It's the next day.
Max awoke from her rough night of sleep to the sound of luggage being rolled down the stairs and various boxes being dropped on the floor above her. As she peered up from the couch, she noticed that it was David who was causing such a disturbance at 6 am. It was far too early for this, Max thought, despite hanging off the side of the couch trying to get a closer look. From what she saw by the front door, it looked like David was bringing a cooler of food, a sleeping bag, and a suitcase full of…well she couldn't quite tell. Although judging by his character and as much as Max knew about him in such a limited time, she figured it was probably spy gear, cameras, guns, or something of that nature. Hopefully something lethal, for the sake of everyone involved. David was about to rush out the door, but frantically checked his pockets looking like he forgot something. As he ran into the living room to look, probably for his keys Max assumed, he spotted the girl wide awake watching him.
After David grabbed his keys from the ashtray by the back door, he walked over to Max, trying to talk as softly as he could, "Hey, Max. I'm about to head out to that barn. If anything at all happens, I want you to be able to text me. Here's my phone number." The two exchange numbers and promise to let each other know if either one gets into any trouble.
Now that David was gone, Max was left in the house alone, as Joyce apparently left for her shift at the diner while she was still asleep on the couch. Max decided to make her way upstairs to the bathroom to get ready for her adventurous day. Though, passing the door to Chloe's room made her curiosity get the best of her. The girl couldn't resist the urge to go in there. She had to, even if she already knew what it looked like.
Slowly opening the door, the room in its truest essence unfolded in front of Max. Everything was where it was before, but the only thing that particularly stuck out was the overabundance of empty beer and liquor bottles scattered throughout the room. It was becoming glaringly obvious that Chloe had some kind of drinking problem, and Max was starting to feel uneasy with that observation. The more she walked into the room, the more bottles she found. She made her way over to Chloe's desk and noticed several crumpled up papers loosely thrown about the table. She carefully picked one up and started to unfold it. It was crunchy, like something was spilled on it and dried. Opening it further, it was clear that they were letters. Drunken letters, it seemed, all made out to Rachel. Max took her time to read the note, word by word.
R
I know we haven't talked in a while but I never had the chance to tell you how much I love you. You changed my life but I know you don't care. Or maybe you do. I can't stand that you don't tell me everything you're up to. I always feel like you're hiding shit. I miss you. Do you even care about me? About how I feel? When you saw me that night at the party I—
The letter suddenly became unreadable due to dried liquor stains making the ink bleed. Damn, Chloe. Way to tell her how you really feel.
Max couldn't help her nosiness and decided to open up more letters that were laying on the desk. She hated every second of it and felt like it was a terrible invasion of privacy, but it was a look into Chloe's life before Max came to Blackwell in the fall.
Rachel
I'll never be able to forgive you for leaving me. I wish I could go back in time and never meet you. After all the shit I did for you, and this is how you fucking betray me?
Another one.
RA
Remember that time we stole a bunch of Frank's stash and we didn't get in trouble because–
Of course. Yet another one ruined by an ink bleed.
Max noticed that none of the letters were cohesive or made much sense. Every time, Rachel's name was spelled differently. The writing was neat in one, and unapologetically drunk in the next. It didn't make much sense, but judging from the number of empty beer bottles in the room, Max suspected that the alcohol may have been the culprit.
The girl placed the letters back on the desk and left Chloe's room, headed to the bathroom for a much needed shower. She didn't want to look around anymore, mostly because what she already saw was unsettling enough.
It was noon.
After a long morning walk to the top of the hill where the lighthouse stood, Max sat down on the bench looking out into the horizon. The sun casted a harsh glare on the water, but the scenery was still nice. Mesmerizing almost. It was starting to put Max in a trance.
She sat there for a while contemplating her plan and what to do next, since she was unsuccessful in finding Chloe yesterday at the junkyard. It made her stomach twist and turn, knowing she only had one chance to make everything right…or….or…
The thoughts she had been trying to push away over the past few days overcame her. As tears began to fill up in her eyes, she started to cry. The tears dripped down her face and onto her clothes. No Max, now isn't the right time, she told herself. Stop feeling sorry for yourself. You've got an entire town to warn and people to save. Still, it didn't help.
Wallowing in her misery, Max felt a vibration in her pocket, indicating that she had gotten a text. Well, two texts. One from her dad, and one from David.
—
Dad: Hey kiddo, just wanted to check in and make sure everything's alright? I can drive back down and pick you up if you'd like?
Max: No it's ok, everything is great ;)
—
It was a total lie. Nothing was going great.
