The nearly empty bottles of engine oil were being knocked over left and right from the cool breeze in the air, with small trails of amber liquid flowing down the driveway. Though, that wasn't the only amber that was making an appearance on the late August morning, marking her entrance with two steaming mugs of a beverage, not yet visible by the mechanic steadily at work, being cupped in her hands. It was starting to get chilly out, a sign of an early fall approaching, enough to make her shiver in the walk up the driveway. Oregon weather was always confusing during the transitional seasons. In the mornings, a light jacket would have to be worn, but by the afternoon wearing such attire would give you heat stroke. A few loose leaves crunched underneath her shoes. It was far too soon for the seasonal colors to appear on the trees, but it seemed like some parts of nature were already wanting to let go.
Chloe was pressed well into the hood of her truck, slogging through the gunk that filled every square inch in hopes that she could save some extra cash by doing some of the work herself. Curses and mumbled words just quiet enough for only her to hear were spoken. All sorts of tools were placed in any open space she could find. Although, she had a lot more work cut out for her than she had initially thought.
Restoring a piece of machinery taken from the junkyard didn't seem like such a feat three years ago, but looking back, it was likely the young optimism she had—where dreams could actually live and the thought wouldn't end up as a scarred memory—or the rush of adrenaline after meeting someone that changed her life in a matter of a few days. Whatever it was, the reality was that there was a lot hanging on an old truck being fixed. Promises and over repeated expectations. It didn't help that nearly everything she came into contact with was completely falling apart. Rusted and weathered fuel lines, stripped bolts, and clogged exhaust pipes. Gray duct tape was the only support the poor truck had left. It was shocking that the engine didn't start on fire yet. And she knew that there would only be one person to blame for that possible scenario and it wasn't the self-proclaimed arsonist of the house.
Some older radio taken from the garage was sat on one of the interior tire bumpers, providing background noise to the formerly quiet time Chloe seemed to have to herself. The current track was some rock mix, one that sounded oddly familiar but she couldn't put her finger on who the artist was. With everything else falling apart from under her hands, now stained and was going to give her hell to wash off, there were at least a few things going for her. There were no interruptions by David, since he wasn't home that week for security guard training. Whatever that meant. There was no prying or repeated arguments over how many t-shirts she had trashed—which were starting to pile up badly. Joyce had complained about the ruined clothes she kept finding in the laundry hamper, enough for Chloe to feel more than guilty about it. It wasn't her fault that her makeshift truck needed some TLC, and an upset mom was one more thing she didn't need to deal with. She couldn't win.
"Coming up next on 87.9, PissHead makes their long awaited return to the Bay after the band made their move back to Colorado in 2010. Can't wait? Head to our website and subscribe to…"
"Hey, Junkyard Queen," Rachel announced her presence with a sly smile, handing out one of the mugs to Chloe. "I thought you might need a little pick me up." The metal body of the truck creaked as she shuffled herself around to the front, standing close to the mechanic who was still too distracted by her little project to self indulge. For a moment, all was calm. Tiny birds perched up on a telephone wire chirped loudly but there was no one else around. No cars. No obnoxious neighbors deciding to blow debris from their landscaping for the fourth time that week.
Suddenly, the sound of something hitting the pavement as it was dropped out of Chloe's grasp. A screwdriver, maybe. It had fallen through one of the multiple cracks between a couple of pipes. She sighed frustratedly and glanced over at Rachel who could only offer a hand on top of hers.
"You've been out here for too long," Her thumb grazed over the top of Chloe's hand, meeting the blue eyes softly. "Why don't you take a break? Try to relax ."
Relax. There wasn't an ounce of time for that.
"You sound like my mom." Chloe scowled, already starting to bend down to try to find the old screwdriver that just so happened to come from David's tool box. Of course it did. Everything he owned still felt weirdly wrong to use and all the more irritating. It was like it was cursed. "And I can't relax until I get this fixed. We've talked about this."
A tired groan as she was now completely on the ground, not quite reaching the screwdriver but just enough to look ridiculous. Chloe had woken up at the crack of dawn just to get ahead at fixing the problems she was convinced she could tackle head on, not letting anyone know what she was doing. Which only then caused more panic when Rachel had woken up to an empty bed. It didn't happen often but the times were adding up lately. She didn't like it one bit. Before she could even realize that Chloe was up to something, it was too late. It was always too late. They even had plans of going to the beach later, but by the looks of it, those plans had a raincheck.
"Are you sure it's not easier to just bring it into a shop?" Rachel suggested again, but Chloe just craned her neck up and looked at her. They both knew the answer to that question. Someone just didn't want to admit it.
"I don't know. Maybe." The complete mess trailing down the driveway was only proving her point. It really did look like a shitshow. The manual to the truck that was found years ago in the glove compartment was taped onto the inside of the hood, but Chloe only knew so much. Or cared so much. "Probably."
"So…" Rachel bit her lip and frowned, carefully watching her get back to working at the one thing she was doing when she arrived. It didn't look very difficult, but it was clearly frustrating her. The sweat on her brow and unruly hair was only adding to the argument. "What exactly are you doing?"
Maybe that was the wrong question.
The screwdriver was dropped again. Chloe sighed and sunk into the hood of the truck, completely defeated. If she knew that it was going to be like this, she would have brought it in somewhere a lot sooner. Years ago, even. Her confidence was high, but not her sanity. Whatever kind of clamp was used made it not only difficult to reach, but even worse to replace. She was starting to understand why the previous owners used so much duct tape.
"Trying to take out the coolant hose." She impatiently ran her fingers through her hair, trying to make sense of the situation that had somehow failed her once more. The cup of coffee was still waiting for her on the other edge of the hood, but it felt more like a 'you tried' than an achievement to be won. She glanced back at Rachel, who, to her surprise, didn't look completely disinterested. If anything, she looked a bit intrigued. "It carries the coolant, which is water and antifreeze mixed together, from the radiator to the engine," Chloe slowly pointed to each part, and Rachel followed along diligently. It was nice to see someone besides David taking an interest in that sort of stuff. "You know, it cools shit down."
