Disclaimer: I do not own Life is Strange or any of its characters. This story is for entertainment only.
Chapter Three
Max takes a deep breath, inhaling the earthy tones that linger in the air. The scent of pine trees and dirt fill her lungs as the takes in her surroundings, allowing the serene peace of the forest to settle over her. She's always loved being outside at night, even before she was forced to begin what she now refers to in her head as The Ritual. Perhaps it's silly to have come up with a specific name for it, but it's what works for her. The Ritual goes down every five days because that is the longest she can go without feeding before she begins to feel weak.
She looks up to the sky, sighing. The stars are there above her head, glittering as they burn light-years away. She glances over at the moon, which is to her left, looming above her as though it's watching her. Only half of it is displayed tonight as it casts a soft glow over the land before her and she's thankful for the nice weather at least; besides the crisp chill in the air, the night is otherwise still and motionless. While the elements don't really affect her, they certainly don't makes things easier when she's trying to hunt for her prey.
Something stirs in her chest at the thought of blood and she pulls the case off her back, gently setting it upon the ground. She kneels, unzipping the container and opening it up. Inside is an older kind of hunters' bow, one that is simple and traditional in nature. It isn't fancy or high-tech like the ones she sees in the stores now days, just a regular thing that gets the job done. She picks it up and runs a hand along its smooth wooden surface.
Back in Seattle, when she was still discovering new things about herself, she had expressed a sudden interest in hunting. Her dad had been more than ecstatic to teach her how, and even now Max suspects that he's always wanted a son. So her father, Ryan Caulfield, had taken her to a small shooting range, one that was specifically made for bow hunting, on the outskirts of the city to show her how it was done. They went there almost every day, and Max—always the quick learner—had mastered using the bow. At the end of their lessons, her dad had given her his old bow, telling her that she had earned the right to own "such a beauty."
It's true, she thinks, holding onto the instrument that's essentially been her lifeline for the past five years. It is a beautiful instrument, intricate little designs etched into the wood, carefully laced into its surface.
She slings the quiver—the container full with neatly crafted arrows—over her shoulder before standing up. Max closes her eyes and stretches, preparing herself for the hunt and trying to still her racing heart at the thought of fresh blood. She always gets worked up in the hours prior to The Ritual, the caged beast, the certain feral part of her soul, writhing around inside her stomach like it knows it's about it be fed.
She makes sure that she's downwind before setting off deeper into the woods, breathing in the scents around her, checking for the smells of nearby animals. She catches wind of some rabbits, two of them she thinks, and begins quietly making her way in that direction. Her senses are definitely heightened compared to those of a normal human's, but Max has found that they aren't even close to the ridiculous way vampires are portrayed in fictional television shows and movies these days.
Max can see in the dark pretty well though, even without the moonlight's assistance. She silently moves between the trees, feeling weightless in her own skin, until her eyes spot a pair of rabbits off in the distance. One of them is nibbling at the ground, minding its own business. Max reaches behind her and pulls a single arrow out of the quiver before drawing it up on her bow. She aims at the creature, and she intakes a single and solid breath before letting the arrow fly. It strikes the small animal right in the heart, killing it instantly.
She watches as the other rabbit scuttles off at the sudden movement but she ignores it, walking up to her fresh kill instead. Max bends down and expertly removes the arrow from its little body before sitting on the ground and picking it up. It's still warm in her hands.
Max cannot resist her urges anymore. Fangs meet flesh as she sinks her teeth into the neck of the dead animal, sighing as the metallic taste of blood hits her. She laps at the fresh puncture wounds she's made, allowing the true vampire in her to come out and play. Her mind enters a blank frenzy for a few moments until the rabbit is almost completely drained, because that's something that happens every time she feeds, and it doesn't matter how hard she tries to stop it; the blazing flurry of feeding always takes over, even if it's only for a second or two at most. Max blinks out of her reverie afterwards and lets out a deep breath as she stands.
