The Mitz-Sheldon, San Francisco, California, 2018
Saturday, October 6th, 6:25 pm
"Hurry up with this thing already, Larry. The opening ceremony will start anytime now." The cameraman jolted and muttered a curse. He tilted his head and frowned at the young chirpy reporter in annoyance.
"And whose fault do you think it is? I told you we were going to be late." His voice carried an ire which made the reporter pout at the cameraman who ignored the woman and went back on checking the cables. Satisfied, he got up, dusting his hands and turned around facing the reporter, "All ready now. I don't know why Bennet always gives us assignments to these posh parties. Larry, go with Denise to cover this. Larry, forget the football game, give me some spicy news. I feel like a fucking tabloid paparazzi." He ground his teeth as a frustration seeped into his tone.
"Oh, God! Don't start this again, Larry, please. Anyways, how do I look?" The chirpy reporter ran her hand over the curve of her waist and looked at the cameraman inquiringly as she grinned waiting for Larry to comment.
The cameraman rolled his eyes and huffed annoyingly, "You look fabulous, Denise, even better than Victoria Chase herself. Now, can we get back to work?"
Denise's brows creased at the annoyed reply of the cameraman and her cheeks puffed, "Would it kill you to say nice things about your own sister for once, Larry?"
"Dina, remember what Bennet said. We have to get answers or it will be our jobs."
"Don't worry, I will use my charms to get an exclusive from Mark Jefferson himself." The confident reporter's bubbly demeanor returned as she brushed her palms together in anticipation.
"But why are we even here? It's not even such a big scene but just a haughty self-promotion by these rich people. We should be covering real news. Not this pompous bullshit." Larry glanced sideways at his sister as he turned on the camera and start prodding through the settings on the on-screen display.
Denise clicked her tongue, placed her hand on her taller brother's shoulder and shook her head, "You have a lot to learn, young Padawan. who cares about the photo exhibition. This is our chance to get something on that Blackwell shooting case from five years ago. If we can get anything on Nathan Prescott, it will be a straight ladder up for promotion. You, once and for all, will not have to moan and goad about rents." Her lips split into a confident grin as her eyes glitter.
Larry shrugged the reporter's hand off "Whatever, just be careful with your words, and don't be aggressive, Dina. Interview or not, I really don't like these Prescotts." Larry couldn't help but feel an ire for the famed Prescotts and his annoyance was further insinuated with his sunken brows. Though he had no choice but to follow the obsession of his sister, Denise Carter, had for years, following the Blackwell shooting case that claimed the life of an Arcadia Bay local girl, Chloe Price, 19.
Denise was young at that time, and still was having her masters in journalism. The Prescotts were one of the prominent family in the Oregon region. So, the case was kept on a tight leash by media and reporters alike. Even though the shooting was claimed as an accident in self-defense and was reported as such, it never settled with the siblings. Even a small child would have known that everything that was said and recorded in the courtroom was a convenient lie and fabricated to acquit Nathan Prescott from murder charges. What kept Denise to keep the track of the case was the aftermath of the case, when the prime witness who was present at the time of the shooting, Max Caulfield vanished a few months after the hearing and Denise couldn't help but felt there was a connection to the case. Unfortunately, the young girl was never found and presumed dead after a year of searching in vain.
Denise was snapped out of her thoughts as she felt a pat on her shoulder, she abruptly looked up. Larry bobbed his chin behind her, which made the young reporter glance back. Her sable pupils dilated, and she turned her head quickly back to Larry, who also nodded in affirmation. The auburn-haired reporter grinned again and fixed her dress and tugged her denim jacket and took quick strides towards the subject of her interest, Mark Jefferson.
"Excuse me, Mr. Jefferson." She addressed the tall and handsome host of the exhibition, who turned around and smiled at the reporter. She quickly extended her hand, "Hi, Denise Carter, SF Herald." She introduced herself with an eloquent smile on her face. Jefferson shook her hand albeit limply with a clear lack of interest. Denise perceiving this, quickly tried to strike a conversation, "Mr. Jefferson, I am such a huge fan of your work, and have been following your blog, Monochroma. Your photography, it's so different, you really bring out the characters in your models, the sensuality feels so alive. I am curious how do you do this? What is your secret?" She readied her pocket pad and pen.
