Alex waited until the small crowd packed into the hotel room had settled, sitting on chairs or beds – wherever they could find. The room clearly wasn't set up for seven people. Steph set her laptop up where its camera would have a good view of the room before calling Mikey. Alex began to explain what she'd seen. Max tucked herself into Chloe's side at the mention of Jefferson, her breathing quick and shallow. Alex seemed to notice, not lingering on the details of Rachel's murder. Instead she cut straight to the more surprising revelations about Rachel's connection to the thunderbird.
The questions started immediately after she finished her explanation. "You're telling me our options are to kill the Prescotts, or somehow re-kill Rachel?" Ryan looked at Alex incredulously.
Chloe was the only one who seemed moderately interested in either plan – specifically the former. Even then, moderate was a pretty generous assessment.
"That's what Jefferson implied, at least." Alex sounded irritable. "Destroy the Prescotts or destroy the vessel."
"Maybe it's just because I'm new to all of this, but I don't follow," said Karen. "If Jefferson killed Rachel, then why did the storm still come?"
Voice distorted by the computer's speakers, Mikey added, "And that still doesn't explain the almost six-month gap between Rachel's death and the storm."
"There has to be something we're missing," Ryan concluded with a nod. "I hate suggesting this, I really do, but maybe the vessel – Rachel – maybe her body needs to be destroyed, too."
"Absolutely not!" Chloe spat, suddenly sitting bolt upright, almost knocking Max aside.
Her and Steph were in agreement. "Ryan, we just left a memorial for her." At Steph's insistence, Chloe had led her to what was left of her and Rachel's hideout – a small, cinderblock outbuilding – where they'd put together a makeshift headstone out of a plank of wood previously used as a bench.
Ryan backed off. "I understand. Just trying not to miss any details."
Mikey stared down at his keyboard. "Why didn't anyone give Rachel a proper burial?" he asked, the hurt in his voice clear. It was a question that had been on the minds of most of the group, but no one had dared ask. All eyes turned to Chloe and Max.
"Because…" Chloe started, trying to subdue the flashes of anger and sadness that threatened to poison her next words. She couldn't make eye contact with Mikey or Steph. "No one else knew she was there."
"What the fuck, Chloe?" hissed Steph. "She deserved more than that. You were her best friend, and you just left her to rot? I thought when you and Max said you'd found her in the junkyard, you'd at least made sure to tell someone and they just hadn't ever shown up because of the storm."
"We tried, alright?" Max snapped, coming to Chloe's defense. "Before the storm, we didn't know who we could trust. But after, emergency services was so swamped we never got past being stuck on hold. Rachel's parents were dead. Everyone we knew that we could have gone to was fucking dead. We had to leave. Neither of us were eating or sleeping. I almost…" She stopped short, not revealing the decision she'd almost made two nights after the storm when Chloe had stepped out for a smoke. The memory of the translucent orange pill bottle in Max's white-knuckled, trembling grasp, thankfully unopened, flashed through Chloe's mind. "What were we supposed to do?"
That memory was enough to push Chloe the last little bit over the edge, and the room spun as she stood. "I need a smoke," she declared, her voice shaking as she hurried for the door. Max tried to follow her but, wanting more than anything to be alone, Chloe waved her off.
It wasn't far to the concrete path that ran along the railroad tracks, just above the beach. Chloe was deliberately blind to the beauty of her surroundings – light glinting from the peaks of the dark blue ocean, the last bright greens of the salal and huckleberry before fall truly set in, the gulls swooping gracefully overhead. Instead she watched her shoes as they scuffed along the sidewalk, hands in her pockets and the morning sun warming her shoulders despite the frigid breeze off the Pacific. The smoke from her cigarette kept getting in her eyes. What sounded like a decently large bird fluttered out of her way, but she didn't bother to look up to find out if it was another gull or something else. There was too much else on her mind.
Chloe hadn't wanted to believe, even with both Max and Alex telling her, but it was so obvious looking back. It hardly ever rained when Rachel was happy, and the clouds had an odd tendency of blocking out the sun when she was down. Then there was the forest fire. Chloe thought she'd just been tripping after a long, emotionally draining day. But no, maybe the blast of wind she'd felt every time Rachel screamed after kicking over the burning garbage can had been more than just coincidence. Even Rachel had seemed surprised. Same with the way the blaze mysteriously extinguished itself the moment Rachel was stabbed in the arm.
A raven landed just in front of her, tilting its head curiously.
"Shoo, ya filthy animal," Chloe mumbled absently. It hopped backward a couple times, still staring at her before getting out of the way with a single flap of its wings.
Rachel had caused the storm, knowing full well that Chloe, Joyce, Frank – everyone – would be caught up and probably killed in it. At least if their original theory six years ago had been true, as they'd stood beside the lighthouse and watched the storm roll in, Max hadn't known that she was causing the storm and was left with an impossible decision. But it sure sounded like Rachel was aware of the consequences of her actions. Chloe began to spiral again. Did Rachel just… not care about us? Did she ever care? A tear dripped onto the sidewalk. Did she really love me back? Chloe sniffed, pressure building as she held in a sob, afraid that once the taps opened she wouldn't be able to close them again.
"Where're you headed, kiddo?"
Chloe was about to tell whoever had said that to fuck off when she realized the voice was familiar – very familiar, in fact. She looked up. "I thought we were done with the whole 'schizophrenic ghost hallucination' thing years ago," she murmured, exhaustion creeping into her voice.
William Price pointed at a coffee shop across the street, concern wrinkling his forehead as he looked at her. "If you don't want me here, I can just go. I understand."