She didn't know how much information would be too much or maybe it wasn't enough. Rachel was visibly thinking about something , but only Chloe could hope that it was about the truck. However, she couldn't just stand there and look pretty. Well, she could and did anyway, but she needed to do one thing for her.
"Problem is, I need a socket wrench." Chloe gestured back into the opened garage and smirked, knowing damn well where the wrench was but really wanted to watch Rachel get under the hood of the truck. It was a few years in the making. A sneaky ploy that was most definitely going to leave someone hot and bothered.
"Do you want me to try to look for it?" Rachel tilted her head and watched Chloe suspiciously. Oh, she knew that something was up. It was never hidden well.
Chloe nodded back, grinning.
The garage was dimly lit with a large, blue toolbox resting on one of the workbenches off to the side. It looked promising, but she couldn't help but notice the blue eyes watching her every move like she was someone's dinner. More like her dinner. Chloe wasn't usually like that, acting bolder and not running away from enjoying her view.
"It's silver and has a rounded head. Should click if you rotate it." She added through a smirk. "It's in some case with different sized—"
"I know what a socket wrench looks like, Chloe." Rachel muttered, but could feel herself becoming shy as she dug around the neighboring boxes before cracking open the big toolbox. It wasn't like her to get that way either. She was quickly finding herself lost in the ocean across from her, though some distance away, becoming hypnotized. Mesmerized. For a moment, she forgot where she even was. Right, the toolbox. One too many scratched out graffitis were marked on the inside, but lo and behold, the case with the wrench and all of its accessories rested right on top.
"Now bring it back over here." Chloe reached behind her without turning around and padded one of the pipes surrounding the radiator. "I want you to try to take it out yourself."
It was hard to say no to her, not like she did very often anyway.
Rachel swiftly returned back and set down the plastic case, opening it up and taking out the wrench. From the looks of it, she had to not only prove herself, but be a show off. All those years of casually listening to Chloe complain about the truck, knowing that she never thought she was paying attention, only to eventually use all the information later? She struck gold and it wasn't just in one place. The mine was filled with miles of undiscovered treasure. It was time to start digging.
"I think it's an eight millimeter socket…" Chloe pressed a little further, but instead was met with rolled up sleeves and the determination she missed seeing.
Several clicks and a loud clang followed. Rachel was doing it, and doing it well. At least that's what it sounded like. Chloe couldn't see much anyway.
"If you angle it to the right, you might—"
"Sorry, did you say something?" Rachel reached in and grabbed the entire hose before pulling it out, now falling apart and getting dirt and rust all over her shirt. Chloe took a step back, astonished. She knew that she could do it, but seeing it in action was another. It felt like it was scorching hot out now. She could have sworn that she was blushing. "I don't want to boast, so I'll let you do it for me."
Chloe rolled her eyes but Rachel was really wanting it. She sighed sharply. If she needed her ego stroked she should have gone back to Blackwell or something. Besides, this was sounding awfully similar to when the quarter got stuck in the viewfinder. Hopefully there were no more revelations about broken relationships with father figures that had a long history with a mystery woman that was never shared. It was all Chloe was asking for at this moment.
"Rachel Amber. Hot, talented, and can fix cars? I'm hella impressed." She reached out to hold her in her arms, but any confidence she had earlier was quickly disappearing. There was something about the unwavering attention that never got old. Rachel just gazed up at her, holding onto every word like it was the last thing she was going to hear. "But you always find a way to impress me."
"I learned from the best." Rachel hummed, falling deeper into the embrace that she was quickly losing herself in. It wasn't like that was a bad thing, though.
There was something about being in the park, even though strange things always seemed to happen at the particular one just on the outskirts of town, that was like a mental break from the rest of the world. Max didn't frequent Overlook Park as much as Chloe or Rachel had, yet the peace and quiet was calling to her. Large trees, some likely older than the town itself, were scattered about and provided a restful shade to anyone willing to sit underneath. Branches and thick leaves cowered above her; her back propped against the weathered bark with a laptop on her thighs.
Several passerbyers walked past, carrying on in their conversations and not giving too much thought into the girl who appeared to be intently studying. A family brought a picnic basket, with several little kids trailing behind screaming and wailing that they didn't want to be there, while another couple had two bottles of champagne for a private celebration. The area wasn't as crowded as Max had thought it would be, considering that the summer months were quickly coming to an end, but despite how focused she was, there was no exam that she needed to pass. The feelings of the strain of time and money were coming on strong, fueled by Rachel's recent revelations and the unknown of the coming months ahead, enough for her to need to do something about it.
Photography prospects were incredibly weak in Arcadia Bay and, without Blackwell guiding her through a journey she thought that she would have support in, she now had to do it all alone. There were no fishermen lined up on the side of the street hoping to get a picture taken. No families wanted holiday cards, or even senior pictures that would eventually be posted all over Facebook. Max assumed that there were probably a good number of people that wanted those things, since it wasn't like the town was all that different from others, but finding anyone willing to pay was the problem.
Los Angeles, on the other hand, was looking oversaturated—which was completely expected but it didn't help to see every single website mentioning it in dark, bold letters written on each headline. Weddings and impromptu shoots were looking more hopeful, and the surplus of people in the city only meant for more potential clients. But, there was only so much that she could do without living there.
Max sighed. Maybe she was too much in her head.
A woman, middle-aged and dressed too sharply to be casually walking around the park, had just walked in front of her, going in the direction of the parking lot. Nothing was too out of the ordinary or off-putting to cause Max to think any deeper about her. A neatly steamed white collared shirt underneath a black sweater. Gold jewelry around her wrist. The woman carried a file underneath her arm, just enough to keep it secure and not let anyone else find out what was inside. The secrecy didn't last long, however, when a small piece of paper slipped out from behind, floating onto the ground.
"Hey, I think you dropped something?" Max asked quietly as she bent over to grab the paper to hold it out, hoping to get the woman's attention. She fought back the urge to open it up and read it, noticing the lengthy notes inside marked up by pen, but before she could do anything, the woman turned around.