She didn't want to make anyone nervous with her strange actions at the moment, and certainly not her parents. Nobody could stop her at this point, even though nothing was going according to plan. She was in a different timeline after all, one she didn't know if she even belonged in. Eventually, Max would have to deal with the repercussions this timeline brought, and it worried her knowing that she could be messing more things up in the process.
All she could remember was trying to save William, only to find out that Chloe was paralyzed from the head down. Or that time when she won the Everyday Heroes Contest. Too many variables. Too many ways time could screw up everything.
Max took a deep sigh before looking at David's text.
—
David: I have arrived at the barn. You weren't kidding Max, the place is exactly how you described. Let me know if you run into any trouble.
Max: I promise David. I won't let you down.
—
Max put her phone back in her pocket and stood up, taking one last look at the ocean. The waves seemed to be getting louder and louder and—no that wasn't the ocean, that was a…door opening? A tense feeling arose in her chest, growing stronger every minute. Max cautiously walked closer to the noise, all while keeping her distance. She watched as the door to the lighthouse opened and saw two people walking out, struggling to carry a metal cart and…
Oh my god. I–is that—
Max could feel her nose start to bleed. She felt sick, about ready to pass out.
Fighting through the feelings of fate, knowing that whatever led her there was no mistake, she began to yell at Mr. Jefferson and Nathan Prescott, recognizing them instantly. Yelling as loud as she could, both crying for help from nearby pedestrians and warning the two to stop whatever they were doing. To anyone else, she sounded completely delusional.
"Where's Chloe?! What did you do with her!" Max screamed, desperately wanting answers but was slowly giving in to her nosebleed. Such an unfortunate time for her powers to take their revenge.
That seemed to have gotten their attention. Mark Jefferson and Nathan stopped in their tracks, dropping the cart on the ground while looking at each other with a knowing gaze, and began to walk over to Max who was already kneeling on the ground. Her face was covered in blood and half-dried tears.
"How the fuck do you know Chloe?" Nathan walked bitterly up to Max, who couldn't even keep her balance on the ground.
Little did she know, Jefferson came up behind her and she felt a poke in her neck followed by a muffled voice saying, "Take care of this bitch, please. I don't have all day."
Max's eyes were filled with tears and was slowly losing consciousness, so she couldn't see much, but felt a sharp pain in her ribs as Nathan kicked her hard. She hit the ground, knowing exactly what was happening. She had no time to think about it any longer, though, as she quickly passed out.
Aside from the feeling of being picked up and carried to an unknown location, she kept hearing muffled voices. But nothing was a clear sentence.
"Stupid bitch…in our way…"
"Do this…anymore…take her…"
Nothing today was making sense. So many questions, and no answers.
Suddenly, Max was thrown on the ground, and it felt hard like concrete. It didn't hurt much, as she was still numb from whatever she was injected with. Everything was black and fuzzy. Her ears rang.
This was going to be a long day.
June 2008
Cameras flashing. Thousands of eager fans in the background shouting incoherent words. Over here. No–Look over there, some paparazzi yelled.
As Mark Jefferson made his way down the red carpet of the American Photographic Artists Awards in Chicago, everything was starting to make sense. After so much work, so much time and effort put into honing his craft, he was finally able to be recognized as a prestigious photographer, with his portraits making the covers of numerous high fashion magazines. This event would mark a significant chapter in his life, one that he would never forget.
Though, it wasn't always like this.
Mark was always thought of as a strange child. The type of kid his peers would hide from on the playground, or pick on in class behind his back. No one dared to talk to him directly as if a conversation would lead to something much worse.
Although, being thought of as the 'weird kid' had its benefits. More alone time meant more time for Mark to pursue his hobbies, which were just as unconventional. Sometimes he would steal his mother's old film camera and would go around the neighborhood taking pictures. No one ever knew what these pictures consisted of, as young Mark always had them locked safely away in a box under his bed. But to him, they were special.
Known to frequently hide what he was doing, young Mark also liked to trap squirrels and rabbits in the backyard of his house, leaving anyone who dared to watch feel uneasy. It was an odd pastime. He would often spend hours in between the trees that surrounded his house trying to find an unlucky victim to catch. When a lonely rabbit would show up, he would set the metal trap, eagerly waiting for the moment to occur. He was fascinated, obsessed even, with watching living things slowly succumb to their death, even if that was strange for a young child. His mother always thought of it as a morbid curiosity, not thinking much else about it. With an absent father and siblings that tried to stay their distance, Mark was often left alone to his…studies.
As time went on and Mark grew up, he eventually fell back to his true calling in life: photography. This was in the early 90s, and most people were unconvinced that he could make it a career. Trying to prove them wrong, Mark stuck to traditional portraits of his classmates, now becoming less anti-social and more accepted by peers, and ventured into street photography to experiment. However, no matter what he photographed, he ended up falling in love with the idea of innocence and beauty as an art form.