She leaned against the fence next to him and let out a big sigh. "No, stay. It's good to see you, dad."
"Good to see you too, sweetheart."
They stood there, not talking or looking at each other, for what seemed like an eternity. The raven landed on top of the fence.
"No fatherly ghost-advice for me this time?" Chloe deadpanned.
William mimicked her stance, putting his hands in his pockets. "Heh. I didn't plan a speech if that's what you're asking. I just thought you could use some company."
"I already told Max and David to get lost, but… yeah. I guess I do."
"They care about you."
"I… I know. Rachel I'm not so sure about anymore." Chloe looked at her dad. He seemed so real. "So, don't take this the wrong way… what are you, exactly? You never answered me before."
"What do you think I am?"
Chloe smirked. "Hey. I'm the one asking the questions here."
He chuckled. "So that's how it is. To be honest, hell if I know." Still smirking, Chloe raised an eyebrow at him. "Yeah, I know. Swear jar. Let me just get out my wallet." William rolled his eyes. "Maybe I'm your conscience, like Jiminy Cricket. Or I'm a version of myself that got stuck between dimensions."
That gave Chloe an instant lump in her stomach. "Dad, please. Don't even joke about that shit."
"Sorry. Maybe what I am is whatever you need me to be when things are tough."
"Huh. Always having to deal with my moody ass? That sounds like a pretty shitty afterlife."
"Not at all." He smiled.
"I don't mean this in a bitchy way, but where were you when Rachel disappeared? I could've really used you then. Maybe I wouldn't have fucked up so much." Chloe kicked at the sidewalk with her toe.
He rubbed the back of his neck. "A good question, but not one I have an answer for unfortunately. I wish I did."
Looking up at the raven preening itself Chloe said, voice cracking, "How could Rachel kill mom?" Fuck. Here it comes. Her neutral expression twisted as she sank to the concrete, burying her face in her knees. Chloe shuddered as sobs racked her body, the anger and disbelief crumbling away to leave only despair.
"Shh-shhh… let it out, Chloe. It's okay," William soothed.
"No it's not!" she rasped, vocal cords too tight to let out the wailing cry her sorrow demanded. Chloe wasn't sure how long she sat and cried. At one point, though, she was almost sure she could feel her dad's comforting hand on her back. "I thought Rachel was my angel…"
Arms desperately latched onto Chloe, startling her just enough to realize Max was wrapped protectively around her. Chloe didn't try to argue, shifting to allow herself to be pulled more easily into Max's embrace. "Breathe, Chloe, just breathe."
"Please… don't leave me…"
"I'm right here. I'm not going anywhere," Max practically whimpered, losing her own composure.
It took a while, but eventually Chloe calmed down. William was gone. In his place, Max helped her up, carefully cleaning the drying tears from Chloe's cheeks. Chloe continued to do as her girlfriend instructed, controlling her breathing. "Max… I'm sorry."
"Sorry for what?" Max asked sadly. It only made Chloe's shame sink deeper.
"For giving you that choice, six years ago. For making you think, all this time, that the storm was somehow your fault."
Max hugged her again. "It was our best guess at the time, Chloe." Then, looking away, she asked, "Is this about Rachel?"
I can't lie to her. "Yeah, it is. How could she have killed everyone? I know she hated this place, but so did I."
That gave Max pause. She chewed at her lip, thinking it over. "Who says she knew that's what she was doing? Maybe she didn't tell you about her powers because she didn't realize she had them? Or maybe she did realize it, but didn't know it would cause this?"
Chloe felt her shoulders slump. "I'm doing to her what I just apologized to you for."
"Pretty much, yeah." The words weren't at all accusatory, but the truth of them hurt nonetheless.
Chloe scoffed. "Guess I've still got some work to do on the whole jumping to conclusions thing, huh? C'mon, I've moped enough – let's get back to the hotel."
After Chloe left, Alex had excused herself to the bathroom. She could feel the anger seething just beneath the surface, the argument between Steph, Max, and Chloe compounding the rage and fear she'd absorbed from Rachel's final resting place. She gripped the counter, trying to force the feelings down long enough that they could dissipate. It wasn't enough.
She had to find something to take her anger out on, and quick. Her eyes darted around, landing on one of the tiny soap bottles provided by the hotel. She picked it up and squeezed it as hard as she could. The cap popped open, splurting gooey soap all over her hand. She growled at the mess, only getting more frustrated and desperate. It felt like flames slowly rising from the soles of her feet, up her legs, around her torso and shoulders…
Something smelled like smoke.
"Shit!"
The book of hotel-branded cardboard matches someone had left near the sink suddenly ignited in a bright amber ball of flame. Without hesitation, Alex turned the faucet on full and cupped her hands together before dousing the fire with a large splash of water. It went out immediately. A couple dying wisps of steamy smoke curled up from the ruined matchbook. Alex stared at it, anger replaced with shock, the water still running loudly. Luckily there was no smoke detector in the bathroom.
What the actual fuck?
"You okay in there?" Ryan asked through the door.
"Yeah, I'm fine," Alex answered as confidently as she could manage, still staring at the soaked, blackened cardboard. "Just dropped something."
That actually just happened. Did I do that? How? A million crazy thoughts raced through Alex's head. Maybe Rachel's anger wasn't the only thing that wore off on me.
When she'd rinsed the spilled soap off of her hands, Alex turned off the tap and quickly wiped up the water on the counter with one of the extra hand towels. She tossed the matchbook in the garbage before leaving the bathroom.
