Max took the lead, which Chloe felt grateful for, since this way she didn't need to keep a straight face while dealing with the emotional shitstorm that was threatening to make her poor brain explode.
Do you realize you just kissed her, you absolute dumbfuck? Like, what the fuck, dude? Thought you'd outgrown that phase already! Dammit, she's been back in your life for barely two days and you're already fucking it all up!
Nah, take it easy. Accidents happen, okay? It's not like it really meant anything, I mean, she's my best friend, of course I love her! In a platonic way. And she got a girlfriend, right? Granted, she didn't pick the best choice around, but still…
But what if she wants to talk about it?
Then we'll just use the patented Chloe Price Response®: pretend it didn't happen and keep changing the subject until she gives up.
Sounds like a plan. Fuck, Rachel, see what happens when you're not around? I become a useless mess…
I wish you were here, Rach. It wasn't always easy with you, but you made me feel like I knew what I was doing… fuck I miss you!
She cleared her mind of these thoughts as she saw they'd made their way inside the hospital and were now standing in front of the reception desk of the oncology department. Max cleared her throat to get the receptionist's attention.
"May I help you?" the raven-haired woman asked, casting suspicious glances at her two visitors.
Chloe wondered why. What was so suspicious about two teenage chicks coming to visit a patient? Okay, they looked like punks who'd just woken up after partying all night, which was kind of like the truth. Alright. And the shades didn't really help tone down the "hungover" look. Yeah, okay.
"We're coming to visit a patient," Max said gently. "Mrs Christensen?"
"First name?"
"Uh… I dunno…"
The receptionist raised an eyebrow: "You don't know the name of the patient you're visiting?"
"Well, we're, uh… friends of her daughter, we always called her Mrs, you see? But perhaps you can look her up? She's here for a… a brain cancer."
The woman sighed and reluctantly typed on her keyboard.
"Helen Christensen, yes," she announced. "Your names, please?"
Max hesitated. Crap, didn't expect that. I should probably have, I mean, don't they always ask for your name? What should we say? Can't give our real names, imagine she tells Taylor?
Fortunately, Chloe came to her rescue as she announced without an ounce of hesitation: "Elizabeth William."
The woman nodded and turned to Max again, awaiting her answer. Max cast a quick glance at Chloe and noticed the tiny, "dare you" smirk on the corner of her lips.
Alright, Captain.
"Siobhan Ryan," she announced. Then, upon seeing the receptionist's discreet smile, she grinned and added jokingly: "Yeah, I know. Tell me you're Irish without telling me you're Irish, right?"
The woman chuckled, but then frowned as she typed their names. "I'm sorry but you're not on the list," she said.
"The list?" Max asked.
"Yes, the list. Look, you know about Mrs Christensen's condition, so it should come as no surprise that she's extremely tired. We've limited her visits to family and close friends."
"Oh. Is there no way to… you know, make an exception? We really need to see her."
The woman shook her head. "I'm sorry, but the rules are the rules. Come back with her daughter if you want, she can add you on the list."
"But-"
"Thank you," Chloe cut in, "and sorry for disturbing you. Have a good day!"
Then she grabbed Max's arm and dragged her away. Once they were at a safe distance, the young photographer, quite unhappy at being interrupted and dragged around like that, groaned:
"Chloe, what are you doing?"
"Saving your ass," Chloe whispered back. "If you'd insisted too much, she'd have become hella suspicious, I could see it in her eyes."
"Yeah, but how are we supposed to get in and find her room number if we don't insist a little?"
"If at first you don't succeed, try another way, young Padawan."
Max frowned: "What's that supposed to mean?"
Chloe chuckled: "Dude, you still have a lot to learn in the fine art of disobedience. What I mean is, if we can't talk her into letting us in, we'll have to sneak our way in and hack a computer to get her room number."
Max gave it a second of thought, and nodded: "I don't really like doing it that way, but looks like we got no other choice. So we can go shopping and kill time until night, then-"
"Wow wow wow, wait, I never said we'd wait till nighttime to sneak in. Dude, I was planning on taking a nap at the lair after our shopping trip! If I don't get my beauty sleep, I'll be useless tonight!"
"What? So your grand plan is sneak in during the day, when we can't mist out and flicker? Are you cereal?"
Chloe shrugged, a devious grin on her face: "Yeah, sure, what's the problem? Going on No Power Mode will just add some challenge, I'm down with it. You promised me an adventure, didn't you?"
"Yeah, but that's not exactly how I saw it…"
"Can't be an adventure without an element of danger, SuperMax. C'mon, it's gonna be fun, playing Hospital Gear Solid."
Max rolled her eyes: "I hate that game."
"What?" Chloe stared at her, eyes wide with shock. "You can't say that! Best game ever!"
"Could be a good game if it didn't have like, hour-long cutscenes every five frickin' minutes! Seriously, when I play a game, I want to play a game, not watch a movie!"
"Okay, you earned it," Chloe announced, waving a threatening finger at her. "First chance we get, I make you play it until you like it."
"You know it could be considered as torture, right?"
"Oh, come on, Maxi-pad, I'm your best friend, right? It's my job to torture you."
She punctuated her sentence with a sly wink that made the poor brunette flush without really understanding why. But she had no time to react to her taunt or even think about it: Chloe was already making her way out.
There was a large loading bay opening behind the hospital. A truck was parked in front of the opening, its trailer open, and a string of workers in white were pacing back and forth, rolling huge metallic carts filled with clean bedsheets from the trailer and all the way through a large warehouse area to a smaller, dedicated storage room where they left them to be sorted later, and went on their way to take care of other carts.
Chloe listened cautiously, and once she was sure the workers had left the storage room, she rose from beneath the pile of white sheets and climbed out of the cart.
"Hurry!" she whispered to Max as her freckled friend was still struggling with the sheets. "Need to get out of there before they come back."