It was daunting at first, but he found a couple of subjects to start. Initially, the photos were simple. Plain lighting, poor and lazy compositions. But they didn't evoke the right feelings he wanted them to. So he tried again. And again.
Throughout the years, Mark Jefferson became edgier with his work, pushing social boundaries and more grotesque. It was so brave, so unconventional. Prestigious magazine companies started to publish his work, making his photographs get more attention. It was intimidating for Mark, especially since he held the belief that everyone thought he was strange for having outlandish ideas. And yet, those same ideas got him to make it big in the industry.
November 2012
Mark Jefferson was a nationwide photography sensation, appearing at numerous events and teaching art classes at schools across the country. That was until he got an intriguing email from the principal of Blackwell Academy offering him a full-time teaching position. It was strange, not because it was an unusual task, but the fact that Blackwell Academy was located in Arcadia Bay, Oregon. His hometown. Jefferson accepted the offer, despite the unknowns of moving back to Arcadia Bay and what possibilities it would bring.
One day after Mark had moved back to the small Oregon town, Sean Prescott, part of an elite family in Arcadia Bay, contacted him through a letter. Mark Jefferson was offered a brand new, state of the art photography darkroom all for himself. The letter was formally written and was intended to be very serious, making everything more tempting. Pulled by the ropes of destiny and fate colliding, he knew it was an offer he couldn't refuse.
However, there would be a price to such an offer. Mr. Prescott informed Mark that he must mentor his son, Nathan Prescott, in photography so he could be just as successful. He agreed, though was apprehensive to let anyone accompany him. From his days of doing everything alone and being thought of as a strange child, it was certainly odd to have students begging to be taught by him.
The darkroom was unfortunately still under construction by the time the new year rang in, and Sean Prescott offered another location Mark could use in the meantime: the lighthouse. It was previously used as a secret bunker, which wasn't unusual for the elite family of Arcadia Bay to prepare for sudden disaster.
Steadily approaching the lighthouse, Mark could feel that it was different . It had a certain appeal to it. Maybe it was just the peeling paint—though, maybe it was the elusiveness it carried across the bay, he briefly pondered as he climbed the final step up the hill.
It was a cold and rainy December, which was fairly typical for Oregon at this time. A strong gust of wind blew through the trees, providing a harsh draft against anyone who dared to be outside.
Slowly opening the door, which was previously locked for security reasons, Mark Jefferson headed inside only to see something rather… unusual . Unlike most lighthouses, there is only one stairwell that circles around to the top to access the main light. But this one was very different. While there was still the usual stairwell going up, there was also one going down into a bottomless pit, it looked like. The dark void was calling to Mark in strange but fascinating ways, and he made his way down the stairwell eager to see what was prepared for him.
Flipping on a light switch at the bottom of the stairs, Mr. Jefferson noticed a rather skinny hallway with a door on each side. Everything was dimly lit and cold. The floor, ceiling, and walls were all made of concrete, and there were no windows to be seen. Not the most inviting place, but it would do. The doorway on the left, which had an armored door equipped with a keypad, opened up to a spacious room, already decked out with top of the line photography gear. Some high end lights sat atop large metal C-stands, a few tripods were set up, storage boxes sat against a wall, and a couple of camera lenses were left for Jefferson to use. The room was probably 12 ft by 12 ft, a rather small area. A couple of fluorescent tube lights hung on the ceiling, swaying from the draft in the air, while Mark noticed some security cameras positioned in every corner of the room, making small beeps every once in a while.
At least the space seemed to be protected, in case something were to happen.
Jefferson walked out of the photography room to see what was inside the other door, across the hall. The second room was much smaller, fixed with shelving, and looked to be a storage space. There was a small container of food, mostly canned goods since it was previously a bunker. A couple of magazines were stacked in a corner on a shelf, and extra camera supplies lay next to them. The rest of the space was empty, meaning Jefferson could bring in his own equipment to store. Not a bad deal.
Heading back upstairs, and putting his jacket back on to fight the cold Oregon weather, Mark pulled out his phone and called Sean Prescott to thank him for the private space. Who knew what unique and… expressive ideas he could produce in that room.
April 2013 (current time)
"Why are we leaving so soon, Mark?" Nathan asked nervously, as they were both struggling to carry a few C-stands up the stairs of the lighthouse. "Mr. Jefferson?" He asked again, this time even more reserved.
