False Dichotomy

The drive from the Two Whales to the Dark Room wasn't terribly long, but it still gave Rachel enough time to pore over the situation, torturing herself with most dreaded introspection.

She wanted to be angry with Nathan. Deeply and truly, she did. She shot a few tentative glares at him, saw him huddled in the passenger seat of her car and texting- Victoria, she suspected. Whether or not he caught her glares, she couldn't tell, but hoped he didn't after a few failed attempts to rile herself up. It was beyond even her legendary abilities to blame him for the problems she'd created for herself.

It was painfully clear to her as she sped down the empty road that she hadn't only been deceiving Chloe but also herself. She was completely delusional in hindsight- she was nearly embarrassed that it had taken such a catastrophic failure to make it clear to her. There had never been any way that she would be able to retain both Chloe and Frank indefinitely.

What wasn't clear to her was what she would be doing about it, but that was a problem for later.

Right now she was only trying to do two things. Firstly, get confirmation and closure. She wasn't sure how much she trusted her savior who'd appeared in Arcadia Bay as if from nowhere, and whatever Max had told her, she wanted to see proof of this Dark Room's sinister purpose and Mark Jefferson's involvement for herself. Secondly, she wanted to make sure Nathan wouldn't take the fall for it alongside or in the place of Jefferson.

Exactly why she was willing to stick her neck out so far on his behalf escaped even her. Maybe she wanted to make sure the brunt of justice was borne by Jefferson, who was clearly the instigator. Or perhaps she felt the need to pay him back for the wake-up call he'd delivered, regardless of his malicious intent.

Or maybe he was her friend and she didn't want to see anything bad happen to him

She didn't have time to chastise herself for that grossly sentimental thought. In what felt like no time at all, they'd arrived at the dilapidated barn owned by the Prescott family. It was her first time seeing it by daylight, but a gloomy, sinister feeling hung in the air even in sunshine.

"Well, we're here," she said to herself as much as to Nathan, who looked up from his phone. She read either anxiety or anticipation on his face. He was probably surprised she was really going through with this, she guessed.

"For what it's worth, I don't really care if you live-text all this to Victoria, but keep it vague. This isn't her problem and I don't want to drag her into it," she told Nathan as he pocketed his phone and opened the car door.

"I wasn't texting her," he replied.

"Oh? Who were you talking to?" She paused as she stood outside the car, making eye contact with him over its roof.

He fumbled over his words, caught off guard. "No one. None of your business."

She didn't press him further, but it was a reminder that mutual trust was certainly not present, and brought to mind something she really should have done earlier.

"Oh, hey- give me your jacket."

He went from slightly frazzled to panicked in a heartbeat. "What? Why?" he demanded.

"Because I'm cold," she lied, playing dumb. She knew quite well that in one of his pockets was a gun- she'd had a clear view of him stashing it from the diner's window- but thought he'd surrender it more easily if he thought she was clueless.

"It's like sixty degrees," he argued.

"I'm from California, this is like Antarctica for me. Just give me the stupid jacket." It was a half-truth; the air was chilly enough for her to get goosebumps, at least.

He eyed her for a moment, trying to discern whether she was up to something or really just cold, but ceded after a few seconds. "Don't get it dirty," he warned her.

"I'll swing by the dry cleaners on the way back," she promised sardonically, pulling it on. Just as she'd expected, there was a weight to one of the pockets, and she felt a blocky shape bounce against her as she started walking towards the hidden entrance at the side of the barn.

"I can just unlock the doors," he offered, watching her go with slight confusion.

"They look loud. Leave them shut so we can hear anyone coming," she explained. It was a trick she'd used before, albeit on a smaller scale. She motioned for him to follow her as she held aside the sheet metal concealing the hole in the wall that she, Chloe, and Max had used the night prior. Nathan began to reluctantly meander over, and she waited for him despite her impatience. She didn't want to spend any more time here than she needed to, but she knew better than to turn her back on him.

The lock on the trapdoor inside the barn was still broken, and Nathan knew by heart the combination to open the thick steel door of the storm shelter, so getting in was no problem. As she stepped inside and looked around the sterile bunker, she almost wished she'd had more time outside to prepare herself.

Last night, Rachel had been in a shape too poor to really take in her surroundings, leaving her memories of the Dark Room hazy and indistinct. That was a blessing she hadn't known to count until now. Sober and clear-minded, she noticed the disturbing artwork framed on the wall, the dried blood on the floor around a shattered photography light, and even the disquieting clinical scent the stale air carried.

"It smells like a hospital," she remarked with some disgust.

"Yeah. Drugs and blood," Nathan joked wryly, "smells like good times."

She snorted but didn't allow herself to laugh.

After taking a moment to give the room a once-over, she walked to the cabinet behind the desk, steeling herself as she stood before it.

One of the doors was cracked open, and she could see rows of red binders on metal shelves; this was what she was here for. She had no reason to distrust Max- the girl had, after all, saved her life- but she had to see for herself what was happening here. Proof of it all was in this cabinet.

Part of her hoped that maybe, somehow, it wasn't. From where she stood now, this could all be a big mistake, some grand-scale misunderstanding. As far as she knew for sure, the photography teacher was probably not a serial killer, Nathan hadn't been an inch from manslaughter. She wasn't twelve hours past a near-death experience. That was a much more reasonable version of the world, and if she left now, she could walk away and keep living in it.

