"But on one man's soul it hath broken,
A light that doth not depart,
And his look, or a word he hath spoken,
Wrought a flame in another man's heart." - Arthur O'Shaughnessy, excerpt of the poem Ode, from Music and Moonlight (1874)
The drive back to Arkadia was mostly silent, save for the occasional cough and sniffle from the occupants within Chloe's truck. Max initially thought it to be from Kate, having witnessed a betrayal of someone who she had trusted. The blonde was silent, however, and had no interest in talking. Instead, Chloe had clogged her nose with dust during their time out in the junkyard, and she fell into a sneezing fit shortly after starting for home.
Home, to the Price household.
It was becoming late. The sun had started dipping below the horizon of the bay. Curfew was soon to be in effect, and the police would make their rounds through the streets once the sun would set, giving the ultimatum for people to return to their homes. A silent agreement settled between them: no one wanted to be separated when night fell. The traffic had spurred into rush hour, and the road that led in and out of town was choked at red traffic lights. So, they detoured down Cedar Ave on a left turn, and drove past the tired stretch of the residential area before ending up in the driveway of a quaint two-story home, its exterior painted a deep shade of dark blue that was accented with white.
"Home, shit home."
Chloe pulled the keys from the ignition and muttered to herself as she clambered out the truck, the two others following her as they walked up to the front door. After a ring of the doorbell, the girls were greeted by Joyce; she much livelier than before, ushering them into the foyer as she gave each of them a welcoming hug. The woman explained to them that she'd been allowed to receive some paid time-off, since rush hour at the diner wasn't as horrendous this Wednesday like it had been previous.
It brought some small sense of wholesome amusement to Max and Kate, as Joyce channeled such happiness into her daughter with a hug of such motherly fierceness, causing the punk to fluster. Having to pry herself out of her mother's arms, the younger Price spoke with finality that they would be relaxing in her bedroom and beckoned her friends up the stairs to the second floor, though not before Joyce reminded them that dinner would be ready soon.
Chloe affirmed the reminder with a slam of the door, and with a practiced grace she dove onto her bed, breathing a sigh of relief. Max took her spot in the chair next to the punk's solitary desk beside the large mattress, glancing out the window. Kate opted to stand beside the mousy brunette, her gaze roaming the messy, unkempt room, observing the many possessions that held some unknown value to the laxing bluenette. With a sigh, the blonde tore her eyes away from the flag that draped from another window near the bed and pulled the ledger from her purse.
"I suppose you'd want this, Max," Kate passed the book into Max's hands, and the brunette opened the worn hardcover. She was met with a small piece of paper, upon which were scribbled random names of what were Frank's clients, and next to them, what appeared to be their codename equivalent: dog breeds.
Dog breeds?
Idly wondering why a bastard like Frank would like dogs enough to use as a code, Max turned the page and struck the jackpot. In summarized lines were all the transactions that Frank had taken part in, starting from the very beginning of the decade up until the present day. Flipping to the most recently used page in the book only confirmed her predictions.
"Hey Chloe, come check this out."
With a groan, the punk clambered out of her comfy spot on the bed and meandered beside Max's left, leaning down to look at what the brunette had found. She suddenly took an interest in the ledger and leaned closer, studying the slip of paper Max had set aside. Frank had given her a nickname among other clients, and Price scoffed at it.
"You gotta be kidding me, a fuckin' bulldog? Really?"
Max smirked, "I guess you weren't so friendly to him before."
Another exasperated scoff, "Damn right I wasn't, why would I be? I still remember that one time when he gave me a low grade instead of the half-shelf I paid for, shit was disappointing as balls."
Max looked up inquisitively, but Chloe didn't want to elaborate on her tastes and brought the mousy girl's attention back to the paper, pointing out the one name they were looking for.
"There he is—heh, figured he'd be a Rottweiler."
Max looked to the name placed next to Rottweiler, and sure enough, there was Prescott's first name, scribbled between the German Shepard above and the Boxer below. From there, Max flipped to the near last page of the ledger, and tracked the dealings made by Rott in the first days of October. There, on the fourth day, Max noticed a dealing between Frank and Nathan: the prince had paid big time for what was some cocaine, some speed, and whatever the hell Frank had titled, 'Fire bud'. Even more so, later that same day, was another dealing of five grams of 'GHB'.
"GHB? What even is that?"
