Max couldn't help herself. As they reached the doors and stepped out into the cold night, she cast a glance back through the glass. The young nurse was on her feet now, looking around with a furrowed brow, clearly puzzled by Max's absence. She wandered the lobby, scanning the room as if expecting to find Max tucked behind a potted plant or hiding in one of the chairs.
A knot of guilt twisted in Max's stomach. The nurse was just doing her job, trying to help. But Max couldn't stay. There was too much at play. Too many unanswered questions.
Chloe's arm tightened around her waist, steadying her as they moved across the parking lot. "Don't look back, Max," Chloe muttered, her voice low and sharp. "We're not turning this into some Lifetime movie where you run back and apologize."
Max swallowed hard, forcing her eyes away from the glass doors. Chloe was right. There was no time for second-guessing. They needed to get out of here, fast. But the nurse's worried expression stuck with her, even as the cold night air bit at her skin, mingling with the uneasy sense that something much larger was slipping through her fingers.
As they rounded the corner, Max's mind raced ahead—expecting to see Chloe's old, rusted-out pickup truck. But when she squinted at the rows of cars under the dim, flickering lights, the familiar banged-up truck was nowhere in sight.
Instead, Chloe strode confidently toward a sleek muscle car, its chrome edges gleaming under the lamplight like something out of an action movie. Max stopped dead in her tracks, blinking in disbelief. "Uh, Chloe? Since when did you trade the rust bucket for this?"
Chloe grinned, clearly enjoying Max's confusion. "You like it? Figured I'd give the old girl a break. Turns out she's not exactly road-worthy right now."
Max frowned, her sense of unease deepening. "Wait, what happened to your truck? I should know this, right?"
Chloe's smile faltered for just a second before she waved it off. "You were there. The tires, the front end… She's done for, you know. Until I can scrape together the cash to fix her up, I'm borrowing this beauty." She patted the car's roof. "Step-douche's pride and joy."
"David let you take his car?" Max couldn't hide the shock in her voice. David didn't even let Chloe touch his car, let alone drive it.
Chloe smirked, opening the passenger door for Max. "Let is a strong word. More like… he won't miss it for a day."
Max slid into the seat, but the familiar pang of anxiety lingered in her chest. Chloe's nonchalance wasn't easing the gnawing tension. Her thin hospital clothes did little to block the cold seeping through the windows, and she shivered involuntarily. It wasn't just the cold, though—it was this creeping sense that something was wrong, something Chloe wasn't telling her.
Chloe's voice rang out from behind the car. "Jackpot."
Max sat up straighter, curiosity cutting through the fog of fatigue. She turned to look as Chloe approached, arms full of a small but packed box. She dropped it onto the seat with a grin.
Max raised an eyebrow. "What's this?"
"Survival gear. Step-douche must've packed it for the apocalypse—or maybe just in case I borrowed his car," Chloe added with a smirk. She pulled out a flashlight, first aid kit, a couple of energy bars, and—most importantly—a foil survival blanket. "See? I knew he was paranoid about something."
Max eyed the blanket skeptically. "You've got to be kidding me. A survival blanket?"
"Laugh all you want. It'll keep you warm." Chloe wrapped the crinkly silver fabric around Max before she could protest. Despite its flimsy appearance, the warmth was immediate, comforting against the cold biting at her skin.
Chloe grinned as Max settled into the blanket. "Told you. I'll crank the heat once we're on the road, but for now, this'll do."
Max tugged the blanket closer, her muscles finally beginning to relax. The weight of the day—the hospital, the nurse, the guilt, the escape—started to sink in. She closed her eyes, but even as exhaustion threatened to pull her under, a lingering unease gnawed at her thoughts. "Thanks," she murmured, her voice barely a whisper. "You always come through."
Chloe winked. "Damn right I do. Now just rest up. We'll be back in Arcadia Bay before you know it."
As the engine rumbled to life beneath her, Max leaned her head back, eyelids growing impossibly heavy. Chloe reached over, snapping Max's seatbelt into place with a grin. "Buckle up, Caulfield. I don't want to explain to the nurse why you got whiplash during our great escape."
Max smiled weakly, sinking further into the seat as the world outside blurred. The rhythmic hum of the tires was almost hypnotic. She curled up into the soft seat with a content sigh. Exhaustion washed over her like a wave, pulling her under. "I'll just… close my eyes… for a minute…" she murmured, drifting into sleep.
Max dreamed of spirals.
She was running through the halls of Blackwell Academy, her feet splashing through puddles that shouldn't be there. The lockers warped and twisted, their edges bending like reflections in a funhouse mirror. The lights flickered overhead, casting long, jittery shadows. The air smelled damp, thick with the scent of wet wood and something sour.
She was late. She had to get to class. To Jefferson's class.
No. Not Jefferson.