For a few seconds, she pondered this, considering the decision she was making. Doubt was creeping in, despite how far she'd come down this rabbit hole. There was an intoxicating quality to the moment. Her last chance to cling to plausible deniability of it all and turn back.

Except, she realized, the point of no return was behind her. She'd crossed that threshold- been pushed over it, really- the moment Nathan told Chloe about Frank. This day had already flipped her world upside down once.

She briefly pondered whether up-ending her life twice in a row was roughly equivalent to setting it right as she pulled open the door to the cabinet.

There were far more binders than she had expected to find, each labeled with a name. All girls, as far as she could tell, with some labels crisp and new while others looked older and worn. In the former category, one stood out to her.

Rachel.

She pulled the binder labeled with her own name off the shelf and opened it.

The folder was empty, bar a handful of clear sheet protectors. She was caught off guard by the immense sense of relief she felt wash over her- she had expected the folder to be empty, logically, but apparently she'd developed a fear to the contrary.

Unceremoniously, she tossed it aside, aiming for the couch. She didn't realize until too late that Nathan was seated there, focused in on his phone.

"Sorry!"

He heard her exclaim and turned, questioning, but before he could say a word he saw the projectile binder flying straight at him. Reflexively, he jerked down out of its way, letting it clatter to the floor near the coffee table.

"Fuck, are you trying to kill me?" He looked disproportionately startled, and she couldn't help but feel amused by his reaction.

"You'd know if I was." She mimed a beheading.

He snorted, laughing for a moment before bending down to the floor from the couch to pick up the binder. As soon as his eyes scanned the name on its spine a look crossed his face that she couldn't place. The closest thing to it she could recognize was nausea.

"So, what was going in there?" she asked, despite both being fairly sure of the answer and not really wanting to know in the first place.

"The photos," he answered plainly.

"And that's what I'll see if I open the rest of these?"

"Yeah."

"Great. Okay. Cool." She turned back to the cabinet, steeling herself and unsure where to start.

After waffling for a few moments, she picked at random. She kept the binder closed and walked over to the couch, sitting a couple of feet from Nathan. Hopefully he would offer any commentary he had, or at least have the good sense not to try anything while she looked through the binder.

Even though she'd steeled herself, and even though she'd guessed at what she would see inside, she still wasn't ready when she opened it.

As soon as she saw the first photograph, an intense feeling of vertigo struck her; she felt like her stomach had turned inside out. It was worse, she thought in some detached part of her mind that refused to be dizzied, because it was close to home. The worst part of seeing this clearly drugged, bound, helpless girl was knowing how easily it could have been her.

The second worst part, which was much harder to acknowledge, was how much care had clearly been put into the photos. She wasn't any kind of expert- she knew much more about being in front of a camera than she did about being behind one- but every artistic principle she knew of was exemplified in the pictures before her. Whatever the subject matter, they were taken with obvious skill.

"Waste of talent," she muttered after a few moments, breaking out of the sickened thrall the photos had drawn her into.

"But you admit it is talent," Nathan commented.

"Does it matter? He's sick." She shut the binder, placing it on the coffee table a little more delicately than her own. It felt, in a strange way, like it would be disrespectful to the poor girl in the photos to toss it around. It was more likely than not that those were the last photos of her ever taken. If it were me, I'd want them treated like they were sacred. As soon as she thought it she felt her skin crawl- it was an "if" she didn't want to consider.

"Isn't that just art, though? Like, Van Gogh was sick, but that was like... his muse."

"Van Gogh killed himself, not teenage girls."

Nathan searched for a reply to that but didn't seem to find one.

"Even if he is some kind of savant, he's fucked up and he's dangerous," Rachel reasserted her point as she stood up and replaced the binder on the shelf. She didn't feel the need to search through any others and suspected her stomach wouldn't be strong enough to take it even if she wanted to. "Do you know the computer password?" she asked as she turned from the cabinet to the desk, met by a locked login screen.

"There isn't a password," he replied, twisting around to watch her from the couch..

"... Yeah, there is?" She glanced over to him from the computer screen.

He stood up, looking confused. "No, there shouldn't be one. There wasn't last time I was here. And he would have told me if he added one." The last part sounded like Nathan was speaking aloud to himself, trying to figure out what had happened, but Rachel took silent note of the remark. Had Nathan and Jefferson been in contact since last night? It was plausible.

"Well, any guesses? Do you know, like, his birthday or whatever?"

"Why do you want to get into the computer?" Nathan was openly suspicious.

"To figure out just how bad this looks for you," she replied honestly.

"What do you mean?"

"I mean if he has any emails that read, hey, Nathan, come by and help me kidnap a teenage girl, that looks pretty bad and I don't want the cops to come in here and see that."

"I don't think he'd keep anything that incriminating on there," Nathan said skeptically. "He's smarter than that."

"And a day ago I thought you were a lot smarter than shit like this, so let's take nothing for granted."

"Look, I don't know what he'd make the password. If he didn't tell me he changed it, it was because he didn't want me in the computer anymore. He wouldn't make it something obvious." Nathan ran his hand through his hair, still apparently trying to figure out why he was out of the loop.

Fortunately, despite Nathan's unhelpfulness, Rachel had an idea, however unsavory it might have been. She swiveled in the desk chair and rolled back toward the cabinet, examining the binders one by one. They seemed to be in chronological order by age, so she moved to the very beginning and pulled out that binder.