Mr. Jefferson was pulled out of his trance, thinking about his past and how it all led him to this exact point, where he was given the opportunity of a lifetime. But what was even better, was the fact that the darkroom Sean Prescott offered him was finally done after months of delay. Though, after just dealing with yet another stupid girl getting in the way of his plans, he was more than furious. He decided to forget the good news for a moment and began to unleash his pent up anger at his aspiring accomplice. "Nathan, if one more goddamn bitch gets in the middle of our plans, I swear to god!" He slammed the railing, losing grip of the C-stand slightly. "Imagine if the whole town found out, there would be hell to pay, now wouldn't there?" He leaned in closer to the young Prescott, almost so he could feel his breath. "Your father was generous enough to let us use this equipment. We wouldn't want it all…to go to waste."
"Of course. You're right. You're always right. I'll do better next time." Nathan looked down, looking like a sad little dog getting scolded.
"There might not be a 'next time', Nathan." A loud clang of the metal stand clunked on the stairs so loud it could disrupt the town. He cursed at it, before turning his attention back to Nathan. "Look, we can't keep having people showing up here, it ruins the fun . And with the darkroom finally completed, I say we take them there later tonight."
Nathan nodded and they proceeded to carry all of the equipment out of the lighthouse into their black van, finally leaving the three girls alone for a few hours. Though, an exciting new adventure needed a celebration, one they have yet to have.
Chloe and Rachel were busy talking, seated on the cold floor, until the door was unexpectedly slammed open, with Jefferson and Nathan carrying yet another girl. There was a strangeness in the air, a mixture of sudden hastiness and unexpected findings. Chloe studied the lifeless person, unable to make out who it was. She turned to Rachel, who looked a little uneasy, now becoming more aware of the fact that this modeling gig with Mark Jefferson wasn't as credible as she initially thought. Seeing Chloe brought in here was surprising, but not at all unexpected. She knew how much the girl cared, even if Rachel didn't show it in return all the time—maybe she would have the chance to make things right with her in the future. But seeing another girl, who seemed like she was just kidnapped off the street, made Rachel very uncomfortable. She never wanted to think Jefferson could go to that level, of abducting girls just to photograph, but also didn't really know much about him anyways. Maybe that's why he had allured Rachel so closely to him.
The brown haired girl was dropped on the floor in front of Chloe and Rachel. Nathan, who was carrying the girl's backpack, threw it to the side of the room aggressively, followed by the sound of a camera breaking in it. The two began to exit the room and as the girl's face rolled to the side, Chloe knew at that exact moment who this girl was. It was Max Caulfield.
After all these years, after years of no communication, her childhood best friend lay in front of her, getting in the same predicament she was in. The punk had so many questions running through her mind, ones she couldn't get answered right away, so she chose to only focus on what was in front of her.
Jefferson and Nathan were in such a hurry to leave that they quickly slammed the door shut and left without warning. All that was heard from outside the door was the sound of them frantically moving things up and down the stairwell. It was strange for everyone involved.
After realizing that she could have some time alone from the two psychotic photographers, Chloe, now overcome with sudden emotions, was shaking for Max to wake up. "Max! Max! Fucking wake up!" She couldn't handle herself.
Slightly confused at the reaction, Rachel touched Chloe's shoulder trying to calm her down. "Is this that friend you were telling me about?" She seemed genuinely concerned.
"Yes–" Chloe wailed, still shaking Max. "What the fuck Max!"
Rachel flinched at Chloe's loud voice, starting to worry that Jefferson would be able to hear her. Max began to roll around on the ground, beginning to mumble words–though not making much sense. She was waking up.
"Max! We're right here! Wake up!" Chloe yelled again, unsure if the girl could even hear her, but tried anyway. Rachel just sat there watching, not sure what to make of the situation.
The sound echoed in Max's mind, slowly getting louder and more real. Sitting up and trying not to fall over, Max tried to open her eyes, rubbing them until the blurring subsided. There seemed to be two people sitting in front of her, but she couldn't make out who they were. Their voices were still so distorted, too, which didn't help. After several minutes of just sitting there, utter shock sprawled across her face when her eyes started to focus on the people seated before her: Chloe and Rachel, who were watching Max with very concerned looks on both their faces. Max, though slurring her speech, tried to talk. "Wh-What's going on?"
Chloe instantly spoke up, now noticing Max was coherent enough for a conversation—and saw that she had a giant bruise on her arm. "Max? Are you ok?" She reached over to hold Max's arm, looking at her fresh wound with a kind of gentleness you would have if handling a baby.
"Yeah. I think so." The girl looked down at her arm, noticing the nasty bruise slowly forming–not to mention the sharp pain in her ribs making her wince.
"What happened?" The blonde looked reluctant to talk, not really knowing if it was too soon to care, or too late to introduce herself. She had empathy for Max, but didn't really know the girl enough to press on much further. She only knew as much as Chloe told her, which was the fact that Max never stayed in communication over the years. That was about it.
