Breakfast was a couple pancakes, some scrambled eggs and hashbrowns. When Kate had thanked Joyce profusely for this breakfast and her continued hospitality, she was given a warm smile and a dismissive wave of the hand.

After all you've done to help us, you might as well be family, dear, the woman had said to her. Marsh nodded at the sincerity, and took a seat at the dining table. The weight of being a stranger was nonexistent as she took her utensils and ate her breakfast.

Madsen was grumpy this morning—the wordless kind of grumpy. Joyce would tease him about being so quiet, and he'd respond with some form of grouse, though it was nothing serious. A cup of coffee from the small brewing stand in the kitchen brought him from his trance, and he assumed his position at the table beside his partner.

"Morning."

"Good morning, Mr. Mad—David."

He joked at that, "It's Mr. Madsen before the cup of coffee, after that, it's just David. Now, that's a real shame—I just can't believe my own partner doesn't know about that very important detail—just breaks my heart, y'know."

"Right, thanks," Marsh quipped sarcastically, "I'll be sure to remember that next time."

He chuckled, taking a sip from his mug. The smile vanished, and was replaced with his familiar tone.

"I'll be working a half-shift today, I was able to find someone to cover for me in the afternoon," he started, "We'll be meeting up with a contact of mine later today. Things are going to be moving very quickly once we get back from our visit to the hospital."

Kate perked up at the keyword, "Hospital?"

"Yes," came a tired sigh, "We—you, me, and Joyce—will be going to the hospital around lunchtime. Make sure you're ready for that when I get back. We'll have a lot of work to do thereafter."

Kate nodded, "Yes, sir."

A pause. The sipping of coffee, the slight clatter of metal utensils on the plate. Joyce could be heard humming in the kitchen, putting away the pots and pans she used for cooking. There was the faint ticking of the clock in the living room, and the distant chirp of birds outside.

"…Kate."

"Hm?"

"Wasn't there something you had mentioned with regard to Max's notes about what she knows, something like a notebook, or—?"

"Hm!" she hummed excitedly, a mouthful of eggs keeping her from blurting out what she said at first, "The journal!"

She shot out of her chair, and rushed to her messenger bag over by the living room table. Some fiddling came, then the blonde scurried back to the table, the weathered notebook clasped in her hands. She opens it, turning to the familiar page—

"It's all here, right here, sir."

"Thanks, Kate," he mutters, casting his intrigued frown upon the page. Moments pass quietly as Marsh sits back down, patiently waiting for him to finish reading.

…and eventually, he did. He set the journal down upon the table, and rolled his knuckles in thought. There was a modicum of confusion written there on his troubled brow.

"…time travel?"

"…yes, sir."

He glanced over, "Why, do you believe it?"

"I have no reason not to, sir," she then pointed to the passages, "Max's predictions about the twister happening on Tuesday, and the manner in which my friends and I found Rachel…they happened exactly as they were described. As if Max was there to see it."

"So that's why Joyce was so stressed out that day," Madsen muttered to himself, remembering his wife's recounting of the twister rising from the waters of the bay; but then he caught up with the implication to Kate's words, "Wait, wait a minute—you're telling me that a doe led you to Rachel's resting place?"

Those silver eyes of hers shone with sincerity, "Yes, sir. I swear on the Almighty that it happened so."

But he was still concerned. She could see it. He glared down at the journal like it had whispered something venomous to him, the gears in his head working overtime to make sense of what he's read.

"When you were speaking to her—to Max," he wonders aloud, "were you confident that she was lucid? That she knew what she was saying?"

"Of course I did," the blonde admitted, "To be honest, she seemed more collected than I was when we spoke. I was so focused on the…the gunshot wound, that she had to get my attention to make sure I listened to what she said."

David hummed. But there was still this tension in the air. His frown was persistent.

"…yet, she knew."

"Knew what, sir?"

"That Chloe would be there," he clarified, "It just doesn't make sense to me. How did Max know that Chloe would be there?"

Kate shifted nervously in her seat.

"I…I don't know. Maybe, Max and Chloe spoke to each other beforehand, but…I don't know."

He sighed, the tension being forced out of him. He stood up from his seat, the mug of coffee was downed in a final swig. He marched to the kitchen, calling over his shoulder, "I'll be back in a few hours. Stay safe, Kate."

"Y-you too, David."

