Chapter 11: The Bradford Dormitory

November 6, 2018

After the phone call, Chloe drove Max back to the diner, so she could pick up her rental car to go back to the hotel. In the parking lot of the Two Whales, they'd agreed to meet each other the following morning at the Embassy Suites at nine sharp.

Chloe went home, blazed, and for the first time in recent memory, set her alarm clock.

It went off at eight the following morning. Chloe's first act of the day, even before getting out of bed, was to text Max to tell her that she was up, and was about to get ready.

She'd forgone her wake-and-bake ritual, brushed her teeth in the shower, and put on her last pair of clean jeans until tomorrow's laundry day. Black t-shirt, green jacket, glasses and beanie: ready to go.

She texted Max again once she got to the hotel parking lot. Max texted back immediately:

im in the bar in the lobby ;P

Emoji.

"Christ," Chloe said to no one in particular. "You're twenty-three years old."

The moment Chloe walked through the hotel door, she spotted lustrous hair of a familiar red hue before she noticed that her ex-girlfriend was there as well.

Max was talking to Denise Leonard.

Chloe expected mortal terror, and she got a flash of it, but that soon subsided, and Chloe was imbued with a childlike curiosity. Indeed, she found it almost marvelous that Denise (who was as subtle in her attempts to hit on Chloe as a grenade going off in church) and Max (whose baby pictures could be found in the dictionary next to the word "mousy") could share the same atmosphere, let alone the same table, without the fabric of reality itself violently rejecting it as though it were a stolen debit card.

Denise saw Chloe coming and waved while Chloe was still out of earshot, so she couldn't hear what the two of them had to say to each other. The two met a few feet away from Max, who was sipping iced tea through a straw. She looked like she wasn't listening, which, Chloe knew from experience, meant that Max was straining to hear every syllable.

"You know," Denise said, "I've never had a girl leave me waiting by the phone for two days. It's a new and altogether unpleasant experience."

"I didn't get a new lead until last night," Chloe said, playing dumb. "I haven't had a chance to follow up on it."

Chloe could see that Denise saw through the attempt at evasion, but decided not to call her on it. The woman's ability to read her was uncanny.

"Don't reduce me to simple innuendo," Denise said. "It cheapens us both. What's the lead?"

"Does the name Margarita Newman ring a bell?"

"Should it?"

"It's Justin's girlfriend. She might know more. I'm gonna call some people, see if they know her number, where she lives, all the goodies."

"Good," Denise said. "I have something for you."

Denise reached into the pocket of her gray designer suit jacket and pulled out a key. She handed it to Chloe. It bore the number 211.

"You… shouldn't have?"

"It's a key to a storage shed at Big Bob's Storage," Denise said. "It's out near the highway."

"What's there?"

"All the evidence in the death of Justin's shooter."

"Arnold Trainor?"

"That's right."

"Shouldn't this evidence be at the police station?"

Denise smiled. "How big do you think this town is? Do you think that tiny police station can hold every bit of evidence from every crime? No. The Arcadia Bay Police Department pays Big Bob to use Big Bob's Storage the same as any private citizen would. It's not even guarded. All you need to get in to any of the lockers is a key like that one."

Chloe pocketed the key. "Where did you get it?"

"The Bull isn't the only one who has people inside the ABPD, Chloe. If anyone can donate to the city's police, then anyone will."

"If you have cops in your pocket," Chloe said, "then why do you need me to look through this storage shed? Why do you need me to do anything at all?"

"Because you can throw money at a cop, but you can't make him work. Arnold Trainor is an ex-con, and the only suspect in the shooting of Justin Williams. They won't even entertain the notion of breaking a sweat over who killed him. Not to mention that, for a woman in my position, third parties are sometimes best. More than this, I shall not say."

"Well," Chloe said. "That's, uh…"

"I'm rich," Denise said. "I believe the word you're looking for is 'eccentric.'"

Denise looked back at Max.

"I have to say, Chloe. I'm not surprised the two of you broke up. Some of us have trouble keeping up with others."

"I don't know," Chloe said. "I thought I could keep up with her pretty well."

Denise put her hand on Chloe's shoulder and turned on the gleam in her dark brown eyes.

"Chloe, sweetie… I wasn't talking about you."

And off Denise went. Chloe watched Denise's gray skirt hug her thighs for dear life as she walked away. She couldn't imagine anyone wearing that in a boardroom, but something told Chloe that Denise could bring the world to its knees wearing a parka.

