The storm blew through Arcadia Bay, leveling the town, killing the residents.
This had happened more than once, because Max kept running through the events, trying to figure out the best sequence. She'd tried moving on before, but the longest she'd been able to move past the destruction was three years, but she always ended up coming back. She still lived in the storm years down the line.
Most nights she would find herself on the cliff, next to the lighthouse, observing the destruction before she awoke in a cold sweat. Many days she could find herself physically there.
It was a unique kind of self flagellation, she was willing to admit to that in the back of her mind. But, one day, when she figured out how to save them. Save everyone. On that day, she was so sure it would all have been worth it. And then, she would be able to sleep.
After a certain point it became a clinical thing, a spreadsheet in her mind. Chloe dies, no storm, but bad shit keeps happening. Chloe lives, storm, Arcadia Bay is destroyed, and bad shit keeps happening.
At first glance, and on her first few runs, she had thought it was Chloe that was the key. And maybe she was, because whenever Max saved someone else's life, a storm didn't roll over that town a few days later to claim its toll. But she doubted that Chloe's death was a linchpin. Or maybe it was hope, it was hard to tell by that point. Doubt and hope ran together in her mind.
But she knew people could be saved, and so there should be a perfect run, she just didn't know all the elements yet. The steps she'd need to take, actions and reactions and consequences spilling out beyond her meddling. There was an outside factor she couldn't place.
But, she had all the time in the world to figure it out, and after that an eternity to sleep.
~PR~
Max sat cross-legged on Jefferson's desk, tapping her leg while she laid her head in her palm. Distantly, she could hear sirens and the noise of lots of people outside.
It only made sense they all left, in something like an evacuation. Max had expected that to happen when she showed up to class that day to put a bullet through Jefferson's skull. It's what had happened the previous times as well.
As his body had collapsed to the floor, there had been shocked silence, and then someone screamed. The scream had apparently been enough to rouse everyone, and they'd all fled as Max took her seat on the dead man's desk.
She hadn't done that to fix anything, of course. This was what she lovingly referred to as a 'therapy run'. A way to remember that this man held no power over her anymore, and his life was a fragile thing she held complete power over, should she choose.
It felt good.
Granted, in a perfect run she was pretty sure he needed to go to prison, Nathan Prescott to a facility, and Sean Prescott… also to prison? Probably also to prison, since he'd paid for shit.
From the evidence she'd gathered in past runs, Max knew that the Prescott wealth is what paid for the Darkroom, she also knew that there was no way there was only one single thing Prescott was funding illegally, but she'd been admittedly focused on the Darkroom aspect of the whole fucked up situation. Might have been connected to her trauma.
Now, she was questioning things further.
She'd upped her time again recently, gotten four years past Arcadia Bay before it called her back. It taught her something important that time, expanded her viewpoints. It got her thinking.
There was more to this then Arcadia Bay, more to it than two fucked up minds and a hidden rape bunker.
There had to be. They couldn't be the focus like that, it didn't make sense.
Down the halls, she could hear the echoes of boots in empty corridors, the jingle of keys and a few men grunting in exertion.
Sounded like Arcadia Bay's finest had finally arrived, only took fifteen minutes from shots fired.
She held up her hand, and she weaved a course through the streams of time, navigating in a way she hadn't been able to do when she was younger.
… Well, relatively younger. Earlier? Less experienced. When she had been less experienced.
~PR~
A side effect of the progression and learning of her powers, meant that Max could tell the time of day in a closed off dark room, and how much time had passed without needing to reference a clock or timer. Something about her mind diving through the currents of time.
Her memory was honestly amazing, but even so, sometimes she needed a physical thing, laid out in front of her. Notes, photo's, news clips. It wasn't just because she'd seen too many investigative movies or read too many pulpy books. Definitely not.
But all laid out before her, she could see the threads, she could see the actions taken, and how it all led down.
She had them, she knew the combination.
It had taken a lot longer than she would have thought, or preferred. Turned out the Prescott's were even deeper in shit than she would have expected. But she had everything, she knew the dates and jumps she'd need to make.
She held out her hand, and slipped into the space between the world and time.
"Once more into the breach."
~PR~
It was around midnight, but Chloe couldn't get to sleep. She'd had a hard time sleeping the past four days, what with Max's sudden bloody collapse and the following two-day hospital stay for her.
It had honestly scared the shit out of her, in a big way. Max had recovered enough to leave the hospital two days ago, according to the doctor. Chloe had insisted on watching over Max in case of relapse, and now they were both collapsed on Max's bed, Chloe playing with Max's hair as the girl lay there breathing peacefully. A bit too peacefully.
Chloe grabbed a lock of hair and yanked on it, causing Max to wince and rub at her scalp, glaring at Chloe.
"Ow! What gives?"
There were differences in how Max held herself, after her collapse. Chloe didn't think anyone else noticed, but she knew Max back and forth, and this person was still Max. But it was also not, and it was half the reason she tried so hard staying up. Figuring this new Max out in her mind. The other half being…
"You're waiting for me to fall asleep to do something."
Max blinked innocently, but Chloe didn't fall for the silent batting of eyes, and to her credit, Max didn't bother lying about it to her.
"Yep. Once you were asleep, I was gonna slip out for a few hours. Probably can't manage to run my errand in less than two."
There was an openness in her eyes that let Chloe know that if she asked, Max would tell her what she was planning. But something about the feeling of things, something in the air, held her back. Instead, she huffed and turned onto her back to look at the ceiling.