Curiosity had gotten the better of her, now that there was nobody to supervise her every movement. Joyce had left to run some errands, and so the blonde was given free reign over the house. She wandered about the living room, glancing over every picture placed about the walls and upon the fireplace. Her journey took her down the hall, then up the stairs to the second floor.

She opened the door to the master bedroom, and once she recognized it as such, she closed the door. She may be a snoop, but she had some integrity.

The bathroom was the same as when she last stepped inside it; no interest came to her to check it again. She moved on to the next door, a hallway pantry full to the brim with tubs of items. This looked like Joyce's handiwork, but she couldn't say for sure.

This left the door closest to the stairs. She turned the handle, and entered—

The bedroom was unkempt. In absolute disarray. Posters strewn all along the walls, furniture pushed about and in disorder. If her parents, neat and tidy folks that they were, took but a simple glance at this room, then they would be struck with a near-instantaneous heart attack, Kate knew this for a certainty. She could tell this room had been untouched since that day…perhaps, even before then.

This was Chloe's room.

Cautious steps are taken. With sock-clad feet, Marsh steps further into the room. The ambient light of the late morning glows behind an American flag, laid across one of the windows as a makeshift curtain. There was a dormer on the right wall from the entrance, and in the space was a desk laden with documents, a lamp, and a dusty laptop. Above this desk was an open window, which faced the front of the house and gave one a perfect view southward, in the direction of the rest of town. Further to the right of this desk were a couple cabinets weighed down by a stereo system, and further beside this was a CRT monitor, the cables laying on the floor around the heavy television spoke to its lack of use.

Moving left from the bed and the curtain-clad window, there was a closet space sealed off with a couple sliding-door frames made of lacquered wood. The design had narrow slits cut out from the frames, so that one could see inside the closet without having to open the door; Kate concluded that the inside of the closet was just as messy as the outside. Discarded clothes were piled up beside the sliding doors, for there was no laundry basket to be found.

Her path guides her to the desk, and she takes note of the sprawl of pages scattered over the wooden surface. Many of them are unrecognizable, too much fine-print and unusual fonts to recollect…but a collection of missing person posters piqued her interest. She stared down at the familiar picture of Rachel Amber, recounting all the times she'd seen these posters tacked to every billboard on Blackwell's campus.

So that's who was putting up all those posters across Blackwell…

She hummed in acknowledgement, and checked the computer next. It was completely turned off, its charging cable nowhere to be found. She sighed in dismay, then resumed her search of the messy bedroom.

She moved towards the only piece of blue furniture in the room, captivated by its uniqueness amongst the rest of white, beige, and grey tones. It was a blue-painted drawer with a matching shelf placed on top of it. The shelf was a hollow square frame divided into six cubicle shelves, each containing various items and trinkets. There was a lot of clutter in these shelves, so she passed over them—but her silver eyes caught the sight of a box resting on the top of the drawer underneath these cubicles. This box was made of cardboard, and had the word pictures scribbled on its side with ink.

Kate spared a curious glance into the box. A hand reached in and gently pulled out several pictures. She studied them, one by one.

The first was a picture of a little Chloe embracing her father, whose face was a mixture of surprise and joy. The shot was candid, a spur of the moment; the setting placed them in the kitchen, just past the small island leading to the dining table. Kate's eyes linger on the long, dirty blonde hair and the tightness of Chloe's embrace of her father.

He meant the world to her…

The next picture was a self-portrait of present-day Chloe, this time in her room. Kate's attention goes straight to the short, choppy locks of dyed-blue hair, the majority of which was covered in a dark blue beanie. Chloe's face, whether by accident or intention, had been framed in such a way that her fair skin was given a silky-smooth appearance due to the lighting. Piercing ice-blue eyes stared into Kate's silver counterparts, judging her as much as she judged Chloe. And Kate could not deny it: she found herself allured by this girl's beauty. It was not an actual tugging of the heartstrings, for she did not have a preference for the same sex—and yet, she could not help but admire Chloe's features. It was right to say that Kate wished she had the same charm that Chloe had, despite her not knowing Price beyond what she had heard from second-hand sources.

Perhaps, this can change, once I speak to her myself…

Another picture came into view, and immediately the blonde's eyes widened. A silent gasp, a hand covers her mouth in shock.

It was a picture of Max and Chloe, in their teenage years, dressed in their pirate costumes. They were smiling for the camera, and had in their respective hands a pair of binoculars and a wooden sword.