Steph was waiting for them outside the hotel door when Max and Chloe returned, arms crossed, using her foot to keep the door slightly ajar. Max wasn't sure if she should expect Steph to go after Chloe again or for them to apologize to each other. As it turned out, the answer was neither.
"Mikey's still online, if you two want to come back to the room." The invitation sounded genuine if not cautious.
"Any ideas yet?" Chloe asked .
Steph shook her head as she held the door open for them. "No. Honestly, everyone's pretty stumped."
Once Max, Chloe, and Steph had all sat back down, David held up his hands to stop the side conversations and said, "We don't have enough information, and we're damn near out of time to get it. We need to contact Arcadia Bay emergency services to start evacuation soon if we want a chance at getting everyone out."
"Are they really going to believe you?" Karen asked cynically.
David sighed and shook his head. "Probably not, but I have to try. I still have a few inroads with the local PD."
"Then we still have to keep trying other ideas," Max said, determination seeping into her words.
David locked eyes with her. Some internal battle was being waged behind them. When he finally looked away, glaring at the floor, Max knew he didn't like whatever he'd decided. "There might be one other possibility, but it would take a miracle to pull it off."
"Luckily we have two superheroes in our midst," reminded Ryan cautiously.
Max was still uncomfortable with being called that, but Alex nodded. "Miracles are kind of our specialty."
David sighed and produced a yellow envelope from his bag, unwinding the string that held it closed before sliding the contents out into his waiting palm. It took him a moment to leaf through the thick stack of documents. "For those who don't know, I helped set up the security system at the Prescott's home. Some glass-break detectors and motion sensors, but mostly cameras." Finding what he was looking for, David unfolded the blueprint of the mansion and spread it out on the bed for all to see. "The basement is a storm shelter, not unlike the bunker Max and Chloe found." He flipped to the third page, tapping his finger over the subterranean room. "The one at the barn only had one entrance. This bunker has two – one on the first floor, the other at the end of a tunnel in the woods." His finger moved, pointing to the wavy line just past a doorway, indicating that the passage continued off the paper. "It was meant as an escape route."
"Cool, another bunker," Chloe said impatiently. "How exactly does this help us?"
"I was getting there," David said calmly. "There's a whole bunch of filing cabinets down there, full of old records. I never got a chance to read any of them, but if the information we need even exists, it'll be in one of them."
"I'm assuming the tricky part is the security systems you installed?" offered Steph.
Max tried to keep herself calm. "That's how Jefferson found out it was Chloe and I that broke in last time."
Chloe crossed her arms. "Sean Prescott loves his fucking cameras."
David nodded. "Exactly. Not only do we have to contend with the cameras and sensors, but both entrances to the storm shelter are blocked by vault doors with an electronic lock, controlled by a keypad."
"I might have a solution for the cameras," Mikey interjected. "Are they managed on-site, or by a third party?"
"On site. The camera server, if it's still where we installed it, is in a closet just down the hall from his office."
Mikey thought for a second. "Do you have a flash drive?"
Everyone looked around, shaking their heads. "No, but I should be able to get one," David said hesitantly. "Why?"
"Give me a moment. Steph, I'm going to send you a few files. Don't open them – just save them to the flash drive once you get it."
Steph squinted at the screen suspiciously. "What kind of files?"
"If I do it right, the kind that'll let me hack Sean Prescott's camera servers and buy you enough time to get in, find what you need, and get out." Mikey started typing. "There's a catch, though."
"There always is," said Alex.
David leaned back, fingers interlaced behind his head. "Let me guess. Someone has to plug it directly in to the server."
"Bingo." More typing. Mikey searched his screen for something then double-clicked.
The idea made Max's stomach turn.
"He already knows the four of us," Chloe said, ruling out Max, Steph, David, and herself.
"Maybe I could make a distraction so one of you could sneak in," suggested Karen.
"You lit a church on fire last time you tried to create a distraction," grumbled David.
Karen smirked. "It worked, didn't it?"
"Wow Karen," mused Chloe. "I had no idea you were so punk rock."
"This is serious," David reminded, leaning forward, elbows on his knees. He clenched his jaw. Unclenched. Clenched again. "I can probably convince him to talk with me. Privately, in his office. I'll… tell him I have to go to the bathroom. The server is along the way. Plug in, take a piss, grab it on the way back. Would that give you enough time, Mikey?"
Mikey thought that over, then nodded. "Should be plenty to install. Just take a little extra time washing your hands to be sure."
David nodded. "Understood."
"Isn't that, I dunno, kind of dangerous?" Max asked nervously. "What if he catches you?"
"He won't," David assured.
"Yeah but what if he does?" asked Chloe. "His son shot me. He hired Jefferson to kill others."
"Sean Prescott doesn't get his own hands dirty." David sounded confident, but Max could see some uncertainty in the way his eyes shifted between them. "And he wouldn't try something that stupid with me."
Ryan began to pace. "Assuming all that works, that still leaves us with the problem of getting through the door."
"You wouldn't happen to be hiding the code to the shelter door in those papers, would you?" asked Steph.
"As a matter of fact…" David said, searching for and finding a piece of lined notebook paper. "Kind of. This is a list of all the codes I know of that Sean has used for various locks in the past. As far as I know, he never changed any of them."
Steph took the paper and looked it over before snapping a picture with her phone. "Now we have a couple copies, just in case. If we can make a group chat, I'll send it out to everyone."
That gave Max an idea of her own. She pulled out her camera and snapped a picture of herself. With a mechanical whine, the camera dispensed the photo. "There. Now if things really go wrong, I can jump back here."
