By the time she gets to Culmination station, at which no train ever stops anymore, the whole thing with the points seems like another flashback. Culmination looks like Arcadia Bay 10 years into the future. Like it culminated about a hundred years back. The clock on the old courthouse is showing last Thursday, and all the street poles are tilted every which way, power lines sagging almost to the cracked pavement. Her truck is right there in the empty parking lot.

"Now this really pisses me off," Max Caulfield says to herself, looking at Chloe's truck parked diagonally across a couple handicapped spots. "So entitled. 'Sorry, handicapped folks, my truck needs these two spots more than you do.' Bastard."

Steph runs up, a worried expression on her face.

"Chloe, are you OK?"

Chloe is hobbling and covered in dust, so she says, "Never better. What's wrong, Steph?"

"Well… I couldn't decide between the Belgian waffles and bacon omelet, so I got both."

What would Max Caulfield pick?

"What are you, some kind of a wild animal?"

"You should have said! Wait, why are you limping? Are you OK?"

So she tells Steph the story, while ingesting the omelet, then surprises herself by burning through the waffles, too. It's like she hasn't eaten in days.

"Feel free to explain that one," she says, leaning back in her seat and lighting up a cigarette. As she does, she pulls up the right leg of her jeans, revealing a band of deep purple around her ankle.

"Wow. That looks… painful."

"Nah."

"As far as how you got out, I could maybe see the engineer sending a signal to the switchbox there to switch the points off to free you and quickly back on to keep the train from falling into the river, but… that wouldn't explain how you got out without knowing it…"

Chloe makes an impressed face.

"That's a hella good theory, Steph. Not as good as my own 'my flashbacks teleported me out of the trap to the riverbank' theory, but still hella good."

"Thanks. A-and… I found the road to Hamlet!"

"Oh, no way! You rock, Marco Gingrich!"

Steph basks in it, blushing, for about a minute, but something's eating her, Chloe can tell. Finally, she can't stand it.

"I can't actually take credit for it. This road literally looks like nothing. I would never have found it, if not for that guy."

"What guy?"

"This guy I met at the diner, actually. Beard, big hair, glasses…"

"The laptop creep!"

"You know him?"

"Yeah, he was looking at porn when I was there earlier."

"Oh…"

"But, please, continue."

"So anyway, he overheard me talking to Joyce about Hamlet…"

"You told Joyce about Hamlet?!"

"Well, yeah. I told you she was asking, and I didn't think it was a secret or anything…"

"Did you guys have a bonding session about how fucked up I am?" Chloe Price asks, entering the living room.

"It's not always about you," says Max. She's at the table, dressed like Rachel, elbows deep in a photo album.

Chloe blinks.

"Ugh... You're right, it wasn't. I just… don't like to tell her things."

"And this way, if we don't turn up," Steph says, "they'll know where to look."

"Ah, the warm, fuzzy feeling spreads. OK, so what did the pervert say?"

"So he heard me talking about it, and guess what?"

"What, Steph?"

"Hamlet is where the tribe is!"

"The tribe? Oh, the Tillamook! No shit?"

"Yes! N-no? Anyway, I guess this guy is some sort of a reporter, and he just did a story on them and their struggle against the Prescotts taking over the tribal land to build their housing subdivision. There's like, a lawsuit."

There is a flash of a newspaper, The Great Northwest.

THE PRESCOTTS' PAN ESTATES: HAVEN OR HELL?

"Yeah, yeah, I heard about that. It's going to do fuck all to the Prescotts. But the important thing is, Rachel was hanging out with Tommy the Tillamook, and she recently mapped Hamlet, and the Tillamook are in Hamlet."

"Do you think Rachel could be there with… them?"

"With them, or with him. Either way, as long as she's there, alive and well, my job will be done."

"What are you gonna do?"

"If she's there?"

"Yeah."

She inhales deeply, opens her mouth and just lets the smoke billow out without blowing it.

"I'm gonna punch somebody. Right in the dick. Then I'm going to kiss you on the lips and take you to Portland."

"Uh… I mean… I… might not have to go right that second…"

The laughter is almost completely not awkward.

Chloe tosses the cig and starts the truck.

"OK, Ezekiel Blackwell, blaze that trail."