As she opened it, she avoided studying the images too closely, instead focusing on the date printed in the corner of the old photograph. She spun back around and typed it into the password blank.

Bingo. The desktop sprang up after a few seconds of loading.

She noticed Nathan awkwardly standing over her, watching the screen over her shoulder, and commented, "Can you back up a little bit, dude?"

He shuffled back about a foot and continued to hover.

She tried again. "Go sit on the couch. This won't take long and then we can leave."

"Why can't I watch?"

"Because I want you to be somewhere I can see you." Aware of how distrustful she sounded, she continued, "I trust you, I swear. If I didn't I wouldn't be here. But you can't expect me to be even stupider than I'm already being just to prove that."

He hesitated, then sulked back over to the couch and sat down, pulling out his phone to occupy himself.

Only occasionally glancing over to him, she began the digital dumpster dive through Jefferson's files.

It wasn't a particularly fruitful search, although she was being as thorough as she could be. By the time ten minutes had passed she was so engrossed in her investigation that she almost didn't hear the sound of a car door slam outside.

At first, she didn't fully process the implications of it, wondering dully who had arrived, before realization hit her like a truck. She jumped up from the seat, looking immediately over to Nathan. Her first thought had been that he was the person outside, making some sort of cowardly getaway, but he was still in the room before her, standing from the couch and slowly walking around it toward her. It was the complete lack of surprise on his face that told her everything.

On the way to the junkyard, Max had insisted she and Chloe still pick up some sort of lunch together, and so they arrived in the graveyard of decimated trucks and vans and the one titanic bus with a bag of fast food between them.

Chloe was still rather listless, so after Max parked the car, she took her friend by the hand and led her to a pile of lumber boards near the forested edge of the lot. It was probably a bad idea, she reasoned, to take Chloe to the heart of her favorite place she'd shared with Rachel, so she avoided the clubhouse.

They sat beside each other, fishing french fries from the bag, and though neither spoke for several minutes Max tuned into the white noise. The wind in the trees; the groaning of old metal; the rustling of the bag and the occasional sniffles she heard from Chloe. It was peaceful, even after the last twenty-four hours she'd had. Time felt like it stood still, if only for a moment.

Indeed, it was only for a moment. When they finished eating, the empty paper bag threatening to blow away in the breeze, Chloe spoke after a long sigh.

"Sorry."

"For what?" Max replied, leaning forward to see Chloe's face. Her expression was still deeply upset, but not acutely. More generally depressed than breaking down.

"For yelling at you. I'm still mad, though," she added.

"That's… not fair, but okay," Max sighed. "I don't want to argue with you again."

"I think it's pretty fair," Chloe argued. "You disappear for five years, show back up, and you're lying to me left and right. I'm not just pissed about Rachel."

"What do you mean?"

"Don't play dumb, Max. You know what I mean."

"No, I really don't. 'Not any kind of expert on social skills', remember?" Max quoted Chloe's earlier outburst wryly.

Chloe winced. "I said I was sorry for yelling at you."

"It's fine," Max said, sincerity uncertain to Chloe's ears. "Just tell me why you're still mad at me."

"Because you keep lying to me and I've already got enough of that shit in my life. Out of my life, now," she added with a sigh.

Max frowned. "I know I should have told you about Rachel, but I don't know what else you're talking about."

"You're kidding," Chloe said, turning to look at her. "Time travel, Max? You're really standing by that?"

Almost immediately, Max groaned internally, and started trying to remember how she'd most effectively convinced Chloe of her abilities in other timelines. Maybe the 'what's in my pocket?' trick could handle this. She tried and failed to resist the urge to let her thoughts drift to pocketses while Chloe continued speaking.

"Like, I don't blame you, I wouldn't want to say any more about it than you did, but you could have been honest with me. You should have been. Whichever side of that you were on."

"Chloe, slow down- what?" Max tuned back in, confused.

"That bunker- you called it the Dark Room- and the whole gross Jefferson thing. Were you part of that, or did you get…" She didn't finish her statement but looked at Max questioningly.

"Neither," Max answered, then doubled back. "Well- sort of? Closer to the second one, totally not the first. In a few timelines, I did-" she started explaining before Chloe cut her off.

"Max. Cut the timeline crap. Please."

"It's not crap! I proved it with the bunker door, you were there for that. I can prove it again if you want."

"You could have had the bunker door set up," Chloe said skeptically.

"Then give me something I couldn't have set up," Max insisted. "Like… I'll tell you what you've got in your pocket?"

"Okay, A, how does that prove time travel, B, you saw me get dressed this morning, you know what I have in my pockets."

"Well, what do you want me to do, then?"

"I don't know, not leave? Stop me from getting close to Rachel? Save my dad? Literally anything worth doing with time travel that's not showing up out of nowhere and ruining my life?" As she went on she became increasingly loud; a nearby squirrel fled up a tree.

Max had wilted in the car, but that was because it was hard to stand up for herself to the driver of a speeding car she was inside. Here they were on level, solid ground, in more ways than one.

"Chloe, if you're mad, be mad, but don't be mad at me for what Rachel did." She stood up straighter as she spoke, cool and composed, facing Chloe directly. "Go yell at her if that's what you really want, but don't take it out on me."

