This story alternates points of view between Max and Nathan. This is a bit of a challenge for me because they're very different characters, but I find the experience interesting so far.
To write this story, I have researched on Oregon state laws, OSH policies, and Native American mythology. However, please understand that this is still a work of fiction and the depictions in this story are not entirely accurate and may be changed for the purpose of pushing the story forward.
Thank you for being interested in this story. I hope you won't be disappointed!
Max – one day after the storm
It's midnight on October twelfth.
If her visions still bore any merit, the storm that comes and tries to wipe Arcadia Bay off the map should have been here yesterday. The entire day has passed, and nothing. Throughout the day the sun has been out bright and shiny as they should be. Max knows. She's been watching the weather forecast religiously the last four days. But it feels wrong. There've been dark clouds and lightning on that very day but somehow there are none. The sky could not be any clearer, as if mocking her, rubbing in her face how the world is much better off without the person who'd made hers.
Her best friend, Chloe Price.
Chloe has been dead for five days and Max can't bring herself to look at her face in the mirror, the survivor's guilt eating at her insides harder than it had when Kate Marsh had jumped off the roof to her death. Having Kate attend Chloe's own funeral service the other day is a baffling sight to Max, because in another time Kate had been the one in the coffin with Chloe by her side.
Losing one of the most important people to her in the world is hard enough, but to make things worse, she can't even turn to her one escape anymore. It has become impossible for Max to take a single damn picture without seeing the face of the monster who kidnapped her. The truly worst part is how she can't tell a soul about her undeniable post-traumatic stress because technically none of the stressors have happened since she's turned back time.
The walls feel like they're closing in on Max as she lies on her bed motionless, her eyes red and puffy with her cheeks stained in dried tears. Principal Wells has been kind enough to let her take the week off from school, but all that means is she has way too much time on her hands that she has no idea how to kill. More time to lock herself in her room and sulk. More time to blame herself for not being able to save her best friend. More time to wonder if her powers have indeed ceased to exist. She hasn't dared to try once since the very day she allowed Chloe to die. At least if she has classes, she can waste time and distract herself pretending to listen and jot notes down she knows she'll never read anyway.
Max supposes things could be worse. She tells herself this is—as much as it hurts her—ultimately for the best of everyone else. Everything can be as they should be and there's no time powers to play god with and no storms to ravage any town.
But something is clearly still very wrong.
The day is October twelfth. The day after the storm. And while there'd beenno storm in sight on that faithful day, one does come in a place all too familiar to Max: her dreams.
Max awakes with a start, her heart beating several times too fast in one breath. She embraces her knees, burying her face in her thighs, allowing herself to cry what little tears she still has left. It's the exact same vision. The storm. The lighthouse. The doe. The newspaper with the looming date on it.
Only this time, it says May eleventh. Seven months from today.
But why, Max asks. If her stopping Chloe's death is the catalyst that eventually snowballs into the storm, then why would it still be coming now that she's gone back and let Chloe fall to her death? Then it clicks. Max has seen the storm before she had lifted her hand and gone back in time that first time in the girl's bathroom. If the storm has nothing to do with Chloe, then that would leave…
Nathan Prescott
This means Max now has a new problem on her hands, because Nathan Prescott is confined in a mental institution, or so the news articles on her laptop screen say. Oregon State Hospital, to be exact. He's been deemed incapable of standing trial in his current mental state so instead he's thrown into a different kind of cell, in a hospital. This angers a lot of people in Arcadia Bay, who think he's gotten off easy for his crime all thanks to the Prescott name. They'd say, "mental problems? He's fucking rich, what problems could he possibly have?" And she'd probably think the same if she hasn't learned the things she has.
Nathan does have mental health problems, if the pills in his locker, the psychotic drawings in his student file, or an actual letter from his psychiatrist confirming this very fact are any indication. Before those, Max doesn't know Nathan all that well apart from their arguably violent encounters, but she has always thought he seems kind of… restless. Wild. Unpredictable. She just doesn't—didn't—think it would come to, well, all the things he's done. Which technically he hasn't all done anymore, except shooting her best friend in the chest.
Then immediately after the fact, he drops the gun like it burns him and proceeds to have a full blown panic attack in the girl's bathroom. Max remembers it like it's only just happened, like she's still she's sitting on the cold hard floor, her own cries lightly filling the air at the same time Nathan's curses reverberate through the hollow bathroom walls, his breath hitched like he's just had a nightmare. Which he has. If that isn't a nightmare for Nathan Prescott, nothing is, Max thinks. But this is her nightmare too. And unfortunately, Chloe Price's last.
