Chapter 04: Heaven's a Lie

Max sat in her seat, her gaze a thousand yard stare out the window. It took everything in her to keep herself from breaking down at the funeral. If it hadn't been so… surreal, she surely would've flipped her shit. And now here she was, going right back to that place to put herself through hell. For what? Because a dream led her there?

Max, you're such an idiot.

Eager for anything to take her mind off of her march to the end of her world, she glanced over at Frank. For just a moment, her mind tormented her, showing her an enthusiastic Chloe behind the wheel. Max had to tear her gaze away, back to the safety of the window. "I… saw Hayden leaving here before I came over."

"Yeah?"

"I dunno," Max said with a shrug. "I kind of expected you to maybe stop dealing after learning about Rachel."

"What the fuck did you just say?"

"Wh-what?" Max asked, daring a glance over at Frank.

Frank pulled the RV off to the side of the road and threw his seatbelt off. "You a fucking narc?"

"What? No, I—"

Pulling out his knife, he pointed it at Max. "You better choose your next fucking words very carefully."

Right now, if she rewound, none of this would happen. It would be like she never said anything at all. But it would make Chloe's sacrifice for nothing. Max would rather die. Besides, Frank's bark was worse than his bite, right?

Please be right, Chloe.

"Chloe got her pot from you. For like, three years."

Frank breathed a heavy breath out through his nose. "She told you that?" he asked, gesturing toward Max with the blade.

"Yeah. She… always got it from you," Max replied, her eyes glued to the knife. Hot blood rushed in her ears. "Next to Rachel, she probably trusted you the most."

Frank pulled the knife away. "Bitch never could mind her own fucking business." Pointing at Max as he sat back down, he warned, "Don't you fucking tell a soul, you hear me?"

Eager to earn his trust and keep that blade sheathed, Max went out on a limb. "I didn't tell the police you were the one that sold Nathan the drugs he used on Kate Marsh. Isn't that proof enough to trust me?"

"And just how the fuck would you know about that?"

Max kicked herself again. Every time she opened her mouth, she dug herself just a little deeper. "Nathan… he was ranting about it when he came into the bathroom. Right… right before…" The memories flooded back again. Meeting the business end of Frank's blade would've been less painful. Tears came anew as she hugged herself. "God… Chloe…"

Before she could spiral any further, she felt an insistent nudge on her elbow. She looked down to find Pompidou there by her side. Sniffling, she petted Pompidou as he rested his head on her thigh. Max barely registered that the RV started moving again as she tried her damnedest to keep the vile memories at bay.

"If Pompidou trusts you, shit, that's good enough for me." After a couple of minutes of silence, Frank spoke up again. "Hey, sorry about the knife. I guess I'm not used to people actually being fucking straight with me." When Max didn't respond, he continued, "To answer your question, let's just say that some things aren't on the menu anymore. And no way in hell am I gonna sell to someone Pompidou doesn't like."

I guess some people just never change.

Three different Chloes flashed through Max's memories. The young girl she once knew before being torn away from Arcadia Bay, the punk she found when she returned, and the Chloe she met for just one day in a world where William never died.

Maybe that's for the best.

You changed.

Pompidou ducked away, retreating back to his spot behind the driver's seat. Incredulous, Max looked over at Frank. He was driving, his eyes stuck to the road. Turning her gaze back to Pompidou, she saw him turn his head away. "Did you hear that just now?"

"She protests a bit when we get up to speed," Frank replied, affectionately patting the dash. "Don't worry about it though, like most women, she just likes to bitch."

Part of Max wanted to yell at the pig for that comment, but she was far more interested in Pompidou. Either he heard the voice, too, or at least sensed… something.

It's not just in my head…

It was reassuring that she wasn't about to fracture her own mind again, but that left an even more ominous realization. Someone, or something, could sense her thoughts and speak directly to her. Or somethings. She could swear there were different voices.

"Frank, do you… do you think I'm screwed up. In the head?"

"You know, until today the only time I've seen anyone go from tear-your-fucking-throat-out pissed to a crying, crumpled heap in three seconds, the asshole got stabbed."

"Getting stabbed would've hurt less."

"Ever actually been stabbed? Hurts like a motherfucker, let me tell you."

Max gripped her hands in her lap, her nails digging into her palms. "More than watching your whole world die, right in front of you?"

"No… no, I guess not." Frank chanced a look over at Max. "You sure you don't want something to take the edge off? You look tense."

"Ever been drugged and bound, sealed in a bunker to be the plaything of a fucking serial killer? I never want to feel like that again." Max hugged herself. Why would she say that out loud?

Frank nodded. "Fair enough."

Feeling trapped, she tugged at her seatbelt. She couldn't breathe. "I need… I need some air!" Her heart thundered in her chest with so much force that it physically hurt.

