Max rubbed her eyes before sitting back in her creaky seat. By now, she wasn't sure how many hours she had been in there. Officer Kane had brought her in for her initial statement. Max had explained everything that she heard and saw transpire, from the moment Nathan walked in to the moment Officer Wilcox stopped them. As she spoke, Officer Kane asked a few clarifying questions as she wrote down notes. They finished after a few hours of probing and polishing. But then Officer Kane stepped out to print up the statement for Max to sign, and Max was left there waiting.
And waiting...
And waiting…
And all this waiting had left Max alone with her thoughts. She tried to push the images from her mind. The visual of that girl slumping to the floor, crumpled over. Max could still see the blood seeping from her chest, soaking the floor with her life. Her face had been covered in that brilliantly blue hair, the color of the sky. And then poor Mr. Madsen, all but sobbing over her body as he cradled her in his arms.
Max's thoughts muddled with her emotions. Reaching down into her bag, she brought out her phone. There were missed messages and calls, ranging from family to friends. Max had been allowed to call her parents to let them know she was safe, but she hadn't contacted anyone else. They could wait. However, Max had put this off for far too long, and she wasn't going to let her anxiety get in the way any longer. This was more important than her.
Opening up her text messages, she found Chloe's home number. She called it, and it rang through to voicemail. Max heard Joyce's sweet southern drawl on the other end and smiled. How she missed that voice. Once the answering machine clicked on, Max said, "Hey, it's Max… Uh, Max Caulfield. I'm calling for Chloe? I'm… back in town. Attending Blackwell, actually. So, if you want to reconnect, you should totally give me a call." She then carefully gave her number, making sure to say it twice so Chloe definitely could reach out if she wanted. Hanging up her phone, she stuffed it back into her bag.
The door opened, causing Max to jolt up in her chair. Officer Kane was walking back in with a man she didn't recognize. He was an older gentleman, round in the belly. His pepper-and-salt hair was colored by his experience, and hard lines defined both his eyes and mouth. Upon looking at Max, he softened his features, almost managing to liken himself to Santa Claus.
"Max, this is Detective Garrison," Officer Kane informed her, maintaining the same sweet tone she had used throughout the previous interview.
Detective Garrison flopped down into the chair across from her. "Max, I'm afraid we have a few more questions for you," he stated. He didn't seem sorry about it whatsoever. "Some new information has come up, and we need to make sure we cover all of our bases. I hope you understand."
"Yes, of course," Max replied, sounding far more open to the idea than she actually was.
Detective Garrison opened a yellow legal pad on the table, flipping through a few notes. "Now, Max, did you ever know or meet a girl by the name of Rachel Amber?"
What does she have to do with this?
"No," Max responded, curiosity now piqued. She wished she had nosed around a bit more about Rachel than she had. "But her posters are all over Blackwell. Um, but she disappeared before I came back to Arcadia Bay, so I never knew her."
Leaning forward, Detective Garrison smacked his lips a few times. He was mulling something over, his eyes flickering back and forth with his thoughts. "And you didn't happen to hear any rumors about her?"
"From what I gathered, she just pretty much disappeared one day," Max responded. She tried to discern what he was thinking. After all, she hadn't been expecting this line of questioning. What did a missing girl have to do with this case, anyway? Then she added, "But I haven't exactly asked around. Other students who have been at Blackwell longer probably know more."
"So no one mentioned to you about any relation between her and Nathan Prescott?" Detective Garrison pushed, watching her every movement. He was trying to catch her in a lie, but there was none to snare her.
Shaking her head, Max replied, "No. Not at all. But it wouldn't surprise me if they did. Nathan Prescott makes - made himself pretty well-known around campus."
"What about his connection to Kate Marsh?" he inquired, folding his arms across his chest.
Max furrowed her brow, confused. Why was Kate's name now coming up? Were they trying to pin something on her? Max hoped not, because Kate could literally not hurt a fly, and Max would testify to it. "Well, I know that Kate recently went to a Vortex Club party," she offered.
"Vortex Club?" he echoed.
"Uh, yeah, it's this clique at school? You know, cool kids only?" Max replied, unsure how else to explain it. The Vortex Club was about the dumbest fixture at Blackwell Academy. But then again, with what happened with Nathan Prescott, they might just shut the Vortex Club down.
