"Chloe!" Max screamed through the shadows. "Chloe, where are you?!"
Her voice lost itself amidst the vastness of the pine forest. As Max pressed on, the trees surrounded her like soldiers, penning her in and hiding the way out. Max forced herself to keep walking even as panic knocked at her heart. She had to find her best friend. She had to get back to camp before the afternoon light filtering through the trees dissolved into night.
They had come with their fathers for a weekend camping trip in the wilds just north of Arcadia Bay. They assigned her and Chloe to firewood collection duty, with the explicit warning not to stray too far. But Max, enamored by the autumn trees, had followed a butterfly in hopes of snapping a picture. And like a will-o-wisp, it had led her deep into the belly of the woods.
How long had she been lost in here? Thirty minutes? More? It was hard to tell in this dense forest. She couldn't believe how this once tranquil landscape could turn so sinister, into a place that could swallow a 10-year-old kid whole and leave no trace. The thick canopy above turned everything around her into dark lines and black pools. Her sneakers crunched too loudly on the yellow-brown duff, each twig snapping like old dry bones. In the dwindling light, every rock and tree and bush looked like it might be concealing something.
She was afraid to stay silent and afraid to make noise—her voice might draw something out of the blackness between the trees. A starving grizzly, or maybe something worse.
"Chloe! Dad! Anybody! Help!"
Somewhere overhead, a bird cawed in protest. There was no controlling the panic now. Her camera bag beat a harsh rhythm against her leg as she broke into a run. There—hadn't she passed through that break in the trees earlier? Max pelted towards it. But that sense of familiarity evaporated as the ground sloped sharply upwards.
She tried to catch a glimpse of the sun to figure out which way was north, so her foot missed the sudden drop, hitting the ground at an odd angle. She heard the subtle crack of her ankle an instant before the agony began, and she tumbled down the little hill and straight into a bush. She shrieked as twigs scratched long red lines at her arms and legs; a sharp branch tore the side of her blue shirt.
"Chloe!" she cried. "Help, please! I'm scared!"
At last, she just lay there, shivering and weeping as she cradled her burning ankle, her face smudged with dirt, her upper half sticking out of the shrub. She imagined herself lost for days in this forest, with nothing for company but the gnawing hunger in her stomach and miles of endless darkness. They would never find her. She would die here, alone and afraid.
Something nudged at her hair. She cried out in alarm, covering her head.
Whatever it was, it wasn't shy. It bumped gently against her hands and a soft, wet tongue flicked at her scalp. She tilted her head up and peered through her fingers.
The doe stood no more than a foot away, its graceful curving neck bending low towards her, a pair of liquid coal eyes regarding her with frank curiosity. The fading sunlight turned its auburn coat into gold.
Something about its fearlessness dispelled Max's own terror and awoke wonder in its place. She had never seen such a beautiful animal, never even got the nerve to get this close to one in the wild. But something told her that its presence here meant she had nothing to fear, that she was safe.
The doe inched forward to where Max clutched at her leg, then ran its tongue over her ankle. To her surprise, her muscles loosened and the burning sensation receded into a dull throb. She released her leg as the doe moved back, gazing at her without blinking.
"Did you just…did you do that?"
Max wiped her eyes to get a better look at the animal, to make sure it wasn't some figment of her imagination. Part of her wanted to reach out to touch its face. Another wanted to reach for her camera to take its picture.
Even as her hand inched down to her bag, the doe lifted its head, cocking its ears to something behind it. Leaves crunching, rustling…
"Wait," said Max. "Don't go!"
But the doe had spotted something. Favoring Max one more glance, it bounded silently over the shrub and onto the path behind Max. Its hooves left no prints, made no noise on the ground. It had come and gone like smoke in the breeze.
Now Max could hear footsteps. "Hello?" she cried.
More rustling, then a blond, gangly girl erupted from the bushes just ahead of her. "Max!"
"Chloe!"
The girl rushed to where Max lay, kneeling beside her. "Max, thank God—where have you been? I've been looking for you for the last twenty minutes. What happened?"
"I'm sorry…I wandered too far, I had no idea. Before I knew it—"
"You got lost," Chloe sighed. "Maxaroni, sometimes I wonder how you can find your way through your own pajamas."