It's soon apparent that Steph wasn't kidding about the road being hidden. It starts out of a fenced and gated empty lot behind the defunct Culmination Heritage Museum, and even though the wire gate is unlocked and ajar, the overgrown gravel track is completely invisible from the street. They drive past the remains of a Wild West mail coach, a pair of rusty wheelbarrows, a crooked weather wane in the shape of an owl, and a pile of water-damaged carved wooden bears, before finally hitting the gravel of the path. The road dips, then begins to climb almost immediately. A moment later, it ducks under a canopy of fir, hemlock and Sitka spruce. The air gets chilly. The sudden chill and the crunch of gravel under the wheels makes them retreat into themselves a bit, and in order to not think about actually finding Rachel in a wigwam with Tommy, whom she imagines as this bronze-skinned, muscular asshole with a man-bun, Chloe thinks about her dad. Not that that's any less painful, but after 5 years, the pain is familiar, almost routine.

"I don't know how to say this," says Max Caulfield, "but I'm truly sorry about what happened to Chloe."

She's in Chloe's living room again, and William is at the table, but instead of the photo album, there's a stack of bills the size of Rhode Island.

"Me too," he says. "All it takes is a few minutes to change a girl's whole life. But she's alive. And she's been a trooper."

"Is she mad at me for now staying in touch? She should be. I have no excuse."

"She was disappointed, but she knows you care. And I know how hard it is to process all this. It's taken us years."

"William, I just want you to know that whatever happens, I'll always be there for Chloe."

She phases back in, pissed not only at the elaborate layers within the lie her subconscious, which must know her better than her conscious does, have constructed out of self-pity, but also at the fact that this fake William is so much more solid and alive than the foggy "little pieces of time" her brain serves up as her memories of him when she tries to actually think about the real moments they spent together. It's not fucking fair.

The universe is a stupid fucking place.

"Fuck!" she exclaims, punching the dash.

"What?" Steph jumps.

"Nothing. Just a flashback that was way too annoying, even by their standards."

The road curves around a hill and breaks into a clearing. The sun hits their eyes, and when the world fades back in, they see the river about a hundred feet down the ferny slope and the train tracks on the other bank. Everywhere else you look are the green mountains of coniferous jungle.

They turn, and slip under the trees again and begin to descend.

Ten minutes later they emerge into a horseshoe-shaped valley. The town that is nestled at the bend of that horseshoe is nothing short of frontier: one central street, a few outlying houses, a water tower up on the slope. There's definitely a saloon with swinging doors. It would have looked completely abandoned if not for the signs of recent removal of vegetation, and pale smoke rising out of two huts. The sign HAMLET, apparently not deemed worthy of renovation efforts, is sticking out crookedly out of a roadside ditch.

Thoughts of Rachel are back, and the prospect of seeing her coming out of one of these houses hand in hand with some… guy is so frightening that Chloe almost hits the brakes. But then she remembers that fear is the enemy.

So fuck fear.

Which, for once, does not look like a smart idea. As they approach the beginning of the town's only street, a man steps into the road in front of them. He's older, got a red ballcap with an S on it, a button-down shirt with rolled up sleeves, and a big-ass rifle. Chloe does hit the brakes then, clocking the second guy leaning on the wall of a house to the right. He's in the shadows, so she can't see him very well, but she sees enough to tell that he's also armed.

"Shit," she says.

Steph fidgets.

After studying them for a minute, the man in the street glances at the guy by the house, who is suddenly no longer there.

"Help you?" the first man calls out, moving aside.

"I'm… we're looking for our friend," Chloe says, letting the truck roll closer and stop next to him. Under his flannel, he's wearing a hawt dawg man t-shirt.

"Who's your friend?" he asks.

"Rachel Amber."

The man looks at her for about ten seconds, then at Steph for about five. He looks a bit like an eagle. Or a thunderbird.

"The missing girl. She's not here."

"But you know her."

"I don't know her. I've met her, and I've seen the posters."

"Where did you meet her?"

"Here. A few months ago."

"Months! Who...? What was she doing here?"

"Who knows. Said she was doing research on our land dispute."

"What? You didn't believe her?"

"It's not a question of believing. I know what she said, but I don't know what she didn't say. And I felt like there were things she didn't say."

"And what about what she did?"

"What she did was question pretty much everybody in town, including the kids. Charmed nearly all of them, too. Took a lot of pictures. Then left and that was the last I heard of her, until I saw those posters last week."

Chloe looks up and down the street and back at the man's lined face.

"Sorry." He says, watching her, adding after a pause, "I wish I could tell you more."

And Chloe is about to ask it, ask who Rachel was with when she came, to confirm it once and for all, but another person walks out into the street directly in front of the truck, and she slams the gear into park.

It's the homeless lady.