Chloe nudged her. "Good thinking, Super Max."
Ryan looked at her inquisitively. "What's that about?"
"Right." Max realized she'd never explained that part of her power. "I can jump back to the time a photo was taken if I focus on it, but only for a short window. Long enough to warn you all if something goes wrong and we need to alter the plan."
Karen seemed to be pondering something. "We don't need all of us to break in – in fact, it may actually be a hindrance. Sneaking somewhere with a small group is hard enough as is."
Alex agreed. "There might be more to learn at the original storm shelter. Steph, Ryan, and I could head there in the meantime and see what we can find out."
Ryan looked at her, worried. "Are you sure that's a good idea after, well… earlier?"
"It might be overwhelming," Max quietly added.
"There are bound to be clues, maybe important ones," suggested Alex. "Besides – I'm not just gonna sit here in the hotel room and do nothing."
"I don't like this," Steph said softly, eyes wide with apprehension.
Alex wrapped an arm around her. "I know my limits, okay? And you two will be there to pull me out of trouble if it gets to be too much."
No one else seemed to be able to counter that.
"I don't know about the rest of you," said Karen, standing up, "But I at least need breakfast before we get started."
Steph's stomach growled in agreement, making her grimace. "Seconded."
Mikey nodded. "Let me know when I should have access to the cameras. I'm gonna cook something up myself. Later."
A quick internet search revealed exactly one restaurant open that early on a Thursday, making their decision easier. They were all able to fit in Ryan's SUV. As they pulled away from the hotel, none of them noticed the black-feathered bird that alit from a power line, high above and not far behind.
Their hostess escorted the ragtag gang over to one of the larger tables and passed out menus. The chic, modern café fit with the town's facelift, but felt out of place to those who had lived in Arcadia Bay previously. Max was just glad it hadn't been built on the location of the Two Whales Diner – that would have felt like a certain kind of sacrilege, and probably sent Chloe off into a spiral.
Returning with seven steaming mugs of coffee, the hostess left the big, insulated carafe on the middle of the table. Only Steph bothered with the tiny pitcher of cream set beside it.
Alex watched Max sip her coffee, sitting directly across from her. "So jumping through pictures? How many times have you had to do that?" she asked, quietly enough to keep anyone beyond their table from overhearing.
Max stopped and set the mug down. "More times than I wish I had."
"Still, it sounds useful," Karen offered.
"And potentially very dangerous if I use it wrong," warned Max somberly. She shuddered, remembering how she'd put Chloe in a wheelchair, or the absolute hell she'd gone through trying to use her photo-jump to escape Jefferson. Tears began to well up at the thought of seeing William again. She wiped them quickly away, making it look like she was just rubbing tired eyes. "Time is fickle. It's not a reliable fix, just some added insurance."
Taking Max's hand in hers, Chloe reassured, "We'll only use it if we absolutely have to."
Max nodded.
"How about you?" Chloe asked Alex. "Every time we need something, it seems like you have a fix. Any other tricks you're hiding up your sleeve?"
"There's one, but I don't think there's much point to it in our situation." Alex pursed her lips and scrunched her brow. "I can take people's emotions away from them. I've only used it twice, though."
Steph looked at her, confused. "When was that?"
"Remember at the town council meeting, how Deputy Pike said he wasn't afraid anymore?"
Ryan steepled his fingers as he tried to put the pieces together. "When he took you in for stealing Diane's flash drive—"
"—You took his fear away. That's why he was willing to stand up to Typhon," Steph finished.
"Exactly," said Alex.
Steph cracked a wide grin, impressed. "Don't get me wrong – I like Pike – but I was wondering why he suddenly stopped being such a chicken-shit."
"You sure you haven't ever used that on anyone else?" Ryan asked slyly. "After all, Steph's been—"
"I don't know what you're about to say," interrupted Steph, wagging a finger in Ryan's direction, "but if you say another word, I'll release my cat in your house."
Ryan tried to act terrified but couldn't stop himself from laughing. "Oh no, the horror."
"The problem is twofold," Alex continued, clamping a hand onto Steph and Ryan's shoulders to shut them up, "firstly, those emotions, whatever they may be, don't just go away immediately. They take a while to fade from my psyche."
Karen leaned forward, concerned. "And problem number two?"
"The other time… I just meant to take away the anger and pain. Instead I took everything. Maybe that was all there was to take," Alex said, eyes firmly locked on her fidgeting fingers. "Eventually some of the good emotions came back, but… she seemed so hollow for so long. There wasn't even enough emotion of any kind that I could read off of her for months."
Realization dawned on Steph and Ryan's faces. Apparently they knew what situation Alex was referring to in this case, too.
Max noticed that David's focus was no longer on the conversation but outside. His eyes had narrowed, squinting to see something outside the window. "Hey David, everything okay?"
"Yeah…" he said in a way that wasn't especially reassuring. "Just feeling a little paranoid. It's nothing."
Taking a peek out the window herself, Max didn't see anything particularly odd besides the giant banner advertising Arcadia Bay's grand reopening the next day. Whatever that even means, she thought. Everything looks pretty damn open to me.
Breakfast was good but somehow lacking. Chloe unsurprisingly put it into words first. "Fancy or not, this place ain't got shit on mom's cooking."
"It's too healthy," David agreed. "Not enough butter. I want to feel my arteries starting to clog."
"You're supposed to be watching your cholesterol," said Karen, giving David the side-eye.
Steph laughed. "Oh man, Joyce made the best omelets."