Chloe walked the few feet into the bar and took the chair next to Max.

"Wowser," Max said. "The richest woman in Arcadia Bay just hit on my ex-girlfriend right in front of me."

Chloe looked at Max.

"I mean, we're not together anymore," Max said, "and you can do what you want, but… Rude."

Chloe still looked at Max.

"I'm being an adult," Max said. "It's this thing I'm trying."

Chloe looked into the lobby.

"She's a Max Caulfield groupie," Chloe said.

"I know."

"I figure bagging her hero's ex is a bigger prize than any original photos she might buy. There's a difference between wanting to sleep with someone and hunting them for their pelt. I don't know which one Denise wants. Not to mention, being some rich chick's side-piece?"

"I guess it depends on the rich chick," Max said. "You know, I read that when her dad dies, she's not getting anything."

"Really?"

"Yup. I looked her up last night. It's all going to charity. I hope she likes wearing that suit for the rest of her life… Oh my God, I just imagined Denise and Victoria getting into an argument!"

And now, so did Chloe.

"Wow," Chloe said. "It'd be like Godzilla versus… other, hotter Godzilla!"

Max looked confused. "Which one's Hotter Godzilla?"

"There's a wrong answer to that question?"


As Max drove Chloe in her rental to their destination, the two discussed the case, and Chloe was impressed by the fact that Max had found out about Margarita Newman, as well as locating where she lived, through a wild and woolly discipline of Google-Fu that Chloe herself had yet to master.

Max pulled into the parking lot of Blackwell Academy.

"Why are we here?" Chloe asked.

"To talk to someone."

"Who?"

Max paused before she said "Someone who knows more than he lets on."

The first order of business was to go the Principal's Office to get visitors' passes from Principal Grant (who had taken over for Principal Wells five years earlier after the Blackwell Board of Directors asked for his resignation).

"I just don't see why we need these," Max said as she pinned her little plastic badge to the front of her jacket.

"We're old," Chloe said. "We could be creepy perverts, for all they know."

"I dated you when you were a teenager, Chloe. Trust me. You were a creepy pervert then."

Chloe laughed.

The closer Chloe and Max got to the girls' dorm, the slower Max wanted to go. It became less about the case, or Chloe's dream, or time travel, and more about Max's trip down Memory Lane… a trip that held no memories of Chloe, or rather, the Chloe standing next to her. Thinking about versions of herself weirded Chloe out.

"This place changed my life," Max said as she stopped at the Principal's Residence next to the girls' dorm. Max looked at the plaque near the edge of the house, and her hand went to her mouth.

"Max? What's wrong?"

Chloe stood next to Max and looked at the plaque.

THE BRADFORD DORMITORY

Named so after Kate Bradford.

Arcadia Bay's Greatest Daughter,

Blackwell Alumnus,

And Generous Donor

"Yeah," Chloe said. "This used to be the Prescott Dorm, didn't it? I guess they didn't want…"

Chloe trailed off when she saw the tears in Max's eyes.

"This place gave Kate so much shit," Max said. "And they named the dorm she tried to jump off of after her."

"I don't remember Kate trying to jump off of a roof, so… another timeline?"

Max nodded as she wiped her eyes. "This… this actually feels really good. But we're not here for this. Come on."

They walked past the dorm to the small adjacent room in the building's side. Chloe stopped.

"Samuel?"

"Yup," Max said.

"Why are we stopping to see Samuel?"

"You'll see."

Max opened the door and stepped in. Over her shoulder, Chloe could see Samuel, his graying hair grown out and his goatee from years past now a full beard, on his knees, trying to repair a lawnmower. He looked up, saw Max, and grinned as he rose.

"Young Max," Samuel said. "It is such a pleasure to see you."

"You remember me?" Max asked.

"Samuel could never forget the hero of Arcadia Bay," he said. "Such heroism is a rarity in the world. To see it here at Blackwell warms many a heart."

Max looked at Chloe outside the door before looking back at Samuel.

"I didn't feel like a hero," Max said. "I just… did what needed to be done."

"Really?" Samuel asked. "Every time?"

Max's eyes went wide, and it was only now that Chloe dared venture into the small dank space of Samuel's lair. When he saw her, the grin on his face broke into a full beam.

"Well," Samuel said. "Good morning, Detective."

"I'm not a detective."

"Yes, you are."