Detective Garrison started scrawling down notes. "And she went to one of these parties? Did she talk to you about it at all?"
"No, not really. But she's been really quiet and distant lately. I don't know what happened, but it was clearly not good. Why?" Max asked, trying to be a bit nonchalant with the question. She had noticed, though, how his writing was becoming a bit more frantic.
Calmly, Detective Garrison replied, "Some new information has come to light. But I can't discuss an ongoing investigation past a point."
So basically, you're telling me to stop asking questions and just answer yours.
Setting her jaw, Max folded her arms across her chest. She was tired of being kept in the dark. No matter what she asked, the answer was essentially the same: we can't say. And it had left her in this room alone for hours, not knowing what was going to happen to her or Mr. Jefferson. She didn't know if they were going to let her go tonight. Hell, she didn't even know what time it was. She really should have checked when she used her phone.
"One last question before we let you go, Max. Did you know of any connection between Nathan Prescott and the victim, Chloe Price?" Detective Garrison asked.
Max's face blanched. Her stomach churned as her mind replayed that name. "Wh-who was the victim?" she pressed, her voice sounding strained even to herself. There was no way she had heard that right. Chloe didn't even go to Blackwell Academy! Why would she be there?
"Chloe Price."
No, no, no, no, no. This cannot be happening.
"And you're certain it's her?" Max pressed as she tasted bile coating her tongue. She tried to swallow it back, but it simply lingered.
Nodding, Detective Garrison replied, "Her step-father confirmed it at the scene."
Max hurled forward. Just as she reached the bin, her stomach revolted. Retching, she felt as though her entire body was rioting against the news. Her eyes watered with the strain. Her stomach bucked again, and she gripped the rim of the basket harder, as if that would help ground her.
Chloe's dead.
Which meant that she had watched her best friend die. And she hadn't even known. Her heaves transformed into sobs. How could she not have realized? She had spoken differently, but it was still Chloe's voice. Max should have done something - anything - to save her. But what had she managed? She had stood in the back and hid like the coward she was.
"Did you know her, Max?" Officer Kane inquired.
Max felt a hand land on her back. Pulling away, she staggered to her feet and leaned against the wall for support. Quickly, she wiped away her tears. "Yes. She - she was my best friend."
"And you didn't realize it was her?" Detective Garrison noted, sounding skeptical.
Throat tightening, Max snapped, "I hadn't seen her in a while!"
"It's alright, Max. Then did you know anything about her connection to Nathan?" Officer Kane soothed, stepping so that she was in Max's gaze.
Shaking her head, Max replied, "Nothing outside of what they said in the bathroom." She then snatched up her bag. Although she had been patient, this was too much. "I'm going to go now, if you don't mind. I need to sleep."
"Of course," Officer Kane murmured, heading to get the door.
"Max," Detective Garrison called out. Turning back to look at him, Max raised her eyebrows. "Please could you tell me if you have ever heard of 'The Dark Room' before?"
"I haven't," Max answered as Officer Kane opened the door. Without another word, she stepped out of the room.
Officer Kate escorted her down the hall. As they approached the front, she said, "Thank you so much for your time and patience today. I am so sorry for your loss. The counselors at the school have been informed of the situation. Feel free to reach out to them. And if you think of anything else, do let me know."
Max nodded, still feeling sick with her revelation. Heading towards the door, she opened it and felt the cool autumn air engulf her. It erased the stifling smell of the police station. She sucked in a deep breath, letting her lungs fill to capacity. Slowly, she released it. But it still did not change what had happened or make it any easier to accept.
"I was wondering when they would release you."
Spinning on her heels, Max found Mr. Jefferson sitting on the bench just outside of the station. He was hidden by the shadows, but he stepped out of them. He had changed - or been given a change of clothes - as he was now sporting a gray, long-sleeved shirt and pair of black sweats that were a touch too large for him.
"They… they released you?" Max was stunned that he was allowed to leave before she was.
"Tentatively. I'm not to go anywhere. And I've been suspended from teaching at Blackwell pending further investigation," Mr. Jefferson answered as he approached her. "I waited for you, though. Let's go home."
Home. It sounded nice, even if Mr. Jefferson's house wasn't quite her home yet. But he was trying to comfort her, make her feel as though she belonged there. So she followed like a sheep escorted by its shepherd. As she got into the car, she remembered when this alone brought her an unbelievable rush. That now seemed like eons ago. Back when Chloe was still alive.