"You better hurry your skinny butt up then, I wanna get at least some sleep tonight."
She could feel the shifting of the bed as Max moved, and then she felt lips on her cheek and a whispered 'thanks capn' before Max took off out the window, leaving it half open.
Chloe crossed her arms and ignored the heat in her face, instead focusing on the real issue at hand. Something was up with her best friend.
She had chewed over the issue for some amount of time, but must have dozed off, as the next thing she noticed was a head popping in through the window, followed by the rest of a familiar body. And then in tumbled Maxine Caulfield, wearing different clothes, and with dirty hands and some mud splatter on her cheek from what Chloe could make out in the dark.
Sitting up, Chloe gave the ensemble a look, and then squinted at her best friend, who seemed somewhere between elated and sheepish.
"Well," Chloe said, crossing her arms and trying her best to imitate their moms. "What have you got to say for yourself then, staying out so late?"
And something danced in those blue eyes looking back at her, and it's something she didn't recognize, but it's also familiar. Like a bonus track on an album she knew.
Feet pounding on wet cement, states away from home.
She'd memorized the route to take, which turns and back ways, or which fences to jump.
She was getting close.
Max drew herself fully to her feet, and then gave Chloe a big enough wink that she could make it out across the dark room.
"I was doing a bit of late night plundering."
There was an offer there, an undercurrent to her playfulness Chloe could read. Max was an open book, and if she wanted to, Chloe knew, that she could ask for clarification. That same feeling in the air also told her she didn't need to know, that everything was fine. So instead, Chloe scrunched up her nose like she'd seen Vanessa do when she was displeased with their behavior or roughhousing.
"Fine then, keep your secret if that's what you want."
Tacit permission given, no need to spill the beans. As Max beamed and began stripping down to change into a new set of pajama's, Chloe's struck briefly by the casualness of their closeness. Not that she'd never have it any other way. They were besties, after all.
Just like she knew he'd be, he was there. Looming over the smaller figure on the ground, camera in hand. It had taken her a while to nail down his timeline, but the efforts had been worth it solely for this moment.
This was the earliest she could be, and there were others she couldn't save. But she could save this one. She could end it here.
A yell, she rushed forward.
Surprise, so sure he was better, he hadn't thought to keep aware. Younger, and sloppier in his youth.
The cracking of wood on bone, the bat connected with his forehead. He collapsed, unconscious, but assuredly alive.
A call, the authorities responded quickly as she double-checked on the state of the young woman on the ground.
Statement given, she also gave them his bag from his hotel room, it included more incriminating evidence originally from his house. Pictures of three previous victims, one's she couldn't help, but she could stop him here.
And then a return, back to bed. There would be waffles in the morning.
Having dressing in a new set of pajama's, Max ducked under the covers and laid down near Chloe, not touching, but close. And for a while, Chloe just listened to her breathing. When Max had collapsed that day, her breathing had been wet and gurgling from the blood pouring out of her nostrils and mouth. Later, in the hospital, her breath had sounded mechanical, as she'd been on assisted breathing in her state.
At that moment, her breathing sounded normal, light and airy.
Something of her thought process must have shown on her face, because she didn't know why else Max would reach out, grab her hand, and place it on her chest. The rising and falling of her chest, her inhale... and exhale.
"It's okay. I'm okay now."
She was. But she hadn't been. And Chloe would never forget that.
"Do you know why it happened?"
"Yes." There wasn't a moment of hesitation, no consideration of lying or dancing around the subject. Once more, Chloe could feel the strands in the air, she could grab, pull, and the entire story would come out. But…
"Is it bad? Will it happen again?" 'Will I lose you' wasn't voiced, but it was the biggest question.
Max hummed under her breath, fingers tapping out a rhythm on the back of Chloe's hand.
"No, it's not bad. It's not good either though, but it was necessary. It might happen again, but never that badly."
She accepted that, took it into her heart, let it soothe out the ache and worry that had bubbled up over the past few days. And she put the rest of it out of her mind. Her other concerns she'd had recently.
The business meetings Ryan had been having, the ones that ran late and let Max stay overnight even more often than normal. The whispered conversations between the parents. The carload of boxes. Chloe pushed all those things aside, kept them at bay. Because if she didn't acknowledge them, they weren't real.
Pirates forever.
~PR~
Max's parents apparently told her less than a week later, and Max had immediately run over to tell Chloe.
Seattle.
It shifted things in an undercurrent. They ignored it mostly, kept putting it off. Or maybe Chloe was putting it off, Max seemed fully aware what was coming, and was simply making the best time of it.
Boxes were loaded, things were packed up, Max drafted Chloe into helping her pack her room, and it settled into Chloe's gut like a ship's anchor. Max would move to Seattle, and Chloe would lose her best friend.
Max was sitting on the floor, babbling about how many shirts she had that didn't fit her now and how was she supposed to pack up their rainbow treasure? A loose collection of broken glass, in all different colors. And finally Chloe couldn't manage it anymore, she took her fist and slammed it into the floor. Do some damage, make a hole. Maybe that would teach Ryan and Vanessa for trying to steal her best friend away.
Course, her fist didn't make a hole in the floor, all she managed was to hurt her hand. But even that helped, gave her a better reason for why her vision was blurry and why her face felt so hot.
And why she was angry. So, so angry. Angrier than she'd ever thought she could be.
