Chapter 2
Ever since receiving her powers, Max had hardly gone a night without nightmares plaguing her, but the night she spent in Rachel's room was a welcome respite. She'd been untroubled by any dreams at all, her mind completely empty for the few hours of sleep there was time to get, and when she woke she had hardly realized she had fallen asleep at all. The only evidence of time's passage was the mid-morning sunlight filtering through the blinds, casting the room in a warm glow.
She was tired, obviously, but it had been the first night in weeks that she hadn't dreamed of the destruction of Arcadia Bay, and it made her hopeful. Maybe saving Rachel had diverted the timeline and avoided the storm. Maybe this was it. She wasn't willing to believe it yet- she'd assumed before that things were over and paid dearly for it- but it was a comforting idea that met her as she woke.
Rubbing the sleep from her eyes, she sat up on the couch. The blanket she'd been given was on the floor beside it, along with a bag of water that had once been ice. Apparently she hadn't been quite as restful as her dreamless sleep had led her to believe. She checked on her jaw, pressing gently where she'd been hit. It hurt, tender to the touch, but besides a spike of pain she felt no major damage.
Across the room was a full-length mirror, and Max stood up and walked over it to get a better look at her jaw. It was bruised, an unhappy red color, but not significantly swollen. It would probably take a few days to heal, but it would fade soon enough.
Since she was already at the mirror, she took a moment to look herself over. She was disheveled, certainly: her hair was unbrushed and a little tangled, and she noticed the slightest whiffs of B.O. lingering about her after spending all day and night in the same set of clothes. Overall, she was a little bit of a mess, and looked tired more than anything else despite having woken up a couple of minutes ago.
She'd change as soon as she got home, she thought, but it occurred to her a moment later that she really didn't want to go straight back home. It seemed a delicate time to leave Arcadia Bay and Chloe's fate in the balance. Doubly so, since they hadn't alerted the police about the Dark Room.
Why hadn't they? She knew the answer on a basic level, obviously. Because Rachel didn't want to. But why didn't she? Did she just not realise the magnitude of the danger she'd been in, and how close she'd come to being killed? Or was it some kind of ideological rule she kept to never call the cops?
Just ask her, dummy, Max chided herself, turning to the bed across the room, but her questions would have to wait. Chloe was still asleep, snoring quietly, but Rachel was nowhere to be seen.
Max's first reaction was panic. Had something happened during the night? Would she need to rewind and save her from some other unknown danger? It took some effort to calm herself before she could get fully worked up. The most likely thing was that she'd woken up before Max and gone to take a shower or get breakfast. Maybe she'd left some kind of note in case one of the two woke up and found her gone.
Searching for this hypothetical note, Max looked around the room. Last night she'd been too tired to really take it in, but now she developed a proper appreciation for the tidy, welcoming dorm room. She was pretty proud of the personal spin she had put on her own- would put, in this timeline- but Rachel clearly had this down to a science. Everything had a place. No stray papers, books, or trash were present. The only mess visible was the blanket on the floor and the bedcovers, which were only in disarray because of the person still tangled in them. Suddenly self-conscious, Max returned to the couch and folded the blanket while she continued looking around, placing it gingerly on the sofa.
The walls of the room were nearly covered in posters, postcards, and even a few vinyls. Most of the posters were for concerts and tours, the bands featured ranging from mainstream pop to grunge rock and just about anything in between. It seemed Rachel's music tastes were varied, to say the least.
Perhaps more notable, though, were the postcards. At least a dozen were scattered through the posters, and all of them depicted a sunny, idealistic vision of California. Palm trees lining streets, waves crashing on a beach full of decadent tourists, the Hollywood sign in all its oversized splendor. They stood out from the music merchandise, with a strangely intimate feeling to them. Last night, all Max had known about Rachel was from mournful descriptions of a girl who seemed more like a myth or even a martyr. Now, sitting here in her dorm room, it was clear Rachel was a lot more human and homesick than Max had ever guessed.
Aside from the walls, more souvenirs and trinkets were scattered about the room, just enough to give it character but not clutter. A tall, narrow bookshelf held an assortment of textbooks and knick-knacks, catching Max's eye, and she meandered over to it. A ceramic figurine of a grey and blue bird stood out to her, vaguely familiar, and she picked it carefully up off the shelf to examine it more closely.
As she turned it over in her hands, she was suddenly startled by the sound of the door opening, and she jolted where she stood. Her grip failed and the bird plummeted to the ground, and Max braced for it to shatter, but it struck the carpeted floor and bounced a couple of inches. Her first thought was to rewind and replace it before she could be surprised, but she decided not to waste her power on something so inconsequential. She'd already tempted fate with all the rewinding she'd done last night. This wasn't important enough to add to that mess.
She turned from the shelf and saw that the person who had caught her off guard was Rachel, in a new change of clothes and her hair slightly damp. She'd just been at the showers, then. Confusion, even irritation ghosted across her face for a moment before it was replaced with a more amused look of curiosity. "Everything okay over there?"
"Yeah," Max replied a little too quickly, crouching to pick up the bird and put it back up. "I was just looking at the bluebird. Sorry, I didn't mean to snoop or anything."
"Don't worry," Rachel reassured her, putting her toiletry bag on a shelf in her closet while she talked. "It didn't break, did it?"
"No," Max confirmed, looking it over carefully before putting it back where she'd taken it from.
"Then don't sweat it. It's not a bluebird, though, just by the way. It's a scrub-jay."
"Easily confused for a n00b-jay," Max joked offhandedly. Rachel apparently found it much funnier than Max did, laughing for a moment before stopping herself short.
"Sorry, I forgot Chloe was still asleep. Why are you up so early, anyways?"
"I think it was just the sun," she said, shrugging. "What about you?"