Jefferson's brows arched for a moment and a smile dangled on the corner of his lips, "Wow, you really did your homework, Ms. Carter, was it?" His stiff shoulders eased and his eyes flashed
"Denise, please call me Denise. Like I mentioned, I am a huge fan of your work and consider you as one of my heroes and honestly, it feels odd to be addressed so formally."
"Denise, I don't mind you interviewing me, but would you mind walking with me. I have to see through the preparations."
Denise nodded eagerly, "I'd be happy to."
Jefferson shed a toothy smile, and subtly placed his hand on the young reporter's back and started walking, "So what was your question again?"
"Your photographs, what is the secret of your technique, the photos you take, they don't feel staged. My observation gave me a vibe of more candid approach."
"Ah, yes. Perhaps my photographs really are candid photos, Denise?" Denise titled her head up, and looked him in his eyes behind his white framed glasses, trying to understand his remark. Jefferson chuckled and shook his head, "I am jesting. you could say, years of practice and studying technique brought me close to perfect my art. Take it this way, I don't see my models just as models but as characters in a play I staged. We talk about things, I ask them about their interests without any professional interferences. So, they feel at ease and do not think to model as part of their job. I definitely cannot tell you everything, that would be my trade secret." He stopped in his tracks by the stage and inspected the podium. Several canvases draped and obscured behind blue velvet cloth. Satisfied, he turned his attention back to the reporter, "You are quite beautiful, Ms. Carter. Have you considered changing careers to modeling?" His eyes flickered in observation towards the young girl and his lips stretched into a suave smile.
Denise chuckled nervously as she felt a heat rise in her cheeks, "Aw, Mr. Jefferson, you really do jest. I consider myself average and surely not a model but I am flattered. So, moving on. Can you tell me more about this exhibition?" She tried to avert his attention from her as a giddy feeling inside her made her curious and happy that Mark Jefferson praising her as beautiful and a model. Her professional curiosity took the upper hand. Then again, she couldn't help but observe a hint of change in Jefferson's demeanor as his eyebrows clashed together for a moment and his expressions flickered between disappointment and back to urbane in a fraction of the time. He cleared his throat.
"Certainly," He put his hand in his pocket and fixed his glasses over the bridge of his nose, "Victoria and Nathan have been under my tutorage for last 6 years. They have very exceptional skills when it comes to photography, and I couldn't be prouder that they both found their own styles which I merely helped them polish, and I thought it was time to expose them to the professional scene of photography and observe how far they can get. This exhibition is a showcase of what they have been doing in these past years and their doorway to propel their careers and into the spotlight they deserve. But I must include, I will be involved in their professional career but only as an observant, as I want them to compete with their peers and their skills accessed fairly."
Denise felt it was her chance to get to the real question she had been itching to ask, "If my memory serves me correctly, Ms. Chase has garnered quite some achievements in her academic years under your supervision, especially The Everyday Hero Contest in 2013, albeit some hurdles in those years. Although, Mr. Prescott, Nathan, do you think he will face scrutiny judging from the scandal he was involved in Blackwell shooting case?"
For the first time, Jefferson was taken aback, his jaw tightened and his shoulders stiffened, and there was a hint of agitation in his voice, "I'd suggest we should conclude this interview here, Ms. Carter."
Denise chided herself inwardly for her haste and quickly tried to drive "I am sorry, I did not mean to disrupt your mood, Mr. Jefferson. I do look forward to both Ms. Chase and Mr. Prescott's careers propelled as they both are your students, one of my personal heroes in the professional photography world. But it is my professional curiosity as a journalist, I wanted to ask your opinion on this as the case from 2013 was quite scandalized and was thought unfair and biased."