The best of friends…

Kate feels a strong sense of dread overtaking her. But it was a finicky feeling to experience, for she was not in danger, nor did she feel any desire to flee. There wasn't a reason for why she was experiencing this, outside of—

You do not belong here.

Silver eyes snapped up from the polaroid, glancing about the room. There was nothing and no one. She was still alone. She sighs, and runs a hand through her bangs. She breathes, steadying the drumming of her heart.

There were memories, here in this quiet room; in the whole house as well, infused with carpentry and décor. Images put into motion, given the breath of life thanks to the unconscious mind which wills them into being, so it might bear witness to these memories long forgotten. She was standing on sacred ground. And though her eyes could not see the exact details of what she felt, though the clutter and disrepair of this room impeded her sight—Kate could see it with her mind.

She could imagine Max and Chloe there, gathered at the foot of the bed, swords in their hands and a childish gleam in their eyes. How they would go on adventures all across town, make visits to their favorite restaurants whenever they felt the gnaw of hunger, then return home, tuckered out and grinning from ear-to-ear over the fun they had. How their parents would dote and chide them whenever they got into mischief…how their proud, warm smiles followed after their children, who were truly unburdened by life and its turmoil.

Now, all these moments would be lost to time…like tears, in the rain.

These are not your memories to behold.

The rumble of a car's engine came from the open window. The blonde rushed over, and noted the return of Joyce's sedan—both the woman and her husband stepped out of the car when it came to a stop in the driveway. In a haste, Kate set the pictures back into the box where she found them, then shuffled out of the bedroom and closed the door.

It was time to go.

The drive to the hospital was teeming with silent energy. Not a word was spoken amongst the three of them, and yet they were driven fervently by purpose.

The hospital was the largest building in the whole town, both in its structural size and in acreage. The building was nestled on a leveled plateau, having been constructed several decades ago using Prescott-backed investment money. There were six floors to this hospital building, as well as a loading bay with its own paved driveway for ambulances. A whole acre and then-some was dedicated to parking space, both for the hospital staff and for any visitors.

They parked in the large lot, then silently entered the building. A receptionist greeted them, "Hello—how can I help you all today?"

"We're here to see my daughter, last name Price," Joyce supplied. Over-sized nails clacked obnoxiously against the keyboard. A click of the mouse, then a drawn-out sigh.

"We have a Chloe Price in our system, is that who you're referring to?"

"Yes."

Some more clacking. The receptionist's chair creaks as they sit up and type.

"Are you all family members of the patient?" the receptionist asked, her pointed stare aimed squarely at Kate. And though the blonde had come up with a defense of her own, she hesitated; the fear of her inability to lie kept her from speaking in her defense.

Yet, David placed a gentle hand upon her shoulder, and gruffed at the receptionist, "She's a cousin on my side of the family, if you must know."

"David," Joyce chastised, her lips curled into a pout. But the charade worked, and the receptionist was quick to guide them, "You'll find Ms. Price on the third floor, Room 307. Dr. Neumann is her primary physician at this point in time, ask around and he'll be with you as soon as he can. Elevators are down the hall and to the right."

"Thank you so much," Joyce replied, and with David and Kate in tow did the woman speed-walk her way to the elevators. Kate's right hand, which rested on the strap to her messenger bag, clenched with anxiety as they made their way up to the third floor.

A ding, the sliding of metal doors. The staccato of footfalls on laminate tile. Eyes glancing back and forth to number tags beside white-washed doors. A couple nurses in baby-blue scrubs walked the halls with them, not paying much attention to anything outside of their tasks. One of the doors opened ahead of them, and a middle-aged couple stepped out into the hall—

"Oh my God," Joyce suddenly stopped, gasping, "Vanessa?"

Marsh witnessed the moment this couple turned back in surprise. The man was tall and had a strong beard upon his face, and the woman had slightly curled shoulder-length hair, and eyes which were a deep blue.

"Joyce!" the older women met and embraced, "Oh, it's good to see you after all this time."

"Likewise, hun'," they disengaged from the hug, "Haven't had the chance to meet up with you since you left for Seattle. Glad to see you and Ryan are still doing alright."

Vanessa's visage became downtrodden, "Yes, it's been a while. We might be alright, but I wish I could say the same for Maxie. She's…she'll be okay, I'm just…"

Joyce leaves a supportive hand on Vanessa's shoulder, "It's alright, I know how that feels. I'm here to see Chloe, and I…I'm not sure what to expect."