And then a cool hand was on hers, and clutching her face. And three points of contact formed between her and Max when she leaned into Chloe and touched their foreheads together.
Her breath came in shuddering, and Max was there with her, humming, like her own personal pied piper or something.
When she wasn't forcing every breath, when she'd slowed down enough that she could relax into Max, just enough that their noses touched. A fourth point of contact. It was then that Max spoke, the air she exhaled flowing over Chloe's lips in ways she didn't understand.
Didn't want to think about.
But Max talked about emails, about texts, about letters and phone calls. She talked about a photo diary she'd bring back with her and with that, Chloe wouldn't miss anything.
And then she talked about other things, talked about science fiction, Doctor Who, Star Trek. She talked about how there should be more good pirate movies.
"Excuse you, Muppets; Treasure Island is a perfect film."
Chloe lets herself be talked down, relaxed into Max, and then they get back into packing. And while Max puts shirts into a box talking about how rolling them up saves more space, Chloe stares at her back and wonders.
What would actually happen, in their future? Would they pull apart? Stop talking?
As if in response, Max looked back at her, and there was a universe within a single expression. And Chloe doesn't ask again.
They'd manage. Somehow..
~PR~
Max left, her and her family moving to Seattle. But Chloe and her kept in touch through whatever methods they could scrounge up. Daily phone calls, texts, and even the weird letters with nothing but photo's Chloe gets from Max.
Six months, and it was tough, but she gets through it.
And then her world shattered, again.
It was cancer, fast acting, and inoperable. Her dad was diagnosed, hospitalized, and then died, all in a six-month timeframe.
It didn't feel like six months, though. It felt like a lifetime, it felt like years watching her lively dad just stop. No longer able to keep up, even holding conversations becoming too much strain on him, watching him fade away, and watching her mother fall apart in tandem with his decline.
Some days, it didn't feel real. And then some days it felt like too much.
She broke down over the phone when Max told her that her family wouldn't be able to make it to the funeral. It's not out loud, she holds the tears inside, it's just the shattering of another piece of her heart. But it must have sounded like thunder to Max, because she immediately lowered her voice to a bare whisper.
"Don't worry, Chloe. I'll be there by tomorrow evening."
"You promise?" Chloe hated the raw, naked hope in her trembling voice. But she doesn't need to try as hard with Max, sometimes.
"I promise."
The call ended after that. Chloe never asked why, or how. She wasn't sure if it was the summation of all the answers she never asked for that scares her, or the amount of trust she has that she didn't feel the need to ask.
The next day, she received a single text from Max.
Max: Traintracks, 6:32pm.
For whatever reason, as she started heading that direction in the afternoon, she didn't doubt. She very much expected that Max would meet her there somehow. She knew it would happen, the same way she knew that her dreams of being in her dads' hospital room she'd been having weren't super normal dreams. The same way she'd seen a universe in Max's eyes, and never asked.
She knew. Maybe it was just some kind of faith.
She got to the tracks at six in the evening. The 1337 train began passing through twenty-seven minutes later.
Five minutes after that Max was hopping off of one of the back cars, on a whim Chloe checked her phone.
Six thirty-two, on the dot.
Things and feelings and thoughts bubbled up inside her, and she can't name or place hardly any of them, they're so interconnected and messy. So instead of sorting through them, she sprinted forwards, towards her best friend, who had apparently hopped a train in order to make the funeral that would take place the next day.
Max met her nearly halfway, Chloe's longer legs letting her cover more distance, and Max braced herself as Chloe launched herself into her arms, wrapping her legs around Max's hips. Somehow, they stayed upright instead of tumbling onto the gravely ground, but Chloe's too busy crying into her best friends' neck to notice. Max is also crying, right then, and she's squeezing Chloe's torso, and whispering.
"I'm sorry, Chloe. I'm so fucking sorry. I'm sorry."
She could feel Max shaking, her own tears wetting Chloe's shirt, but she was returning the favor, so she hardly cared. And then Max collapsed under their combined weight, but they still didn't disentangle. They stay there, on the ground, wrapped around each other, seeking support.
~PR~
It takes them an hour and a half to get back to Chloe's house, half that time spent regathering some semblance of composure. When they walked through the front door, her mom took one look at Max, holding Chloe's hand and wearing a bitter smile. And then those two are hugging. Max doesn't seem to lose her shit this time round, but seeing the relief coupled with grief on her moms face nearly sets Chloe off again.
After their hug, Max briefly explained that she was there without her parents, and had arranged her own transportation. Chloe's mom looked about ready to fall over at that, and then she was running off to call Max's parents and let them know where Max was.
Unwilling to wait around for a possible lecture delivered to her friend on running away from home, Chloe grabbed Max's hand once more, and dragged her upstairs into her bedroom.
Once in the room, Chloe fell backwards onto her bed, and Max began pacing the room, looking over the changes to the room that had happened within the past 7 months. Chloe just watched her. Old ghosts in familiar haunts, but her being back reminded Chloe of the changes, the things that weren't the same. Then, she blinked, now fully taking in her friend, and she couldn't stop herself from blurting out.
"You got a haircut!"
Max laughed, turning towards her and loosely running her fingers through her hair, it only hung to her jaw now, her tight ponytail lopped off. It looked… good, on her.
"I did, thank you for noticing."
Running her own fingers through her much longer hair, Chloe thought about the changing of the times. Maybe a change like that wouldn't be so bad.
But so far, most of the changes in her life had fucking sucked.