"Gamma-hydroxybutyrate."
Max did a doubletake at Chloe, who'd spouted such a name like as if it was the most common thing in the world, "Wait, what?"
"GHB, gamma-hydroxy-butyrate. Most people call it the...the 'date rape' drug, because of its effects on the body," From off to the side, Max saw Kate visibly tense at the implied wording, and looked worriedly back to Chloe. The bluenette had a scowl upon her features, marred with a familiar sense of dread she'd felt for six months strong. Seeing the proof, there, in front of her, it itched at an insatiable curiosity, and with a swiftness Chloe swiped the book and skimmed a few pages back.
"Chloe, how do you—?"
"I figured Prickskott must've done something to Rachel for her to disappear, so I decided to dig into what would be his go-to for parties. Fucker always was a twitchy little spastic—"
Chloe suddenly stopped swiping at the pages, and a tense silence reigned as she read, and no one dared to stifle the permeating sense of cold that now radiated from the Pirate Captain. The two students watched with a trembling fervor as Chloe's expression told them of what she found, as her scowl deepened.
"I should've fucking known," her emotions raged like an impending discharge, yet settled into an empty mask.
With a huff, the bluenette halfheartedly tossed the book back onto the desk and fell back onto her bed with undignified grandeur, and Max was certain she was doing everything in her power to not lash out in tears. Looking back to the book showed exactly why. On the day that Rachel had disappeared and just prior to such, Nathan had been in business with Frank. A weight befell Max's heart and she felt herself slump in the chair, the realization of just how dangerous Nathan was and what he was capable of, it now terrified her so.
That is, until she caught the name at the bottom of Frank's client list, and suddenly snorted in bewilderment.
It didn't go unnoticed, "Uhm—Max, are you alright?"
"I feel like I should be asking you that, Katie," the brunette took the piece of paper and with sudden, trembling poise, dramatically pointed an outstretched hand towards the blonde, "or should I say, Chihuahua!"
Immediately did Caulfield crumble with a spasm of laughter, gripped with a noticeably forced sense of hysteria, and it was enough to gain the bewildered ire of Chloe, who'd turned over to glare at her. Kate stood still, unsure as to what exactly was going on. It seemed that Caulfield had suddenly gone mad, but she just couldn't tell if it was true. The piece of paper in Max's hands ended up on the bed with the cackling brunette on the floor.
"A chihuahua—oh my god, a chihuahua—!"
"The fuck're you laughing for, Maximus?"
Piqued, Chloe snatched the paper from its place and looked it over, before a wicked, self-serving smile carved itself into being. With a cheeky glint in her ice blue eyes, the bluenette looked to a now worried Kate.
"What, what is it!?"
"Oh, she's got you now, Katie-Kat. There ain't no hiding from this," as Chloe points to where the blonde could just make out what had caused Max to lose herself to laughter. At the bottom of the list, in careful wording, was the name 'Katie' written next to Chihuahua, and Kate could feel the incredulousness swell in her heart.
"But I don't do drugs," the blonde frowned, miffed by the implication.
"Katie-Kat, as of this present moment I smoke weed for a living. You think I'm gonna judge? I'm not sure about Max though," looking to the floor, they found Max still laughing, almost to tears.
"That's not what I meant," Kate sulked, feeling so indignant at the fact that there was some doppelganger with a similar name getting high somewhere unknown.
"Oh-ho-ho, jeez—" and with a final cackle, Max hoisted herself to the bed, laying on her back and basking in how unnecessarily funny that was, "Alright, I'm done, I'm done."
"Y'know guys, I got some of the good stuff right here. There ain't no shame in trying."
"I'm good, Chlo," Max dissuaded, catching her breath.
"I don't—sigh—I'll pass, Chloe."
"Aw, c'mon Kate, just this once—you'll feel a whole lot better than before and that's a promise," the punk reached a lanky arm under her bed and clutched a weary little metal tin no bigger than the palm of her hand, covered all around in graffiti and artsy touches. Prying the lid open, Chloe reached in and pulled out a small plastic bag, and within its confines was what looked to be some very dubious green substance, that which Kate identified as the very thing her parents had harped about for years on end.
"Behold, my sweet Mary Jane," Chloe spoke with a sort of pride, "now look, I ain't gonna force you, but if you've ever wanted to delve in the mystical wonders brought by the vibrant herbs of Mother Earth, then now's your chance."