Back when you could have contacted her if you had just had sucked up your own pride.
As Mr. Jefferson started to drive, he commented, "Max, I know… I know this is hard on you. No one should have to go through what you did today. But I just wanted you to know that you did well."
"No, I didn't," Max answered firmly.
Mr. Jefferson replied, "You have always doubted yourself. Which is why you need to hear it from someone else."
"She died," Max said, her voice breaking. Tears returned. This time, though, she furiously wiped them away. "That- She was my best friend."
"You knew her..." Mr. Jefferson breathed out. It was definitely more of a statement than a question. A heavy pause permeated the air. "Max, I'm so sorry for your loss."
Max nodded as she tried to calm herself back down. "Thanks," she managed to add numbly, sniffling heavily.
"We're almost home. Then I'll make you a cup of tea, cool?" Mr. Jefferson pressed.
"Thanks, Mr. Jefferson."
Glancing over, Mr. Jefferson murmured, "Please, call me 'Mark' when we're alone."
"Sorry. Habit," Max said, her voice still thick. She still felt as though she wasn't truly present. It was as though the tap on her emotions had been broken, and she couldn't control how much or little she felt.
Abruptly, she felt a warm hand engulf her own. She looked down as she felt Mr. Jefferson - no, Mark - give her hand a squeeze. A soft, sad smile tugged at her lips. Flipping her hand over, she laced their fingers together. It was grounding. She truly wasn't alone in this. Mark was with her, even if he didn't completely understand her pain.
"Thank you for waiting for me," Max murmured, looking up at him. He stared out at the road, but he gave her hand another squeeze to tell her that he was listening. "I… I don't know how I would have coped tonight alone."
Mark turned, one-handed, into his driveway, never letting go of Max's hand. "You have a good heart, Max," he stated. "But you're also strong. I have faith you would have been fine in the end. But I couldn't bear the thought of you being alone tonight."
Trying to swallow down the knot in her throat, Max nodded. The car stopped, and Mark turned off the car. He then turned in his seat and reached out with his free hand. Cupping Max's face, he brought her in closer before kissing her sweetly. Max sighed into the kiss, leaning into it. The scruff didn't tickle her this time, and she instinctively reached up. Her hand hit Mark's glasses accidentally, and she broke the kiss in response.
"Sorry," she said, checking his glasses to make sure she hadn't damaged them at all.
Mark chuckled. "It's quite alright. Sometimes, I even forget I'm wearing them." With that, he unbuckled his seatbelt. "Come on. Let's get inside."
Getting out of the car, Max headed around to the front door. Mark was already there, unlocking the front door. As she stepped inside, Max half-jokingly asked, "So is this our date of the month?"
"No," Mark assured her. "Besides, I'm currently suspended as your teacher. So right now, I'm just your boyfriend. No strings attached. Cool?"
"Cool," Max answered as she kicked off her shoes. There was an empty spot in the shoe rack, she noticed, even after Mark put his shoes up. She felt her emotion choke her. It was something so simple, so stupid, but it meant the world to her at that point. Putting her shoes there, she set her jaw to keep herself from getting too emotional again.
"What do you need, Max?" Mark inquired, his voice low and calm.
My best friend back.
But he couldn't give her that. No one could give her that. That was something that she, in her heart, had to accept. Hugging herself, she replied, "I feel dirty. Could I take a shower?"
"Of course," Mark answered. He guided her down the hall and into his bedroom. Max noticed the glasses container sitting on the nightstand to the right of the bed, near a lamp, and some clothes poking out of his closet.
Opening the bathroom door, he turned on the lights. Mark had a state-of-the-art bathroom. His shower had several jets and two shower heads. The stone was a gorgeous mixture of browns and golds, with some soft shadings of reds and oranges. Slowly, Mark explained to Max how to use the shower. The various settings allowed her to dictate if the water came out overhead, from the sides, or as a normal shower would. He also informed her that she would sooner run him out of water altogether than hot water.
"Take however long you need," he murmured. "Do you understand me, Max? I would pay for the whole of the ocean to be emptied if that's how long you needed."
Max offered a weak laugh at his statement. "I don't think I'll need that much time."
