Dec 14, 2013 - First Choice Timeline
Max huddled against the cold as she exited Victoria's BMW, bundled once more in a mix of her trademark hoodie, a sweatshirt, scarf, gloves, and, of course, Chloe's beanie. That had been the only article of Chloe's clothes Victoria had permitted her to wear today. Apparently, opening her life to the queen of the Vortex Club had come with conditions, and now Max found her wardrobe under intense scrutiny. There was a time she might have resisted that, yet now she understood Victoria's intent. It wasn't so much that Victoria needed to approve of her fashion sense (she didn't approve), as it was that Victoria wanted to make sure Max wasn't wallowing in the past by constantly wearing Chloe's clothes.
"You get one Chloe shirt a week," Victoria had told her on Monday. "That includes Amber's things, too. I see you exceed that and I burn whatever you're wearing."
Max had doubted that Victoria would have actually followed through with that threat, yet she had been unwilling to test her. She'd worn her favorite Rock Chick t-shirt on Tuesday, and apparently the week hadn't reset yet, so no misfit skull tank for her. Victoria had only relented on Chloe's beanie when she realized Max owned no hats and after a long discussion in which she had had to explain to the hipster that hoodies did not count as winter gear. What's more, she had completely vetoed Chloe's spiked bracelet; at least until she felt confident that Max was in a better headspace.
So, Max tucked her hair tight into her beanie, blew into her cupped hands, and tried to warm herself against the morning chill as Victoria enjoyed another moment in the car, listening to one of Taylor's Katy Perry albums. Honestly, of all the things Max had had to endure since Victoria and she took their day-trip through Arcadia Bay nearly two weeks prior, it was the pop songs that had been the most insufferable. She had tried to introduce Victoria and her gang to Angus & Julia Stone, Syd Matters, even some Foal. The trio had been less than accommodating.
As Max pondered their musical differences, Taylor stepped out behind her, exiting the backseat and casting Max a worried glance as she did. Taylor and she had come to a truce in the intervening weeks, Max apologizing again for not asking after her mother sooner, and Taylor apologizing for her harsh reaction, having not taken into account the trauma with which Max had been dealing. All things considered, perhaps that should have been that, the air cleared and the waters smoothed, but life rarely ran so smoothly, the ideal always a goal and almost never an actuality. No, Taylor and Max were still not friends, but they had come to an understanding, the bad blood replaced with an earnest neutrality.
Max still didn't like the way that Taylor looked at her though; definitely not the way that she looked at her that morning as she exited Victoria's car. The pity always played so clearly in that gaze. Taylor may not have had all the facts; Max had never opened up to her the way that she had to Victoria, and yet, Taylor had been there that afternoon when Max had slipped into that moment – had retreated into the Dark Room. She knew Max suffered from more than simple panic attacks, and she had heard her cry out Jefferson's name. The two girls may have refrained from discussing the source trauma, but Taylor was smart enough to connect some of the dots. Now, when she looked at Max, Max knew that all she saw was a victim.
With Victoria, on the other hand, her glances weren't so much filled with pity as they were with concern. It was a minute differentiation, but it made a world of difference. Victoria displayed no pity, only a desire to help her overcome, and a worry (and a frustration) when Max backslid, and, more, a sense of understanding. She didn't treat her like some delicate flower, but came at her with blunt force when necessary, and a modicum of tact when circumstances required that instead. Sure, Max wasn't taking pictures on her own yet, but with Victoria's help, she did find herself thinking about it. She imagined the shots; she pictured herself with a camera and she saw a future where perhaps she returned to that passion.
The nightmares hadn't stopped, of course, and she had no desire to return to her former glory as the Selfie Sovereign of Blackwell, but she did hope to uphold her newly minted title as Polaroid Princess. She had even decided to spend the holidays with Victoria, which had gone over less than ideally with her parents, or Dana for that matter. Yet Max knew it was for the best. Victoria's family lived here in Arcadia Bay, despite their work up in Seattle, and it meant Max could both stay close to Chloe, while also not being left without her support network. Both Dana and Kate had also offered their homes, and even though Kate only lived a little outside out of Arcadia Bay – close enough that it wouldn't have been a problem – Max had no desire to put up with Kate's mother and any potential conversations around Nathan Prescott. Dana's family lived in town, and could have been a good choice as well, but the thought of spending the holidays around Dana and Trevor, well, as happy as Max was for them, she didn't feel like being their third wheel, and she doubted that it would have done her much good being around the happy couple while she still struggled with her own grief over the loss of Chloe. So, Victoria's place had seemed the best option.
Still, Max was thankful for all of her Blackwell friends. She hadn't spent a single night without either Kate, Dana, or Victoria in her room since Thanksgiving break had ended, and she had to admit that she'd been the better for it. Slowly Max had found herself trying again, and, though this was harder to admit, living again. Kate and Alyssa had taken to helping her catch up on her English assignments, while Victoria helped her with photography, and Max reluctantly accepted help from Warren with her science and math work. Her former stalker seemed to have gotten the message, and though she still felt uncomfortable with his previous behavior, she had decided to give him one last chance; and so far, he hadn't blown it.
Whereas her other friends had been there for her academic support, Dana had filled in as Max's go to for a hug and for social encouragement. Hell, it was Dana that had convinced her she should attend the final Vortex party of the semester, the End of the Year Bash that Courtney had been busy planning for the past few weeks. That was actually why Courtney hadn't joined the girls on this most recent excursion, leaving Max alone with Victoria and Taylor.