"Oh, thank you. I–" Her expression changed as fast as she took hold of the note. A complete look of shock spread across her face the moment she made eye contact with Max. "I'm sorry," The woman took a careful step back and awkwardly chuckled to herself. Neither of them had ever expected this moment to happen like this. "Are you Max Caulfield?"
Max just blinked.
"My name is Anna. I'm the lead news anchor at KATU?" Her upspeak and learned journalism accent was only helping so much. She really didn't want to bother Max, let alone make her feel uncomfortable while she sat by herself in public, but unexpected meetings meant for unexpected conversations. Anna smiled friendly. "Anyway, I would love to have you and your friends in this Saturday for an interview."
An interview. It was something that Joyce had constantly warned them about, preparing for whenever the news would want to showcase the diner and its newest employees. It had only happened two times before the small filming crew got the wrath of an angry mother.
The entire story was practically botched from the get go, relying on claims that were just crazy enough to be true and taking out the obvious fact that it never should have happened in the first place. When Chloe had mentioned string theory, it was one of the many possibilities into different realities Max could have entered into. There was no way of knowing what she was going to get when she traveled through that picture in the very beginning of her journey. She had always imagined it to look a little differently, though, planning on rescuing Rachel from the location she was supposed to be in, but the universe apparently didn't want that. Life was full of mystery, even if none of it made any sense in the end.
"Sorry, we're not interested." Max faintly smiled back, hoping that she wouldn't be pushed into making an agreement with the woman acting like a car salesman trying to get a commission, but she wasn't a good enough actor to sell the scene.
"What if I were to offer you a deal?" Anna asked nicely, testing the waters just a bit further. Max raised her eyebrow. "It's certainly not a common practice…or ethical, I suppose, to bribe anyone as a journalist," She muttered under her breath and huffed out a laugh as she crouched down in front of her, her heels sunk deep into the grass. "But no other news station in the nation has been able to cover your story aside from the brief mentions of the trial. We're looking for real stories by real people. Survivors, like yourselves."
It was a lot to take in on such short notice. And random. Chloe, Rachel, and Max's faces were plastered on every newspaper in town, and that wasn't discounting any of the national news reports that couldn't quite get the stories straight no matter how hard they tried. Did they really need more publicity for it?
"Here's the deal, Max," Her voice was stern but remained kind. The type that was going to be hard to say no to. She reached out for her file and started opening it up to look inside. Hundreds of papers lined the interior. "I will give you five thousand dollars for not only your cooperation, but for complete exclusivity rights by our station."
"That's really great and all, but," Max simply watched her, not really knowing what more to say. She did not want to have this conversation without the other two there with her because it involved everyone. Even if it wasn't that big of an undertaking, it was still overwhelming to talk about again in front of a camera. A long sigh was let out. "I don't know. It doesn't sound legal."
Anna shook her head and handed Max the paper she was able to finally find.
"This is the contract you will be signing if you decide to agree. Legal and official." She winked. A bold 'confidential' taking up every space on the page, the Mayor's signature, and a stamp of approval by the state. Hopefully, it was convincing enough. "It would be in person at the news station when you would arrive. We will pay you before the interview."
Max didn't respond. She couldn't. The contract was staring at her in the face, serious enough to make her uneasy. Anything with legal issues brought hidden fees or potential lawsuits down the line. It was a risk. And for what? She had to start thinking about the potential storm soon, a worrying and dangerous situation that was not to be taken lightly in her mind, and talking about an event that happened months ago was the last thing on her list.
But the cash. It was the only thing any of them were ever thinking about lately.
It felt like the three of them were going to have to sell their souls for some pocket change that wasn't needed. It felt wrong. Dirty.
"Here's my business card," Anna promptly handed Max her card, taken straight out of a designer purse that was far too flashy for a fishing town, and started to stand up since it wasn't looking like she was going to agree. She didn't blame her for it. If anything, she had seen a lot worse during interviews. Max was certainly one of the easy ones. "I'll let you think about it and talk it over with your friends. But we would love to have you, Max."
The Roadhouse. Ten hours later.
It wasn't the classiest establishment in town, coupled with three different shades of white paint to cover accidents and darker stories never worth repeating. The windows on the outside were tinted so there was no way to see inside. From the average tourist in town looking to get a quick drink, they would likely be scared off immediately. Nighttime only made it creepier, but that was only for the weak. The ones that visited frequently were usually taking advantage of their no carding habits that brought in a lot of Blackwell students. It was easy to get a fake ID but never having to show it was all the better.
Chloe had been sitting in her truck, anxiously tapping on the steering wheel while she waited for the right moment to go inside. Old habits die hard. Her jacket, worn and still dirty from the night out at the Prescott's barn, was left in the space next to her where Rachel usually sat. It stung to think about. Here she was, at a location that she knew Nathan would be at, without ever mentioning it to her. She was completely in over her head. The space looked even more lonely the more she looked at it. All she could think about was Rachel. The way her eyes lit up when she'd joke about something dumb, the smell of her jasmine perfume, her hand never out of reach. But Chloe was alone. She hoped with all of her being that when she would later sneak in through her bedroom window that Rachel would be sound asleep. She would never have to know about any of this. It seemed like too much to ask for. She sighed as she reached out to twist the keys out.
One step closer to hell.
Her boots crunched on the gravel as she started to walk up to the bar but as soon as her hand met the handle, she stopped. The darkness overtaking the parking lot was almost judgmental, as if it knew how much she was going to mess all of this up. She started to chew her lip. Was this really who she was now? Lying and doing sketchy shit just to, in the end, pay back the same guy that fucked with Rachel? She could just go back home and forget about all of this. Make a choice to not be destructive for one time in her life, but she needed this. The door creaked open loudly as she walked in.
Small town bars were notoriously crowded with the strangest folks, ones that would likely not be seen by anyone else during the daylight. People of all backgrounds casually talking or playing billiards in the back. A large deer head mounted on the wall. No one seemed bothered enough to turn around and check out who the newest visitor was, only making the whole excursion all the more lonesome. There was someone sitting up at the bar with their back to her who was exactly who she was looking for. She couldn't help but feel a knot in her stomach.
