[04/20 4:32 PM] [?]
Hi Rachel, it's Max. Chloe gave me your number. :)
[04/20 4:36 PM] [RA]
Hey Maxie! Where you guys at?
[04/20 4:39 PM] [MC]
Chloe was just showing me around. She took me to the Two Whales for lunch. We've been here for a couple of hours now.
[04/20 4:39 PM] [RA]
How's Joyce? Bet she was really happy to see you.
[04/20 4:40 PM] [MC]
Yup, she really made me feel welcome! She even had a few moments to sit and talk before she had to get to work again.
Anyway, I wanted to check if it's alright for me to come by now.
[04/20 4:43 PM] [RA]
Only if you promise to bring me a cinnamon waffle. I've been craving one ever since you mentioned Two Whales.
[4/20 4:44 PM] [MC]
Deal!
[4/20 4:45 PM] [RA]
Yesss! Come on over you guys and let's party!
[4/20 4:46 PM] [MC]
See you in a bit, Rachel!
Oh, also...Chloe says she can't stay. She'll just drop me off before heading home.
[4/20 4:46 PM] [RA]
OH NO!
...
[4/20 4:47 PM] [RA]
Price. Max just told me you can't spend time with us tonight. What gives?
[4/20 4:48 PM] [CP]
like u said earlier, i'm on dick-tator david's shitlist. Mom's already given me the lowdown.
if i want my life to anywhere bearable this week, i need to be home by "eighteen hundred"
also, pops wants me at the garage early tomorrow to tune-up some asshole's ride
[4/20 4:50 PM] [RA]
I can't believe you'd be so lame as to ditch spending the night with two cute girls so you can play greasemonkey on a Sunday :(((
[4/20 4:51 PM] [CP]
it's called a JOB, Amber. some of us need them to survive?
also, it's just for the morning
also, no emoji
I already spent like 14 hours with u. Aren't you tired of me yet?
[4/20 4:52 PM] [RA]
Don't ask stupid questions Chloe.
What if I told you there's gonna be pizza?
[4/20 4:53 PM] [CP]
don't make this any more painful than it has 2 be, dammit
[4/20 4:53 PM] [RA]
Fine then your loss. Guess it's just me and Max. We'll be best friends before the night's out.
You never even told me she'd be that cute wth
[4/20 4:54 PM] [CP]
RACHEL
go easy on her. u promised
[4/20 4:54 PM] [RA]
;)
[4/20 4:54 PM] [CP]
oh ffs
"You sure you'd rather not stay over at my place?" Chloe asked for what must've been the fifth time now.
Once again, Max found herself in front of the Amber household, biting her lip as she eyed the stained glass window of the front door. The engine of Chloe's truck felt warm and relaxing as it idled away beneath her seat. She wished she could stay, or simply delay what was about to come. But she also knew every second she dawdled left the chance for disaster to strike. Just the Caulfield luck at work.
"I'm sorry Chloe," Max replied. "Rachel's right. David won't like a guest suddenly dropping in—even if I am an old friend of yours. I don't want to burden you, and since I'll be back here for two years, it may be worth getting on his good side."
Chloe snorted. "A pig's ass doesn't have a good side, Max. But fine. I'll trust your instincts on this one." She scowled. "But next time, girl, you're staying with me. Got it?"
"I promise, Chloe. No..." Grinning, Max held up her pinkie. "I swear."
Laughing, Chloe shoved at her shoulder. "Get outta here, hippie! I got places to go!"
With her takeaway box in tow, Max hopped out of the truck.
"Hey, Maxaroni?" called Chloe.
"Yeah?"
"You'll call if you need anything, won'tcha?"
"Even before I dial 911."
They shared a smile before Chloe pulled away from the curb, honking her horn twice to say goodbye. Max watched her disappear at the corner before taking a deep breath to try and calm her galloping pulse. She had already run through every possible scenario she could think of after she said what she had to say. At worst, she would have to hike to a motel or take up Chloe's offer after Rachel threw her out of the house.
C'mon Max, you've got this, she thought, forcing herself to reach for the doorbell. Into the lion's den we go.
The door opened, revealing a pretty, middle-aged brunette woman wearing a silver monogram necklace and a brown cardigan. "Hello there," she said, smiling warmly. "You must be Maxine. I'm Rose Amber."
