Disclaimer: Anything familiar to you, I don't own. This is a work of fanfiction for personal amusement, fulfillment and maybe a bit of self-therapy. I make nothing from any of it. Cheers.
Note: WARNING. Contained within this chapter are themes, implications and/or descriptions of: Violence, Significant Bodily Harm, kidnapping. Implied sexual assault. Moderate to Severe Emotional Trauma. Consider the last three chapters a kettle boiling, and now, it's whistling.
Chapter Twenty-Two: Aristeia the Second
November 19th, 2010
Rachel was nervously pacing the length of the shed when her phone rang. Hoping against hope that it was Chloe saying she was coming back, that they could finish talking, she answered. An apology was on her lips for daring to sound upset that Chloe just wanted some air alongside the thought that there was so much going on and all they needed to do was talk about it until the sun came up and everything would be alright. The voice on the other end of the line was distressed. It was not Chloe's voice but Steph's. It was utterly jarring to hear Steph anything but cocky and projecting.
"Rachel? I can't get ahold of Chloe. Her phone goes right to voicemail." She was speaking quickly; there was no 'hello, how's it going, why did you leave before the wrap party?' Also conspicuously missing were other voices. A wrap party, even unofficial as it was, was typically given permission to be held backstage and most of the time everyone stayed. In other words, for some reason Steph had abandoned the wrap party for the first time since she started partaking in the play in any form. That made the panicked tone more concerning. When Rachel didn't respond immediately, Steph nearly yelled, "Rachel?"
"Yeah, Steph, I'm here, take a breath, calm down."
"No," Steph said, and from her tone Rachel could imagine the girl's painted nails gripping the phone as she pressed it close to her mouth. "You don't understand. I think Max is in trouble." Rachel stopped pacing. "She's been acting weird for the last twenty minutes. Like, I thought she was just tired and everything? So I went to the bathroom. When I got back, she was completely out of it. Like, not looking at anyone, not really talking to anyone? She was just kind of sitting alone." Rachel relaxed. Steph was just overreacting.
"She's probably just having a bad moment, if you can, just hang out with her for a few. She'll be okay, I know it can be a bit-"
"No, you're not getting me. She started acting like she was fucking out of it, man. Like, asleep on your feet kind of out of it and like, two or three minutes ago, she just left." Rachel frowned. "Dana says she left with Nathan Prescott." Frowning stopped. Doubting the seriousness of the moment stopped. Every horrible thing that Chloe or Max herself had ever suggested about Nathan came back to Rachel. His rage and how he took it out on one of his only friends after he lost most of his hair supported the idea that he wasn't exactly the most stable.
There's no way Max would go anywhere with that fucker, Rachel realized. The day had been taxing, so far. The idea that it might not be over should have been devastating. First, the play had been draining in more ways than one, especially trying to keep Max and Chloe on their game. Her fight with Chloe had been enough that she had wanted to scream and panic. Now, when it looked like that danger had passed, this. I should be mad, Rachel thought, imagining Max being lead away from the stage by Nathan. No, no I shouldn't. It's not her fault Chloe and I didn't talk. It's kind of mine. I made her think she couldn't talk to me. She thought she wasn't worthy of me? What a fucking joke.
"Rachel, we need to find her." It sucks I can't just freak out right now, but there's no way in hell that Max went with Nathan by choice. If she's really out of it, something might be wrong. Maybe she's panicked about something and he took advantage of that. Then the horrible thought that he might be about to take advantage of her in a literal sense made Rachel tear from the shed, calling a response into the phone.
"I'm coming," Rachel told Steph. She hung up before the girl could respond and ran outside. "CHLOE!" Her voice echoed off the decrepit shells of cars and all manner of garbage that she could not be assed to identify. "Chloe!" She called again and again, the cooling night air answered her only with her own voice. God damn it. What do I do? "Chloe, god damn it, you asshole!" It was anger she felt rising. Who the fuck turns off their phone after shit like that? Not even the image of Chloe in tears, trying to stumble away from her calmed Rachel's frustration. Rachel turned her head toward The Beast, Chloe's huge Frankentruck. Max is missing. Chloe is missing. The keys are on the dash. Rachel exhaled. Chloe's sulking. Max is in trouble.
Me
Prescott has Max. Took truck. Sorry.
The truck roared to life under her hands. She had never particularly driven it: her limited driving experience outside of driving class or her test involved her mother's car and her distance with her mother meant she had not really continued to practice. No choice, Rachel told herself. You know how to drive and you've seen Chloe drive this thing a hundred times. She shifted and let off the break. The truck lurched forward eagerly, a puppy happy to come to its master's call. Rachel blew through the exit of the American Rust junkyard going too fast by far and turned right down the road without bothering with something as silly as turn signals. This was, as it went, not her favorite night after a play ever. Tearing down the street she looked once at the bobblehead on the dash.
"I'll talk to her more soon," she promised the diminutive figure. "Chloe and I have forever to finish this talk. Right now there's ass that needs kicking and she'd be doing it too, if she could." It nodded at her. Damn right, and she'd do it for me too. Warmth spread from her stomach to her extremities. Chloe cares about me. I care about her. I want that to be all that matters. She forced herself to focus on the road, lit poorly by the truck's clouded headlights. But it's going to have to matter later. Each time she passed a vehicle she crossed her fingers that it was not a cop car. The Arcadia Bay Police department weren't likely to be too happy about a truck that sounded like it was going to fall to pieces doing seventy in a fifty zone.