"Thanks," Max said, her eyes wandering the dirt lot, focusing occasionally at her feet as they toed with the gravel and at other times with the squirrels skittering from branch to branch, and at still other times, simply skimming over the sky as the morning light cut through the needles of the pines above her; but never stopping to focus on Taylor behind her, still struggling with her own self-doubt and with it her hesitance at direct eye contact.
"You're welcome," Taylor mumbled back, but without much enthusiasm. Max heard her exhale, and could smell the smoke from her cigarettes. They weren't Chloe's brand, but that didn't stop Max from craving her own smoke. Her fingers twitched at her side, as she considered asking to bum a cigarette from Taylor.
"Don't even think about it." The driver-side door slammed shut as Victoria finally made her exit and Katy Perry ended her song. Victoria always knew when Max was about to cave.
"Cereal?" Max shook her head. It just wasn't fair.
"I thought I told you to never use that phrase again."
"Bite me, Chase."
Victoria snickered. "Go fuck your selfie," she tossed back, but without the venom that had accompanied those words in the original timeline. Victoria and Max had developed a less than complementary shorthand over the past couple of weeks, but it held none of the animosity that the words alone might have suggested.
"I mean, just one? I didn't have one this morning," Max said, averting her gaze.
While initially Victoria had allowed Max her cigarettes after their conversation at the lighthouse, she had become more controlling of Max's nicotine allotment since, doling it out only sporadically through the day at first, and had tried (somewhat successfully) to wean her down to only 1-2 cigarettes a day now. On her own, Victoria probably would have failed miserably, but with this bad habit Victoria had felt no shame in sharing with Dana and Kate. Between the three of them, they had hunted down most of Max's stashed packs and it had become increasingly difficult to sneak off for a midday smoke (or a morning smoke, or a late night smoke for that matter).
"So that wasn't you behind the Annex building this morning?"
"Dog," Max sighed. "Who saw me?"
"Logan and Zachary were tossing a ball or whatever it is the two of them get up to. Sometimes it's best not to know."
"Damn." Max shrugged her hands into her pockets and turned her attention to the trailhead at the end of the lot. She wasn't going to win this fight, so she might as well get the morning's trek underway. "Shall we get going?"
"Lead the way, hipster."
With that, the trio started on their hike, passing sporadic clearings in the woods set aside for campers as they went. North Shore Park was no Overlook Park, but it had its own charm, if, oddly enough, no actual shore. A couple miles east of American rust and about four miles north of Blackwell, the park tucked into the foothills of the surrounding peaks. Rumor was, a few decades back the park had stretched all the way to the public beaches of Arcadia Bay Shore, but bit-by-bit parcels of land had been sold to local lumber interests, and the various families with their own vested interests in Arcadia Bay's prosperity (the Prescott, Chase, Robertson, and Wagner families, among others). Now, North Shore remained simply an isolated oddity with the offer of decent camping and a labyrinth of hiking trails for those with an outdoorsy inclination. Max had realized not so long ago that any delusion that she had about being outdoorsy was nothing more than a fantasy imposed upon her through a love of nature photography and memories of childhood pirate adventures throughout the wilds of Arcadia Bay. In reality, she was easily winded and even more easily burned. Today, however, she had a plan, and unfortunately it required a trek through the woods and a return to those misadventures of her youth.
"How much further," Taylor asked.
"Not too far," Max lied with a slight pang of guilt. I mean, it might not be too far. I haven't really been here in five years; it's not like I remember the way perfectly.
"You better not be lying, Caulfield." Victoria brushed the dust from her leggings. Max had warned her that this morning's adventure would be far from glamorous, and that perhaps she should wear something a little less elegant, but Victoria had insisted that her leggings, cashmere peasant top, and stadium coat were as dressed down as she was willing to go.
"Of course not," Max said, hoping she would not come to regret those words.
"Thirty-five minutes is not my definition of 'not too far,' Max." Victoria swiped her phone messages away, and huffed, staring up at the ramshackle construction perched in the trees overhead. They were a few minutes off the nearest trail, some thirty minutes up from the lot – maybe less if some genius hadn't had to spend a quarter of her time backtracking after taking a wrong turn. "I thought you said you knew where you were going?"
"I got us here, didn't I?" Max shrugged and Victoria wanted to throttle her. Yeah, she'd gotten them here alright, wherever here was.
"Where are we," Victoria asked. Max had been less than forthcoming on the details. All Victoria knew was that they had one last photography assignment before the semester came to a close, and Max had been insistent on the location for their final shoot. Victoria and the girl had gone out for a couple more sessions since that first day-trip, and at this point, Taylor knew about their arrangement, if not the finer details of Max's trauma (and do I even have those) and often tagged along as well.
Victoria wished that Max and her could just let bygones be bygones and move on already. They had both ostensibly forgiven one another for whatever perceived slights had taken place over Thanksgiving, yet the two maintained a rather distant relationship. If they'd just get to know one another, they might realize they were actually quite similar. Max and Taylor were both tightly wound bundles of nerves, royal pains in her ass, and two of the most caring people she knew – even if they were both Scrooges by comparison with Kate Marsh, but who wasn't?
"It's the pirate fort," Max said, as if that explained anything. "At least what's left of it." The girl stared up wistfully at the aged remnants of a tree house clinging precariously to its perch in the branches above. It didn't look like much to Victoria, but it obviously had some meaning to her hipster friend.
The deck of the fort was just a little above their heads, maybe no more than six feet off the ground. A ratty, wooden railing lined the boxy floor plan around two sides, which exposed a narrow strip of balcony before the enclosed portion of the fort that made up the remainder of that boxy layout. It actually had a shingled roof, although that roof looked like it may have collapsed in at least one location; Victoria couldn't be certain from this angle. The only aspect of it that seemed to shout pirate, were the circular, porthole-like windows lining the sides of the enclosed portion, some with actual glass, others with the glass long since shattered out in some random act of vandalism.