"I'm just kind of an early bird," Rachel replied, smiling. "How's your face? Where it got punched, I mean. The rest seems fine."
"Uhm. It's fine, just a little bruised," Max answered her question, not sure how to respond to the rest.
"Yeah, I thought so. Nathan talks big but I'm pretty sure a middle schooler could kick his ass." Rachel's tone was joking and casual- she was talking while she did her makeup in the mirror- but Max decided it was as good a time as any to take the conversation in a more serious direction.
"We really need to tell the police about what happened yesterday," Max said. Rachel's shoulders seemed to sag slightly as soon as she did, but this wasn't the kind of thing that could be ignored until it resolved itself.
It was a few seconds before Rachel replied, measured and thoughtful. "... We should talk about this outside. Let me put my face on, then we can go and really get into it." She added, after a moment, "I get that this is time-sensitive, I just have a lot of questions I want answers for before we do anything serious."
Despite the urgency, Max understood that Rachel wanted more information before they brought this to the police. The Dark Room was beyond the scope of a single night's comprehension, and Rachel had only seen a few minutes of the bunker. She probably didn't even know what fate had awaited her, had Max and Chloe not been there to stop it.
"Okay," she ceded. "Should I wake Chloe up?"
"Nah, let her sleep. When she wakes up she's just going to have to go home and get yelled at anyways."
Silence settled over the room while Rachel finished putting herself together for the day, only taking a few minutes. Max waited on the couch, glancing awkwardly around the room trying not to stare. She let her gaze settle on Chloe instead, who was facing toward the wall and away from Max, her chest rising and falling in time with soft snores.
Really, Max would have liked to have Chloe there when trying to convince Rachel to agree on a plan of action, if for no other reason than to prove to herself that Chloe didn't favor Rachel over her. It was petty and she knew it, but it had stung when Chloe had sided against her last night. She had tried to remind herself, this isn't your Chloe, she hasn't been through everything you have, but it did little to ease the sting of feeling less important to someone she cared so much for.
"Okay, I'm all set," Rachel announced, turning to Max and, as a joke, striking a brief glamour pose. "I was going for a look that really says almost died, still look great." She turned to her desk and pulled out a drawer, producing a pad of sticky notes and a pen. Max also saw that she took out a pair of small objects, but she slipped them into her pocket before it was possible to discern what they were.
"Outside with Max," Rachel dictated as she wrote. She promptly stuck it to Chloe's cheek eliciting hardly a stir. "So she won't freak out if she wakes up. She'll probably be out cold until noon, though," she said good-humoredly.
The pair left the dorm room, entering the hallway, and found it completely empty. It was a Sunday, and a Sunday after a Vortex party at that, so the campus would be a ghost town all morning, the only signs of life the red solo cups that had somehow been scattered just about anywhere.
It was only a short walk down the stairwell to the ground floor, and then out to the courtyard in front of the building. Rachel waved Max over to a bench as out of the way as any and they sat down about arm's length apart. From her pocket Rachel took the two items from her desk and Max saw that they were a pack of cigarettes and a lighter. She opened the box and extended it to Max, who politely declined.
"I don't smoke," she said, adding, "I don't mind if you do, though."
Rachel nodded, withdrawing it and taking herself one. "It's gross, don't start," she advised before lighting her cigarette and taking a drag.
Max took the opportunity to rehash her argument. "I think we need to get the cops involved, and as soon as possible. The longer it takes to put them behind bars, the longer we're in danger."
Rachel nodded pensively as Max spoke, replying with a serious, wise inflection that Max hadn't heard her use before. "Before we do anything, I want to be filled in on everything. I feel like I haven't got the full picture, and I think that's because I don't. But you do." She made direct eye contact with Max, and she felt almost trapped in it. "You seem like you know what's going on, inside and out." There was a question unspoken but imperative in Rachel's words, and Max tried to answer it.
"It's.. a long story. But I can tell you anything you want to know about it." That wasn't entirely true; Max didn't think she had any intention of telling Rachel about her powers. She wasn't sure why, but it seemed like a distinctly bad idea. Chloe believed her, but she doubted Rachel would. They were basically strangers, and Rachel seemed like a very realistic, pragmatic person. Time travel would hardly be the first explanation she'd accept.
"I want you to tell me everything. And I don't just mean what happened yesterday, I mean why that bunker's there, who all is involved and why, what would have happened if Nathan hadn't been scared off. Anything you can think of that's relevant."
It was a tall order. Max steeled herself, replying, "I'll do my best."
And she did. She started with the origins of the Dark Room, Jefferson's photographic vision-meets-fetish and his use of Nathan (and his family's money) to create the bunker he was currently using. She told Rachel about the dozens of girls before her who had been kidnapped and likely killed, and about how Nathan had targeted her in an attempt to impress his 'mentor'. The one thing she avoided talking about was how she'd learned all this. She had no lie ready and hoped that maybe Rachel would either miss that she was withholding that information or not ask out of politeness.
She was apparently getting a lucky break, because not only did Rachel not press her on how she knew all of this, she didn't ask any questions at all. She just sat, smoked, and listened. It was strange to Max that Rachel really wasn't responding to any of it- she didn't look scared or angry or anything Max had thought she'd be. It was an inhuman level of composure and it couldn't be legitimate; there was no person alive who could really stay so calm and collected in this kind of situation. Still, Rachel's mythic status made a little more sense now. Even being able to fake that kind of courage was impressive, at least to Max.
The last thing she went over in her exposition was what had happened last night, giving Rachel a play-by-play of the evening's events, from her arrival at Chloe's to their departure from the Dark Room. When she finished, Rachel took about a minute to think silently before she told Max, "Thanks for telling me everything." She sounded as grateful as she did serious.