The woman raises her hand in greeting. Chloe nearly chokes on her rage.

"Chloe," Steph says, but she's already out of the cabin.

"You?! You knew that fucking bike!"

"Hey, I wasn't sure."

"Bullshit. You would not have run here if you weren't sure."

"I came here to make sure. Wasn't easy, either, to hike all the way out here."

"You shoulda told me about Tommy then and there. I would have given you a ride. Saved me two days running around trying to figure out where the fuck the tribe was."

"I just said I wanted to make sure first. Damn near changed my mind half way here. I was like, 'What the hell am I doing breaking my legs for that girl? I don't give a damn about her.' But then I remembered how your mother is always nice to me, and how I like Rachel."

"Yeah, I don't give a shit if some hobo likes me. All I care about right now is finding Rachel, and if she's in more danger because you stalled trying to protect some asshole from your tribe…"

"I was helping you, you stupid girl."

"Don't think I won't kick your ass just because you're old, drunk and homeless."

"Oh, you think you're tough, kid?"

"OK, break it up now," the rifle man, who has been watching this unfold from like 3 feet away, finally steps in between them. "What the hell is going on here?"

Steph, who has been about to jump between Chloe and the homeless lady herself, says, "We think this man, Tommy, may know where Rachel is, and we were hoping to find him - or them - here."

"He's not here," the man and the homeless lady say at the same time.

"Do you know where we can find him?" asks Chloe, pointedly addressing the man.

The man shakes his head. "He doesn't live here."

"And his aunt says she hasn't seen him since February," says Claire.

"She does?" the man raises an eyebrow.

"That's what she told me. Why?"

He shrugs.

"I was going to say I thought I heard his bike here two weeks ago, but if she says that, then maybe it wasn't him."

"Or she's lying," says Chloe.

The man looks at her through narrowed eyes, then at Steph, as though to ask, "Is your friend here for real?"

"Why do you think Tommy knows where Rachel Amber is, anyway?" he asks instead.

"They've been… hanging out," Chloe replies, softening the second part of that and feeling the sudden desire to grab her neck.

"Listen," Max says. "When I looked through David's laptop, I saw Rachel and Frank... being more than friends."

They're in Chloe's truck, driving down Arcadia Bay avenue.

"Right," Chloe Price replies. "No way, Max. She was just posing to tease Frank."

"If you're not going to believe me," Max says, "why don't we check out what Frank has in his RV?"

"What's that gonna prove?"

Back in Hamlet, Oregon, Chloe forces her hand down from her neck.

The man shakes his head. "Her and Tommy? She's how old? You know what? Nevermind. I'll leave you to it. Just don't kill each other. Or anybody else. Somehow, I'm the closest thing to law in this town."

"So why don't you help us?"

"One, I said I'm the closest thing to it, but no one's actually hired me to do the job. Two, neither Rachel nor Tommy are here and I have no idea where they could be, so I don't see how I can help you."

"Wait, back when you met her, wasn't she here with Tommy then?"

"Didn't look like she was with anybody to me. She just appeared on this road. Alone. On foot. In the middle of February. Pretty sure she hopped a freight train to get here, then crossed over that rotten, iced-over bridge. I remember thinking she was a crazy person."

Chloe sees her, good as a flashback, walking into snowy Hamlet in her boots and her jeans and her parka. Sees her alone in a train car, watching the snow and the burned forest float by, her cheeks red. Sees her stepping, gracefully, fearlessly, lightly across the slippery, rickety-ass bridge, dark, oily Nehalem flowing below. Rachel. Alone. Without Tommy, but also without Chloe. She sees the ticket to the college basketball game Rachel skipped to come out here by herself.

It hurts.

"How did she... get back?" she asks, swallowing.

"Now that I think about it, it was actually Tally, Tommy's aunt, who drove her. I don't know how far."

Chloe turns to the homeless lady. "Let me talk to this aunt."

"This aunt" is a tall, pretty, dark-haired woman of about 45. Tally is short for Tallulah. She's wearing a white tank top, a teal maxi skirt and no bra. Her house is the last one on the street; beyond is only the water tower. There's a beat up blue Cavalier in the driveway. She's standing on the porch, watching the three of them come closer with an expression that isn't all that friendly.

"What is this?" she asks when they are within earshot.

"We're looking for Rachel," Chloe says. "Rachel Amber."

"So? I gave her a ride once. Never seen her since."

"We think Tommy, your nephew, might know where she is."