"But you did lie to me! You won't even admit it!"

"I won't admit it because I'm telling the truth, Chloe, and you know it. We grew up together- you know I'm a shitty liar," she said, the slightest melancholy tainting her counterargument as she mentioned a simpler, happier time.

The melancholy softened Chloe just as much as herself. She sighed as she released tension in fists she didn't know she'd been clenching. "Yeah. Yeah, you suck at lying. Even when you really want to. Remember when-" Chloe began, a grin spreading across her face.

"Don't even say it," Max interrupted her, grinning despite herself. "God, Joyce was pissed," Max laughed for a moment before asking, "How is she? I know things are shitty with David, but besides that?"

Chloe shrugged, hesitating for a moment before sitting back down next to Max. "I think she's fine? She's tired most of the time from work, but it's not nearly as bad as it was right after Dad died. Step-douche's paycheck is the only good reason to keep him around."

"Paycheck isn't worth it."

"Yeah, honestly," Chloe agreed before pausing for a moment- "Have you even met him?"

"Other timeline," Max answered sheepishly.

"Of course," Chloe said, sighing and resting her head on her hand as she looked at Max, assessing her. "I honestly don't know whether you're crazy, full of shit, or for real on this."

"Are those all mutually exclusive?" Max asked.

"Probably not."

"For real, but with two-fifths to a third crazy mixed in," Max answered, with a sarcastically serious tone.

"Sounds about right," Chloe commented. A moment passed before she asked, "So how were you going to prove it with what's in my pocket?"

"I've done it before, with other versions of you. Basically, I give up, so you show me what you have-" she was interrupted by an amused snort- "but then I rewind back to before you show me, and I know it then, so I can get it right the second time and you're super impressed and it's great."

"What did you say? 'Rewind'?"

"Yeah, that's what I call it."

"That's literally the dorkiest thing I've ever heard. You get a superpower and your first thought is 'hey, this is just like a VHS tape'," she teased Max.

"That's how it works, though! It's a good name for it," Max insisted. "It's just like rewinding a tape."

"Max, when's the last time you rewound a tape? Like, an actual VHS tape?"

"I don't know, a couple of months ago? There's still a bunch at my parents' house from when I was a kid. I was just having a nostalgia trip," she added, "I'm not secretly here from 2005."

"Could have fooled me," Chloe teased, smiling, before Max watched her face fall into the same defeated, depressed expression she'd had earlier. She sighed- "God, I can't believe this is real. You or Rachel. Isn't that fucked up? Time travel and cheating are on the same level of unreality for me. Ouch," she joked weakly, obviously forcing a grin.

"Chloe…" Max frowned, reaching out to wrap an arm around Chloe, half-expecting to be pushed away.

Before she could say anything else, they were both distracted by the telltale buzz of a phone's text alert. They met eyes, both reaching into their pockets nearly simultaneously. It was Chloe's phone buzzing, lighting up with text notifications.

"Not her," she said almost immediately, an excitement Max had scarcely had time to notice already extinguished from her face.

She moved to put the phone away, but Max chimed in, "You aren't going to read it?"

"I don't really want to hear from anyone besides you right now, sorry to whoever it is. The number's not even in my phone, it's probably spam."

"It might be important," Max insisted, remembering clearly her phone sleuthing from prior timelines. "At least check."

Chloe raised an eyebrow, but ceded, unlocking her phone and opening the message.

[01:13] This is Victoria. Dana told me this was Chloe Price's number. If it's not, congrats on the free drama.

[01:13] The short version is I don't know what the hell is going on but I think Rachel's in deep shit and thought you might want to know that. Maybe do something about it.

[01:13] The long version is that I've been getting nonstep texts from Nathan about you, Rachel, and some chick named Max. I don't know why or what you three did to him, but I know he's pissed, especially at Rachel.

[01:14] Tough break on her, BTW. Sorry you heard it from Nathan.

[01:14] But what I wanted to actually tell you was that for some reason Nathan and Rachel are somewhere together and he's saying some weird shit about being pissed off but happy because he's going to 'fix this'. Whatever the hell that means.

[01:14] I haven't got the time or energy to deal with whatever shit she's gotten herself into, but if you care, something's up. Or if you don't care that's probably smarter LMAO.

[01:15] Any info you have on all this is welcome BTW. I don't know a whole lot.

They watched together as the texts arrived, Max's eyes darting from the screen to Chloe every few seconds to check her expression.

She seemed either confused or frustrated- it was hard to tell. Max's guess moved toward the latter when she saw Chloe turn off the phone and move to put it back in her pocket.

"Chloe," Max protested, "hold on. We need to-"

"No, we don't." She slipped her phone back into her pocket.

"What? What do you mean we don't? If Rachel's with Nathan somewhere she's in trouble. We need to help her."

"No, Max, we don't need to help her." Chloe sat back up and glared sideways at Max. "If she's stupid enough to put her foot back in this after we risked our necks to save her, that's her problem. Not mine, not yours. It's probably nothing anyways," she said, turning back away and rubbing the bridge of her nose. "Isn't this Victoria chick Nathan's friend? This is probably a prank all three of them are in on."

"I know her, she wouldn't make this up," Max said, not entirely confident in her own words. It would be below the belt if this were a prank, but then, below the belt was practically Victoria's go-to target. Not even to mention the amount of venom she'd seen her attack Rachel with posthumously.

