Author's Note:

This chapter is rated M for… reasons

Sorry for such a long wait. I really struggled with this particular part of the story and I wanted to get it just right. I hope it measures up.

With my heart rate skyrocketing, I park in my usual spot just outside the junkyard entrance. Once I pull my parking brake and turn off the engine, I realise is might be a good idea to leave the keys in the ignition. A quick escape is what might save my god damn life today.

I doublecheck that my phone is still recording in my pocket and step out in to the crisp fall air, mindful of David's knife that is tucked into the back of my jeans.

You got this Chloe. You got this. Ignore your pounding heart and that chill running down your spine.

I stand at the entrance to American Rust and nothing seems out of the ordinary. I didn't see any parked cars on my way in, and there is no sign of activity. It's still early, so dawn's light hasn't arrived yet, but I can see it coming over the mountain. All I can see is the usual junk piles and all I hear is the breeze, the birds and a train that must have just gone by since the sound is getting fainter by the second. The fact that everything seems so hella fucking normal is what's freaking me out!

Wandering past the old school bus which is now home to untold amounts of scrap metal, I still see no signs of life or recent activity. Hmmm, should I call out for Rachel, or even Nathan? I dismiss the idea as dumb, I need to focus on my surroundings.

Just after the bus I notice an old tyre with an ancient broken camera sitting on top. What the hell? My eyes shoot up in surprise and instant recognition. Is that the camera I smashed the day Rachel and I first stumbled upon this place? I think it is.

Damn it Chloe! Stop taking the guided tour down memory lane and find Rachel, you fucking idiot!

Deciding to check the other side of the school bus before any other place, I pass through the gap in the junk noticing the empty beer bottle resting on the bonnet of one of the many wrecked cars here. One way or another, I'm gonna need a fucking drink today.

Once I'm in the clearing, something catches my eye. I freeze in place, trying my best to make out what it is. Huh? It looks like someone lying on the ground. "Nathan?" I call out. Whoever it is doesn't move an inch. "Is that you mother fucker?"

Wanting to dispel the escalating tension in my gut, I slowly make my way across the clearing. Don't be scared Chloe. Getting closer and closer, a foul smell starts to plague the air surrounding me. Ugh! It smells like death. Each step I take feels like an eon, but before I know it, I'm standing before the bloodied corpse of Nathan Prescott.

"Oh my god," is all I can manage to get out. He's dead, he's fucking dead! The smell forces me to take a step back and I notice a gun lying on the ground next to him. It's the same one he held on me in the bathroom. Jesus Christ. Fuck. Fuck! FUCK! One of his eye balls has been slightly dislodged from it's socket and there is blood everywhere, along with what I assume are pieces of his brain and skull. My breathing intensifies and for some reason, I'm still afraid.

This must have happened right after he called me, but did he do this to himself?

There is an old worn shovel leaning up against one of the junk piles and it looks like it's been used recently since the dirt on it looks fresh. What the hell would a Prescott need to dig for out here? Just past Nathan's body, atop of a slight incline is a large mound of dirt.

No please. It can't be…

With an infinite number of possibilities racing through my mind, I run over to the pile of dirt to find a large but shallow hole in the ground which contains something wrapped in blue plastic. Whatever it is, it's about the size of a… No. Please, just fucking don't be her. Tears start running down my face and my hands are shaking.

"Rachel! Please don't let it be you!"

Kneeling at pit, I take two handfuls of blue plastic and rip the bag open. Oh fuck. The smell that escapes the bag makes my stomach do somersaults. Bile rises in my throat and I vomit up the few bits of bacon I ate earlier. "No, no please," each word comes between coughing and spiting.

Once my stomach has settled I finish tearing open the bag wishing I could wake up from this hell.

My stomach, the stench of death and vomit all around me fade into the background at sight of the rotted corpse that's been partially preserved by the plastic. The face has been decayed by dirt, worms and times cruel hand, but my attention is mostly drawn the sight of a tattoo. A tattoo of a star on the left wrist that confirms what I've been denying for nearly six months.