"But if you do, take it," Mark said before pressing a kiss onto Max's forehead. Max let her eyes close, enjoying the sensation. How long had it been since she felt so cherished? Pulling back, he continued, "Let me get you something to change into."
Nodding, Max stepped back and pulled off her jacket. She also slung off her bag, not having realized it was still on. Mark returned, placing a pair of plaid slacks and a white button-down shirt onto the sink. Softly, Max asked, "Could you take my bag? I forgot I had it."
"Of course," Mark replied, picking it up. "Anything else you need?"
"No. Thank you," Max said.
The door closed, and Max finished removing her clothes. Carefully, she folded them and set them on the lid of the toilet. She then turned on the shower. Stepping in, she fiddled with the handles. She blasted herself from all angles with cold water. With a yelp, Max jumped and cranked the heat up. The water warmed pleasantly, and Max located the soap.
Eventually, she let her mind wander from washing. Her heart ached once more as she thought about Chloe. Although she hadn't reached out to her, Max had always thought of Chloe as her best friend. No matter who she met in Seattle, they could never hold a candle to Chloe in Max's heart.
And now she's gone forever.
Regrets seemed to pile upon more regrets. If Max could go back in time, she would have changed everything. She would have called Chloe the moment she was back in Arcadia Bay. No, she would have never lost contact with Chloe in the first place. She would have wrote her letters from Seattle and invited her over on the weekends. They would have continued to hang out and play and take photographs as they always had.
Did Chloe know? Did she know that Max had never forgotten her? That Max loved her like she loved a sister? That no one would ever be able to replace Chloe in her heart?
How could she? You never even fucking told her.
Tears rolled down her cheeks, and she tilted her head up towards the showerhead. She turned it on, and water rained down upon her, soaking her hair through. But it also swept away her Max turned her face up towards the top shower head before turning it on. Water rained down, first cold then melding into warm. It soaked her hair and slithered down her body, camouflaging her tears, as though they were brethren. Together, they took the short trip down her small curves before disappearing into the drain.
Max was relieved that she finally felt as though she could cry. She couldn't have wept so openly with anyone around, not her parents or Joyce or even Mark. Instinctively, she worried she would be judged. What right did she have to cry, after all? She hadn't been in contact with Chloe for the last five years. That was the judgement she worried would be passed onto her. A judgement she secretly agreed with. That she could not, in the end, defend herself against.
You were a terrible bff.
Sobs rocked her with the force of an earthquake, forcing her to crouch to retain her balance. She mourned what had been lost: a wonderful friendship, a bright future, a fractured family finally becoming whole. Without a doubt, Chloe was the type to impact all those around her. And all those chances and possibilities were gone.
But at least Nathan Prescott's gone, too.
Anguish subsided to anger. Clenching her fists, Max resisted the urge to hit something. Nathan Prescott had gotten away with too much over his lifetime. He had thought himself untouchable because of his family's wealth and power. But in such a small city like Arcadia Bay, was he not just a big fish in a small pond? He was bolstering himself into something greater than he was. And now he was dead. Max might not feel good about that fact, but at least she felt that it was just.
Getting up, Max located the shampoo and conditioner. She opened it, and the smell immediately reminded her of Mark. She washed her hair, ensuring nothing got into her eyes as she tried to calm down the last of her crying. Once her hair was cleaned, though, Max turned off the shower and stepped out. Towels hung just next to the door, and she snagged one. Wrapping it around her, she used the spare part to dab at her hair. She was dried enough to change in no time. Pulling on the slacks, she tightened the drawstring until the pants finally stopped falling down. The bottoms of them pooled at her feet, though, clearly too large for her. Then she grabbed the shirt and slipped into it without the need to undo any buttons besides the top two. She looked in the mirror.
You're swimming in this.
The sleeves more than covered her whole hand, and she tried to shove them back. But she looked like a child trying on adult clothes for the first time. Was Mark really that much taller than her? That much bigger than her? Pulling the pant legs up, she waddled to the toilet before grabbing her clothes. She then emerged, shuffling her feet in order to ensure that she wouldn't trip.
Mark was in the living room, pacing about on his phone. As she walked down the hall, she could hear what he was saying, "I promise, if I had known anything like this was going to happen, I would have stopped him beforehand. - Uh huh. - Yes, I'm aware, but… - They asked? No, I didn't tell them!"