"Oh, um, hi." Max held out what she was sure was a cold and clammy hand. "Nice to meet you, Mrs. Amber."
The woman's hand felt warm in hers. "You too, dear. Rachel told me you'd be visiting. Won't you come in?" She stepped aside to make way for Max.
Feeling much like an intruder, Max thanked her and ventured inside. The foyer opened into a living area lit by Chinese-style lamps and recessed lighting. Carpets lined the floor, paintings of various sizes adorned the walls, and every mahogany surface had been polished to a sheen. To her left, the room opened up to a den lined with couches, recliners, an enormous TV, and shelves overflowing with books and family pictures. There was even a turntable with speakers and a collection of vinyl. While it all looked interesting for Max, they all screamed "antique" and "do not touch."
"I see Chloe won't be joining us today," Mrs. Amber said, appearing at Max's right.
"Oh, yeah, sorry. She said she has work tomorrow morning."
The older woman chuckled. "I guess even she has to grow up sometime, doesn't she?"
"Uh, I suppose."
"I'm only joking. Chloe is wonderful, and she makes my Rachel very happy, I can tell. When you see her again, please tell her that she's always welcome here."
"I will," promised Max. "But...wouldn't she already know that?"
Mrs. Amber looked thoughtful. "I like to think so. But she hasn't come over very often anymore, and when she does, I can't even convince her to stay for dinner."
"That...doesn't sound like Chloe at all. She never turns down free food."
Mrs. Amber laughed again. "Seems like you're good friends with her."
"Oh, of course. I've known her since we were little."
"Well, do try to get Chloe to visit. I miss her, and I hate to think she's avoiding us for some reason." She gestured to the paper bag in Max's hand. "Shall I take that for you?"
"Um, yes, thanks. It's for Rachel, actually."
"I'll just slip this in the fridge for later. There's some iced tea there as well if you're feeling thirsty. Rachel said she'll be down in a little while, so make yourself at home." With that, Mrs. Amber made her way to the nearby kitchen.
Wow, thought Max. Rachel's mom is so nice. I don't see why Chloe wouldn't show up here every weekend, given how great this place is...
Max's gaze wandered around the room until they fell upon a cabinet beside the stairwell. This time, her curiosity got the better of her and she peered inside, only to be shocked by the sheer number of medals, plaques, and other awards packed in there. Holy shit. Top Honors, Spelling, History, Debate team, Track, Cheerleading, Drama, Dance...The only awards I ever got are for participation. Maybe that's how Rachel gets so much leverage with her parents—by being good at literally freaking everything.
Rapid footsteps made her heart leap in her chest. Stepping back from the cabinet, she caught sight of Rachel bounding down the steps two at a time.
"Max, there you are!"
"H-hi."
Rachel looked right at home in her red tank top, jean shorts, and bare feet. With cat-like grace, she hopped over the last step to land just inches before Max. And just like that, the Girl stood before her again, larger than life with her radiant smile and laughing hazel eyes.
"So," Rachel said, "it seems we're Chloe-less this afternoon."
"Yeah. Sorry I couldn't get her to stay."
"Not a problem. I'm sure we'll have fun by ourselves." Her grin carried the glint of mischief. "Then we can bug her on Skype all night long and keep her awake."
Max laughed with her and hoped she was only joking.
"C'mon," Rachel said, grabbing her hand. "Let's get you set up. Dad won't be home till dinner, so it's just the three of us for now..."
Keenly aware of Rachel's warm fingers enclosing hers, Max let herself be led to the second floor. She nearly slipped on the stairs up; apparently, her going sleepless for more than twenty-four hours was finally catching up with her.
The second floor seemed every bit as well-furnished as the first one. Every inch of the hardwood floor was carpeted, and the shelves housed a collection of handcrafted vases and sculptures of various animals.
"Did you make these?" Max asked, awed.
"Hmm? Nope, Mom did. She loves working with her hands. She even makes me costumes for my plays."
"I'd no idea she was so talented! And I'm glad your parents are cool with me staying the night."
"Oh, I haven't asked them yet."
Max nearly choked on her own saliva. "You...you haven't?"
"I figure it'd be easier after they take a liking to you—relax, they will." She patted Max's arm and continued down the hall. "Besides, it's one of my rules for living."