"Scandals follow people with status and prestige, Ms. Carter and I do have to be blunt but it is you reporters who capitalize and falsely report without any knowledge or lack of empathy towards a person who could easily have been the person shot dead. I've known Nathan since he was a teenager. He's hardworking, honest, and a very friendly person. What happened in Blackwell was one drug addict junkie tried to harass him and extort money from him. It was she who threatened him with a gun and Nathan tried to defend himself. A scuffle ensued, resulting in the gun going off and her being shot. Nathan was clearly the victim in all of that and we believed in the justice system. The facts and the evidence were stacked against Chloe Price. It is sad that such a young girl fell into a bad habit of drugs and resorted to thievery and extortion to appease her needs. But because Nathan belonged to a well-off and respected family, it was easy to put the blame on him. Albeit, justice prevailed and the truth was laid out there. If I must, I will defend Nathan on every platform, not because he was my student, or I have personal ties to his family. But as an adult, as a teacher and as a human being who has compassion for an innocent young man being defamed and dragged into a scandal for your ratings and TRP. I hope this has fulfilled your curiosity, Ms. Carter. Please enjoy the exhibition and do your job as such."
But the reporter was not giving up easily, "One last question Mr. Jefferson, please, if you don't mind," Denise added a little bit imploration in her tone, to which Jefferson stopped in his tracks and faced the reporter. The reporter felt an inner glee and quickly chased the question, "What are your comments on the disappearance of Maxine Caulfield?"
Denise observed a change in the calm and collected photographer, more so as his voice came out tout and annoyed, "It is sad that the events that happened had an impact on Maxine's mental condition and as unpleasant and tragic it sounds, it won't be a surprise that her disappearance would have led to her committing suicide. Such a great loss of potential." He said while shaking his head.
Denise opened her mouth to say something, but Jefferson lifted his palm up to stop her from speaking, "That is all the time I can give you, Ms. Carter. I have nothing more to fuel your curiosity. Please enjoy the exhibition and do your job as instructed in the press release. Good Night." He said as he left the reporter. Denise, knowing she will not get any more answers from Jefferson at the moment, noted down a few things and walked towards her brother.
"Well?" Larry asked curiously, which prompted the reporter to shake her head in annoyance, "Figures," continued the cameraman, "Asking them or their associates will get you nowhere, Dina." The reporter said nothing but hummed as a reply. Somewhere deep in her mind, she couldn't help but felt there was more to the story of the shooting and the subsequent events.
The suicide of Kate Marsh and the disappearance of Maxine Caulfield, all those events had a connection to it. Also, the change in Jefferson's demeanor when Denise mentioned the missing girl's name, piqued the investigative reporter's curiosity. 'I'll find out whatever you are hiding, Mr. Jefferson.' She thought determinedly.
Jefferson left the reporter in the atrium and walked towards the VIP reserved room. A bulking guard clad in all black was at the door with his hands clasped on his front. Jefferson whispered something in his ear to which the guard nodded and raised his hand speaking almost inaudible on the hidden mic attached to the cuffs of his suit.
The suave photographer entered the VIP room and was about to speak when the other occupant on the phone raised his finger to stop him from speaking. Jefferson huffed annoyingly and sat on a luxurious cushioned sofa in front of the person. The other occupant continued his conversation on the phone.
"Mr. Pendleton, I would suggest you choose your words wisely. You wouldn't want to find yourself in a position that might hurt your reputation and your family's wellbeing." He ran his finger on the surface of an elaborately designed paperweight that was sitting on the table. He chuckled and continued, "No, I am not threatening you, Mr. Pendleton. I am reminding you that you are speaking to Sean Prescott, and you wouldn't want to make an enemy of the Prescotts." He stopped yet again and leaned back with a triumphant grin on his face, "Wise choice, Jeremiah. I will give you one week. After that, I cannot guarantee your or your family's safety. Have a good night." Sean disconnected the phone and sighed, "Useless fool." He muttered and faced Jefferson, "How is the preparation going?"
"Almost done," Jefferson replied but his voice carried an air of unease as he fixed his glasses. "But…"
"But?" Sean asked with an inquiring tone.