Max slowed, her heart pounding, her breath coming in ragged gasps. She couldn't go back there. She wouldn't. But the pull was irresistible, dragging her forward like a current she couldn't fight.
"Welcome back, Max."
The voice stopped her cold. Smooth, oily. It seeped into her skin like poison. Jefferson stepped out from the shadows, his smirk twisting into something more sinister. His camera dangled from his neck, the lens gleaming under the flickering light.
"You didn't think you could stay away forever, did you?" His voice was laced with mock concern. "There's always more to learn. More to see."
Max tried to scream, but her voice was gone. Her legs were rooted to the ground, frozen in place. Jefferson's footsteps echoed as he approached, each one louder than the last. Her heart pounded in her ears, terror rising like bile in her throat.
"I'm so proud of you, Max." He leaned in, his breath hot against her ear. "Smile."
The flash blinded her. When her vision cleared, the hallway had transformed.
The walls were lined with photographs—hundreds of them, neatly pinned in rows like an art gallery. Each one was a snapshot of a girl lying in the woods. Her body sprawled on the forest floor, her skin pale, her eyes closed. She looked almost peaceful.
But the beauty in the photographs felt wrong. Each shot was meticulously composed, the lighting soft and cinematic, as if Jefferson had turned these horrific moments into some twisted art form. The shadows played over the girls' bodies in a way that felt too perfect, too intentional. The images were a grotesque blend of high art and crime scene documentation.
Max's stomach churned as she looked at the girls, moving from one photograph to the next. And then she came to the final photograph. Rachel.
Jefferson was beside her now, his voice soft, reverent. "She was perfect, wasn't she? Rachel had the kind of beauty you only see once in a lifetime."
Max's throat tightened. The bile rose. She couldn't look at Rachel's face, couldn't face the truth.
"I know she deserved better than this, Max," Jefferson continued, his grip on her shoulder like a vise. "And I am truly sorry, but it was the only way to stop… them."
Max's mind screamed for her to wake up. Wake up! She struggled, her limbs heavy and useless as if they belonged to someone else. Her heartbeat pounded in her ears, the terror building, suffocating.
"Max! Hey, Max!"
Chloe's voice cut through the nightmare, yanking Max back to reality. She jolted awake, her pulse racing.
"You okay?" Chloe asked, but her tone was off. Her hand rested gently on Max's shoulder, her eyes full of concern.
Max blinked, still shaking off the dream. Her heartbeat thundered in her chest. The panic, the terror—it clung to her like a shadow. "Yeah, just… a bad dream."
Chloe studied her closely, but something about the way her eyes lingered made Max uneasy. "You, uh… said Rachel's name."
Max's heart skipped a beat. The dream was already fading, but the mention of Rachel sent a shiver down her spine. "I did?"
"Yeah. You were talking in your sleep. Weird shit." Chloe gave her a worried look. "You sure you're alright?"
Max forced a smile. "I'm fine." But the tremor in her voice betrayed her.
Chloe sighed, glancing at the road ahead. Her voice softened. "There are some things you should know. About Rachel."
Max sat up straighter, her pulse quickening. "What about her? Is she alright?"
Chloe hesitated, her expression tight. "She left for L.A. a few days ago. You know, like she always wanted."
"That's… good, right?"
Chloe shrugged, but the tension in her shoulders told another story. "Maybe. I don't know. She didn't say goodbye. No message. Just… gone."
Max's chest tightened, her thoughts racing. "Have you heard from her since?"
Chloe's frustration flared. "Jesus, Max. Everyone's saying she's in L.A. What do you want from me? Should I break down in tears because my best friend ditched me without a word?"
Max bit her lip, feeling guilty for pushing, but something didn't sit right. Chloe's words were deflecting, dodging the truth. "It just feels strange."
Chloe fell silent, her knuckles white on the steering wheel. Then, under her breath, she muttered, "You don't know the half of it."
Max tensed. "What does that mean?"
Chloe hesitated, biting her lip, as if debating how much to say. "There's… more. I didn't want to tell you until I was sure."
Max's pulse raced. "More? Chloe, what are you talking about?"
Chloe took a deep breath, then veered the car off the main road onto an overgrown path, her face set in determination. Max's stomach twisted with unease as the car bumped along the dirt track.
"Where are we going?"
"The junkyard," Chloe said, her voice thick with something Max couldn't place—fear, maybe? "I wasn't going to show you this, not yet. But maybe you'll understand."
When they arrived, Chloe led Max to the small hideout they'd used in the past. Their breaths smoked in the cold, and there was snow in the air. Chloe pushed the door open and they went in. She flicked on a flashlight, illuminating the walls, floor, and ceiling—covered in Rachel's handwriting. Strange symbols, cryptic phrases, all scrawled like a madwoman's journal.
Max's breath caught in her throat. Something was wrong. Deeply wrong.
Chloe stood next to her, her voice barely a whisper. "I don't know what this means… but I think we're gonna have to find out."