"Um, what rule is that?"
"It's easier to ask for forgiveness than permission." Rachel opened a door to her right. "In here."
Max let herself be ushered in, and instantly felt like she had entered a different dimension. Rachel's room was bright and airy, lit not by lamps but by sunshine streaming in from the window. Max even caught the shy scent of flowers from the garden below.
In striking contrast to Chloe, Rachel seemed to be a neat freak—no dirty clothing scattered on the floor, no empty pizza boxes, no foul-smelling cans of beer peeking from beneath the furniture. Her bed was made, topped by a floral pattern quilt and a pile of fluffy pillows. Even the books and magazines on her enormous shelves seemed to be categorized by subject. Posters of Broadway musicals, rock bands, and exotic locales in France, Spain, and Japan lined the walls. Hung beside her bed were drama masks, wide-brimmed hats, and a large map of the USA filled with pins and stickers. A nearby whiteboard announced in fluid cursive:
"Fairy tales are more than true, not because they tell us that dragons exist, but because they tell us that dragons can be beaten." — GK Chesterton
"If you want to shower and change clothes," Rachel was saying, "the bathroom's just down the hall. Your stuff's in here." Rachel slid open a wardrobe, revealing Max's overnight bag along with several racks of clothes. If Max had any doubts that Rachel was serious about being a model, a single glance at those clothes quelled them.
Rachel seemed invincible. Max couldn't help but feel awed—even a little intimidated—by someone so capable and interesting and strong-willed, her complete opposite. But that was fine. Better than fine. After all, she wanted to know as much as she could about Rachel. She wanted to know everything possible to gain the would-be model's trust.
"Thanks, Rachel," Max said. "I really appreciate you going this far for me."
"It pays to be nice to the newcomer. Or the oldcomer, I guess. Feel free to look around and get comfortable. I know our house can seem a bit cold, but here you can make yourself at home."
Rachel moved to sit on her bed. Max followed but halted by her shelf, scanning the titles on the book spines. Several of them made her eyes pop: art books, photography collections by Avedon and Arbus, what appeared to be entire seasons of Dr. Who DVDs, Machiavelli's The Prince, Asimov's Foundation series, The Millenium Trilogy, and a variety of fantasy novels, including—
"The Last Unicorn?" Max gasped.
Rachel's face lit up. "You like? I honestly thought you'd go for one of the photography books, but..." She reached over and handed the book to Max. "It's the Special Illustrated Edition. I even got it autographed. See?" Sure enough, when Max cracked it open she found the author's signature on the flyleaf.
"Wowzer," breathed Max, flipping through the pages to gape at the hand-drawn illustrations.
Rachel goggled at her for a second before bursting out in laughter. "What are you, a Saturday morning cartoon? Who says 'wowzer'?"
Max blushed. "Uh, me apparently. It's just that I haven't seen or read this book in like ten years." She flipped back to the first line at the beginning: The unicorn lived in a lilac wood, and she lived all alone. "My mom used to read parts of this to me when I was a kid. I love this book so much, but I lost it when we moved."
"I've read it tons of times. It's one of my favorites—and the subject of the English Lit paper I just finished." Rachel gestured to her laptop, where an open document read: 'How the Anachronisms in The Last Unicorn Blend Fantasy With Our Reality.'
"That sounds, um, complicated."
"It should be. It's one of the best fantasy stories ever written. And I love the character of the unicorn, how she's this beautiful, immortal, legendary creature forced into a role she isn't ready to play."
"A mortal," Max supplied. "A woman."
Rachel smiled. "Yeah, precisely. I love stories about journeys and transformation and becoming something more than what you are." She shrugged. "My dad prefers self-help books, but I find that fantasy and sci-fi teach more truth than any Robert Greene bestseller."
When she noticed Max was still thumbing through the book, she said, "Hey, if you're so interested, wanna borrow it for a while?"
"Oh, I couldn't," Max said, setting it down on the table. "It's got Peter S. Beagle's signature and everything—one day it might be priceless!"
Rachel picked it up and put it in Max's hands. "Please. If you had good memories from reading this, I'd like you to have them again. Think of it as my way of welcoming you back to Arcadia."
"T-thank you," Max mumbled, wishing she brought her something other than a bunch of stupid muffins. "I know I'll enjoy this."