"Okay," Victoria nodded. "Care to elaborate?"
Taylor pulled at the cuff of her jacket sleeve, her face an odd mix of emotions, swirling somewhere between her usually better-concealed anxiety and an odd half-smile of amusement. Victoria had noticed that Taylor seemed far more relaxed in shedding her usual calm facade and openly displaying her anxiety around Max (fully aware of how odd a temperament it was that Taylor's relaxing meant that she was more visibly anxious), but it was quite unusual to see her actually seeming to enjoy herself in her company.
"You, too, Taylor. Something's up with you. Spill."
"Just, well…" Taylor started. God, is she picking up some of Max's habits, Victoria thought, or had she always hemmed and hawed like this when nervous? "You've been up by the old lighthouse, right?"
"Duh," Victoria said. Yet she took careful note of how Max's eyes suddenly widened as she listened to Taylor, then shifted immediately to the ground and her feet in that ridiculous timid way that Max had of always averting her gaze.
"You know the map up there? And that weird skull and crossbones just above the tents," Taylor asked.
Recognition clicked. Victoria pivoted towards Max. "You marked your tree fort on the town map?"
"Not exactly…" Max kicked at the dirt. Yeah, try going silent on me, Victoria thought. Let's see which one of us outlasts the other.
The silence stretched, but it didn't take long for Max to cave.
"Chloe did it," she offered, a strange mix of adoration and shame playing out over her reddened cheeks as she bit at her lower lip in yet another nervous habit of hers. Off to Victoria's other side, Taylor continued to fidget with her sleeve while finally cracking a wide smile, but keeping her thoughts otherwise to herself.
Victoria collapsed her face into her hands. "You both need some damn Xanax, you know that."
"Or a cigarette," Max chimed, a slight hopeful waver in her voice.
"No." Victoria shook her head. "Nice try though." She relaxed her face from her hands, running her gaze over both Taylor and Max, then finally back up to the ramshackle tree fort above. "So how long has this thing been up here?"
Max appeared to be running the mental arithmetic as she counted out the years on her fingers. When she ran out of fingers, she glanced back at Victoria with a shrug. "Ten, maybe eleven years. My pop built it for us. Him and William." Max must have noticed Victoria's questioning eyebrow as she jumped in with one final clarifying detail. "Chloe's dad. William. He and my pop were close once… I guess."
Max didn't really talk much about her parents. Sure, Max and her had only really been on speaking terms for about two weeks, but she'd already heard a lot about Joyce, Chloe's mom, in that time, but she really didn't know a single thing about the Caulfields. Something about that gnawed at Victoria, yet at the same time, it's not like she'd offered up much information about her own parents, Oliver and Theodora Chase. Some doors were best left closed. That being the case, perhaps it was time to get on with the show.
"I take it we're back on the Chloe Price & Max Caulfield world tour?"
"Something like that," Max said, still toying with the dirt. "I have some ideas for a few shots."
With that, Max waved her over and began pointing out a couple of compositions to Victoria. As the two planned out the framing and focus for the shots, the three eased into the increasingly familiar routine, settling in for the morning ahead.
"We're almost done," Max shouted down. Victoria stood dusting her leggings once more seemingly oblivious to Max who stood on the rickety balcony above her. Max knew she was only pretending not to hear her, though.
"Come on, already, Victoria. Just get up here."
Victoria looked up to Max (I knew you were faking) and then back down over her poorly chosen outfit.
"I'll do your laundry. I just need a couple more shots, okay. And we can't get them from down there."
"This is dry clean only, Caulfield."
"And I'm not the one who decided that was an appropriate outfit for a hike," Max shot back. At that, she swore she could hear Taylor snickering somewhere down below. Maybe they were finally breaking through to one another. As much as Taylor followed Victoria around like some mean girl lackey, she didn't seem nearly as elitist as Victoria came across; not once you got to know her. Unlike Victoria, Taylor had prepared herself for the day with jeans, a denim jacket, and boots. Yes, those jeans were faded and torn in designer fashion, as was the jacket, and her boots were some Frankensteined amalgamation of heels, platforms, and Doc Martens, but at least the theme was on point and nothing she was wearing appeared like it couldn't be salvaged with a run through a normal wash cycle. Max wanted to pursue that line of thought further, but that train derailed as it became apparent that Victoria had heard Taylor's laugh as well.
"What's so funny, Tay?"
"Nothing, V," she giggled back with a little too much emphasis on 'V.'
"I swear, if you two actually start getting along and tag teaming me…"
She trailed off. Max knew, unfinished as it was, the threat was idle at best.
"Just get up here, already," Max said. "Otherwise we'll never wrap up in time for lunch."
"Fine." Victoria rolled her eyes and made her way to the frayed rope ladder Max had rolled down after climbing the tree to reach her old pirate fort – a feat she had failed twice, before Taylor had finally given her a boost.
Max circled around the balcony and back through the low door of the tree house, just as Victoria pushed up through the trap door in the floor. As she entered, the Queen Bee appeared to take note of the low ceiling of the tree house, then glanced about the dusty interior.
"Yeah," Max offered up. "You're probably not going to find a clean place to sit." Before Victoria rolled her eyes again, Max tossed over her favored gray hoodie. Victoria knew exactly what to do, folding it out below her before taking a seat.
"You really want some shots in here?"
"Yeah, I guess," Max said. "Really, I think I just needed to see it again, but… well there are a few good compositions." Max's eyes had locked on the collapsed ceiling and the birds alighted upon the branches above, singing in the morning sun.