But Vanessa steeled herself, and reciprocated to her best friend, "Know that we're here to help you, Joyce. You don't have to face this alone."

Kate stood off to the side, at a polite distance away. She let the women converse with each other silently. The blonde's silver eyes glanced over to the men, who were shaking hands and greeting each other in much the same manner.

"David," Vanessa's husband greeted, "Good to see you."

"Likewise," Madsen gruffed.

"How're you holding up, man?" Max's father asked him, concerned, "You doin' alright?"

A pause. A long, very troubling pause.

"Yeah, as good as I can be."

Ryan doesn't believe it a single bit, "Alright, good to hear. We just got done with our four-hour drive and got the gist from the locals. You know Stevenson, one of the mechanic guys who works down by the auto shop?"

"Yeah, I know 'im," Madsen concurred.

"We ran into him as we stopped for gas, and he had his whole house packed into his car along with the wife and kids, said he was going up north to his parent's place in Astoria. I mean, I saw what happened here on the news…I don't necessarily blame him."

David nodded solemnly, "Yeah, me neither. It's been…difficult, to say the least. I'm trying my best to figure out what's going on, hopefully something good comes my way."

"Well, hey, good luck to you," Mr. Caulfield said. He caught sight of the petite observer standing a couple paces away, and was about to inquire who she was—but his wife beat him to the punch.

"Come to think of it, Joyce," Mrs. Caulfield stared curiously down at Kate, "I don't think you mentioned anything about having a second daughter since we last spoke."

Joyce forced down a nervous burst of laughter, "Oh—oh no, no! Heavens, no, I—this isn't my daughter, Vanessa."

The curiosity grew with every second. Marsh couldn't decide whether to be embarrassed or dreadful. But she settled the doubts spinning in her head, and reached out a hand to Mrs. Caulfield in greeting, "Hello, my name is Kate Marsh. I'm one of Max's friends from Blackwell."

"Well, it's nice to meet you, Kate," the woman shakes her hand, "I'm Vanessa, and this is my husband, Ryan. We're Max's parents, in case you didn't know."

The timid blonde nodded, "It's nice to meet you, too."

"Were you there, when it happened?"

Ryan's question caught everyone off guard. Heads turned, expressions varied from surprise to frustration.

"Ryan, please," his wife chastised, her frown beckoning some unspoken command. But this question was glimmering in her eyes as well, waiting desperately for an answer to what had happened to their daughter whilst they were away.

Kate obliged them, "It's okay, ma'am. I…I was there, when it happened."

The Caulfield elders listened carefully as the blonde recounted her story to them, "I share photography class with Max, and so I usually walk with her back to the dorms once class is over. But on that day…she left in a hurry. I was concerned, I had believed something was wrong—but by the time I stepped out of the classroom to look for her, she was gone. And she…"

She warned me about what was going to happen.

"…well, then the gunshots went off. Everyone ran, but I stayed. I made my way to the bathrooms to find someplace to hide, and…and stumbled upon Max. I carried her outside, and Mr. Madsen took her the rest of the way to the ambulances."

David gave her a knowing look, but said nothing. He understood the necessity to omit certain parts. But the shame of lying by omission clamped down on Kate's heart, she bit her lip to keep from losing her composure.

Ryan and Vanessa believed her anyways, "Thank you, Kate. It's nice to have some explanation than nothing at all."

The blonde nodded, but said nothing. Her gaze stayed to the floor.

"Hey, do you two happen to know where Room 307 is?" Joyce piped up, "Chloe's supposed to be there an' I don't know where it is—"

"She's in there," Vanessa's husband gestured to the room just beyond the one they exited from, "Believe it or not, they placed your daughter right next to ours."

Joyce huffed in bittersweet amusement, "Well, ain't that somethin'."

"We'll be out here if you need us," Vanessa and Ryan placed themselves in two small chairs sat against the wall, and spoke to each other in hushed whispers. Kate had only a second to notice this as she was gently nudged by David to follow Joyce into the room.

The door was closed. Silence fell upon them, sans the slight shuffle of their shoes on the tile. All of them were drawn like moths to the figurative flame, laid out on a hospital bed. An IV packet hung from a nearby stand, as well as a blood packet. Two lines connected the bags to two separate needles carefully inserted into Chloe's left arm, which was limp by her side. Her other arm was in much the same manner: a thin blanket draped over the rest of her body, leaving only her head and shoulders exposed.