Rachel slid down to straddle her chair, laying her arms atop the backrest. "So. Max the Photographer."
Max, too self-conscious to sit on Rachel's bed, slid down to the floor with her knees against her chest. "Yes, Rachel-the-Actress-slash-Model-slash-Honor-Student-slash-Cheerleader?"
Rachel giggled. "It's a bit awkweird that we're hanging out, huh?"
More than you know, thought Max. Now that she was sitting down a comfortable, carpeted floor, she could feel her fatigue much more keenly, like a heavy blanket enveloping her body. She forced herself to focus. Rachel was watching her intently.
"It's a little awkweird, I guess. But it makes sense we'd meet, being friends with Chloe."
Rachel hummed. "And if I had to guess, she's the reason you're back here in Arcadia Bay."
"Yes," Max replied, holding her gaze.
Rachel smiled. "You really are an honest girl."
"I hope that's a good thing...?"
"It's refreshing," Rachel replied, lifting her shoulders. "I probably don't have to tell you this, Max, but Arcadia's not exactly a paragon for honesty. To borrow from your favorite subject, people tend to look at each other through lenses and filters."
"Lenses and filters?"
Rachel made a viewfinder with her thumbs and index fingers, capturing Max in its square. "They see only what they wanna see—or are seen how they wanna be seen."
Max thought back on everything she had heard about Rachel from the residents of Arcadia Bay and wondered if the blonde was talking about herself, and wanted Max to know she was doing so.
Rachel gazed longingly at the map of the country by her bed. "But I guess that's true wherever you are in the world. Which is why I'm glad I met Chloe. She's as genuine as you can get, right?"
It was Max's turn to smile. "Chloe's always been like that. In fact, she kinda laid into me earlier today for not keeping in touch."
"Really? Not too badly, I hope."
"I deserved it. And we're good now. I think I just have to keep giving her presents and stuff to keep her happy."
Rachel just shook her head. "God love her."
"Absotively."
"Posolutely."
They beamed at each other.
"So, we have some time before dinner. Would you like to play a game with me, Max?"
"Uh, what kind? It's not like a consequence game, is it?"
Rachel gave her another mischievous look. "Would you like it to be a consequence game?"
"Um..."
"Relax. I think you can handle this." Rachel tapped her temple. "It's the kind of game where we try to get around our lenses and filters. And it's really simple: during your turn, you take everything you've seen and heard so far about the other player and deduce something about them they've never told you. And they just say whether you're right or wrong."
Oh shit. I would so totally win this game if I only had rewinds. "I already know I'm gonna suck at it," offered Max.
"Just give it a try, you might surprise yourself. Let's go with three rounds each. I'll start off with something easy." Rachel pursed her lips, eyeing Max from top to bottom. "Hmm...I bet you could beat Chloe in a foot race."
Max had to grin at that one. "I think you'd be right, but how'd you come up with that?"
"I started with your shoes." Rachel gestured to Max's trainers. "They're well-worn, scuffed at the sides, and mended a few times. You wore them on this trip, which means they're most comfortable for walking or traveling long distances. The way you tie your laces shows you use them for running too. You like to jog in the mornings, Max?"
"Sometimes," Max said, astounded.
"You strike me as a morning person," Rachel said. "Chloe gets all cranky if you make her get up before ten. So if you ever want to challenge her to a race, set it in the early morning."
"I'll keep that in mind," laughed Max. "Chloe used to beat me at school work, but I was always better at P.E."
"All that leg and no lung power." Rachel tapped her lower lip. "Next up...I think people think you're nosey, but are too polite to say."
Max felt her face warming. "You are crazy good at this. How'd you figure that out?"
"That took some more work. Based on your body language and manner of speech, I can tell you're the reserved, quiet type, someone who likes to hang back and talk as little as possible. You don't like too much attention—it makes you nervous. But I see that you get very curious about other people and want to learn about them by observing them."
"Oh, uh, sorry if that creeps you out."
"Don't worry about it. Curiosity is the mark of an intelligent mind. Plus, it really suits you as a photographer, doesn't it? Observing people from behind a lens?"
"You make it sound like I'm more of a spy."
Rachel gave her an enigmatic smile. "And for my third deduction...Max, are you in some kind of trouble?"