"Funny." Max grimaced. "I hurt my ankle. Could you stop with the jokes and help?"
It took a few minutes' work and quite a few more scratches to pluck Max from the shrub. But once they were sitting down, cleaning off the last of the dead leaves from their clothes, Max threw her arms around the taller girl. "Thanks, Chloe. You really saved my ass this time."
"No biggie. Just subtract it from the number of times you pulled my fat from the fire." Her hand smoothed Max's hair. "You must've been so scared."
"I was-at first. But then this doe came, and...oh Chloe, it was the most amazing thing!"
Chloe pulled back to give her a quizzical look.
"It came right up to me and licked my head. It wasn't scared of me at all! Then it licked my ankle and…it was like magic, Chloe! The pain was almost totally gone! Then it must've heard you, 'cause it bolted straight away. Didn't you see it?"
"Didn't see nor hear no magic deer," Chloe said, canting her head to glance behind Max. "Just you, amigo, sticking out of the bush like a trapped rabbit."
"You suck!" Max stuck her tongue out at her.
Chloe giggled, then gave her a once-over. "How's the ankle now?"
Max stared down at her leg, where her ankle was starting to swell. "Hurts a little, but I think it'll be okay. Oh fudge, Dad's so not going to be happy about this."
Chloe was already slinging Max's arm over her shoulder. "Yep, I'd say you're in for some painkillers and antiseptic. LOTS of antiseptic. Plus a lecture for going off on your own. Can you walk?"
"With your help. You know the way back?"
Chloe grinned and pulled a sharpened rock from her pocket. "Unlike someone I know, I was smart enough to cut some arrows on the trees."
Max rolled her eyes. "You're a genius, Chlo."
They were lurching forward, down a forest path Max hadn't noticed before. The sun was starting to set behind the tree line, but Max no longer feared the growing shadows. Not with her best friend beside her, holding her up with strong, sure hands.
"Chloe?"
"Yup?"
"Thanks. Really. I thought I'd be lost in here forever."
"I'd have found you again, Max. You're my first mate. Us pirates have to stick together, right?"
Present Day
The jukebox switching tracks jolted Max Caulfield from her reverie. Blinking, she raised her eyes from the white and brown swirls in her coffee cup. That memory from the forest felt so crisp and clear, almost like a photograph. But it was whitening away now like it had been left too long under the sun.
She had been sitting alone in her favorite booth at the Two Whales Diner, waiting for Joyce to come and start her shift. The diner had been kind enough to give Joyce two weeks off for the funeral, but with the influx of new faces, the place needed her back badly. Today, Joyce was finally returning to work. Max wanted to be here to welcome her and offer moral support.
Because if it weren't for me, your daughter would still be alive.
Max let her face fall into her hands. It had only been ten days since they laid Chloe to rest. Just the week before that, the two of them had been running around Arcadia Bay, getting into adventures as they searched for clues that would lead them to the missing Rachel Amber. What they had uncovered was enough to scar Max for life and left a pall over all of Arcadia Bay. And worst of all, she had lost her best friend all over again.
I just keep abandoning you, don't I, Chloe.
Max pushed these thoughts away. They weren't helpful, especially not now.
Her weary eyes wandered to the patrons of the diner. There were more now than ever, it seems. It wasn't just hungry truckers anymore; construction workers occupied every booth and seat at the counter.
"So how're things coming along at the site?" the waitress, Annie, asked one of the men.
"Now that the TRO's been lifted, Prescott's running us ragged every day," the beefy guy in worker's clothes replied as he slapped his companion's shoulder. "My boys and I got maybe five hours' sleep and 20 energy drinks between us. But we ain't complaining. The weather's been good and Prescott's checks haven't bounced once."
"We could have started weeks sooner," groused his friend, a leaner, grey-haired gent with a Portland Sea Dogs cap. "But the old man needed time to pull his kid out of the slammer and into a hospital."
"We don't talk about that," the beefy guy said hastily.
Annie's brows nettled. "You'd think after that nasty business with his son…"
"I suppose, but money opens doors, you know?" the grey-haired man said, completely ignoring his friend's warning. "The Prescott Foundation has its investors and they'll push for the project, never mind his troubles with his son." He jabbed his finger at a newspaper headline for emphasis.