Rachel took only the time to pocket the keys and slam the truck door behind her as she ran from the parking lot at Blackwell Academy to the stage. Predictably, the stage was empty save for one person. Steph was not sitting, she was not even pacing. She just stood, frustrated, fists curled. Behind the stage, the wrap party was continuing as curfew approached. Rachel heard voices, music and tried desperately to block them out. As she sprinted down the aisle in the middle of the sea of chairs, her foot hooked one. It slammed into a chair beside it and drew Steph's eyes.
"Fuck me! Where is Chloe?" Steph asked her. Rachel shook her head. Steph took this as some sort of bad sign judging by the way she angrily hurled her beanie to one side of the stage and her fingers curled now into her own hair. "I've checked the dressing rooms, I've checked all around the stage. I've checked the parking lot. There's a side door unlocked on the main building. I've been in there. Everything's quiet, everything's dark. I haven't even seen the night security." Go to the absolute worst case scenario, Rachel told herself. Because when it comes to the girl who bashed Damon Merrick's face in with a baseball bat, anything is possible. "I should've just called the fucking cops!"
"No," Rachel said. "You made the right call." This wasn't the sort of thing Max was going to want the choice taken away from her on. Moreover, if there was one thing Rachel never disagreed with Chloe on it was that the Prescotts owned Arcadia Bay, even-no, especially-the parts of it that carried a badge. "Try the doors at the pool. If you can't get in or don't find anything, check inside the school again." Rachel rushed toward the curtain behind the set.
"Where are you going?" Steph called, still nearly tearing her hair out in frustration.
"I'm going to go where I better not find her and if I do, no amount of daddy's money is going to save that son of a bitch." Rachel let the curtain fall behind her and turned a corner, stepping away from the backing for the set. Stretched out on the bit of manicured lawn behind it, around a folding table moved out of the cafeteria, most of the cast and crew sat arrayed in celebration. Mikey was popping a coke beside Dana mere feet from where Rachel came out through the curtain. Mr. Keaton had long since abandoned the scene and his co-director was nowhere to be found. That just made everything easier. No one noticed her at first. Not even Eliot with his prying eyes who was always glaring at her.
By the time she even pinged on anyone's radar she was leaning down beside Hayden, who turned suddenly to face her, surprised. And a tiny bit guilty, Rachel told herself, currently well acquainted with how that looked on another's face. The guilt went away and was replaced by relief when he saw who had grabbed him by the shoulder. His eyes said that he was not entirely sober, that he had snuck something in despite the fact that security or Mr. Keaton could come out and catch him at any point. He was still half-costumed. Rachel realized in seeing that, that she was, too. Then again, tattered jeans and chucks weren't so bad. She shifted her feet in the converse, impressed she had managed not to wreck on the way over, with them being a size too large for her.
"Hayden," she said, trying to keep her voice low. "You keep your mouth shut and discreetly pass me the key to the boy's dorms, forget this conversation ever happened and I'll toss you fifty bucks tomorrow." For a second he looked confused and when he spoke it was as if he hadn't heard her at all. She groaned internally.
"Yo, Rachel," he said, grinning broadly at her as if in greeting. The one thing she would always hate to admit about Hayden was that he was more or less classically attractive. In retrospect he was probably one of my first tip-offs that I was into guys, too. For a moment he waited for her to answer and when she only fixed a glare on him, he continued. "What? You can't stay? Well fuck," he swung his hand once, suddenly, and seized hers, as if in a high-five turned into a hand shake. Something kind of small and sharp, clearly made of metal was pressed against the palm of her hand. Oh, fuck, I'm being oblivious.
"Yeah, sorry, just might get some rest," she said, loudly. "Long night. You guys have a good time!" Rachel palmed the key and tried not to be too obvious about it. She patted him once on the shoulder she had just been holding in as blatant a gesture of thanks as she could give and then turned to walk away. It took all of her power to stay calm until she was out of view of the people behind the stage but the minute the cast and crew couldn't see her anymore, Rachel ran. Worse case scenario, Rachel told herself, he took her back to his room. I'd think about the best case scenario, but let's be fucking real.
It didn't take her too long to find the key on Hayden's ring. He only had two others on it and in general it looked not too different from the key to the girls' floor. The door gave in the same way and she was sprinting down the hallway in a second. Two months ago she and Chloe had been sneaking down this hall, both all in for an act of petty vengeance. For a fucking jacket, she hissed at herself. If he does something to Max just because of what we did to him…. In that case, Rachel wasn't sure she could ever forgive herself.
At some point she had stopped feeling her lungs heaving as she tried to breathe or the aching in her legs or even the shaking of her limbs in general. Mechanically it all worked and felt like it was working overtime but only a tightness in her chest really stood out to her. Tunneling in on the right door, still fairly sharp in her memory after those two months, Rachel stopped in front of it and pressed her ear against it. It was soft, mind you, but she was able to hear Nathan through the door. Without a doubt, though his words were obscured, Nathan Prescott was on the other side of it, speaking to someone. Son of a bitch. His tone was strange, a mix of aggression and something else. Eagerness. He's eager. She closed her eyes and listened, hard for anything that might tip her off.
"That's right," Nathan was saying, so giddy he almost laughed as he spoke. "Just stay right there, you mouthy little bitch." Without bothering to step back, Rachel threw her entire weight against the door. It did not budge, but Nathan's voice changed. "What the fuck?!" Stumbling back a step Rachel kicked the door this time, the bottom of Chloe's shoe resounding soundly off of it. Her goal was not to knock it down but to make it clear that the noise was not a one off. There came a soft click. Rachel realized that the doorknob was being turned. Nathan was just going to open the door with Max in his room, almost certainly against her will. Now, Rachel told herself, determined to make sure she did not hesitate and miss a perfect opportunity. Chloe had made her watch enough action films with her to recognize a good chance when she saw one. Rachel backed up three steps and then charged. She was breathing so hard that she wanted to vomit. Her arms buzzed and tingled as she turned sideways and slammed her weight into the door. Chest hurts.