Kate held herself still, primed with the chance of a lifetime but even still she held herself back. With all this stress, this mounting pressure that had been barely alleviated by her friends' efforts, it enticed Kate to a release, one that didn't involve hating herself until she broke down into a sobbing mess. So, her mind likened the substance to the little figurative voice in her ear, whispering the assurance of a good time should she dare to go beyond her boundaries.
Yet, even as Chloe promised not to be pushy about her offer, Kate felt her gut instinct triumph over such inner strife, and she politely spoke, "Pardon me, Chloe, but I'd rather not."
"A'ight, suit yourself."
Chloe then spent the time rolling up a solid blunt, with such careful precision unbefitting of her. Max and Kate found themselves so enamored by the gentle care that Price rolled into the joint.
"Hey, Chlo, you're not going to smoke that in here, are you...?'"
"No, I'm gonna open the window, last thing I need is for—
A rumble came from beyond the bedroom. The muffled slam of the front door caused all of them to flinch, and they looked to Chloe's door, suddenly feeling themselves in the presence of something unknown and dreadful. It didn't help that as Max and Kate looked back to Chloe, they saw Price's eyes widen like saucers.
"Oh no."
With panicked practice, the punk slapped the blunt into the tin and fished for the lid.
"Chloe, what was that—?"
Max looked to her best friend to ask what was wrong, but then they heard the drum of footsteps. Ominous and thundering with might, they carried a promise of power behind them as they sounded closer and closer, up the stairs they came. Out of instinct the girls shifted further away from the door, with Chloe sliding the tin under her bed in a rush and bounding back in front of Max and Kate, just in time for her door to be swung open. It slammed off the doorstop with enough force to bounce back a bit.
Max and Kate felt a cold shiver run up their spines at the sight of the man standing before them.
"Christ, d'you even fucking bother with knocking!?" Chloe barked.
"Joyce told me you were home, I had to see for myself," the gruff baritone voice of David Madsen, Blackwell's head security guard, responded. With a glowering expression did he eye the two girls hiding behind Chloe, "are these your friends?"
"Of-fucking-course they are, what's it to you?"
"I just want to know. You know I don't appreciate strangers in my house," he coldly retorted and crossed his arms, standing tall and mighty. Never did the scowl remove itself to his face, only did it vary in intensity—and as of now it was glaring at the likes of Max and Kate.
Chloe caught his attention with a pointed sigh, "Look, David, I don't think Joyce is wanting another shouting match, so why don't you just leave us alone and go tinker with your little man-toy down in the garage, sound good?"
He chuckled then, amused, "I would, if only you'd stop giving me a reason to keep getting on your case," and he takes an exaggerated sniff, "like that weed you got," he pokes, and Chloe flinches in surprise, enough to give herself away. David doesn't move immediately, but he does shake his head, and looks disappointedly to his stepdaughter.
"Chloe, for the last time, I'd told you to not bring drugs into my house," He sternly warned, then slowly stomped his way toward the bluenette. The girls kept as much distance from him as possible and watched him edge up to Price, who stood her ground, and glared defiantly at him.
"Are these friends of yours the reason you've been toking up?" he asks, side-eyeing Max and Kate huddled near the desk.
"No, they're not, don't be so fucking rude to them just because you don't know 'em," Chloe snipped back.
"I'm just curious," he retorts, "there's no need for you to be so disrespectful to me just because I don't know who your friends are," he bit back louder, more agitated, "Given your last "friends," I'm not really inclined to trust who you bring into my house."
"Don't you fucking dare talk about Rachel like that!" Chloe roared, flaring like an enraged peacock and stepping into Madsen's space, trying to push him out of her room, "maybe if you weren't such a fucking control freak, I wouldn't feel the need to be around her more!"
He was not moved by her shoving, but his own temper flared in response to hers, "Chloe—!" he clenched his jaw, and breathed out his frustration in one mighty exhale, "I am your step-father, I'm your parent. By that extension, I am responsible for taking care of you and making sure that you're safe," he then animatedly pointed toward the stairs beyond the threshold.
"So whenever you and Rachel leave for days on end, and I have to console your mother who is worried sick about you," he jabbed his index finger right at the bluenette, "I can't help but feel that I have to be even more of a hard ass, since all you do is try to get yourself in trouble!"
