DIG
She eats two cheeseburgers on the drive back, with two sides of fries and a milk shake. That leaves her with roughly four dollars to her name. That doesn't matter.
Nothing matters.
Hunger did, but only because she could not keep the truck on the road without putting food in her body. Burger a la king.
She's at the table. At the Amber house. Poking at the chicken on her plate to the rhythm of the grandfather clock.
"Arson," Rose Amber says. "Why would anyone do that?"
She blows by the Arcadia Bay sign, blows by the Two Whales, and does not stop until she's through the town completely. The sign American Rust rattles under the wheel of her truck for the hundredth time. The truck skids to a stop. She runs. She knows exactly where she is going.
It's not. Real.
She knows this.
She runs.
There used to be a passage right here, a shortcut, the memory comes without a flashback. But the junkyard has changed. Everything has changed. She has to run all around the old school bus now, and she does.
Here. Oh fuck. Here it is.
She drops to her knees, and begins to dig.
A thought occurs to her that she should have brought a shovel, but it's immediately dismissed, because what if the shovel cuts through the bag? No.
She digs with her fingers and nails instead.
Max and Chloe are on their knees, digging. Chloe's fingers hit vinyl, something blue. As soon as it's uncovered, as though she triggered a trap, it breathes in their faces. The stench almost makes her retch, and then it does.
What kind of world does this?
The pain reaches out of the flashback and hits her stomach. The pain is real. Tears come and she can't stop them.
She's alone. So alone here. There's no Max. There's never been a Max. Pain is real, but Max is not. How is that fair?
She can't stop crying. He can't see anything because of the tears, but she digs.
She can't stop digging.
Max is right next to her, hair tied in a pony tail. They're in her backyard, digging for buried pirate treasure.
Her fingers hit plastic and she gasps and almost passes out, but it's just an old plastic bag. She rips it out in a fountain of dirt. Some of it hits her face.
There's nothing. There's nothing. No smell.
But what if she's… it's… deeper?
She digs deeper, then wider. Finally, she collapses in the middle of an empty shallow crater.
Still, she can't stop crying. It's a fucking tsunami of tears. It's about to wash away this entire shithole town.
Eventually, she runs out of water. The town breathes a sigh of relief.
It's probably a good time to take a nap in the shallow grave she dug, but she doesn't. She stretches out and stares up at the sky, where a pair of birds fly in weird mathematical patterns. There are no clouds and there's no sun. Just a swath of deep blue and the birds. She gets to her feet and dusts herself off half-heartedly and laughs, because fuck if she doesn't look like a ridiculous mess.
What the fuck were those pills?
A shower would be fucking amazing, but a smoke will have to do for now. She goes back to the truck. It takes a while. She's suddenly exhausted. Everything is in slow motion, like a dream in which you want to run. Not that she wants to run ever again. The entire world aches. It whines and climbs on her back and wants her to carry it. She tries, but slips on a Two Whales carry-out menu and almost faceplants into a Hellraiser mess of old syringes and broken glass. By some miracle, she finds her other foot and stays upright. Get the fuck off me, world. Her hands burn. There's blood under her nails. She spends a fucking hour lighting her cigarette and considers shooting some empty bottles to get the adrenaline going again. Just so she can function. The thought triggers another flashback, and she phases back in a moment later, checking her chest for a bullet hole.
"This is some new shit, Price," she remembers Frank saying, four days earlier. "I'll give you this as a sample. It's like you're participating in a study. You love science, right?"
"People get paid for participating in studies, Frank."
"Hey, if you don't want it, you don't want it. I'll sell you whatever you need. As soon as you pay me the hundred and seventy five bucks you owe me."
"Fine. Give me your new bullshit. Can you OD on it?"
"Just don't take the full bottle, Price. You'll be fine."
The truck starts again, somehow. The Singing Man disapproves. The fuel light is on, like it is half the time. Maybe the fucker is broken. Maybe there's a hole in the tank. She lets go of the brakes, and the truck rolls forward, bald tires crunching over gravel and junk. The truck is as tired as she is. The sign thunders underneath, like a trap door closing.
Up ahead, between the trees, she sees the lighthouse giving her the finger from its cliff.
"Chloe, I can rewind time," Max says. "I'm not crazy."
"But high, right?"
"Chloe, you ever wish you could rewind time?" Rachel says.
"Fuck, wouldn't that be nice. I'd go back and save my dad. Go back and meet you again…"
Something tells her to turn around, to check the junk shack for something, but she can't understand the message and shakes her head. Her brain is tired and scrambled and it can't figure itself out between all of these flashbacks and bullshit. It's just not trustworthy right now. Also, she's afraid again.
So she steps on the gas.