Despite feeling slightly guilty- she hadn't told her everything, strictly speaking- Max accepted her thanks. "It's not a problem. Do you get why I think this is a big deal, now?"
"I got why it was a big deal before, too," Rachel replied. "I just wanted to know what was going on before we made it a bigger deal. Bringing the cops into this won't just make it neat and tidy and over with. Especially if the Prescotts are involved."
"Rachel, believe me, I know how crazy stuff gets if the Prescott family is part of it. But this is even bigger than them. Who knows how many people have died?"
"Who does know? Have you tried to like… Google it? Figure out if all of these girls died, or if it's a catch-and-release thing? I'm not saying it's okay," she added quickly before Max could speak, which she was clearly about to. "I'm just saying if we call up the cops shouting 'murder' we should know that that's what's going on. Nothing I saw up there looked that incriminating, and he'll know that. The Prescotts' lawyers will know that."
"We can figure it out, then, but we need to do it fast," Max pressed her.
"I agree," Rachel said diplomatically. "How does this sound- we'll spend today trying to figure out the best way to do this, getting information, and then at like, six tonight, we call the cops and tell them everything we know."
Six. It was just shy of twelve hours, really, and Max wasn't sure she liked that, but she was glad Rachel was agreeing to even that. "Okay. But on one condition- all three of us need to stick together. If we split up we're at a lot more risk."
She saw Rachel open her mouth to reply, but before she could get a word out they were interrupted by the dormitory's front doors opening. Both of their heads snapped around to see who it was in almost impressive unison, but they relaxed quickly. It was Chloe, and judging by her appearance she'd started heading down to find them as soon as she'd woken up- her bedhead and unchanged clothes made it fairly clear she hadn't wasted any time on freshening up. She waved to them, power-walking over and sitting between them. It was a bit of a squeeze, but it was a fairly cold morning and neither Rachel nor Max could complain about the extra body heat.
"You two out here having fun without me?" She wrapped her arms around both of them, fishing for extra warmth.
"Just finished, actually," Rachel told Chloe, leaning into her. "We were talking about what to do about yesterday."
Chloe's face fell slightly, no longer quite so playful. "Shit. Any ideas?"
"We're going to call the cops at six after we figure out a bit more about Mr. Jefferson and the Dark Room," she summarised.
"Also, we need to-" Max started to add the condition of staying together for safety, but was cut off by her cell phone ringing. She pulled out of her pocket and felt her heart fall. It was her mom. She remembered in a flash that she'd completely forgotten to tell her parents before she left for Arcadia Bay, and guilt spiked through her. They'd probably been worried sick.
"I need to take this," Max announced before she picked up.
"Hello? Mom?"
"Maxine! Where are you? Are you okay? Your father and I have been trying to find you all night, we've been calling everyone, what happened?" Max nearly flinched at the onslaught of motherly concern. She appreciated it, but it was overwhelming and she hadn't braced for it, much less prepared any sort of reasonable explanation for her disappearance.
"I'm okay, I'm in Arcadia Bay. I'm sorry I forgot to tell you before I left, it was… urgent personal stuff."
"What do you mean? Is everything okay?"
"Everything's fine. It's sort of a long story but I'm with Chloe right now- you remember her, right?"
"Of course I do. Did something happen to her or Joyce?"
While she talked on the phone, she couldn't really focus on listening to what was going on around her, but she saw Rachel standing from the bench and talking to Chloe.
"Mom, it's really a longer story than I can tell you over the phone. Nobody's, like, dying or in the hospital or anything. Can I fill you in when I get home?"
"That's fine, I just needed to make sure you're okay. Do you have a way back over here? When are you coming back?"
"I'm not sure right now." Max tried to end the conversation as quickly as she could; Rachel had just started to turn and walk away towards the parking lot. Hadn't she just heard Max say no splitting up? "I'll try and be back soon, though. Tell Dad I'm okay and everything I told you," she said, about to hang up.
Her mom stopped her short. "Wait, I think he'd like to talk to you himself. I know you're probably busy but he's been just as worried and it would make him feel a lot better to hear you for himself." Rachel was walking briskly away and it was clear Max would either need to let her go or ditch the phone call. She didn't want to do both- if her mom overheard any kind of suspicious or strange conversation through the phone, it would be a whole new bag of worms. Hanging up abruptly would bring on the same issue.
She sighed, slumping against Chloe and watching Rachel go. "Yeah. Put Dad on."
Last night had been a real financial success, and Frank Bowers was pleased with the spike in income the party had been for him. It would be strange if one of the parties at Blackwell didn't see the students coming to him in droves, but it had been a particularly good night for him, and he'd been hoping to celebrate by sleeping in the morning after, his R.V. parked unassumingly by the beach. Lurking off-campus waiting to meet customers was tiring work, clearly, and a day to kick back and rest would be nice.
Unfortunately, it was not to be. It was around ten in the morning- painfully early for him- when he was rudely awoken by knocks on the door of his R.V. and Pompidou's response. The cacophony of barking and growling was obnoxious enough to move him from his bed to check the door. He cracked it open, a 'fuck off' ready to roll off his tongue, but he stopped it just in time. Rachel was the early morning caller. Pompidou calmed immediately, tail wagging, and Frank's irritation dwindled slightly.
"You've got a key," he commented, opening the door for her. "You don't need to knock."
"Just being polite," she said, stepping up and inside. "Sorry I woke you up."
"I was about to get up anyway," he lied. "So, who you hiding from?" It was a joke when he said it- she had a habit of coming to the R.V. whenever she was avoiding people, either in general or specific- but he was surprised to see that for a split second she looked shocked and caught off guard. He noted it but waited to press it further, letting her feel as in control as she wanted to.