"Why would he know where she is? He met her the same time I did. Anyway, Tommy is not here. I haven't seen him and I don't know where he is. I already told Claire."

"Yes, she said, but then the guy with the rifle says Tommy came through here a couple of weeks ago."

"You're saying I'm lying."

Chloe opens her mouth, but Steph gets there first.

"We're saying maybe you're trying to keep your family business private, and we get that, but our friend's been missing for 3 weeks, and Tommy might be the only person who can tell us anything new. So if there is anything you can tell us…"

There's about a minute of silence and everyone taking turns looking at each other.

"Ugh. Freaking Jack should really mind his own business," Tally says finally. "The guy thinks he's a sheriff or something. OK, so Tommy did come through two weeks ago. Out of the blue. But I still have no idea why you figured he would know anything about that girl."

"So he was alone?"

"Alone on his bike. Stayed for maybe an hour. Asking me about spirits and nonsense."

"Spirits?"

"Yeah. Spirits, and owls, and the Black Lodge. How to protect yourself. What to do if you're possessed. Stuff like that. Sounded like he was tripping."

"Then what happened?"

"Then I told him I ain't my mom. All I know from the folklore is the Thunderbird and the Whale, and the Raven and Fire, and that you're not supposed to mess with the owls, and that certain places in the woods you don't go to. So he left. That's it."

"You didn't ask him what it was about?" Chloe asks.

The woman gives her a long stare.

"I have enough problems trying to live in this paradise here. I'm not going to volunteer to involve myself in my sister's son's drug issues. I told him to stay and sleep it off. He didn't want to."

"Has he had drug issues in the past?"

"He's not the only one. I will say he looked pretty pale this time, though. Pretty spooked. A bad batch, probably."

"So where did he go?"

"I don't know where he goes."

"Do you have his phone number?"

"He doesn't have a phone number. I don't, either."

"Well, do you know where he lives, works, anything?"

"I think he's been pretty much living on his bike, ever since the Prescotts fired everyone from the docks. Same goes for working. He was talking about trying his luck in Oceanside, or Seaside, at one point, but that's been probably three or four years back now."

"But you said he was in town when Rachel came to visit?"

"Yeah, said he came to do some fishing. Spent maybe a week. Maybe less."

Steph thanks the lady, and they walk back to the truck, Claire bringing up the rear. Behind them, the door to Tally's house slaps shut, the sound echoing through the empty street.

"Give me a lift back to town?" Claire asks.

"If you don't mind me asking," Steph says, "Why go back there? Wouldn't it better for you to stay here instead of…?"

"Living under the dumpster behind the Two Whales?" Chloe, who's even less than usual in the mood for tact, finishes for her.

Claire looks around and shakes her whole body for a brief moment.

"No. No. I'm not one of them. Arcadia Bay is my home."

They drive out of Hamlet, Oregon in silence. Steph is sitting in the middle, between Chloe and the homeless lady slumped against the door.

"What do you think Tommy was talking about?" Steph asks.

"Huh?" Chloe, coming out of the flashback, stares at her blankly. "Oh, that. Drugs, obviously."

"And Rachel wasn't with him…"

"I don't care," Chloe says, though she does, "he's still the guy we need to find. And we're back to having no idea where to find him."

"There are spirits, though," the homeless lady says some time later. "Good and bad. And spirit animals."

"That's one thing I truly love about Arcadia Bay," Max Caulfield says. "It's all those cool animals in the forest."

"The squirrels always come in the morning," Samuel Taylor says as though speaking to himself, "for food. I can hear them whisper… What animals do you see in the forest?"

"Don't laugh, but I saw a doe that seemed to be looking right at me. Like it was trying to communicate."

"Oh, that's your spirit animal," says Samuel. "Nothing weird there, except you saw yours. Could be a sign about your destiny…"

Oh yeah, Chloe thinks, back in the real world. Nothing weird at all.

"Thanks," she says, "but we're not looking for spirits. We're looking for Rachel Amber."

They don't speak the rest of the way.

Chloe is suddenly dead tired. Tired of this day. Tired of the stupid fucking flashbacks giving her stupid fucking clues that almost kill her but lead nowhere.

Tired of the stupid fucking universe that keeps taking everyone she ever loved.

As they round the last bend into Arcadia Bay, the clock, amazingly, shows only 12:23PM. There's a line of trucks at ACFC and two people waiting for a bus at the bus stop. It's the rush hour.

"I hope she's OK," the homeless lady says when they drop her off in the alley next to the diner.

But you can't save everybody, Chloe hears in her head.