She patted the bed and Max fell down next to her, shoulders inches apart.
And in the fading light of the day, Max talked. She was clearly filling the silence, but Chloe didn't mind. She talked about Seattle, in more detail and with grand, sweeping hand gestures. Her room she hadn't finished decorating, or even unpacking. The school in which she had only met two people she didn't actively avoid and that she could stand for longer periods of time. A corner store she'd been visiting to buy cakes with her loose change when she had same and wasn't using it for photography crap. Her classwork, which she swore was the most boring thing she'd ever sat through, and how her teacher didn't care if she nodded off cause there were like thirty kids in the class at any given time.
She must have dozed off at some point, emotionally and physically exhausted from the last week, because in one moment she was listening to Max debate if vanilla or strawberry were better mixes for a chocolate cake, and then in the next the room was totally dark and silent.
Max was still on the bed next to her, but at some point, Chloe had turned so that Max was sleeping behind her with an arm slung loosely over her stomach. There was still a slight separation between their bodies, but Chloe appreciated the support.
Blearily, she kicked her shoes off, and then turned around, so that she was laying on her side, face to face with a sleeping Max. A sleeping Max, who had crossed state lines on a train in order to be physically present for her dads' funeral. A sleeping Max who would doubtlessly be in a shit ton of trouble for said train ride, but obviously didn't care, and had come anyway.
A sleeping Max, who was, low-key, her personal hero right then and there.
They both woke up early in the morning. Max, who had apparently gotten a lot more comfortable in her own skin over the past year, started changing into something else out of her bag right then and there. Chloe turned away without being asked, giving some measure of privacy. She changed into the clothes she'd picked for her dads… for the day. Suit pants, the nicest shirt she had in her closet, and her dads old suit jacket. She'd always thought it was dorky that he'd kept his wedding jacket, but it was the only article of his that really could fit her without falling off.
She turned around to find Max wearing a black knee-length dress, with a shawl or something hanging off her shoulders. She never sees Max in dresses, ever, and she decides she looked good in one.
Max standing there, with shorter hair, in a dress, and with some sorta look in her eyes, Chloe is seized by the moment, and so she does what she always does with moments.
She goes along with them.
"Hey, Max?"
Rubbing the back of her neck, Chloe tried to figure out the best way to phrase the jumbled mess of words and emotions in her head while Max stood there, not really waiting. Just watching.
"Could you, like. I dunno, but it feels like… Could you cut my hair? Before the… before this afternoon, I mean."
Humming in a considering fashion, Max stepped forward and tugged on a long lock of Chloe's hair, pulling to out to look at its length.
"Sure, I probably could." Then Max looked at her, and there were things in her eyes that Chloe couldn't fathom. "Are you sure you want me too?"
And, maybe she shouldn't be sure. Maybe she should have thought it over for more than like fifteen seconds. But right then, she was pretty fucking sure.
"Yeah. Let's fucking do it."
Max laughed. And then they were in the bathroom, a towel around her shoulders while Max ran wet hands through her hair and scratched at her scalp. She was humming under her breath while snipping with some scissors. There was an odd tension in the room Chloe couldn't identify. Not awkward, but like a string that could snap at any moment. But not a bad string. And Chloe didn't know why, or what was going on. So she just lets her head be moved by Max as she wields scissors with practiced movements Chloe never thought she had. She closed her eyes to the feeling, trusting in Max's handiwork, and sometimes it felt like the hands jump instantly from one location to the other, and the scissors move to different areas around her hair while Max reconsidered a cut.
It took a while, or it must cause Chloe loses track of time, with hands dancing across her scalp and locks of hair falling from her head. But when Max finally stepped away and hums contentedly, Chloe's head feels much lighter, and she could feel a breeze on her neck. She trusts in Max, she definitely does, but she can't help the urge to shut her eyelids even firmer and stifle a grin.
"So, have you finished destroying any chance of looking good I'll have for months?"
"Yes, it's finished. With a haircut like this, you will forever more be a pariah at school, and people will ask why you got into a fight with a weed whacker."
The smile formed fully, exposing teeth and gums. "Oh yeah, it was a battle of epic proportions, I won in the end, but it was a close thing."
Max patted her head.
"Sure you did."
And then there was nothing else for it but to see the job Max had done, so she opened her eyes, looked into the mirror. And, wow. Yeah. Turned out Max had some skills.
It was shorter in the back, and the sides came to a point below her jaw, but it framed her face really well. Actually, it looked pretty dope.
"Aww, shit, Max. I didn't know you actually had some skill."
Their eyes met through the reflections of the mirror, and Chloe noticed a bit of blood leaking out of Max's nose. Automatically, born from practice, she reached into her pocket for the handkerchief she started carrying around for exactly this shit and handed it to Max, who smiled and used it to wipe the mess.
"Thanks, Chloe. Didn't notice it had started up."
Chloe laughed, bobbing her head and looking at it from different angles to really get the full experience of her new cut.
"Must've been focusing pretty hard then, Maximilian."
"Worth it."
Considering that Chloe hadn't been expecting much, she'd give that to Max. It was definitely worth it, but it did bring up memories. And then the reality of the day settled back into the room, and straight onto Chloe's shoulders. Her dad had teased her about her hair before, how she didn't want it cut, but also never really wore it up either. It was always down and wild, like she was a barbarian princess, he'd say.
Except, he wouldn't say that, not anymore. Not in life anyway, but maybe in her dreams.
