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Holy shit... finally got thru!

I don't know where anyone is, and I'm flipping the fuck out. Chloe, pls help!

They said I'm in the dark room... Find me in the dark room...

In the dark room.

The dark room.

Dark room.

Room, room, room.

"HEY! WATCH THE FUCK OUT, WOULD YA?!"

Startled out of her reverie, Chloe instinctively slams on the brakes as an older-looking feller – maybe in his late forties to fifties – glares daggers at her through the front window of her pickup. Clearly years of heavy substance abuse have taken its toll on the man's face, as deep, heavy wrinkles and gashes caress his cheekbones and heavy amounts of wear and tear have left his teeth rotten to the core. The guy looks like he just crawled out of a dumpster fire as far as Chloe's concerned, but right now all she can do is meekly mouth an apology as she waits for him to cross the road.

Rolling his eyes, the guy mutters something along the lines of "bitch nearly tore my legs off" before setting off on his way. It takes about three minutes before said girl can admit to herself that the resemblance to Frank is uncanny.

Her breathing is still erratic as Chloe glances over at the stupid piece of plastic resting on the passenger seat beside her, no flashing light in the corner to tell her that Rachel's actually responded to the half dozen texts she's flung her way. Late last night she had clocked herself in the head a few times to see if she was dreaming or not, but lo and behold, Rachel's first message was still there, clear as day.

So why had she not replied?

Omigod, where r u? Christ's sakes, kid, I've been looking everywhere for you! Just tell me where to find you and I'll get you out of there!

As soon as the light turns green, Chloe's foot mindlessly steps on the gas pedal as her toes curl at the thought of something bad happening to her other best friend. The last thing she wants is to find the girl laying helpless in a dark alley somewhere, but if Rachel were to give anything… anything in the world… a clue, a sign, something. She'd be there in an instant, no questions asked.

Just stay cool, 'kay? I bet there's a lot of shit going down, but you've gotta gimme the deets! This rescue party's gonna be dope, but I need you to tell me where you are!

Chloe hits the "reject call" button as a picture of her mom pops up. She doesn't mean to shut her out, especially when she's in such a vulnerable state, but she's really not in the mood to talk to anyone right now. No one but her. Nobody but Rachel.

Fuck, did somebody take you? Is that what this is?! I swear to every motherfucking god there is, if they lay any of their grubby little hands on you…

Flinching as she accidentally knocks the cell onto the floor of the truck, Chloe reluctantly turns her attention back to the road. Her limbs feel as though they're going to fall off at any moment from all the driving she's been doing, and her eyelids flutter in tune with the turning signal as she pulls over to the side.

Sighing deeply, Chloe shuts her eyes for a moment as she runs a hand through the streaks of blue coursing on her head. "Where've you been all this time…" she whispers, a bit of melancholy filling her brain as the trinket hanging from her mirror shakes back and forth. The skull with the feather attached to it right there? Her apparently "not-so-missing-after-all" friend had given it to her as a birthday present about a year after Max had left. She even carved something into the side of it, being the artistic type that she was… is.

"Oookkaayy… what's up with the butterfly?" she remembers asking her that day, the two of them casually chilling out at the park as the sun was going down.

Amusedly rolling her eyes, Rachel nudged her in the shoulder. "It's supposed to be about you, dummy," she told her with a smirk.

Chloe had dangled the thing out in front of her with confusion. "Is this your way of telling me I look like a bug?"

"The butterfly effect, Chloe," Rachel explained, looking over Chloe's shoulder and tapping the ornament with her finger. "A change in one place can have a big impact on something else… err, I think that's how it goes," she coolly admitted. "But… no matter what happens, I'm gonna be there for ya. No matter what changes might come."

She knew what that meant. Her dad had barely even been put in the ground before David Madsen had been thrown into the picture, and although nothing really came between him and her mom for a number of years, it still had hit Chloe particularly hard.

This right here had struck a chord within her. "Wow… bit cheesy there, but…" Chloe joked, sniggering as Rachel pouted jokingly, "it's still pretty damn cool. Thanks, Rach."

Chloe had never gotten rid of it. Never sold it for cash, never traded it for weed – it sat proudly on her desk for years until she had finally come of age and gotten a truck of her own. She cherished it more than almost anything else in her possession, and clutched the thing tight in her grasp when news had broken about Rachel's disappearance.

