Charred walls, collapsed beams, purple sky where the roof should be: she's at the burned out mill. On the left, a deer's head. Partially burned graffiti on the wall to the right reads DON'T MESS WITH. How did she…? She freezes in the middle of the thought, because at that moment she spots the knife. The knife is lodged in the column that used to support the bar counter. Which it has no business being. She's already… What the fuck is going on?

A flashback?

She walks up to the knife, grabs the handle and pulls. It won't budge. This is wrong. She's seen this. She pulled it out before. Grabbing it with both hands, she pulls harder. Nothing. Panicking, she hangs on the thing, lifts both of her feet off the floor and pushes like crazy against the column. It's no use. She can't do it. She's too weak. Not worthy.

Behind her, a noise. Forgetting the knife, she tiptoes into the hallway, listening. Is that? A camera?

Peeking through the doorway into the next room, she hears it again and sees it at the same time. It's Rachel, tied to a chair, next to a table made from an old cable reel, on which there is a syringe, a spoon, a Zippo, and the remains of a plastic baggy. Mark Jefferson, kneeling and twisted, is rapidly taking photos of her.

She's too stunned to do anything, so she just stands there in the doorway with her mouth opens for about a week, until Rachel finally notices her.

"Oh," Rachel says, with a chuckle and a roll of her eyes. "I'm sorry, Mark. It seems we have a visitor."

"A visitor?" Jefferson repeats, absently, glancing at her over his shoulder. "No. No. We have to keep going. You are the star. I'm not interested in… that… at all."

Throwing her head back, Rachel laughs.

"I'm sorry, Chloe," she says. "He gets like this when he's working. Can you come back later?"

"What?" Chloe's voice says, somewhere above her.

"She said later," Nathan Prescott says, appearing suddenly in front of her. "How about in a million years?"

And he shuts the door in her face.

The sound of it slamming wakes her from her stupor and she pushes the door back with her whole body and stumbles forward as it opens way too easily.

It's Prescott again, but now he has a gun.

"Didn't you hear what I said, whore?"

They are in the Blackwell bathroom.

"Where is Rachel?" she asks, eyes darting around. "What did you do to her?"

But even as she does, she sees a shadow on the floor under the last stall and knows that Rachel is there, hiding behind it. That she knows what's about to happen. That she is going to let her get shot and die.

Tears come, blurring her vision.

She wipes them, roughly, and suddenly the sun is in her eyes. It's reflecting off something she can't see, a broken bottle maybe, and as she shields herself from the glare with her hand, the junkyard fades into view, and the woods on the slope, and Rachel, walking away.

"Rachel, wait! Don't go!" she calls.

Rachel turns around.

"Why not?"

"Because… because I don't want to ruin this the way I ruin everything else in my life."

"This?" Rachel scoffs. "There is no 'this,' Chloe. I just needed some company. And now I don't. So we're good. You didn't ruin anything."

And she's gone, and Chloe's alone, gasping for air.

OK, this isn't real. That's not how it happened. This is just a bad flashback.

A nightmare.

She shuts her eyes and clenches her fists.

Wake up.

Awake.

When she opens them, she's still in the junkyard, but now Rachel is there, and she swings a huge 2 by 4, hitting Damon Merrick, who falls to the ground, dropping the knife.

She sees the knife. She knows what's coming.

It's within reach.

It's right there.

But her body won't move.

It's pointless.

She will never make it in time.

She's too weak.

The only thing she can do is watch, as Rachel swings the second time, and Damon grabs the knife and stabs her.

Rachel drops the piece of wood. Her sleeve darkens, soaked with blood.

So quickly.

Chloe carries her. Drags her. To the car.

She drives, as Rachel slumps, wilts like a dying plant in her seat, breathing out her name.

"Chloe..."

She drives, drives, drives, but the stupid truck won't go fast enough.

She can't get there. Can't find the fucking hospital. The streets just keep repeating, stretching. Mailboxes flash by, all with the same number. Her number: 44.

Still she drives, until the houses disappear entirely and she's on a two-lane highway snaking through the woods.

God, did she take a wrong turn somewhere? Rachel needs…

Rachel is not there.