She was peaceful as she lay there in her bed. Too peaceful. Kate had seen the shine in Chloe's eyes when she had looked over the polaroids, and this contrasted so drastically to the dull, empty still-life before her. Though the monitors close to the bed told them that Chloe's vitals were present and stable, it hardly felt like she was still alive. There was no chance she would be speaking to them anytime soon.

Madsen became curious about something, and took hold of the blanket, carefully lifting it up near Chloe's stomach. He wanted to see the extent of the damage, to gauge how well it might be healing. Kate shifted beside him to look upon it as well.

The blood coating the girl's abdomen was gone. In its place was a wrapping of gauze, somewhat tarnished from residual bleeding but thankfully unblemished with those terrible red hues.

"Must have placed her on some kind of sedation," Madsen muttered somberly. He adjusted the blanket so that it covered the gauze once again, "At least she's not hurting as bad as before. At least she's got a chance…"

Joyce's face was twitching, emotions bubbling from deep inside her conscience. She had taken hold of Chloe's right hand and held it in her own, desperate for a response from her daughter. The mother fought against this sorrow, but tears bloomed in her eyes and fell down her face. She sucked in a harsh breath, her hand squeezed for a reply that she knew was not likely to come.

"Oh, Chloe…"

Kate felt her eyes water. She rubbed at them, pushed the ache in her heart away. She turned to David, and found him to be in much the same predicament. He was barely holding himself together, what with his clenched fists and far-sighted look. He wasn't seeing his stepdaughter on the hospital bed, but something else—something that only he could see. Kate couldn't help him, even if she wanted to.

She gave one last glance to Chloe, and swore to her in a silent prayer: I shall avenge you, and bring to you and Max the justice that you deserve—so help me, God.

"I'll be outside," she whispered to David, then treaded delicately out of the room.

"…and the truth is, without your daughter being there, I wouldn't be here today. Max, she…she saved my life, on that night. And I'm still trying to figure out how I could repay her for that. I'm…I'm sorry I couldn't do better."

"Don't apologize, please," Vanessa assured, "You done more than enough already. I'm so glad that Max has someone like you to call a friend."

"…thank you, ma'am," Kate nodded, "I, uhm…I'd like your permission to speak to Max, if it's alright with you."

Ryan nodded in affirmation, and Vanessa gave her a soft smile, "Of course, dear. Go right ahead, I'm sure Max would appreciate it."

Marsh hummed, then approached the door to Max's room. Her hand clasped the cold metal handle, hesitation causing her to stall for a few seconds. There was more to this than what Max's parents knew, but she could not explain it. She wished she could, for it was the right thing to do—it's what she would've wished for her parents' sake, if they were in the same position as the Caulfields. But it could not be here and now. Nor could it be from her. She steeled her nerves, and entered.

It was much the same as Chloe's room, if only a slight change in the layout. Same bed, same- sized window with curtains, the same couple of guest chairs and small couch tucked into the corner. The only thing that really changed was the person occupying the bed—with her mousy bob-cut of chestnut brown hair, and her upright posture. Max turned to her, her ocean-blue eyes lighting up with surprise.

"Kate?" the brunette called.

Emotion struck her like a hammer to the chest. Tears welled up immediately. She stepped forwards without even knowing it.

"Max—!"

A hug. It took all of Kate's strength to not burst into sobs right then and there.

They remained this way for some time, as if stuck in the moment. Neither was quite willing to let go, so overcome with relief were they to consider it. Kate reveled in this feeling of relief, for Max was alive, and safe—

"I—Oh God, Max, I'm so sorry—!"

"Whoa, whoa, it's okay," the disengaged, Max's confusion prevalent on her features, "Kate, it's okay…you couldn't have known."

"What do you mean I couldn't have known?" Kate replied, miffed by the assumption, "I was there, Max!"

A pause.

"…wait, were you?"

"Yes! I—" but there came a sudden, terrible feeling; like a stone in her gut, it weighed down upon the rasping blonde. The journal, the prophecies scribbled on its pages have never made their presence known more acutely than right now—

…you will speak to present Max in the hospital after the incident, and you will not be able to convince her of the conversation we had in the bathroom…

"Max, tell me what you remember," Kate pleaded from her friend.

"I…" Max floundered, nervousness forcing her to look away, "Well, I don't…know."