He was flashing bills to the bartender with a refilled drink already on its way down the counter. A glass cup filled with red liquid and an olive on a toothpick. Looked like some kind of gin cocktail. Classy but pretentious.
Typical Nathan Prescott.
"What do you want?" The bartender greeted Chloe coldly as she sat down on one of the bar stools. The name tag said Jack. He wore a black polo with a rag over his shoulders marked with wiped up liquor. While there was a good amount of people inside of The Roadhouse, most were not hanging around the bar for likely obvious reasons. He continued to give Nathan a side eye as he was only getting rowdier.
Chloe was keeping a careful distance away from him so she could finalize her plan before going all in. She couldn't just walk up to him yet. There were a lot of options of how she could go about pestering him for some cash, and a lot of them were going to end horribly bad. Everything from destroyed relationships to a broken neck. The bartender cleared his throat, clearly annoyed at the lack of response. It was a simple question after all. She started to dig in her pocket for some change, looking at the rundown taps behind the counter. There weren't many options. Cheap beer or even cheaper beer.
"Of course I can fucking pay! Who do you think I am?" Nathan snapped at one of the security guards who had appeared from a side door near the entrance, mentioning something about how he was disrupting the environment. He was getting angrier at the second. Face beat red and chest puffed up for no apparent reason. He tried offering some hundreds from the stack of bills that was just as quickly denied.
Nathan had truly reached a new low that night. Chloe wanted to laugh, but it was both too ridiculous and too off putting at the same time to watch that she remained silent. He was either incredibly stoned or balls off-the-wall drunk to be doing any of that sober. There was no way.
"I don't give a shit who you are." Handcuffs were already starting to be taken out from the guard's belt, jingling on each movement as he was trying his best to restrain Nathan. Cash was being thrown at his head. There was no flinch, no rustle of any feathers. It wasn't the worst situation that he had to put up with since applying for the job, but he never thought that his time was going to be spent trying to shut up some rich kid. He wasn't messing around this time. The Roadhouse, despite the relaxed atmosphere, had a sort of unspoken zero bullshit rule. Don't cause problems, stay as long as you would like. "If you're causing a disturbance to the other guests, you're not allowed on the premises. It's that simple."
"Get off of me! I didn't do anything!"
Things were escalating quickly. With the guards grip tightly around the collar of Nathan's shirt, the clock was ticking. He was likely going to be kicked out soon if Chloe didn't make a move. With a small idea and not much more to go off of, she began to stand up and carefully walk over to the altercation that she certainly had no place in.
Money was everywhere on the floor. As much as she could have bent down and taken some before leaving, realizing that this really wasn't the best time to do something about the stupid cash anyways, it seemed like her own psyche had let her down once more. She was already standing right behind them, enough to get the guards attention and look at her questioningly. The large bundles of cash were even more visible. What was he even doing at the shittest bar in town with that much money?
With how things had been between the two of them, it never looked to be a good sign.
"Fancy seeing you here, Prescott." Chloe slid into the bar stool directly in between the guard and Nathan, taking up an impressive amount of space. He met her with a curious glint in his eyes. Something sparked, for sure, but she couldn't tell quite yet what it was. He was not expecting her to show up. "Care for a game of pool?" She briefly pointed at the back, as she had been eyeing the table for a while to see if it would become open again. It was.
"Uh, do you know her?" The security guard raised his eyebrow, eyeing Chloe even more suspiciously.
"Yeah. I do." Nathan sighed heavily. She really had to show up at the worst possible time, but maybe it wasn't so bad since the guard did back off at her initial appearance. "She's a friend of mine." He added, but bit his tongue just at the word. Friend. They had both run into each other previously at that bar, but it wasn't like they talked. She mostly hung onto Rachel, both staying relatively away from anyone else. But what made it even worse was that he swore to never see her again a grueling few weeks ago. Sure, they saw each other at the costume party, but there were too many people around and too much social pressure to appear in charge, that no effort to have a full blown fight could ensue. But the rage was already building just looking at her. He could beat her up, show her who's really in charge, though he had something else in mind.
Something that, he hoped, wouldn't come off as insensitive. He did pride himself in learning from the best.
"C'mon, now you can finally prove how much better you are than me." Chloe nudged him with her elbow, trying to play it off like friendly banter, but it was just as awkward as she didn't want to make it look. She couldn't help but notice something strange going on with Nathan, just at the way he was watching her without ever looking her in the eyes. He lightly laughed at the sentiment, the moment too far gone to be appropriate, though Chloe wasn't feeling any less on edge. Whatever she said seemed to do the trick for the security guard at least, who was now backing away from them since they acted like good friends. Or friends that wanted to rip each other to pieces. "Or it will help get that guard away, right?"
"Rachel isn't here, is she?" Nathan suddenly looked around the bar erratically, like he was somehow expecting a planned attack. Back, front, left, right. He completely ignored whatever Chloe was saying, not like it mattered anyway. He wasn't there for pleasantries. A shadow in the window, a reflection perhaps, caused him to jump in his seat. A curious look was given back at him. It wasn't just uncertainty that he was feeling, it was pure paranoia. "Is she?" He abruptly grabbed onto Chloe's arm, pulling her closer. Despite her strange choice of who she was dating, Rachel was a threat. Whatever happened at the barn had Nathan so scarred that there was no way he was going to be dragged into whatever Chloe seemed to have planned. This time, he managed to look so deep into her eyes, almost like he was trying to find the lie. He tugged a little harder. "Is she here, Price?"
"Relax," She hissed, pushing away his arm so that she could finally free herself. "I'm alone. It's just you and I." Though, she wasn't sure how much more she could take. Nathan was getting a little too skittish. Too fidgety. He was extremely hard to talk to when nothing she was trying was working on him. A long and weary sigh, like an act of self protection, was the only line dividing the two.