By the time Chloe shook herself out of that chain of thought, Max was already at the door, holding her hand out. Chloe took her hand, interlocked their fingers, and they went down the stairs to meet up with her mom, ready for the service later that day.
~PR~
It was a sunny day, just a bit after two in the afternoon when her dads coffin got lowered into the ground. A lot of what she'd felt was stony shock. Maybe it was because the shit she was feeling was so strong, and there's so much of it, that she can't let it go without it boiling over. So she tightened her grip on Max's hand, like a lifeline, and received a squeeze back. Grounding her in that moment, in the present instead of her head.
Her mom was crying into the shoulder of a work friend from the diner, and there are all kinds of people who knew her dad, or from the area, who were slowly filtering away. Eventually, it was just the three of them in the cemetery. Her mom would eventually manage to collect herself enough to drive, but Chloe wasn't sure she could walk away right then. It felt like she was rooted to the spot, like if she left it would be fully accepting her dads' death, and she didn't accept it. Not for one minute.
More than anything else, what she wanted to do right then was to break open the casket, to let her dad out, and then it would turn out he was actually fine. It would turn out that the cancer had only made him look dead briefly, and now he was all better.
But she knew that wouldn't happen. That, and she couldn't let go of Max's hand at that point to do anything, it wasn't possible.
So, after another ten minutes of silence, they collected themselves, and went home. Chloe went up to her room, turned on some country music, and lied down, waiting for sleep to take her.
Just a nap, just enough to dream of her dad again.
And Max sat on the bed near, not engaging, but nearby. And present.
That's all she really wanted right then.
~PR~
Max: Hey, I'll be out of town for a while and reception won't be great. I'll text back when I can. Sorry about this. :(
Chloe: no emoji!
Chloe: yeah, ok. Keep in touch when u can.
Max: Will do
She flipped the phone closed and stowed it back into her bag, ringer on silent to not go off in the middle of things. Once had been enough.
Keeping an eye on the doorman, she ducked around to the side of the rundown building. Already she could hear telltale sounds of activity from within. Cheers, jeers, dogs barking, and growling. She clutched at her camera bag, and then began the arduous task of lifting herself up onto the side of the building.
Using broken boards as footholds and the train car roof as a midway stopping point, she managed to climb up onto the roof, near where she knew there was a hole big enough to peep through and with a view of the event.
Below her, inside the building, there were about twenty people all gathered around a ring in the center of a room. In said ring there were two dogs, circling and snapping at each other whilst the audience cheered them on.
Even having seen this several times before, Max still found herself grimacing at the sight. The ring wasn't even the worst of it, nor the people cheering the violence. The worst of it was there was a trainer who had lost before she arrived, hauling off a large bag, and throwing it into a van that had a few other similarly shaped bags.
There weren't many misconceptions as to what could be in those bags.
Leveraging herself into a stable position on the roof, Max pulled out her digital camera, and she began taking photos.
She'd learned, previously, that the best way to take photos like this wasn't composition, or framing. It was capturing as many details as she could with each shot. The dogs fighting. The people cheering and waving around fistfuls of cash. The cages with dogs in it, and those without. And as many faces as she could manage.
It might be considered luck that she got pictures of Damon, Frank, and the gentleman named Howard all talking off to the side. It might be luck, but it had taken far too much effort snooping and managing schedules for it to be.
The three of them began moving, and Max, knowing what was to come, scampered down the side of the building as quickly and quietly as she could manage.
The moment her sneakers hit dirt, she ran, low to the ground, around the slide of the building. She didn't have to search for what she was heading for, she'd already memorized its exact location, a point of broken boarded basing at a specific location along the wall. She dropped to her hands and knees, and crawled into the space underneath the floorboards of the building.
Cobwebs stuck to her face and hood, and she moved her hands carefully to avoid remembered areas where broken glass lay obscured by heavy amounts of dust.
Left, right, left and a final left, then, she laid down on her back, holding up a recorder instead of her camera.
Her timing had been near perfect that time, as she heard footsteps on the boards right above her, and then someone in the room above flipped a light on, letting her catch glimpses of the three men between cracks in the floor.
She pressed record.
"Now, what the fuck did you come all the way out here for again?"
"Damon…"
"It's cool, Frank. I'm just curious. Cause I coulda sworn I warned you to stay the fuck away and never fucking show your face out here."
"Damon fucking Merrick. You gotta big mouth, but since we're so close nowadays, I'll allow it."
"Oh, you'll allow it. Fan-fucking-tastic. Very gracious of you."
"Jesus, you two. Howwie, what the fuck do you want?"
"Ah, the side bitch speaks. Well, it's about time for you to make your orders, so I'd figure I'd drop by and pick 'em up myself in person. Superior customer service."
"Don't give me that shit. That's what you send people here for. Frank asked, and I'm also curious, why the fuck did you come out here. As in, in person. Howard."
"What, I can't come out to meet a business associate in person now?"
"No."
"Not really, no."
"Fine. Prescott's getting nervous, and he sent me out to check on things."
"Oh well, that makes all the difference now, doesn't it? I thought Howard the drug smuggler dropped by to visit. I didn't know Howard, Prescott's personal bitch, had come to visit."
From the footsteps, it sounded like two of them were now circling each other, while the third stood slightly further away.
"You got some balls, talking shit like that."
"And you must've left yours in Prescott's purse."
The third took a step forwards, the floorboards creaking above Max's head.