"What, do I have to have an ulterior motive to come see you?" She hugged him, draping herself over his shoulder and kissing him quick on the cheek. He became acutely aware that she definitely smelled a lot better than he did.
"Now I know you want something," he joked, tousling her hair. She let go of him and smoothed it back down, feigning offense as she combed her fingers through it.
"Well, now I amjust going to use you. Do you have, like, a comb?"
"I've got a grooming glove for Pompidou. That'll work, right?"
She snorted, trying not to laugh, and walked to the back of the R.V. He called back to her, "Comb should be somewhere around the bed." and she gave him a thumbs up.
She seemed to be in high spirits, and he wanted to believe she was just in a good mood. She'd probably had a good time at the Blackwell party and wanted to touch base with him. But he didn't think that was the case. Even when she'd showed up in a good mood over the last couple of weeks, she hadn't been this physical- not since their last fight- or this cagey. Normally if she showed up out of the blue she was glad to tell him what was happening. She'd spill out whatever she was angry or upset about, sometimes seeking his advice, sometimes only for the sake of it.
But today she'd played it off and tried to distract him with skin-deep affection. He'd seen her interact with people she was trying to control or misdirect, and this was exactly how she did it. The only thing he didn't know was why she'd feel the need to do it to him . A spike of suspicion and anger peaked, but he quashed it as quickly as he could. If she was hiding something, it wasn't a good time to scare her by getting mad. Not that any time was, obviously, but this was a specifically bad one.
"If you're hanging out here, I'm going to shower," he called to her.
"Thank god," she called back.
By the time he finished showering, stepping out of the small R.V. bathroom, he saw Rachel at the front of the vehicle, reclining in the driver seat and smoking silently. He dressed himself in whichever of his clothes passed the smell test and walked up in front of her, leaning back on the dashboard. She glanced up at him, smiling briefly in greeting.
"I see and smell a big improvement," she commented.
"Glad you approve," he replied. After a minute of silence between them, he glanced to her cigarette and asked, "It's a little early for that, isn't it?"
She shrugged. "Not that early."
He wasn't satisfied with that, continuing to try and lead her to opening up. "How'd yesterday go for you? You went to the Blackwell thing, right?"
"It was pretty fun. You make any good sales?" She turned his question back to him.
"Just the standard art school party package."
She nodded but didn't have anything else to say. Another silent minute passed before he spoke again.
"Rachel, you know, I get it if you've got shit you don't want to tell me, but don't insult me by acting like I'll fall for the same shit you pull on the kids at school."
She'd been taking a drag off her cigarette when he said it, and she stopped mid-breath, lowering it and clearing her throat when he finished. Her eyes avoided his; she looked like a kid who'd been caught raiding the cookie jar. At this point, it was a matter of whether she'd fess up or try to find another lie to cover her ass.
He was glad she didn't try it. "Sorry," she said. "Shouldn't have tried to pull that on you. That was a dick move. Thanks for respecting that I want to keep it to myself, though," she finished, telling him not to press it as politely and indirectly as possible.
"Yeah. Sure." As he stood up from leaning he grunted, walking to the back of the R.V.'s cab to find himself a pack of cigarettes.
While he stood up her eyes followed him and she turned slightly as he walked away. He was struggling with a near-empty lighter when he heard her sigh and say, just loudly enough for him to know he was being addressed, "I'll tell you in like, a day or two. There's just some stuff going on right now. I came over here because I've already got two people freaking out at me over it. I wanted a break."
The lighter clicked fruitlessly as he kept trying it. "Then I'll drop it. Do us both a favor and don't try to bullshit me again, though. Both of us are smarter than that."
"Why would I try twice if it didn't work the first time?" she joked. He snorted, not quite laughing. The lighter finally produced a small flame and he lit his cigarette.
Rachel stayed for about half an hour, silence filling the R.V. except for the sounds of breathing, Pompidou's occasionally movement between the two, and the tapping of her fingers on her phone's screen. When she left, it was without fanfare, a brief goodbye before she drove off. About an hour later he noticed his record book wasn't quite where he'd left it, and his suspicion grew despite himself.
Just around eleven in the morning, Blackwell Academy was finally waking up. A collective hangover seemed to fill the dorms after yesterday's Vortex Club party, and even those who hadn't attended had for the most part slept in. It was at least a Sunday for everyone. No classes, no alarm clocks, and no big plans.
In one dorm room, however, a phone buzzed angrily every few moments. Its owner tried to silence it, aiming for a snooze button, but through half-sleeping eyes found she was being woken by something much more difficult to ignore than an alarm. At least twenty text messages, with more coming in by the moment. The oldest were dated to last night, at some ungodly hour, but a new influx was arriving in realtime.
Victoria would have ignored the texts if they were from anyone else, but they were from Nathan, and whenever Nathan blew up her phone it was better to deal with it sooner instead of later. His crises always ended up being rather time-sensitive.
[11:21] left the party ill catch you later
[02:14] ar you awake
[02:14] victoria
[02:15] fuck
[02:57] is the nurse office open on sunday
[03:45] im going to fucking kill chloe price
[03:46] dyke bitch should kill herself
[05:23] do you know any chicks named max
[06:23] brown hair autistic as shit
[07:18] how long are you going to be asleep fucking hell
[08:02] are you awake yet
[08:04] you didnt get THAT fucked up at the party seriously
[08:38] i should be allowed in the girls dorm i fucking own the place anyways
[09:04] jesus christ are you awake yet
[09:04] victoria
[10:56] FUCKING
[10:56] RACHEL
[10:56] AMBER
[10:56] IM GOING TO FUCKING KILL RACHEL
[10:56] BITCH
[10:57] HER AND CHLOE
[10:57] DEAD DYKES
She squinted, trying to parse what he'd sent her. Texts from him were always pretty stream-of-consciousness, but clearly something had happened here. She wasn't really surprised by whatever he was saying about Chloe Price- she didn't know the chick, but she'd seen her around. Some edgy punk chick she'd heard Nathan get pissed about before.