"A nosey reporter was asking too many questions," He answered with a subtle annoyance in his voice.
"What questions?" The Prescott patriarch asked the photographer as he picked the paperweight in his hand and started to fiddle with it with a lack of interest.
"About the shooting case that inept screw-up son of yours, Nathan got himself into," Jefferson replied.
"I would watch my mouth if I were you, Mark," Sean leaned in from his chair, "Don't forget you are talking about the heir of the Prescotts." Sean's voice contained a malice which made the photographer tighten his jaw and avert his eyes. "And? Did I not leave Nathan to you to look after? Why do you think that incident happen. From my perspective, you are a failure and the inept one when you cannot control a teenager's needs to lust for a girl."
"Do not put that on me, Sean. I did not overdose Rachel Amber, and I did not shoot Chloe price. If any, you should be glad I was the one to find Nathan and silenced him before the Blackwell security or the police caught up with him." Jefferson replied in equally defiant and annoyed voice.
"To save your own skin." Sean said flatly, "If I knew you were using my son, MY HEIR, for your perverse hobby. I would've made you disappear without a trace." Again the malevolence in his voice returned, "So, I'd advise you should understand your position and the debt you are in. Do not forget it cost me a fortune to get Nathan and you out of that case. So much that it has affected my project in that wretched town."
Jefferson couldn't counter Sean this time, so he just sat there, grinding his teeth. Sean seeing this, chuckled as he got up from his chair, "Remember, Mark. You will always be indebted to me. You need me. You will do as I tell you or…" Sean paused for a bit, "…you have too much to lose."
Jefferson's eyes went wide in disbelief for a second but then he clenched his fist and nodded in submission, "I understand, Mr. Prescott. I will be careful."
"Good." Sean nodded, "Now, tell me, have Nathan and Victoria arrived yet?" The patriarch inquired as he walked towards the table at the side of the room. He picked a wine bottle and poured the striking red liquid in the glass.
"Not yet. Though I spoke with them, Victoria mentioned they'll be on time." Jefferson affirmed as his eyes followed Sean who went back to his cozy seat and took a sip of his wine. "Sean, I am trying to understand something here." The photographer asked.
"About what?" Sean responded with a question of his own.
"I know you are not interested in Nathan's career as a photographer, let alone Victoria's. What is the point of this exhibition? Why bother with all of this, illustrious display?" The curiosity was evident in Jefferson's voice. Even though he was an elaborate and cunning man. But even he failed to understand why Sean wanted him to organize an exhibition and on photography in which he never showed any interest in.
Sean took another sip of the wine and nodded in affirmation, "You are right, I am not interested in this thing. For me, it's just a bothersome distraction for that son of mine."
Jefferson's brows creased as he asked confusingly, "Then why?"
"I assume you didn't bother to go through the guests' list." Sean leaned in with his hands joined and index fingers over his lips, as he observed Jefferson. The photographer showed a hint of annoyance on his patron's insinuation but opted not to answer. Sean's lips twitched and the edge stretched up, smirking at Jefferson, "Mark… Mark, you really should act your age. Your aloofness has gotten you nowhere in your life. When will you understand, you are irrelevant to people now. So, show some responsibility if you want to benefit working under me." His words contained a sharp abhorrence and mockery, much to the displeasure of the photographer.
"Very well, I guess I should catechize you so you can be of use for me unless you want to spend rest of your life babysitting. I am a businessman, Mark, and whatever I do, must be commodious for the accretion of my legacy. I have used this opportunity to invite some influential people whom I need if I want to bring my project to fruition." Sean elaborated, "And, I want you to cater those people and do your utmost best to impress them enough to stay in the event until I say so. Should I trust you with this task, or is it too much of a hassle for the limited capacity of your abilities?"