"Let me guess," Victoria chimed in. "Shot through the dilapidated roof to the birds singing, preferably with a few rays of sun angling down in a semi-heavenly glow. Nature overcoming civilization. Life goes on. That sort of nonsense."
"It's like you just get me," Max laughed, and this time there was no stopping the eye roll from Victoria.
"You need to change up your shit."
"I don't know," Max mused. "The classics are classic for a reason, right."
"Meh."
Victoria lined up the shot. "You want to try," she started and Max immediately froze. Nope. Nope, nope, nope. Not ready. Victoria shook her shoulder softly. "Not the shot, dummy. Just maybe looking through the viewfinder? Letting me know if I've got the framing right? Could you do that?"
Max chided herself internally. Victoria had been trying so hard, and she had been so much more careful since that day after Thanksgiving break. Max should have known better than to think she'd actually thrust the camera at her again, trying to force this point again, before she was ready. Dog, you're an idiot, she thought, then tried to shake the self-loathing aside.
"Max?" Victoria interjected, the concern clear on her face. "Too far?"
"No." Max shook her head, a lighter, more communicative shake this time. "Not at all. Just… n-not ready quite yet."
"Okay," Victoria nodded, squeezing Max's shoulder. "We'll get there."
And they would, wouldn't they? That was one of the reasons that Max had decided to stay with Victoria over the holidays. In doing so, maybe, just maybe, they could work through her paralysis just enough that she could take some shots on her own again. This arrangement would only work for so long.
"Hey," Taylor announced herself as she pushed up through the trap door as well. "Are you two done making out, yet?"
"Ewww," Max said, blushing at the suggestion. She knew Taylor didn't mean anything by it. She was fairly certain that Taylor didn't even know she was gay. Wait, I guess I've decided that now? I'm gay… not just gay for Chloe. Huh. When did I reach that conclusion?
"Well damn, Caulfield," Victoria teased. "I'm that repulsive am I?"
"Uh… No… I…" Max could feel her cheeks flushing, both from Victoria's apparent offense and from being caught questioning her own sexuality – as if Victoria and Taylor could see through her, right down into her innermost thoughts.. She had no way out. What the hell had she just stumbled into. "It's not… I'm not trying –"
"Shove it," Victoria cut in. "I'm teasing. You're too easy to fluster, you know that?"
Max nodded, but kept her mouth shut. Why did this whole situation make her feel so awkward?
"Can we just get back to the shots, maybe?"
"Sure." Victoria motioned to the messenger bag. "Gear up."
As Max slid on the noise-canceling headphones, she watched Victoria settling into position for the shot. She wasn't sure how life had taken such a positive turn in the past couple of weeks, and she was even more baffled at Victoria being at the center of that shift, yet in this moment, right then, she was thankful.
After the shot had been captured, Max removed the sleep mask and headphones and began sifting through the remains of her childhood scattered throughout the fort. Here and there she caught signs of hers and Chloe's past exploits – discarded pirate gear, old drawings, and the like – yet she felt more drawn to the signs that the fort had not in fact been entirely abandoned: cigarette butts lining an ashtray in one corner, discarded flyers for concerts, and the odd band poster here and there, most bearing scantily clad women front and center. Not too subtle there were you, Chloe?
Thinking of Chloe spending an odd afternoon in their old fort, Max smiled to herself. She hoped that her friend had found some peace on those afternoons, away from David and Blackwell and everything that had been troubling her. Could their childhood retreat have been another safe haven for Chloe? Had they been given more time, would this have become a familiar hangout for them, much as American Rust had been prepared to become?
"Hey, Caulfield." The look of concern on Victoria's face spoke volumes.
"I'm fine."
"You sure this trip down memory lane isn't a bit much?"
"No, it's good, really. There are only happy memories here."
"That's good," Taylor offered. Her voice held little conviction, as if she was speaking simply to be a part of the conversation. Or perhaps so as not to be left out? Have you thought about that, Max?
"You see anything of interest over there, Taylor?" Max threw out a lifeline. Maybe it was time that she tried to include the girl. Once, before everything, Max knew she had been a good person; the type of girl that would have picked up on Taylor's distress; the type of person that would have tried to make the lives of those around her better, rather than simply drowning in her own self-pity.
Taylor ran her hands idly over various childhood relics. An old stuffie, now waterlogged and moldy. Aww… Squishy the Octopus. You've seen better days, bud.
From there, Taylor flicked at the latch of an old trunk and eased it open. Her hands brushed over aged garments inside, and she turned back to Max with the faintest trace of a smile.
"I think I found an old costume bin, if that counts as of interest?"
"Yeah, it does." Max shambled over, keeping low to avoid the sagging roof.
"Wait," Victoria said. "I thought we were here for photographs? Are we just playing stroll down memory lane, or what?"
Max ruffled through Taylor's find, pulling out an old purple bandana and an eyepatch. She hadn't seen these since the day… since the day of William's accident. The familiar tug of grief pulled at her, but Max fought to stay grounded in the joy of those artifacts instead; of one last pirate adventure with Captain Bluebeard. Holding to that latter thought, she donned the bandana and eyepatch and turned back to Victoria.
"Arrr," Max said in a weak attempt at a pirate snarl. "Long Max Silver sails, again."
"Oh my God." Victoria rolled her eyes. "I knew you were a dork."
"Or a pirate of Arcadia Bay."
"How's this Max?"
Max turned to find Taylor decked out in a captain's hat, complete with crossbones and a red sash running as a trim along the bottom of the hat. Max's eyes watered, and she looked down, dabbing quickly to banish the tears before they came. She could do this. She could have a truly happy morning.