Max blinked. "What do you mean?"
"First, lemme apologize—I'm also kinda nosey. When I got your bag earlier, I checked it for a camera. You didn't bring one. Which may be because you had to get here in a hurry, but it's really weird for a photographer to not bring their camera, especially if they were visiting their hometown. It'd be like leaving a part of your brain behind, right?"
Max didn't reply at once. She shifted in her seat, chewing at her lip. "I just...didn't think to bring it. I was in a hurry..."
Rachel said, "I'm gonna go out on a limb here and guess that you left it on purpose. But why?" Frowning, she leaned forward on her seat. "I've been watching you Max, and you seem really...strung out. Like you lived through something terrible. Do you...want to talk about it?"
A camera bulb flashed somewhere behind Max's eyes. For a moment, the air carried the sharp scent of antiseptic. The skin on her nape crawled at the touch of a ghostly, latex-covered hand. Max shook her head, dispelling the memory.
"I want to," Max finally said. "And it's important that you hear what I have to say, because it involves you too. It's just...I don't really know where to start."
Rachel nodded. "I just want you to know, I'm here to listen. I'm sure Chloe feels the same."
"Thanks, you don't know how much that means to me." This is going to work out, thought Max. If she's really willing to hear what I have to say...
Rachel smiled and got up. "Let me get us something to drink. Then it's your turn to—oh."
Her phone was buzzing in her pocket. She pulled it out and glanced at the screen, blinking. "You mind if I get this? It's kinda urgent."
Max shook her head. "No, no. Go for it."
"Be right back." Rachel jumped to her feet and hustled out of her room, shutting the door behind her.
In the hallway, Rachel wasted no time hitting the answer button on her phone and putting on a sunny smile. "Hey."
The voice on the other line came as smooth and warm as wine. "Hi. What's Arcadia's resident supermodel up to right now?"
"Aren't we getting a bit ahead of ourselves?" Unbidden, her fingers toyed with her blue feather earring. She enjoyed the flattery, even as she recognized it for what it was. "Last I checked, I'm still knee-deep in this hick town without an agent or a prayer. Better stick with just Rachel."
"Well, 'Just Rachel,' I have the feeling that's about to change."
"What are you talking about?"
"You should sit down first."
Rachel, who was walking towards a window overlooking the street, propped herself against a nearby cabinet instead. Her pulse had suddenly gone quiet against the flesh of her wrists and neck. "Yeah?"
"I hope you don't mind, but last week I emailed the photos I took of you to a friend of mine, Marcello Ruiz. He's a fashion editor for the LA-based Mayfair Magazine. You can look that up. Long story short, he's impressed. He wants to talk to you this week."
Her pulse came back full force, a throbbing rhythm that swelled in her brain. For a moment, her vision clouded and she needed to grip the cabinet to keep her balance. The carpeted hallway vanished before her eyes, replaced by the lamplit streets of L.A., simmering from a long day under the blessed sun.
"You there, Rachel?"
"Oh, Mark...I-I can't just accept this…"
Laughter on the other end. "That doesn't sound like you."
"You didn't…didn't lean on him? Call in a favor? Twist his arm?"
"That REALLY doesn't sound like you. The Rachel I know is supremely confident in her abilities. Did I maybe dial the wrong number?"
"Mark, please."
"The answer's no, not even a little bit. Marcello is well and truly smitten. You can expect his call sometime Tuesday."
"I don't know what to say. I guess…thank you. Thank you so much for this. It means a lot that you did this for me."
"It was my pleasure. Someone as exquisite as you deserve every such opportunity." He paused, cleared his throat. "Listen, are you busy at the moment?"
"What, like now, now?"
"Yes, I think I was specific enough."
"Well, I actually have a friend over."
"Any chance you can get away for a little while? I'd like to speak with you in person. Discuss your future in finer detail. A deal may be in the works, so there are some things you should know about the LA fashion scene."
Rachel bit her lip. "I'd like that. I'd really like that. But my friend's new in town and she'll likely freak if I leave her alone. Could we talk Monday, say after class?"
The line went silent for a moment, and Rachel thought she might have annoyed him. Then the voice came back, rich and deep and resonant as a lion tamer's. "I'd really like to see you, Rachel. Even for just half an hour. I'm sorry to sound desperate for your company, but there's little to draw inspiration from a town as banal as Arcadia Bay. And the afternoon light's so beautiful now by the sea. I could shoot you again. Wouldn't that be nice?"