Something immediately changed in the Prescott. His face lit up in a way that was surprisingly friendly. It was as if the mere mention of being alone caused him to only become more intrigued. There was something that appeared in his eyes, a glimmer of morbid fascination and that was awfully similar to how he acted in the lighthouse months ago. A harsh shiver went down Chloe's spine even as she tried to brush it off. She had seen that look before.
"You know, my father has a pool table. He never lets me use it, though." He was already starting to lead her over towards the back of the room, carrying his drink alongside Chloe with hers. The tone of his voice was like nothing had ever happened. Supposedly to him, it hadn't.
"Is that so?"
Nathan simply nodded.
So now they were playing billiards. Great. Chloe knew that she hadn't thought that far ahead, and this was a prime example of it. The cash was so far away now that it was pointless to even go after it. This entire night felt like a complete waste. The cues on the wall, mounted onto some wood brackets, were promptly taken off. She handed him one and started to gather the balls from each of the pockets on the table.
"I'm not much of a player myself. I'm not even sure I know the rules." Chloe added through a sort of calculated statement, hoping that if she played dumb, he might bite. Two games in one, she supposed. A lot of the guys at Blackwell were so desperate for attention that any interest from a girl would make them do just about anything. She knew it because she saw it. She saw them pining after Rachel, only for her to choose to hop in some old truck with the dropout that had daddy issues. Bitter was never a strong enough word for those guys.
"I'll teach you." Nathan said, smiling, as if there was no other way he should spend his night. "I..I like teaching people…I.." He was stuttering. Whatever he took, whether it was one too many drinks or some kind of laced joint from Frank, was completely fucking him up. Chloe just stood there, watching him. He was unhinged in a different way. A way that wasn't exposed to the public often.
While he did seem like an easy score, she didn't know how far she should go with it.
"You go first." Chloe rolled the white cue ball across the table towards him. "I need to see how you do it."
A loud crash sounded as the cue ball came into contact with the others, breaking them apart. Nathan smirked after getting three in the right corner pocket. Chloe continued to chew on the inside of her lip while she waited. The game had the potential to last a long time depending on how each of them played. And with how she came across to Nathan with the idea initially, it was going to be a doozy.
For the guy who was supposed to be locked up in prison and never heard about it again, it was awfully strange to talk to him again. And to his face. Alone. There weren't many meetings together that they had that were ever positive in the past, but still, it didn't help that everything felt so twisted as of late. Almost like the whole world shifted into another universe. It felt wrong to say or even play with the idea that maybe their memories weren't even real and nothing of that matter had happened, but without using Max's powers, there was no way of knowing.
"So, no bad blood between us?" Chloe was admittedly getting a bit too competitive, with her attention primarily on not hitting the eight ball because it would be game over. But she would never lose to a Prescott.
"No." Nathan glanced up at her. "No, not at all."
"Really? Because I was hella convinced that you were going to kill me."
"You must be thinking of someone else," A quick shake of the head then he resumed back to his turn. "I would never say that."
"Right." Chloe frowned deeply, taking a moment to pause and leaned back against the table as he was going around knocking nearly every ball into the pockets. It wasn't even fun anymore. With her beer in hand, Bud-Light she assumed just by the smell, she took a few sips but it must have been so old that it tasted off. Weird, like overly starchy or something.
Nathan must have won because shortly after he came over to join her. He started sipping on his expensive little cocktail, still as silent as ever. But Chloe didn't care. She was starting to feel really heavy, from her head down into the base of her legs. At first, she assumed that she was drunk, even if it made no sense. It sure felt like it. The room felt wobbly. Sweat was forming at the top of her brow but it really could have just been warm in there. Nathan continued to enjoy his drink without a care in the world of what was going on.
"Does Rachel know you're here?" He mentioned oh so quietly, stirring the ice with a toothpick. The noise it made was so ear piercingly loud that Chloe wanted to tear out her ears. Nathan was far too concerned with the 'dogs playing poker' painting right above a set of dining chairs to notice anything wrong.
"I didn't know she needed to be by my side every second of the day." Chloe rolled her eyes and scoffed, but oh was that a bad idea. The entire bar was spinning. She was gripping onto the wood table as hard as she could so that she wouldn't fall over. Panic was starting to settle in. Everything was weirdly hot and freezing cold at the same time.
The worst thing was, her realization about what was happening had come too late.
"But she's going to miss the best part."
"And what's that–" Shit. Chloe was going to pass out. She braced herself, but before anything more could be done, any scream to be yelled, she was on the floor. Unconscious. Her beer was spilled everywhere. Yet, no matter how obvious it was since the bar was relatively small, not a single person saw it.
Except Nathan Prescott.
"The part where I get a second chance." He chuckled menacingly, crouching down to check her pulse before making an escape out to the parking lot where the night would continue on. With or without a teacher to lead the way.
Three hours earlier.
Her nails clicked heavily against the phone's screen, fast then paused, all to do it over again. The blonde hair was ever so gently blowing in the draft that was flowing through the opened sliding door, since the house had been getting stuffy. Max's idea, not hers. She stood in the corner of the living room. It was completely silent in the house, not even a clock ticking somewhere for effect. It was one thing to be busy, potentially taking care of something that didn't involve Max, but she had never seen Rachel like this. Ever. She was used to her being her normal self—whatever that meant, Max didn't quite know either—hanging around Chloe, not seeming too bothered by any of the problems as of late. She was carefree in the best way possible. It was in no shock to Max as to why everyone at Blackwell assumed they were friends with her. She was just that kind of person.
The problem, regardless of what it was, had been going on for at least forty five minutes before it was beginning to look serious. Max had been watching Rachel's expressions, trying her hardest to read what she was seeing from underneath her, but was wildly unsuccessful. She would always be the first to admit that she was apprehensive of situations. She was nervous, and rightfully so, because there was just a feeling in the air that something wasn't right. Something had gone haywire.
"Rachel?" Max hesitantly called out, coming out more like a squeak than a formed word. She was playing with the zipper on her hoodie to fight the feelings of discomfort. The whole thing felt like she was overreacting. It might have been better if she hadn't said anything. Let her be on her phone in peace. Fuck. She really did not want to feel like a nuisance to her anymore than she was.