The door flew inward as she ran into it. A nice solid thud followed by a grunt rang out. It swung wide and a louder, more audible thud sounded as Nathan Prescott dropped. She wondered how many people were in the dorms at this hour. Would someone come in time? Nathan slammed into the ground hard enough that he should have been audible from the stage and Rachel struggled to stay standing. Dimly she realized what was happening to her, that she was hyperventilating. She'd seen Max do it on more than one occasion and even tried to help her through it. This was different though. The room began to spin and wobble almost as soon as she got her bearings. It looked mostly unchanged, except that Nathan was sprawled on the ground and there, in his computer chair with her wrists tied to either arm of the chair by some strip of dark cloth, was Max. She did not try to look at Rachel or Nathan. Her head was barely up. Her sweatshirt hung half off of her, revealing most of Hippie Puck outfit underneath, though Rachel was disturbed to see a tear at the tie-dye shirt's neckline.
She's completely gone, Rachel realized, staggering uncoordinatedly toward the chair. Something knocked against the wall as she threw herself down toward Max, grabbing at the cloth around the photographer's wrists. Even in her panic, she got her fingers into the knot on top of first Max's left and then her right wrist. Max was trying to talk as she slumped forward in the chair but when Rachel leaned forward to listen a set of fingers wrapped into her hair and jerked her back, hard. Her sight blurred as her head slammed against the wall, propelled by the force of Nathan's arm shoving her. Enraged, she pushed against the wall and spun herself around. Nathan had released her and was reaching back for something heavy. His camera lay discarded on the floor between his feet. This motherfucker! An eerie focus grabbed at her as Nathan stumbled backward, nearly falling. She no longer heard his feet, his words or anything but the sound of her own heart. He was moving as wildly as her heart beat, all rage and instinct. No different than me. I can beat him. His hand found purchase on a lamp, and he jerked it forward suddenly.
No, Rachel thought, eyes slamming shut as she raised her hand to block the first blow. The lamp struck, probably meant for her head. Pushing it to the side, she didn't notice the pain, but she heard the sound of bone cracking. Nathan cursed this time at the top of his lungs, bringing the sounds of the outer world back.
"No," Rachel told him, aloud. The room felt like a sauna, thick and hot. Her head swam, spun and threatened to darken. She was simultaneously alive in a way she could not explain and felt like deadweight. Nathan brought the lamp back toward her head and, screaming, Rachel told him to fuck himself, throwing her hands out. In the tick of a second hand the dorm room went from a seething hot sauna to frozen wasteland. Bright light flared inches from her face and she jerked backward out of pure reaction, hands falling to her sides. She felt the sensation of pushing something or someone away with another set of hands which did not exist and the lamp swinging toward her face burst into flame in Nathan's hand. Shocked, the boy looked at the lamp, crying out, recognizing what was happening just a moment too late. The world slowed down and and the sight sharpened in front of her. Her rage was gone. Her breathing was slowing.
The lamp didn't shatter so much as explode. Burning pieces of it scattered to every corner of the room. One buried itself in that thick, black rug Rachel had once admired. It began to smolder immediately. Nathan fell back clutching his head. Rachel would not sleep that night, thanks to the mental image of one hot, burning piece of ceramic or plastic burying itself in Nathan's face, just below his eye. There was no blood from the wound as if the superheated projectile cauterized the wound but if Rachel watched she knew she would see just how much damage it had actually done to his eye. She had been unable to look away in time to avoid seeing a glimpse of it. She never wanted to remember that glimpse. Rachel crossed the room, pushed her shoulder roughly into Max's side and lifted her. Max tried to walk. She also tried to talk but her words were nonsensical in Rachel's ears. Nathan began to scream in agony.
Rachel had just barely gotten them both from the building, not seeing another soul, when the fire alarm began to blare. Oh god, Rachel thought, desperately turning left to right. She was breathing normally, despite being cold enough that she might have been submerged in the ocean. The only warmth there seemed to be in the world was varying between draped over her and trying to walk beside her. Oh god. She thought again, dragging Max around the corner, to the back of the dorm. The girl's feet threatened to leave drag marks at one point and then at another she was again trying to walk. Don't get seen, Rachel told herself. They can't find you here. Her heartbeat was not normal yet but her heart was no longer threatening to tear through her chest. Her teeth chattered in her head, louder than either Max's mumbling or the alarm. So cold. She might as well have been wearing nothing in subzero temperatures. Part of her thought she must be sapping Max of all of the warmth in her body.
All of the attention of campus was on the dormitory. It made perfect sense to Rachel that by walking through the grass at the back edge of campus she was able to carry Max, who at one point began to finally find purchase and walk, to the parking lot without being seen. She still felt astounded by her luck. Max was not that much smaller than her. It took a great effort to lift her into the truck, especially because she was in no state to help. Not once did Max say a full word as she was almost stuffed unceremoniously into the passenger's side of the vehicle where she came to rest on top of Titania's wings.
If she has any idea where she is, I'll be surprised. Does she know she's with me? Rachel hoped so. She hoped Max knew she was safe. It was when Rachel tried to pull herself up and into the driver's seat of the Frankentruck that she first noticed the pain shooting from her right hand up her arm. She only made the mistake of looking down at it once. The urge to vomit returned. With some difficulty, her ring finger and thumb came together to shove the key into the ignition, but adding the damaged hand to her incessant shivering and it became almost impossible to turn it.