As the ornament finally comes to a stop, Chloe glances out the window and breathes deeply; the carbon dioxide fogging up her window as she suddenly narrows her gaze. Two of Blackwell's pretentious douchebags are walking along the sidewalk. Nathan Prescott has a smug, irritating look on his face as if he's just gotten away with kicking a puppy. The girl strutting alongside him - which from Max's rants Chloe can only guess is Victoria – is trying to text and chat at the same time, with pretty terrible results as she nearly faceplants into a telephone pole.

Chloe can't exactly make out what they're saying, and honestly doesn't even really care all that much given the circumstances, but she tweaks her head a little bit when the pair comes to a stop in front of an old wooden fence. Pulling what looks like a marker from out of his backpack, Nate crudely jots something down as Victoria takes a photograph of whatever the fuck it is he drew. Chloe's got half a mind to go all Spock on his ass after the bathroom incident, but waits for them to leave before cutting the engine, grabbing her cell phone and jaywalking across the street.

"Are you fucking shitting me…" she trails off, glancing down at the newest addition to the graffiti-ridden town.

Not only is the handwriting abysmal, but bashing the kid that, intentionally or not, she'd recently come to respect as a friend is pathetic in Chloe's eyes. The crude message reading "CLEM SLEEPS WITH ZOMBIES" is just about the most childish and unbearably cruel thing she's seen today, although the bar's been set pretty high with all that's been going on lately. When she can't wipe the crap off with her sleeve after seeing that it's in a permanent sharpie pen, Chloe involuntarily clenches her fist.

Punching the fence in anger, leaving a few splinters lodged into her knuckles, Chloe rifles through her pocket before pulling out a cigarette and lighting it up. "Too old for this shit…" she murmurs to herself as the first puff of smoke passes out of her mouth. "Where the hell is Super Max when you need her?"

Blackwell had been a complete shitshow. As far as Chloe's concerned, it always had been. Sometimes she used to think that being a douchebag was part of the entrance procedure. The concept was kinda cool – an entire high school whose arts program hadn't been dragged out of the bottom of the barrel like a drowned rat. Growing up, she used to listen to Max go on for hours about how awesome it would be to be able to take pictures in class and not get into complete shit for doing it. The two of them had it all planned out – Max would hit the books, Chloe would handle the fun and try to get the shyer girl to branch out a bit more. Caulfield was hella nervous of course, but it wouldn't matter. None of it would. Max would end up leaving within a few months. Everything would unravel. There'd be nothing holding them together.

And up until the stakeout a couple nights ago, the last time Chloe had been back to that cesspool of a school was… was when she was handing out the missing persons posters all across town.

What a shitty couple of weeks those first were.

A pair of sirens go off for a split second as two police cruisers pull through the open gate a couple dozen feet from where Chloe's standing. Confused as to why they'd be in a dumpy part of the Bay like this, she wanders down the road until she spots the sign for Vinny's Garage – so weathered and torn that the "V" is hanging on by a thread.

The owner, Vince, is a decent enough guy despite the shady customers he sometimes attracts. The guy's sort of a scrap collector, gathering parts from all across Oregon and bringing them back to sell off to the highest bidder. Nothing illegal on the surface, but his associates have been able to gather some of the top-end scrap by some… questionable activities. Chloe's truck actually came from this place – Vince cut her a deal after showing him some wicked spots to loot at the dump by the train tracks.

"I'm telling ya, man, it's not like that," she hears him talking on the phone, his back turned to her as he starts walking over to his makeshift office beside an old, run-down crane. The towering piece of scrap heap has been a staple for the place for years, and neither Vince nor his workers have ever gone and torn it down. It seems fitting. "Look, just talk to her, okay? Shel will be cool with it! Why can't you?"

Chloe's about to call it quits for a while and try to make more sense of the earlier texts when out of the corner of her eye, she spots it. Wrapped from side to side with yellow police tape, the dingy, old thing is striking against the backdrop of flattened metal sheets behind it. Frank's RV is sitting a little ways away; likely impounded and under heavy investigation as Chloe drops her cigarette uselessly to the sidewalk.

That explains the cops, she thinks to herself, suddenly remembering the last time that she and Frank had talked before his inevitable demise at the hands of one Max Caulfield.

That's Rachel's bracelet. Why the fuck are you wearing her bracelet?!