Jefferson was literally grinding his teeth for being constantly berated by the patriarch of the Prescott Empire, yet the man in front of him was influential enough to legitimize his boastings. So, the photographer had no choice but to swallow his waning pride and nodded at him, "I understand, Mr. Prescott. I'll go through the VIP list again and make sure your guests are comfortable." After a short pause, he continued, "Sean, if I may ask. Why is this project so important to you. The town is nothing but a dried out fossil. How would this one project benefit you that you have to organize this venue and need those people for your project."
"You are too curious for your own benefit, Mark. Asking too much is not good for your health. You should get ready for the opening speech and cater to the guests. I will join you shortly."
Yet again, Jefferson couldn't help but feel an annoyance the way Sean Prescott addressed him, but he knew it was futile to understand what went through the calculating mind of the Prescott patriarch. So, he nodded, "Very well," He bid him and walked out of the room. 'Bastard' the thought rang in his head.
Saturday, October 6th, 7:09 pm
Max maneuvered her car slowly halting in front of the hotel. A valet opened the door for her and greeted her. Getting her ticket and tipping the valet, she entered the hotel. Her burgundy V-neck ruched dress insinuated her curves by hugging her body and shimmered subtly as she walked in being welcomed by floor staff. Her platinum locks styled in a messy French twist was giving an air of elegance. But the contrast of her elegant appearance, her eyes were searching for something as she scanned the venue with furtive glances. 'Don't rush, Max. Remember why you are here.'
With that thought, she indulged herself in observing the canvases that were on display. The lost photographer inside her brought a melancholic thought in her head. How different her life would've been if that week never happened. Where would she be?. Before she could ponder herself more into this despondent remembrance of her past life, her attention was drawn to one of the photographs. It was a black and white photo of a butterfly resting on a broken glass and the cracks on the glass was giving a sense of spider webs, as if the butterfly was caught up in an intangible prison of webbings.
Max's jaw tightened as a seething hatred for the photo seeped in her thoughts, 'You really like it, don't you, Max?' Max heard a familiar voice in her head. 'You bet. See, how she's itching to take a photo right now.' 'C'mon, Max. I'll pose for you. Take the SHOT, hippie. Right on my chest.'
Assaulted by the voices in her head, Max moved from that photo to the next one. This one was a bit warmer, it was taken from a shoulder perspective of a young girl gazing at the wide meadows. The golden hour's sun was blaring in front of her, casting a shadow on the girl's back, leaving only hints of a gold outline. But somehow, the photograph looked sad as Max noticed the young girl was sitting in a wheelchair. Another pang of sadness hit Max, as she recalled the messed up timeline she created. That resulted in Chloe being crippled and bound to a wheelchair. 'You thought you were God, playing with time.' 'How did it felt when you snuffed Chloe's life, Max.' 'I bet you were ecstatic, freeing yourself from a burden.' 'You are a cold-hearted murderer.'
Somehow, the voices from her dreams, the accusatory and spiteful voices were invading Max's conscience. She tried to understand if it was her own doing, Her survivor's guilt punishing her by tormenting her with voices that reminded her that she should have died along with her loved ones. Yet, here she was. A completely different person. Surviving each tormenting day. Bearing the onslaught of accusations. But every day increased the burden of the guilt in her conscience.
She was deep in her thoughts, looking on at the photograph absentmindedly until her attention was taken away by the voice behind her. For a second, she felt a shiver down her spine but she quickly composed herself.
"Beautiful composition. Don't you think?" Max glanced over her shoulder to look at the owner of the voice, and again, hundreds of emotions grew inside her, but hatred and rage were on the top of them. Yet, she had learned to mask any sort of emotions, that was part of who she was now.
An urbane smile grew on her face as she turned her attention back to the painting, trying not to show any emotions to the person, while speaking in a soft and smooth voice, "Yes, certainly is."
"Victoria certainly understands the art and composition of photography. After all, she was under my tutorage." Max could feel the ever-present egoistic pride in his voice, "Oh, where are my manners. I am Mark Jefferson, a pleasure to meet you…" Jefferson stretched his hand forward with a smile on his face.