She glanced back up, attempting to don a more cheerful mask, some facade to banish the pain of those memories. She didn't appear to be succeeding.
"I'm sorry," Taylor said, lifting to remove the hat. "Bad memories?"
"No." The word came out sharper than she had wanted, and with a bit too much haste. "Really, it's fine. Good memories, actually. And it looks great on you. Worthy of Captain Bluebeard, herself."
Taylor grinned. "Captain Bluebeard?"
"Aye." Max chuckled, while behind her she could almost hear Victoria pressing at the bridge of her nose in frustration.
"You were both dorks, weren't you?"
"Pirates," Max corrected. "Partners in crime."
"As long as you're my partner in time."
"Dorks."
Max returned her attention to the trunk. Had Chloe stowed all their pirate gear here, she wondered. Had it been too painful to keep at the house? Rummaging through the assorted clothes, Max removed her old plastic cutlass, and continued searching a moment more. At last she gave up finding no sign of the old spyglass. Maybe some things had remained behind at the Price residence afterall.
She slipped the cutlass through the a loop in her jeans, and scanned the remainder of the fort. Nothing else immediately caught her interest, so Max instead turned her focus on the exit to the balcony.
"Alright. You ready for another shot, Victoria."
"Oh hell yes. Does that mean we're almost done here?"
"Maybe…"
With that, Max lead Victoria out to the balcony and the rickety railing that ran its length. At the junction where the two railings met at the peak of a corner post, rose a trio of wooden cylinders, carved almost like a telescoping rod. At the top, a metal u-like hook rested at the peak of a set of rusted metal cylinders and knobs that had once adjusted the angle and height of the clasp.
Max sighed, not so much at the rust that had taken over the contraption, but rather at the absence represented in the empty clasp.
"I'm afraid Mr. Spyglass is no more."
"Mr. Spyglass," Victoria asked.
Max rested her hand on the contraption, loosening a few of the rusted knobs and twisting it this way and that, staring out through the hook from about a foot back, as if her trusty spyglass were still in place.
"Yeah," she said. "Every good crow's nest had one. For spotting shore, and pillagers. The high seas are a dangerous place."
"Oh my God, Max. Can you warn me next time you're planning cosplay?"
"No." Max shook her head. "Now come here."
Victoria obliged, and Max pointed off at an angle lined through the empty clasp above the railing. Following the implied line of her cutlass drew a path through the parting treetops and up towards an overlook, where the lighthouse waited, and beyond it, the open seas.
"Right there," she said, preparing the sleep mask and headphones once more.
A few shots later and the girls had descended from Max and Chloe's old fort, preparing to depart for the parking lot. Both Max and Taylor still wore their minimal pirate costumes, each casting the other the occasional 'arr' or 'matey,' much to Victoria's chagrin.
"You know the rules about Chloe's clothes," Victoria started, gesturing at Max's outfit.
"Ha. Got you there. These were mine," Max said, gesturing at her bandana and eyepatch. She then waved her hand towards Taylor and her pirate's hat. "Those were Chloe's."
"Technicality."
"BS. This is so totally fair game." With that Max shot a hand to her bandana pressing it tight to her head, as if daring Victoria to remove it.
"Fine." Victoria rolled her eyes once more. She had been doing that a lot this morning. "We ready to go, now? Or do you have some secret treasure map we need to follow?"
Max's eyes lit up with more joy than Victoria had ever seen. Oh God, those dorks did have a treasure map, didn't they?
"Max… Please tell me there's not a treasure map."
Max's grin widened. "That's Long Max Silver to you, knave."
"Oh my God, I'm turning around and leaving right now."
"No, no," Max started, dropping her pirate act. "Wait!"
"Yeah," Taylor chimed in. "I want to hear more about this treasure map!"
Damn it. This stupid adventure had broken the logjam between those two. Now they were being friendly weren't they. This trip was supposed to get Max behind the viewfinder, again; not cement a Max-led mutiny against me with Taylor at her traitorous side – and oh fuck, now she has me thinking in pirate speak!
"Nope!" Victoria shouted. "No maps. We're out of here."
"No, really," Max called. "No map. Just one more shot, okay?"
"Sure." Victoria slowed to a halt. At least this request was on theme with the whole original point of the excursion. "One more shot. You thinking you might try to get behind the viewfinder this time?"
"Nooo…" Max said, drawing out the word. "But I did think I would try something a bit new."
Well, that's something I guess.
"Let's hear it."
"Taylor, do you mind going back up and hiding in the fort? Maybe just the pirate hat and a hint of your hair viewable in one of the portholes?" Max pointed out one of the windows on the front of the fort, indicating her desired positioning for Taylor.
"Sure, Max. I'll give it a shot." Taylor made her way to the dangling rope ladder and up into the tree house as Victoria eyed Max suspiciously.
"Okay… what do you have planned?"
"I want to create a memento before we hit up the diner."
"Elaborate, please."
At that, Max backed up towards the rope ladder, placing one hand on its side and one foot on the lowest rung. With her other hand, she raised her cutlass as if threatening the occupant of the fort above, then grinned over to Victoria.
"Long Max Silver's mutiny."
"Wait." Victoria didn't like this one bit. "Are you asking to pose for the shot?"
"I'll be looking away from the camera up towards our old fort. I'll be shouting," she said, shutting her eyes and baring her teeth in a silent approximation of a deafening scream. "Like that," she continued, dropping the act. "So I shouldn't be able to see much. Just an homage to old times."
"I don't know." Victoria could feel her stomach turn. This was a bad idea. How did she get the girl to see it? How didn't she see that already? "Max," she continued, using her first name for once, hoping that might stress the importance of her words. "This is pushing it."
"Just two quick shots. Please."