"Oh fuck off, you expect me to trust you when all you do is give me shit!?" Chloe pushed his extended arm away, countering with a jabbing finger of her own, "That's all you do, you always treat me like shit and expect me to be nice to you—!"
A sudden shout, echoing from downstairs, interrupts the ever-mounting tirade between the two, and makes them shut up with its stern, chiding tone.
"Now y'all better quit your yappin' and come downstairs, dinner's ready!"
An ensuing moment of palpable silence follows, then David huffs his warning to Chloe, and tersely walks out her room and down the stairs.
Max and Kate eased themselves from the tense posture they hadn't realized they'd been holding, and look to Chloe, herself expelling her pent-up anger in harsh breaths. The punk looked to her two friends, whether out of embarrassment or a driven feeling of bitterness they weren't sure, they had no time to reflect on it as Chloe followed David's path down to the first floor.
The petite duo glanced at each other, fearing what was to come, before taking their stride out the room and down the steps. Awaiting them was the Madsen family, sitting at the dining table.
The stroganoff that sat in front of her was a bit on the stale side, but how it made up for itself in the fact that she hadn't eaten such an amount of cooked meat in so long. Indeed, Max thought to the times back in Seattle where her family had first gotten their hands on a couple steaks after the start of the Riots, when grocery stores had their shelves cleaned for weeks on end. How her family had gone so far as to ration a few bits and pieces for dinnertime as those months went by. And as much as she was for being organic and all that, nothing beat a cooked side of steak, or chicken, or even fish, with some sauce of her choice. So here, with a whole eight ounces of ground beef mixed with copious amounts of pasta and sauce, she reveled in the taste.
Taking a glance around the table yielded the same results as it did the last time she'd done it: to her left and situated at the head of the table, Mr. Madsen burrowed into the side of mashed potatoes on his plate, never looking up except to glare at Chloe, who sat opposite to Max and down a seat. The punk had kept up her staring contest with the patriarch, idly chewing on a mouthful off her plate, completely unaware of the exasperated looks her mother was giving her. Joyce sat at the opposite head of the table, trying her hardest to not poke the elephant in the room and hoping that tonight wouldn't end in a scuffle. To Joyce's left and Max's right was Kate, who'd been the most invisible of them all, only speaking to sincerely thank Joyce for the meal.
Surrounding them, clenching the inner depths of their hearts, was an atmosphere of intangible tension.
"So, Max, how's school been treating you?" Joyce asks between bites.
Max shuffles in her seat at the sudden question, "Um, it's good. Yeah, it's been alright."
"If you don't mind me asking, you're going to Blackwell, right?"
"Yes, I got enrolled on that program thing they're doing for incoming seniors," Max smiles the slightest at the memory of receiving the acceptance letter, "my parents were so happy for me, I'd thought I got lucky."
"That's good to know, congrats hun."
"Thanks," Max beamed.
"I gather Kate here is also going to Blackwell?" prompted Joyce, giving an encouraging smile to the now startled blonde next to her. Kate flushed, she'd a mouthful of stroganoff and couldn't speak, so she bashfully nodded to Joyce's inquiry. Max chuckled at the sight.
"Yeah, Kate and I live in the dorms, same floor," Max supplied, "We also share photography class, but other than that we'll sometimes meet up and study together."
"Really now?" and even as Joyce said that Max couldn't help sneaking a glance at Chloe, still chewing on the same bite she'd taken, still too busy staring at David to notice the conversation. Max forced herself back to talking, "Yeah, uhm—yeah. It's nice, since we don't have many friends there."
"Why, are people there giving you trouble?"
"Well, I mean, uh—"
"I know David's the head security guard there," and at the mention of his name, Madsen looked up from his near finished plate, swallowing the bite he'd taken, "If they're messing with you, all you outta do is tell him."
David cleared his throat, garnering the attention of everyone not already looking towards him, asking pointedly to Max, "Is there any problems that you've noticed at Blackwell that I haven't, Max?"
Max was entirely convinced that it was impossible for this man to not be intimidating at everything he does.
"Well, uhm—," and Max looked to Kate, who'd kept her head down the second David spoke, and realized there stood a possibility to make their efforts worthwhile, "there's one problem that we've noticed, sir. Nathan Prescott."