"And waffles," added Max. Even after all that time, she could still remember exactly how they tasted, golden brown and perfectly fluffy, smothered in all the extra syrup Joyce could smuggle to her table.
Chloe clutched her coffee cup in white-knuckled hands, staring intensely into the dark brew. "We have to find a way to stop this. For mom."
"My mom too… and Mikey's brother," Steph said.
David hunched over his plate. "For everyone we weren't able to save."
Ryan leaned back, looking across all their faces. "How sure are we that this is gonna work? Can we really pull this off?"
Max wasn't remotely sure, but they had to try.
David stood outside the front of Sean Prescott's mansion, contemplating how many laws he was about to break. Greater good, right? He sighed and raised his fist, firmly wrapping on the door with his knuckles three times.
He'd wisely brought a change of more professional clothing, ditching his more hippie-ish look for a plain blue button-up tucked into black slacks. The beard and short ponytail stayed, however. Hopefully that wouldn't make Sean dismiss him right off the bat.
There was no movement inside.
Come on, I don't have time for this.
Not wanting to seem overly eager, David waited another thirty seconds before giving the door a second set of knocks.
This time he heard footsteps slowly creaking down the hardwood staircase. David quietly cleared his throat. The footsteps stopped just behind the door, followed by the clack of the deadbolt unlatching.
Sean Prescott stood in the doorway, arms crossed, staring at David with poorly concealed disdain. The signs of the last six years mostly manifested themselves in an increase in wrinkles on Sean's forehead. It didn't appear that he had any new laugh lines around his eyes, which wasn't surprising. His wiry gray hair appeared almost molded into shape, not a hair out of place. "Mister Madsen, what a surprise. I thought I heard you left Oregon."
"Yes sir," David said, standing stiffly at-ease. It had taken some effort to put the clipped harshness Sean would have been more familiar with back into his voice, but he thought he was pulling it off well. "Moved to Arizona a few years ago."
"The new look is… interesting." Sean leaned a bit to examine David's ponytail, one eyebrow cocked judgingly. "What brings you here?"
"Well, sir, I heard it was the grand re-opening of Arcadia Bay. I figured it would be a good idea to stop by while I was in town, make sure you haven't had any problems with the security system I installed."
They both stared each other down, David worrying that Sean had detected something was up.
"Where are my manners?" Sean asked abruptly, as if just then coming to some sort of realization. He put on a crocodilian grin that made David feel uneasy, like he was walking into a trap. "Please, come in."
David curtly nodded his thanks and stepped across the threshold, feeling as though he were deep in enemy territory. Not exactly an inaccurate assessment. His fingers brushed the side of his leg, feeling for the flash drive in his pocket. It was still there. Even though he hadn't carried a gun in years, his waistband suddenly felt disconcertingly empty.
"Let's talk in my office. You already know the way," Sean said jovially, like a grinning alligator circling its prey, motioning David up the stairs ahead of him. David involuntarily tensed at the idea of having his back to Sean. Not wanting to give anything away with his hesitance though, he began up the steps.
"The town looks nice – clean and organized." David reached the top and turned left, seeing the elegant double doors to the office and, just past them, the closet containing the camera server.
Sean's footsteps tapped an even rhythm behind him. "It should. I spent a fortune cleaning up what was left of those shitty little houses before we could even start construction."
One of those "shitty little houses" was mine… Chloe's… Joyce's. Asshole. Luckily David had seriously practiced his poker face over the last six years.
Sean continued. "Do you know how much construction crews are charging these days? Ridiculous! A trained monkey could do half their jobs. The grand opening is tomorrow, and there are still sidewalks they haven't finished pouring."
David bit back the remark he wanted to make. "Yes sir." He opened the door and stepped aside, holding it open for Sean. Sean passed through the doorway without so much as a "thanks." David followed him in.
Like the rest of the mansion, Sean's office had hardly changed. The same oak desk and plush, button-tufted leather chair; the marble bust of some prior Prescott patriarch on the windowsill; framed monuments to Sean Prescott's own ego perfectly levelled and spaced where they hung on the walls. One section of wall was noticeably different, the portrait of Sean and his son replaced by a rather bland painting of a barn.
The door closed behind David with a resonant thud.
Sean took a seat behind his desk, leaving David to stand at ease on the other side. I wonder if this is how Chloe felt when she'd get called into Principal Wells' office.
"I have to admit, Mister Madsen, it's a bit of a surprise to see one of my most… trusted… former associates back in this town." Sean steepled his fingers in front of himself and scrutinized David once more, his hawk-like gaze partially concealed behind the glare of sunlight off his wire rimmed glasses. "Most didn't survive." The last statement sounded more irritated than sad.
"I guess I just got lucky." The words tasted like bile leaving David's lips. He certainly didn't feel lucky.
"'There's no such thing as luck. It's a fancy name for being always at our duty.' Do you know who said that?"
Some rich chucklehead born with a silver spoon in his mouth, no doubt. "No sir."
"Lord Bulwer-Lytton, the British colonial secretary at the time of the Fraser Gold Rush in British Columbia. What I'm saying is, it was a matter of you doing your duty, following the clues to Jefferson and saving that poor girl – what was her name?"
"Victoria Chase," David reminded, trying not to bristle at the fact that Sean couldn't even be bothered to remember.
"Right, Victoria – that saved you. Too bad chasing Jefferson wasn't enough to save my son." Something unnerving loomed behind Sean's eyes, like a murky silhouette beneath the ocean's surface as he fixed David's gaze. "Just another victim of the storm," he eventually dismissed with a wave of his hand. "You couldn't have saved everyone."
