She's back outside. Jefferson's gone. The book nerd is gone. Miss America is campaigning for world peace somewhere else. Sun is hanging low over the stadium, blazing straight into Chloe's face. It won't let her think. She hides behind the statue of Jeremiah Blackwell from the bastard. She can think now, but the benefits of that are very questionable. She didn't expect the stub to run out of juice so quickly.

Rachel didn't go to the game, but told parents she did. This creates about 10 hours unaccounted for. Where was she? Hanging out with her new boyfriend? Who was he? Someone at school really should know. Especially if Chloe Price is so famous. Who would she ask? Just random people at the dorms? Is there anyone at Blackwell Rachel was close with?

She wishes some of her old Blackwell buds were still around: Steph, Mikey, hell, even Drew. But Drew went off to college (Oregon State, if you can believe it) back in 2010, and the rest of the Norths all moved to Eugene (you can call them "the Souths" now) to be close to him. And Steph is living their Santa Monica dream in LA.

Would… Rachel contact her if she went down there?

Steph is straddling a bench, poring over the sketches and production notes. She's doesn't see Chloe, who just quoted Dante in the fresh concrete, until her black wings blot out the forest fire, and she snatches the clipboard from under Steph's dangling dragon necklace.

"Hey, Steph." Chloe says, plopping down on the bench.

"Whoa. Hey, Callamastia."

"Surprised to see me on parole?"

"I told you Wells was out to get you. The text was a rare courtesy, by the way. I don't normally get involved in other people's dumb decisions."

"Thanks for trying, but skipping yesterday was totally worth it."

"Hmm, skipping with Rachel Amber does have an appeal."

Chloe pulls out her phone.

-hey steph. It's chloe price.

There is no response for something like twenty seconds. She types:

-u hear from Rachel at all?

Twenty more seconds tick away.

Oh well, it was worth a try.

But as soon as she slides the phone back in her pocket, it buzzes. That magic of Rachel's name at work again.

-Chloe! Long time!

-hows cali?

-oh idk if I like it. There's like no rain or fog at all…

-hate you

-so what's this about hearing from Rachel? Was she supposed to send me a wedding invitation or something?

-no Rachel is gone. Missing.

There's a ten-second pause, then the phone begins to ring.

"Hey… Steph?"

"Hey. What's going on?"

"Rachel, uh… disappeared a couple of weeks ago. I thought… if she went down to LA, like… she… wanted, she might have tried to… Haha, shit. It was easier to type."

"You're saying no one knows where she is? The police are looking for her?"

"At least they say they are."

"Two weeks?"

"More like 18 days."

"And you're just telling me this now?"

"Uh, I mean… We haven't talked in like a year, Steph."

"So does that mean I'm not going to care about Rachel disappearing?"

"Ugh… no?"

"I'm going to get in a car and drive over there right now."

"What? No, Steph. It's like a thousand miles!"

"Of course it isn't! Hold on…"

Steph goes silent for a minute, and Chloe catches herself grinning like a fool. It feels good.

"Crap. It is." Steph says. "Why did I think it was like four hours away?"

"Cuz you're bad at Geography? Don't worry. I got this."

"I'll have to fly in…"

"Steph! That's crazy!"

"Rachel is missing, Chloe. What is crazy?"

"You just gonna drop everything, spend hundreds of dollars on a ticket and fly over here? To do what?"

"To help you. Support you. You're my friend. Rachel is my friend."

Chloe can't think of anything to say, so she groans loudly, to prevent herself from crying.

"Isn't it, like, finals season?"

"Yes, I'll have to head back on Sunday. So we better find her by then. But if not… I'll work something out."

"You are a crazy person, Stephanie."

"You call me that again, and I'll… I'll…"

"OK. I get the terrible implication."

"And you better believe it, too. I'll text you when I book the flight. You'll pick me up in Portland, right?"

"Does a bigfoot shit in the woods?"

"Ew. Later, Callamastia."

She sits and stares at her phone, feeling vaguely happy and like a shitty person at the same time.

"The girl is fucking insane," she says out loud. Where is she even going to stay? And where am I going to stay? Not going back home to attend a mandatory sergeant asshat lecture, that's for sure.

There's a rolled up sleeping bag in the truck that has seen a thing or two. It could use a tumble at the laundromat, and maybe some mending, but it'll work just fine for camping in May. Memories of the times that blanket was wide enough for two bodies sting her eyes, as she walks back to the parking lot. She's sort of afraid and thirsty for a flashback at the same time.

An orange envelope under her windshield wiper ruins the mood somewhat. A yellow sticky note on top of that reads: Glad you're back safe and sound, Chloe. OFC. Berry.

"Asshole."

She tosses the ticket and the note into the cabin and slams the door.

It's dark. She gasps at the sudden drops of rain, the noise of it rushing at her out of the darkness. There are tree trunks all around her. Tall, thin, disappearing into the dark rain. The rain washes away dirt, blood and tears. She doesn't know which way to go. There's a knife in her hand, its handle sticky. She drops it and runs.

"No!" She screams.

She's back in the truck, in the Blackwell parking lot.

"No, no, no, no, no."

The bag. She rummages through the duffel bag, then dumps everything out on the seat. The gun thuds to the floor. She picks everything up one by one. Shit, is that mud on that shoe? Does that shirt feel damp?

"No," she says, swallowing. "No fucking way."

There's no knife.