From where it lay discarded between her and Max, her phone buzzed once. Max did not sit up but she did show one small bit of self-awareness, curling in on herself. At least I hope it's self-awareness, Rachel thought, realizing that if she did not get the truck started shortly they would be found there in that state when the firemen and police arrived. Oh my god the fire! The truck stuttered and them came to life as she turned the key. She reached across herself, leaning over so far that her elbow pressed into Max's back, and with her left hand turned the truck's heater up and on full blast. She wasn't even sure it worked. The cold never bothered me anyway.
For a moment, she waited and wrapped her arms around herself, trying desperately to get warm. Once more the world began to dim around the edge of her vision and now that she was not moving she could no longer hear her hammering heart. The intelligent choice was to drive away: The vehicle wasn't hers, Max was still delirious where she lay, curled up on the other half of the seat. In this case and in this state questions would be asked that she could not or would not give answers for. Rachel shook from the cold but it grew worse each time she drew a breath. The alarms blaring throughout the campus and that same, burning, seething rage slowly seeped into her arms, bringing no real warmth but at least some feeling in her arms and with that an understanding about herself that Rachel had never had before. Part of Rachel didn't want to drive away. That part of her wanted to slam the truck door behind her and hurry back to the dorms. She wanted, in full sight of the staff and students to stalk Nathan Prescott from one end of campus to the other.
She wanted to run him down in the night like the criminal on the loose that he was until his puny, entitled ass could no longer run and then- and then…. I want revenge. Rachel shook her head hard and then shifted the truck into gear and pulled out of the parking lot with some surprising care. I need to warm up, she thought. Rachel passed flashing lights and blaring sirens a block out from the school before she began to gain some control. Beside her, Max was still gone to the world. Knowing that nothing she could do was guaranteed to bring Max around, Rachel allowed herself to scream at the road in front of her until her throat hurt and the conflicting emotions and concerns quieted down to let her think. Max lifted her head and looked at her but did not speak.
Fumbling with her phone between them, she opened it with her damaged right hand and considered who she really ought to call first. Instead of Chloe, who she knew was going to have to be informed, argument or no argument, she dug into her recent calls and called back Steph. When the girl answered, the sound of sirens and alarms drowned out her voice out for a second. Rachel did not speak. Slowly, the sound grew quieter and quieter as Steph ostensibly moved away from the school and the parking lot. Rachel wondered how best to tell this story as she balanced the wheel against her raging right hand and her knees. It's not mine to tell.
"Rachel? Did you find her? Is everything over?"
"Y-y-yes," she chattered, body jerking against the cold. "Did you tell anyone…" the tail end of the sentence died to the cold.
"No, I haven't seen any security but I'd guess they're dealing with the alarms. They're coming from the dorms. Was that you?" Rachel wasn't sure how to answer that. The truth was, she had the most absurd certainty that it was her. She was the one who had started that fire, she was the one who made the lamp explode, she was the one who had injured Nathan Prescott. The honest truth was, she would do it again in a heartbeat if she thought he was going to try to hurt Max again.
"Don't tell anyone. You were right, Nathan had her in his room. The- the rest of it's not my story." Steph's exclamation of 'fuck' was a fair echo to the mental dialogue of her own thought processes. Though, those often included, "I'm cold."
"Are you two okay?"
"She's out of it still. I th-think I broke a couple of fingers. I know he broke more than that. I'm f-freezing."
"What's the fire alarm about?" Rachel wanted to (wait, she thought, I actually do want to) tell her about the lamp which had become a spontaneous fireball as she hit the height of her rage. She actually wanted to tell Steph about this stupid idea that she might have caused it somehow. The thought was enough to trigger a memory of a night she tried not to think about and the phone dropped from her hand. A trash can. A photo. Chloe's lighter. A tree. A forest. A fucking county. She had gone cold after that, too, though it wasn't anywhere near as bad. Regret, vengeance and fear rose back to the surface and she again yelled at the windshield of the truck, throwing every curse she had ever heard, including a few Chloe invented when David pissed her off against the road and hoping they would take the thought, the realization from her. They did not. She was still certain and did not think she would be able to forget it. Never again. My girlfriend shares peoples' dreams. I burn forests down and ruin lives.
She came back to herself in time to realize that the reason headlights were blaring into the cab of the truck was that there was a car bearing down on her and she was in the wrong lane. Rachel swerved hard and only barely stayed on the road. The horn of the passing car gave a comical demonstration of the Doppler Effect (you've been hanging around with Chloe a lot lately) and Rachel steadied herself. On the floorboard, her phone almost shook with the sound of Steph's voice (or maybe that's the engine) calling Rachel's name repeatedly, panicked. Rachel just put the gas pedal down.
Focus, she told herself. Calm down. She laughed but the sound was lost over Steph blaring through her phone's speaker, over the truck's rumbling. Before you blow up Chloe's truck or some crazy shit! She slowed the vehicle and pulled over, calling for Steph to calm down. When she could finally reach down and retrieve the phone with her functioning fingers it fell from her shaking hand twice before she found a grip. There was no more yelling. It took a second but she took the call off of speakerphone.
"Steph, everything's okay."
"What the fuck was that?" Rachel once again didn't know how to answer. What it was was her realizing that she might be a fucking monster.
"Near c-crash," she lied. "I'm not used to driving this thing and the adrenaline's not slowing down."
"Take her to the hospital. Get your hand looked at, too."
