Chapter 01: Where is the Edge?
Pulling a branch aside in the dim light of night, Max caught sight of it again. The sleek, ethereal doe stepped further down the forested path and out of sight. Max stayed still, her eyes lingered at the last spot she spied the deer leading her along in the dead of night. She didn't want to follow it. It was leading her there. The same place it always led her. Ushered by an irresistible force, she stepped forward again.
Please, just stop this!
Stumbling into a clearing, an all-too-familiar barn came into view in the moonlight. A feeling of dread and doom swept over Max, bringing her to her knees. Memories flashed through her, flitting in from the darkest corners of her mind. "Stop it!" she cried out loud. When she opened her eyes, the deer appeared before her once more. And, just like that, all of her nightmares were banished, replaced with a soft dread as the deer again bounded away, compelling her to follow along.
"Why are you doing this to me?" Max asked as she began to sob. "Stop torturing me!" This time as the trees parted, she found herself at a place that had become so familiar. A graveyard. The deer bounded through the paths, coming to a stop before a modest tombstone. "I don't want to be here." Despite her protests, her feet continued to bring her after the deer. Just as she got close enough to reach out and touch the deer, it vanished into nothing, leaving the tombstone before her.
"Please… no," Max begged as her gaze fell upon the name: Chloe Price.
"Please… no." Max's eyes shot open as she drew a deep, sharp breath. "Not again," she muttered, wiping her wet eyes as she reached for her phone at her bedside. Picking it up, she read the time: 04:22. Throwing it back down, she reached for her journal, now pitifully devoid of fantastic time-bending entries and photos. She shuffled to a page she'd started the day after the funeral. It described a strange dream she had. But, the next night, she had it again, and again. And again.
Every night, between hellish nightmares of being held prisoner in the Dark Room and watching Chloe die over and over, she had the same dream. That ghostly doe led her through some significant place in her past during that magical, horrifying week. Then, without fail, it always brought her to Chloe's grave. Another bitter reminder of her failure. That all of her struggling, all of her power couldn't save the person she cared the most for in the world.
Unlike her nightmares, which left her waking up screaming, these dreams with the doe would only leave her feeling empty and sad. And it always lingered. At least the nightmares would start to ebb away in minutes. These dreams with the doe were more like her visions of the tornado. Only instead of giving her a glimpse into the future, they bound her to a single moment in the past. Not a moment. A week. The best, worst week of her life.
Almost mechanically, she recorded in her diary what was different this time. As if collecting all the different routes would somehow lead her to discover some hidden meaning in the recurring dream. More and more it just felt like the meaning was that she was a piece of shit who let Chloe die.
It was official. Today marked a week since Chloe was laid to rest. A full week since the funeral. And damn if it didn't hurt every bit as much as that day. Grabbing her pillow and pulling it to her chest, she buried her face in it as she cried.
After a good, long cry, Max shuffled out of bed. She felt like a zombie. Just shambling forward without thought or purpose, and so completely drained. A glance over at her mirror showed her a bleary-eyed monster. A traitor that gave up on the best thing in this world she would ever have. Chloe wasn't the only one that bullet killed.
Rest in peace, Max Caulfield.
The very thought made her stomach turn as a desperate Kate falling from the school's roof flashed through her mind's eye. Was it selfish of her to stop Kate? Not that it really mattered anymore. That never happened.
Fleeing from the reflection that tormented her so with its cowardly gaze, she threw on some clothes and slipped into her shoes. It wasn't like she was going to get back to bed, anyway. Some fresh air might clear her head, or at least distract her a little bit from her own, toxic thoughts.
One good thing about five in the morning, even the most hardcore of partiers and delinquents had already snuck back in for a quick crash before sleeping through half their classes. At the other end of the spectrum, even the earliest of risers were only starting to stir. They wouldn't step out of their rooms for some time. It allowed Max a respite not given to her when the halls stirred with life.
Every familiar face taunted her. Dozens of interactions that never happened, or maybe they did. Secrets she shouldn't know. Fates that never happened.
Deaths she caused.
Exiting the dorms into the predawn light, Max shuffled along aimlessly. Her discerning eye ignored the beauty around her. She didn't even bring her camera… not that she had brought it anywhere. Not since Chloe and the week that never happened. Instead, her thoughts stayed trapped on the treadmill of guilt and despair.
Save her whole world, or annihilate her hometown with all of her friends in it. What kind of fucking choice was that?
Max could never live with that blood on her hands.
Chloe would rather die than to have Max go through that.
It was the right choice.
It was the only choice.
So, then, why did she regret it so? It haunted her more than a thousand innocent souls flayed on the razor winds of a time-storm. No one deserved to die. Not Rachel, and definitely not Chloe.
Breathing a ragged breath in and out, she felt the familiar warmth of tears streaming down her face. "I'm so sorry, Chloe. I'm sorry." Finding the nearest spot, the wall around the parking lot, she sat down and buried her face in her hands.
"You look like shit, girlie," a familiar, gruff voice called Max's attention to a shadowed figure accented by the bright red glow of a cigarette.