"Doing my best," Max groaned, "but dammit my foot is stuck!"
She struggled and eventually managed to free her foot, which caused her to fall off the cart and face first onto the concrete floor.
"Oh shit, you okay?" Chloe asked.
"Yeah," Max groaned, "just my pride got hurt."
"You bet it got hurt big time!" the punk chuckled. "Wish I'd filmed that!"
"You wouldn't have filmed anything," Max scoffed. "Invisible on camera, remember?"
Chloe groaned: "Oh, that's right… okay, killjoy, let's move."
Cautiously, the two girls crept out of the room and crawled along the walls and onto the ceiling. The ceilings in this part of the building were high and had powerful hanging neon lights, meaning they were virtually invisible from the ground on spider mode. They wandered around the corridors a bit until they found the door leading to the care units.
It was trickier here: the ceiling was lower, and the brightly lit white hallways didn't provide much in terms of shadows or places to hide. Luckily, they managed to find an unlocked door leading to a locker room before they ran into someone. There was no-one inside.
"You sure about that?" Max whispered as they closed the door behind them. "We could get in serious shit if we get caught!"
"Now's not the time to get chickenshit on me, Mad Max!" Chloe groaned as she started fumbling with the lock of the nearest locker. "We started it, we finish it. Booyah!"
With a huge satisfied grin plastered on her face, Chloe opened the locker and took out a set of blue scrubs, complete with a scrub cap and a facemask.
"Looks like it's your size, hobbit!" Chloe smirked. "Here, put this on!"
But Max stood there, giving her friend a puzzled look.
"What?" Chloe asked.
"Just… when did you learn to pick locks, exactly?"
"Err… do you really want to know that, exactly?"
"I… guess I'd rather not… bad girl!"
"Oooh, I like it when you call me bad girl, Maximus… are you gonna punish me?"
"WHAT?" Max yelped, getting seriously flustered, but Chloe just walked away to pick another locker, cackling.
She's messing with your head, Max told herself, trying to cool down as her ears felt painfully hot. Time to fight fire with fire!
"Oh you so deserve to be punished!"
"Oh yeah?" Chloe taunted. "And what sort of punishment do you have in store for me?"
"Err... no... oh, yes, I know: tickle torture!"
This made Chloe erupt in laughter as she declared: "I'm looking forward to that!" and punctuated with a wink that didn't help Max's ears get any cooler. But, wait… was Chloe blushing too?
She shook her head and focused back on their mission and, as she got dressed, the bluenette eventually found a set of green scrubs her size.
They looked at each other, and nodded in approval: with Chloe's hair carefully tucked under her scrub cap and her tats concealed behind a long-sleeved shirt she'd found and put on underneath the scrubs, the two of them were perfectly disguised. They even had badges pinned to their shirts they could use to open electronic doors! That would be so easy… provided no-one actually tried to talk to them or noticed anything suspicious. Speaking of which…
"Fuck, our shades!" Max realized. "We can't keep them on, that'll make us look weird!"
"Yeah, right. Oh well, I guess we're gonna have to squint real hard…"
So they took off their glasses, winced in discomfort, and put them in a bag along with the rest of their clothes. Luckily for them, the November weather made the light manageable enough, as long as they didn't look directly at the neons on the ceiling. As for their stuff, hey'd just have to tuck it safely in a corner and come back to pick it up when it was time to leave. Easy-peasy.
Off they went then, a little anxious at first, but as they saw how nobody paid them any attention, they started to relax and before long, they were cruising along the corridors like women on a mission. Once at the oncology ward, they managed to weasel their way into an empty office where they found a computer with the session left open (amateurs!), and Chloe quickly got to work.
"Not as challenging as Wells's office," she commented as her fingers danced on the keyboard, "but I guess not too much challenge at once is a good… there it is! Helen Christensen, Room 104!"
Quickly, they left the office - but not before Max snatched a syringe from a supply cabinet - and made their way to Room 104.
"I'll go in," Max told her, "would you mind staying outside? You know, keep watch and all?"
"Sure. Go in, Dr. Caulfield, I'll call you if any shit happens."
Max nodded at her friend, then turned toward the door and, after taking a deep breath and jamming the syringe into her arm to fill it with her blood, she rapped gently at the door and opened it slightly to take a peak inside.
"Mrs Christensen?" she called. "May I come in?"
"Yes, of course," a tired voice mumbled from inside. "Is it time for my treatment yet?"
"No," Max answered softly after she got in and closed the door, "I'm not one of your usual caretakers, Mrs Christensen."
She froze in shock at the sight of Taylor's mom. The poor woman was laying in her bed, livid, emaciated, with huge purple circles around her eyes. Her bald head was bandaged, and she had a number of probes and IV tubes connecting her arms and nose to various monitors and dispensers. Her eyes were gentle, but Max also saw in them the sparks of a strong woman, exhausted by the disease and the therapy but still willing to fight to the end.
The woman squinted to take a better look at her, and frowned. "Who are you?" she asked feebly.
"You, uh… you don't know me, Mrs Christensen. I… don't really work here."
"What do you mean, you don't really work here?"
Seeing as the woman was already groping for her nurse call button, Max felt the need to speed up the process and go on with the story she'd made up on the way:
"Wait! Wait, please, hear me out Mrs Christensen! I just want to talk, and if you say no, I'll leave you alone, okay?"
Taylor's mom stopped moving and turned to give the brunette her full attention. Good.
"I'm working for a lab," Max explained. "I'm being dispatched in various hospitals all over the country to select patients for a secret therapeutical trial. It's a, uh… a cure for cancer, basically."
The woman raised a hairless eyebrow: "A cure for cancer? Right. And how much is this miracle cure gonna cost me? Girl, you should be ashamed of yourself, taking advantage of people's distress to-"
"No! Wait! It's not a scam, I promise! I'm not after your money! In fact, I'm giving it for free."