No, Chloe was not a surprise. What really threw Victoria off were his new texts about Rachel. She tried to figure out what could have happened to cause such a newfound loathing for her. Certainly Victoria didn't like her. Rachel Amber was a fake bitch and had the whole school wrapped around her finger. But up until now Nathan had been absolutely smitten with her. This was one hell of a change of heart.
What's going on? [10:58]
[10:59] rachels about to be a dead bitch thats what
What did she do? [10:59]
[10:59] she thinks shes real fucking hot shit
[10:59] i dont care who the fuck she thinks she is shes gonna fucking pay for this
Nathan. [10:59]
Calm the fuck down. [10:59]
[11:00] fuck off im not calming down this isnt just gonna blow the fuck over
[11:00] shes gonna fucking pay for this
She put her phone back on her bedside table and sunk back into her pillow for a moment. He clearly didn't want to elaborate on whatever was going on, and she'd have to wait for him to simmer down before he'd be lucid.
It was a few more minutes before she pulled herself out of bed, but she did eventually get to it. Her mind wandered as she started getting ready for the day, and while walking to the showers she started considering possible reasons for Nathan's outburst. It was, unfortunately, to little avail. Her best guess was that he'd finally asked her out and been turned down ungracefully, but that didn't seem right. Surely she'd have enough tact and sense to know to let him down gently.
She started factoring Chloe into it as she shampooed. Victoria hardly knew her, but she knew Rachel did, and they spent a significant amount of time with her. Had Rachel turned down Nathan because she and Chloe were already involved? That definitely could have sent him off. But again, it was out of character for Rachel, especially since she was already juggling at least a couple people without getting death threats from any of them.
Once she'd toweled off and dressed she started heading back to her room, still thinking over the situation. She passed a few people as she went; Brooke, who ignored her, Dana, who waved politely, and Rachel, who shot her a smile as she passed. Distracted, she hardly acknowledged any of them, continuing on her way.
After a moment, of course, she stopped dead in her tracks and turned around, realizing who she'd seen. "Rachel. Hey!" Victoria marched over to her, catching her just as she was about to leave the dorm.
Rachel had been startled for a moment when she heard her name but quickly smiled and turned. "Hey, Vickie, what's up?"
Victoria didn't particularly feel like wasting time playing along with the niceties. "I'm giving you ten words or less to tell me why Nathan's blowing up my phone saying he's about to kill you." She crossed her arms, waiting for Rachel's answer.
Rachel's eyebrows creased, and Victoria would have thought her confusion was genuine if her reputation didn't precede her. "I didn't know he was pissed at me. What did he say to you?"
"That's not your business. You just need to tell me what happened."
"I didn't know anything did," Rachel said. "I haven't even seen him since last night at the party."
"And nothing happened then? You didn't do anything to piss him off?"
"Of course not."
"Okay, then, tell me this: what about Chloe?"
"What about her?"
"Was she there? Did she fuck with Nathan? I know you're not dumb, Rachel, so don't act like it."
"No, I don't think she was there. Big parties aren't really her thing."
"A straight answer. I'm shocked." Victoria was tiring quickly of dealing with Rachel's evasive bullshit, so she started trying to wrap things up. "Okay, we've both got better shit to be doing, so I just have one more question."
"Shoot."
"Do you know any girls named Max?"
"That's kind of a weird question," she commented, raising an eyebrow.
Victoria offered no explanation. "Humor me."
Rachel thought for a moment before shaking her head. "No, sorry."
Unfortunately, Victoria had no way of knowing whether Rachel was lying. She studied her face, trying to make out any hints of dishonesty, but she didn't expect to find them`. If it were that easy to see through Rachel's poker face, her name would be mud in an hour flat.
After a few seconds of scrutiny, she gave up. She told Rachel, "Thanks for the help," openly derisive and ingenuine. Rachel had been cagey and useless, and now Victoria had no choice but to piece this together and handle Nathan some other way.
"Glad to." Rachel refused to acknowledge the barbed edge to Victoria's words, turning to leave the dorm with a parting "Catch you later!"
Victoria watched her go for a moment before sighing, a drawn-out and exasperated huff. There was nothing for it but to head back to her room and start networking. If Nathan and Rachel wouldn't tell her anything, she was perfectly able to figure it out for herself.
[10:54] Meet me at the Two Whales at 12. I just want to talk.
[10:54] If you bring a gun or no-show I'll change my mind on hearing your side of this.
[10:55] And if I don't hear your side, the cops won't either.
[10:55] Anyways, I really think you should show up.
For almost a full hour, Nathan had been staring at the messages and working himself into a frenzy. It was unthinkable. Everything about the last twelve hours was impossible, but this was the cherry on top of an ice cream sundae of bullshit.
Rachel Amber was threatening him. The very thought made him clench his fists around the steering wheel, knuckles white. As if she had any right to try to control him. They were in Arcadia bay. Here, he was a god. She'd regret ever trying to jerk him around.
Below his anger, he knew that her punishment for this would really be fairly mild. Maybe he'd just scare her, remind her who was in charge of this town. No, Rachel wouldn't be the one to feel the brunt of his rage. That unlucky soul would have to be Chloe.
He still didn't know what she'd been doing at the barn, but he knew she'd threatened him, pointed a gun at him, and torn him up pretty badly. The broken spotlight had left his back and legs covered in cuts, stinging even now, and it was a very compelling reminder of everything he had to exact upon her tenfold.