Max was still letting Chloe look at her arm, but quickly realized that Rachel just asked her a question. She looked up at her, taking her in. It was wild to see Rachel finally in person, rather than in a picture or– she shuttered –buried under the ground. There was a warmth to her smile, but something was hiding underneath it. She couldn't tell what though.
Max was taking too long to answer and Chloe couldn't wait. She was still feeling on edge since Max's sudden appearance and didn't have much patience. Was Rachel really that blind to what happened? It was a weird question, she thought. "Besides the obvious? She was clearly drugged by Jefferson."
Rachel glared at Chloe's remark, not appreciating her insensitiveness and inability to think about anyone but herself. So now Rachel couldn't have a little bit of empathy for Max? Were Max and Chloe so close that now Rachel had competition? Tension was building between the two even more so over the past day– and Max could feel it. It almost made her choke on her own spit before answering Rachel's question.
"Nathan kicked me in the side and I fell to the ground. Then I got… drugged …and was brought here." She looked around, taking in her surroundings. The place was eerie, and had this feeling to it that she couldn't quite put her finger on. It was bare, with only a few photography lights put away in the corner, a couple of storage boxes, and cheap fluorescent lights hung from the ceiling. It was definitely cold and certainly not inviting.
Interrupting her thinking, Chloe stepped in again, getting more frustrated with Max's lack of talking. "Max, at least pretend you're excited to see me. Five years later and you're still Max Caulfield."
Max looked up, sympathetically, "Of course I'm happy to see you, Chloe." She then looked over at Rachel, who seemed even more agitated at Chloe. And while Max was beginning to say something mentioning Rachel's name, she hesitated and pulled back. She worried that Rachel would think she was crazy since they haven't officially met yet in this timeline. Sigh. Max knew she thought too much about things.
"Hello? Earth to Max?" Chloe was waving her hands in front of Max's face since she was still staring at Rachel, thinking. "You good dude? It's just Rachel, no need to get all weird about it."
Rachel nudged Chloe with her elbow, rolling her eyes frustratedly. She was getting tired of Chloe's impatience, and it felt like everything she was doing was becoming more and more annoying. Rachel then shifted her gaze onto Max, not wanting her to feel uncomfortable with the rising–and unbearable–tension in the room. "So, you're the famous Max Caulfield I've been hearing about."
Max looked a little shocked, especially to think someone as well-known as Rachel Amber had heard about her. "You have?"
The blonde smiled gently, still focusing on Max, "Yeah, Chloe's mentioned you a few times."
Max and Chloe just look at each other before Chloe raised her hands with a smile.
"Though, she said you moved to Seattle, right?" Rachel, not knowing which boundary was safe to cross, decided to cross all of them and keep prying. She was the queen of detecting lies anyways.
Chloe interrupted Max's answer for yet a second time, eager to know more, "Yeah, aren't you supposed to be hanging out with those art school hipsters right now?"
Max just sighed. She didn't know how much she should explain, and she definitely wasn't ready to explain her powers quite yet. It might come as a huge shock to the two girls, and even worse was that they probably wouldn't ever trust her–thinking that she was absolutely insane. "Yeah…" She shifted her gaze, not very good at hiding a lie, "I'm just here for a.." Dammit, she was stalling. She was really bad at lying, especially with two people intently listening to every word she said. "It's for a school project."
Chloe and Rachel looked at each other, almost trying to read each other's minds. "Sorry, Max. I want to trust you, but I call bullshit." Rachel didn't care how harsh it sounded. The truth was more important.
"She's hella good at detecting lies. I would know." Chloe looked at Rachel for some kind of response but didn't get one. Rachel was still watching Max. Studying her. She did have a lifetime of studying the human condition, after all.
Max looked defeated, raising her arms in protest. "Alright! Ok! I lied." Again, the two girls share a suspecting gaze. "It was spring break and after enrolling for the fall semester at Blackwell, I wanted to see you, Chloe."
Everything was starting to make even less sense now. Chloe thought for a moment, shaking her head. "I don't get it, Max. Why go five years without contacting me then? Not a single text. Not even a phone call. And now you suddenly want to see me?"
"I know Chloe. I…I fucked up ok?" Max's voice started to shake. For everything she had planned for to happen, she didn't think this conversation would happen so soon. "I didn't want to leave but when I did–I didn't even know what to say to you. And by the time I came up with something to say, it was too late. I didn't think you cared anymore." Her head was pointed down at the floor, almost ashamed. It was weird, because despite Max already having this conversation once before, it felt rushed then. This time, she seemed to have all the time in the world.
"Of course I still care Max! You're my best friend!" Chloe exclaimed loudly, making Max jump a bit. "It's just fucked up that you never talked to me after my dad died. I really needed you, you know."