She's lost her.

The blood stain on the seat of the truck slowly fades away.

She drives on, until the woods clear and she sees the abandoned mill again.

Its roof is intact, and so are its walls. Not burned down, anyway. She can see colorful lights flashing through the holes and cracks. She can hear the music.

It's Firewalk.

She parks and walks up to the door. She needs to get inside, but there is a bouncer there. A big, Samoan-looking dude. She feels like she knows him, but can't place it.

"Can I help you, miss?"

"You gotta let me in. Check it. I'm totally legit."

He shows him the Utah Driver's License issued into the name of Johnson Nikita Vladimirovna, born March 21st, 1988.

He slaps it out of her hand.

"You're not getting in. Now get the hell outta here."

She curses him out and walks off, trying to find another way. As she scans the building for a big enough crack to squeeze through, she hears a motorcycle. In a few seconds, it comes around the corner, an Indian with tassels on the handlebar and red and white fuel tank, sliding into a spot next to Rodney's own flowery Harley by the main entrance. The riders are a man and a woman. The man has a bandana, a wispy goatee and leather pants. The woman is wearing jeans and boots and a short leather jacket. She takes off her helmet and confirms what Chloe knew as soon as that bike rounded the corner. It's Rachel. The man is Tommy Hill. As Chloe watches, shocked, they walk past the bouncer, hand in hand, up the short stairway and in through the door. Before she enters, Rachel glances at her and it's like she doesn't even see her.

Fuck. This. Place.

She turns and walks off into the woods, up the path, over the fence, until she reaches the train tracks. The sound of the horn comes, and she sees the train's headlight swing towards her on the other side of the bridge. She lights a cigarette and takes a drag, as the train comes closer. Finally, the engineer sees her and hits the brakes. Sparks fly. She tosses her cig and moves to jump aside at the last moment, but she can't move. Her foot is caught in the points, which is the last thing she knows, before the cowcatcher smashes into her and all goes dark.

Dark.

She's in the dark.

She's in the dark room.

She can't see. Stretching her arms out, she stumbles around and spins, but her hands find nothing in the darkness. After a time of this - years, maybe - something appears. A light. It looks like a star. Is it the Lighthouse?

If I can get to the lighthouse, she thinks, I'll be safe there.

She walks towards it, stumbling, and it slowly becomes neither a star nor a lighthouse, but a diaphanous, shapeless glow. This is disappointing, but at least it illuminates. She begins to see the uneven floor and porous walls of the cavern, begins to see where the cavern ends. The exit is where the light is coming from. She walks, runs towards it, through it, finding herself in a circular cave. There are robed people standing around the perimeter with torches; there is a knife in her hand; and there, in the middle, lying on her side, tied to the totem pole, is Rachel.

She looks at the knife and wants to drop it, but she can't. Her fingers won't move. Won't let go. Instead, she takes a step forward. Then another.

She can't stop. Can't not walk forward.

Can't scream.

There is silence in the cave. None of the masked figures make a sound. None of them move.

Only the shadows dance.

She walks forward, watches her body walk forward, more like, until she is standing above Rachel.

She kneels.

"The rope," she thinks, prays, as her arm lifts the knife. "Cut the rope. Please."

There is a sound of a woman laughing (or is it a raven cawing?), and her hand plunges down, driving the blade towards Rachel's neck.

At the last moment - Chloe is not sure if she manages to force the knife off course - the knife misses the neck and pierces Rachel's arm above the elbow instead.

Finally, she can scream, and she does.

It sounds muffled, because she's screaming through two feet of water. Up above she can see the wooden dock of the Arcadia Bay harbor, and the wavy line of hilltops, and the sky, and she can see Max, and Steph, and Rachel standing on the dock between the sky and her. She screams, but they can't hear. They are smiling and waving.

There is a low, rumbling noise, like an idiot in a car with too much bass pulling behind her at the light, but when she looks towards the deeper water, she can't see anything. The water is dark and murky. Nothing moves. The is no fish or any other marine life. But then the noise comes again. Louder. Something is down there in the dark deep. Something enormous. Getting closer.