Though she had her back to the window, Rachel could actually see it in her head: the sun sweeping low to kiss the ocean horizon. Perfect for an impromptu shoot. And she could be back quickly if she so wanted.
But Max...
Moving towards her door, she nudged it open and peeked in. Max was slumped against the foot of the bed, head bowed towards the open book on her lap, chin resting on her chest, her breathing slow and deep.
"Max?" said Rachel. Her guest didn't stir.
Rachel sighed in relief. Perhaps this was easier than she thought. If she were quick, maybe she'd be back before Max even woke up. The thought of doing something so illicit was causing her pulse to quicken again.
"That…does sound quite nice," Rachel said into her phone. "I'll need a change of clothes first."
"Don't bother. I'm sure you're as radiant now as you'll ever be."
"Where do I meet you?"
"I'll be at the parking lot at the foot of the lighthouse. Can you make it there in fifteen minutes?"
"Less if I can help it. See you in a bit."
"Looking forward, my dear."
Suppressing a smile, Rachel ended the call and inched her way back into her bedroom. I'm sorry, she mouthed to the other girl as she tiptoed to her dresser to pick up her make-up kit and the sandals under her chair. Getting to the bottom of Max's story would have to wait, and besides, it looked like she needed the rest. Max didn't even stir as Rachel softly closed the door behind her.
Moments later, Max's phone buzzed as a message came in.
[04/20 6:37] [RA]
Heya. Sorry, we're out of iced tea. Heading to the convenience store real quick. BRB!
Humming to herself, Rachel brisk-walked down her subdivision's road and turned the corner. From there, it was just a couple of blocks until she reached Arcadia Bay Avenue, followed by a few minutes' walk to the lighthouse parking lot.
A cool, soft wind wafted in from the sea, and there was nary a cloud in the sky. Rachel had no time to admire the view. Her mind was far away, in another place where the air stayed warm even in winter, and the evenings pulsed with music and a never-ending array of city lights.
If she took a moment to ask herself why it was a good idea to take up with Mark Jefferson, she wouldn't be without reasons. His credentials alone could make any Blackwell art student cry. He had serious connections in the fashion world, friends and allies that could make her climb up that particular slope much easier. He obviously had money to spare if he wanted to go as far as help her get a leg up in the city (Rachel would never dream of asking that of him, but then, she never really had to ask).
But if she were to be perfectly honest, what drew her to Jefferson was the same thing that once drew her to Frank. Both men possessed an edge, a dangerous presence akin to a wild animal's. With Mark, it was more subtle. Rachel could sense it anyway—from his gaze, the quick movements of his hands, his quiet, forceful way that made even his suggestions sound like commands. Each man revolved around their own personal dark star, and Rachel couldn't help but be drawn to them. It was the same thing that drew her to Chloe all those years ago.
Chloe. Just the thought of her worsened the growing thread of unease inside Rachel. It was torture keeping this from Chloe, despite knowing that in the long run, it would benefit them both. But even the thought of confessing, of seeing the look on Chloe's face, made Rachel's courage fail. How long could she keep this up? She had to resolve it somehow, soon.
But that would have to wait. For now, her dreams lay ahead, waiting only for—
"Rachel!"
She whirled about, shock spreading across her face as Max pelted down the sidewalk towards her.
"Rachel, you can't go!"
Rachel's face flushed with heat, but she managed to school her features. "Hey Maxie," she said, producing a sheepish smile, "I'm really sorry to worry you. I thought you might like some tea, but it looks like Dad drank it all last night so—"
"We both know this isn't the way to the store." Panting, Max came to a stop some five paces away, her face pale and open and full of fear. "You're meeting him, aren't you? You're meeting Mark Jefferson."
Rachel felt her feet rooting themselves into the concrete. There was a hot coil winding deep in her chest, heating up her blood. She had been so careful; she had told no one.
"That's why you're sneaking out," Max continued. "It's Jefferson. He asked you to meet him."