Max stepped out, and Mark looked up in surprise. He had already changed himself, she could see, given the fact that he was wearing slacks and a plain red t-shirt. Obviously, he had anticipated she would take far longer than what she did. He held up a finger, and she nodded.
"Look, it's been a long day. And I have to go. I'll call you tomorrow morning if I can. The police might want me to come back in to make a few more statements, though. - Yes, I will. - Okay. Goodnight."
Max tilted her head. "Who was that?"
"Just one of many people wanting to talk to me right now about the incident. As you can imagine, word has already spread throughout the town," Mark responded as he walked over. Max certainly could understand that, remembering her own fiasco with local reporters. Abruptly, he squeezed some of Max's hair to test its dampness before noticing what she was holding. "Here, I'll get those thrown in the wash. That way they'll at least be clean tomorrow when you head back to the dorm."
A bit reluctant, Max handed him her clothing. She wasn't completely comfortable with him cleaning her undergarments, but she was less comfortable with the thought of wearing them, dirty, the next day. Mark opened a closet in the hallway to reveal a washer and dryer.
"The shower was nice," Max offered, wanting to break the silence. "I almost felt like I was in a hotel."
"I had that shower custom built when I moved to Arcadia Bay," Mark informed her, turning on the washing machine. Looking over, he pushed his glasses back up a bit. "The shower is one of the few places where I can truly think. It takes me away from everything - television, Internet, even my camera - and it forces me to visualize and consider what I want from a photograph or subject."
Max said, "I take walks to clear my mind."
"I always wind up taking photographs," Mark responded as he headed back towards her. "Which I would then immediately want to get home and edit. By the time that was done, I usually realized I just lost hours and still had no solution."
Laughing quietly, Max replied, "That's why you should use an analog camera. Instant photograph, and no need for those troublesome edits."
"Fair enough. I certainly should look about getting one," Mark remarked before stopping in front of her. Max thought for a moment that he was going to kiss her again. Actually, part of her wished for it. Instead, though, he merely reached down and began to roll back the sleeves. "I think this shirt is a bit big for you."
Max watched as he expertly buttoned the sleeve back so that it wouldn't slide back forward. "I didn't mind it, though."
Doing the other one, Mark chuckled. "I am not sure you have the capacity to complain, Max."
"I complain all the time," Max responded. She left off the ending, which was "to my diary."
Mark raised a challenging eyebrow as he tested the second sleeve. It didn't move either. "Then prove it. Complain to me about one thing."
Floundering, Max tried to think of something that didn't hit upon today. She wasn't ready to complain about the police station or how Detective Garrison interrogated her or how Officer Kane treated her like a child. She wasn't ready to go into losing Chloe yet either. Instead, she felt her stomach give a painful twist, unlike the previously anxious ones before. She said, "I'm starving. I haven't eaten anything since lunchtime."
Smiling, Mark shook his head. "I suppose it's a start," he commented as he headed towards the kitchen. "I'm going to go make some tea and dinner. Why don't you find something for us to watch in the meantime?"
"Okay," Max murmured.
She found the remote sitting on the coffee table. Turning on the television, Max took a moment to register that it was on the local news station. Blackwell Academy was in the corner of the screen as the anchor stared into the camera with grave eyes. "Two Killed Today at Blackwell Academy" sat underneath the photo. Nausea washed over her. It felt like a fresh wound was being ripped back open. Quickly, Max changed the channel. She couldn't bear to watch that.
Flipping through the channels, Max desperately searched for anything that didn't revolve around death, guns, or violence that also was not animated. She had never realized before just how difficult that was. She kept stumbling across detective shows, action movies, kids programs, and an unusual amount of ghost hunting shows thanks to it being October.
Finally, Max landed on "Sense and Sensibility." The movie was just starting, the opening credits bringing familiar names across them: Emma Thomspon, Alan Rickman, Kate Winslet, Hugh Grant. A cup suddenly appeared in front of her. Looking up, she found Mark standing just behind his sofa. She carefully took the cup, not wanting to spill anything, and brought it down. Meanwhile, Mark glanced up at the television for but a moment. "Just let me know if you need anything."