"Two? Seriously?"
"Cereal, even." What is it with this girl and that stupid phrase? She has to know how dorky she sounds, but she just doesn't care. And why does that make me want to cave?
"No."
"No to the shots, or to the phrasing?"
"Both."
Max cast Victoria an innocent puppy dog face. Oh fuck me. She's pulling out the big guns. What is this girl doing to me?
"Fine," Victoria grumbled. "But I am going on record that this is a stupid idea."
"You're the best," Max grinned, then quickly repositioned into her silent mutiny pose.
Yes, Victoria. You are the best. And she has no fucking clue.
"Here we go, Caulfield," she said. "Three. Two. One."
She clicked the shutter release. The flash went off and the Polaroid ejected from the camera. Victoria grabbed it and set it aside (none of that silly shaking the shot off crap), then studied her model. Max still held her pose, eyes winced shut in that pirate grimace; but were those eyes shut tighter now? Was that grimace less forced and more real?
"Max, we're done."
"Uh-uh," she grunted. "One more."
Victoria could tell the girl's voice was strained. Stupid, bad, no good idea.
"This is a stupid, bad, no good idea."
"You mean terrible, horrible, no good, very bad idea?"
"Yeah, that."
"Don't care. Take the shot."
Fuck! She wasn't going to get Max to cave. Not this time. The best she could do was take the damn shot and get this over with.
"Okay, Max," she said. "Three. Two. One."
The shutter clicked. The flash lit up the forest; and the photograph released from the camera. There. We're done. Thank, Fuck.
"There. We're done. Thank, fuck. Let's go."
Max didn't move. Or rather, Max, didn't leave from under the fort, but her grimace had faded, and she no longer held onto the rope ladder. Instead, she had slumped over into the dirt, her eyes open and blank. That glassy look had returned.
Fuck, fuck, fuck! She knew this had been a shitty idea.
"Taylor, get down here," Victoria yelled, trying to ignore the shakiness of her own voice as she ran up to Max.
Kneeling by the girl, she shook her once more lightly by the shoulders. "Come on, Max. Snap out of it, girl."
The trap door above opened, revealing Taylor. "What happened?"
"She wanted to be in the shot. She wanted to try to actually take another fucking nerdgirl selfie. I don't know."
Taylor didn't say anything. She just froze and Victoria couldn't blame her.
"Come on, Max," she said, shaking her again. As she did, she noticed the trickle of blood running from Max's nose. Hadn't that happened last time, she thought. Why would PTSD cause nosebleeds?
It wouldn't. She knew it wouldn't. This was something more.
"Damnit, Max. Just what in the hell is going on here?"
Max didn't answer. She sat there, still as could be – catatonic. In point of fact, while the girl had slumped over onto her lap, while Victoria was holding her and trying to call to her, she also knew, knew with an absolute certainty, that Max wasn't here anymore. Not now.
No, Max thought. I've left the fort behind.
At least that fort.
She had just wanted to get a shot, some homage to her childhood; something to represent all the adventures of their childhood, and all the adventures that could have been. Yes, it had been a terrible, horrible, no good, very bad idea, but it had been her idea, and once it had come to her, she had been unable to shake it. Her eyes had been closed; her reaction shouldn't have been that bad, right?
Yet she had still heard the click of the shutter and even with her eyes shut, she'd sensed the flash in a lessening of the darkness behind her lids. She'd felt the Dark Room stealing in, but she'd fought it. She'd focused on the tree fort and on her and Chloe hiding above, Chloe shouting orders on their secret adventure; and in that moment she'd felt secure. She'd felt like she could take the second shot. The Dark Room had slipped away. She'd banished that place and time and Max had held onto the pirate fort and to Chloe instead.
She'd been able to hold her own and argue with Victoria – to stay present, grunting her response at first, then resorting to a friendly jibe. Still, Victoria had resisted, and then there was that voice again.
Always take the shot.
And Max had lost it.
"Don't care," she had said. "Take the shot."
Those words had tasted like rot in her mouth. She had gagged on their filth. Yet they had gotten the point across. Victoria had taken the shot, and then suddenly the Dark Room came hurtling back towards her.
No. Not going there, she thought, and she had raised up her defenses. She had curled into herself and it was as if she'd seized onto some invisible thing, some hidden barrier, and suddenly the Dark Room was no more. Time froze – again. Last time it froze, she had feared the storm, and yet, it had never come. Two weeks had passed and there hadn't even been a gust of hard wind. What about now? Would the storm come now?
Time slipped away once more, returning to its normal flow, and Max rose, the tree fort looming high above her. It felt off somehow, yet she couldn't place why. She considered slipping off her eyepatch and bandana, pocketing the makeshift costume as best she could in her tiny skinny jean pockets, but even as she considered the idea, she cast it aside, compelled to leave them in place.
Okay, you two. Let's go. I'm good. Her voice still shook, and she knew she couldn't have been too convincing, but maybe they'd let her slide.
Nothing. No response greeted her, and a bubble of anxiety rose up and burst in her gut. Something was wrong.
Victoria, she called. Taylor?
Again, neither girl responded. And her voice? Something was off… like her words were stuck in her throat. She called to the girls, again.
Taylor! Victoria!
No voice actually sounded. She screamed and shouted but it all rattled around inside, never escaping her lips.
As the panic began to set in, a different voice greeted her from up above.
"Aboard, Mate. Quick. There be trouble on them there waters!"
"Aye," she said, grabbing onto the rope ladder, her cutlass between her teeth. On my way, Captain Bluebeard (What! What am I saying? Why am I speaking? How am I speaking?).