"No," Rachel said, imperiously. "You're smarter than that, you're one of the smartest people in the entire school. I can't take her to the hospital. The Prescotts own half of it and most of the police force anyway." If she walks into that hospital, she is a 'party girl who can't handle herself' before the night's over. Then if she decides she wants to make an accusation against Nathan, they throw it at her over and over until no one listens. Rachel wanted to hit or kick something. Why can't I warm up? I can't think straight!
"If he gave her too much of whatever he dosed her with, she could die, Rachel. You're angry, I get it. I want to stomp on Nathan's stump right now, myself but this isn't about the Prescotts. It's about Max." Rachel turned sideways, ready to take one last look at Max. When she did, though, the girl's eyes were open. They looked dazed and she did not seem like she could hold her head up well, but she did match gaze with Rachel once. Rachel did not need to be able to hear her whisper. It did not take a lip reader to recognize 'No, please,' being formed in exaggerated, emphatic movements. For just a second, Max stared at her as if to make sure Rachel had seen her and then laid her head back down on the seat and closed her eyes. For all intents and purposes she might never have moved at all.
"Absolutely not," Rachel told Steph, feeling sure of herself, now. "Max wouldn't want me to. Besides, she's coming around. She just needs somewhere safe to rest." No sooner had she spoken the words than that surety slipped away. Please let me be doing the right thing. For Max.
"Can you make it to my house?" Steph asked her. "I'll be there soon."
"Okay," Rachel replied, gratefully. I don't want her to wake up out at the junkyard right now. "Steph, I need to ask o-one more favor."
"Anything, Rachel."
"Hang up and try to call Chloe again. Tell her what's going on, please." There was a longer pause than usual and she could almost, if she strained her ears, hear the alarms still going.
"You know I'm going to drive you to the hospital once we've got Max inside, right?" That's not an answer, Rachel thought, aware her flaring rage was misdirected. "I'll call Chloe, but one of us is getting you to the hospital for your hand. We should be taking Max there too."
"This is the way she'd want it." Rachel wasn't about to argue about a trip to the ER until after Max was safe. This is fucking bizarre. "I'll beat you back to your house."
They did, as it happened, beat Steph to her home given the significant head start they had. In all that time Max did not try to speak to her again nor even move. She showed no sign of the momentary clarity, the one that came just in time for her to save Rachel from a moral quandary. The two-story dark brick house was dead in front of them, every light out and the security system armed. Rachel knew the security system's password from nights at Steph's but for the life of her if she had ever been told where they might keep a spare key, it had not stuck out to her as something to remember. She sat for a moment, cradling her screaming right hand in her left, the driver's side door to the truck open and then reached for her phone. If she sat there doing nothing she might look down at her hand and start thinking too much about the pain. It took almost a minute to get into her phone with only her left hand and call Chloe, but eventually the call went through.
"Hey, Chloe?" she said, before Chloe could answer. A loud engine threatened to drown her out but if Rachel focused she could hear her words. Yet, it was no easy task to focus. Her teeth had begun to chatter again.
"Oh thank fuck, listen, I'm almost there. I got picked up halfway back to town by an old friend. I'll have him drop me in the area in a minute." Rachel was about to ask who she was talking about when Frank's voice sounded clear from just beside Chloe.
"Oh what, you don't trust your old friend to know exactly where you're going?"
"It's not my house, dude," Chloe answered. "Now give me a second. Rachel, is Max alright? Are you? Steph said you were hurt." Rachel squeezed her eyes shut and tried not to focus on the memory of the forest fire or a mental image of the dorm burning down. This was not the time for some kind of petty fear. Max was still delusional beside her on the seat. She shivered so much that she thought she might throw herself out of the truck and to the ground. "Rachel?"
"Max is still tripping. I don't think he got to h-hurt her. I think I broke a couple fingers. I'm s-so cold, Chloe." Chloe started to speak, to try to comfort her, judging by the tone, but that irrational corner of her brain was coming into full control over her actions. Hearing tears in her voice which she did not feel on her face, Rachel spoke over her. "I think I almost burned down the dorms. I think I burned down that forest. I think it was me. I think it was all me. People lost houses, Chloe. People lost everything."
"Rachel," Chloe said, loudly. "You're not making any sense. It's like, shock or something, right? I've been through it, when Damon- at the Mill." Chloe's voice had at least distracted her but it was doing nothing to rob her of the idea that she might have been responsible for at least one fire in Arcadia Bay. "Listen, I'm like ten minutes out. Did you tell Steph that Nathan Prescott like, took Max?"
"O-other w-way around. Steph called me and told me that Max was just sitting there and acting weird, then she went off somewhere with Nathan pulling her. It sounded fucked up to me, like, really weird. She was scared and couldn't get ahold of you so I took the truck and I'm sorry."
"Don't apologize for that, you did the right thing. I was the stubborn bitch who turned her phone off." Rachel wanted to argue but that exact thought in those exact words had already gone through her head twice since pulling to a stop outside of Steph's house, as she tried desperately not to look at her hand, tried desperately to stop shivering. The truck's heater either didn't work or her core body temperature was dangerously low.
"S-Steph told me it looked like Max was out of it. Like, really really out of it. I thought maybe she was just having a bad night until Steph couldn't find her or Nathan anywhere." Exhaling, Rachel continued. "So I got a bad feeling. She was like, absolutely gone by the time I got there, Chloe. I don't think anything else happened." Another thought occurred to her. "Maybe Max had something other than water in that bottle of hers, but I don't think she would have brought that down with her during the play or the wrap party and no one else was drinking anything."