Honestly, if Victoria's texts were Max's only reason for concern, she might agree with Chloe that this was probably nothing. But Max knew she'd seen Rachel at the Two Whales while Nathan and Chloe fought. At the time she'd assumed Rachel had just been pressing Nathan for information, which was a dangerous but reasonable thing to do. But if they had gone off somewhere together, and Nathan was in a volatile mood, real trouble might be brewing all over again.

Unfortunately, Chloe didn't have that context, and Max didn't want to offer it and become the target of her frustration once again. "If you want to go after her so badly, then fine, go," Chloe said dismissively.

"I don't have a car," Max protested, "and it's dangerous to go after her alone. Please, Chloe, just this once I need you to help me."

The growing anger on Chloe's face was visible, and Max winced pre-emptively before she even opened her mouth. "Just this once? What the hell was yesterday, then? I nearly got shot for her! If she has a death wish that's her problem now, not mine!"

"That's not-" Max began, arguing back, but stopped herself and took a resolved sigh. "Look. Okay. If you don't want to that's fine," she said, trying to de-escalate that situation; a better plan than a dead-end argument had struck her. "I'll stay here. Just do me one favor."

Chloe raised an eyebrow at her, looking as if her patience was running very thin.

"Just… let me see the messages again, on your phone. For a second."

"Why? You just said you're not doing anything about them, why do they matter?"

"I think I might have misread something," she lied.

For a moment, Chloe eyed her, something like suspicion in her gaze. But she took the phone out of her pocket and handed it to Max.

As soon as it was in her hand she extended her other arm and began to rewind.

She knew exactly the moment she was aiming for, so it didn't take long to scrub back through time, watching their argument speed by in reverse. A couple of seconds before the texts arrived.

"-unreality for me. Ouch," Chloe joked weakly, obviously forcing a grin.

Immediately, Max set the phone to airplane mode, slipping it into her pocket as soon as she was done and before Chloe would see what she was doing. The text notification didn't come, the phone remaining completely silent. Without a response, Chloe's forced grin slowly faded, and she sighed, slumping over onto Max.

She was at an impasse; she wanted to comfort her friend, but she wanted to address the Victoria situation as soon as possible. If it's actually nothing, I can rewind and take care of Chloe, she compromised with herself.

"Uhm," she said, searching for a lie to get her a moment away from Chloe. "I. I need to pee. I'm gonna go do that." Hopefully her awkward delivery would seem appropriate and not like an obvious excuse.

Chloe seemed to buy it, joking, "Pissing in the woods? That how you do it in Seattle?"

"Yeah," Max replied awkwardly as she stood up, walking quickly to the treeline on the other side of the junkyard.

As soon as she was definitely out of sight of Chloe, she pulled out the phone and took it off of airplane mode; the texts arrived, just as they had before, though all at once in a burst this time.

For a moment, she leaned back against a tree and reread the messages, staring them down as if that might solve the problem. Then she sighed and composed her reply.

[Max here. Don't text Chloe again, mssg me instead. XXX-XXX-XXXX [01:15

[This is serious and we need to talk about it [01:15

As she waited for Victoria to text her, she started deleting both the texts Victoria had sent Chloe and the ones she had sent from Chloe's phone. She felt bad, hiding this from Chloe, but it was worth it; whatever Chloe was saying or feeling right now, there was no way she really wanted to leave Rachel to die or worse.

Once the messages were deleted, she slipped the phone into her back pocket, and only  a moment later her own cell phone buzzed.

[01:16] You're Max?

[Not a lot of time for meet & greet [01:16

[01:16] Just making sure.

[01:16] ?What exactly has Nathan been saying? Do you know where he's going with Rachel

[01:17] Tell me what's really going on, first.

"You get lost?" Max was jarred from the phone screen by Chloe's voice, shouting from across the junkyard to her.

"Sorry," she called back. "Gimme a second."

[BRB [01:17

She quickly typed out a reply before pocketing her phone and returning to Chloe.

"Hey, Max, have you seen my phone?" Chloe called to her as soon as she walked back into view. She'd risen from the makeshift bench and was at the truck, leaning through an open door as she searched the cab.

Trying to mask the thud of Chloe's phone on the ground as she dropped it by the bench, Max called back just as she slipped it out of her pocket and let it fall, "I don't think so. Did you drop it?"

"I don't know, that's why I'm looking for it," she replied, frustrated, before leaning back out of the truck and sighing. "Not in the truck. Did I leave it at the Two Whales? We were only there for like, a minute."

"I'll call you," Max suggested, pulling out her own phone while she walked towards the truck. She scrolled through her contacts until she found Chloe and placed a call.

"So you've had my number this whole time" Chloe commented, but her bitter observation was cut short by the sound of a ringtone. It only took her a moment to pinpoint the noise, and she hurried back over to the bench, crouching to pick up her phone and dust it off. "Thanks," she said, wiping dirt off the screen. "I swear I checked over here, I guess I missed it."

"Glad to help," Max replied, trying to hide her guilty discomfort.

"You okay?" Chloe caught on, at least partially, standing and giving Max a questioning look. "I really am sorry I freaked at you, Max. I'm still kind of figuring out who I'm pissed at, and usually when that's the problem I just assume everyone, y'know?"

"... Not really, personally, but I get what you're saying," Max replied. "It's fine, I'm just a little out of it. It's been weird for me too."