But Nathan being institutionalized isn't all that Max is concerned with. Just how the fuck is she supposed to… she isn't even sure what she's supposed to do, team up with him? Figure out what the fuck is going on with this storm vision together? How would she talk to him? Could she just march into Oregon State Hospital demanding to see a patient?
Max isn't sure, but she decides to test the latter.
She realizes she probably should have at least looked into the hospital's visitations policy online before getting on the nearly two hour bus ride to Salem, but it's too late to turn back now. She's gotten off the bus and walking through what seems to be a park owned by the hospital on the way to the facility.
Oregon State Hospital has a rather bleak history, as Max is aware of. Other than being the filming location of the 1975 Jack Nicholson film, One Flew Over the Cuckoo's Nest, the hospital has once been notorious for mistreating their patients. But then again, aren't most mental institutions, Max wonders. Naturally, it's no longer the case today and the original structure of the hospital is no longer being used for treating patients and is instead a museum.
The actual hospital now operates in a new and more modern building. It almost looks like an office of some sort, or a pretty cool art school, Max thinks. On the way here, she passes an outdoor table with a rather artistic lime colored shade. Max doesn't exactly know what she's expecting from a mental institution, but this isn't exactly the image in her head either. She'd thought it would be more like a plain, dull hospital with white on white on white from the floor to the walls to the ceiling. Instead there's big glass windows and large wooden beams adorning the tall ceilings, with modern wood finishes accenting the walls.
The lobby is empty, save for the receptionist behind a desk and the occasional passing staff member. It's so empty you could hear the click of their shoes as they walk.
"How can I help you," asks the receptionist peeking her head from the desk to smile at Max, her clear voice echoing in the vacant room.
"Uh…" As far as Max has traveled, she hasn't quite thought this far ahead. But she's already here, she might as well give it a shot, she thinks. "I'm here to visit someone."
"Right," the receptionist says. "Their name please."
"Um, N-Nathan—Nathan Prescott."
"And your name?"
"Max Caulfield."
The receptionist repeats Nathan's name and then hers as she types on her computer. Max waits as patiently as she could, but she's finding it increasingly hard to ignore her speeding nerves. What's she thinking visiting Nathan Prescott? So what if he may have something to do with the storm? What is she supposed to do? Blurt out that she thinks he's connected to her prophetic dreams and mysterious powers? Probably not the greatest idea doing that at a fucking mental hospital, Max tells herself.
"I'm sorry, it doesn't look like you're on his approved visitors list."
Of course, Max thinks. Why would she assume she can just drop in here announced? They're bound to have security measures in place.
"No, I'm not," Max admits.
"I'm sorry, sweetie," the receptionist apologizes. "All visitors need to fill out an application first, subject to approval. Would you like me to get you some forms?"
Max fidgets anxiously. "Uh, that's—"
"Are you here for Nate too?"
Just then, Max turns to face the pleasant voice from behind her, a tall beautiful brunette girl with movie star like features. She's the type of girl who turns heads wherever she goes, not because she looks loud and demands attention but because she looks so pristine and perfect in her long flowy floral dress, strappy heels, and long vintage chain shoulder bag. A classical beauty. Like a '50s Hollywood star. Her caramel hair rests just below her chest in dainty loose curls. Her eyes are a gorgeous shade of blue. She looks almost familiar, like…
"Oh, sorry, I kind of overhead. I'm Nate's sister," she says, smiling charmingly. She holds her hand out for a handshake. "Kristine."
It takes Max a second, her now obvious resemblance to Nathan taking her aback, but she eventually jolts into her senses and accepts her extended hand. "Max."
"Max," she repeats. "What a cute name."
"How about those forms then, Miss Caulfield?" The receptionist asks uncertainly, reluctant to interrupt the two young women.
"N-no, thanks," Max says, surrendering to her nerves, deciding to abort mission. "That's alright."
Max flashes the receptionist an awkward smile before turning on her heel, determined to get the hell out of there. The presence of Nathan's sister is enough for her nerves to go completely haywire, because if the Prescott family are all the same then this 'Kristine' surely won't be a very nice person to deal with. And now she knows that Max has been looking for Nathan and it's definitely not helping how suspicious she's acting around her. She'd probably have her investigated or something.
"Wait!" The pleasant voice called back at her. "Are you a friend of Nate's?"
Max curses inwardly, her inherent kindness and reluctance to be any sort of rude taking over. She stops and turns back.
Kristine lets out a breath as she tries to smile. "I'm sorry if I'm being pushy, but could you not go? To tell you the truth, Nate hasn't gotten any visits from his friends and it might really help him out if someone did."