"And may I know why such generosity? If you had a miracle cure, it would cost millions."
"That's the thing, it's very valuable, so my employer wants to conduct the trials in the utmost secrecy. I have the cure with me," she added as she showed her the syringe. "I can give it to you right away."
"Only one dose?" Mrs Christensen asked with disbelief.
"It's extremely potent. A single dose is enough. Crazy, I know, but it's true. But before I give it to you, I must warn you of the known side effects. Tomorrow, you will feel a surge of energy, and an episode of hypersensitivity. You may feel overwhelmed at first, but it will get better after a couple of hours. The other side effects are permanent though. You will feel much more energic than before, and also you'll have a monster appetite. This is because the medicine overstimulates your mitochondria to get rid of the harmful cells, so they pump a lot of juice, you know?"
She mentally congratulated herself for playing Parasite Eve when she was younger, because it wasn't with what little attention she paid during science class that she could remember words like "mitochondria".
"Your eyes will become very sensitive, so you'll have to wear sunglasses most of the time. Oh, and you'll be allergic to garlic. I know, it's pretty random, no one actually knows where this side effect comes from."
Max then fell silent, no knowing what else to add, and started kneading her elbow nervously as she waited for the woman to say something. Then, after a moment pondering, Mrs Christensen asked:
"What lab did you say you work for?"
"Umbrella Corporation."
She slapped herself mentally. Is that the best you could come up with? Pray she doesn't know what it is or she'll never buy it, jackass!
"And there is only one dose?"
"Yes, that's correct."
"How will you know it works? Is there a follow-up or something?"
"My employer will contact you in a couple of weeks to see how it's going. But in the meantime, it's important that you keep this a secret from anyone else."
Mrs Christensen closed her eyes and sighed, making Max even more anxious than before.
She didn't buy it. Crap!
Of course she didn't! You're like, the worst liar in the world!
"Okay," the woman eventually said sternly, startling Max. "I'm in."
"Really?" Max asked. "I mean, are you sure?"
That wasn't so hard actually!
As if to answer her thought, the woman snickered: "Let's be clear, kid, I think you're full of crap. A one-dose cure for cancer? Give me a break!"
"But-"
"But I'm gonna die in a few weeks anyway, so nothing you give me can make my condition any worse, right? Besides, you look like a good kid, so I don't think you have bad intentions. I have a daughter who must be about your age… so, I'm aware this is most likely a last-chance placebo treatment, and I'm willing to give it a try. As long as you promise me you're not going to euthanize me? Because I don't want to go like this. I want to live my life to the full."
Max nodded, and slowly walked toward the bed, holding the syringe.
"I swear I'm not here to help you go. And I promise you will live your life to the full," she murmured. "But please remember: not a word. To anyone."
Mrs Christensen didn't reply, she just gave her a warm, gentle smile, and closed her eyes.
Chloe was bored. Yes, it's been only like, thirty seconds, but she got bored quickly. After pacing back and forth in front of the door, she just decided to fuck it and wandered off toward the waiting room that opened a few feet from her down the hall, just before the reception desk where they had been kicked out a few minutes before. What? It looked safe enough as it was, and the waiting room was only a few feet away, if trouble came she'd spot it quick and would have ample time to warn Max. And it would definitely look less suspicious than if she kept standing in front of a patient's room like a goddamn sentinel.
There were only a couple people sitting in the waiting area, and Chloe's eyes quickly fell upon a young, sullen-looking boy playing with a PSP.
He's playing but it's obvious he's not into it, she thought. Poor kid, must have one of his parents here in the cancer ward.
Then something flashed in her mind: she saw herself, five years before, sitting miserable in a waiting room just like this one while a doctor was patiently telling her mom that her father would never come home. And she remembered how she'd wished for someone to comfort her then, even if it was just smiling at her and saying hi. And she knew she had to try to cheer up this kid.
She sat down next to him, pulled down her mask so he could see her smile, and greeted him with her sweetest voice, but the kid didn't answer, his eyes still glued to the screen. Okay, try something else… she took a look at his game.
"Mortal Kombat?" she said. "Cool! I love this game!"
This made the boy react: he looked up at her face with a suspicious look.
"Yeah?" he asked, an air of challenge in his voice. "Who's your favorite?"
"Sub-Zero, hands down! I used to spam his sliding attack to piss off my girl- my best friend."
The boy chuckled, much to Chloe's satisfaction.
"My favorite is Sonya," the boy said. "She kicks ass for a girl!"
"Hey!" Chloe mock scolded him. "Girls can kick ass just as well as boys! If I had a second PSP I'd show you!"
The boy laughed again. Great.
"I'm Chloe," she said as she offered her hand.
"Dylan," the boy replied, shaking it.
"Are you with someone here?"
"Yeah, my father, we're coming to visit Mom but he's at the desk, sorting stuff out. Oh, there he is!"
Chloe looked to where the boy was pointing to see a man in his forties walk in their direction, with a sad, forced smile on his face. She stood up as he came near.
"It's all good," he told his son. Then, turning to the young woman, he said: "Oh, sorry, I hope he wasn't disturbing…" he took a quick look at the badge on her chest and concluded with: "Dr. Pendleton?"
"Huh?" Chloe asked, confused by the name, but she quickly collected herself: "Oh, yeah, Dr. Pendleton, it's me, sure! No, he wasn't a bother at all, we were just having a chat… he told me you're visiting his mom?"
"Yes," the man whispered somberly. "My… my wife is a patient here. Brain tumor…"
"Oh, I'm… I'm sorry to hear that, sir…"
"You can call me Richard, and thank you. I appreciate." He looked down somberly for a second, then shrugged and forced himself to laugh: "Why, there's no point being sad while she's still among us, right? There's still time for her to get better. We're just waiting for my daughter before we go see her."