"RACHEL! NO PLEASE! Not you too!" I scream to the heavens. "This isn't real," I plead with myself.

"What kind of worl-" the feel of a strong hand on my shoulder cuts me off mid-sentence and all my senses are suddenly razor sharp. I gasp in terror and throw myself forward.

"Gah! Fuck!" Whoever is behind grunts in anger and I hear them stumble towards me. Fuck! Get to the car, RUN! With the grace of an olympian, I jump to my feet and vault over the old washing machine, barely missing all the scrap metal that's in way of me getting to my car.

The keys are in the ignition, Chloe. Keep running.

Whoever's behind me is still in pursuit. I'm too afraid to look back, but I can hear his rapid footsteps, grunting and the sound of him treading over all the scrap metal.

Sweat is flying off me and I know I won't be able to get away quick enough in my car.

USE THE KNIFE CHLOE!

My attacker is only a few feet behind me.

It's now or never. Do or die.

At lightning speed I draw my step father's army knife from my jeans and hold it out in defence, taking the man by surprise.

"BACK UP! BACK THE FUCK UP OR I'LL FUCKING GUT YOU!" Unleashing my caveman voice has halted my attacker in his tracks, but not before he holds up a large syringe which makes my hand tremble for a second.

What the hell does he have in that syringe? Tranquilizer? Cyanaide?

My attacker and I are both ready to pounce. Without words but rather heavy breathing, we circle each other with about six or seven feet between us, our eyes locked like two wolves who are about to fight for dominance.

My fear recedes ever so slightly. You won't take me, not today, whoever the fuck you are.

He's middle aged and tall with brown, stylish hair along with very dark eyes. His neatly trimmed beard and glasses aren't exactly consistent with how the average person would describe a murderer, but I know better. He's also wearing white latex gloves which do nothing to ease my nerves.

The man decides to break the silence between us. "You're pretty fast, Price," his tone is arctic. "I'm impressed to say the least." I say nothing in response. Who the fuck is this guy? What's he doing here? "Was that your handy work, Nathan I mean?"

His question throws me off balance. He thinks I killed Nathan? Fuck that shit, HE killed him. Why else would he be here. "No," I snap at him. "But I wanted to," I confess to the man. "It was you! You wouldn't be here otherwise!"

His chilling half smile tells me more than words ever could. "You know, you're not as dumb as you look, but I must admit that I came here for the same reason as you." His eyes darken. "To kill Nathan. He had a burner phone he thought I didn't know about which was easy to trace, and this was my best chance."

"No! I c-came here to save Rachel," my words cause him to laugh in such a casual manner that I almost forget about the needle in his hand. "Shut your fucking mouth!"

He stops laughing, but a smug judgmental grin is still all over his face. "How noble of you. So I guess that's how Nathan lured you here, by saying that Rachel is here and that she's alive? I must admit that digging up Rachel was a ballsy move on his part."

My blood boils like never before. "You killed her, didn't you? And you killed Nathan to cover your tracks?"

There's no escaping now, it's him or me.

"Nice guess Chloe, but no. Six months ago that fucking dumb ass Prescott gave her enough sedative for a two-hundred-pound man. She was never meant to die." He chuckles ever so slightly. "Ever since he killed Rachel, Nathan was so damn afraid of dosage levels. Why do you think you woke up early on Saturday night before he had a chance to finish? Of course what I can't figure out is why he would want someone like you as a model. I thought I taught the boy better than that. I came here to tie up a loose end, but it seems Nathan took care of that for me, of course that just leaves you."

Rachel, Kate, Max, me. All of it. It was all this bastards doing? He taught Nathan everything? And what does he mean by 'model'?

"Just try it pretty boy," I straighten my stance and grip my knife to show him I mean business. "I'll fucking kill you, cunt!" A crow flies right past us that startles me, but the man takes no notice of it.

"Rachel said you have a sailor's mouth. She wasn't kidding."

"Bullshit! You know nothing about me except for what you saw on the news."

Don't let him get inside your head.