"Alice… Alice Carlson," Max introduced herself. 'How do you feel, meeting your idol, Max' 'Look at her, wagging her tail for the pervert.' 'I bet she would love to be photographed by him again.' 'Come on, Maxi, why don't you tell him already,' 'No, she should kill him' 'Yeah, kill him, Max.' 'Kill him.' 'Murder him!'
"Are you alright, Ms. Carlson, you look pale," Jefferson asked with a hint of worry in his voice.
Max snapped away from the depth of the poisonous miasma she was being swallowed into. She shook her head slightly and smiled eloquently towards the has-been photographer, "I am fine, Thank you. Just a bit under the weather since earlier."
Jefferson's eyebrows arched a bit and his hand hovered around Max's back, and other arm guiding her towards the sitting area, "Perhaps you'd like to have a seat. I'd call a butler to serve you some refreshments to rejuvenate."
"That would be wonderful, Mr. Jefferson. I guess the weather here in San Francisco does not bode well with my constitution," She let out a small chuckle as she walked alongside Jefferson.
"I couldn't agree any less, Ms. Carlson." He guided Max to one of the elegant and comfortable sofas with a glass table decorated with a bunch of beautiful white lilies in a thin curvy ceramic vase. "Please, make yourself comfortable here. I'll take but a moment away to get someone to cater you." He left Max and walked away.
'Ooooh,' cooed the voice in her head 'Look at the perverted old man trying to impress you, Max.' 'Oh, Come on! Max is too dense to be impressed by anyone unless they are a killer' 'Are you guys fucking me. She would crawl to anyone who'd give her attention.'
Max felt a vice gripping her head which made her grit her teeth. Through the pain, she pleaded to the voices, 'Please, leave me alone.' She said, but all she heard was a mix of sadistic laughter from them. Maybe, it was him. Maybe, because she was close to the source of her suffering. The contempt inside her was bubbling. She wanted to rip the mask off her face and rip him to pieces if it gave her even a moment of calm. But she had to endure it, it was not the time. This would have been too easy for him. He had to suffer. He had to suffer the same way he made her suffer. Him, The Prescotts, Victoria, all of them had to feel the despair they put her through. They had to feel the same loss they made her feel.
Deep in the spiral of hatred, she didn't realize Jefferson had returned with a server along with him. "I apologize for the dallying." He said, but it was enough to once again bring Max back to the fake reality, and she only replied him with a swift smile which disappeared the same as it appeared on her lips. Jefferson gestured the waiter as he placed a tall glass filled with a cocktail mixed with some fruits, "Pear and Pomegranate Bellini, Ms. Carlson. I hope it will help you feel a bit better as I've heard it works like marvel if you are feeling debilitated. Please enjoy." He implored as he gestured towards the drink with his palm and then joined his hand together as if in anticipation.
Max bobbed her head slightly and picked the glass, bringing it closer to her lips and taking a sip. The cocktail was indeed delicious and instantly soothed her ringing nerves, and she let out an instinctive hum. 'Make sure it's not roofied, Max.' 'I bet it is, he has a history of drugging girls.' 'Aw, she's drinking it. RIP Max Caulfield. Next photo session, anytime now.'
Ignoring the voices this time, she tilted her head towards Jefferson and smiled at him, "Thank you, it is really pleasant."
The photographer's lips stretched wide in glee, "I am glad." He continued, "I apologize as I have to tend to other guests as such is the duty of the organizer. I hope you feel better and enjoy the exhibition." He said before bowing slightly and walking away.
Max stayed seated for a few good minutes, observing the venue as a mix of voices from the crowd of guests murmured around her. Some observing the canvas as intended for the exhibition. But, for the rest, it was an opportunity for a pompous socializing, huddled in circles with their lavish outfits. But one could guess it was foreseeable as the venue was organized by the prestigious Prescotts and almost everyone wanted to bask under the patronage of them. Max felt a revulsion on the fake smiles plastered on their faces. Maybe it was her experience and the intuitions that she could easily see through the masks they wore, yet unable to hide the condescension they were leaking.