"Alright, that's enough. Nobody's pulling a knife, so you two need to cool it. Howwie, what the fuck do you need?"
"Finally, somebody being fucking reasonable around here. You got a head on your shoulders, Frankie. What I need is to make sure you all got your books in order. Prescott wants an accounting, and since you're using his building for this… venture, then he wants to make sure it's worth it."
"Fuck you, Howard, we're making bank here. Even got concerts and shit lined up in a week."
"Oh yeah? That's cute. Get some boy bands up in this bitch, make money selling dime bags to some wet teens, yeah? What about you, Frank?"
"I don't know where you're getting this idea from, Howwie. But I don't work for Prescott, or you."
"Nah, see. That's what we might call a 'misconception', or those of us who got an education might anyway. You operate in this town, you work for Prescott. That's how this shit works."
"Hah, that's rich coming from 'mister outta town' himself. You let me worry about Prescott, and if he asks you about my business, you tell him I'm in the black, and to lay off."
"That's my boy, me and Frank are business partners nowadays, and he's doing just fine. Events around here get 'catered' to without any trouble cause of him, so don't worry about him turning no profit. Any kid in Arcadia Bay with a hankering comes knocking on his door."
"Yeah, right. I'll be sure to mention that to Mr. Prescott. Well, I'll assume it's the usual for you two, and be on my way then. Later, pussies."
One of the men in the room, Howard most likely, left, leaving Damon and Frank behind.
"Man, that guy just pisses me the fuck off, sometimes, y'know?"
"Yeah, I could tell, Damon. You can't go pissing off every big name in town like this, though. You're gonna draw too much heat."
"Hey, you and me can handle some heat. It ain't a problem for us, yeah?"
"Yeah? Like what happened here back in the day? Handled that pretty well as I remember."
"Bah, that's old news. In fact, the DA called me the other day, wants to cut some kind of deal. We're gonna have a sit and meet pretty soon. Wanna join?"
"Fuck no. I've stayed out of Amber's eyes well enough till now, and I'd like to keep it that way. If you need a hand, let me know, but I'll keep myself far away from Amber."
"Hah, yeah sure. Well, best get back out there before those idiots start a riot or something."
"Yeah, sure."
The two men above walked out of the room, and Max stayed in place long enough to confirm that nobody remained. She turned off the recorder, and stashed it into her bag, and then began the task of crawling back out of the crawl space.
The meeting Damon mentioned would happen two days from then, and nearly a week after that would be the fire. So Max had a timeline she had to work in, and she had become quite skilled at timelines over the years.
~PR~
"You want someone disappeared? Didn't take you as the type, mister big shot DA."
"Not like that, I just need her taken out of town, drug her or something if needs be, so she stays gone. Can you do that?"
"That and more, but you know my price?"
"... I'll call you."
"No, no calls. You use this phone, and you text the number saved. No names, nothing incriminating. Comprende?"
"Sure."
~PR~
Life, sucked ass. Like, it was a constant and grating suck. Blackwell sucked, and the teachers sucked, and the students definitely sucked. Even her mom and her new 'boy toy' sucked. Really, Chloe had no idea how she was able to maintain levels of sanity, and had told Max as much. Max had promptly informed her that in all their years of friendship, she had never known Chloe to be sane.
Which, yeah, fair point.
That was the upswing of her year, of her life at this point really. Max and their talks.
It had actually looked pretty bad there for about a month after her… after the funeral, when Max had been absconded back to Seattle and its dungeons. Or so she'd related over texts later on. Because for a solid month, she'd had no contact with Max whatsoever.
Once the lines of communications had been reestablished with her northern counterpart, Max had relayed the fact that her parents had freaked the fuck out about Max literally skipping town and crossing state lines all to come visit her. Chloe could understand that, on some level. It still hurt that Ryan and Vanessa would keep them apart like that.
For a solid month Max had been kept on strict grounding, no phone, no camera, no contact with anyone except school. Max had rallied and said the whole thing had been worth it, though, telling Chloe that if she needed it, she would do it all again.
Unable to really articulate what that had meant to her, Chloe had just responded to that particular text with a 'totes samesies', and moved on from there.
Since then, they'd kept pretty consistent contact, and Chloe had just a few days prior been telling Max how awesome it was going to be when she went to see Firewalk live at the concert they were hosting. Super underground shit, being held at an abandoned mill outside of Arcadia Bay.
Max had expressed great excitement for her, and then mentioned that some shit was coming up on her end and that she might be a bit slow to respond to shit for some time. She hadn't been super worried about it, and had waved it off. It was a bit of a shame she couldn't call Max and let her listen through the phone, but maybe she'd take a video of at least part of the concert. Firewalk was low-key legendary in certain circles, and Max would definitely appreciate the listen, it might even improve her musical tastes. At least a little.
Either way, it would be one fucking hell of a night, that was for sure.
~PR~
Chloe: Max
Chloe: Maaax
Chloe: Maximilian Bazillion
Chloe: Maxipad
Chloe: Mad Max
Chloe: Oh sit, its like 3. Mb
Chloe: *shit
Chloe: not important
Chloe: Max, I met someone
Chloe: shit, I mean, I hung out with someone I met.
Chloe: We hung, big hanging
Chloe: Met up at the Firewalk thing, fucking legendary
Chloe: wish u wz there
Chloe: so I spilled this guys beer all over him, total tool
Chloe: got mad at me
Chloe: was an accident tho
Chloe: so this fuck comes at me with a bud of his
Chloe: prtty sure they were butt buddies, if you know what I mean
Chloe: like lovers.