"Your daughter?"
"Yes, my daughter, she's studying out of town, her best friend's driving her here. They should be here any minute now… oh, there they are!"
He waved at two young women who were making their way to them, and Chloe's guts froze as she recognized them.
Of course it just had to be them!
Taylor Christensen and Victoria Chase!
Quickly, she put her mask back on as the girls checked at the reception desk and came to meet them.
"Tay!" the boy shouted as he jumped in his sister's arms.
While she hugged her brother, Victoria shook Mr Christensen's hand and turned to Chloe. Their eyes met, and as Chloe stared into the girl's green eyes, she swore that her cover was blown and was already thinking of escape plans. But after an agonizingly long second, Victoria offered her hand:
"Pleased to meet you, Doctor."
"Likewise," Chloe answered, taking her hand and struggling to sound as relaxed and natural as possible. "Miss, uh…"
"Chase."
"Tay," Dylan intervened, "this is Chloe!"
The bluenette almost choked. Shut up, kid!
"Pleased to meet you, Chloe," Taylor said as she shook her hand.
"Chloe?" Victoria asked, an eyebrow raised.
"Uh, yeah? Is there… something wrong?"
"Your badge reads K. Pendleton."
"Oh! It's, uh, Khloe with a K. I know, like the Kardashians, I've been told an assload of times already," she added, laughing nervously. "I mean, isn't it annoying when you've studied so hard to become a doctor, and your name keeps getting associated with trash TV stars?"
Victoria made a pause, then shook her head and chuckled: "Yes, of course, sorry for being probing, I was just surprised. I knew a Chloe before, but obviously, she can't be you."
"Obviously," Chloe nodded, uneasy. I need to get the fuck out of here and warn Max!
"But," Victoria resumed as Chloe was about to take her leave, much to the faux doctor's agony, "it's funny, you look familiar but I can't remember..."
"Well, I must be one of those regular girls who look like a hundred others…"
"No, I'm sure I've seen you somewhere before! Your eyes, and the way you speak…"
"Uh…"
Quick!
"Oh! You said your name is Chase, right? Any chance you're related to the Chase Space in Seattle?"
Genius.
"Yes, it's my parents' gallery."
"Then you must have seen me there a couple times!"
"Oh, are you a photography connoisseur?"
"Of course! I love photography! Especially the, uh… black and white pictures? Yeah, they're hella cool."
Victoria jerked as if she'd just been slapped. "Hella?" she asked.
"Oops, sorry, it's a Cali thing. I'm from LA, you know? I try very hard to stop saying it cause people find it weird around here, but habits, right?"
Heavy silence and dubious looks. Now's the time, Chlo!
Aaaaaanyway, you know what? You guys stay here, I'll go check if Mrs Christensen is ready to see you, alright?"
And without waiting for their answers, she started pacing out of the waiting room.
"Wait!" Taylor called. "How did you know my mom's name?"
Chloe froze. Fuck!
"Come on," she said as sassily as she could, turning around to face her. "I have a PhD, I know a lot of stuff!"
And on this rather odd retort, the doctor disappeared down the hall, leaving a very confused Taylor who turned to her dad and friend, asking:
"What did she mean by that?"
Victoria shrugged: "I don't know… what a strange doctor, she didn't look at ease at all…"
Dr. Pendleton reappeared a moment later and gave them a thumb up before striding out with a nurse. The nurse seemed to be trying to avoid Victoria's gaze, but still, the blonde managed to catch a glimpse of her masked face and…
Her eyes!
"Vic?" Taylor asked. "Are you alright? You look like you've seen a ghost?"
"Uh? No, I'm okay, just…" she chuckled nervously. "It's a little stupid, but for a sec I thought the nurse who just passed by was Max, she had the same eyes…"
This made Taylor giggle as she teased her: "Then I'd say you're probably a little obsessed with your freckled hipster girlfriend, aren't you Vicky?"
"I'm not!" Victoria defended herself weakly, turning a nice tomato shade. "And her freckles are very cute!"
Joe Cochrane was lucky today. His special assignment for Old Man Prescott was finally starting to look like it was heading somewhere, after a beginning that could be best described as "an absolute fuck-up".
The mission appeared simple enough, though: finding out who had attacked Nathan, and increasing the pressure on Madsen and Marsh to get them to drop their charges.
For the first objective, there was a guy in forensics who owed him a little favor, and who had agreed to do some off-the-books work at the hospital. All he had to do then was wait.
The second objective had proved to be a lot trickier than expected. Bullying Madsen had always been out of the question to him: he had held on for so long in the force by sticking to a few core rules, one of which being not to fuck with gun-collecting PTSD-riddled vets. Bullying the Marsh girl should've been the easiest thing in the world, until he'd found out at his expense that she was protected by some cannibal freak.
He'd then been left with nothing to do, until this afternoon when his forensics pal had given him some juicy piece of info: fingerprints found on Nathan's door. Belonging to two people who had absolutely no business there. Finally, something to work on!
So he'd gone to see the spineless bastard Wells, who, after a short investigation, had informed him that the chick he was looking for was not on campus at the moment, but he might want to ask her photography teacher, since she was also working as his assistant.
It was over six o'clock when he parked his car on Lincoln Avenue, a posh neighborhood in downtown Arcadia Bay, lined with 19th century red brick houses. The cop shuddered. He hated those fat cats. He walked up to the house he was looking for, just as the front door opened and an elderly couple came out, followed by a slender fortysomething guy in a dark suit. The old man was holding a large package, and he and his wife were beaming with happiness, profusely thanking the third guy who politely replied the pleasure was all his.
Eventually, the old couple left and Joe approached the man in the dark suit, who was still standing on the threshold, staring at him.
"Sebastian Lacroy?" the cop asked.
"Let us just say yes," the guy said, wincing in discomfort at hearing his name butchered this way.