"Max." Rachel focused on keeping her breathing steady. "I'm not sure what you've heard from whomever, but this isn't really—"
"I know all about him, Rachel. He's the reason I needed to talk to you alone. I know about the letter you tried to write to Chloe but you ended up throwing away. I know about you and Frank Bowers. I know you gave him your bracelet and I know about the drugs." Max gulped, then blurted out, "And I know that if you go see Jefferson right now, it'll be the last thing you'll ever do."
Rachel's blood boiled up from her chest into her head. Her body acted on its own—she lunged towards Max, eyes blazing, finger raised in warning.
"How?"
She halted just inches from Max—Rachel could see every inch of her features, from the freckles standing out against her pale skin to the lump being swallowed down her throat. But Max did not back away.
"How do you know all this?" Rachel demanded. "No more games, Max! Tell me right now!"
Max stared back at her, hands balling into fists. "You already know how, Rachel."
"Like I'm supposed to believe you came from the future! What the fuck is your damage, Max? Who can swallow—"
"It's already happened. And it's going to happen again unless we do something to change it!"
Max's lips were trembling, but her eyes never wavered. Rachel was struck by the absolute certainty in that blue gaze. It was as if Chloe were looking at her—no lenses, no filters. And for the second time since she met Max Caulfield, Rachel was seized by the insane, terrifying possibility that every word this girl was saying was true.
Still, she cried, "You're—you're working with David Madsen, aren't you? He's been spying on me for weeks. And you're helping him, trying to get me to confess to something. It's not going to work, Max!"
Max didn't even reply to this; she simply gazed back, looking sad and lost and helpless, and Rachel felt foolish for even dreaming up such a thing.
"Max," she said, voice faltering, "what…what is this?"
"This is me doing everything I can." Max stretched out her hands towards Rachel's. "You have to trust me, Rachel. Don't go to him. He's the real murderer. He's built a Dark Room where he drags his victims so he can take these horrible pictures for his fucked-up collection. He destroyed Nathan—and he'll destroy you too."
"Y-you're not making any sense."
"Rachel, earlier you said you believed me. You said I was honest. You know I wouldn't come all this way just to play some kind of joke. Not on you, and especially not on Chloe.
"So I'm asking you to trust me. I need you to trust me. If you'd just listen for a few minutes, I'll tell you everything that he's doing. Please, Rachel. You need to know what he did to me. To you. To Chloe. Please help me make it right."
And now it was clear to Rachel how she knew Max wasn't lying. She could read it from the quiet terror in those wide eyes, the knot between her brows, the prickling of her flesh. Some unspeakable horror lived just beneath Max's skin and it was impossible to fake. Of this Rachel was sure, because an answering horror was rising inside her too.
In a cold, flat voice, Rachel said, "I need to go, Max."
She turned away from Max's crushed expression, faced the road to the lighthouse once again. "You'd better go too. I'll be back home in about an hour, and I want you gone from there before I arrive."
This is simply self-defense, Rachel assured herself. Max was assaulting her foundations, the reality she had so carefully crafted all these years. She could not—would not—see them shattered.
Rachel took five steps forward and the world plunged into darkness.
She halted, nearly losing her balance in the sudden gloom. One moment the shoreline was bathed in soft afternoon light, next it was night, as if she had lost several hours in a matter of seconds. A faded yellow moon hung in the sky, and the lighthouse in the distance was an unlit candle in the dark.
Have I gone crazy? She thought. No, no way. I'm dreaming—I must be.
It wasn't completely dark after all—a flickering glow from her right caught her attention. Rachel dragged her eyes to look and her breath instantly went backward.
Arcadia Bay was in flames. The town hall nearby was an inferno, fire crackling from every window, the grass on the lawn shriveling up and dying beneath the trembling heat. In every street, flames ran rampant amongst the stores and houses. Metal snapped and groaned, glass shattered, and burning wood crashed to the ground. Above it all, ravens cawed a maddening chant against a glowing, smoke-filled sky.
Just like back then, came Rachel's unbidden thought, three years ago, when I burned the forest down.
"This isn't happening." She clutched her head with both hands. But the heat was already baking her skin. A gust of wind brought acrid smoke and bits of ash to her nose, stinging her eyes and catching in her throat. "This isn't real," she wailed. "I'm dreaming...dreaming! I—"
A firm hand gripped her shoulder. Rachel blinked in surprise; the sea of flames was gone. Every building stood as it had always been; nothing but golden light filled the sleepy town.