"But surely people would talk."
"Nah. Prescott will find a way to get his kid off. Insanity plea, I reckon'. Shift the blame to that psycho prick of a teacher. Then they'll stick the kid in a sanitarium and wait till it all blows over."
Confused, Max picked up a copy the Arcadia Bay Beacon a previous customer had left on the table.
PAN ESTATES CONSTRUCTION IN FULL SWING
by Juliet Watson
Friday, October 18, 2013
Pan Estates, the Prescott Foundation's flagship real estate project, has officially resumed construction now that CEO Sean Prescott has succeeded in convincing the court to lift the temporary restraining order secured by the United Tribes of Oregon six months ago.
The court had ruled that developing real estate on land deemed sacred by the Tribes did not impinge on their right to religious freedom. The Tribes consider the forests north of Arcadia Bay as the dwelling place of spirits.
Currently, Arcadia Bay is seeing an influx of construction material and heavy equipment from Lincoln City. Residents are advised to avoid the road leading up to the forest on the Northeast side of town, as heavy trucks will most certainly
Before she knew it, Max's eyes were straying from the article. Lately, she had trouble paying attention to anything for long. Likely because she was averaging four hours of sleep a night.
It didn't matter. The whole thing had been resolved. Chloe's sacrifice saved all of Arcadia Bay, and right now, both of Rachel's murderers, Nathan Prescott and their teacher, Mark Jefferson, were sitting in county jail.
Nearby, Annie was asking in a hushed voice, "Do you really think they'll make trouble?"
"Nah, they're not the sort," the worker replied, "but just between you and me, I'm not really keen on having 'em around, y'know? Just the sight of 'em creeps me out. Damn, was that racist? I—"
The swivel of the front door cut him off. The men at the counter took one look at the newcomers and fell silent.
For some reason, Max couldn't help but stare. Though all eyes had gathered on them, the attention didn't seem to faze the three Native American women who had stepped inside. Draped in black from head to foot, they stood in the middle of the diner like they were meant to be there.
Each of them was at a different stage in their life. The youngest seemed about Max's age, tall and reed-thin, unblemished brown skin and a long black braid that reached down to the center of her back. The woman beside her was middle-aged and matronly, her curly dark hair partially hidden beneath a wide-brimmed hat. Both were dwarfed by the last woman—a crone, stooped and slow and round like a black moon, the shawl around her head concealing her features.
The youngest pointed to the last unoccupied booth—the one beside Max's—and all three shuffled towards it. Anne approached to offer them menus while the rest of the diners averted their faces. To fill in the silence, a trucker selected "We'll Meet Again" on the jukebox nearby. As if the music were a cue, conversation restarted across the diner.
One of the women—the matron—caught Max's eye. They held gazes for a moment before Max turned her head towards the window. Try as she might, she couldn't shake the feeling that the woman was still watching her. Peering from the corner of her eye, Max saw her lean and whisper something to the grandmother. Max couldn't say why, but she felt certain they were talking about her.
Then the diner door slid open again and Joyce walked in from the cold autumn afternoon. Spotting Max, she made a beeline for her booth, favoring her with a wan, tired smile. "Hi, Max."
"Hey, Joyce," Max greeted her with a tentative smile. "How are you feeling today?" But she could already tell the answer from the older woman's lackluster gaze and the deep shadows beneath her eyes. Max had seen that same look five years before, after the car accident that claimed William's life. It isn't fair that Joyce has to suffer through such a loss again. But I've been learning that life really isn't big on fairness.
"About as well as you do, I expect," Joyce said as she smiled back. She set down her bag on the table and slid her coat off. "Have you had anything to eat?"
"I'm not really hungry. Just this coffee's okay."
"I'm surprised you didn't take some time off in Seattle. I'm sure your parents would have wanted you back with them for a while."
"I know. They called and asked me to come home for the weekend. But I felt like I needed to be here. At least for a little while."
Joyce slipped into the seat across her and reached out to touch the back of Max's hand.
"Max, how are you?"