Joe scoffed. The guy was exactly the way he'd imagined him: a self-important frog-eating wimp. Seriously, look at him, with his perfect haircut, his self-tinting glasses, his clean-shaven face and his probably overpriced tailored suit! Just like that other photography teacher, Jefferson. Hearing the news refer to Jefferson as a dangerous man always made him laugh. A dangerous man, him? Gimme a break! Just a coward who drugged chicks, probably to compensate for a tiny dick. Those artsy types were pansies, all of them!
The cop nodded toward the elderly couple just as their car passed by and left.
"Friends of yours?" he asked.
"Customers," Lacroix answered with his horrendous accent. "They wanted a portrait to celebrate their forty years of marriage. Lovely, is it not? I specialize in traditional photography, you see-"
"Yeah," Joe cut him off, "it's probably fascinating, but that's not what I'm here for."
He then flashed his badge before adding: "Detective Joe Cochrane, ABPD."
Lacroix raised an eyebrow: "A detective? Interesting. What assistance can I be of, then, Monsieur Cochrane?"
"Know anyone named Max Caulfield?"
Lacroix's pleasant face seemed to darken upon hearing the name. He stood there in thoughtful silence for a few seconds, then invited the cop to follow him inside the house.
"We will be more at ease to talk," he explained as he closed the door behind him and lead his guest to the living room. "Please have a seat," he offered, and Joe sat on the couch. That couch and the rest of the house looked like his goddamn grandmother's place!
"May I offer you something? Coffee, tea, wine?"
"Nothing. I don't have time to waste."
If Lacroix had any ill thoughts about his guest's manners, he said nothing about it and let himself drop in his favorite armchair. He then lit a cigarette and addressed the cop:
"Fair enough, Monsieur Cochrane. Now, what about Mademoiselle Caulfield?"
The way he said "Monsieur" and "Mademoiselle" was really getting under the cop's skin. It was so pretentious! But he was here on business, so he swallowed up his contempt and went straight to the point:
"Is she here?"
"No, she is not."
"But she's your assistant, isn't she?"
"She is."
"So why ain't she here?"
"It is Saturday, Monsieur Cochrane, and I am not a slaver. Kids her age need their weekends off. Have you tried Blackwell?"
"First thing I did, she's not there."
Lacroix shrugged: "Then I am sorry, but I have no idea where she may be. She is probably enjoying herself with her friends somewhere."
"Do you have her phone number? Can you call her? I really need to see her now."
"Monsieur Cochrane, why not start by explaining me what you want from her?"
"Official business, sir, I can't reveal that."
"I might help you better if I had more details."
"I said I can't talk about it. Official business. Now, will you call her?"
"Monsieur Cochrane, I would really like to know what is the matter with her before I disturb her on her day off."
"Hey, frogface!" Cochrane roared, slamming his meaty fist on the coffee table. "Do you know what obstruction is? Do you know how much it'll cost you?"
That should take this smug bastard down a peg or two! He thought, satisfied. But much to his chagrin, the French hipster didn't lose his cool one bit as he replied in the same soft tone:
"Such display of authority is not necessary. You cannot blame a teacher for being protective of his student and assistant."
"Protective, eh?" Cochrane smirked, sensing some leverage he could use. "Mr Lacroy, what kind of relationship to you have with Miss Caulfield, exactly?"
"I told you, she is my student and my assistant."
"And?"
"And that is all. I must admit she is an enthusiastic, talented and quick-learning protégée, and as a man who has never had the chance to be a father, I have grown quite fond of her."
"A father?" Cochrane raised an eyebrow. "So you see her as a daughter?"
"In a way, yes."
"And nothing else?"
"Monsieur Cochrane, I sense that you want me to say something but I cannot quite figure it out."
"Let's be honest for a moment, Mr Lacroy: you are a teacher in your, what, late thirties, early forties? And I don't see any sign of a Mrs Lacroy in this house. Now, a single man in midlife crisis age, hanging out with an eighteen-year-old student? Come on!"
He expected Lacroix to blush, or to defend himself vehemently. But instead, and much to his surprise, all the photographer did was laugh.
"You think that's funny?" he asked.
"It is, actually," Lacroix replied. "Monsieur Cochrane, I see what you mean here, but I can assure you, there is no such thing between us."
"And I'm supposed to take your word for it, of course?"
"If my word is not enough, you can still ask my boyfriend, of course. I do not think he would approve of me trying to groom female students."
Cochrane froze in surprise. "Did you just say your… boyfriend?"
"Indeed. His name is Josh, he lives in Newberg. Do you wish to talk to him?"
"Em, no, that will do," he mumbled.
Dammit, those fucking faggots are everywhere!
"Do you mind?" Lacroix asked, a teasing smirk on his lips.
"What?" Cochrane asked, defensive.
"That I am dating a man?"
"I, hum…"
Careful Joe, remember the last time? You got fucking written up!
"You do not need to answer," the photography teacher said. "I can guess just by looking at you. Gros sac à merde homophobe."
Joe frowned: "What did you just say?"
"Nevermind. Now, Monsieur Cochrane…"
Lacroix sat up straight and took off his glasses. "Look me in the eyes," he ordered.
Cochrane complied without questions, much to his surprise. He shuddered. Something had changed, it was like the light had faded, and all of a sudden the room appeared to him dark, and cold, and… hostile, in an instinctive way he couldn't quite put into words. And the man's face seemed to change too, in a very subtle manner, as if a shadow had fallen on the Frenchman to give his otherwise pleasant and affable face the eerie air of... a skull.
"You will tell me exactly what you want from Max Caulfield."
Under any other circumstances, Cochrane would've manhandled any wimp who dared talk to him like that. He wanted to, he really did. But his eyes, they were so fascinating he couldn't look away, and no matter how he wanted to get up and roar at the asshole, his body refused to move, and when he opened his mouth, he blurted out without any control:
"Nathan Prescott was attacked in his hospital room, I'm investigating on it. I need to interrogate Max Caulfield because we've found her fingerprints in his room, and we know for a fact that she never visited him. Officially, I mean."
