I just discovered some of my formatting had been stripped out when submitting here. This has been fixed.

David Madsen remained crying and distraught in one of the conference rooms at the Arcadia Bay Police station. The coffee he has been brought sits there as black and cold as he feels right now—Chloe may not have loved him but he only wanted the best for her, and now he had failed to protect his family.

"We can start whenever you want Mister Madsen," one of the others in the room told him—he wasn't sure which it was as he had yet to look up.

"I'd like to wait for Joyce if that is alright."

"Of Course Mister Madsen."

How am I going to explain this to Joyce? How am I going to live with what happened? I could have stopped this somehow.

As Joyce Madsen entered the police station still in her waitressing uniform from the Two Whales Diner her eyes caught an all too familiar face. Max stood up in response to seeing Joyce. Chloe's mom went over to Max and pulled the eighteen-year-old in for a hug.

"I heard you were there with her when she…"

Max nodded.

"I wish we didn't have to meet again like this Max."

"Me too Joyce. Me too."

One of the officers came out and asked, "Joyce Madsen?"

Joyce broke the hug with Max and nodded.

"If you'll come with me."

Another nod from the likely still-in-shock mother. Max nodded (she couldn't smile still) to indicate that she would be alright alone for the time being.

Once Joyce left her to go be with David Max pulled out her phone and got to work, ignoring the two dozen missed calls and fifty text messages she'd received in the last few hours.

David wasn't relieved to see Joyce, but at the same time he knew he couldn't be here without her. The look on her own face told him that she was shell-shocked by the news, that she hadn't even processed that Chloe was gone quite yet. She hadn't seen a body, she hadn't heard the story yet. David had seen the look before from his time as a soldier, and as it did during wartime it still broke his heart.

Joyce for her part rushed over to David, who did finally stand up to hold his wife tight. One of the detectives (who David now recognized as Charles Bruce) moved to take a seat. "Thank you for coming Mrs. Madsen."

"Joyce please. And can someone tell me what happened. I get a frantic call from David that something's happened to Chloe and before I know it the officers on break at the Diner tell me that I need to come with them immediately."

Detective Bruce looked rather somber. "Preliminary findings are that Nathan Prescott shot your daughter through the abdomen. She died before paramedics could arrive on scene."

Joyce's hands instinctively jumped up to cover the look of horror on her face. It is true. My baby, my precious Chloe, taken from me. WHY?

"Now I believe Chloe had been previously expelled from Blackwell. Do either of you know why she was there today?"

They both shake their head.

"How about any interactions Miss Price had with Nathan Prescott."

It sounds so cold and callous when you call her Miss Price. Joyce shook her head immediately and David followed a second later.

Suddenly there's a series of beeps from a cell phone.

"I'm sorry," David says as he pulls out his phone. "That's my Blackwell Security phone."

Just as he is making a move to shut the phone off David suddenly stops and blinks several times. "Detective, you might want to read this." David hands the phone over, shaking.

Detective Bruce raises his eyebrows as he looks at the message on the phone.

Mister Madsen, you're after Rachel Amber. Mark Jefferson is guilty. His Dark Room is under the Prescott's farmhouse. You know the location. He's sick and dangerous. Stop him. Her body is in the junkyard. Nathan knows. –CC

After reading it several times the detective frowns. "Who is CC?"

David shakes his head. "No idea, though I know the farmhouse they're talking about. I've seen Nathan and Mark Jefferson out there."

The detective seemed to have tuned out once David indicated he didn't know who sent the message from the blocked text number. "Get me the file on Nathan Prescott."

One of the officers quickly hands the detective a file of papers and the one he is looking for is quickly found. The detective pulls out a piece of paper with mad raving writing saying 'Rachel in the darkroom' over and over.

"Get some officers ready, I'm going to go have a talk with Nathan Prescott. If he can confirm anything we're raiding it this afternoon. Find out the location from David here. We might be able to get to the bottom of more than one mystery. And copy the phone so we can return it."

Detective Bruce quickly stood up and excused himself. David and Joyce weren't quite sure how to respond, but they silently wondered if Chloe's death was just a small part of a much larger picture.

Charles Bruce sat down in front of Nathan Prescott in an interrogation room. Behind the detective was a mirror so that department onlookers could watch without a suspect seeing them.

"Nathan, my name is Detective Bruce. I know you've been read your rights and have opted not to wait for your attorney, am I correct?"

Nathan wasn't crying, but he certainly looked like his mind wasn't all there.

"Alright, if at any point in time you should change your mind let me know and the questions will immediately end, am I clear?"

"Yes sir," Nathan said meekly, no longer sounding like the arrogant man-child that acted like he owned this town.

"Good, good," the detective started. "Now, first off can you tell me why you're here."

"I lost it and killed that blue-haired bitch," Nathan responds, his voice sounding way too calm compared to how he was earlier when he was found by security and later the cops.

"Why Nathan?"

"I just lost it, okay? She was trying to tell me what to do and I pulled a gun on her. I didn't mean to shoot her but in my rage I couldn't help myself!" The calm in his voice was breaking and Nathan appeared to be getting worked up again.

"Why was she trying to tell you what to do?"

"Because." Nathan pauses for a brief moment, and when his voice finds him again it's starting to break. "Because I drugged her in my room. I was going to take her to the dark room, make him proud of me, show him I don't always screw things up."

"What darkroom Nathan? Who were you going to show that you don't always screw things up, your father?"

The mention of his father sends Nathan into a hysterical laugh, the kind where you wonder if there's any sanity left in the person making it.

"My father? Don't be ridiculous. My father doesn't care about me. It was all Mark Jefferson. He takes pictures of girls in his darkroom underneath our farmhouse."

Detective Bruce looked back at the mirror—what better confirmation of the text messages authenticity could he get than Nathan outright admitting it.

"I didn't mean to. He used me. They all use me. I didn't mean to hurt Rachel, or Kate, not even Chloe. There were more in the past, and more coming."

"More Nathan?"

"He had his eyes on my friend Victoria, and this stupid little hipster named Max."

A deep breath was taken by the detective. "Why are you sharing all this now Nathan?"

"Because I'm tired of being used. I never wanted to hurt them." He leans his head forward into the table, a sob coming from the defeated boy. "I just want to get better."

The detective stood up. "Don't worry Nathan, we'll make arrangements. I'll be back in a few minutes."

He picked up his files and left. Nathan was babbling the same phrase over and over.

"I just want to get better."