All of a sudden, the murmuring got louder, and a crowd of reporters, photographers and guests alike rushed towards the entry. Max's eyes followed them and through the crowd her eyes fell on a couple, dressed equally in the extravagant ensemble. But unlike the bees like drones of the other guests, doing their best to get close to the couple and have an opportunity to shake their hands, all Max felt was a repulse. A surge of fiery chill coursed through her veins, making her ears thump. It burned her insides so much that she felt she was about to melt. 'Nathan!'
Nathan Prescott, the heir of one of the most influential and powerful families. Max observed him from the distance and despite her blood boiling in her veins, despite the torturous rage inside her that was burning her, she felt a glee, even close to ecstasy. Nothing was changed, there he was, the same eyes, full of skittish contempt. The scornful frown which he was trying his best to hide in the guise of a flat expression. Sure, his physical appearance has changed, his once swept back hair was shorter, his clean baby like facial features was hidden behind an unkempt, almost messy beard. But, he couldn't fake his eyes. The ever so edgy eyes, not staying in the same place for more than a few seconds. His body language was showing the same jumpiness.
It dawned on Max that all of this exhibition, this charade, it must have been forced on to him. She was glad nothing has changed. She didn't want him to change. She wanted to see the same person who shot her best friend in front of her eyes. And, oh, was she not glad. Her resolve steeled even more. She hated him more than Jefferson. More than Sean. That one phone call meant nothing. There was no salvation for him, not from Max at least. The ashen-haired girl did her best to not give in to the impulse to walk to him and rip his guts. Not give in to the tempting sadistic glee she would feel when she would bathe her hands in his blood, to look at the horror on his face. She strengthened herself. Planted her feet on the ground. His time will come.
Despite the firm resolve, she felt she was suffocating in their presence. The Prescotts, Chase, and him. She grabbed her unfinished drink and stood up and glanced one more look at the couple swarmed by masses. She scoffed internally and walked towards the open terrace area of the exhibition hall. Walking out, she was welcomed by a calm yet slightly cold autumn wind. But, it was enough for her to soothe her unnerved mind. She walked towards the railing and placed her clutch on the nearest table. Taking slow sips of the drink Jefferson offered her, she observed the city from the height. Numerous lights and moving cars, creating a visage of a lively city, dense, busy, and full of life. Max had always been a dreamer, she perceived things differently than other people. She saw a thing and imagine it as a different thing. Take the city, for instance, all the lights spreading over the dark of the night. To her, it looked like numerous stars spread over the cityscape, some pacing and moving towards a destination.
Instinctively, she lifted her hand and tried to grab the air as if to hold one of those tiny stars. Yet, all she felt was empty air. Reminiscing the last four years she had been living, hidden and dead for the world as Max Caulfield, yet living with a false identity only for a purpose. 'Do I really have a place in this world anymore?' She thought to herself. 'Will I ever be able to go back to my life?'
'You do not deserve to have a place in this world, Max.' As if the voices in her head were waiting for their chance to torment her, 'You only bring ruin to people's life. You are a blight.' 'You know, you should just kill yourself.' 'Yeah, kill yourself, Max.' 'Die, Die, Die!'
For a moment, Max felt complying with the voices, as she leaned closer to the railing. Just one push, one leap and it will all be over. Everything will be over. She would be free of this tormented burden. Her heart was thumping really fast. Her palms were sweating inside her gloved hands. Legs weak, she felt her strength and her resolve was wavering. She wanted peace. She wanted to be free.
Her trance was broken by a cluttering sound followed by a thud behind her. Shaken from her daze, she quickly steadied herself and turned around to see a young girl was on the floor, a pad and a pencil had fallen next to her. The little girl was struggling to gather her things. It was not until the moment Max saw the wheelchair that girl had fallen from. She gasped and quickly rushed towards the young girl.
"Oh my god, are you alright?" She asked the girl as she helped her up and sat her in the wheelchair. She gathered her pad and drawing utensils and handed them back to the girl.
The young girl replied with a solemn smile as she took the stuff from Max and muttered, "I'm fine, thank you. Sorry about that."
