end of the world.
It begins with a storm.
She's on the ground with scraped knees, palms sticky with dirt and sweat and god knows what else. She can taste blood with each deep gasp for air, warm and bitter on her lips. Jesus.. my head. She scrambles up on trembling legs, rain stinging as it whips against her face as she looks around in a daze. What the fuck? Where am I.. A dazzlingly bright light temporarily blinds her, and she blinks up through the thick trees, trying to focus her eyes looking for the source. Is that.. the lighthouse? How did I get up here? No way, this.. this can't be real.
But it feels real.
You've seriously lost it this time Price, she thinks as she struggles forward, arms shielding her face in a feeble attempt to protect herself from the violent winds tugging her in all different directions. Litter and glass and bits of wood are being hurled about, some leaving scrapes and marks on her that she barely even notices in her dazed state. Her mind desperately searches for answers as she does her best to follow the path forward, trying to remember what she'd been doing before she woke up alone in a forest, covered in mud, and in a shit-load of pain. But her mind is blank, like everything's been forcibly sucked out of it, and all that's been left is a throbbing headache and one driving thought; get to the lighthouse. You just have to make it to the lighthouse.
It's as she emerges into the open that she sees it, and her heart almost stops dead in her chest. This is a dream, just a bad nightmare, she thinks, but she can see the tornado, she can hear the trees creaking and the sound of water crashing and the electricity crackling in the air.
It's as real as she is.. and it's headed straight for the town.
"Fuck," she tries to say, but her throat is all closed up and the wind is deafening. She stands there, hypnotised by the destruction, and it suddenly hits her like a train. She sees the neon two whales sign flickering in the distance. She can see her street, the house she grew up in. She can see Blackwell Academy up on the hill, directly in the tornado's path.
She's watching the destruction of everything she's ever known, and she can't tear her eyes away. All she can do is watch as everything in Arcadia Bay is torn apart in the chaos.
It feels like the end of the world.
She sees the boat being hurled toward the lighthouse, and hears the impact as metal connects with metal. Throwing up her hand over her face, as if it can somehow prevent her from being crushed by the tumbling debris, she squeezes her eyes shut and readies herself for the inevitable;
If this is it, I'm sorry.. I'm so fucking sorry -
In what feels like an instant, she's back in her room, and it's like nothing happened - except her heart is pounding so loud that she can hear it thudding in her ears, and she can still feel the rain battering against her skin like sharp little pin pricks. She looks around, frantic. Was I asleep? There's no fucking way that was a dream. It was so intense..
She holds out her arms in front of her. No fresh cuts, no bruises, no blood. Her clothes are clean - well, clean-ish. She pushes herself up off the bed and rushes to the window, yanking it open. The temperature is pleasant, definitely normal for October, and there isn't a dark cloud in sight. Then how the..
"CHLOE," Joyce bellows impatiently from what sounds like the bottom of the stairs, and she nearly jumps out of her skin. She gives herself a quick once over in the mirror, during which she discovers that she looks nearly as shitty as she feels, eyes red and bleary, and then proceeds to drag herself out into the hallway. Her mom is stood at the bottom of the stairs in her uniform, one hand on her hip, one hand wielding a spatula. She looks irritated, but given what Chloe's just seen, it's a strangely comforting sight.
"Yeah?" She grunts, leaning against the banister for support.
"I've been calling you for ages, what are you up to?"
"Sleeping. Why do I always have to be up to something?" She groans, thudding down the stairs.
"Believe it or not, I ask myself that exact same question every day. Now, do you want some of this breakfast or not?" Chloe grumbles a response and sits at the table, eyes still struggling to adjust to the daylight. There's no way that wasn't real. But everything feels so normal now. The town – this house – it was about to get wiped out and then.. Fuck, I'm literally losing my mind.
Joyce slides two plates of bacon and eggs onto the table and then sits down across from her daughter, eyes narrowed in what looks like half concern, half suspicion.
"Are you okay? You seem out of it, Chloe. And what's wrong with your eyes? You know, it's a good job David already left for work or -"
"I'm fine, mom." She doesn't have the energy to argue for once, and thankfully apparently neither does Joyce. She eats her breakfast in silence without tasting her food, shovelling it in as fast as she can. Her phone buzzes in her pocket and she drops her fork, pulling it out hastily, that same flicker of hope that refuses to leave rising in her again excitedly. And then, as per usual, that tiny glimmer of hope is quickly crushed. Because it isn't her.
It never is.