"Rachel?" Max said, gently shaking her. "Rachel, can you hear me? Are you okay?"
Rachel stared back at Max's worried expression, mouth agape, the taste of ash still on her tongue. The vision felt so real, nearly as real as the hand steadying her shoulder. But Max hadn't seen any of it.
"Rachel?"
Rachel looked to her right, out over the bay. The sun was hanging low over the sea—the golden hour was almost here. She could almost see California appearing before her like a mirage, a Fata Morgana hovering over the restless, grasping waves.
If she hurried, she could still make it to Mark, prove to herself it was all real and good and true.
But even now, clouds were racing towards the shore, threatening to obscure that blazing light. She tore her gaze from the sunset and back to Max's concerned face. And then, she felt it—a quiet shift, the universe pivoting ever so slightly on some hidden axis.
"Tell me everything," Rachel whispered.
Max led her down to the shore to an empty bench, hidden from the street by a stone barrier. They sat tilted towards each other with only a hand's breadth between them. Then Max talked—haltingly at first, then surer, then it came tumbling out, an awful litany that seemed like she was exorcizing her own demons.
She talked about her past (their tomorrow?), her first reunion with Chloe in the Blackwell girl's room, how the two of them joined forces to hunt for clues to Rachel's whereabouts. How they discovered the Dark Room conspiracy, and the shelf full of red binders, like crypts marked with the names of girls. She talked about Chloe's murder at Jefferson's hands, and of the storm that left both Arcadia Bay and Max's life in ruins.
"I tried so many times to save her," Max said, pausing to gather herself. "But it's like the world had it out for her. No matter what I did, Chloe ended up dying."
Finally, she told Rachel of the three Native American women who promised salvation, if she did the one thing they asked of her.
"Save the Incarnate," Rachel repeated. "Me."
Max talked. Rachel listened. Sometimes, when Max faltered, Rachel would repeat the last thing she said to prompt her. During the worst parts, when Max talked about Chloe suffering, Rachel would fit her palm over her mouth to hold back a gasp or a sob. But she barely uttered a word, allowing Max the space to go on with her story.
Soon, the sun began to dip below the water. The dark clouds gathered and glowered; the sea breeze felt charged and dangerous.
It was only after Max had finished, arriving at their present, that Rachel drew a deep shuddering breath and said, "So you're saying…it all hinges on me now."
"Yes."
"That you have to save me, to let me 'choose', in order to stop things from going to hell."
Again, "Yes."
"And if I…if we don't do this…if we fail…either a storm destroys Arcadia Bay or Chloe dies?"
Max couldn't even bring herself to speak; she just nodded.
Rachel found the edges of her mouth quivering. Touching them didn't help—her hands were trembling too. "Can I…I need…I need a moment alone."
She got up from the bench and stumbled onto the sand towards the water. She had forgotten about Jefferson and the promise of California—it felt surreal, like it had happened in a different universe.
Throughout Max's story, Rachel had had to force back the shock, the horror, the guilt that sickened her stomach. The grief at how she had so thoroughly ruined Chloe's life, and the sheer terror that, in some misbegotten future, this was already past, the life she had so carefully cultivated swept away at the hands of madmen. And that it had been averted—that she had been saved—only by the mercy of strangers. She couldn't decide whether to laugh or throw up.
Her hands wouldn't stop trembling. She had never wanted a smoke as badly as she did now. She wanted a hit, a pill, anything to shield her from the pain. But she had nothing. Instead, she fell to her knees just a few paces from the water. The sand crept into her sneakers, scraped against her legs, but Rachel welcomed the discomfort. She gritted her teeth and crossed her arms onto her shoulders as if she could bottle the truth up inside and keep it from harming her. But Max's words had cut her open and laid her bare.
She had failed Chloe. She had failed herself. In one afternoon, her dreams had turned to ash. There were no words to capture all of this, but she didn't need them.
Rachel raised her head and screamed. Her cry ripped through the air in a wave of power and, unable to resist, the sky itself answered.
Max, who had kept her eyes fixed on the girl by the surf, was instantly blinded by a bolt of shattering, incandescent white. Rachel vanished behind a blast of air and sand, her cry swallowed up by the deafening crash of thunder.