"Au contraire Chloe. She told me all about you, not that I asked. It's just that Rachel always got so chatty after sex. Of course, you fucked her more than I ever did, so what do I know?" This son of a bitch knows how press my buttons, there's no way it's true. NO WAY!

"LIAR! Rachel would never fuck an old creep like you."

"Tell me," he pauses. "Did she finger your asshole while she went down on you too? She only used one finger with me, but you look like you could handle two."

No, no! It's not true.

"No! No, no."

"Oh boy, I wish I had a camera right now. Your face tells an amazing story. I'd get a close up shot of you and title it 'Unrequited'. She didn't love you. She only loved fucking you. You were a best friend with benefits, unlike me. She worshipped me, idolized me, did whatever I told her. Even after all our pillow talk, she never ran out of saliva. She sucked and swallowed every time, just like a good fan girl should." He chuckles. "Hell I should have brought some bleach to clean out what's left of Rachel's stomach. There might still be some of my DNA inside her."

Don't let him break you! It's what he wants.

"Fuck you, fuck you. You're a liar, and a killer," my words come with no strength behind them because deep down, I know he's right. Rachel, did I know you at all?

"Oh Mark! Yes, yes," he says loudly, obviously imitating Rachel. "God damn, the sounds she made when she came all over my bedsheets, it was like a choir of fucking angels."

This guy's name is Mark?
He obviously knew Rachel.
He knows about photography.
He 'taught' Nathan.
He's handsome and looks quite pretentious, despite being a psycho.

Everything falls into place as I finally realise who this guy is. "You. You're Mark Jefferson, aren't you?"

"Very good Chloe," he replies, his voice low and dark.

"Max Caulfield was a student of yours?" I already know the answer to that question, but I have to know if he hurt her too. Like he did Kate.

'Je-Jef-Jef-Jeff-Jeff-Jeff.' Max's words from the bathroom come back to me. Was she trying to say his name to me? Was she on to him and Nathan?

"She sure was. I heard on the news that you two were friends once upon a time, not that I give a fuck. Still… Max was certainly an interesting student. So much potential, as a photographer, an artist and even as one of my models. But in the end, the silly cunt couldn't get out of her own way."

The fuck did he just say!?

"IF YOU FUCKING LAID A HAND ON HER-"

"Oh, don't be so dramatic," he cuts me off. "Besides, any hope of her being a model of mine died when she got herself shot. I don't work with tainted models like Max who's wrapped in bandages and awaiting death, or like you. Hateful and bitter, abandoned by the world and those around you." What the fuck did Rachel tell him? "With a dead daddy and minimum wage mommy a-".

"ENOUGH! I don't give a fuck how much you think you know about me, or what Rachel told you. Your gonna pay for what you've done mother fucker! Your time at Blackwell is-"

"Okay," Jefferson chimes in softly.

"What?"

"I said okay," his tone is so mundane, like I've asked him about the weather or something. "In fact, let me make is easier for you." He stares at his large syringe and then shrugs at it. Tossing it into a large pile of garbage, he changes his stance from defensive, to casual. "Do what you gotta do Price."

What the fuck is he playing at? He's not giving up, I know that much.

He continues to stare at me without a word from either of us and something in his eyes changes as if they turned from dark brown to jet black. The ghost of a smile crosses his face and he sighs deeply.

In a flash, he uses his right hand to reach around for something in the back of his pants.

GUN!

Suddenly I see it, I see everything.

"Chloe," Mommy calls out from down stairs. "Can you come down here?" I head down the stairs, careful I don't fall and see Mommy with two strangers. One is a tall man with a big beard like Santa but it's not white, and the other is a pretty lady with dark hair. "Chloe, this is Mr and Mrs Caulfield, Mommy met them at the diner."

"Hi," I wave at them.

"Hi there Chloe," the dark haired lady says. "It's nice to meet you. Oh, and this…" she points at a girl about my age who is standing in the kitchen who I didn't see "is our daughter, Maxine. Come and say hi sweetie."

Maxine? Max-ine? That's a funny name. She is smaller than me and has little spots on her face. "Hi," I say to Max-ine.