She can feel the surge of energy already beginning to wash through her, bringing new found warmth to her skin. Her body buzzes in satisfaction and Max simply closes her eyes, enjoying the way it brings life to her, filling her up from the inside. Opening her eyes, she picks up the bow and starts looking for another creature she can feed on. It doesn't take much blood to meet her needs—she's managed off a single squirrel before—but it would be a lie if she said she doesn't appreciate a little more to feast on. It's not that she likes killing animals... but when she starts drinking she never quite feels full, and the euphoric sensation of feeding is admittedly addictive in ways.
It's been a long time since she's actually felt guilty for what she's forced to do. It isn't unlike the way any other creature in the wild eats to survive. It's no different from the way humans encage and slaughter thousands of various animals to feed mankind. In her head, what she does is much more respectable than humans who hunt for sport. At least she hunts to sustain herself and stay alive.
She cannot bring herself to kill another animal with her fangs, however. She always shoots her food with the bow first, and if the arrow doesn't end the creature's life, then she snap its neck so that their end is quick. Max has only used her teeth to end a life once, and it had been the first time she drank blood in desperation...
Max sits in the corner of her room in Seattle, shivering. She feels empty, like her body is just the shell of something that used to exist but no longer has the energy to go on. At the same time, she feels heavy, like there are a thousand anvils sitting in the pit of her stomach, weighing her down. It takes an extraordinary amount of effort to even lift her fingers.
She can feel her life force slowly beginning to slip away, inching further and further away from her soul. A part of her begs to just let go, to let the darkness climb in, because that would be so much easier in so many ways. But Max clings onto the edges, refusing to stop hanging on.
Max knows what needs to be done. She's not dumb.
Over the past few weeks, she'd watched in dismay as her reflection faded away. Now it's as though she's entirely invisible in the mirror; each time she tries to take a picture of herself, she doesn't show up in them.
She isn't sleeping anymore. No amount of lying in bed seems to bring her the blissful sleep she desires so much.
Her appetite has vanished. She no longer feels hunger—or at least, it's not the kind that she's used to. Every day, each meal is flavorless and doesn't fill her up in the slightest. All she can do is pick at her plate and tell her parents that's she's just feeling a bit nauseous, and pray that they don't notice how very different she's feeling.
Then... there are her teeth. Instinctively, she puts a hand to her mouth, her fingers touching her fangs. They're sharp and it wouldn't take much pressure to puncture skin. She's at least figured out that she can retract them at will, which has made hiding from her parents and everyone else at least a little easier. As of late, however, it's been harder and harder to make them go away.
Pulling her knees up to her chest, she buries her face in between them and tugs at her hair. She feels like crying, like screaming to the world in despair, but tears refuse to fall. In the back of her head she wonders if that's another side effect of being what she is. Her breathing speeds up, each inhalation of oxygen borderline painful.
"Why?" she chokes out. Or at least she tries to, anyway. It ends up being more of a strangled cough of dry air than anything else.
She wants answers. Why is she like this? If she is what she thinks she is—and she's damn positive now that she's a vampire—then that means that someone is responsible for this, right? Max wishes she knew who did this to her. She wishes that they would have stuck around to tell her how to deal with everything that's happening to her. She wishes it would all just stop, that it never would have happened in the first place. She wishes for so many things and is forced to look them dead in the eyes and realize there's a good chance they'll never come true.
A few more minutes of this infernal suffering continue, before something dreadfully cold settles over her then. Like a dark film placed over her eyes, it's an unsettling state of mind, and the burning ember that is her life refuses to die out.
A quick glance at the clock on her wall tells her that it's a little after three o'clock in the morning. Trembling, she drags herself to her feet. It takes all the remaining energy she has to stumble to her door and step outside. With shaky footsteps, she finds herself at the front door, unlocking it with unsteady hands and slipping out into the night. She only half closes the door, so out of it that the thought of properly shutting it doesn't even cross her mind. All of these things occur as the mindless sort of haze holds her within its firm grasp.
She walks, both unsure of what she's looking for and perfectly aware of what she needs at the same time. Max doesn't want to die; she isn't prepared for things to end because of this. Some terrifying thing that isn't her speaking, but rather something much scarier, says she'll do whatever it takes.