Her eyes were filled with hurt, and Max hated every second of it.
"I know." Her statement was loaded, because she did know that it was the worst thing she had ever done to Chloe. Max knew the pain it caused her friend and there was nothing she could do to fix it other than going back in time. That was not going to happen, though. Not worth it.
"I'm going to make everything better this time." Hopefully the two wouldn't read too much into Max's statement, as it insinuated more than she let on.
Chloe took a moment to think. She was thinking long and hard about something , and neither Max nor Rachel could figure it out. It wasn't a side of Chloe either of them had seen much of. Max hoped Chloe wasn't thinking too deeply about what she had said because she wouldn't even know the half of it.
Pulled out of her daydream, Chloe looked up, not realizing how long she had probably been thinking. "Well, you being here now helps."
Her voice was low, almost as quiet as a whisper. There was a feeling of comfort in her words, something that made Max feel like this weird adventure was already worth it.
Max reached over to grab Chloe's arm, consoling her friend the best she could. "And I'm not going to leave again. You have my word, Chloe." Their eyes met, sharing a reassuring gaze.
"Deal."
An hour had passed since Max was thrown into the faux darkroom. It felt like it was much longer, though. The sounds of Jefferson and Nathan continued to echo from the hallway, still, after all this time.
Chloe was laying with her back against the far right wall, trying not to fall asleep, and Rachel was laying on the floor reading a photography magazine she had found tucked away in one of the storage boxes. Max had gotten up and walked around to scope the place out—and to see what she was working with.
This photography room was like a cheap comparison to the actual darkroom Max was in before. There was no white backdrop, no fancy stereo system, and no high-tech film scanner in the back. No red folders neatly organized in a metal closet. No computer. It almost made Max laugh, thinking about how pathetic this all was, and how everything she had planned for to happen, by the looks of it, wasn't going to happen. She worried about David, and thought about quickly texting him to leave the barn and forget about all of this, but something inside of her warned her against that idea.
As she made her way over to her backpack, and sat down to unzip it, she noticed her Polaroid camera was completely broken inside the bag. There were pieces everywhere. Max slowly pulled out what she could to examine it further, but realized that it was too broken to be fixed. It wasn't a huge problem, but that was her favorite camera. Maybe it just wasn't meant to last, since it was quickly broken in the other timeline, too. Touché, fate. Touché.
Across the room, Chloe, now lightly snoring, was woken up by her stomach growling. "Ughhh…" She clutched her stomach, groaning. "Isn't there anything to eat in here? Rach—they haven't fed us in days."
Rachel looked up from reading her magazine, thinking. Chloe was right, Jefferson hadn't given either of them anything to eat all week. Before Max showed up, the two were lucky enough to find a half-empty water bottle and a thrown away granola bar to pick at. This was already a strange situation for Rachel, but she never even thought about her basic needs being met. Hell, she couldn't even remember the last time she showered. "I know. It's super shitty." It's all she could say.
Max turned around after eavesdropping on the conversation, tired of worrying about her own problems. "Wait, you guys have been stuck in here for days and haven't eaten? How are you not dead?"
Rachel laughed, knowing that before anyone showed up the only thing keeping her alive was drugs and cigarettes. It was a rough time. Chloe looked down at her growling stomach, impatiently wanting food, then looked back up at Max. "I feel like I'm gonna be dead if I don't eat something soon."
Closing up her backpack again, leaving what was broken, zipped inside, Max rested back on her hands and looked up at the ceiling as the fluorescent tube lights swayed in the air. "So what exactly is going on? Where are we?" She didn't really expect an answer, as the girl was mostly just thinking out loud.
The tube lights continued to sway in a mesmerizing motion. Left, then right. Right, then left.
"At the bottom of the lighthouse." Rachel's voice slightly echoed, as she went back to being engrossed with her magazine, not even looking up while talking.
Max looked over at the two sitting across the room, still not really paying attention. A few questions were weighing heavily on Max's mind, and it was, at the very least, concerning that she didn't know the lighthouse was another secret Jefferson/Prescott location. She always wanted to be the hero, but sometimes things would go off course and mess things up even more. "Ok, but what's really going on? I mean, I get this is a photography studio, but why are we locked in here?"
Now that made Chloe wake up. She had been thinking the same thing since she arrived, but never dared to bring it up with Rachel. Now with Max in the equation adding a bit of confidence in the girl, she decided to share how she ended up here. "No idea. I just know that I was sleeping in my truck–out in the parking lot–" She gestured upwards, "then boom, I ended up here."