She spins away and kicks and flails, trying to swim up to the surface. It's right there, it seems, she can reach out with her hand and touch it, but it's not getting any closer no matter how hard she tries to swim. The thing behind her. The thing in the dark is going to get her. She struggles with her whole body, reaching, scratching, digging towards the surface, until her fingers hit vinyl.

She's alone, in the junkyard, inside a small round hole she dug in the ground, and her dirty, bloodied fingertips just hit plastic. The smell hits her like it always does.

No.

No fucking way.

There was nothing.

There was nothing there!

What kind of bullshit is this?

What kind of world…?

Her phones buzzes.

You will never find her, a text. From Nathan Prescott. Never.

Footsteps behind her.

She turns and sees David Madsen, gun in hand, and it's the last thing she sees.

4.19 in red digits.

The alarm clock on the dresser.

She's in a hotel room. Harbor Inn, or Dew Drop, or fucking Three Seals, she can't even tell.

She falls back on the soaked pillow.

What the fuck was that dream? She thinks, rising on her elbows. Steph is not on the other bed. The bathroom door is cracked open, and there's a muffled voice coming from inside.

"Steph?" she gets up from the bed and thinks that she shouldn't eavesdrop or peek when someone's in the bathroom, but her feet carry her closer even as she thinks this. She sees a mirror through the crack. It sounds like Steph is on the phone.

"No," she says softly. "I can't. No. I can't come back now. Not until she kills herself."

"What?" Shocked, Chloe pushes through the door. The mirror stretches, reflecting the stalls.

She's in the Blackwell bathroom again, and on the phone is not Steph, but Rachel.

"Rachel?"

"I'm in a nightmare, Max, and I can't wake up," Rachel says. "And Chloe is the one who put me there."

"Chloe is a cereal fucking vortex of bad luck," Max Caulfield says, pointing at Rachel her Polaroid camera. "I probably would have been dead too right now, if my parents didn't move to Seattle 5 years ago. Best thing that ever happened to me."

The camera clicks and flashes.

"Max?"

They both look at her out of the mirrors at the same time.

Something that sounds like a whale song wafts in from the open window.

The camera flashes again.

"Poor Steph," they say in unison.

"Steph?" she echoes.

Steph, left all alone in the dorm room.

Chloe Price, you are about to die, the graffiti reads.

Awake.

"Steph!" she screams.

Awake.

She hears the whale song again, closer.

Not, not the whale song. She knows what that is.

The train.

The train?

She opens her eyes.

She's in her truck, and Steph is sleeping with her mouth open on the seat next to her.

"Steph!"

Her voice sounds weird, and her mouth tastes funny.

Wait, the train?

She spins around and sees its headlights coming towards them very quickly out of the driver's side window.

"Fuck!"

"Two for the Price of one," someone says, somewhere, somewhen.

No time to think about that. She needs to move. Now.

"Steph," she screams again, while her body autopilots into a gear switch, except it's worthless, because the car is not running. "Fuck!"

She paws at the ignition lock, then stares at the empty slot.

There is no key.

She reaches into the glove compartment frantically, pulls out a screwdriver and stabs the lock with it. The train horn blares. The sparks fly from under the wheels. Its burning eyes are filling the world outside her window as she twists the screwdriver.

The engines coughs and chokes, then roars to life and she slams into gear and floors the gas in one motion of a shaking uncoiling spring. For an agonizing moment, the truck stays in place, floating, spinning the wheels without purchase, moving sideways, until it finally shoots forward, jolting as the train catches the left edge of the rear bumper and shears it clean off, together with the license plate.

Chloe closes her mouth, her sore throat telling her that she's been screaming for the last 10 seconds.

"What the fuck!?"

She releases the steering wheel and looks over at Steph.

Steph sleeps.

God, what if she's…?

No.

No fucking way.

She slides over, as the train cars slowly thunder by, and grabs Steph's face in both hands. She's warm. Is she breathing? Where the hell do you check for the pulse? She presses two fingers against several spots on Steph's neck, until she finds it, weak but steady, near the jawline.

"Steph! Wake up!"