Calm yourself, alright? It was a gift.

"He couldn't have…?" she says aloud, her caffeine-deprived brain going into all sorts of dark, dreary places as to what sort of fuck-upitude might have gone down between them. Rachel had been hanging out with Frank way too much, and it had been tearing them apart something fierce for weeks. She hadn't really had much beef with the guy before. After all, he'd been just another drug dealer who got dealt a shitty hand in life and tossed to the side like many others before him. Now she's wishing that she had never met the guy in the first place.

Paranoia that it may very well be, Chloe darts her head back and forth between the van and Vince, who's since sat down in his spinning chair and left the door open just a crack. Poking around in a vehicle that belonged to a man she witnessed getting shot in the chest isn't one of her brightest ideas, but if there's any chance at all, Chloe's going to take it. Completely oblivious to the world around him, she capitalizes on the opportunity and sprints past the office, keeping her head down the whole time to avoid drawing suspicion. Thankfully, Vince seems to be the only one around today.

"C'mon, don't hold out on me! Not you. I've got enough on my plate today, what with the fuzz showing up and all…" he drones on, narrowly missing the spunky teen as she whizzes over to the RV. The side door is locked when she gets there, so she hoists herself up to the window and starts to drag herself inside. "Anyway, Chris needs one of those old radiators we found down by Marie's house… you know, that batty old lady with the eight cats? And oh yeah, thanks for making me go pick it up by myself, dick! You try hauling that out with all those eyes staring at you! Never again, man."

Landing with a thud on the small kitchen counter inside the vehicle, Chloe coughs and shakes off the pain of landing on her side; hoping that this place will hold some small clue as to what might've happened to Rachel… and that the police haven't already stripped the place clean.

Find me in the dark room… The dark room…

It's official. Lisa has to be the worst behaved plant in the entirety of existence. She'd been watered for days on end, given the best soil that a teenager on a budget could afford, and been placed in the sunniest part of the room on a shelf in the corner beside some of the graphic novels borrowed from Warren, and yet the stubborn little bugger has refused to grow. Wilted and dying, Lisa has done nothing to lift the girl's spirits and represents everything that's going wrong with the world.

Her exaggeration is truly on point today.

Sprawled out on her mattress with her arms stretched out on either side, Max groans loudly and glares at the ceiling. Lisa's just adding fuel to the fire at this point. Stupid plant with its stupid leaves and its stupid… blech.

Her parents, having heard about the attempted suicide at her school and worrying about their own child's wellbeing, had called her earlier that afternoon. They meant well, of course, and Max knew it, deep down in her gut. But the girl definitely wasn't in the best of moods earlier and had bitten back with a rather icy response to her mother's incessant questions of "Are you alright?" and "Do you need to see a doctor? How's your head, sweetie? Please don't use that tone with me, Maxine. You know we only want what's best for you."

Maxine. Ouch. Mother dearest had pulled out the big guns on that one.

The latest buzz with one Rachel Amber had her head in a tizzy all night long, but the crux of the problem is that Max doesn't have a clue where to go from here. It all seems a little too convenient to her. Why, after nearly a month and a half of having no suitable leads and Chloe being one of the few people to apparently give a shit in this town, would Rachel just randomly text her out of the blue? That message was cryptic as hell, and as if that's not bad enough, Chloe's been actively dodging her all day. Max has called nearly a dozen times to follow up on what happened at the lighthouse yesterday, but she's been left completely in the dark.

The sounds of Juliet yelling at somebody out in the hallway causes her to grit her teeth and bury her face in the closest pillow she can find. Not even a minute! Can't they just…!

"Don't fucking lie to me, Dana! I know you did it!"

"What are you even talking about?! Just let me out of here, this is so stupid!"

"What's stupid is you sexting Zachary and expecting it to just slide away! *Tch*, did you honestly expect me to not find out and buy into your bullshit cover story? Yeah, okay then. You can go – straight to hell."

"I'm seriously wishing for some earmuffs right about now," she mumbles, almost reaching for her headphones out of instinct but holding off as she reluctantly gets out of bed. No amount of wishful thinking is going to keep Juliet from doing… whatever it is she's doing out there, and Max isn't feeling well enough to put up with it today. Trudging out into the hallway, she cuts off Dana's plead for help as time slows to a crawl.