"You saying you think Nathan dosed her?" Chloe asked. Rachel could hear the sudden sharp edge to Chloe's voice and she felt an absurd feeling of guilt accompanying the thought that she, Rachel, should have just let Chloe storm off and stayed at the wrap party with Max.
"The fuck are you looking at me for?" Frank was audible from beside Chloe.
"You know why." Maybe he did or he didn't, but it took Rachel a moment to get away from guilt and the pain in her hand to figure it out herself.
"S-she's out of her fucking mind, barely making any sense, but it doesn't matter," Rachel said. "He took her to his room and there's no way he was up to anything good."
"You're right, it doesn't matter right now." Headlights signified that a car was pulling into the driveway on the other side of the truck. Not an RV, Rachel thought. "It's going to matter later though, when I muss up pretty boy's face."
"Beat you to it. Chloe, get here, please. I have to go, I can't do anything with my right hand." Rachel turned to see Steph staring through the driver's side window, her face stony and determined. It was a warmly comforting sight.
"Nearly there."
"Ok-kay, please hurry." That was all the salutation she had time for before Rachel dropped her cell phone on the seat of the truck and raised her cradled right hand up for Steph to see. She didn't look at it herself. "I'm gonna-a need your help."
It didn't take them long at all between the two of them to get Max inside. Rachel had her right hand wrapped up in Steph's sweatshirt, but she discarded it when she realized they needed to climb stairs. Max, jostled more awake by the movement, mumbled their names in the first relieving sign that Rachel had seen from her since her odd moment of clarity a few minutes before. Steph didn't say anything that didn't involve directions the entire time they half-carried her upstairs. Rachel was still shaking cold when she was admitted into Steph's room. Never been here before. She did her best to keep Max upright as Steph tore her covers down toward the end of the bed and together they lowered her onto it.
"I don't want to go," Max said, suddenly speaking up. She was looking into the air above her. "I never wanted any of this. I didn't ask for it!"
"I know, I know you didn't," Rachel told her, kneeling beside the bed. Steph began to cover Max's legs with a blanket but that didn't seem to go over too well. Max jerked, halfway sitting up.
"Why did you kill her?" Max screamed, directly into Rachel's face. She jerked back despite herself. "I trusted you!" Max wasn't looking at her. She was looking over Rachel's shoulder. "You killed them both! Rachel Amber, Chloe. You sick fucker, I worshipped you!" Max swung a fist from her sitting position and Rachel fell back on her ass to avoid being struck. Steph threw herself forward onto Max, who jerked against the sudden restraint. "You were my fucking hero," Max told this phantom. "I wanted- I trusted. I promised her, I promised her we'd find Rachel. I promised her." There was no longer violence in Max's voice, but desolation. She continued to beg someone that was not in the room with them to tell her why, just why they'd kill Chloe. Why would they take her friend from her? This went on for close to five minutes before Max began to cry and words failed her. Rachel had never heard screaming and wailing merge like that. She realized she might have only ever seen the girl in tears once before. It was not a sight she had ever wanted to see again.
Wrapped in a blanket after Steph noticed that 'your lips are blue!' Rachel reached out and took Max into her arms. She wasn't sure if Max was aware of who she was or where they were, but by the time Chloe came hurtling up the stairs, she had her face pressed into Rachel's shoulder as Rachel tried desperately to comfort her without jostling her damaged hand. Chloe appeared in the doorway, framed by it. After their earlier conversation she could have looked on the scene and seen it as something it was not, but this was Chloe, and she had a far larger heart than that.
"I didn't think it was Nathan, Chloe," stopping beside Rachel, Chloe shifted, kneeling a bit closer to them both so she could listen. Max was speaking against Rachel's shoulder, muffling her words. "I thought it was all him, thought he gave Nathan the idea. Nathan gave it to hi-." Her words cut off mid sentence. For a moment, she thought Max was speaking quietly, but when the girl's hands curled against her shirt, she recognized the quiet, muffled wail. She stayed quiet for some time once it ended but inevitably spoke again, as if struggling to give out much needed information. This world she was in in her mind was so much more real than Steph's room, Rachel thought. "He groomed him but didn't have far to go. I get it, I get why Rachel Amber died." It's like a story, the whole thing. Why the hell does she keep calling me by my full name? "She was Nathan's first strike. Then he took over. I have to stop them both this time."
"Max," Rachel told her, "I don't know if you can hear me, but I'm not dead. I'm right here."
"Not now," Max responded, "before. In the past-future." Delirious. I won't be able to talk any sense into her. "I followed the plan. My plan. Her plan. Thought she knew everything. Didn't know anything. Don't know anything." Max's hands relaxed against her. Chloe stood up to stretch, in this way she did not hear when Max lifted her head and whispered emphatically to Rachel: "Stop Nathan and Jefferson." In return, Rachel spoke to Max who looked away with her dazed eyes. It was not about whatever hallucinations she was having, whatever delirium she was in. It was about silly things, inconsequential shit: the play, Sera, her fights with her mother, conversations over breakfast, their long nights marathoning one show or another on Netflix, how Max had turned her into a Trekkie and she hadn't admitted it to anyone yet.
Max did not regain her senses for several more minutes but Rachel had one of Chloe's arms around her to try to lend some support. One way or another, whether they intended to or not, both Max and Chloe contributed enough body heat that she began to feel normal again. Or at least, as normal as grown up Charlie McGee can be, she snarked to herself. At least this meant she was right, coming to her senses. At one point, Max pushed away from her and Rachel in turn separated from both of them. It was then that Rachel realized Chloe had not actually spoken to her since her arrival.