What? Why did I just say that?
"Anything else?"
"Yes, we've also found… another set of fingerprints. This one belonging to Chloe Elizabeth Price, which doesn't make sense since Chloe Price is dead… she was killed by Nathan Prescott."
Shut up! he kept telling himself. Shut up, shut up, shut up!
What was happening to him? The cop felt a cold chill run down his spine. He cast a worried glance at the teacher facing him. A wimp. Just a rich hipster wimp. So why did he feel so afraid? Those eyes! He had something predatory in his eyes, like a tiger, or…
A puma.
At this thought, a shiver shook his body and a dull pain radiated from the wounds on his shoulders. Could he be the psycho who protected Kate Marsh? He wanted to draw his gun, badly. But his body still refused to move, and all he could do was sit still while Lacroix pondered silently on the information he'd just heard. Finally, he rubbed his face with both hands, and let out a tired, sinister chuckle:
"Quelle conne," he mumbled to himself. "Quelle conne, mais quelle conne mais quelle conne…"
Then he stood, and walked behind the couch, toward the kitchen, his chuckle slowly turning into some kind of hysterical, desperate laughter: "Quand je pense… quand je pense à tout le merveilleux potentiel de ce pouvoir… et que je l'ai refilé à la plus grosse gourde de tout l'Oregon ! Et à sa tarée de pote qui n'est pas foutue de faire deux pas sans se faire remarquer ! Bordel de merde !"
His fist slammed into the wall so violently it went through, digging a neat hole. Startled by the noise, Cochrane suddenly regained control of his body, and he jumped from the couch and turned to face the Frenchman, gun in hand:
"Okay, buddy, freeze or I'll shoot! I don't like your manners!"
Lacroix cast a glance at the gun and snorted: "What did I do wrong, Monsieur Cochrane? A man is not allowed to break his own house?"
The edge was gone from his voice, and he now sounded only tired and jaded.
"Now, put that toy away before you hurt yourself, will you?"
"What the fuck?" Cochrane snarled. "You think this isn't a real gun? You think I'm just messing with you?"
"I do believe this is a real gun, all I am saying is that it will not work on me. Pull the trigger, and the bullet will just fly through me, without doing any damage. Oh, it will dig a hole alright, but I will heal in seconds. Trust me, it happened before. Several times. I still remember the worst injury I sustained, it was in 1916. Verdun. Now that was not a walk in the park! A shell exploded ten feet from me, the blast and the shrapnel ripped off my left arm all the way to the ribcage, leaving my heart exposed. I lost so much blood, I thought it was the end of me, but I held on. It took me two days to regrow everything, and God knows how many liters of blood!"
Cochrane had to fight hard to contain the trembling in his hands. Shit, a crazy! Just my luck…
"You know what?" Lacroix said, and once again, their eyes met. "I think I could use a drink. What do you think?"
Joe opened his mouth, but just as he did, Lacroix snapped his fingers and his mouth slammed itself shut. What the fuck?
"That was a rhetorical question," the teacher explained. "Of course you could use a drink, I could smell the whisky in your breath as soon as you got out of your car! Now put down that gun, sit down, I will be right back."
Once again unable to control himself, Cochrane did as he was told, and soon after, his host returned with a bottle and two shot glasses. He sat down, proceeded to pour a rust-colored liquid in the shots, and gulped his. Then he motioned to the cop to do the same and Joe followed, feeling as terrifyingly helpless as a puppet in its owner's hands as his arm moved by itself, grabbed the glass, and threw the liquid into his throat. He almost choked.
"Strong, is it not?" Lacroix snorted as he served another round. "Trust me, this will get you wasted in no time. Which is exactly what I am aiming for. I need to ask, though: does anybody else know about your investigation?"
"Only the forensic scientist who analyzed the prints, but I didn't tell him why I needed those. This is an off-the-books investigation."
Again, speaking without any control. What kind of evil, twisted black fucking magic was that?
"I see… good."
He drank, belched, and muttered: "You know, I am not enjoying doing this to you. Alright, maybe a little, because you seem like a pretty unsympathetic person, but still, in general I hate doing this to humans. This whole situation is not easy for me to handle, I can assure you. I mean, I always wanted to have kids, you know? I am two hundred years old, nom de Dieu, I feel lonely! All I wanted was… companionship. Someone who would stay by my side, and to whom I could teach everything I know. Someone with whom I could explore the centuries to come. Along with her best friend, why not?"
Cochrane felt the force controlling his mouth recede a little, just enough to allow him to speak. In his terrorstruck confusion, the first thing that came to his mind was:
"T-T-Two hundred years old? What are you talking about?"
Lacroix sighed: "I am a vampire. I took a liking to Max, so I offered to make her a vampire as well, with the promise that she would have the power to resurrect her best friend, Chloe Price. But I guess they wanted to pay Chloe's killer a visit, and that is why you found both their fingerprints at the hospital. I messed up, Monsieur Cochrane, I am willing to own that. I just did not want to be the strict, uptight kind of vampire dad, but I guess I have given the two of them way too much freedom. I mean, I know they have been far from discreet so far, but the fact that you found their fingerprints… now that is way over the line! But what do you want, they are teenagers, right? With their hormones raging and their emotions all over the place, you cannot expect them to act responsibly on their own. This leaves me with no choice but to acknowledge my mistake and enforce stricter rules and punishments from now on. Thank you, Monsieur Cochrane. For making me aware of this."
"I, uh…"
The force controlling his mouth was still loosened, but now he was incapable of even forming a thought. Vampires? For real? Or just plain psychos? It was... no, it was just too much, and his brain felt frozen, as if it had shut itself down so it wouldn't have to deal with this.