ASSHOLE – 10/07 09:32
U wanna meet, lets meet. Blackwell 30 mins. Don't keep me waiting.
Nathan fucking Prescott, of course. She'd forgotten about texting him last night, demanding to meet. Maybe something good will come out of this day after all. Like the cash to finally blow this hell hole.
"I've gotta' go," she announces, plate of food only half eaten.
"And where exactly are you off in such a hurry?" Joyce asks, flicking through a day old newspaper.
"Job hunting," she lies, quietly grabbing a couple of step-douche's beers out from the fridge on her way to the door. Joyce just shakes her head, still engrossed in yesterday's news.
"Right, of course you are" she sighs. "I'm working til' late, so you'll have to feed yourself later. And Chloe," she looks up then, a sad smile on her face, "be careful."
"Always am," she lies again, before heading out the door.
God, I fucking hate this place, she thinks as she slips through the halls of Blackwell Academy unnoticed. Good fucking riddance.
'Girls bathroom 10 mins' the text had said. Yeah, because that's not totally weird. Creep. Luckily most people are either in class, or way too involved in their own conversations to notice her slip past with her hood up. She stops a couple of times on the way to quickly tape a couple more 'missing' posters to the walls, and rip down a couple that have been messed with. I'm sorry, Rachel, she sighs to herself, balling up the paper in her fists.
She barges into the bathroom, half expecting Nathan to be there already, but it's completely empty. She notices with a smirk that no one's bothered to paint over the graffiti she contributed during her brief attendance at Blackwell - and there are plenty of new additions. 'Rachel Amber is a whore!' says the biggest, scrawled obnoxiously across a stall door in permanent marker. Her stomach churns. "Fuck them all" she mutters under her breath, checking the time. Late or avoiding? Chicken shit.
Leaning against a stall she takes a deep breath, her mind drifting back to the tornado vision. It feels weird now, the memory less intense, and she's already doubting herself. Maybe everything that's happened is getting to me, making me see things that aren't really there.. It would make sense, right?
She's going over the details again and again, lost in thought, when the tiniest movement catches her eye. A vibrant red butterfly like nothing she's ever seen around Arcadia - or anywhere, for that matter - flutters in through the open window. She follows it round the corner, weirdly fascinated, and crouches down to watch as it settles on a metal bucket. Weird.. They usually leave if you get this close.
The sound of the door banging open startles both her and the butterfly, and she listens for a moment as Nathan starts talking to himself, not even bothering to check if he's alone or not. God, he's even more messed up than I thought, she thinks, before rounding the corner to confront him. "You're seriously fucked up," she mutters, double checking the stalls one at a time. Nathan visibly jumps, but he doesn't move from his position in the mirror.
"I don't like it when people sneak up on me," he says, his eyes narrowing. "So, what do you want?"
"Cash. I know you've got plenty of it, and I know you've been pumping drugs and shit to kids around here for years." Leaning up close to him she can see his eyes are red and sunken, but he won't look at her, he just continues staring at himself in the mirror. "I bet your respectable family would help me out if I went to them. Man, I can see the headlines now -"
"Leave them out of this, bitch." His fingers are tightening on the basin, knuckles white, and she can feel herself rapidly losing her own temper. There's no fucking way he's getting out of this. Not after what he did to me.
"I can tell everybody - Nathan Prescott is a punk ass, who begs like a little girl and talks to himself,"
"You don't know who the fuck I am, or who you're messing with," his voice cracks, and suddenly she's confronted with a gun in her face. She stumbles backwards in a panic, eyes locked on the barrel, and he moves toward her, cornering her like prey.
"What the fuck are you doing? Put that thing down!" Her voice is shaky as she feels her back connect with the wall behind her.
"Stop telling me what to do, I'm so sick of people trying to control me," he says, and he's so close now that she can smell smoke on his breath.
"Get that gun away from me, psycho," she panics, and pushes him back, hard.
Everything that happens next is a blur.
The door swings open with a bang and the gun goes off, and she looks down at herself but there's no blood, nothing.
He missed, she thinks, but Nathan looks distraught. Everything's slowed down to a snail's pace, her hand still outstretched from pushing him back.
"NO," she can hear Nathan saying, but it almost sounds as if he's underwater. "Fuck, no.." The gun hits the floor beside them with a long, drawn out clanging noise that echoes far longer than it should. Chloe watches in horror as he sinks slowly down to his knees, head clasped in his hands. She can hear someone gasping for air, their breath slow and laboured, and then a heavy thud;
And that's when she notices the lifeless body in the doorway.