His nose was also still swollen and painful after Rachel had tripped him, yes, but he didn't blame her as much for it. She hadn't known he'd have taken the fall so badly, he assumed. If she had, she would never have done it. He wasn't going to blame her for stupid mistakes like that. She was smarter than that, when she was sober, and she knew better than to pull a stupid stunt like breaking his nose on a concrete floor.
She should know better than threatening him, too, but he'd make sure she learned that lesson soon.
It wasn't a very long drive to the Two Whales from Blackwell, and he arrived perfectly at 12 o'clock. He recognized Rachel's car in the parking lot as he pulled into the empty spot next to it. Killing the engine, he sat for a moment and considered the gun he kept in the glovebox. It wouldn't really be that helpful, would it? It wasn't like he could pull it out in the restaurant. But there was something comforting about having it on him, a sense of situational control he craved.
He stowed it in one of his jacket pockets. No harm in having it.
Entering the Two Whales, he was met with a wave of sounds and smells that did little to clear his head or calm his nerves. It was lunch hour, and the diner was at it's peak activity level for the day. If Rachel hadn't already gotten them a seat, a booth nestled in the corner, he wasn't sure if they'd have been able to.
As soon as he entered, she waved him over, having been watching the door. He marched over and sat across from her, as loud, sure, and intimidating as he could make himself. She didn't so much as flinch, which got under his skin much more than it had reason to.
"Glad you could make it." Her greeting was warm enough in tone, and she was smiling politely with her hands loosely clasped over the table, but he still got the impression she wasn't particularly pleased to see him. "I haven't ordered yet, but we've got fries and drinks on the way."
"Let's skip the bullshit. You didn't drag me here at gunpoint to talk about the fuckin' weather." He was trying to be obstinate and forceful, but to his surprise, she looked relieved, dropping the niceties in a heartbeat and getting straight to business.
"Good, we're on the same page," she replied. "We're here because I want to know what the fuck happened last night." She was speaking just loudly enough for him to hear, but too quiet for any eavesdroppers to have an easy time of it in the loud restaurant.
"You were there," he argued. "How do you not know what was happening?"
"I don't know, it just gets real fuzzy after you offered me a ride home. I think you should fill me in."
"I can't believe you said yes to that," he commented. "You were five minutes away from the dorms. How wasted were you?"
"Didn't you justsay we're skipping the bullshit?"
"I'm just saying, that was kind of stupid."
"No shit," she said, losing patience. It felt good that she was losing her composure, although the fact that she was so irritated with him was less good. "Nathan, I'm here talking to you because I'm stupid enough to feel bad for you. If you don't want to take advantage of that, your loss, your fall to take. I can get up and leave and go on with my life."
"I don't need your fucking pity. You can't do shit to me."
"Maybe I can't, but there's more evidence in that bunker than any lawyer can explain away. You and Jefferson are screwed." He didn't expect to hear Jefferson's name and it caught him off guard. He was visibly startled, but before he could respond, a waiter interrupted, passing two glasses of water and an unceremonious basket of fries off to the pair. Rachel smiled, thanking the waiter with a bright change in tone that lasted only until she was alone with Nathan again. All the pleasantry disappeared after that. "I've been doing my homework," she said. "So I wouldn't lie if I were you."
"You can't just know that," he insisted. "Who told you? Nobody should know that except me."
"Answer my questions and maybe I'll answer yours."
"Fuck you." He honestly wasn't sure what to do. If she really did know everything, then lying would only lose him her favor and trust. But if she was just bluffing and he gave her information she didn't already have? He didn't even want to think about what Jefferson would do- though of course he did. Last night, as soon as he'd fled from the barn, Nathan had called Jefferson and told him everything, and he'd been met with a surge of anger that had actually been slightly terrifying. He was definitely glad the exchange had been over the phone and not in person- the embarrassment of crying would have stung much more face to face.
"How do I know you're not bluffing to get me to spill my guts? You could be full of shit."
"I could be," she agreed. "But you haven't got a lot of choice here."
She was right, as much as he hated it. "... So what do you want me to tell you, if you already know everything?"
"I want you to tell me why. That's the one thing that doesn't add up."
"... So you know about like… the stuff he does, right?"
"He kidnaps teen girls, photographs them, and kills them, yeah. I got that much." Her tone wasn't remotely upset or distressed, sardonic above all else, and it honestly unsettled Nathan to hear such detachment.
"He doesn't kill anyone," he said, rather defensive. "It's a studio, not a slaughterhouse. And I wasn't going to kill you, either. I don't know what the hell they told you, but all that I was trying to do was take some photos. Not even nasty shit. I just wanted to try and see if I could do what Jefferson does with a camera, you know? He said I didn't have the right eye for it and I wanted to prove him wrong."
"... Jesus Christ." She sighed audibly, steepling her hands in front of her face.
"What?"
"Did it not occur to you to just ask?"
"That's not how he does it," he argued. "He always talks about how if the subject is unaware it's more genuine."
"Why do you care?! You really don't get it! You're lending your secret bunker to a kidnapper-murderer with a photography fetish and all you've got to say about it is that you wish you could copycat him better?!"
"You don't get it! Of course you don't! He's not a bad person, he's just…"
"Nathan. Do you seriously believe that?"
"Of course I do-" he started to say.
Rachel talked over him immediately. "Think harder. I want you to actually think about whose side of this you're on, because if it's his, we're done here. So tell me: are you his accomplice or aren't you?" She leaned back in her seat, arms crossed as she reigned herself back in from her sudden surge of emotion. "Take your time."
He knew this was the real question, the reason she'd brought him here, so he did take his time to consider how to answer. Obviously, he was on Jefferson's side. He trusted Nathan, he had mentored him and taken him under his wing and always had time for him no matter what else was happening. Turning on him was unthinkable to Nathan.