"If half the shit you've told me is true, weird's an understatement," Chloe remarked. It was a moment before she turned and tried to make eye contact with Max. "You know what is kind of weird?" She looked to Max for a moment before answering her own question. "Even though I don't really know if I believe you, I kind of want to hear what the hell went on? Like, in the other 'timeline' or whatever. Either this shit is totally crazy or you could write a kickass book. Maybe both."

"I… I'm not sure that's a good idea," Max said, averting her gaze from Chloe's. "Telling you, I mean. Also, it's been multiple timelines. I think a new one every time I rewind, actually. I don't really know exactly how this stuff works."

Chloe didn't regard her correction of the mechanics of time travel, but insisted upon her request. "Why don't you want to? What would it hurt?"

"It's just… the kind of stuff it's easier to sleep at night not knowing about. Even if it didn't happen to you you." She was telling a half-truth. It was true that she didn't want to burden Chloe with events that didn't concern her, but she also didn't want to have to figure out a tailored version of the story that would be presentable to Chloe. There were some things she knew she would hold back even if she shared a synopsis of her experiences, and patching together a false version of it would be both unnecessary trouble and a needless lie.

"If that's true, that just means I want to know even more. Keeping heavy shit to yourself doesn't make it any less heavy," Chloe said, clearly speaking from experience.

"Maybe," Max admitted. "But it's over now anyways. I'm fine."

"Wow. Convincing," Chloe said sarcastically before adding more kindly, "It's okay if you don't want to tell me, though. I get it. Just, like… don't clam up on me, okay? And I mean that in general, not just about this. I know I can be a lot, but if I need to put on the brakes tell me."

"Will you, though?"

Chloe looked wounded for the blink of an eye before conceding, "I'll do my best. I can promise that. And if I don't, you've got total permission to kick my ass," she joked.

"Don't tempt me," Max said, just as lightheartedly.

They let the exchange hang in the air for a moment before Chloe spoke again. "It's so weird seeing you again. I'm not sure if I expected you to be totally the same or totally different from before, but whatever I expected, you're not that."

"Is that a compliment or a complaint?"

"Both?" Chloe grinned. "I'm glad you're back, if that clears it up. Even if you're totally nuts. You couldn't have timed it any better."

"Is that a pun?" Max raised an eyebrow.

Chloe reeled in feigned disgust. "God, no. I take it all back, get out of my city."

"I second that."

"You're killing me, Max. Please."

"Alright, I'll stop. You're getting ticked -" she started, but was interrupted by a playful swing of Chloe's arm, which she ducked to avoid, grinning. "Wow, no need to clock me," she said, before promptly adding, "Last one, I swear!"

"Thank god," Chloe said, smiling too despite her exaggerated reaction. "Do you want to go somewhere else? This place is kind of a dump- that's not a pun- and I kind of need to go home anyways. I'm kind of gross, I didn't shower this morning."

"Sure." Max nodded and walked around to the other side of the truck to climb in.

As Chloe turned the key in the ignition, Max commented casually, "Hopefully wheel get there soon."

Almost immediately, Chloe groaned. "Hush," she said, feigned exasperation given away by the grins on both of their faces.

"I can't believe it. You fucking snake." Time was of the essence, if there was any way out of this to begin with, but she couldn't bring herself to fight or flight just yet. She was too shocked to react. But not she was not shocked by him; she was in awe at her own stupidity. He'd been kiting her back here this whole time, and she'd played right into it. Sure, she'd been suspicious, but she'd been distracted and hasty and ignored every bad sign she'd seen, and this was her reward.

Nathan Prescott wasn't just going to ruin her life today, he was going to take it.

Not if I have anything to fucking say about it, she thought, trying to inspire herself with fabricated bravado. She tried to listen for footsteps, judge how close Jefferson was to the stairs, but could hear nothing over Nathan's stumbling words.

"Rachel, just chill, just stand there and don't freak out, okay? It's not- I don't want this to be bad for you, I swear to god, but if you piss him off that could make it bad. Just…"

She stopped listening to him almost immediately, more interested in the fact that he was slowly sidling between her and the plastic curtain leading to the exit. He wasn't letting her leave.

Unfortunately for him, she knew he didn't have much ability to keep her here. She walked around the desk, crossing the room and making a beeline for the exit with the most deathly serious expression and posture she was capable of it. About three feet from him, she put her hand in her pocket and felt the pistol inside.

She made eye contact with him. She knew that he knew about the gun. He knew that she knew about the gun.

He didn't know if she was bluffing.

She didn't know if she was bluffing.

Neither moved for a few heartbeats. Rachel moved to shove past him, and to her immense relief, he jumped back and away from her.

And as soon as she parted the curtain she collided with Mark Jefferson.

The driveway was empty when Max and Chloe pulled up to the house, parking the truck at the curb.

"Mom and step-ass are both at work, so we've got the house to ourselves for a few hours," Chloe explained as she unlocked the front door, Max only a few paces behind her. "I'm gonna jump in the shower," she continued, leading her up the stairs, "but you can do whatever. I think we have leftover take-out in the fridge, if you're hungry. You know where everything is."

"It hasn't been that long," Max affirmed.

"Five years. Or less?" Chloe asked to her as she reached the top of the stairs.