Only now the oddity hit her; that strangeness that had plagued her since she opened her eyes. She was too short. Her clothes weren't her own. She still wore her eyepatch and bandana, but her costume had been fleshed out in boots and sashes and even a scabbard for her cutlass. She was in her nine-year-old body at best, ascending the rope ladder to a fort that seemed impossibly high above her, warped into the majestic by the fantasy goggles of childhood.
She pushed through the trap door, shouting to her captain.
"Captain!"
"On deck, Mate!"
Long Max Silver burst forth onto the balcony, her long-haired captain pressed up against the spyglass, rotating it on its holder above the railing. Dog, Chloe looked fierce (Chloe was so young. Nine, ten? When was this day? When are we?). Max loved when they played pirate like this, and she was so glad that the girl had convinced her to run off to the fort with her. Chloe always had a way of pulling Max out of her comfort zone, encouraging her to just have fun and get out of her own head.
"Scallywags approach from the starboard!"
"Scallywags? Are you cereal?"
"Dare challenge your Captain? This be mutiny, ye hear! Ye want the plank?"
"No, Captain."
"Arrr."
Captain Bluebeard returned her focus to the spyglass, barking orders behind her.
"Weigh anchor and hoist the mizzen, me heartie. We've a Man-O-War approaching broadside. Heave ho! All hands on deck!"
"Aye, aye!"
Max hurried round the bend of the balcony, raising the imaginary anchor as she did. Hurrying to her captain's orders, and used to doing so in the relative quiet of their fort's isolation, the sound of a twig snapping off in the surrounding wood surprised her. Pausing to listen, she could make out the rustle of leaves as well and the unmistakable approach of footsteps.
The sun hung low in the sky, sunset approaching, and it seemed odd to Max (the now Max; not then Max) to be out so late. Yet that sound of approaching footsteps, coupled with the encroaching dusk, jarred loose a long forgotten memory. Max knew when she was.
"Max, what's going on? Can you hear me?" Whose voice was that? Now-Max heard it… she could almost place it, but it didn't belong to this time.
And why had the setting sun now melded with a noon-day sun? (Two suns… two moons…) As Now-Max pondered the invading noon light, she found herself equally transfixed by the way some broken branches rejuvenated, and others grew a sort of double vision. Moreover, the tree which had been lush in this memory time, now showed in spots barren branches, and other full in green-leafed glory. Most confusing, however, were those blurry, double-vision branches that seemed to exist with a faded echo, solid in their spring glory, yet, wavering ghost-like in their barren winter coat.
Even the railing existed in Twain, solid in its pristine state, but with a ghostly echo of a ruined rail running alongside it. (Present and past, simultaneous) Now-Max felt a sense of understanding dawning, only to have her attention jolted back to the solid existence of the past.
Then-Max kicked a pebble from her station on the balcony over towards Chloe. She needed the girl's attention, but without alerting the intruder.
"Blimey! Ye be wanting the plank, ye scurvy dog!?"
Then-Max pressed a finger to her lips in the universal signal to shush, while pointing off into the wood. Chloe ignored her first mate, scowling back at her.
"Answer ye grog blossom!"
(Dog, Chloe had been dense sometimes, Now-Max thought.) Then-Max simply tiptoed over to her friend, and swiveled the spyglass towards the woods where she'd heard footsteps.
Finally catching on, Chloe leaned into the spyglass.
"Shit," she said, spotting someone that Then-Max had yet to see: William. The two had been found out. "Uh… Inside," Chloe whisper-shouted, waving to the fort. "Quick."
Oh Dog, we're in so much trouble.
Knowing they were about to be found out, a familiar knot of worry rose up and Max rushed inside, Chloe close on her heels. Now-Max knew what was coming. The two girls had been at the end of their playdate, Max's parents on the way to pick her up and take her home for the evening, when Chloe had come up with the bright idea of escaping to their tree fort to continue their adventure. They'd snuck off out the back and over the fence, while William had been helping Joyce in the kitchen, making excuses of playing pirate on the swings. In this one instance, they probably shouldn't have been so close to the truth in their lie. Obviously when William had discovered his two pirates missing from the swings, he'd known where else they were likely to set sail.
As Chloe shut the balcony door behind her, Max, peered over to the large trunk on the far side of the fort.
"Good thinking," Chloe said, rushing over and emptying the contents. "Get in."
Max obliged, watching as Chloe hid herself under the emptied contents of the costume bin before she herself shut the lid and ensconced herself in darkness.
Down below a familiar voice called up. From the sound of it, William stood just under the trap door.
"Girls. I know you're here."
They said nothing. (I heard you, Max remembered.)
"I heard you," William continued, "on my way up the trail. You've scallywags to plunder, eh?"
Then-Max wanted to tell him that they were only defending Bluebeard's treasure from a rival ship, but instead she stayed quiet, hoping that he would move along and they could return to their adventure.
"Look, girls," William started, again. (Dog, I've missed that voice.) "You know I love your imaginations, and I love us having Max over, Chloe, but if you sneak off every time the Caulfields come to pick Max up, they're going to stop letting her come over at all."
That had been a low blow. Max could feel the fear rising in her past self's gut. She could sense the tears forming. She didn't want to lose Chloe. Chloe was her best friend. Her only friend. She let a muffled cry escape, and instantly she could hear Chloe shifting from her pile of costumes outside the trunk. Then the shouting started, Chloe rising to defend her First Mate.
"Them's fighting words, Old Salt!"
"Chloe," William shouted up, finally raising his voice. "I'm not playing."
Then-Max sniffled from her hiding place in the trunk, and suddenly Chloe wasn't playing either.
"Stop it! You're scaring Max."
"I'm sorry, Max," William called up. "Just come on down, please."