Leading the charge as Juliet rewinds back towards her room, Max takes advantage of the situation. Call it mean-spirited, but Max's brain is too overwhelmed and frustrated to really give a hoot about playing nice. For once, just once, she isn't holding back.

Having to walk ever so slowly because of all the concentration she has to do, Max finally makes it to Juliet and pulls out one of the hallway doors right in front of her face. Next, she moves the girl's hands out in front of her to lessen the impact, but snatches Juliet's phone out of her hands and gingerly lets it go; watching as it sails to a stop and hangs suspended in mid-air about a foot above the ground. The entire hallway floor is carpeted, so the screen won't dent or crack upon dropping.

How the hell am I doing this? she ponders for a moment, glancing at her hands as a stream of energy ripples in the air surrounding her. It's never been this easy for her to bend time, let alone have this much control over it. She can feel some sort of pulse reverberating in her chest, and glances up for a moment only to see Clementine through the glass doors at the end of the hallway, seeming to finally recognize that everyone else has stood still again. Dropping the book she was reading onto her lap, Clem makes a swiping motion with her hand to tell Max to cut it out, but the girl mouths for her to wait for just a split fracture in time. There's still one more piece of business to attend to.

Nudging Dana's door open with her foot, Max catches the teen clutching on what looks to be some sort of stick with a pink plus sign on the…

Oh boy… she internalizes, the voice in her head reverberating off the walls as she turns around and makes sure that the lock's not on this time. That should give Dana enough of an opportunity to hide or throw out the very nerve-wracking thing before Juliet catches her with it, but Max lets that, at least, go up in the clouds. The last thing she wants or needs is to get involved in something so… so personal.

High school drama. What're you gonna do?

Furrowing her brow as she places the back of her hand towards her upper lip, Max sighs as she comes back with more blood than usual. It makes sense, she supposes, to be having this problem after going to the next stage of her powers. But still, it's a bit unnerving to say the least. As much reading material as there is on the whole concept of time-traveling, nobody really has a clue how it could possibly work. Theories Warren had shown her on the insides of a worm hole and inter-dimensional space travel made absolutely zero sense to her, and didn't really apply to her case. Unless of course she had managed to fall into some kind of black hole in a previous life when she wasn't looking but… yeah. That seems unlikely.

The air seems to shake as Max wanders back to her room, so Max snatches up her backpack, carefully places her camera inside, slings it over her shoulder and closes the door behind her. A headache soon follows as she moves past the feuding friends, and she notices that Clementine has left the bench outside and walked away without another word.

Releasing her hold on reality, Max stumbles her way out of the dorm area as Juliet crashes into the wooden frame inside.

"Hey, if isn't Mad Max! Wanna shred? I'd offer you your own board, but you'd have to be righteously initiated first," Justin proposes, fist-pumping the girl as she smirks and watches as Trevor yet again tries to do one of his tricks near the railing. He's so sure of himself that Max feels kind of bad for taking a picture of him on the ground earlier in the week after one of his failed stunts went wrong, with pretty amusing results.

"Nnnnaahhh, thanks though," she drawls on, fidgeting with the strap of her bag as Justin shrugs his shoulders. Not wanting to seem like a complete dork, Max points with her thumb back to the building and sighs. "There's this big test coming up, and Jefferson would kill me if I came late again. You know the deal," she emphasizes as the skater boy chuckles.

"It's all good, brah, I get it. But you totally gotta stick it to that class once in a while. How would you even have a test on taking pics anyway?"

"You'd be surprised," she admits, feeling a lot more lightheaded after having used her powers like that earlier. Saying goodbye to the skater posse as the warning bell rings, Max heads towards the building alone, with many of the other kids following suit.

A certain ballcap-wearing teen has other plans though, apparently.

"Wanna tag along?"

Glancing up from her drawing of what looks to be a group of survivors in the apocalypse fighting off the undead in some sort of abandoned motel, Clementine arches an eyebrow as she shakes her head at the request. "Should I even ask what that was about in there?"

Smile faltering, Max awkwardly stares at the girl and takes a small step back. "Just… helping out a friend," she finishes almost with a squeak, feeling a little self-conscious about it for some reason as she brushes a stray hair out of her face.

Unconvinced, Clementine closes her scrapbook for a brief second and crosses her arms. "Hmph," she grunts in that sombre, hardened way of hers. "Who else knows about this… thing… you've got going?"