"Yes, you are wondering why I am telling you everything, are you not? Well, for obvious safety concerns I cannot let you pursue this investigation into my protégée. Oh, do not worry, I will not kill you, I am not that kind of vampire. No, what will happen now is this: you will drink. And tomorrow, you will wake up in a gutter with the worst hangover in your life and absolutely no memory of our conversation. And no memory of Max Caulfield and Chloe Price, and of your current investigation. Everything about me, my assistant and her friend will simply be erased from your memory. Oh, do not look at me like that! This will not hurt your career in any way. After all, it is not an official investigation, is it? Now, let us drink! Santé, Monsieur Cochrane!"
He raised his glass and grinned like the Cheshire cat. And the mouse that was Joe Cochrane raised his glass as well, and drank.
"I don't know where to begin!" Max squealed with delight as she strode along the seemingly endless rows of bookshelves.
Chloe shook her head, smiling benevolently. Max in a bookstore was just like a kid on Christmas morning! Embarrassing? Maybe. Adorable? Hell yeah!
"I'm gonna have this one," Max announced as she picked book after book in a nerd frenzy. "The best stories of Edgar Allan Poe, I told Kate I'd take a look so we'd talk about it together! And here, Hyperion! I promised to Warren I'd give it a try! And, oh my God, they got all of Lovecraft's books!"
"Here, nerd!" Chloe called, showing her a book she'd picked from another shelf.
"The Girl With The Dragon Tattoo?" Max asked. "Isn't that the Lisbeth Salander book we talked about last night?"
"You bet! Come on, I'm buying it so we'll read it together!"
"Ooh, reading sessions together? I'd like that!"
And Max flashed her her most adorable smile, and Chloe felt her cold vampire heart melt. Seriously, just look at this pretty face, there's everything to love on it! Her hazel eyes, her flawless poster girl face, her long blond hair, and her habit of wearing that single blue feather earring that dangled hypnotically everytime she moved!
Oh, wait...
That's not Max!
The blast of guitars and screaming vocals awoke Chloe. She groped for her phone in the darkness of her coffin to turn off her alarm and check the time: eleven pm. Yay, that meant a nice five-hour nap, and now she was waking up refreshed and ready to go feed!
She put her phone back down, sighed, and lit up a joint. She remained lying still, letting the smoke fill the confined space of her pine box, meditating. What a crazy glorious day it had been! As if waking up holding her Maxi-pad in her arms and ninja-ing their way into a hospital wasn't enough, they'd then gone on a shopping spree, and it had felt like they had the whole of Portland for themselves. Chloe tried not to think about how much more they could've bought if they'd spent the 5k they took from Wells's office, but hey, with her own cash and Max's monthly allowance she'd just received, they'd had more than enough to have a blast. Chloe had even almost managed to convince Max to enter a tattoo parlor to get her first ink.
Almost…
Finally, they'd hit the road back to Blackwell, stopping by the slaughterhouse on the way to buy some pig blood, and they'd returned to the lair by six to get their beauty sleep. So yeah, awesome day, but now the young punk was confused. That dream, what the fuck did it mean? It was a sweet recollection of an episode from their afternoon. They had really gone to buy books, Max had really acted like an adorable dork, and yes, they had bought The Girl With The Dragon Tattoo, among other things. But in her dream, she wasn't with her Maxi-pad. She was with...
It's like every time I'm having a great time with Max, it's all coming back to you, Rach. Like you're always there, somehow.
The girl opened her coffin and sat up, stretching amidst the cloud of weed smoke she set free, revelling in the slight buzz she already felt.
That buzz was instantly ruined when she spotted the figure on the couch.
Lacroix was sitting, a leg resting on his other knee, and was casually flipping through one of Chloe's comics. And just looking at him she felt cold. Hella cold.
"Uh, hello there?"
"Mademoiselle Price," Lacroix greeted her, not looking at her, and his tone did nothing to soothe her worries. She knew that tone only too well, that emotionless, matter-of-fact, I-sound-calm-but-I'm-so-pissed-I'm-about-to-blow-up-in-your-face tone. Rachel's dad had that kind of tone when he was upset. Not good memories.
"So, uh, what's up?" she asked timidly as she climbed out of the coffin and reached for her clothes.
"I was admiring your tastes in literature," he said, his eyes still fixed on the book. "I remember when I discovered Batman. It was in 1941, I was in London and I picked up a Detective Comics at a newsagent's, thinking it would make for a quick, fun read. If I had known, back then, how popular the character would become… and how valuable the magazine I bought that day would get… I surely would not have thrown it away."
"Hum, yeah, sure," Chloe muttered, feeling increasingly uneasy as she finished getting dressed. "So, uh, did you just drop by to discuss Batman comics?"
"Not really, Mademoiselle Price. I wish it were a simple social call, but we have pressing matters to discuss, I am afraid. Will you please wake up Mademoiselle Caulfield before we get to it?"
Fuck, he calls her Max usually! He must be real pissed to switch back to "Mademoiselle Caulfield"…
Swallowing hard, the bluenette went to wake up her best friend – who was just as surprised as she was to find her teacher here – and once Max got dressed too, Lacroix stood up and motioned to them to sit on the couch. Which they did, sitting tight with their hands on their knees, feeling like schoolkids about to get scolded.
But Lacroix made sure to let them simmer for a while, and he paced back and forth in front of them, smoking a cigarette without saying a word. Chloe tried a couple times to say something, but each time she opened her mouth, he'd give her the stink eye and that would just shut her up. The wait was unnerving! Finally, he crushed the butt of his cigarette in the ashtray, and spoke:
"A policeman visited me this afternoon."
The two girls felt their organs fall right down to their butts. Not good, not good!
"Oh," Max murmured.
"And what did he want?" Chloe asked.