"Hi," she says back really softly.

I lunge at Jefferson with David's knife, ready to stick it in his gut.

I think my heart has stopped beating.

I hear Dad close the door behind him and notice that Max makes looks really upset. Why though? Maybe she's nervous about telling me about the move to Seattle. She obviously doesn't know that I know. "Max, you are being so fucking strange, like your never gonna see us again."

"Chloe, I'm so sorry. I tried to make things different for you… I…I did try. I'm sorry."

Wait, is this about her moving away, or something else?

"I don't know exactly what you're talking about, but come on. You have made things different, like my whole life. You're my best friend. I've got you and a great family. What's to be sorry for? We'll be best friends forever. And when we grow up we're taking over the world."

Even if it's from separate cities.

"Listen, whatever happens, I want you to be strong. Even if you feel like I wasn't there for you…" She takes my hand. "Because I will never abandon, Chloe. I'll always have your back. Always."

Is this her way of telling me she's leaving?

She suddenly let's go of my hand and looks around the living room as if she's lost something. "Max are you okay?" My question brings her attention back to me. What the hell is going on with her?

"Yeah. I t-think so." Max looks around again. "I think I need a shower and some fresh clothes."

"Sure, go ahead. I could use a shower myself, but you go first. Cool?" She nods in response and heads upstairs. Whatever weird shit is going on with her seems to have passed.

Jefferson takes the gun out of his pants and the barrel moves in my direction.

I don't wanna die, I don't want wanna die.

Rachel looks at me intently, places her lips on mine and I savour every single detail of this moment.

The taste of her lips.
Her amazing jasmine scent.
The way the street light reflects her perfect skin and hair.

The kiss ends way before I wanted it to. I want more! I need more!

"Is that convincing enough?" Before she lets me answer she is coming back for more.

"Yeah," her lips are on mine again. Rachel Amber, what are you doing to me?

I put my hands on her slim hips and let myself be in the moment. Our tongues intertwine, and I never want this moment to end. I didn't think I could happy ever again, but I was wrong.

Both of us have gone from lightning speed to standing as still as a statue.

The gentle breeze has vanished, and I can't hear anything but the indescribable sounds coming from Mark Jefferson. Our bodies are pressed against each other, shoulder to shoulder. We are so close, that I can even hear his teeth grinding in distress.

I look down to find that his white shirt is now host to a large red stain that is getting bigger by the second and that my knife is inside his abdomen, all the way in to the hilt.

Did I…

Jefferson starts to grunt, like he's trying to say something. "Taking…you…too," each word comes slowly and with struggle.

I feel something metallic press against my body.

No.

Gortoz a Ran – Denez Prigent

A black crow perches itself atop an old yellow school bus and basks in the warmth that accompanies the sun rising over the mountain. However the relief brought by the sun is short lived as a foul scent now consumes the air. A smell of death and suffering that no creature should have to endure.

The crow watches Chloe Price, like it has for so many years. She lies in a pool of blood that has mixed with the surrounding dirt and pieces of her pale flesh. She squirms in pain as she tries to reach for something in her pocket.

The man next to her is conscious, but twitching, hanging on to life, unable to move. "Bitch. Cunt," the hateful man can barely get the words out before he slips into the dark, still twitching.

Chloe spends the next few minutes on her phone, pleading for help with whoever is on the other end. The crow flies down to her, it has never been this close before. It knows it must always keep its distance and only watch from afar. Her brilliant blue eyes stare right at the crow and all it can do is continue to stare right back. She slowly holds out a blood soaked hand to the crow, as if she were calling for divine intervention.

She finally speaks, her words weak and barely audible. "D-D-Dad." She suddenly coughs violently in the crows direction, blood pouring from her mouth. The crow doesn't move, but continues to watch.

Soon enough, Chloe's eyes close, tears and blood still staining her face. The crow watches her chest continue to rise and fall with each breath but is eventually scared off by the sound of an approaching siren.

The sirens become louder with each moment and soon the junkyard is lit by the sun, along with red and blue flashing lights.

Author's Note:

Yep. So that happened.