Not even minutes later, it's as though fate answers her silent cries for help. She finds herself at the end of the street, and before her is a cowering stray dog. It's trembling and there's a wild look in its eyes as it regards her wearily. She can see its ribs poking out from under its skin and the creature looks like it hasn't eaten in weeks. In many ways, it's just as helpless and starved as she is.
At that moment, something within her breaks. Some internal instinct takes over—the part of her brain that chooses between life and death in dire situations—and she lunges at a speed she wasn't aware was even possible, given her state. Adrenaline pumps through her veins as she latches onto the dog, holding it down as it struggles beneath her grip.
In an instant her teeth are on its neck and she bites down, hard. The stray writhes for only a few seconds longer until it slowly goes limp, losing the will to fight back, until its life slips away entirely. Max sits there, hunched over the creature, furiously sucking every last drop she can pull from the creature's dead body.
Then the burst of energy hits her like a gigantic tsunami wave crashing down on her, shaking her to the core with the sheer power of it. She feels the warmth return to her limbs, the heat sinking into her skin and spreading throughout her. It makes her feel alive. The intensity of it is almost too much for a second, threatening to overwhelm her.
A few minutes later, the high dies down and she looks at what she's done. There's blood all over her shirt and she can feel it dripping down her face. When she glances at the dog, she can't contain the strangled little noise that escapes her throat. The fur around its neck is stained a bright and glaring crimson, and its eyes are still wide open. Frozen in them is the unmistakable expression of fear.
Max scrambles to her feet, stumbling a few steps back. The previous feeling of bliss that'd been coursing through her is gone without a trace, and is now replaced with cold and relentless horror, but she is energized nonetheless. Max runs back to her house then, desperately needing to put as much space as possible between herself and the animal she'd just killed. She staggers up the front steps to the door, and just barely remembers not to touch anything because there's still wet blood on her hands.
She's so grateful that both of her parents are terribly deep sleepers, because if they weren't, she isn't sure what she'd do. Max carefully slips inside—also a bit thankful she didn't bother to close the door to begin with—and pushes the it shut with her back before staggering to the bathroom, flipping the light switch on.
A tiny part of her is glad that she can't see her own reflection in the mirror, because she's terrified of what she'd see there if she could.
Max scrubs her hands off in the sink for what feels like forever, scrubbing at them until they're almost raw in an attempt to remove all the blood she can. Then she moves onto her mouth and face, rubbing until she's sure that all traces of crimson are gone, but even then she feels like its still clinging to her. The tangy metallic scent seems permanently burned into her nostrils. Dejected, she slinks back to her bedroom, feeling both exhausted and hyper at the same time. As soon as she closes the door behind her, she slips out of her shirt and pants, balling the stained fabric up and stuffing them in the back of her closet. She'll worry about those later.
She changes into a new pair of pajamas and finally collapses on her bed, bewildered at everything that had just happened in the past hour.
Images of the dead dog flash through her head and she shudders.
And that's when she makes a silent promise to herself that she'll never use her fangs to kill again.
Max shivers, thinking about that first time she'd tasted blood. It had been right after that experience that she decided that learning how to use a weapon to hunt was essential. Even now, the memory of feeling that dog's life disappear right beneath her fingertips is enough to make her grimace. She can only hope that she's never driven to a moment of desperation like that again.
After the turn her thoughts have taken, she decides not to go after another creature to drink upon. Max turns around, heading back to where she'd left the case to her bow at. It doesn't take her long to pack everything back up and begin making her way back to Blackwell. Even though it's a little over three miles to the school, that doesn't bother Max. Unlike what the movies seem to suggest, she can't run as fast as light or anything ridiculous like that.
However, she can jog for an almost unlimited amount of time without growing tired or fatigued. Exhaustion from physical exertion has never been a thing she's needed to worry about, and she's yet to encounter it.
So she runs at an average human speed in the direction of her school, the case that holds the bow slung over her back. It takes her roughly twenty minutes to get there, and she slips past the nighttime security guards effortlessly. She sighs happily when she's inside her dorm building, humming appreciatively as a blast of warm air hits her. Max is actually pleasantly looking forward to just sitting down to do some peaceful studying until morning rolls around and it's time for school to start again.