"What?" Marsh blurted out, "What is that supposed to mean?"

"It means that I just don't know!"

"What do you mean you just don't know?" the blonde asked, her voice but a dreadful whisper.

"Well, I…I don't really remember what happened. I know that I was shot by someone, but I…I just don't know what happened before and after that."

That's…that's impossible.

"That's impossible," Kate repeated aloud, stunned by the contradiction.

Max's brows pinched, "What do you mean?"

"You knew what was going to happen. You had texted me before it happened in an attempt to warn me. The bathrooms, where you were shot…you knew that it was Nathan Prescott—"

"Oh God, it was him?!" Max cried out, stricken by a sudden panic, "No-no-no—I tried my best to stay away from him, how could I have—?"

"Max, focus," Kate redirected the brunette's attention, "You told me to wait until Nathan left, and that's what I did. He slunk away, the gun in his hand…he had shot you, and Chloe. I know this because I saw Madsen carry her out, and I found you in the bathrooms. Your knee was bleeding really bad—"

But Caulfield was held up by one specific detail. Kate could already tell what it was. Max's sputtering inevitably confirmed it, "C-Chloe…she was…?"

"Yes."

Max was beside herself, barely aware of Kate's rambling, "And when I tried to help you, you made me promise to take up the mantle—the search for Rachel Amber, who disappeared many months ago. And most importantly—"

Frantically, the blonde dug into her messenger bag, and pulled out the journal, "—you gave me this. In photography class, you wrote a series of prophecies explaining how you knew about what was going to happen in the bathroom and what would happen immediately thereafter. Your friends and I—Warren, Dana, Juliet—we found out that what you wrote in the journal came true, all of it! The twister you said would appear on Tuesday, it came and went just like you said—we went to the junkyard to find where Rachel was located, and a doe guided us right to where she was buried!"

Kate laid the journal in the brunette's hands, "Max, you've got to remember this! Think back, try to picture the details—and if it's too much to recall, then read the journal."

But Max did not open it. She stared at the cover for a long time. Her hands shivered, but otherwise were still.

"…I don't remember any of that."

The blonde twitched with dread, "Max, please—"

"I've avoided Prescott like the plague, I've not seen Chloe at all since I've come back, and I've never wanted to go searching for Rachel Amber," the brunette pressed, "It's…it can't be true. In fact, I…I don't recall giving you my journal."

There was a dangerous glimmer in Max's blue eyes. It was unlike what Kate had seen in class, on that fateful day—no, this glimmer was dimmed, without any energy. It was the look of someone without a burning purpose; nothing but the rage of confusion burned in Max's orbs as they glared at Marsh.

"Kate, did you…did you steal my journal?"

Marsh couldn't help but gawk at the question, let alone the implication. She sputtered in reply—

"W-what? No—! Why would I—?!"

"I know this might seem like the perfect time to test your acting skills," Max deadpanned, completely unamused, "But I'd appreciate it if you'd be serious about this."

"I am serious—I couldn't be any more serious about this if I tried!" the blonde retorted, "Max, I saw what happened, the prophecy you wrote in the journal came true, I've seen it—!"

"What prophecy?" the brunette snapped, "I don't even know what you're talking about!"

"Time travel. You have the gift of time travel, somehow—someway," Kate tried to explain, "It's the only way you knew about these events happening beforehand, it's how you helped the rest of us learn that Rachel was Chloe's beloved, and how—"

Max's glare, which leaned more towards suspicion, flared up in bewilderment, "Rachel was Chloe's what?"

"We found this out from a letter Rachel had written to Chloe, in the junkyard. She—Rachel—she was seeing Chloe before she disappeared. I know it's a lot to take in, but I can fill you in on the details later," but Kate noted the hollow stare on her friend's features, and asked, "Max? Are you okay?"

There was a long, painful silence.

"…get out."

"…what?"

"Get out."

"W-wait, Max, please just listen to me—!"

"Get. Out," the brunette snarled, "I'll call for the nurses. They may not have the whole story, but at least I'll know they're not trying to trick me with some half-assed nonsense."

Kate's heart stopped beating. She forgot how to breathe. She was lifeless, standing there as she was. Unable to think. Unable to speak. She grasped for anything to make her friend understand…but there was nothing.

You will not be able to convince her. It is fated to be this way.