Rachel tried not to look up so no one would include her in the questioning. She kept reading the same page over and over, as the words started to blend together, thinking about what Chloe had mentioned. The bench up by the lighthouse was always their spot to hang out, so it was intriguing to hear that Chloe still frequented the place even without Rachel by her side.
Max didn't like Chloe's answer, as it only showed how much the girl was hurting these past few months. Sleeping in her truck meant she wasn't at home, and she usually only did that to escape other problems. Between that and her supposed alcohol abuse, there was a lot for Max to still learn about her friend.
"Wowsers, really?"
"Yep." Chloe stood up and stretched, indicating that the concrete wasn't the most comfortable place to rest on, and walked over to sit by Max. "Hey, I'm just really glad you're here. Makes this shitty situation…less shitty."
"Me too, Chloe. Me too." Max leaned into Chloe's arm, resting there for a moment before she wrapped her arm around Max, drawing her in closer. Max noticed she smelled like a mixture of old cigarettes, beer, and sweat. Not at all surprising. It was so comforting to just be by her best friend, without worrying for a moment.
Rachel then looked up from her magazine, watching them cuddled together, and cleared her throat, clearly feeling a bit of jealousy. It wasn't uncommon for her to feel that way about Chloe, but now with Max here, it made everything more complicated. Rachel and Chloe's relationship was…complex. Not to mention the fact that Rachel still had never told Chloe about her time with Frank, only leaving every once in a while without letting anyone know. There was a lot left unsaid over the past year, much of which Rachel did not want to talk about any time soon.
Suddenly, a loud clang was heard from outside of the room, followed by yelling. From the sound of it, Nathan dropped a box full of expensive photography gear and was getting screamed at by Mr. Jefferson. You definitely did not want to be on his bad side.
Max shifted out of Chloe's arms and stretched. The noises coming from outside the room made her feel sick to her stomach, making everything feel uncomfortable. She tried to ignore the yelling match outside the door, but it was proving to be difficult. To try and mitigate her growing anxiety, Max tried to distract herself. "How long have you guys been in here?" Her nosiness always helped her feel more at ease.
But it didn't make everyone in the room feel better, as Rachel was starting to get annoyed by Max's questioning. Couldn't she just deal with life as it happened? Not everything needed to be talked about, especially not right now, Rachel thought, as she closed the magazine and put it to the side. She was only re-reading the same paragraph over and over to kill time.
"A few days. Maybe like three?" Chloe easily answered, unfazed by the weight of the question. They both looked at Rachel, who was clearly trying to still avoid eye contact, not wanting to discuss how or why she was even in there to begin with. The seams on her shirt were getting more and more interesting compared to whatever potential conversation the two friends wanted to have.
Chloe noticed that the blonde was stalling, and Max was waiting on an answer. "Rachel? Are you gonna answer or just leave Max hangi—"
"Don't worry about it, Chloe. It's not your concern." Rachel harshly cut off Chloe's sentence, hoping to end any further interrogation. Her frustration and growing jealousy was starting to get to her.
Rachel's bitter tone made Chloe snap, quickly standing up and crossing her arms, almost waiting for this moment since she arrived earlier in the week. "Actually, it is my concern. And it's been my concern for months now. I haven't heard from you since January and somehow I find you at the bottom of the lighthouse getting groped by a Prescott and drugged up by a photography teacher?"
Ouch.
Flames arose in Rachel's eyes as she stood up to meet Chloe where she was standing. She knew exactly what would set her off and said it anyway. "That's enough , Chloe. I'd leave and never come back if we weren't locked in here." Rachel gestured to the room, but she didn't even want to acknowledge the latter. Groped? She must have been seeing things.
"Bullshit. You need me. Just admit it." Chloe was even more in Rachel's space, trying to get closer and closer, seeing how far she could go. In the background, Max sat on the floor watching the entire fight go down. She couldn't even try to step in, because frankly, it wasn't any of her business.
Rachel pushed Chloe back forcefully, which shocked her, and crossed her arms looking down at the ground. She didn't want to fight, especially not here. "I'm not doing shit. Leave me alone."
Chloe, after being pushed back, came back harder. "No! Tell me why you're here with this creepy ass photographer!" She walked back up to Rachel, before the blonde raised her hand threatening to do more.
Rachel couldn't handle Chloe's sudden accusations and had to get out of there. She had to leave and cool off, maybe take a smoke break. Damn, she could really use one of those. But instead, she did the best she could do and stormed off into the opposite corner of the room, trying to put out the flames of her anger–but it didn't work.
"Why are you such a fucking control freak?" Rachel grabbed a camera lens that was laying on top of a nearby storage box and threw it on the ground, causing a loud crash. She would pay for that later. "Can't you just let me live my life without worrying what I'm doing all the time? It's exhausting, Chloe."