Chloe opened the trunk holding her finger to her lips. What had she been thinking? The jig had obviously already been up. Still, she'd held that finger there, then with her other hand she'd patted at Max's back as if to comfort her.
"Chloe," William shouted. "I know it's hard when a playdate ends, but it's not like you won't see her again soon."
(Not soon enough, Now-Max thought.)
"Fine," Chloe said, sagging her shoulders. "Come on, Max. It's time to strike colors."
Max wasn't sure what she meant by that, not Then-Max nor Now-Max (I'm a bit rusty on my pirate lingo), but she had acquiesced, climbing out from the trunk and following Chloe towards the trap door.
Of course, William couldn't see that they had given in to his demands, so still he called up from below.
"Girls," he said. "Come on down from that fort, before Ryan and I end up regretting having built it in the first place. I need you to be strong, okay?"
"Okay," Chloe shouted back, not so much in agreement but more of a pre-pubescent predecessor of her punk defiance. Max couldn't focus on that though, much as she remembered being in awe of her friend's courage at the time. No, now her mind focused on only one thing.
Be strong.
That voice on the cliffside.
Be strong.
That voice carried on the wind.
Be strong.
It had been his voice calling to her; William's voice calling out from years past; William's voice piercing time and dreams and death to tell her once more to be strong.
The fort fell away, the planks rotting, then sifting to sand and ash, and finally drifting away on a formless breeze in the boundless void. Max stood hovering in a nothingness that stretched on for eternity.
Alone.
"Chloe," she shouted and it was then that she realized once more that she had a voice - not some past self, but this self, this Max lost and alone in some great timeless emptiness had a voice. She tried again. "Chloe!"
No answer came.
Then the darkness dimmed, a soft light piercing through, and the void took form, a tall, elongated structure stretching upward from the yawning darkness until once more the broken lighthouse loomed above her. The debris-filled overlook came into focus as well, along with the collapsed cliffside and that great expanse of the bay. Beyond it lay the shattered remnants of a town that she had let die (but I saved it?).
Footsteps approached from the trail behind her, and Max turned. Cutting through the trees and around the fallen logs, she saw a man that she had not seen in over five years.
"Hi there, kiddo," he said, and even though she knew she must be dreaming, the tears began to flow and no matter what she did, Max could not stop them.
"Ah. No need for the waterworks, Max," William said, then leaned over, a tissue in hand, and dabbed at her cheeks. "There you go, Max. All better, okay?"
"Okay," she sniffed. She knew it was a dream – she knew it – but she couldn't help but to run up and hug this man, this man that had been like a father to her; this man whose family she had abandoned and whose memory she had dishonored. "I missed you," she said, the tears streaming once more. "I'm… I'm so s-s-so s-s-sorry."
"Shhh… No apologies, today." He ruffled her hair and gave her a light squeeze around the shoulder before turning and walking towards the cliff. Beyond him he saw it, he had to see it – the ruins of Arcadia Bay; the city and the people that Max had condemned.
"I didn't want to do it," Max said.
"I know, Max. It's okay."
"B-b-but Joyce…"
"She's okay now. It's you I'm worried about."
"But Chloe…" Max ran over to the cliffside casting her eyes down towards the waters below. She could still see her there, stepping over the cliff in that last dream, just over two weeks ago.
"She's not there," William said, still looking out over Arcadia Bay. "Your time is almost done here, Max. You'll have to be strong. You hear me?"
Max sniffled, again. This was too much. She needed to wake up. She needed to get out of this dream. She needed…
"Chloe..." she said again, although this time it came more a whisper to herself; a plea set loose into this place whatever it was; a prayer.
"What about her," an unfamiliar voice asked from behind her.
To Max's left, William sighed. "I thought we agreed I'd have this conversation."
"Pfff," came that unfamiliar voice again. "Agreed might be a strong turn of phrase. Plus, I want to meet the infamous 'Max, never Maxine, Caulfield.'"
Max wanted to turn then. She felt compelled to look back. She feared she knew who she would see there and she did not know how she felt about that at all. So instead, she stared out over the bay with William in silence.
Finally, a crow cawed murdering the quiet, and Max reluctantly turned. She pivoted towards the bench where she and Chloe had first discussed her powers; where they had watched the sun set and the snow fall. She turned and she saw that bench below the wreckage of the lighthouse and on it sat a girl just about her height, maybe a fraction taller. She had sandy blonde hair that she wore down long, billowing over the back of the bench and over the red flannel jacket into which she huddled. A soft hand rose, pushing back that hair to reveal the blue-feathered earring that Max had known would inevitably be there.
"Nice to meet you, Max," Rachel said, her face split in a genuine yet mischievous smile.
Max felt dizzy. She felt her world spinning. This wasn't right.
"Max! Come back, girl!"
The winds were picking up now, and she could sense a storm brewing.
"This is why I was supposed to speak to her, Rachel."
"I know. It's just Chloe, she wanted me…"
Their voices faded away, their conversations lost to the dream as Max stirred, and once more found herself below her old pirate fort.
"Max!" Victoria shook her lightly.
"Oh, thank God," came a nervous sigh from up above, where Taylor still huddled around the trap door.
"You're back with us, right?" Victoria said, the mix of fear and relief in her voice unbearable.
"Yeah," Max said, but she wasn't sure that was entirely true. She wiped at her face, her sleeve coming back red from the blood still flowing from her nose, and even then she could barely focus on the present. All she could hear were those two voices, one of a father figure long since dead, and another of a ghost whom she had never met – both arguing over who was supposed to speak with her.
And about Chloe… and what Chloe wanted.
Max let out a deep sigh. Things just kept getting weirder.
