Chapter I: Into the woods
AN:
Ok, well… Howdy y'all. Long time no see. I'd love to say I was writing all that time, but I wasn't. I got some hideous illness and basically spent about a week and a half there just alternating between crying in a corner and trying to stop throwing up. It wasn't fun, and definitely didn't put me in the mood to write, or read. So, I'm a little rusty. These chapters are a little shorter to help me ease back into the game and hopefully keep up the weekly schedule again.
On that note, I'm really not sure what my plan is anymore. Before I got sick, I had a full chapter for each story, but I wasn't happy with them and felt I didn't do the idea justice, so I deleted pretty much all of them in a fit of pique. So, those stories are on hold for now while I work out what the fuck I'm doing with them. The current plan is to keep going with the 5 I now have posted until they're done and upload the others when I finally get a chapter I like. But, that's pretty flexible for now, so don't hold me to that. I might change my mind.
Well, the rustiness means I'm not really sure how good these chapters are. I'm probably being insecure and hating on my work again, but I'm pretty sure these aren't up to my usual standard. I hope they are, but I don't think they are. It's a weird feeling. I've mostly just decided "Fuck it, I'll let you guys decide as usual." So, please, let me know if these are shit or not. And be honest, if I've fucked up, I'd like to fix it. Constructive Criticism is the only way to know what to focus on for improvement, right? Hopefully you like this one. I'm not 100% on the (Past) (Present) things, but I couldn't think of another way to make it clearer which was a flashback and which was present day. Let me know if any of you have any ideas on that.
So, this was something I came up with after watching Jacksepticeye's playthrough of Firewatch. It's a pretty good game, actually. A little iffy here and there in regards to the story, but the characters are phenomenal. Basically, in America, the huge national forests have rangers and whatnot to take care of them and make sure they don't burn down. In game, Henry (The Protagonist) becomes a Firewatcher to get away from his life for a while. I liked the idea of Chloe doing the same thing, and thus this story was born.
Anyways, thanks, fan-fic-folks, and, as always, please review.
(Past)
You see Rachel.
She's your age, late teens. Laughing and smoking with a bunch of those Vortex Club pricks.
You, Chloe, are crashing their party.
There's something about her. Something that draws you to her.
You approach her.
You are high, and a little bit drunk.
She looks so cool and confident, even you feel nervous.
"So…" You grasp for a topic. "You go to Blackhell?"
You slur your words and they smell like weed and cheap beer. You give a smooth grin.
She smiles. "Yeah. I take it you don't?"
You shrug. "I got expelled. I flunked a few classes, cracked hella good jokes that the teachers just didn't appreciate."
She smirks. "I'm sure it was your jokes and not your grades."
"Was that a burn?" you ask, grinning.
She says definitely and gives you a dazzling grin of her own.
She says she's been dying to try the burgers at the Two Whales. She smirks again when you tell her you have an in with the chef.
One week later, you are dating.
(Present)
I sigh. Well, time to go. I take one last look around the apartment.
I sigh again, trying not to think about all the shitty stuff that happened here.
I grab my stuff and head to the parking lot, slinging it in the back of my truck.
I get in and gun it for the highway.
(Past)
You date for months.
She drives you crazy.
You move in together. She has enough money from modelling and you'd do anything to get away from Step-douche. You share a tiny apartment above a bar by the waterfront. You drink in that bar almost every night.
Life is good.
(Past)
Rachel wants to get a dog.
There's a scruffy, undersized Beagle. Rachel is in love. She wants to bring it with her to modelling sessions.
You pick up the Beagle and she names him Bucket.
Bucket's a good dog and Rachel loves him.
You love him too.
(Present)
I slide the truck into a space and switch off the radio.
"See you in a few months, old girl."
Ok, gotta get my shit from the back. I hop out and walk around to the truckbed until my foot hits something soft on the floor. I look down.
Huh.
It's a baseball cap. I pick it up. Well, shit. Cincinnati Reds. They hella suck.
Eh.
I put it on, grab my bag and hit the trail.
(Past)
It's a Thursday night and you're cooking. Rachel is four hours late. She doesn't call. You're worried and getting more pissed off by the minute.
She walks in after you've gone to bed.
She's not quite drunk but she's clearly been out somewhere. You fight when she gets between the sheets.
You get mad.
You call her an inconsiderate asshole.
She tells you to go fuck yourself and to not be such a baby.
You call her selfish.
She knows you mean it and it hurts her feelings.
(Past)
Even though she's focused on modelling, Rachel also likes to draw. She draws people in the bar. She draws all the places you go. She draws you.