When she pushes open her door, however, she stops dead in her tracks. Inside is Chloe, lounging on her bed like she couldn't care less about the world. Upon Max's entrance, the other girl looks up and grins at her. "Well there you are. I was wondering where you were off to."
Max opens her mouth but then immediately shuts it because she remembers in that instant that she hasn't bothered to retract her fangs yet. She swallows the cold lump in her throat as panic fills her chest. Did she see that?
She doesn't speak until she's completely sure her sharp canines are properly hidden, and when she does, all she can stammer out is, "Ch-Chloe, what are you doing here?"
The other girl laughs at her. "I know I wasn't invited, but geeze, don't look so fucking terrified. What's that?"
Max curses internally. Of course Chloe notices as she tries to inconspicuously set the case down on the ground. She tries her best to change the subject and draw Chloe's attention anywhere but on the weapon. "It's nothing. And it's fine that you're here, you just shocked me, is all. Why are you here again?"
The blue-haired girl gives her an odd look and her gaze lingers on the object on the floor, but to Max's relief she brings her eyes up and says, "Oh, my mom and step-shit are arguing and I got sick of listening to it." She hesitates for a second before adding, "I wasn't sure where to go, but I figured that you would be awake... but then you weren't here."
Max steps over to the bed and sits down. "Sorry about that," she says, offering no further information. "You alright though? It's the middle of the night."
Chloe nods. "I know, but that doesn't matter to them. It's fucking annoying."
"Well, you can crash here whenever you need to. Just... maybe text next time?"
Chloe frowns a little. "Will do, Max. I'm sorry I didn't this time, I just needed to get away from the house and I wasn't thinking. Anyway, I'm gonna go to sleep now that you're here, if that's cool."
"It's okay," Max says, getting up and sitting down at her desk. "If you ever need me for anything, just call or text, or you know, show up," she says gesturing at the room with a little smile. Really, a forewarning would have been nice, but in the end a little voice in her head tells Max that it doesn't matter what's wrong; she'll make space and time for Chloe in her life. "I'll make time for you. Always."
"Ugh, stop it, you're being too sweet now," Chloe says, but she's smiling anyway. "Seriously though. Thanks."
The blue-haired girl falls asleep not long after that, and the moment she does Max gets up and tucks the bow away in her closet. She sits back down and it's only then that the anxious feeling buzzing through her veins finally starts to subside. Staring at the other girl, for a wild moment Max wonders what would happen if she told Chloe the truth.
She shakes her head then, dismissing the notion immediately. After all, those are the kind of thoughts that get people into trouble in the end.
Max hums along to the song playing out of her earbuds as she walks to class. It's a nice day out, or at least it is for her; the clouds are covering up the sun and the temperature is sharp and cold but not overly so. Stepping inside the entrance doors to Blackwell Academy, she takes in all the other humans around her. They bustle about their business, completely ignoring her, just the way she prefers it.
She sees a group of girls hovering near the bathroom and based off their devilish expressions, Max guesses that they're sharing some particularly juicy gossip. She continues further into the school, simply observing those around her. There are some stereotypical jocks—Vortex Club members, probably—picking on a stereotypical nerd by the lockers. Then there's a couple making out by one of the classroom doors. It's an overall pretty normal day.
On her way to class, she pauses to look at the bulletin board. On it is a large array of various flyers advertising different things, but she doesn't really care about those. Her attention is drawn to the left-hand side, where there's an entire column of papers that show the faces of missing people. They're all girls, and all of them are pretty and fairly attractive. Max can't help but feel sad for them, wondering where they are now and if they're okay. A few of them are older, having been posted for months now, but there are a couple newer ones.
The one that stands out to Max the most actually has the face of a girl she recognizes on it. Kate Marsh. She'd been in her photography class for the first month of school until she had up and mysteriously disappeared one day. Max hadn't known her very well, but from the few interactions they'd shared, she'd been able to gleam that the other girl was pretty sweet, albeit a bit shy.
Max sighs, looking at the picture. A pang of guilt runs through her. She feels like she should have gotten to know her better. Tearing her eyes away from the board, she walks down the hallway, trying the shake the feeling in her chest.