"We're almost there, keep your shit together."

Max didn't hear him as she rolled out of her seat. Stumbling, she moved to the steps and reached for the door.

"Hey! We're fucking moving, dumbass!"

Max leaned on the door, but the air pressure only let it open a bit before it slammed shut back in her face. She moved to try again, but a sudden braking threw her against the back of the passenger seat. She recoiled as soon as she had the chance, and made for the door again. This time, the pressure was gone, and it burst open, allowing Max to stumble out onto the street.

The panic didn't fade. Her heart continued to pound in her ears and her chest burned, aching for air. Her eyes struggled to focus and her thoughts muddled together, flooding her mind with memories from the darkest corners of her mind. Above all the feeling of imminent doom still clutched her. Finally, everything went black.

A familiar rushing sound met Max's ears. Stinging rain pelted her as a powerful wind buffeted her. All around her, the air felt charged with powerful electricity.

No! Not again!

Max turned, and there it was. That same tornado. But it wasn't off in the distance. Max looked around. She wasn't at the lighthouse, safe and out of harm's way. She stood on the docks, right in the path of the tornado!

"No! Not here! Not now!" She shouted at the heavens. "I gave up everything! Everything to prevent this!"

"Max!"

That voice!

"Chloe!"

Max shot up, her arms extending out toward nothing.

"I've made a decision. You are definitely fucked in the head."

Max looked around, her heart still thumping in her ears. Somehow, she ended up in Frank's bed, and she suddenly felt pretty gross. A hand trailed to her head as she tried to adjust from her dream. No. Not a dream. Her vision. "Ugh. How did I end up here?"

"You don't remember?" Frank asked from his spot in a chair by the bed. "You completely flipped your shit and jumped out the RV while I was driving!"

Max tried to trace back her memories, but the thought derailed at the sound of a voice she hadn't heard in what felt like an eternity. Closing her eyes, she tried to move on. She was talking to Frank. The Dark Room came up. "I-I panicked. It felt… I felt like I was gonna die."

"I had half a mind to leave your scrawny ass out there in the street! Do you have any idea how bad it would've looked if someone saw you doing that crazy ass shit? The cops come here and I'm fucked!"

"Sorry! I-I just…" Max took a deep breath. "Sorry."

Frank pointed at her as he got up. "You're gonna be the one owing me by the time this shit is over." He walked by and out of the RV.

Max slid out of the bed, making sure to pat herself off before following after Frank. Stepping out of the RV, she found Frank and Pompidou waiting for her. They were just off the winding road leading through the cemetery.

Frank pointed to his left. "Chloe's down that way." He then motioned the other way. "I'm gonna go pay my respects to Rachel."

"Thank you, Frank," Max said, though her feet stayed glued there next to Frank.

Frank grabbed her hand and shoved something in it. "On the house."

Staring down at her hand, she found a yellow, rectangular pill. "What? I told you—"

"It's a Xanax," Frank said, matter-of-factly. "It breaks easily into quarters. Take a fourth next time you start to flip your shit. If that doesn't work, take more."

"No," Max said, holding out her hand at Frank for him to take it back. "I can't."

"You know, not everyone medicates to get high or to escape or some shit. Sometimes people need to treat themselves and for whatever reason, I'm a better option than a doctor." Frank pointed to the pill in Max's outstretched hand. "A quarter shouldn't hit your head too much, but it'll help chill your ass out. Trust me, I know my shit." He turned and started down the path, Pompidou following after him. "Besides, I can't have your scrawny ass jumping out of my RV again."

As Frank retreated, Max just stood there, staring at the pill in her hand. Deliberately, she closed her hand and her eyes. If she thought too much about it, she probably would need to take it. In an attempt to shove it from her thoughts, she stuck it in her bag. A lingering glance back at Frank and Pompidou marching away, and Max tore her attention back to the thing she still didn't know she had the guts to face. Chloe was over there. Right over there. Rotting in the ground. Because of her.

Despite the warm midday sun, Max wrapped her arms tightly around herself. Just to take the first couple of steps took everything in her. Max couldn't find the courage to talk to Chloe on her own when she abandoned her for five years. How was she supposed to go see her after she let her die? Her feet stopped dead, refusing to bring her even one step closer.

Then, a voice from the past echoed in her ears, "Max Caulfield, don't you forget about me."

A painful pressure stirred in Max's chest. She couldn't abandon her like that. Not ever again. Finding the strength to move forward, she started toward the last place she wanted to be, and the only person she wanted to see.

As Max got closer, she had to force her gaze to the ground. She knew that if she looked up, if she saw it, she would surely lose her nerve. Somehow, she held out until she shambled upon a mound of dirt, covered in wilted flowers. This was it. Max didn't even need to glance over at the tombstone. Chloe was right here.

Max put her here.