Unexpectedly, Rachel glanced up at her, meeting her from across the room.
"Is something going on?" Max settled onto the back of one of the dining chairs, crossing her arms. "Like bad , I mean."
For a moment, she was holding Rachel's attention away from her phone, which was good. She was lucky at all just to get her to look at her. She slowly wandered over, taking her time to cross the wine stained carpet and stepping over one of Chloe's tossed hoodies. Though, the closer she got, the more her eyes looked extremely tired. Redness and dark circles. She seemed like she might have been crying.
"I don't know where Chloe is." Rachel admitted with a few voice cracks peaking through, stopping herself from explaining much else or allowing herself to get more upset. It was hard enough just to say out loud because of how often people called her clingy. She certainly wasn't one to let the voices of Victoria and her faithful minions destroy her psyche, but it happened too often to make it a lie. She knew it wasn't a lie, either. But she could never go back to how things used to be when they met because there were too many bad people with bad intentions in the world. Ones she didn't see the first time around.
She needed to be in control.
"She's probably just driving around," Max replied, but then started to get into problem solving mode just as quickly. She couldn't help herself. "Or she could have run to the store. Or wanted to get food somewhere."
"Without telling me? She would never ." A sharp exhale followed. It was bad enough to not get a response, or even the canceled beach plans from earlier, but simply playing with ideas was only making her get more irritated. Rachel peered down at her phone, checking the time again. It was starting to get late.
"It is strange, though," Max whispered, "I don't even remember her leaving."
"Nor do I." Rachel shook her head and started to walk towards the kitchen. Food always saved the day when everything was feeling bleak. She couldn't be in that living room for another second. "But I don't want to think about it right now. We have enough things to be pissed off about, like," A small, red box of brownie mix was resting on the counter, and it was somehow exactly what she needed to see right then. Unopened and unused sugar that would be baked into little squares of deliciousness. But there were always ways to update the recipe to fit her other ideas. "Like this," She carefully held up the box as Max leaned against the fridge. Double chocolate. If no one was going to use it, she would make sure it would go to a good cause. "Who sets out a box of brownie mix and doesn't make brownies? How rude is that?"
"I didn't know you were a baker."
"I don't bake, I get baked. That's why we're turning them into edibles." Rachel smirked, but noticed Max's immediate worried expression. It was almost funny to see the slight jump her body did, the small twinge of uneasiness in her eyes. She didn't seem afraid of pot, mostly from being around Chloe enough to have an idea of its smell and what it looked like, but she had likely never tried it before. Rachel could work with that, as long as she would cooperate. There was nothing worse than being high with someone who acted holier than thou about it. "But we can make two different batches," She added quickly to ease her mind. Maybe the other batch could be made for Joyce. She would probably like that. "I just need something to take the edge off right now."
Max nodded and began to open the box, taking out the bag filled with the chocolate mixture. Rachel wasted no time and was already at the top of the stairs in search of Chloe's weed from her room, leaving Max to look for the remaining ingredients. A fourth of a cup of water, a third of vegetable oil, and an egg. Seemed easy enough.
The two quietly mixed together two separate bowls and poured them into dishes that Joyce would surely chew them out later for, especially if they didn't clean up after themselves. Neither of them would let that happen, though. She didn't deserve to walk into the house after a long day just for a big mess. Max had been in charge of what Rachel called the 'sober batch' while she worked on hers, adding the right amount of oil according to the recipe she found online. Too much and a single bite would land her on her ass for the rest of the night. Careful wasn't a strong enough word, even if she had the experience to back her up.
The two mixtures were then slowly poured into the metal pans and slid into the oven. There was only one way to find out if her experiment was going to work at all, and it would come a grueling thirty minutes later.
It felt like a night from hell. Again.
Fuzzy memories of hours prior turned into a hallucinogenic sludge that melded together to form some kind of jumbled picture. A high unlike any other. Colors danced in her vision. She could feel herself sweating and shaking, not able to move, like a time where she had experienced this same exact thing.
The lighthouse.
The room underneath the stairwell where she assumed nightmares came from. The adrenaline rush every time another visitor returned, the click and lock of the sturdy door. The rusted wheels of a cart that held sharp objects she couldn't quite visualize. Voices, then accidental meetings. It was all coming back. She could reach out and touch it only for the air to disappear. The feeling was familiar, the one of utter entrapment and enclosure, like an animal chained up inside of a cage to a zoo of no escape. She couldn't yell. She couldn't scream. Nothing in her mind was working quite right. It felt skewed, off balanced like the rest of the universe.
There was no cold concrete, with sharp rocks and jagged lines indicating its unfinished nature, but instead a soft carpet texture underneath her skin. Furniture in a tightly closed off space. The pungent smell of obnoxious cologne, expensive but rare, like it had a gold flake in it for posterity, seeped inside of her nostrils. Burning. Migraine inducing. A crash, then a flash of a light that felt like it was leading her to the other side. She wasn't ready yet. She couldn't be. If this was her final seconds before her mortality chose to end, she wouldn't let it happen without a fight. She needed to figure out where she was. It was a location she hadn't been in before. The distinct whale sounds coming from overly large speakers blared in her right ear. She laid on her side, getting the full experience at the twist onto her back. Sea creatures and distorted jazz music. Similar but vastly different. There was someone else in the room. No five. No, she was alone. Chloe opened her eyes.
Nathan Prescott was steadily crawling up towards her on the floor with a camera in his hand. He was smiling intensely. It was the most horrifying sight to witness.
Chloe knew what was happening but still couldn't put two and two together. Everything felt like a blur. The closer he got, his warm breath against her stomach, slashes of red beneath her shirt, the more she tried to scramble to sit up and push him back. But couldn't. Her legs weren't coordinating with her brain's commands, her arms were as weak as they would be if they had been asleep. In quick thinking, she tried sliding herself towards the door. The one on the other side of the room. It was incredibly dark and low light; her hands meeting strange materials that didn't make sense at the time. Nathan quickly followed behind, reaching out at the last second to pull her shoe, then leg, throwing her back. Everything hurt and ached. She was going to die in there if she couldn't run away.