You dance about and pose like the badass you are.
Very nice.
(Present)
I stop, taking hella deep breaths. It's ok, I can fucking do this. There's just… I look over at the sign.
Shit. Eight more miles.
I take another deep breath and repeat to myself. I can fucking do this.
Heh. Like that's ever convinced me before. I try to hop over a log that's fallen across the trail, but, well…
Heh. I made it in one fucking leap. Don't ever doubt me, fuckers.
I saunter along the trail, that one bit of swashbuckler agility somehow making me feel the same as a gallon of coffee.
I turn the corner and suddenly stop and grin.
Is that…?
A fucking baby deer? Like, a doe, right? Aww. Even my hardened punk heart gotta admit, that little fucker is hella cute.
I creep forward, tryin' to be as quiet as I can, but the deer bolts before I can get closer.
My shoulders sag. Damn.
Eh. Whatevs. I'm gonna be in a forest for like, 3 months. Not like I'm not gonna get to see a whole bunch of deer before I…
During the summer. Yeah.
I tighten the straps holding my backpack to, well… my back, and head on.
Just 8 more miles…
I can do this.
(Past)
Rachel gets offered a modelling gig. It's in Portland. It's a great job: Face for a whole campaign. She wants to move.
You cannot. You just haven't got the money.
You ask her if she'll commute back and forth. You don't want to move to Portland. She says that'll be hard, but she'll do it if you can't move.
You tell her not to pass it up. It's her dream, right?
She agrees. She drives back and forth a few times a month.
(Past)
Rachel is sent home after assaulting a photographer. She claimed he was hitting on her, blackmailing her for good shots.
The photographer claims she just snapped. He has an excellent reputation.
Other people came forward to say she'd been unusually aggressive to everyone all morning.
She was found crying in her car.
(Present)
Jeez, what idiot designed tents to be this fucking complicated? It's not like I'm building a fucking house.
I stop, mid-way through threading some doodad through a thingy. Well, I kinda am. Just, y'know, a small temporary house.
I push things and thread things and try very hard not to get pissed off and snap things into itty bitty pieces until the tent seems to stay stood up on it's own.
I stand back and smirk as the thing wobbles. I'm so glad I'm getting a fucking tower. No way in hell I could camp for a whole summer.
My train of thought is derailed and fucking exploded into the side of a mountain by a rumble from my stomach.
Fuck, how did I forget about noms? Being away from the Diner is definitely getting to me.
I hop over to my little porta-grill thingy and start it up.
Crap, I need to do something to keep my mind off my fucking food.
I pull Rachel's diary outta my pack and flick it open to a random page, sitting down to read.
(Past)
Even after she arrives home, you and Rachel barely see each other.
She leaves before you do and gets back after you do.
Two weeks of this later, she goes back to Portland.
Rachel is more aggressive and paranoid with each passing day.
She's late and hungover to every session. Rumours start about her 'late-night companionship'.
The journeys home get more infrequent each week. The calls home even more so.
(Past)
One morning, you're woken by a call from a doctor.
Rachel is in hospital. She overdosed on something.
The campaign fired her. She's being sent home.
She is devastated.
(Past)
Rachel is back in Arcadia Bay permanently now.
It is impossibly hard.
She tries to hide it, but she comes home high more often than she comes home sober.
Most nights, she doesn't come home at all.
When she does, you fight and end up sleeping separately.
(Past)
Rachel comes home late again. She's excited, almost manic.
She tells you she's got another shoot, a famous photographer who wants to work with her.
She won't tell you anything more.
You argue, telling her not to go. Rachel says she's going anyway.
You go to bed angry.
(Past)
Rachel is always chattering about her shoots. Never specifics, just endless babble about how amazing the mystery photographer is.
A few weeks go by.
One morning, she stops talking about her shoots.
You don't talk either.
(Past)
The apartment is empty. Rachel isn't there. It's too quiet for you.
You go to a bar. It's loud there.
You flirt with the bartender, Taylor, for free drinks.
When she smiles and announces last call, you ask her to call you a cab.
When you finally get home, Rachel still isn't there.
(Past)
Rachel is never there when you're home from work, so you keep heading out to that bar.
She's never there when you get back either.
When the barely seeing each other goes to not seeing each other at all, you start to feel worried.
You haven't seen Rachel in two days.
You report her missing to the cops.
(Past)
The cops investigate, but find nothing.
Rachel is officially declared missing.
They find pictures of her with Frank, your dealer. She was cheating.
They can't find any trace of her mystery photographer. They suggest she was sneaking out to see Frank and lied to you about the shoots.