David frowned, "Would it perhaps pertain to…drugs?" He kept his eyes on Max as he said this, and Caulfield felt dread suddenly clutch her heart, yet she couldn't fathom why. Perhaps she'd grown accustomed to the fact that David always let's his true emotions show, and that suspecting frown of his only etched deeper unto his face when looking to her.
A chuckle came from across the table.
Max glanced to the side to see Chloe snickering, whereas David eyed the bluenette like a hawk ready to strike, and Caulfield entertained the possibility that he'd really tear his stepdaughter's throat out at the slightest instance.
"What's so funny, Chloe?" he spat instead.
"It's just funny, y'know," she sneered, smiling from ear to ear, she didn't fear the glare he sent her way, "that you've been fighting this 'narcotic menace' oh so well, yet you gotta rely on a couple of students to actually get anything done."
"Now you listen here—!"
"No no, no, please, continue on your grand plan to win the hearts and minds of the poor kids," she mocked, leaning back in her seat, "I'm sure they'd be happy with you liberating them from their temptations, like you've done to me."
David bit, "I wouldn't have to be so hard on you if you didn't blow your college funds on weed and booze—"
"Gee, David, have you ever wondered why I've turned to drugs and booze to help me cope with living?" she bit back, snarling, "I want you to take a guess, one really good guess as to why that is, go on, what is it?"
Either by the pleading glare that Joyce sent his way, or because he wasn't up for Chloe's bullshit, David simply gruffed, We're eating, and stabbed the last piece of stroganoff off his plate to emphasize it.
"Sure, whatever you say, Sergeant," came a grumble.
"Chloe," her mother stressed, "That's enough. David's right, we're eating now," and the woman emphasized this by pouring a spoonful of gravy upon her mashed potatoes.
"...okay, Joyce," she coldly responded, before aggressively sliding her fork through a clump of pasta and burying the whole thing in her mouth, chewing as obnoxiously as possible. This only served to annoy the matriarch sitting next to her, who sighed.
"Chloe, for the last time, I thought I told you to stop calling me—"
"Y'know, Joyce? I think it's amazing, how much you've changed. I remember the times when I'd get called a freak in middle school and you'd tear the kid who said so and his parents a new one, but now, you don't even bother trying to keep David here from bickering at everything I do like the man-child that he is."
Max felt the air start to rumble from the friction, the figurative daggers of lightning dancing around and between the three family members before her sparked with anticipation. The brunette imagined then and there, the clouds hanging over the table, and the thunder waiting to sound its mighty roar and smash the equilibrium with a chaotic glee.
"He's only doing it because he cares about you, Chloe—"
"Bullshit!" the punk rasped, "The only thing he cares about is having control over someone. It's 'cause he's a fucking control freak!"
"Chloe, you quit runnin' your mouth and apologize to him this instant!" Joyce was growing tired of the banter; Max could see it. It was true that Mother Price had her own fangs, but she held back against her daughter, even now.
"Fuck no, it's not my fault he's still recovering from his time massacring civilians in fucking Iraq or whatever," Chloe barked back, irritated.
Max looked over to the man in question and saw him visibly tense. The grip on his fork was clasped with white knuckles, his jaw was set like stone and his brow arched with a boiling fury, churning against a strained force of will that kept him still. Seeing every single instance of David trying his hardest to keep from snapping placed an inkling of terror in Caulfield, so gripping the sides of her chair she curled on herself and braced for the thunder.
"And better yet, Joyce, is how you'd defend him over your own fucking daughter. Have you ever wondered how she'd feel, if her own mother just tossed her father away like he was a piece of trash, and replaced him with someone worse?"
"Chloe, quit it—!" Joyce's voice grew raw and hoarse, as Chloe's words stung with a pain she'd never felt before.
"Maybe I would, if you'd tell fucking douchenozzle over there that the only respect he's getting from me is the respect of getting the fuck out of my life—!"
In an instant the table and everything strewn upon it was jolted from their places, as a mighty hand smacked the wooden top. Everyone jerked from the outburst, and with a shudder the younger Price whirled out of her chair to face the molten rage of her stepfather. The thickening silence was punctuated by the dim ticking of the living room clock, having been drowned out by the harsh words spoken. And slowly, very carefully, did Madsen ease his hand from its place. He towered over everyone around the table, and never took his glare off of Chloe.
"I know that I cannot replace your father," he spoke a bitter truth through clenched teeth, "I know that I cannot be as meaningful to you as he was. But I made a promise to your mother to keep you safe, and if that means I have to be hard on you, to the point where you hate me no matter what I do, then so fucking be it."