"Did I- did I say a bunch of weird crap?" Max asked first, as if that was the important thing here. She turned her eyes not on Chloe but on Rachel and Steph, who was sitting on the opposite side of the bed, grim faced and paler than usual.
"That doesn't matter," Rachel told her. "It was just a- a horrible dream, probably because of whatever Nathan hit you with. We're at Steph's now." Steph rose to stand, though she had not yet spoken. Max turned her head, her face contorted in fear and confusion, her eyes clear for the first time. Steph did not look at her, but pointed directly at Rachel, who Chloe was finally letting go of.
"You. My car. Right now." Rachel wanted to argue but she looked down at her right hand, cradled against her stomach. It drew Max and Chloe's attentions and the two of them had almost identical reactions. They were not far off from her own the first time she saw her pointer and middle finger, either. They both recoiled, slightly. "Chloe, go downstairs and get Max some water out of the fridge. Max, stay in that bed until the sun comes up or I'll hold you down when I get back and not in a way any of you fuckers are gonna like. Rachel, off your ass and down to my car right now." Rachel turned to look, but neither Max nor Chloe looked ready to disagree.
"The words you're looking for here are 'yes, Steph,'" the half Punk-Oberon Chloe told her, eyes narrowing. "There's no reason for you to be in pain anymore." Pain that's getting worse. Dimly Rachel realized it was getting worse because she was warm again. Just as the heat made no sense but seemed to actually exist, the cold she felt after her fight with Nathan seemed to be real in its numbing effects, too. Rachel stood and followed Steph from the room.
The next day was not as peaceful as it should have been. For starters, Rachel and Max had to get their stories straight: that she had tripped coming downstairs trying to bring Max back to the party and broken her fingers. Wells and David had interrogated them about their absence from campus and this was the best they could do to answer for it. In the end, Wells had come to begrudgingly accept that while they were on their way to the hospital for Rachel's injuries, they got news that the dorm might be on fire and chose to stay off campus until they got more information. He had, however, assigned them detention the first monday after they returned from Thanksgiving break for a failure to check in during an emergency situation. Rachel thought it was strange that he had taken time to congratulate Max on taking initiative to get her friend treatment. The strangest part of it all was David's relative silence throughout the whole thing.
Whether it was the long day before or her pain medication, Rachel spent much of the day asleep or half-asleep on Max's bed. After the excitement and anxiety of the play followed by the rage and cold of the evening after, Rachel didn't entirely mind the quiet day. The unfortunate thing was the series of dreams in which she heard the screams of people being burnt alive. I haven't told anyone else. Chloe didn't understand, she didn't believe me. On one of these occasions in which she lounged, half awake, Rachel rolled over and slowly sat up.
Dying sunlight rolled in through Max's window. Rachel tried to figure out precisely what had drawn her attention. Max's quilt begged for her to lay back down, to go back to sleep. A noise distracted her: rapid clicking. She looked up toward Max who was sitting up at her desk. Rachel had already been nauseous at the sight of Max in any kind of office chair. The clicking was coming from the desk. A part of Rachel's mind that was firmly awake recognized it as the clicking of a pen top. She's watching me, Rachel realized when she saw that Max did not have her back to her, but was sitting turned sideways, a book in one hand. She was side eyeing Rachel.
Realizing perhaps that the jig was up, Max turned completely from her desk, slammed her book down and pushed the computer chair away. Her sudden irritation was both uncharacteristic and completely unhelpful in the whole 'keeping cool' thing. Even with the dreams Rachel had done her best to stay calm and not think about anything serious for several hours. Rachel looked up into Max's eyes. They were alive, not like last night when she looked like she was nearly dead. Don't even think that, Rachel told herself. She was still tired, sitting half up a moment before, probably thanks to the medication given to her for the pain of broken fingers. Now she was wide awake.
"Okay, that's it," Max said. "I know I'm probably the problem and I should be quiet and introspective and more focused on poor me and all that bullshit," Rachel found the tone of her voice a little disturbing. This might be the girl who ambushed Damon Merrick in the junkyard. After a moment of consideration she realized that if this was the same Max, that also meant it was the one who had saved a stranger's life a couple hours after meeting her. That meant she ought to listen. "But you have not pulled out your phone since your mom called you. No one has called anyone. You haven't even talked about Chloe since I woke up at Steph's. You haven't spoken in three hours and the room is really fucking hot. Why aren't you two talking?" This is what was weighing on her mind? And what does she mean the room is hot? Does- does she know? What if they both know?
Rachel chose her words carefully. The honest truth is that Max played a part in the fight between herself and Chloe but only in that she was the object of their mutual affections. Nothing Max had said or done put her at any fault. Not once had Max crossed a line. Not once had she pushed herself on either of them or even really said anything inappropriate. Not once had she been anything but respectful and supportive of their relationship. The fault for the argument that left Chloe walking the train tracks in the middle of the night fell entirely on Rachel's and Chloe's shoulders.
"We had an argument," Rachel finally settled on. Max stood up. Shouldn't you be more concerned with what Nathan tried to do to you? Or what he might have done? How much do you even remember about yesterday? Rachel wondered if the girl remembered the elaborately constructed delusion she had recounted, of Chloe and Rachel dead at the hands of Nathan Prescott and someone called 'Jefferson.'
"About me?" Max asked her, bluntly. Rachel nodded. She didn't find the girl's attitude threatening, just irritable. "I mean, I knew it could happen." Rachel didn't respond to that. That had too many connotations. "I just thought if I kept my mouth shut it wouldn't be that bad."