"But, I promised to you—"

"Well I don't fucking remember that, now do I?" came the vicious reply. There was a tremble in Max's lips, anger boiled in her eyes, "What the hell's the matter with you—why are you trying so hard to make me believe this?! Aren't you my friend, Kate? Friends don't lie to each other, friends don't take each other's things—so why would you try to lie to me about something like this—why would you steal my journal?!"

"Because it's the truth—!"

"Shut up," a hand was raised, a single finger pointing to the exit, "Leave me alone. I don't want to see you ever again."

"But...you're my friend."

You are my friend, Max. Friends look out for each other, no matter what.

"You are not my friend, Kate. You never were."

Teardrops fell from silver eyes. Footsteps shuffled backwards, to the exit. The terrified blonde accidentally bumped against the wall, her hands were shaking as she turned the handle. Max's icy glare followed her all the way.

The door closed with a definitive click. Only then did Max bring her hands up to her face, and broke the silence with bitter, choking sobs. Tears rolled down to the brunette's chin, and dripped onto the weathered cover of the journal, having remained closed the entire time.

David took the stairs. He could not bother to wait by the elevators, nor could he control the fury burning in his chest. His brows were knit into a tight grimace, his jaw clenched. He swore under his breath.

I'm gonna strangle that little Prescott runt if it's the last thing I do—

A white-knuckled fist unfurled to take hold of the handle to the stairwell's exit. A steadying heave of air, he rolls his knuckles to calm himself down. The lobby is empty, a small tab on the receptionist's counter told him that they were on lunch break. He checks his phone again, hoping that he's timed this meetup just right.

He is rewarded within moments, as his expected company enters the lobby from the outside. Officer Berry spots him and nods in greeting, stepping close to Madsen to converse. Polished steel-toed boots echo in the open space, there is a slight jingle from his keys strapped to his hip every time he took a step.

"Berry," he called.

"David," he reciprocated, "What's going on? I thought we were only talking later today—"

"We need to talk now," he pressed, getting right to it, "I'm thinking about taking it slow, and steady. I want to iron out the details before we commit to this—"

"About that," Berry held him up, "We've got a problem."

"What is it?"

"The police chief's assigned someone else to the case without my knowledge," Berry explained, "They looked over my notes when I was out for lunch…and I only found out just a few hours ago."

"Alright then, who is it?"

Berry gulped.

"It's Corn."

David was stunned for the briefest of seconds. Then, his face molded into a scowl.

"Sonuvabitch," he swore, "Alright, alright—we gotta push the time window closer then. That bastard is relentless, I can tell just by the looks of him. You keep me updated on what he does, any moves he makes will be to bring us down, you understand?"

Berry nodded, "So, we still on for later today—?"

"Even more so," Madsen nodded grimly, "We're heading to the junkyard to collect the evidence. Pictures first, then we'll send out anonymous tips to the FBI, hopefully they don't got their hands full and take interest in the case. In the meantime, we'll secure the burial site and do rotating shifts. I'm going to request unpaid leave and will work around your schedule. Whenever you're on the clock, I'll be keeping watch. I'll be talking to the lawyers around here too, and see which ones hate the Prescotts the most; from there, we pull as much dirt on the Prescotts that we can get our hands on, and feed it to the feds."

"But, David," came the protest, "don't you need the money—?"

"I've been saving up," he assured, "It…it isn't much, but Joyce and I can make it work. If it means taking the Prescotts down, then it's a price we're willing to pay."

Anderson nodded in concurrence, "Fair enough. Know that if you're in a pinch financially speaking, my wife and I can help you, y'know."

A snicker, "Ah, now you're just rubbing it in my face, ain't ya, moneybags?"

"As if I wouldn't, cheap ass," Berry jested right back at him, "I oughta get you a proper sleeping bag and kit if you're gonna stay out there for that long—otherwise, you'll come back lookin' like a sasquatch once this is all over."

Laughs were shared, David clasped a hand on his buddy's shoulder, "This is our chance, Andy. We've only got so much time to do it, but it can happen. Stay low, I'll see you at the entrance to the junkyard later tonight. I'll wait for you once your shift ends."

"You got it, David—see you then!"

Berry walked out, stepping out into the gentle October breeze to his police cruiser. He was giddy in his step, the excitement of having a solid plan with Madsen infecting him with confidence.

He did not see the shadowy figure watching him through the windshield of a car in the parking lot, a few parking lanes off to the side. He did not see when they donned the pair of aviator shades, nor when they turned on their vehicle to follow at a distance.