"Stupid bitch! You ruin everything!" Nathan yelled in her face, his camera dangling from his neck by a strap. He knew what had to be done, but just like before, he was never cut out to do it without guidance. The disappointment in himself was palpable. If news got out that he kidnapped Chloe just to finish his project, his life would be over. The Prescott lineage would be irreparably destroyed. Sean could never know. Principal Wells could never find out what happened on school property.
Chloe was somehow able to get enough strength to grab a hold of the side of his bed and hoist herself up to a standing position. The door was so close. A couple feet away. But she could never just leave him like this, potentially screwing up everything she worked hard to protect. The revenge. The fire. The barn where she came face to face with death for yet another time.
Nathan was already in her face, taking no effort to wait for a moment of thought, pushing her so hard to go back down to the ground again until Chloe tried to kick back. She shoved him out, aiming for the target in between his legs but managed to only hit a lamp off to the side. A shade fell off but there was no sound of glass breaking. It was all going so fast; she couldn't think straight. Nathan began to freak out, screaming at her and digging behind him for what appeared to be a pistol, but Chloe was going to take zero chances with her fate. With a quick bum rush to the door, she bolted off into the dormitory hallway, fighting off the darkness to go to a place that didn't feel so safe anymore.
Three beeps were loudly let out by the oven, only indicating that the brownies were finally done baking. The wait hadn't been too terrible since Max had the idea to watch the movie Inception—which was probably not the wisest choice considering that it wasn't far off from the experiences she had in her own dreams. It was like a little sleepover in a way, without a single party game or ordered pizza, but oddly therapeutic for the both of them. Rachel had somehow throughout the past half hour in waiting, as if by divine intervention, convinced Max to try out an edible, telling her relentlessly how safe they were and that she was in good hands. She would never lie to her, especially to her face, about how strong they were in comparison to a joint, but she didn't want to give her unrealistic expectations. The things they both got into together was so unplanned from the start, but now it only made sense. It never took Max's fear away, hearing bad stories from others of getting a laced strain or taking too much at the beginning, but there was enough trust there to try it. She figured that nothing too terrible could happen. She was doing it with someone she trusted in a safe environment. In other words, it was time to be a 'normal' teenager for once.
"Shit. You don't happen to remember which is which, right?" Rachel said as she carefully reached inside the oven to take out the two pans. They looked identical . If she just so happened to pick the wrong one to leave sitting out for David and Joyce to enjoy during the week, they were going to be in huge trouble. It was a fifty-fifty chance.
"Rachel!" Max nervously checked all around the two batches of brownies, and sure enough, not a single marking was to be found. "I thought you were in charge of the labels?"
"That was all you, Max. Don't put that on me." A light laugh was only to cover up her own apprehension. Rachel had truthfully wanted to do this when Max and Chloe had gone to Portland for their quick weekend trip, but decided against it for obvious reasons. The first being that she would burn the house down. Plain and simple, she was not a baker. The second was the looming fear of being alone and feeling like someone was constantly watching her. Her dad was likely the one to blame for that. She sighed, feeling the edges of the pans that were still warm to the touch.
"I guess there's only one way to find out." Max hesitantly pushed one of the brownie pans over to Rachel and left the other to herself. She bent down, sniffing it, but all she could smell was chocolate. No usual weed smell. Off to a good start. Maybe. "It's like brownie roulette," She added through a friendly, almost competitive smile, "You try yours, and I'll have mine, and whoever gets high wins."
"Wins what exactly?" Rachel raised her eyebrow suspiciously.
"I haven't gotten that far in my plan yet."
The worst part about all of this was that Max acted high even when she was sober. Whether her brownie was actually mixed with weed or not, she was likely going to get the placebo effect anyway. It was already starting, Rachel could see it. She assumed that her talk about eating one and what happens only added to the intrusive thoughts she knew Max was having. She liked to act tough, never as much as Chloe but enough to try to fit in, and it only made it more scary to wait any longer.
"Well, don't take too much." Rachel handed an extra paper plate over to Max, alongside a knife to cut out her piece. Just by watching her she could feel her blood pressure go up. "You don't know how it will affect you until it's too late."
Max looked at her like she was offended that she thought she didn't know what she was doing, which was overwhelmingly true, before proceeding to take the largest bite she had ever seen. In one ear, out the other. Rachel just shook her head.
Parking lots always felt like a safe haven where nothing bad could happen. Or they used to, anyway. Limited lighting, few cars, and silence. It was nearly one in the morning. Chloe had been sitting in the dark with a half-lit cigarette nestled in between her fingers, gazing out into the short distance where the Airstream sat. The one she was in fact going to buy. She just didn't know when.
It was a long walk back to the bar, fighting sickness and dizziness from the worn off drug, trying to find her truck again. The Blackwell dormitories were a couple of miles away from The Roadhouse, and even farther away from her house. She couldn't go back just yet. The flood of messages showing up on her phone were enough to make her hesitant. Chloe was lucky to find it laying on the bench seat because otherwise, she would have been screwed. Initially, she couldn't read anything that was sent—blaming it on the adrenaline pumping so heavily that it clouded her vision. But when it finally wore off, the texts were like a torrential storm.
Worried messages, then angrier ones, all from Rachel over the past couple of hours. Her and Max had gotten themselves into some mischief while she was away, only piquing her interest. It had sounded like Rachel snuck some weed, her weed from her room, into some brownies. Chloe laughed to herself just reading the updates she was so graciously provided during the bake off. Why did anything exciting have to happen at the worst time, without her?
The truck's door slammed shut behind her as she made her way over to the camper. Some fresh air would do her some good. It wasn't like a response now would make anyone feel any better. She knew it was too late.
Still for sale and waiting patiently for the day it would be their new home, the Airstream sat calmly under a singular street lamp. Alone, just like Chloe had felt. The thought was making the nicotine hit harder. Emotions were supposed to be numb after taking a few hits, not worse. Then again, she did just come out from a sketchy situation with Nathan Prescott. God, she should have gone further with him, give him the revenge she wanted so badly.