Nathan may have been a piece of shit, but he was still Sean's son. Rather than launching into a diatribe on how terrible a father Sean had been, however, David dipped his head in apology. "Sorry sir."
"They found my wife's body, but never Nathan's, you know. I heard your step daughter made it out?"
It was probably an innocent enough question, but every word that came out of Sean's mouth only made David's skin crawl more and more. Fuck it – now is as good a time as any. "Sir, I apologize for asking," he began, "but I've been on the road for a long time and hadn't thought to stop at a rest area. May I use your bathroom?"
The answer didn't come immediately as Sean eyed him with a concerning amount of suspicion. He knows something's up, David couldn't help thinking. He opened his mouth to say something, anything else when Sean finally nodded. "Go ahead. Hurry back, I wouldn't want to have to call a search party." Sean's tone was teasing, but it still sounded more like a threat than a joke.
"Thank you."
David slipped out of the room, stepping quietly so it wouldn't be as obvious when he stopped to plug in the flash drive. He was relieved to be out of Sean's presence. Acting had never been his forte, and he felt the longer he kept going the more likely it was that he'd slip up. That wasn't a mistake he could afford to make. At best – and most likely – he'd get arrested for trespassing. But if everything David had learned in the past day was true, Sean was more dangerous than he could've previously expected.
The door to the cramped wiring closet took some force to open, but luckily David remembered that and braced it with his knee in such a way that it made only a soft snik. It was noticeably warmer and noisier in the tiny space. Loudly rushing fans drew heat away from the internal components of the camera server, filling the closet with hot air. David hurriedly extracted the flash drive from his pocket and inserted it into one of the USB ports on the front of the machine. A red LED in the drive began to flash, indicating that it was connected. Satisfied that he'd done his part, David carefully closed the door and snuck the rest of the way to the bathroom. Once inside, he pulled out his phone and texted Chloe.
Me | 11:17 - Connected
David leaned on the granite counter, seeing a whole different man than the last time he'd looked in that particular mirror. The hair and beard everyone loved to rag on were the most obvious. There were more wrinkles, but they weren't like Sean's. Some were stress lines, of course, but the majority of the new ones were from laughing and smiling. That was a welcome change. There was also a softness in his eyes that he still was getting used to seeing.
His phone buzzed in his hand.
Chloe | 11:18 - Mikey's in
The text was accompanied by a gif of the descending, green code from The Matrix.
Chloe | 11:18 - Good to unplug
David flushed the toilet and washed his hands, trying to create the illusion that he had actually gone to the bathroom for the usual reasons. The maroon towel hanging by the sink looked incredibly expensive, but was somehow terrible at drying the water off of his hands.
The hallway was still empty when David emerged, but there was still a knot in his stomach. As much as he knew how important his task was, it still felt wrong helping Mikey hack into Sean's cameras. Doesn't matter what it feels like. Lives are on the line. He opened the wiring closet just as carefully the second time, just enough that he could reach in an arm and grab the flash drive. David's fingers grasped at where he thought it should be, but found nothing. Scowling, David opened the door further. The USB port was empty.
"Looking for this?"
David's blood ran cold. He leaned back to look around the closet door.
Sean Prescott held the flash drive up in one hand for David to see, the other hand gripping a compact handgun that he'd leveled at David's chest. His finger rest on the trigger.
Well shit.
David stepped slowly into the hallway, hesitantly raising his hands.
"Care to explain why this was plugged into my camera system?" Sean asked calmly.
"Easy there, sir." Adrenaline harshened his voice, the gruffness no longer just an act. David's mind rapidly flipped through his options. None were particularly satisfactory. Talking his way out of sensitive situations had never been his strong suit, and Sean was just a couple feet too far away to disarm. There was no cover and nowhere to run. Sean had him trapped and, judging by the hint of a smile twisting up the corner of his one-time boss's mouth, Sean knew it. "You aren't really planning to shoot me, are you?"
Sean sighed and shook his head. "You haven't left me much of a choice, Mister Madsen." He took a step closer. "Jefferson warned me your deviant of a stepdaughter and her girlfriend would probably be returning. You were an unexpected surprise, though." Not a welcome one, clearly. "They would've been easy to neutralize. To overpower. An overdose in a hotel bathroom, a pair of suicides maybe at the grief of returning to where they'd seen their friends die. A sad second-page story for the Arcadia Bay Beacon. Something that wouldn't require hiding bodies. But you? No, you're too dangerous. And I can't have any of you ruining my plans."
David's blood began to boil at just how casually Sean could talk about murdering the last of who he considered family. "You're never going to touch Chloe or Max, you son of a bitch. You hear me?" he seethed.
"Oh?" Sean asked sarcastically. "And who, pray tell, is going to stop me?" His finger tightened around the trigger.
BANG!
David hardly felt the white-hot pain of the bullet tearing into his side as he lunged off one foot, grabbing the front of the gun and pushing it aside as he used the other hand to try and break Sean's grasp. Another report echoed through the hallway, but this time the slide wasn't able to reciprocate, leaving the gun temporarily inert. David successfully wrenched it away and shoved Sean back. Before he even knew what he was doing, David racked another round into the chamber, set the sights on Sean, and fired two shots into his chest. Bright red blossomed out across Sean's white shirt as he went toppling backwards.