Chloe: whatevs, so here I am squaring off with these two squares lol
Chloe: And then one of em takes a flying beer bottle to the back of the hed
Chloe: it was amazing
Chloe: I clocked the other guy, he got a lucky swing on me, and me and my savior split
Chloe: Dood, it was Rachel
Chloe: like, Rachel fucking Amber, from school.
Chloe: I told you about Rachel, right? Yah, prolly. She's smoking. Was even better punkd up for the show
Chloe: shes also a real good dancer
Chloe: totally rocked. Best night of my life, am calling it now.
Chloe: sleeping now, byyyyyyyyye Max.
While she was lying in bed, smoking a morning cigarette, Chloe acknowledged that she'd need to change clothes. No shower, though, given that she'd already slept past her usual alarms for school prep. Her current clothes smelled like old rotting buildings, sweat, other people's sweat, stale beer, smoke, and weed. It was gross, even for her.
She tilted her head to the side, and took a whiff of her bed. And yeah, she'd need to wash the sheets before she used them again, for sure. That's what she got for passing out without stripping down first.
Grimacing, she put out the cigarette butt into her ashtray, and scrambled to her feet.
The first task of the day would be getting dressed, so she quickly got that done, she almost threw on her new Firewalk shirt, but considering how she'd acquired that particular item she'd leave it unworn for a few days at least. Besides, bragging like that was basic. She was above such things.
A quick check on her computer before leaving the room revealed the usual bullshit, but also some extra. Rachel had taken a picture with Chloe the previous night, which she only vaguely recalled, considering at the time she had been two beers into the night. But then, strangely, Rachel had also posted it, and already other students were abuzz about it. Mostly wondering 'who that girl with Rachel is'. Which, Chloe had gone to school with some of those kids for over a year, if they didn't know who she was by that point, then fuck them.
Chloe looked at the picture, Rachel's excited smile, their heads very close together to both fit in the shot. She could vaguely remember their bodies pressed together to fit, and then later on pressed together while dancing in the pit. Then, unable to ignore her stomach rumbling for food anymore, she saved the picture to her own drive, and went in search of her phone, which was absent from her pants pockets.
It was time for her to face the day, however it might turn out.
~PR~
"Hi, I'm a concerned citizen, and I'd like to report an ongoing crime."
"No, I wouldn't like to identify myself, I'm afraid for my safety."
"Yeah, at the old abandoned Tumnus Lumber Mill, it looks like there are drugs and a dog fighting ring."
"I left some evidence in a box on your doorstop earlier, but I'm calling now because it looks like someone's started a fire nearby, and I'm worried they're trying to cover up evidence. I'm also worried about the dogs safety."
"No, I'm afraid I can't stay on the line, the fire is spreading too quickly."
She ended the call and dropped the phone onto the ground. That was why she'd nicked it from the mill after all, she wasn't even sure whose it was. Just some burner phone in the 'office' of Damon, the call logs were empty, so she'd assumed it was safe to borrow without removing evidence.
Of course, she'd been lying. Rachel wouldn't start the fire for another five minutes, and only Sheldon was currently present at the old mill itself. But by the time the police got off their asses, there definitely would be a fire, and Sheldon would run for his life, abandoning all the dogs in their cages. So it was best to get things up and in motion before absolutely necessary.
That accomplished, Max turned and began her hike back down to Arcadia Bay, she knew for a fact that with very few deviations, this one step would knock down Damon Merrick's entire base and get him put away. But there was still the issues of Howard Bern and Sean Prescott to deal with. Luckily, the steps to deal with them were already half accomplished, what with the evidence drop and Damon getting picked up.
But, there was one or two more steps to really finalize all that.
Five minutes into her walk, and she could see the red glow growing to the north, and she could hear sirens heading in a similar direction. She wasn't worried about the two girls though, she knew Chloe could get Rachel out without them getting picked up, Chloe was good at shit like that, even back then.
~PR~
Oregon Burns
A wildfire burns unchecked across the forests of Oregon, just north of a town called Arcadia Bay. Although the town has yet to be evacuated, the residents are on short notice. Fire Marshals report that the fire is at best 15% controlled burn at this point.
But it wasn't just nature acting up, police reports suggest that this fire was set to cover up some illegal dog fighting as well as a significant drug smuggling ring.
Not only have several local members been arrested for their supposed involvement in this, but reportedly the famous millionaire Sean Prescott has been taken in for questioning about his supposed involvement as well.
Crooked DA Faces Charges
District Attorney James Amber is facing charges for his involvement in a cover-up, and also for supposedly calling for a hit on his ex-wife when she began seeking visitation rights for their daughter.
Prescott Heir Returns from Peace Corp
Kristine Prescott returned home from her time in Brazil working as a member of the Peace Corp. Rumors are flying high and wide about the how and why, but many speculate it has to do with her seeking custody of her younger brother after her father was arrested for involvement in a drug cartel and her mother was losing custody due to negligence.
~PR~
Three years later
"Get in loser!"
Banging on the side of her door, Chloe called out to Max, who was moving way too slow. Probably because it looked like she was taking another bite of cake while going at the slowest jog she'd ever seen.
Max was just reaching out to grab the car door handle when the horn sounded out and Chloe jumped and about cussed out Rachel, who was grinning impishly as she removed her hand from the wheel.
"Just offering her some encouragement."