Whatever she did, it was never enough.
She ran her opened hand across the dented metal. It felt so real. It wasn't often that she would end up in this part of town, but when she did, a quick pitstop was always necessary. It was the only thing holding her together at that point, her chest still heaving with aggression. Nathan's face occasionally popped up in her consciousness and made her furious all over again, but, in the end, nobody could ever know. She made a huge, substantial mistake this time. Ultimately, she never got the money. She couldn't pay back Frank at the end of the week, like promised, unless she pulled some outrageous stunt larger than what she just did. She had fallen so far into the deep end that it didn't look like she was going to be able to float herself to the top this time around.
"I feel kind of funny." Max was barely hanging off the edge of the seat, practically hogging all of the popcorn to herself, teetering on the line of awareness and complete loss of identity. One existential question and she was a goner. The movie wasn't even close to being done with, which was fine, but it left her constantly doubting her reality. This was not the first worrying statement of the night, and Rachel knew damn well that it wouldn't be the last.
"Yeah?" She tilted her head from the other end of the couch.
Max nodded. She didn't just feel off, she felt like she was on a completely different planet. Spaceships and all. They should go to space. That would be fun. Or really scary. Max giggled to herself, thinking about being abducted by aliens. They were so goofy looking. Does anyone actually know what they look like? Maybe Rachel was an alien.
"Max? Are you good over there?"
She was, in fact, doing very good. Too good. Good.
The word sounded weird now.
It was the most freeing and interesting experience that all she wanted to do was bask in it forever. Her eyes were closed, mouth dropped open without a care in sight. She was completely and utterly baked out of her mind. Rachel tried warning her. She really did.
"Why does the couch feel like it's sitting on me, but like, I'm sitting on it?" Max mumbled, feeling the seams of the seat cushion with the tip of her finger. It was coarse and rough. "Did you know my grandparents used to have a couch with flamingos on it?"
"No, I didn't." Rachel smirked. At least it was clear as to who ate the edible, but it only fared worse for her because her mission of relaxing was going to be cut short. She could always get up and cut off a corner, just a small slice. She could handle herself. Max? She had no clue what was coming for her. "Have you ever seen any flamingos?"
Max closed her eyes even tighter, seemingly going into a vision. One of colored rainbows and bright skies. Magic unicorns and pixie dust. She licked her lips alongside her shaken breath. She needed to try to sip on some water, maybe have a small snack, but nothing was going to get her to move.
"Only in my dreams." She smiled faintly like it was some far away memory as a child. It sounded nice. Nice, positive thoughts were always better than thinking about the meaning of life. "Sometimes you're in my dreams." She admitted through full confidence, reaching out to grab onto something . Anything.
Rachel couldn't quite tell if she was searching for her hand or for the other couch cushion so that she wouldn't fall off. Was there really an answer to that question? She figured that it was unlikely.
"Oh god. What kind of dreams are you having, Max?" Rachel scooted closer to her, putting down her own bowl of popcorn and looked back and forth between Max and her phone. The temptation was there. "I feel like I should be recording this." She whispered quietly to herself.
"I don't think you want to know." Max burst out in laughter with no means of stopping. Tears were suddenly dripping down her blushed stained cheeks.
The movie had turned into background noise by this point. It wasn't like either of them were watching it for the plot anyway, they were living the plot. The stars outside, sparkling down in the night sky, were barely visible. Someone forgot to turn on any lights in the house. Literally and figuratively. It was really dark. Secrets were always said to come out when the moon did, and with added drugs, well, Rachel was never going to be ready for a stoned Max.
"I wonder what we would be like as a couple." Max thought out loud, just hushed enough that Rachel didn't respond right away. She couldn't have heard it right. "Fuck Chloe," Max said again, this time loud and clear. Almost too aggressive. Possessive, even. "You're like… really pretty."
"I'm flattered," Rachel took a deep breath, half in a held back laughter, the other half spent trying to compose herself the best she could. Maybe it was a good thing Chloe wasn't there. She was well aware of the unspoken jealousy between the two, but expressions of feelings were always dangerous territory. Sober or not. "But if you're going to hit on me, you might as well bring me some flowers. Have some decency, Caulfield."
"You're so right. Where are my manners?" Max quickly looked around to provide her with the best picked flowers in all of Oregon, which were looking to be the never-watered peace lily in the corner that Joyce could never throw away, only to get sharply cut off the second she started to stand up. The room seemed to agree with her as well, now spinning and feeling more like a broken carnival ride than anything enjoyable.
"No, no, no." Rachel stood up right beside her, hand gripped tightly on her arm so she wouldn't topple over. "Max, you really need to sleep it off."
"Sleep what off? I feel great!"
"You're high as fuck." Rachel looked her dead in the eyes, visibly growing tired. She tried so hard to have the patience but there was only so much she could handle on her own. Max could very well start getting sick, then dehydrated, then it would all lead to a hospital visit. She sighed frustratedly. "You need to lay down and chill out. It's just pot, you're not going to die."
"Die? Oh my god, what if I die?" Max strained, her voice weaker by the second. Her hands were starting to shake. Here came the dreaded paranoia.
Great choice, Amber. Way to make it harder for yourself.
"Nobody is dying!" She covered her face with her hands, sitting back down on the couch in annoyance with herself. Die. Why would she say such a stupid fucking word. She knew better than that.
The only way for either of them to regain any sanity was for the two of them to be quiet, just for a little bit. Peace and quiet. What a foreign term. It was a large ask, one that Rachel was wildly unsure of its success rate, but the chance was worth it. She reached up to the top of the couch and pulled off the blanket that had been thrown over, helping to wrap Max in it because she was slowly losing her mind. Tears of fear, no longer happiness, trailed down her face. A bad high was as worse as anything else, and she would never let someone else suffer for it. It was a learning experience, though. After this, she most definitely needed something stronger to calm her down. Or at least to handle Max through her emotional highs and lows.
The night was never going to end.