"Y'know, a lot of people have been saying that to me lately," Chloe said.

"Because it's the truth," Samuel said. "Too few people occupy themselves with such a thing as the truth. But you're different, Detective."

"Is that so?" Chloe asked.

"It is," Samuel said. "The truth isn't a comfortable thing, and only those who've made a habit of discomfort are fit to seek it out. Samuel need only look at you to know that's the case. But take heart. If there is truth to be found, it is all but a certainty that Detective Chloe Price will find it. After all, 'The truth will set you free.'"

"In my experience," Chloe said, "that hasn't always been the case."

"Well, no one said the truth was in any great hurry to do so. But Samuel assures you… You aren't the only one the truth will liberate."

Chloe tilted her head. "How do you know all this?"

Samuel shrugged. "The same way you do."

And with that, Samuel bent back down to tinker with the lawnmower some more. Chloe and Max looked at each other.

"Okay," Chloe said. "It's been… a thing. You keep being you, Samuel. Looks like a lot of fun. Let's go, Max."

"Detective?"

Chloe and Max halted their retreat to look back at Samuel. He didn't look at them.

"Samuel knows these days have been hard on you, and the days to come shall be harder still. But if there are words to be offered in the name of consolation, let them be these."

Samuel finally looked at them.

"One day," he said, "and it will be a day very soon… You will be just like me."


Chloe and Max walked across the front lawn of Blackwell in a bigger hurry than the first time they did it minutes before.

"That wasn't, like, hella fucking creepy," Chloe said.

"I know," Max said. "And our day isn't over yet. There's someone else we need to talk to."

"Who?"

"I'm not telling you. You're not going to like it."

"Max, there are a lot of things today that I don't…"

Chloe stopped talking when she saw that Max had stopped walking. She turned around and saw Max staring at the bulletin board near the stairs that led into the school. Chloe remembered that board well. She had pasted it with Rachel Amber missing person posters the day Nathan tried to kill her in the bathroom.

And, in a twist of fate that Chloe could only call cruel, there was another missing person's poster for another blonde girl on that very same board.

"What is it with this shithole and missing girls?" Chloe asked.

Max yanked the poster off the board. "Jennifer Healy," she said. "Eighteen years old. Does she look familiar to you?"

Chloe took the poster from Max as Max dug into her jacket for her phone.

"No," Chloe said. "Should she?"

"How far did you get in your internet search on Margarita Newman?"

"Facebook," Chloe said. "Her account's private, but I just needed a name."

"Well," Max said as she furiously swiped the screen on her phone. "Her Instagram account isn't private."

Max held out the phone to Chloe. Margarita Newman, all smiles on a sunny day, her left arm draped over the shoulder of Jennifer Healy, Arcadia Bay's newest missing blonde.

"Ohhhh, fuck me," Chloe said.

Max put her phone back in her jacket. "I told you everything in this town is connected. And if you ask me, and I know this sounds weird… She's the one who's been screwing with time."

Chloe was taken aback. "Have you developed a new ass to yank all this out of, or do you still have just the one?"

"She's the same age as I was, from the same town, going to the same school. I… I feel it."

And with that, Chloe Price's last good nerve withered and died.

"Oh, you feel it? You tell me about time travel, another Me you fell in love with, you have me talking to crazy-ass janitors, and now you feel this missing girl having the same powers you say you did? Look, Max, I'm not too proud to say that I kinda, sorta believed you yesterday when you dropped all this shit on me, but I need a fuck-load more to go on than just…"

Chloe never got to finish her sentence.

Whatever Fates or Furies govern the workings of the universe in general, and Arcadia Bay in particular, never let it be said that they don't have a sense of irony that borders on the poetic. For out of a cloudless sky, on this unseasonably warm November morning, one single drop of rain fell. Had it fallen mere feet in any other direction, Chloe Price no doubt would have dissolved her would-be partnership with Max Caulfield, sending them both on their separate ways, most likely for good.

But that drop of rain fell on the missing person's poster in Max Caulfield's hand, right on the smiling face of Jennifer Healy, with a loud enough splat to make both of the women jump.

Burning with a memory of a similar drop of rain landing on her boot at Rachel's funeral, Chloe looked up, then at the ground around her for other, similar drops of precipitation. None came.

Chloe looked at Max, who looked as scared as she herself felt… but not too scared to look the tiniest bit smug.

"Okay," Max said. "How about now?"