But that didn't mean he should tell Rachel that. If she knew he was against her, she wouldn't trust him, and she'd tell the cops about everything without hesitation. If he played along with her, he could help Jefferson, and maybe even solve the mess he'd made without needing help. That would be more impressive than any photo he'd have been able to take.
"... You're right. He's a criminal and he needs to be stopped." He didn't feel like he was saying it convincingly enough, but Rachel seemed to accept it.
"Alright. Glad to hear it. So, I assume you're willing to get your hands a little dirty to make up for helping him until now?"
"What do you mean by that?" He frowned, already suspicious.
"I'm not asking much. I just want you to come with me to the Dark Room and help me take a little look around. Not a big deal."
She wanted to go back there? It had to be because she wanted to tamper with the scene, maybe leave something more incriminating there as an insurance policy. Maybe it was a trap to get Nathan tangled up in after all.
But two could play at that. If he could let Jefferson know to expect them at the Dark Room, they could shut this whole thing down in one fell swoop. There was still the problem of Chloe, and the new girl, Max, but he felt confident that they wouldn't be too troublesome. Once we take care of Rachel it'll all work out.
He surprised himself at the morbidity of his train of thought; he'd made it sound like they were going to kill Rachel. Of course, that wouldn't happen. Jefferson was smart enough to find a way to handle this without hurting her, at least not badly. They could bribe her, or threaten her, or any other number of ways to handle it.
"Fuck it, why not? I'll meet you at the dorms at two."
Rachel opened her mouth to reply, but all at once she looked stricken, and he could see her eyes lock onto something out the window. He craned his neck, trying to follow her gaze, and saw a beat-up pickup truck parking. When Chloe Price stepped out of it, he understood completely. "You're not supposed to be here, huh?" He smiled smugly, enjoying greatly her panic.
"Eat shit," she told him offhandedly, too focused on panicking. She stood from the table, telling him quickly, "I'm not here. Fuck this up and the deal's off." She hurried to the restaurant bathrooms, disappearing through the door just as Chloe entered the restaurant. With her was the strange girl from last night, Max, and he was happy to see that her jaw bore an ugly bruise from his punch.
They were talking loudly, casual and friendly, and both looked like they were in high spirits, which he was less happy about. Nathan wondered if they would even notice him or if Rachel's panic had been unwarranted, until Chloe started scanning the booths for a free seat. As soon as her eyes fell upon him, all the joy in her face was replaced with loathing. Beside her, Max's gaze followed, and she grabbed Chloe's arm, looking like a scared kid. Her response left a certain warmth in his heart.
He didn't acknowledge the presence of either, keeping his eyes down and only following them with his peripheral vision. He even started eating, about as unobtrusive as anyone could ask, but Chloe had no intention of avoiding a conflict. She made a beeline for his table, and once she was about a yard away he looked up at her with as much disdain and disinterest as he could muster.
"What the fuck are you doing here?" Chloe immediately started menacing him, placing both her hands on the table and trying to tower over him.
"Eating lunch. Nice face," he added to Max, who was lingering about a yard away. She moved her hand to her bruise automatically, gaze flitting between him and Chloe.
"I should wring your neck right here." His attention was pulled back to Chloe when she threatened him more directly.
"Big talk. If you're such hot shit, why don't you?" He took a casual sip of water.
She actually lunged for him, only stopped by Max grabbing onto her arm and yanking her back, hissing, "Chloe!" Even though she'd been stopped short, it had startled him and he'd spilled his glass over the front of his shirt. If he'd been irritated before, now he was on the brink of fuming. He was Nathan Prescott, and he wouldn't stand for the satisfaction plain on her face after seeing him flinch.
In the corner of his eye, he saw Rachel watching from the bathroom, the door open a crack so she could look and listen out into the restaurant. He didn't look up and give her away, but seeing her gave him an idea on how to turn this situation around to his liking.
"I almost feel bad for you. You take her bullshit hook, line, and sinker."
"Who? Rachel? I don't want to hear a fucking thing you have to say about her." Chloe started shutting him down almost immediately, but he wouldn't allow that to happen.
"You know she's playing you, right?"
"Oh, yeah, I'm gonna believe that from you."
"Don't take my word on it. Ask Frank."
He watched her expression turn from anger to actual begrudging consideration and knew his work was done, even as she protested, "No way. She wouldn't touch that creep."
"You don't look very sure of that," he gloated.
That rallied her and she came back around to anger, but he knew the seeds of doubt had been planted. "You're full of shit and I'm gonna make you regret ever trying to fuck with me."
"Chloe," Max chimed in from behind her, nervous. Nathan saw her looking over her shoulder at something, and he realized just as she looked back to him that she'd had her eyes trained on the bathroom door, which was now fully shut. Had she seen Rachel? He was about to start trying to un-fuck the situation when Max surprised him by tugging on Chloe's sleeve. "We should just go."
Chloe turned to her, anger in her eyes, and it looked like she might snap at Max, but after a moment she huffed, turning back to him with a parting glare. "Watch your back, Prescott," she said before turning to go, Max at her heels.
An empty threat, he knew.
As soon as the pair left the diner, Rachel stormed back to the table, and Nathan shot a smarmy grin up at her as she approached. "I got rid of them for you."
His shit-eating smile was abruptly ended in a flash of pain as she slammed her palm into his broken nose. Caught completely off guard, all he could do was cry out, swearing as it started bleeding all over again. A hand held up to it gingerly, he glared at her and started to shout- "What the fuck?!"- but before he could finish she cut him off.
"I should just turn you in and get this over with," she said, wiping her hand off on her jeans. "But since you've been so fucking helpful, I'm letting you off easy. Let's go."
"What? You mean now?"
"Yes, now. Let's get this over with before you find another way to make my life hell."