Sniffling, Max swiped her cheeks and eyes in an attempt to clean herself up. Why, she couldn't say. What did she care what she looked like? "I feel like shit."
"I've seen you around, haven't I?"
The figure stepped forward, close enough for the shitty parking lot lights to show Max his face. It was Frank. His RV was parked just a stone's throw away. How had she not noticed that? Max bit her tongue, suppressing the desire to snark at him that he'd seen her more than he knew.
Frank threw the cigarette on the ground and stomped on it before pointing at Max. "Yeah, you're the fucking girl from the paper. The one that saw Chloe Price get shot and didn't fucking do shit to help her."
"You don't get to say that!" Max yelled, her emotions rising like a tsunami. She jumped down, pointing her own finger back at Frank. "Fucking no one gets to say that to me! I moved heaven and earth to save her! I did everything! I tried… everything…" Just like that, her rage ran out of steam, crushed under her sorrow and regret. Tears streaked down anew. "I just… I couldn't save her."
I let her die.
Max fell to her knees, the stinging pain of hitting the blacktop barely registering. "You're right…" Her palms slapped the ground, followed by her elbows. Hot tears splattered down. "I can't take it back… Not this time."
"Shit. Just how fucked are you?" Frank replied. "Look, I just… You were there, right? You saw that Prescott shit pull the trigger?"
"Yeah," Max choked out. Calming her tears just a bit, she struggled to sit back up, resting on her heels so she could see Frank.
"Little fuckin' prick," Frank muttered, taking a few steps away from her, before doubling back, again pointing at her. "Okay, so do you know what the fuck his connection was to Rachel? And what did Jefferson have to do with it? The goddamn news ain't sayin' shit about it."
Swiping again at her eyes, she shook her head. "I know. But I… The truth isn't … good. Maybe you should sit down." This was a conversation she'd had before, more or less. But that didn't mean that Frank didn't need to know. He deserved to know.
Frank stepped over. Even in the dim light, Max could see a small, hopeful look in his eye. "You really know everything?" He extended his hand, offering to help Max to her feet.
The helpless feeling of being drugged and bound and the sounds of a camera shutter bubbled up from the depths of her mind. "More than I ever wanted," Max replied, taking his hand and letting him roughly yank her to her feet.
Frank turned around, waving after Max. "Come on." He led Max over to his RV before unlocking the door and stepping up. He held the door open, just waiting for her to follow him inside.
At first Max was taken aback at how easily he was letting her into his domain. But when she thought about it, it made sense. Frank cared for Rachel more than anyone. Well, maybe anyone but Chloe. Of course he'd do whatever it took to find out more.
As soon as she stepped in, Frank thunked the door shut behind her, the lock audibly clicking. Instinctively, she reached out her hand, the threads of time splitting around her fingers.
Frank stepped by.
Max let out a breath she didn't know she'd been holding. She should've known better. She knew Frank better. There was a good heart buried deep inside him. Well, "good" might be a stretch, but it wasn't like he was fucking Jefferson.
Another noise brought Max back to reality. He had adjusted the passenger seat to face the driver's seat. He motioned to it as he squeezed by in the narrow space. "Sit."
Max obliged, her gaze lingering on the driver's seat. Imagining a blue-haired angel behind the wheel. She'd give anything to take that road trip with Chloe.
A swirling vortex of death cut through her rosy reverie.
Almost anything.
Her arms wrapped around her stomach, trying to ease the violent churning within.
Is this what it was like for Chloe? Imagining some happily ever after she knew would never come?
"Want a beer?" Frank asked as he opened his fridge.
"I don't drink," Max replied, a bit too quickly. Her hand trailed up to her neck, pressing against an invisible needle-stick. "Bad experience."
"Probably better off. Only got piss left." Frank trailed back over, a can of beer in one hand, a soda in the other. He handed Max the soda before yanking up the chair at the table and setting it down behind the driver's seat. "Name's Frank, by the way," he introduced himself as he sat down, cracking open his beer.
"Max," she replied, it barely registering with her that they had never actually met in this reality. She opened her own drink, taking a sip of the syrupy, sweet beverage.
"You know, Max, every spoiled Blackwell dipshit I've talked to said they didn't know shit about what happened to Rachel." He held out his beer, pointing a finger at Max. "You better not be bullshitting me."
Max shook her head, her gaze falling to the can as she lowered it to her lap. "You deserve to know. I know how much you cared for her."
"The fuck would you know about that?"
Shit.
"I just… I mean, she meant so much to so many people at Blackwell. All over Arcadia Bay. I wish… I wish I could've met her."
Frank took a long swig, eyeing Max. He sighed. "You missed out."
Twisting the can in her hands, Max searched for the right words. It was so hard without cheating. "I… can tell you whatever you want to know, but… but I know you won't like what you hear."
"We're talking about Rachel's fucking death. Of fucking course I ain't gonna like it."
Max again found her soda can the most interesting thing in the world. "What do you want to know?"
"Shit," Frank muttered, sitting back in the chair. "She never left Arcadia Bay. So she… she died when she disappeared."