She shoved Rachel's shoulder, who giggled. Like actually giggled. Dog, Chloe had no idea why she loved that woman sometimes.
By that point, Max had climbed in, shoving Rachel until she was pressed comfortably against Chloe's side and Max had enough room to sit with her ridiculous plastic container. It still had half a cake in it, but at the rate Max was going that wouldn't last long.
That morning, when Max had pulled out a full sized chocolate birthday cake for no reason, Chloe had just thought they'd share the treat. But Max had swatted away any and all attempts to sample what she had deemed her 'victory cake'. No explanations as to what victory the cake had been for, Max had been largely silent on that subject when pressed.
With everyone loaded in, Chloe fired up her truck, and they took off out of the parking lot, driving straight for their sacred place. The junkyard, of course.
As per tradition in her vehicle, Chloe focused on driving, Rachel tried to distract her by running fingers up her leg and playing with the radio, and Max hung her head out the window. Though this time she did so while still eating cake.
It couldn't be helped if, during the drive, Chloe and Rachel shared significant glances while gesturing towards Max, who was bobbing her head to the rock metal on the radio with chocolate icing smeared slightly on her cheek.
Max had been… off, over the past week or so. She'd been paying way more attention to the news than usual, she'd had a weird amount of nervous energy, and she refused to say what was going on.
That was probably what had been bothering Chloe more than the other things, usually there was an unspoken understanding that one of them could ask about anything. Rachel was still picking out her footing at that point with Max, but between the two of them, this might have been the first time Max had clamped up about anything. Instead, she'd give a weird wink, and say 'soon'.
It wasn't long before they reached the junkyard, and Chloe turned off the car, but left the radio running. She shared a nod with Rachel, and they both turned towards Max.
"Alright, Max, I think it's time to fess up."
Rachel reached out and laid her hand on Max's shoulder. Their infamous double team, Chloe's bluntness and Rachel's softness.
"You've been acting off all week, Max. And I know Chloe's been as worried as I've been, probably more so."
Max set her fork down in the plastic case, and then without a word she reached over, and switched the radio station.
"-fair weather from this week continues into the next. There have been reports of a minor storm out at sea, but it's set to dissipate before ever reaching shore, leaving us with a cool October breeze, and not much else."
Chloe rolled her eyes and flicked the radio off.
"Listen, Max. If you don't wanna talk about any of this, fine, but don't act like there isn't anythi-"
Her rant was cut off when Rachel dug her fingers into the meat of Chloe's thighs, and not in the pleasant way either. She looked to Rachel to protest her treatment of her leg, but Rachel was staring at Max. Max, who had started silently crying.
That set off all sorts of alarm bells in Chloe's head, it'd been years since she'd last saw Max cry. Before the nosebleeds had started, at least. And there she was, grinning like a fool with tears running down her face.
"Max, wha-"
Rachel never got to finish her question, as Max threw herself out of the car, and began running in circles, laughing, crying, cheering, and yelling weird shit. If Chloe wasn't so sure this was a mood thing, she'd have assumed the cake was laced with some shit. She wasn't actually gonna throw that theory out yet.
"Fuck you! I fucking did it! Everyone lived this time, you piece of shit! You blue asshole butterfly shitbag! I'm gonna shit on your fucking grave and bang your butterfly wife, you fuck!"
Rachel gripped Chloe's hand, tightly.
"Chloe… any idea what she's going on about?"
Chloe, nodded, and pulled out a blunt from the dashboard as they clambered out of the car in order to keep Max in sight. Max, who was jumping on top of the boat and flipping the sky off.
"Nope, but I'm definitely not high enough for this shit."
She'd barely gotten it lit before Rachel snatched it out of her fingers, ignored her protest, and took the longest drag Chloe had seen her take.
"Oh shit babe, slow down. Save some for me, at least."
Nodding, Rachel handed the blunt back to Chloe, and then she cupped her hands around her mouth.
"Max, when you're done losing your shit get your skinny butt into the hideout!"
Hooting and hollering, Max gave no sign she had heard her as she set a spare shirt on fire and began twirling it around above her head. Rachel rolled her eye's and began walking to their hideout, Chloe close behind, but far back enough to appreciate her girlfriend's figure.
Ten minutes later and Max walked into the hideout as casual as you please, and threw herself onto the couch, completely interrupting the make out session Rachel and Chloe had been getting into. Going by Max's teasing imp grin, she didn't regret her cock block at all.
"Aww, look at the two of you. Both alive, and in the prime of your youth, lighting the fires of passion."
Something there, something in that statement, strummed the lines in the room in a way Chloe had never felt before, but she still did her best to ignore it while pushing Max's shoulder.
"You dork, what does that even mean?"
Max grinned at both of them, and then there wasn't a strum. There was a cacophony of music as Max leaned forward, it was nearly overwhelming to Chloe, and even Rachel could feel the energy of the room adjust to Max's mood, they held hands tightly, unsure as to where all this was going.
"Hey, do you guys believe in the supernatural?"
Despite being clearly confused, Rachel shook her head immediately, Chloe started to, but then paused as she remembered an evening of fire. But she shook her head as well, that had been a dry season and a fluke. An accident. Max nodded, the smile never fading.
"Right, well then, I think it's time I told you both a story. A story about how strange life is."
And that's what she did. Max told a story, a tragedy that turned into something else. She told the story long into the hours of the night.
An answer to many questions, and the discovery of a wider, stranger world.