It was a declaration of sorts, Max parcellated. A declaration of the most painful kinds of love, one that by all intents and purposes could better serve as a form of hate. But it stood fast and firm, much like the man before them, and it held a weight behind it that not even Chloe could topple. Despite all the jabs and glares, David hadn't taken the bait, and it showed with every passing second. Max watched as Chloe stuttered another retort, anything to have the last word, the last retort to shut him up, but she found nothing.
Boiling with a silent rage, Chloe kicked her chair into place, and excused herself from the table, stomping out of the living room and up the stairs. The resounding slam of her bedroom door upstairs was the last they heard of her, as David eased himself back into his chair, setting his elbows on the table and hanging his head between his hands with a tired sigh. Exchanging a look with the man, Joyce excused herself from the table and silently made her way up to the second floor, and Max noticed the mother idly wipe a tear from the corner of an eye.
The clock ticked its everlasting rhythm, uncaring of their turmoil.
David had set about clearing the ruined table, taking all the plates and then cleaning and sorting them by himself. He never told them to stay seated, but neither Max nor Kate was interested in poking the bear after his last outburst.
If she weren't so damn terrified of him, Max would've torn him a new one with how he spoke to Chloe. Yet, even then, it would still feel wrong, because try as she might it was hard for Max to defend her friend against the very parents that know the bluenette far more than she did. It also didn't help that Chloe had been the prickly one at the table, and in some cases, it made what David did justifiable in her mind.
Almost, at least.
Max's personal bias towards her friends was something that only Max herself held control of, and while it seemed selfish, Max reasoned that everyone held preferences and loyalties, much like how she had a presiding loyalty to Chloe and Kate.
Speaking of Kate, Max looked over to the chair on her right, observing the hunched blonde fiddle with the hem of her shirt. The black overcoat that Marsh wore hung on the back of her chair, having been shed since the start of dinnertime, leaving the girl in her long-sleeved, button-up white blouse.
"Hey," Max whispered, to which Kate nervously glanced to her before finding the imaginary crease in her sleeve more interesting, "Kate, talk to me."
The blonde anxiously darted her eyes to the kitchen beyond the table, where the both of them could see Madsen at the sink, finishing up the last of the dishes. Like he'd notice their staring, Kate ducked her eyes away from him, sitting up from her slouch.
"I feel like he hates us, Max," she nervously muttered, "before he blew up on Chloe, he was looking so...so angrily at us. I'm scared of him."
Max sympathized, placing a hand upon Kate's left shoulder as an act of comfort. A closing of the cabinets from the kitchen caught her attention and retracting her arm she watched David walk over and sit in a chair opposite to them. A mug of water, one he'd prepared without either of them noticing, was clasped in his right hand. As he took a cautious sip, Max saw the weariness in his eyes, shaded from the table light above them.
A tense pause lengthened between the three of them, no one wanted to be the first to speak. The clock over yonder did the small talk for them, ticking its silent mantra.
"...I'm sorry you girls had to see that."
Max looked to the man across from her, surprised at how small he sounded, after hearing him roar previous it was bewildering in the sense.
"It's—it's fine," the brunette tripped over her words, "We just, uhm, weren't prepared for…well, that."
He nodded, taking another sip from the mug, and it took a moment before he spoke again, "If I may ask, you two were with Chloe yesterday, weren't you?"
It made it easier for Max to answer when he had no malice in his voice, "I was, sir."
"Did she get…she didn't get herself hurt, did she?"
"No sir, we were by the junkyard, just to the north of town," Max watched as David nodded his head, like he'd expected such an answer, "we'd been—we were hanging out, we never did anything reckless if that's what you're asking."
David listened with rapt attention as Max continued, "I—uhm, Chloe and I hadn't seen each other in a while, so we were talking most of the time. I…don't know if Joyce told you, but I was her best friend when we were younger. My family had to leave for Seattle after…after the, uh, funeral for William."
"…I see."
"And uhm, Kate and I," Max nodded to the blonde next to her, "we…uhm, we…"
"You what?" he asked, raising an eyebrow.
A steadying breath, "You know the whole incident in the girls' dorms?"
"I wasn't there to see it, but I've heard about it," David glanced at Kate, then, "Was it her room that was vandalized?"