The guilt washed over her again, and for an instant, Max didn't know what to say. What could she tell her that wouldn't make things that much worse? That she had trouble sleeping? That last night she dreamt of holding and kissing Chloe again, and woke up with tears in her eyes? That she hadn't taken a single picture with her camera since the day Nathan Prescott put a bullet through her best friend's chest in the Blackwell Academy girl's restroom? That each morning she would be jolted awake by the thought that she would never see Chloe again?
"I'm coping," Max said, and Joyce gave her hand a comforting squeeze.
They talked a little more about Max's parents, about school, and a few more inconsequential things to stave off an uncomfortable silence. But at length, Joyce pulled back her hands and clutched at her forearms. "I heard from Sean Prescott's lawyers today."
Max straightened up in her seat. Prescott again. She was so tired of hearing that name. "What did they say?"
"I didn't have long to speak with them, but they said they wanted to meet. That Mr. Prescott had an offer I would be interested in."
"And what did you tell them?"
Joyce's gaze hardened like steel. "That I would stop with the charges if, and only if, they could give me back my daughter."
"Good." Max nodded. "They deserve what's coming after everything they've done."
"Yes, you're right. And I won't give up, no matter how they try to strong arm me. It's just…it can get so tiring." For a moment, her façade of strength slipped, and the lines of her face deepened with the afternoon shadows. "Oh, Max. Just to hear her laugh again."
Joyce turned her face away, eyelids trembling. Max's throat tightened at the sight of her fighting back tears. She reached out, threading her fingers through Joyce's own. "I know."
Max's eyes slid away from Joyce's, and by chance met those of the young Native American just a booth over. The girl was openly staring at her—insolently, too. That same judgy look reminded Max of Victoria Chase.
Max frowned at the girl, but turned back when Joyce spoke again. "Will you be alright here by yourself? I…I think I need to visit the lady's room a moment."
"Don't worry about me," Max replied. "I'll stay here a while, keep you company. You can sit with me if you ever feel the need to talk."
"Thank you. But I doubt I'll have a minute to myself, given..." She gestured to Anne, who was throwing beseeching looks her way. "I suppose I should get started. These customers aren't going to feed themselves." She gave Max's hand another squeeze, then stood to make her way past the counter.
"Joyce?" Max said, "Can I ask you something?"
Joyce paused and turned back to look at her.
"Is it helping, my coming to see you? Y-you know, if it's too hard for…if you need time alone…"
The look Joyce gave her carried nothing but deep affection. "Max, never doubt for a moment that I'm always happy to see you. 'Shared joy is double the joy, shared sorrow is half the sorrow.' That's something William likes to say. And I can't think of a better person to spend time with than the one who gave my daughter some of the happiest memories in her life."
Bitterness lanced through Max's chest, but she managed to hide it under a weak smile. "Thanks, Joyce. I guess I really needed to hear that."
Joyce smiled back and was about to turn to the counter again when something caught her eye.
"Now what do you suppose is going on out there?"
Max turned to the wide window beside her. Outside, pedestrians had stopped on the sidewalk to gaze up at the sky. One woman had her cell tilted upwards to shoot a video. A cop had even parked his squad car along the curb and stepped out to stare, his jaw hanging open.
Curious, Max tried to peer up from her seat. At first, she saw nothing through the blinders that had bunched up at the top of the window. Nothing but a flock of geese steadily pointing south, wisps of orange clouds against the deep blue, and…
"No." Max felt as if a hole had opened in her guts. On unsteady feet, she slid from her seat and stumbled out the front door to get a good look.
The aurora shimmered high above her against the orange autumn sky. Like an optical effect or a light show, it stretched out in a long undulating strip of bright purple and green. Then another ribbon of light appeared next to it. Then another.
"You can only ever see them at night, right?" a man nearby was asking. "But it's not even sunset!"
Max didn't even consider the impossibility of it all. Her mind had opened a door into white silence. She turned in place, eyes fixed on the sky, while a single word occupied her entire being: why?
Low murmuring caught her ear. She looked down to see everyone in the diner peering out the window, looking up askance at the spectacle above them.
All except for the three Native American women. As one, their impassive gazes stayed on Max Caulfield.