"Less," she replied, as they split off, Chloe walking to the bathroom while Max opened the door to her bedroom. "I'll just wait for you," she said, and ducked in when Chloe confirmed with a nod.

Chloe's bedroom was not quite as messy as it had been when Max visited in the other timeline, after Rachel had died and Chloe had dropped out. It was certainly unkempt- the bed was unmade, and dirty clothes were in a pile on the floor- but it gave the impression of a bedroom and not a hideaway. It didn't seem like Chloe spent days on end in here, living reclusively upon pizza and weed. It just seemed like a teenager's bedroom.

She flopped down upon the bed and pulled out her phone, addressing something she hadn't wanted to address until Chloe was no longer present.

[Srry about that [01:33

[Not sure how much I can explain to you [01:33

Jefferson (photography teacher) and Nathan have been meeting in a bunker out of town to work on illegal [01:33] photography shit

[Nathan is just in bc Jefferson is using him for money AFAIK but he IS involved [01:34

[Rachel was a victim who got away but now she knows too  much and I think Jefferson wants her dead [01:34

[01:35] Hold on. 'Victim'? 'Illegal photography shit'? Care to elaborate?

[Do I really need to? [01:35

[01:35] Yes, you do, if you want me to work with you on this.

[Jefferson kidnaps + drugs + photographs + kills girls for a super fucked up photography project [01:36

[Any questions? [01:36

[01:38] Do you have proof?

[I don't have any reason to lie to you. [01:38

[01:38] This could be a prank. Or you could be trying to fuck over Nathan.

[01:38] I don't even know who you are. You can't just expect me to take your word on this.

I don't have anything I could show you right now, but the stakes are high, Victoria. If you don't trust me, [01:39] Rachel could die. I need to know what you know

[01:39] Why don't you just call the cops?

[A lot of reasons [01:40

[Ok well [01:40

[1:40] That wasn't an option before because of reasons but actually right now that seems like the best thing

[Aren't you worried abt Nathan if the cops get involved? [01:41

[01:41] Max, I haven't seen you around, so I'm guessing you're new to Arcadia Bay.

[01:41] The last thing Nathan Prescott is in danger from is cops.

[01:42] You seem like you know more about this than I do, so I'll let you handle the call. I'm still interested in hearing more about this, though.

[01:42] Tomorrow let's have a chat about this. There's a coffee place down the street from Blackwell Academy. Meet me there at 4.

[No promises [01:42

Max felt deeply chagrined, but she was glad for the reality check Victoria had delivered. Rachel had certainly put herself in enough danger to warrant involving the police- it had been their plan anyways. This was by far the safest, simplest way to finish things, and she was almost embarrassed it hadn't occurred to her.

Before dialing 9-1-1, however, she sent one last text to Victoria.

[Thanks. I mean it [01:43

The first thing Rachel saw as she stumbled back was the gun in Jefferson's hand.

It felt like the world was moving in bullet time for the next few seconds. She saw that he was directly between her and the exit. She saw his face, that he was confused, but growing angrier in a matter of heartbeats. She saw his grip tightening on the gun. He was about to speak.

In this long moment, the span of a blink that seemed to drag on for minutes, she was hit with a realization. Until now she'd been playing against her strengths. She'd been trying to dig up the truth using nothing but lies. But in the span of a heartbeat the entire situation had changed, and suddenly, she needed to do what she did best.

"Thank god," she gasped, locking her wide eyes on his. "Mr. Jefferson, I'm so glad you're here."

She didn't even consider taking out her gun. If he saw, she'd be dead before she even had it out of her pocket. It was better to keep the ace up her sleeve, assuming Nathan didn't tell Jefferson about it.

Yeah, because he's been so good about keeping secrets from Jefferson so far, she thought bitterly but betrayed none of her true emotion in her face.

Jefferson seemed confused, which counted as a success by her. He paused, not raising or lowering his gun, gazing at her levelly and analytically for a moment. She didn't allow a hint of insincerity to break her mask of relief.

And then after a long moment, he smiled, as genuine as any smile she'd ever seen him wear. It was almost intoxicatingly familiar, after months of his classes. He had always exuded a feeling, when she spoke to him at school, that he was both deeply interested in whatever she had to say or show him, and that he was deeply invested in her personally- that her growth and development not just as a student but as an artist was the most important thing in the world. She'd noticed it as soon as the first day and made mental note of it, spent weeks trying to figure out whether it was a facade not unlike her own or somehow genuine.

It was now she realized that she had believed it wholeheartedly, though she had never admitted that to herself. And she had made herself terribly vulnerable without ever knowing fully.

But she didn't have time to beat herself up over that yet.

"Calm down," he said soothingly. "Everything's going to be okay," he assured her, lowering his gun to leave it half out of sight, probably hoping she would forget he had it.

She took a step toward him; ideally, he'd think she saw him as safety, and buy further into her act. In reality she was quickly considering her chances of slipping past him and running for the exit before he could grab her or shoot her. It wasn't a bad chance- he'd be surprised, and that would give her a head start- but it wasn't a good one either. The stairs would be slow going, and a straight hallway was a good place to take a bullet to the back.

The judgement call was made for her when he reached out and took her by the arm. In any other context, his firm grip would have been reassuring and grounding, but she knew it for what it was. He was making sure she wouldn't do exactly what she'd been planning. And by the arm, he led her back through the plastic curtain into the main room, while she assured herself baselessly that another chance to escape would present itself later.