Max nodded and took a sip from her cup. The warm, peppermint flavor filled her senses. Sitting there and drinking tea whilst watching a beloved classic romance, she couldn't help but enjoy the sensation of normalcy. Her heart tugged at her mind every now and again, a soft pang reminding her that all was not well. But in that moment, watching Marianne and Elinor Dashwood, Max could find some semblance of peace.
After quite some time, Mark walked around the sofa and sat down next to her. He had a large bowl in his hands, filled to the brim with a variety of colors. It was a grilled chicken salad, complete with tomatoes, eggs, carrots, celery, and bell peppers. A fork laid nestled in the middle of the bowl, and Max picked it up before stabbing through her first bite.
"Is love a fancy, or a feeling? No. It is immortal as immaculate Truth. 'Tis not a blossom shed as soon as youth drops from the stem of life - for it will grow in barren regions, where no waters flow, nor rays of promise cheats the pensive gloom," Marianne read on the screen, the room aglow with but a few candles.
Mark reclined and wrapped an arm around Max, pulling her closer to him. Leaning against him as best she could with her food, Max relaxed. Mark's words reverberated through her as he spoke, "A darkling fire, faint hovering o'er a tomb… That but itself and darkness nought doth show. It is my love's being yet it cannot die… Nor will it change, though all be changed beside… Though fairest beauty be no longer fair, Though vows be false, and faith itself deny, Though sharp enjoyment be a suicide… And hope a spectre in a ruin bare."
Startled, Max looked up at Mark. "You know it?"
"I'm quite well versed in poetry," Mark said. Max's eyes widened. "So surprising? What, I cannot have passions outside of photography and keeping up with the latest trends?"
Max flustered before taking another bite of food. She could at least preoccupy her mouth enough to bide some time. Upon seeing that, though, Mark laughed, his chest rumbling with his mirth. Max tried not to giggle, worried about choking, but his laughter was so contagious that it was difficult. Taking another bite, Max chewed slowly to give herself more time.
"Clever girl," Mark teased. He rested his lips on top of her head for but a moment, a ghost of a kiss. "But there's no need. There was a… phase, we'll call it that… that I went through in which I trudged through as much poetry as I could find. I read through all the classics I could find, committing which ones struck me most to my mind. The poem in this movie happened to be one of them."
After swallowing her bite, Max pried, "Why?"
"Why did I memorize them? Or why that one?" Mark asked.
"Why that poem," Max clarified before snatching up a piece of chicken.
Mark leaned back for a moment, running a hand through her drying hair mindlessly. "I was trying to understand the interactions between the heart and the mind. I touched upon it with my photography, and the concept fascinated me so much, that I began to explore it in other iterations."
Max understood his fascination. At her very core, she wanted to capture the world. She wanted there to be heart and soul in her pictures, for them to pull at the minds at someone else. But she struggled to feel as though she could do that. When she read books, though, they seemed to do it without any issue.
She turned her attention back to the movie. As she ate, the spiraling love stories took place in front of her. She watched as Marianne threw herself wholeheartedly into love. However, Max preferred Elinor's approach. She was quieter about her feelings, but they were still apparent in the manner in which they spoke. But Max's love interest remained with the Colonel, an almost subplot character through the beginning of the movie. His love was so understated but pure. Honestly, she felt as though he was far too overlooked by the willful Marianne. But then again, this wasn't her love story.
Finishing her salad, she placed it on the coffee table before them. She sipped at what remained of her tea, now lukewarm. But the day was catching up to her quickly. Just as the Colonel revealed to Elinor the treachery of Willaby, she felt her eyes start to close. It was similar to the way that they had the first time she stayed over, her eyelids dragging themselves to stay open. The day had been long and strenuous, though. And it had left her exhausted.
She shifted, trying to find a more comfortable angle. It did her no better, though. As she shifted again, Mark gently placed an arm under hers. "Come."
Max allowed him to move her as he pleased. Before she knew it, she was laying on top of him, her cheek pressed against his chest. He encircled her in his arms, a hand stroking through her now dried hair. Max relaxed into him. Certainly, she had never felt more safe or comfortable as she did here. Mark continued to stroke her hair, and Max barely kept her eyes open enough to watch the events unfold.
As the Colonel carried Marianne towards the estate, Max found she couldn't keep her eyes open any longer. "M-Mark," she called out as a warning.
"Shh," he murmured. "Sleep, Max. Tomorrow is a new day."
With that, Max succumbed.