Max briefly debates telling her she isn't Nathan's friend. "I'm actually not—"
"Please? Are you, uh, from Nate's after school club?"
The Vortex Club. Never, Max thinks. Not that she could still join if she wants to since the Vortex has been permanently disbanded by Principal Wells following investigations on their 'club activities'.
But there's something in Kristine's eyes. Max could sense how honest and earnest her concern is for her little brother. Even if it is Nathan Prescott. And because Max is just that much of a damn pushover, somehow she ends up sitting across Kristine at a café down the street from the hospital.
"How do you know Nate, Max?" Kristine asks, delicately stirring her coffee with a teaspoon.
She had ordered a latte with art on a small white cup. Max would want one as well, but considering her off the charts anxiety levels lately, she figures caffeine would probably be a bad idea. Hence, a strawberry milkshake.
"We have some classes together," she responds. It's not a lie. They do. But Max still has a hard time looking her in the eye because she's… well, a Prescott. They always have this intimidating air about them. Though she can't deny that Kristine seems a little bit different.
"You're… not his girl, are you?" Kristine asks, intrigued.
"No!" Max blurts out maybe too harshly. She closes her eyes and calms herself, aware of having startled Kristine. But how could she expect Max to react otherwise? If she knows her brother at all, it would be obvious he would never go for someone like her, Max thinks. Instead, she corrects herself calmly, "I mean, no. I'm not."
"Sorry I assumed," Kristine finally says after gathering herself for a moment. "I haven't really been… in touch with Nate's personal life lately. I was in the Peace Corps doing my thing. I don't even know if Nate has a girl," she admits reluctantly, a certain sadness flashing in her eyes.
Max isn't sure what to say now, and Kristine looks somewhat distracted, so she tries to think of a question to ask.
"Did no one from Blackwell really come to visit Nathan," she decides to ask. Nathan isn't exactly the most popular guy in school, but even this is a surprise to Max. Not even Victoria has come to see him? Max had thought she's his best friend. At one point she even wonders if they're more than that.
Kristine shakes her head no. "I—I don't know what anyone is supposed to do in a situation like this so I don't know if I can blame them if they're not here but... I do know that I'm here. And I'll keep visiting Nate for as long as he's here."
Max sympathizes with her to some extent, because she too doesn't know what she's supposed to do. She's here having coffee with the sister of her best friend's murderer. It's almost laughably ironic.
Kristine's cellphone rings then, and Max is thankful because she's sure another awkward silence has been looming over them. Kristine excuses herself to answer the call just outside the café. Max could still see her through the glass windows, and she appears to be pretty frustrated at whoever she's talking to.
She comes back only a minute later, apologizing. "Sorry, my mom has a bad habit of calling at the worst moments," she jokes.
"Is she coming to see Nathan too?" Max asks, curious. That conversation didn't look too good from where she sits.
"No, she's not. She's…," Kristine hesitates, "busy." She quickly lights up, changing the subject. "Anyway, I can help you with those visitor forms. Here's my email."
Kristine takes a pen from her purse and quickly jots down her email on an unused napkin. She hands it to Max with her signature charming smile.
"Oh! While we're waiting for your approval, maybe you can write to Nate," she says. "They told me he can receive letters too but to be honest, I haven't written because I don't really like handwritten letters. There's laptops and emails for that, you know?"
Max smiles weakly in response, unable to get a word in with Kristine's fast talking peppiness.
"Sorry I'm babbling, I'm just excited Nate's finally going to get a visit from someone who isn't his doting older sister," she jokes. "I know he loves me, but I can imagine he must be sick of my face by now."
Kristine laughs, but what Max takes from that is that no one other than Kristine herself has come to visit Nathan. Not even his family, and that phone call Kristine just had with their mom confirms it. Max had been vaguely aware of Nathan's daddy issues but she hadn't thought it would be bad enough that neither of his parents would visit him at the hospital even once.
"I have to get going before visiting hours end," Kristine says, "but it was sooo nice meeting you, Max."
Max smiles. "Thanks for the coffee."
Kristine flashes Max her smile one last time before stepping out of the café. A personal chauffeur greets her immediately outside and leads her to a sleek black sedan. Seeing that unfold is almost like a reminder that no matter how charming of a person Kristine seems to be, she is still a Prescott at the end of the day.
Max can't help but think she feels different though, and because of that, she finds it so hard to say no to her. She seems to just genuinely care for her brother and Max can respect that. If anything, this whole encounter just helps Max justify why she should come see Nathan after all. She's just not so sure about writing him a letter… although it could make things easier for when she has to face him in person. Maybe she'll write to him after all.