Perhaps not entirely baselessly. She still felt the weight in her pocket.

"Mr. Jefferson!" As soon as they stepped back through the curtain, Nathan stumbled back away from it, eyes darting confusedly between Jefferson and Rachel, who had leaned into the teacher's grip.

Before Nathan could say anything else, Jefferson shot him a glance with so much sudden venom that it shot a chill down Rachel's spine, especially when he turned back to her a heartbeat later still smiling. "Rachel, sit down so we can talk," he suggested to her as Nathan shrank away in the background.

She considered resisting, pressing him for information, but after a moment decided to comply, walking listlessly over to the sofa. She seated herself, knees together and hunched over slightly to give the impression of continued fear, as well as to hide her face somewhat. Her back was to Jefferson, Nathan, and most importantly the door, which set her on edge, but she reassured herself that the illusion of panic remained an illusion.

It was about a minute before someone stepped into her field of view again. Jefferson stood in front of her, holding down a bottle of water. Immediately her eyes were on the cap; she was surprised to see the seal unbroken. Either he'd gone to a lot of trouble tampering with it or it was really just water.

"Just calm down," he repeated, patiently waiting for her to take the bottle, "and talk to me."

She slowly reached out and took the water bottle, twisting off the cap but not taking a drink yet. "Mr. Jefferson," she said, "What's going on?"

"You're a smart girl, Rachel," he said, turning the question back on her. "What do you think is going on?"

He wasn't going to offer her any information freely, then. She didn't expect him to, but it was worth a shot. "I don't know," she began. "Last night, I was at the Vortex party, then I was here, with Nathan, and then I don't really remember much, but I remembered here, and so I asked him- I wanted to come back, I was confused, but now I'm just- I really don't know what's happening."

She didn't want to risk naming Max and Chloe, in case Nathan hadn't already mentioned them, and more generally it seemed prudent to stay as vague as possible. It helped the illusion of a confused, scared girl. So did the terrified tears welling up in her eyes, and the tightening of her throat as she started crying. All crocodile tears, she assured herself. She was in control.

Without thinking about it, she took a drink from the bottle, surprised by how dry her mouth had gotten. It just tasted like water, which she knew meant nothing, but if she was being poisoned or drugged she was doomed from the first sip, so she took a long drink, trying to calm herself.

"He hasn't told you anything?" Jefferson asked, sounding shocked with Nathan but obviously fishing for information.

"A little," she ventured, lowering the bottle. "We- the photos. He showed me." She cast her eyes down toward the binder still resting on the table in front of the couch. Then she looked up at him and took a chance.

"Did you take them?" she asked, then interrupted him as soon as he opened his mouth to answer, adding on a gamble, "They're beautiful."

It was a subtle change in his expression, the appearance of smug pride, that told her she'd hit her mark.

"I'm glad you appreciate them. You've always had an eye for quality, haven't you, Rachel? That's something we have in common. The eye of an artist. It's something you can't teach, I've found. Some people don't see the world on the level we do, no matter how hard they try." He glanced pointedly up- she assumed toward Nathan- while she marveled at how eager he was to monologue.

"I remember, Rachel, on the first day of class, you mentioned that you liked my work. I appreciated that- but I'm glad you're getting to see what I'm really capable of. It's not a waste to create a masterpiece no-one will ever see, but it's frustrating sometimes. You understand that, don't you?"

She wasn't sure she knew what he was talking about, but she nodded regardless, taking another sip of water.

"Of course you do. You have a dream you want to share with the world too. And, if you want, Rachel," he said, locking eyes with her, "I think I know how I can help both of us."

"You had a binder with my name on it," she stated, looking away from him and to where it had landed on the floor.

He nodded, still smiling. "You're a smart girl, Rachel. We can help each other."

"... I'm a mess," she said, floundering. "I can go clean up and come back, and we can do this," she tried, knowing it was an inane suggestion.

"You don't need to do that," he assured her. "You won't even need to be awake. I'll take care of everything."

"You're going to knock me out?" she asked, faking incredulence to hide mounting terror.

It was then that Nathan crept up beside Jefferson and whispered something to him, with all the fear and hesitance of a beaten dog approaching its owner to beg for scraps. Despite straining her ears, she couldn't make out what Nathan said, but heard Jefferson reply, "That just makes this easier. Go get one ready," he ordered him.

Nathan didn't immediately back away, standing indecisively behind Jefferson and looking between him and Rachel.

"It's going to be fine," Jefferson assured Rachel, compensating for Nathan's behavior. "You probably won't even remember any of this afterwards- that's a big weight off your shoulders, isn't it?" He smiled. "I just need you to trust me."

That was the moment she knew she was doomed. She had hesitated on her last chance for survival, after getting way too deep into a situation over her head, after spending the last half of her life getting in too deep on everything she possibly could.

Her heart twinged painfully when it occurred to her that she wouldn't live to apologize to Chloe.

She wanted desperately for some dramatic escape, or at least some poignant last words. Maybe something Nathan would recognize as a message to Chloe, or that would change his mind on Jefferson, or exact some kind of revenge for every other girl who had been where she was now. Or at the very least, something to remember her by.

Nothing came to her.

"Okay," she replied to Jefferson. Then she found Nathan's gaze, which passed over her for a single moment as he walked toward the storage room, and said, "I trust you."