Max smiled back at the girl and shook her head slightly, "It's alright. I am glad you're not hurt." Max glanced at the drawing pad the girl held and a sad thought hit her. It reminded her of Kate. A hurtful and sad expression fell on her face, which the younger girl perceived.
"Are you okay?" The girl asked, which brought Max back from the hurtful reminiscent.
Max shook her head softly and again smiled again, "Oh, I am okay. Don't worry." She said as she got up and walked towards the nearest chair and sat down. The girl followed her with her remote-controlled wheelchair.
Again looking at the drawing pad, Max felt like asking, "You were drawing?" The girl nodded shyly in reply which earned another smile from Max, "Mind if I take a look?" she asked.
"Okay…" The shy young girl handed her drawing pad to Max, albeit shy and meekly.
Max gladly took the pad and started flipping pages. Each page had a beautiful art drawn to it. She couldn't help but admire the young girl's talent. The drawing was quite mature for the girl's age and quite distinct. But each drawing Max observed it had one emotion quite etched to it. It was sad. A bird in a cage looking at its peers as they fly away. A doll by the window looking outside with visages of kids playing. A portrait of a beautiful woman. Max easily understood what the girl was drawing. Mostly herself, as she perceived she was bound to a wheelchair. Remembering what Chloe felt in the alternate timeline Max created. Feeling bound, helpless and her life feeling stalled. Max's couldn't hold the tearing up of her eyes.
"Are you really okay?" The girl asked again.
"Sorry, just remembered a friend. I am alright." Max replied with a slight smile on her lips, "These are beautiful. You are quite talented." It was not until the latest, unfinished artwork which earned Max a confused look on her face, and she tilted her head towards the girl, who tried to avert her eyes from Max. It was Max in the drawing, It was unfinished, but it's the same scene what transpired just earlier. Max, by the railing, looking away at the cityscape.
"I… I'm sorry, I saw you standing here and… and you looked pretty but sad and I just… draw. I am sorry." The girl replied hesitantly, even a bit scared.
Max didn't say anything this time but put her hand on the young girl's, "It's alright. I don't mind. In fact, I like it so. Too bad it's not finished. But…" she paused, "Why did you stop? Because you accidentally fell?"
The girl stayed silent for a few moments, which made Max curious albeit not pushing the question. Finally, the younger girl spoke, "I thought… I thought you were going to… jump and I wanted to stop you and I fell." She said, yet again, averting her eyes completely from Max.
Max felt pins in her heart. She really was going to jump? If this girl's accident didn't happen, she could've jumped to end this? End everything before she got her revenge. 'What was I thinking?' Max thought to herself again, 'I was trying to run away? Again?'
'Because you are a coward, Max.' 'You always ran away when things weren't easy for you.' 'Isn't it what you always do? Run away like a coward bitch, tails between your legs, Max.' 'She doesn't want to avenge us. She's a coward, go ahead Max, just kill yourself, cuz you cannot do it. You will not avenge us.' The voices return to taunt her again.
Ignoring the voices of her former friends, with their sole purpose of tormenting her for every decision she made, every thought she had in her head. They were just there to feed on her doubt and mock her of her existence. Maybe the hurt and dejection she was feeling from the voice spilled on Max's face that the young girl slowly placed her hand on Max's gloved one which once again, brought Max back to the cruel reality she was in and lift her head to face the young girl again, who had an equal sad look in her beautiful eyes. Max shook away the grave feelings and stretched her lips to form a smile to mask her own uncertainty.
"Sorry that I gave you the implication that I was going to jump and made you worry. I just leaned in to support myself. Been a bit under the weather since earlier." Max lied to the young girl, despite knowing it would not convince her but why would she involve a young girl whom she doesn't even know the name of. Which reminded Max, she never asked the girl's name.
"Oh, I was so into these drawings and I didn't catch your name. I am Alice Carlson." Max asked the young girl while introducing herself.
"Oh yes, Sorry. I am Audrey. Audrey Jefferson." The young girl replied.