Chapter 11
(The lighthouse, October 15)
Max finally reached the top of the cliff. She was rain-soaked but she couldn't care less — there was no storm, and that was all that mattered.
There was no storm for now. Just a whole lot of rain and gusts and it was so dark for the early afternoon…
Max deliberately avoided looking at the fishes rotting in the sand. Fishermen complained about the increasing rarity of their preys — so how could there be so many of them, all dead?
Max closed her eyes, took a deep, shaky breath, then reopened them. She felt a bit dizzy. Things were too weird for now, but everything would get sorted out the second Jefferson's scandal would get uncovered…
Yes, it could only mean that. Jefferson's sins had fueled Nature's wrath... he was the only one to blame. He had to be.
Max felt her legs giving out. She realized how tired, how hungry she was — she'd eaten nothing but a pancake in hours, and she'd just climbed a cliff. She figured out she should sit down and rest a bit before heading back to town. She sat on the left end of the lone, wet bench and reached for the pile of pancakes in her bag. Though they'd been carefully wrapped, they were quite damp and crinkled. She ate one nevertheless.
The water on the bench soaked her already drenched generic jeans. It was unpleasant but again, she couldn't care less... the second she sat there, she got overwhelmed by memories. Memories of a close past, that never existed. Memories she couldn't share with anyone, cursed to remain hers only.
Memories as beautiful as the golden hour lighting them, and as painful as the loss they implied.
Memories as radiant as the mesmerizing soul that had lived in them, and was now gone…
She took a brief look at the other side of the bench. It was as if she could see her sitting here, smoking her sorrows away.
You're the one I should have saved, Chloe... I wish I had been strong enough to send Arcadia Bay to hell and live with it…
Her vision got blurry, but at this point, she couldn't have said if it was from raindrops or tears.
-
Chloe was as close as she could from the circle of air, and she could see Max as if she were sitting right next to her. Her face almost touched whatever material it was that displayed the scenes. She wanted to see every single detail, she wanted to feel it, she wanted to be part of it.
She couldn't read Max's thoughts, but regrets were so clear on her face that Chloe felt slightly nauseous about it.
She had to find a way to tell Max that... that she had done her best, that there was no shame in saving thousands of people, that after all she herself had "accepted" to die. She wanted to tell her she shouldn't live with regrets... regrets were useless. Thorns stuck in your heart. She didn't want Max to live this way…
Max was sitting still on that bench, slightly bowed down as if nothing was worth being looked at more than her lap. She was there, so small and frail, battered by the wind and rain — Chloe's chest swelled with longing and affection. She wanted to —
Something weird was happening. The edges of the air circle were fluttering. As if the whole thing was getting unstable…
No... not yet... fuck, not yet, give me more time…
Her eyes opened wider, as if to get as much of Max as she could engrave on her mind, as if she could grasp in a single glance the whole shy, nerdy, yet amazing person she was. She seemed so close... Chloe extended her arm as if she could gently brush...
/
... her shoulder, something just had brushed Max's shoulder, and she jumped. It wasn't the wind, nor the rain — it was too gentle for the current wilderness of the elements.
She turned to her right…
... only to be greeted by a dorky smile and a flash of blue strands.
— Ch— Chloe...?
They both looked genuinely surprised.
This situation wasn't supposed to exist, and yet it did. Except that this time, Max could move and speak…
— I... I'm... Chlo... I'm sorry, she said, nearly choking on sudden sobs she struggled to not let burst.
— Don't be, Chloe replied. Who knows how long I can stay, so listen, hippie. What did I do with my life? Smoking pot. Owing money to the wrong people. Get shot. Become a fucking train-mashed potato. You? You've saved hundreds of people who deserve to live way more than my sorry ass. And you're about to put that fucker in jail. You avenged Rachel and Kate and even me somehow. You have nothing to be ashamed of. Nothing to regret.
— But I couldn't save you…
— Don't…
Chloe's words trailed off. Her silhouette got slightly blurry on the edges. Max noticed, and got eagerly closer, a lump in her throat... Chloe had probably noticed too, because she spoke faster:
— Be proud of you. You're amazing, Max... you can become whoever you want to be.
— It's meaningless if you aren't here!
— Come on, she said with a sad grin, you're a smartass. An artsy smartass. You'll find a meaning to all of this, dude.
Chloe's figure was slightly flickering.
— Those moments with you were amazeballs, Maximus, she said, surprisingly peaceful. I'll never forget them.
For a second she dived into Max's intense, teary gaze, and she added:
— I'll never forget you…
— Ch— Chloe— I—
Max couldn't speak anymore, and she hated herself for losing this opportunity to say so much more. Her hands reached out to Chloe, her palms cupping her cheeks — she couldn't feel her skin, not even the shape of her face. Chloe's body was like sublimating, inch by inch.
Max got closer, her gaze locked with Chloe's; she approached her face, closing her eyes at the very last second — she thought she'd kissed her but couldn't feel her lips.
Her heart sank as she reopened her eyes. Her hands were reaching out in the void, her lips hungry for a kiss they'd never get.
Shivering along her spine, echoing into her painful ribcage, the disembodied voice of Chloe quietly whispered:
— Don't you forget about me, Max.