"We had a bad argument." Rachel told her, realizing she wanted to say this. "She was scared I wanted to break things off. I was scared she wanted to. It wasn't a long argument but it hurt and it made me realize we hadn't been talking about things. We finally talked about them and we were going to keep talking but she wanted a walk and I left before she could get back." This made Max still slightly and she shut her eyes for several seconds. "I don't know what would have happened, but she didn't say much last night to me after she got to Steph's." Max shook her head twice, hard. Rachel stopped talking. For a moment as Max approached her and reached out with both arms, she expected a hug. More than that, she readied for it and wanted that hug. Just some comfort, some warmth, some understanding that this was scary for her, too. She didn't expect Max, who had moved rather weakly all day, to dig her fingers into the fabric of Rachel's shirt, then through to her skin, grabbing her tightly by each shoulder. She sure didn't expect Max to shake her bodily, twice. And hard, she thought, frustrated.
"What the hell?" she asked when Max did not let her go. Max's hard eyes bored into her own and the girl drew a deep breath. When she spoke, it was loudly, both words drawing out for emphasis.
"Call! Her!" Rachel shook her head.
"What if she doesn't wa-"
"Call! Her!" Max repeated, louder, more emphasis on the words. "Jesus, this is the first time you two have actually had a fight isn't it?" Rachel nodded, dumbfounded by this sudden transformation. Max has barely said three words to anyone since Wells told us the dorms were open and David 'escorted' us here. It's like she was saving all this shit up. "And you didn't even get to finish it."
"I mean we made up and all. We were going to keep talking, but what if she-,"
"The hardest thing," Max started, still emphatically but now less loudly, "that any new couple can do, is figure out how to act toward each other after a fight." Max wasn't blinking. Her eyes held Rachel's eyes. She looked slightly more herself as she stared into them. It was uncomfortable, only because genuine care was starting to seep through her stony exterior. She genuinely does care. Rachel remembered Max wailing the night before, demanding answers from thin air as Rachel tried to hold her. What kind of hallucination was she having? "Even if you made up, everyone thinks, 'but what if they don't want to talk to me right now?' Well here's some fucking news, Rachel: they'll tell you. If Chloe's sitting in her bedroom right now thinking the same damn thing, you two will never talk about this right." Max released her and stood back up to full height and turned toward the door when Rachel did not argue again. The feeling where Max's fingers digging into her arms as they had the night before, stung slightly.
"Where are you going?" Rachel asked her. Max turned back and reached out to Rachel, extending her hand. God, why haven't you talked about you yet? This shouldn't be about us. This should be about you. What did that fucker do? Where is he so I can rip his fucking balls off?
"You're gonna pass me your key, I'm gonna go to your room and lay around on your super comfy bed for half an hour and you're going to Call. Her." Rachel shook her head to clear her thoughts.
"That makes no sense, this is your room, I should go."
"Call. Her." Rachel shook her head again but not in denial of the advice, just in surrender. Max waited, one hand on the doorknob as Rachel deposited her keys into the photographer's other. How did a girl who was shorter than her feel imposing, ever? It took longer than expected as she had to retrieve them from her pocket with her left hand. We were literally sitting in silence two minutes ago. I thought it was comfortable silence. Rachel wouldn't have dreamed that Max was thinking about her and Chloe or any perceived lack of conversation. She still hasn't talked about Nathan. She hasn't answered any questions. I don't know how to ask them. That was going to have to change before Max left for Thanksgiving Break. "I'm not leaving the room until I see you dialing."
Rachel dialed, however long it took. I hate this. Rachel thought in regards to her hand. The fact that she had yet to hear any information about Nathan's wellbeing after the 'fire caused by an electrical malfunction' did not bring her any comfort. At least they managed to contain it. At least it only ruined his room. At least I didn't destroy everyone else's lives. By the time Max shut the door to her own dorm room behind her Chloe was already answering.
"H-hey," Chloe seemed cautious, as if treading on glass. Max shouldn't have had to do this. I shouldn't have been laying here all day sleeping. She should have been resting and I should have been sitting by the bed screwing around online and waiting on her to want to talk.
"Hey," Rachel returned. "Look, I'm-"
"Don't apologize," Chloe told her, a little more life coming into her voice. She could imagine the girl sitting up, alert. "Just don't, you did the right thing." Rachel tried not to feel crushed by the words, especially because an apology is exactly what she felt she owed Chloe. Instead she focused on the tone, moved to hear gratefulness and pride.
"I don't want to fuck this up," Rachel said, echoing words Chloe had once thrown at her a long time ago. "I don't want to fuck this up like everything else in my life." Silence met her ears. "Can we please talk? Like, really talk. Like we did last night, talk about the shit that scares us and the shit that we think is going to hurt each other." Rachel waited, mentally counting back from ten. She reached 'two.'
"Nothing changed between today and last night," Chloe told her. "I just ended up having a little more time than I expected or could handle. Can you hang out? You know, face to face?" Rachel closed her eyes and exhaled. "Rachel?" Chloe seemed concerned by the delay. In that moment, burned into the back of her eyelids, she could almost see Chloe in the moment: her pale brow furrowed, her eyes asking questions that Rachel could not figure out how to answer and her long fingers fidgeting with something, maybe a pencil, a pen or one of her tagging markers. I need to actually see her.
"Please," Rachel told her. "Please."
"Be right there," Chloe told her into the phone. "Don't you go anywhere, this time." It was a playful comment that did not cause her any pain, but Rachel wondered if a part of it wasn't a serious request.
"Never. They'll have to kill me first."
End Part 2
Obstacles