The searing in David's side was overwhelming. He dropped to one knee, feeling the area just below his ribs. His hand felt sticky. "Fuck!" he growled through clenched teeth, untucking his shirt and lifting it up so he could get a better look. What he saw wasn't reassuring. Need something to pack the wound with. David glanced up at Sean's body, blood expanding out across the hardwood floor, and sighed. Not good. Wincing, he pulled the phone out of his pocket. His fingers left tacky, red prints on the screen as he unlocked it and called Chloe.
"You know, there's this newfangled thing called texting," Chloe joked as she answered her phone.
David groaned. "Tell Max to jump back, and that Sean knew we were coming." The effort it took to squeeze the words out left him panting.
"Pops? Pops! What happened!?" his stepdaughter blurted.
"I was wrong, sweetie." David huffed in a few breaths. "Bastard shot me. Jefferson told him we were coming."
"Fucking Jeffershit. Hold on, we're coming to get you!"
"Just make sure Max jumps back, okay?" David pleaded. Hearing only rustling on the other end, he added, "Chloe, promise me."
There was another pause, then, "Okay, I promise."
David ended the call and slumped against the wall, the phone slipping from his hand.
With a mechanical whine, the camera dispensed the photo. Chloe felt Max lurch suddenly and looked over in time to see her pupils dilate. "He knows!" Max blurted, startling everyone in the room as she almost dropped the camera.
David looked at her, concerned. "Who knows what?"
"Sean knows that we're here!" Max started to pace, holding her hands up near her face in frustrated panic. "Shit! Shit shit shit!"
Chloe moved in to wrap her arms around Max. "Hey, breathe Max. What happened?"
Once Max had calmed down a little, she said, "It was a trap. Jefferson warned Sean, and he shot David."
"You can rewind that far?" asked Alex, prompting an abridged explanation of Max's photo jumping abilities.
"In a moment, I'm not going to remember any of this," Max finished. Shaking her head she added, "This is a dead end."
"Not a dead end," said Karen. "We just need a different plan."
Mikey was the one to offer the first idea. "As long as my program installs, I can overwrite the footage and make it look like you were never there. But that means there can't be anyone watching the live feed."
Chloe looked at Karen, who looked at David. David looked back, clearly displeased. He let out a sigh just short of a groan. "Fine. I guess we need a distraction."
Chloe grinned mischievously. "Yes!"
"But no fire," David ordered sternly.
"Damnit…"
Karen nodded. "I have some ideas."
It had taken a bit of legwork and luck on Karen's part to put together, but everything seemed to be going as planned. Sean was turning a bright shade of pink as he gestured angrily with his arms, yelling at the foreman Both stood next to a cement truck, its mixer motionless and contents starting to set. A row of wooden forms where a sidewalk was supposed to be being poured sat empty.
Karen pulled the sweatshirt's hood over her head and walked out from behind the dumpster, trying not to look like she was making a beeline for the navy blue Bentley parked nearby. Chloe had lent Karen her pocketknife, which she now held concealed in her hand, feeling the catch at the top of the blade that would let her flip it open quickly when she reached her target. Like when she'd stopped the cement truck, Karen glanced around one last time to make sure no one was looking her way. No one was. She quietly flipped open the knife and stabbed it into the Bentley's tire. The tire quickly deflated as she tugged the knife out of the rubber, but Karen didn't stick around to watch. She ducked out of site behind another building and pulled out her phone.
Me | 13:15 - Plan is go
Chloe's truck careened toward Sean Prescott's house, its back tires nearly losing traction on the worn road as Chloe took a corner a little too fast. The pirate flag she'd insisted on attaching to the tailgate fluttered violently. Max was wedged between her girlfriend and David, the latter of whom clung to the door handle for dear life. Max watched as he occasionally glanced over at Chloe, fear in his eyes. His one attempt to get her to slow down had gone poorly. They hit a bump, David's head almost impacting the ceiling, and Max swore she heard him mutter something about feeling like he was back in Iraq.
Sunlight glared from the house's massive windows as they hurtled out of the tree line, the road pitching uphill through a swath of well-manicured lawn. Chloe did let off the gas a little as they approached the round driveway, but still narrowly avoided wiping out a hedge as she drifted the truck to a stop just outside the front entrance. Both of the truck's doors were thrown open before the engine had even completely rumbled silent.
Chloe grabbed the crowbar from between herself and Max on the way out, swinging it like a baseball bat into the tall window beside the front door. Glass smashed explosively inward as an alarm began to blare. Max gave Chloe a moment to clear enough jagged fragments of the window with her crowbar before slipping into the house. Once inside, Max swallowed nervously and pulled an old trick from the early days of having her powers. She didn't necessarily want to use her rewind, but it was the best option they'd come up with. Besides, if I'm not the one who caused the storm, how much worse can it really make things?
Raising a hand, she saw the glass reverse itself back into its frame as Chloe and David scurried away backwards, back into the truck. She held time in place for a moment, letting herself get used to the feeling again.
Max lowered her hand.
Chloe and David leapt from the truck, David nearly tripping as he did a triple-take between where Max had previously been sitting in the truck and where she now stood, typing the four digit code into he security panel to disarm it. As soon as it chimed, Max twisted the deadbolt and threw open the door.
"That's trippy as all hell," David mused, bewildered as he stepped inside and headed upstairs.
Chloe was hot on his heels, grinning. "Nice job, Maximum Overdrive. Let's get crackin.'"
They passed by framed oil paintings and fancy potted plants on their way down the hallway, hanging a right before encountering the unmarked door indicated on David's map. It opened toward them, revealing a set of concrete stairs dimly lit by a singular, caged bulb. At the end of the narrow space was a familiar vault door with a keypad next to it. Max immediately felt her stomach start to do backflips. Not the same place, she tried to remind herself, but her shoulders wouldn't relax as memories of Jefferson's bunker threatened to crush her into a panicky mess.