"Yes. Thankfully I had asked her if she wanted to do a sleepover the night before, otherwise…" and Max reached out and gently grasped Kate's left hand from under the table.
David's brow furrowed, and with a cautious pitch he asked them, "That question I had asked you, Max, the one about Blackwell," he straightened himself, then perched his forearms on the table, mug now forgotten, "I want you to be honest with me now. Is there something going on that I'm not aware of, anything at all?"
Here was their chance. Perhaps their only one.
"It's got a lot to do with Nathan, I'm pretty sure he's the one behind what happened to Kate, but we're not certain," she starts out slow and steady, but by the end her nervousness was creeping into her voice, "but we know he's behind what happened at that party last Friday."
"How so?" he asks, concerned.
"Because of—" stuttering, Max realized far too late she had set herself into a rock and a hard place. If she told David about the ledger, then he'd pry into how they got it, who they got it from, and—
"Max?" he inquired, suspicious.
Oh god oh god oh god—
"We, uh…we," she fidgeted, a hand scratching a non-existent itch at the back of her neck, and panic swelled in her heart, "we uhm—"
Fuck it, just accept the fate you've sown.
"We got a ledger. From one of the drug dealers in Arkadia. It had info on how Nathan got the drugs. That's it."
David leaned in a little closer, and Max regretted ever opening her mouth in the first place.
"Max, did the three of you put yourselves in danger to get that ledger? Did you put Chloe in danger?" he pointedly asked, leaning even more forward if it was possible, and Max could only focus on his stare. It was suddenly terrifying, how easy it was to switch his mood from calm to controlling, as his gaze choked her of words, and she froze.
"It was my fault, I'm sorry Mr. Madsen."
Max whipped her head to Kate, the blonde was looking to the man opposite of them, likely meeting his eyes with as much courage as she could muster, "I wanted to meet Chloe as a friend, so I told her about my problems, and she wanted to help. I'm sorry—" Max's eyebrows furrowed in confusion.
Didn't I tell Chloe that, or is—?
David controlled his breathing, for despite his agitation it became apparent that he didn't want another quarrel as much as they did, "I don't know what you two have been up to, but if it involves you putting Chloe in danger, then I need to know right now."
And Max gently squeezed Kate's left hand under the table, appreciative of the support. Max recounted to David, "I was in the bathroom on Monday, and Nathan came in, he was all twitchy and nervous. Chloe came in after him, and they started arguing about money or something. They got physical, Chloe shoved him and he…Nathan pulled out a gun—"
David's eyes widened the slightest, from Max's peripheral Kate turned her head, looking to her with what Max assumed to be a look of horror; to be fair, Caulfield had never told this to her.
"Chloe tried to get away, but he pushed her into a corner, and threatened her to stay away from him, I think. I was hidden the whole time, but I didn't realize it was Chloe until after he left…" Max trailed off.
"…what were they arguing about specifically? Do you remember?" David asked.
"I don't, I didn't think much of it. I was just glad to see Chloe again."
David sighed, reaching for his mug and taking a lengthy sip of his water. Setting it down, he mumbled something under his breath, then, "So from then, you were with Chloe on Tuesday—" Madsen paused, and Max affirmed, so he speared on, "and then this morning, Prescott apparently trashed your dorm room," he directed that to Kate, who meekly nodded, "and now you two met up with Chloe today, is that right?"
"Yes, sir."
David continued, "...and you obtained this ledger, saying it's proof for what, exactly?"
"I think Prescott is trying to hurt Kate, sir. He's been using what happened to her at the party to ruin her reputation, and I—we know, that Kate didn't have anything to drink besides water and a sip of wine. He had to have done something to her."
David ponders this, then, "Are you sure it's him?"
"Yes, the ledger has it—"
"Where even is the ledger?" he interrupted, exasperated.
"It's up in Chloe's room," Max stuttered, "uhm…do you want me to get it?"
He sighed again, tired this time, "No, it's fine. I think I've got a good idea of what's going on, now."
David stood up from his seat, taking a look at his now empty mug, and hobbled his way over to the kitchen sink. Neither of the two girls moved, even as he tiredly washed the cup and placed it in the drying rack. Kate exchanged a nervous glance to Max, who offered a small, supportive smile in return. The timid blonde tried to reciprocate, but it came out crooked, and so she chose to settle her attention on that ever-nagging crease on her blouse, as David walked back over.