"Yeah," Max replied. She glanced over to find Frank staring hard at her. It was clear he wanted more details than that. Was he testing her? Max cleared her throat. "She… Rachel was abducted by Nathan Prescott."
Frank shot to his feet. "So it was that fucking rich shit! Motherfucker!"
"He was a puppet," Max said. "Mark Jefferson's little scapegoat." Her stomach turned. The bastard's name bit her tongue like a bitter poison. She took a drink, but it did little to wash away the venom.
"So it was that Jefferson douchebag? I saw he got arrested, but fucking no one has said shit about what." Frank sat back down.
"He used Nathan," Max said. "Because he was easy to manipulate. Because he had access to a fortune."
Throwing back the rest of the beer, he crushed the can in his hand. "What the fuck did he—did they—do to Rachel?" He tossed the can at the trash, not even caring that he missed.
Max felt her throat burning, and the sugary drink couldn't do anything to quell the fire. "Jefferson… he used Nathan to get access to a bunker under an old barn. The Dark Room." If Jefferson's name was poison, then saying that place's name was boiling acid. For a moment, Max actually wished her drink was a bit stronger. "That psychopath… he drugged girls, taking photos of them while they were sedated. If he thought they might… remember, might be a liability—" Max looked up, finally making eye contact with Frank "—he got rid of them."
Frank was shaking. "He did that… to Rachel?"
Max nodded. "Nathan wanted to impress him. He… Nathan killed Rachel."
"God damn it," Frank ground out. "I knew it was him. The day he's arrested and Rachel's body turns up? No fucking way it was a coincidence."
Maybe he won't ask how, this time.
"Max," he leaned in, resting an arm on his leg. "Do you know… do you know how she died?"
Fuck.
"They were using some drug to sedate the girls. Nathan overdosed her."
Frank's eyes went wide as he slapped a hand against his mouth. He leaned back. This time, he didn't mention his fault out loud. He blamed himself, sure, but he couldn't just tell some girl he just met that he was the local drug hookup. But Max could see it in his eyes, the hurt. The pain.
For a moment, Max felt like maybe this flunkie drug dealer was the only person in the world who had an inkling as to how she felt. She reached out, leaning over to put a hand on his knee. "I'm sorry. It hurts, I know."
He slapped her hand away. "The fuck do you know? How… how the hell would you even know all this shit, anyway? Bullshit the cops told you all that. You're just fucking with me!"
Max's mind raced. She couldn't just tell him that she learned every gruesome detail in an alternate reality that no longer even existed. To buy time, she turned her drink up, gulping down the remainder. "I…" she got up and placed the drink in the trash, right next to the door.
Why lie?
Keeping her back to Frank, she reached out and placed a hand on the door handle. "What?" she said her voice low and somber. "You think Rachel and Kate were the only ones to be taken to the Dark Room? Unlike the rest… I remember. I remember everything."
Unable to stand it for another second, she flung the door open and stepped out. She could hear Frank yelling after her, but he didn't give chase. Though her heart pumped hard enough for it to sound in her ears, Max only made deliberate steps. She wouldn't run away. After several seconds, it became clear that Frank had no desire to give pursuit. Good. Maybe now he could start to repent and maybe, just maybe, stop being a lowlife drug dealer.
He should be so lucky. Not everyone got that chance. Chloe would never get a chance to get on the right path. Silently cursing, Max swiped again at her wet eyes. As she stumbled her way back toward the dorms, she felt the first rays of dawn warm her skin.
Despite how fucked up it was talking to Frank about that all over again, despite how unpleasant all those stirred up memories were, despite everything, it was still… kind of nice to actually talk to someone like that. A week had gone by, and she'd barely spoken to anyone. She even blew off her parents and Warren and Kate. They didn't deserve the cold shoulder like that, but for the longest time, Max imagined that talking about it was the last thing she needed. Maybe… it was just what her tumultuous heart needed?
Max reached for her phone, only to discover it wasn't there. She'd left her whole bag in her room. It didn't really matter, she was already back by the dorms, anyway. Her eyes traced the face of the building up to the roof. Her stomach turned, imagining Kate as she fell.
She never even tried to jump in this reality. But all that fucked up shit still happened to her.
Even though she went the extra mile, tried to support Kate as best she could, she came so close to not talking her down from the roof. In this reality, she only talked to Kate a little at the funeral. Or at least what she could remember, anyway. There was almost a whole week missing. The week that never was.
Tearing her sight away, she found Tobanga in the corner of her eye, just staring at her.
I know I screwed up. You don't have to be so judgy.
She looked down at her hand. It seemed so ordinary, but the power within… it was still there. The power to twist time. The power to save Chloe. The power to seal her fate. The power to destroy all of Arcadia Bay.
Never again.
Why?
"What?" Max muttered aloud. Looking all around she found no one. "Who said that?" she said, louder this time as she spun around to make sure nobody was behind her.
Max prayed it was her imagination. She'd had more than her fair share of mind fucks recently. Just to be sure, she tapped her fingers beneath her nose. They came back dry and unbloodied. Hunching her shoulders as she wrapped her arms around herself, she picked up her pace toward the dorms.