They made quick work of the code thanks to David's list, and were just cranking open the heavy lock as David caught back up to them.
"Mikey's in the camera system," he said, seeming almost as tense as Max. "He'll have everything doctored in the next few minutes."
"Fuck yeah. Let's do this quick," Chloe said as she shouldered against the door, using her weight to push it open. Lights automatically flickered on inside.
Karen reread the text from David almost an hour ago saying that he, Chloe, and Max had made it into the bunker before glancing in the rental car's rearview mirror. Much to her surprise, Sean had already discovered his flat tire. Well that certainly was quick. I thought he might keep yelling at that poor foreman until he lost his voice.
Still, if everything she'd heard about Sean Prescott was true, the prick had probably never changed a tire. Karen guessed he might not even know where the spare was. He would likely take a good while bumbling around, trying to figure it out on his own, or have to wait for a tow truck. Either way, plenty of time for the trio in his house to find what they needed.
Or so she thought.
There were so many files.
Max, Chloe, and David had split up in hopes of sifting through everything from personal letters to land deeds in a reasonable amount of time, ripping open drawers and rifling through the rows of folders with a kind of careless abandon that would normally irritate Max. I'm not sure which is worse, she thought, not getting what we need because we were too meticulous and couldn't get to everything, or because we rushed so fast that we missed something important. Realizing she was risking the second by getting distracted, Max refocused on the task at hand.
Sean's bunker was quite a bit different from Jefferson's. The walls were still concrete, but divided the much larger space into multiple rooms furnished with rugs and plush furniture. One room contained a bed, and another stored what appeared to be months or possibly years' worth of canned goods and freeze-dried meals. The filing cabinets were spread throughout the bunker, meaning that Max could only hear the rustling and battering Chloe and David made in their search.
Max was on the second drawer when something caught her eye.
The paper was yellowed and stiff, its contents highly resembling Max's class notes from when she'd been in high school. There were words scribbled into bubbles and boxes or scrunched along the margins. Arrows connected certain notes together in no discernable pattern. In the middle of the page was a sketch of the totem pole Max had last seen outside of the dorms at Blackwell, accompanied by the large, underlined word THUNDERBIRD.
Bingo.
Max started reading.
Shit.
Sean had enlisted a couple of the crew who were supposed to be working on the sidewalk, and though seemingly reluctant, it had taken them almost no time at all to change the tire. Soon, Karen imagined, he would be on his way back home.
Gotta warn the others.
Karen called David, but it went immediately to voicemail. She tried again. Same result.
Sean was getting into his car. Seconds after the door of the Bentley closed, it was accelerating down the street toward where she sat in the rental. Karen tried to look inconspicuous as Sean passed by.
Still no answer from David.
"Fuck."
Karen turned the key in the ignition and put the shifter into drive, heading off after Sean. She managed to stay on Sean's tail, still redialing David every few seconds. "Come on… come on…" They had to be close to the Prescott place by now, which meant she was running out of time.
WHOOP!
Blue and red lights flashed to life behind her a split second after the single warning of the siren. Karen cursed under her breath, trying to think of any option but pulling over. Knowing there wasn't one, she put on her blinker and eased the sedan over onto the shoulder.
Sean's car disappeared around a curve in the road.
The young police officer stepped out of his patrol car. Karen watched him approach through the mirror, hoping Max's powers could get them out of whatever situation they were about to find themselves in.
Max had a number of files spread out across the floor, having gathered David and Chloe around to help her piece multiple generations of Prescott research together.
"You hit the jackpot, Max," Chloe said, giving her a slap on the back.
David sighed. "Isn't going to matter much if we can't make any sense of it. What's this?" He picked up a thin stack of newspaper clippings, freeing them from the paperclip that held them together. His expression hardened. "It looks like Rachel is far from the Prescotts' first victim." Sure enough, each jaggedly cut out article was about a missing teenager or young adult, dating back to 1923. There were at least two dozen.
"Sick fucks," muttered Chloe, intently skimming the papers in her own hands. They appeared to be scanned pages of a book.
Max suddenly felt dizzy, claustrophobia gripping her chest as it felt like the walls were closing in around her. Again, she heard the clicking of a camera shutter and Victoria's terrified whimpering, felt the cold ground against her cheek…
All in your head.
Still, she knew she had to get out of the bunker before her memories paralyzed her. She needed fresh air. Taking a stilted breath, she shakily said, "I'll be right back."
Chloe must have seen the look on Max's face, because she didn't bother trying to stop her. "Okay, Max," she said, worried. "We'll be here."
David clenched his jaw and gave her an understanding nod.
Max hurried on unsteady feet back toward the vault door and concrete stairs. Afternoon sunlight shone down through the door above. She took the steps two at a time, almost losing her balance in her rush to be anywhere else. Her sneakers squeaked on the wood floor of the hallway as she turned left and headed back toward the front door.
As she came to the corner, Max saw an expensive-looking dark blue car parked next to Chloe's truck. Instantly she knew who it must belong to. It felt like someone had injected ice into her veins.
Oh, you have got to be kidding me.
Max reached into her pocket for the picture she'd taken at the hotel.
Something slammed into the back of her head, sending stars shooting through her field of view and knocking her to the ground. She feebly tried to lift one hand in an attempt to rewind, but a second blow sent her world spiraling into darkness.