"We'll discuss this more tomorrow. For now, you two should get some sleep," he looked to the clock in the living room, "curfew is in effect, isn't any point to driving you two back to Blackwell. I'm sure we have those spare sleeping bags somewhere…" and mumbling the rest of what he was going to say, Madsen beckoned them to follow him.
They all went up to the second floor, David's boots trying their hardest to not drum on the floorboards as he walked into the master bedroom, searching for the spare sleeping bags. The girls turned to Chloe's door. It was slightly open, and the room was shrouded in the lack of light. Easing the door open, Max looked in to see Joyce perched on the side of the bed, idly stroking her now sleeping daughter's hand, in the way Max likened to a mother holding the hand of her newborn. Chloe had a peacefulness in her slumber, that which contrasted her mother's worry-wrinkled brow. Max wondered if Chloe ever noticed these moments, if the bluenette ever thinks about how her mother truly feels about her. Caulfield thinks of her own parents then, and all the unspoken, unnoticed feelings of worry they must have for her, and her heart aches. Looking to them, Joyce lightened her creases, and slowly stood up to let Chloe rest.
Silently walking over, the elder Price eased the door back to near shut, and then brought Max into a motherly hug, catching the brunette by surprise.
"Thank you, Max. For being there for her."
And overcome with a sudden spur of emotion, Max hugged back, as tight as she dared to show her second mother she understood, "Of course, Joyce."
In the perch of Joyce's shoulder, Max looked to Kate, standing aside, politely looking away, not wanting to intrude. That is, until Joyce released Max, and turned to sweep the petite girl into an embrace of her own, the blonde gasped in surprise as she was smothered in the woman's arms.
"Don't think I'd forget you, dear. I'm so glad you're here for my Chloe," Joyce whispered, so soft and sincere, it made tears swell in Marsh's eyes and her grip also tighten in acknowledgement.
David made himself known, carrying a couple rolled up sleeping bags slung under one arm, and two spare pillows in the other. Handing them to the girls, he bid them goodnight, and with Joyce in hand they retired to their bedroom. Max and Kate did the same, sneaking into Chloe's room and setting themselves up on the rug just before her bed.
That night, Max dreamed of a hollow, lonely room, where the cold bit into skin and the lights were bright and dulled the lines of its ceiling.
A/N - It is with the sincerest respect that I address this part as my own response to however many writers who have, whether unintentionally or by their own design, characterized David as an absolutely horrible father figure. In these writers' defense, the canon characterization that was given to David by DONTNOD was not in any way pleasant, yet even then does it come off, in my opinion, as forced or sometimes out-of-line, even for a man of his background.
For what irks me the most is that David, and many men much like him, would most likely not be keen to the idea of violence, since would it only serve to remind them of what they experienced in their time in the Armed Forces, should they have served during the War on Terror in the Middle East.
I refer to the experience of Sebastian Junger, journalist and writer that spent time with fellow U.S. servicemen based in the Korengal Valley in Afghanistan, on those who have first-hand experience with modern warfare; "When men say they miss combat, it's not that they actually miss getting shot—you'd have to be deranged—it's that they miss being in a world where everything is important, and nothing is taken for granted. They miss being in a world where human relations are entirely governed by whether you can trust the other person with your life." It is this mindset, that I assert David would truly maintain as he adjusts to the normality of civilian life, and ultimately is what makes him snap at Chloe's bitter remark towards his tour of duty.
It is with the steadfast notion, that his love does not have anything to do with how he feels about whoever it is given to. All that matters to David in this case, is that if the time does come, that he would willingly, without question, lay down his life for the people that he loves, and would do so regardless of whether he may be on good terms with them. As much as he would do anything to protect his loving wife, Joyce, so too would he do anything to protect and care for Chloe, even despite her showing David nothing but contempt over the death of her biological father, William.
Men like David, more often than not, do not exist like what they are made out to be by both DONTNOD and many a civilian writer, and I say this with the consideration that while there may exist veterans who are indeed that traumatized after returning from their time overseas, it simply cannot be that every veteran is as prone to violence as Chloe has made David out to be. It is because of this reasoning, that instead of jumping onto the bandwagon of hating David because he is seen as a paranoid, short-tempered man, rather do I appeal to what David would ultimately act on when it comes to his family: a form of love that cares not for feelings, but instead cares about that mutual trust between itself and another's.