"He wanted to discuss a… discovery he had made at the hospital. Apparently, one of their patients, Nathan Prescott, was attacked in his room in the middle of the night."
"Oh," Max murmured. It was the only thing that could come out of her mouth at the moment.
"Oh indeed," Lacroix replied with acid in his voice. "Do you have any thought about this?"
"Err… no?" Chloe attempted.
"No? Then pray tell how the police found both of your fingerprints on the crime scene?"
"Shit," Chloe muttered, blushing.
"Shit indeed!" Lacroix suddenly exploded, his booming anger startling the girls. "Now would you tell me what the bordel de merde is going on?"
"I'm sorry," Max intervened, standing up. "I'm sorry, Monsieur, it was my idea! We, I… wanted to find out what really happened. I mean, between Nathan and Jeffershit-I mean Jefferson, and Chloe and Rachel Amber… so we paid Nathan a visit, just to talk! But… it went off the rails…"
"Off the rails is an understatement, Mademoiselle Caulfield! Do you have any idea how serious this is?"
Max looked down sheepishly. "Yeah, I'm sorry… what can we do to fix this? We'll do anything!"
Lacroix waved dismissively: "There is nothing for you to do, I made sure this cop would never go on with his investigation."
He paused upon seeing the astonishment on the girls' faces, and quickly corrected himself: "Not like that! I did not hurt him one bit, I just made him drink so much he will wake up tomorrow with absolutely no memory of you, me or what happened."
The two girls sighed in relief in unison.
"That does not mean you get off the hook!" Lacroix warned. "I have warned Mademoiselle Caulfield several times already regarding the need to be discreet, and I will not always be able to fix the mess you dorks keep making with your Vampire Pirates bullshit!"
"Hey, watch it!" Chloe barked at him. "I'm the only one who can call Max a dork!"
"Shut up, Chlo," Max hissed between her teeth as she elbowed her friend.
"Mademoiselle Price, I believe you need a little more self-control. And you both need a reality check as you call it. Do you know how many humans there are in this world?"
"What?" Chloe asked, her sudden anger completely subdued by her confusion at this rather odd question. "You mean, like, the world population?"
"Yes."
"Err, I dunno, six or seven billion, something like that?"
"Something like that, yes. Now, do you know how many vampires there are?"
"Fewer than that I guess."
"You could say that, yes. Mademoiselle Caulfield, any idea?"
Max shrugged: "A million?"
"Make it a thousand," he yelled. "And this is the most optimistic estimate. We are an endangered species, young ladies. And do you know why? Because people like you, reckless, idiot vampires, kept getting us unwanted attention from the humans. And no matter how powerful we are, we have weaknesses, and plenty of them, and if the humans want us dead, they will find a way to end us! That is why it is of the utmost necessity to think carefully about the consequences of our actions! And I will not risk another Inquisition because of your stupid stunts!"
He paused, contemplating the weight of his words, the shame on the girls' faces.
"Obviously," he resumed, "the two of you are not responsible enough to go on unsupervised. I am truly disappointed with you, Mademoiselle Caulfield, I thought you were an intelligent, sensible and mature young woman, but it appears Mademoiselle Price is too bad an influence on you. I do not like this, but you are forcing me to take more drastic measures, and I will begin by giving you some time off to meditate on your mistakes."
"What?" Max yelped. "Are you really gonna-"
"Indeed, Mademoiselle Caulfield! I am leaving and locking the door behind me. You have enough blood in the fridge to survive until I set you free on Monday morning."
"You can't be serious!" Chloe protested vehemently.
"You bet I am! For the rest of the weekend, you girls are grounded!"
And on these words, he turned around and strode to the exit. The girls tried to follow him, but he flickered out of their sight and right after, they heard the sound of the blast door being slammed shut.
"Fuck it," Chloe groaned as she attempted to turn the wheel. "He jammed it from the other side!"
"Dog, we seriously messed up this time!" Max complained, trembling from the stress of this scolding.
"Nah, don't worry about that, Maximus," Chloe comforted her with a hug. "Now let's think of how we can get out of here and piss off this cheese-eating asswipe..."
"But he's right! Chlo, they found our fingerprints, we could've been caught!"
"Yeah, so what? We haven't been caught! We fucked up, okay, we'll remember it and do better next time! But we're fucking adults now, we're too old to be bossed around and told what to do!"
"I don't like it either, Chloe, but he does that for our own good!"
Chloe scoffed: "Right, and that gives him the right to bully us and keep us locked in like fucking prisoners just because he feels like it? Look, I know you feel like you owe him, but face it, your teacher is an asshole, okay? Is this really how he sees his gift to us, we get to live forever and have uber-cool powers, but we get to have some old-timer breathing down our necks for all eternity? Thanks, but no thanks! We need to stand our ground now! I never let David ground me before, and I'm certainly not allowing Mr Baguette to start tonight! So here's what we're gonna do now: we're fucking out of here-"
"Chloe, even if I wanted to, he's locked us in! And that door is airtight, we can't mist through!"
She scoffed at that: "Yeah, well either he's not used to being disobeyed, or he's so old he doesn't know that most places, including storm shelters, now have an HVAC system. Look!"
She pointed to a small, round grid on the ceiling in a corner. "We can just turn to mist and follow that duct out! So we fuck out of there, and then we show the frog-munching bastard that there's no way he can control us."
Max frowned: "I don't like that…"
"Oh but you will," Chloe assured her with a sharkish grin.
"This is your I'm-about-to-do-some-crazy-shit grin, isn't it?" Max asked, a cold lump of worry forming in the pit of her stomach.
"You bet! I'm about to do the craziest, most insane shit I can think of. And you will help me."
"And what would that be?"
Chloe looked at her, straight in the eyes, and suddenly Max knew.
She just knew what Chloe was going to say before she said it.
Because, what else could it be?
"We bring Rachel back."