When Max steps into her classroom, Mr. Jefferson greets her amicably. She tugs her earbuds out and smiles at him. "Morning," she says before starting toward her chair in the back. She's almost ten minutes early, so almost no one is there yet. Before she can go any further, she feels a hand on her shoulder. Turning, she sees Mr. Jefferson there, smiling at her.
"Max! It's good to see you. How was your weekend?" He gestures for her to follow to his desk. "Surely you've time to spare out of your day to chat with your old teacher?"
She laughs a little. "Of course, Mr. Jefferson. My weekend was fine. Yours?" she asks politely.
"It was lovely," he replies. "Thank you for asking."
She stands there as he sits at his desk and they talk about random little things. He brings up the Everyday Heroes contest, and when she tells him she doesn't have anything to submit yet, she receives the same old lecture about how she needs to put her work out there if she has any desires to be recognized. When the bell draws closer, he adds, "Oh, and Max?"
"Yes?"
"If you could stick around after class for a little bit, that'd be great. There's something else I'd like to speak with you about."
Nodding, she goes to her seat and watches as everyone else in the class starts filing in one by one. The class carries on as it usually does, which consists of Victoria kissing Mr. Jefferson's ass and lectures about famous photographers and such. In a way, it kind of pleases Max that for whatever reason, Mr. Jefferson seems more interested in talking to her than Victoria. She doesn't know why but she figures it's best not to question it. Take the small victories, right?
The class ends and of course Victoria makes a beeline towards Mr. Jefferson. Max watches in amusement at the events that unfold next, unable to keep a tiny smirk off her face as she sees the older man shooing the blonde away.
"What do you want to talk to me about?" Max asks, approaching his desk. He looks thoughtful as he waits for everyone to exit the classroom before speaking.
"Max, have you ever felt like you were powerless to the world and its grip on you? Have there ever been times when you felt as though there were a billion things you didn't understand, but nonetheless you managed to push through and survive anyway?"
Max pauses, trying to consider his questions seriously. After a few seconds of thinking about everything she's been through the past five years, she answers, "Yes. I have."
"I thought as much. You know, Max, sometimes you just have to take life for what it is. I think it's natural for everyone to experience a sensation of hopelessness at some point in time. Those moments where you want to scream at the world and question your very existence. When you just want answers but only end up with more questions in the end."
"Why... why are you telling me all this, Mr. Jefferson?" Max asks, unsure where he's going with the conversation.
He looks her right in the eyes then, and says, "I know what you are, Max."
She blinks. And then blinks again. Wha...? Her heart starts thumping uncomfortably in her chest. "W-what?" she stammers, trying to resist the urge to bolt out of the room right then and there. But at the same time, she's not sure if she could move even if she wanted to. Something in his eyes and the way he says it makes her feel frozen, pinned in place and helpless.
"You're a lost soul, Max," he continues. "Wandering around in a sea of people who don't understand you."
"Oh," she says slowly, nodding hesitantly. See, he doesn't know, Max. It's okay. "Yeah, I guess... that's true."
After a moment, he adds, "I understand you, Max. I just wanted you to know that."
"T-thanks, Mr. Jefferson," she manages to choke out. Then she truly does abscond, turning around and abruptly darting out the door. Her heart is beating so erratically she's afraid it may just leap out of her chest.
She finds herself leaning against her locker, taking deep breaths in a lousy attempt to calm herself. He's just being nice. He's trying to connect with his students. It's nothing.
But no matter how many times she tells herself that in her head, she can't shake the terrible feeling that's taken root her gut. It's the thing she saw in his eyes—something lurking in the depths—and she realizes with unnerving clarity that it's the look of a predator who's just found its prey.
Author's Note: What's this? A long-ish chapter? With plot development? Woo! Don't worry. I haven't forgotten this story. I'm still working on it, just... very slowly, and for that I apologize.
Also, if you see any errors or typos or messed up grammar, minuscule as they may be, please let me know via review or PM. It seems that no matter how many times one looks over their own story, it never fails that they miss at least a few things. Thank you.