You head out to that bar again. Drink yourself into a stupor.
On the way back, your truck is stopped at a DUI checkpoint.
You blow a .10 and are taken to jail for the night.
(Past)
Rachel's parents drive in from Long Beach. They blame you for her disappearance.
You don't argue. You don't say much of anything.
Rachel is gone.
She was fucking your dealer.
The photographer is in the wind.
Summer is coming and you see an ad in the paper for a job.
You take it.
(Present)
I stop at the bottom of the hill and nearly fucking keel over.
"Who…"
I put my hands on my knees and gasp for air till I'm practically a right angle. I'm kinda giving all the bears and hikers and whatever other shit is in the forest a hella fantastic view of my ass, but whatever, I don't give a shit anymore. I just need to catch my fucking breath.
"The Fuck…"
My sides hurt. The rest of me kinda does too. Aaarghlfargleblurb. I think I'm gonna die right here.
"Puts This Shit…"
Yup. Right here. This is it.
"That fucking far away…"
How am I not dead? Like, seriously, I was so not built to walk that fucking far.
"From everything else?!"
I just sit there for a few minutes, trying to catch any fucking breath I can.
A lot quicker than I'm good with admitting, when I can finally breathe properly, I start up the hill to my tower. I feel like such a badass saying that. My Tower. Like my Fortress of Solitude.
I look about. Actually, that's a hella accurate description. Kinda what I wanted from this job, anyways. Just to get away from everything and everyone.
I work my way up the stairs to the little room at the top. Fuck it's dark.
That's 'cause you gotta turn on the power, dumbass.
I flail about for a bit 'til I find a switch. I flick it and wait a sec for everything to power up.
The minute my light switches on, I hear a voice.
"Um, Hey? Two Forks? Are you there?"
I frown. Shit, maybe I'm finally going crazy. Am I hearing things?
I hear the voice again. "Hello?"
That's when I see the walkie talkie sat on the desk. I sigh in relief. Thank fuck for that. I don't need more voices in my head, thanks.
I wander over and pick it up. "Hey. Uh, whoever this is."
The voice crackles out again. It's a chick! She sounds amused. "It's Chloe, right?"
Ok… so, she knows my name. Weird. "Uh, yeah."
"Hi Neighbour. I'm Max. I'm your… your boss, I guess. I'm over in the Thorofare Lookout."
I nod. Then I stop, 'cause it's not like she can see me or anything, so it's kinda weird to do.
There's a pause where neither of us speak and then… "So, what's wrong with you?"
Wait, what? What the fuck is wrong with this girl? Who asks that as, like, their opening line for fuck's sake?
I do my best fish impersonation while I try to work out how the hell to respond to that before I decide on the basic pissed-off "Uh, what, dude?" hoping she'll take the hint and shut the hell up.
Well, she's dense as fuck. She keeps going. "People take this job to get away from stuff. So, what's wrong?"
I can feel myself getting defensive. It's a bad fucking habit of mine, but it's there. Besides, who the fuck is that nosy? It's her fault, really. Right?
I bitch back. "What's wrong with you?"
She doesn't sound pissed, she just sounds… pleased. "Wowzers, that's an awesome idea! Go ahead."
I sigh and rub the back of my neck. I really don't wanna deal with this shit. I mean, Wowzers? Who still says that? "Look, Max. I just hiked for two fucking days, so I don't have a clue what you're trying to do right now.
I can hear the grin in her voice. Its like, midnight, how is this girl so fucking enthusiastic? "You take a stab at what's wrong with me."
I roll my eyes. Fuck, this bitch is not gonna let this go, is she? Fuck it. "Fine. Then can I sleep? Like, forever?"
She laughs. "Sure. Go ahead! Wow me, Chloe."
I roll my eyes and think for a sec. "Ok, um. You've killed, like, three ex-husbands. You're a Black Widow. You're just out here 'til the heat dies down and then you can go and kill again."
"Nice guess, Sherlock."
I roll my eyes, feeling exhaustion startin' to kick in. "Ok. I sleep now?"
"Nope! Now I gotta do you."
Normally, I'd make a hella awesome joke about that, but I seriously need to sleep! I'm kinda amazed I'm still standing up. Keeping the Price Wit going takes full power and right now, we cannae give her any more, cap'n!
"Let's see…"
She pauses. "I don't know anything about you, but nine times out of ten, the peeps who come out here simply got dumped."
I snort. "Is that it?"
I can hear that grin again. "Close?"
I practically growl down the walkie. "G'night."
She laughs. "Night, Chloe. Welcome to the Job."