She shakes her head and considers slapping her when that does nothing. The train, meanwhile reaches the last car, revealing as it clears the familiar dark mass of the junkyard on the other side of the tracks.

How the fuck? What the hell happened?

She tries to remember, but suddenly realizes that she's looking at a pair of headlights. This injects adrenaline directly into her heart, and she reaches back into the glove compartment for the gun, and clutches it with both hands, peering into the darkness for any sign of movement.

There are none.

After about a minute, the headlights shrink and disappear, replaced by the red tail lights of a car pulling away towards the town. From that distance she can't tell what kind of car it is, but still, her grip on the gun handle relaxes and she exhales.

Who the fuck was that?

But first, let's circle back to… what the fuck happened?

They were in Rachel's room at the dorms… And then they were here.

Drugs?

Why is Steph not waking up? Did they give her too much? Or did Chloe not get enough?

If she woke up just a second later, they both would have been smeared all over the front of that train right now.

And that weird fucking dream?

Nevermind the dream. Those fuckers parked them on the tracks, in front of the oncoming train!

They were trying to murder her. And for what? For trying to find Rachel?

Who would fucking do that?

Are you sure you're awake now? a thought comes, giving her a pause.

Steph, meanwhile, groans but doesn't wake up.

"Steph!"

What the fuck did they do to her? Should she take her to the hospital?

She shakes her by the shoulder.

That makes Steph close her mouth and list towards the door, until she bumps the wall with her head, whines and turns away. She seems fine, just asleep. Seems, but… Is she, really? What if she's OD'd? What if she never wakes up?

But if they go to the hospital, there's gonna be cops. Questions. What can she tell them? Can she just tell them everything that happened and see what they do? No. Because they won't believe her and will do nothing. She has nothing to tell them. No suspects. No information. The only facts in her story are them breaking into Blackwell dorm with the keys she stole from her stepfather and them waking up in the truck parked on the train tracks. Also, she's in possession of a stolen gun. They would probably get locked up, and never find Rachel.

But Steph! Steph needs help. She might be in danger.

Fuck!

Frank. Frank? Would Frank help? Frank is obviously pretty far from a doctor, but he knows about narcotics and he won't go to the cops.

But can you trust Frank? A thought comes. Can you be sure Frank wasn't in that car pulling away just now? Can you be sure Frank wasn't the one who parked you here? I mean, Frank knows about narcotics, and you were just drugged… Not to mention the drugs you got from Frank before, the ones that probably permanently damaged your brain.

Trust no one.

She looks at Steph again.

Think. Most likely, they both got the same thing. Those bastards probably weren't trying to OD them, because they were trying to murder them with a train. Chloe woke up early because she's built up tolerance. Her drug habit actually saved her life. So Steph is probably going to wake up, just a bit later.

"Mr. Kreaton," Victoria Chase slurs backstage at the Tempest three years earlier, "I have revelations to reveal. Rachel Amber is on drugs! Look at her! Her face is so blurry. And pretty! Clearly, she's been drugged. I mean, drugged herself. She loves drugs! Don't you?"

Chloe phases back in as Victoria passes out, nodding. Probably just some muscle relaxants. But can she trust Steph's life to probably?

What about Rachel's life?

"Fuck," she groans.

Fuck it. She can say Steph accidentally took too many muscle relaxants. Right? No need to mention anything about the dorm or stolen guns.

She nods again, then, looking over her shoulder, reverses back over the tracks into the junkyard, until she finds room to turn the truck around. Punching the gas, she storms through the gate onto the road.

There aren't any stars, but far ahead in the sky hovers, like a UFO, the beam of the lighthouse.

"Fucking aliens would be perfect to top off this fucking week," she says out loud.

She turns into the dark, empty street, then turns again, driving inland, towards the hospital.

To many pills. Would still end up with the cops being called.

But by then, Steph is going to be safe, and Chloe long gone.

She drives, feeling woozy and tired now that the adrenaline tide pulled out. A hospital checkup might do her good, too. Who knows what those fuckers really gave her. But nah. She doesn't have time for that. Nor for the cops.

Somebody just tried to kill her, and she needs to find out who, and why.

And then maybe kill them back, while Steph isn't around to stop her.