"You can't seriously be pissed about that. She would have found out sooner or later even if I hadn't told her."
"It didn't occur to you that maybe I don't have the energy to deal with her bullshit and yours right now?" She was genuinely, openly pissed, which was rare for her, but she was forcing herself to calm down even then, exhaling slowly before she spoke again. "Look, just pay for the food and get in the fucking car."
"What? Why am I paying?"
"You're the one who ate."
"But you ordered it, you set this up-" he argued until she cut him off.
"Nathan, I swear to god, you can spare five bucks and one afternoon to set all this shit straight. Pay for the stupid fries." She locked eyes with him, and they mutually glared for a moment before he conceded, pulling his wallet from his jacket pocket. His hand brushed his gun as he did it, a reminder that he was in control of the situation, and paying stung his dignity a little less.
"Don't forget to tip," Rachel added from over his shoulder.
"I should have told Chloe you were here just to get you off my dick," he grumbled, replacing it with a ten. "You happy?"
"As a clam." She walked to the door, glancing over her shoulder to make sure he was following. He did, reluctantly, and as they exited the diner Rachel took out her keys, unlocking her car. "Get in."
"What about my car?"
"Leave it here. If this goes smoothly, you can come get it before you get towed."
He wanted to argue, but she was already opening the door and getting in, and he knew that going with her was his best chance to impress Jefferson and fix the situation as a whole. He thanked his own foresight for taking the gun ahead of time and he brushed his hand over it through his jacket, a comforting presence.
As he climbed into the car, Rachel addressed him. "By the way, I checked Frank's book and figured out what you were going to use. To keep me knocked out."
"Congrats, detective. Seems like fucking the dealer paid off after all," he joked.
She didn't laugh. "I'm allergic. I would have gone into anaphylactic shock and died."
He didn't have anything to say to that for a few minutes, and she looked vaguely disgusted at his silence as she pulled out of the parking lot. They were well on their way before he said, "If I'd known, I wouldn't have done it. I mean that."
She didn't take her eyes off the road to meet his gaze. "I hope so."
"He was lying."
The road fell away beneath the tires of Chloe's truck, and she was driving without a destination in her mind. All she really knew was that she wanted to be somewhere besides the diner, somewhere she could ignore what had been chewing on her mind for the entire silent trip.
In the passenger seat, Max looked up from where she'd been gazing aimlessly out the window. She didn't say anything, so Chloe continued.
"I mean, he has to be. There's no way she'd do anything with Frank, and even if she did, I'd know before Nathan. Right?" She glanced sideways at her friend, who looked nearly as distraught as she felt herself, slouched listlessly in her seat.
"I wouldn't know any better than you," she said noncommittally.
"But you would," Chloe realized. "You've got a couple months on me- you have to tell me, if you know."
"Chloe, in the other timeline she was dead. I wasn't exactly asking her about her love life."
"That's not an answer."
"What do you want me to say? If I say she wasn't, you won't believe me, and if I say she was…"
"I just want to know the truth, Max. Please. I need at least one person in my life to be honest with me."
Max paused for a long few moments. "... I know she was involved with him, somehow. I don't know how much, or what she really thought of him, or anything like that. But… Nathan isn't lying."
It was a few seconds before Chloe talked again. "... Why didn't you tell me earlier?" She didn't turn to face Max as she spoke.
"Chloe, seriously? What was I supposed to do, show up out of the blue and say, 'hey, guess what, your girlfriend is about to die, but also she's cheating on you so don't feel too obligated or anything, just saying'?"
"I wouldn't have let her die, Christ! I just- I have a right to know, and not telling me is basically lying for her. You covered her ass."
"You did, too," Max argued. "Last night we should have called the cops and you know it, but you sided with her anyways."
"That's not the same thing! She had a point, we were all dead tired and messed up."
"But it's my fault I didn't tell you she's seeing Frank within twelve hours of meeting back up?"
"Yes! Yes, it is, Max, because that's different! Look, I know you're not any kind of expert on social skills, but if you know someone's cheating on your friend, you say something! It's not that hard!" Her voice had escalated to a shout and she was driving recklessly, at least ten miles over the speed limit, and Max shrank in her seat.
"Chloe, I'm sorry, I messed up. I should have told you sooner. But please calm down."
Without replying to Max, Chloe honked her horn at another driver, passing them and flooring it to get ahead of them. Her hands were clenching the steering wheel, knuckles white, and her eyes were locked into a glare directly ahead of her. She was so wound up she might have been shaking with tension.
And then all at once it was gone, and she was slouched in her seat. She slowed the truck, swinging into the nearest parking lot on the street. Parked sideways across three spots, she killed the engine.
"Chloe? Are you … alright?" Max was relieved they were no longer flying down the street at a breakneck speed, but she looked over to see Chloe with her arms raised over her head, hands pulling at her hair. Max couldn't see her eyes, but she didn't need to to know she was on the verge of tears.
Very quietly, Max exhaled, trying to choose her words carefully and slowly.
"I know this sucks. I'm sorry. But it's going to be alright. I'm here, at least, and I'm not going anywhere. I'm here for you." She reached over, kneading her shoulder, trying to comfort her.
Loudly, messily, Chloe snorted, her nose starting to run as she lost the fight against tears. She wiped her face with her sleeve. "You know the way to the junkyard, right? Can you drive?"
"I don't have my license," Max said, but Chloe shook her head.
"I meant do you know how to drive a car. I really don't give a shit about breaking some stupid laws right now."
Max frowned, not sure whether to agree, but caved after a moment. "Yeah, I know the way. Scoot over." Neither could be bothered to leave the cab, so it was an awkward shuffle over and under each other to switch places, but they managed it, Max turning the key and cautiously pulling out of the lot.