Chloe, now noticing that Rachel was out of control and becoming smashy–as she liked to call it–stopped for a moment to catch her breath. This argument wasn't worth any more trouble. "I worry because I care about you. Isn't it obvious?!"
Somehow, Chloe's words made Rachel start to calm down, and while it was no short of a miracle, she quickly turned her fury into what looked like a cry for help. "Well maybe you shouldn't. I'm a fuck-up anyways."
As Rachel was still huddled in the corner, now faintly crying, Chloe began to gently walk over to her.
"Hey, I like fuck-ups." Chloe slowly put her hand on the blonde's shoulder, as carefully as she could to not set her off again. "Keeps it real, you know?"
She still couldn't turn around to face her, but Rachel moved her head to the side, trying to hide the slight smile appearing in the corner of her mouth.
Moments after the heated conversation, Mark Jefferson stormed into the room, visibly angry. "If I would've known you'd be so goddamn loud, I would've given you a stronger dose. But you're in luck, since it's already packed away in the van."
Chloe, Max, and Rachel had completely changed their posture as soon as the photographer entered the room. He had such a power over them, one they couldn't escape.
"What the fuck man, you're taking us somewhere else?" Chloe, now getting tired of being trapped in between four concrete walls, decided to take some chances and start asking Jefferson a few questions.
"A model never leaves their photographer." Mark Jefferson started to head out the door, going back to moving everything out of the lighthouse, but stopped, turning back for a final look at the three girls before shutting the door. "There's a better place I can work with. This current one has…security concerns. We'll be leaving later tonight. Be ready, or don't."
Everything was beginning to ring in Max's ears. She could almost feel her nose start to bleed again, but tried to hold it in, if that was even possible. She kept going back in her head, replaying what Mr. Jefferson had just said and what it implied. Going somewhere else. In a van. The darkroom. Tonight. David. She was starting to get lightheaded and had to lean back on the wall to steady herself.
The door firmly shut, with the mechanical lock setting in. Max couldn't handle what was happening and succumbed to her nosebleed. There was no more holding it in, and she could feel herself falling to the ground, blacking out.
Rachel, who was standing right next to Max, noticed that something was going on with her as soon as Jefferson entered the room. Right as Max started to fall down to the floor, she quickly tried to catch her from hitting her head. This sudden movement caused Chloe to notice and rush over to Max.
Looking at her friend, then back up to Rachel, "This doesn't look good. I've never seen her do this before." The two watched as Max lay unconscious, resting awkwardly between Rachel and Chloe's arms as they were trying to prop her head up. "You don't think this is from—" Chloe dared to ask, scared that it could be from an accidental overdose from earlier.
Rachel seemed to read Chloe's mind and shook her head calmly. "No. It can't be. It's been hours. She's been with us the whole time."
Several hours had passed and it was now close to midnight.
The trio was deep in sleep, laying sprawled out in a corner of the room. It was a while before Max regained her consciousness again, leaving Chloe and Rachel uneasy, but trusted in Max's words saying that it was just a reaction to stress. It wasn't, but she couldn't tell them the real reasons yet.
The door to the room quietly opened, as Mark Jefferson and Nathan Prescott snuck in carrying rope and a few old potato sacks.
As Mr. Jefferson pulled out the syringe to get ready to drug the already sleeping girls, he paused and looked up at Nathan. "Nathan, I'd like you to do the honors this time."
Nathan was shocked because up until this point, he was just providing extra help. He never thought Mr. Jefferson would trust him that much to do the most important step in the photographic process, but it looked like that changed tonight. "Are you sure, Mark? I–I don't know."
"Of course. Here." Mark Jefferson handed Nathan the syringe, already pre-filled with a clear liquid. "Just do as I did, you really can't mess it up."
Nathan went over to Max and stuck it in a vein in her neck, injecting half of it. He then went to Chloe and finished off the syringe. All the while, Jefferson put the bags they had brought over the two girls' heads. Nathan looked back at Jefferson, who then handed him the bottle to fill up himself.
As Nathan was filling the syringe with the drug, Jefferson started to get irritated that it was taking so long. "Nathan, hurry it up already. We don't have all night."
The tone in Jefferson's voice made Nathan panic and quickly fill up the syringe almost to the point of it overflowing. He completely guessed on Rachel's dosage, but stuck it in her neck anyways. He was just hoping for the best, but would never tell Mr. Jefferson that.
After Jefferson put the final bag over Rachel's head, he and Nathan began to tie all the girls' arms and feet together using the rope. Then, they both carried the three girls out of the lighthouse and placed them in the back of the van. The next chapter of their photography adventures was just unfolding, and neither one could wait any longer. Jefferson eagerly started the engine, and drove off to his promised darkroom.