Confused as to where she's leading with this, Max scratches at her scalp. "You, me and Chloe."

"That's it? You're sure?"

"Yep."

"Really?"

"Geez, do you want that in writing or something? Yeah, Clem – that's it!"

"Alright then. Let's say in a hypothetical world," Clementine suggests, getting all technical as she gives out air quotations, "somebody sees or hears you trying to use this "time power". What would you do?"

Looking at her as if the girl's got something latched onto her head, Max doesn't take long to answer. "Then I'd just reverse time and start it over again. Besides, it's not as if anyone else would notice what's going on," she states, a duh expression crossing her lips as she spots Warren and waves as he enters the building.

Pursing her lips together, Clem frowns slightly as she remains unconvinced. Max isn't a fan of the intense interrogation she's getting from the new girl, even though technically she's also in the same boat in that regard. "You and I both know that's not a guaranteed thing," she suggests. "You could tense up, get nervous. I've seen you, Max. Hell, we went back in time together. I think I'd know better than most people."

"So you're saying I'm gonna screw up somehow, is that it?"

Backtracking from whatever it is she was about to add, noting how tense she's actually making this, Clementine sighs through her nostrils and shakes her head. "I'm saying… well, just be careful, that's all. Don't use it for things you don't have to. You know what they say about great power…"

Snorting at that, Max playfully rolls her eyes and slowly nods her head. There's no malicious intent here, that much is clear. "I'll, uh…" she hesitates, conflicting feelings about how she uses her powers preventing her from coming up with a clear answer, "I'll think about it."

Turning away from Clem's sour look before the conversation goes any further, Max heads up the steps towards Blackwell as Warren follows along like a lost, little puppy. Thinking about it is one thing, but Clementine grows slightly unnerved by the way that Max has been brushing off the laws of physics lately as if it was no big deal. It's not as simple as breathing, and in no way should it be.

As she turns back towards her pictures, using the side of her graphite pencil to carefully shade in the eyes of an undead creature that she's been working on, Clementine starts to get the feeling that there may be more going on than she knows, so she tries to put the pieces together.

Max has to shoot Frank to save her friend. I witness her rewind for the very first time.

Kate is about to jump off the roof, but is suspended in mid-air and then brought back safely until I get there to pull her down… as if by "magic". Pfft.

After school ends, Max tries to confront me about going to the cops. Her powers have no effect on me as I start to panic.

I end up with Max all the way back in Georgia… and I couldn't save them… no matter what I –

With realization taking its toll, Clementine widens her eyes slightly as she slides her back down the base of the tree. One reoccurring theme stands out in each of those scenarios, and despite every logical bone in her body telling her that it's absolutely impossible, she can't help but recall the conversation that she and Max had up at the lighthouse.

"Maybe… maybe it had something to do with you…"

"Oh shit…" she mutters, finding herself gazing like glue to the door that Max had just gone into. Pulse racing, and a cold sweat starting to form upon her brow, Clementine considers just packing up her stuff and extending her break for the rest of the day, but with Lee out at the university, and not knowing the city bus schedule, she's forced to stick around for now and stew over the possibility that she and Max… maybe they…

"…umm, are you okay?"

Startled into a bit of a jump, Clementine quickly gathers her drawing materials and swears under her breath, knowing fully well how fazed out she must've just been looking. Once she collects herself, she glances over at a short, stocky boy with dark hair, brown-rimmed glasses and a well-meaning look of concern on his face. Clem can tell right away that he's a bit of a dork, but she's of the opinion that usually they're the best people to talk to. Many aren't fake or trying to be "cool" – they're the brave ones, being themselves at such a young age and doing what they love to do.

Clem's thinking of some less flattering thoughts right now, though.

"Oh! S-sorry… I never meant to frighten you…" the boy doles out in soft-spoken syllables. Watching as he wrings his hands together nervously, Clementine sighs and shrugs it off with a small smile, trying to cover up her own anxiety.

"No harm done," she insists as the final bell chimes out across the yard. After leaving that in the air for about ten seconds or so, Clem decides to try and cut the awkwardness. "So… I don't think we've met before, have we?"

Straightening up at that, the boy extends his hand out as Clementine chuckles and goes to shake it. "Ah, yes you're right! I'm D-Daniel, Daniel DaCosta. And your name is…?"

"Clementine."

"A pleasure," he nods, his eyes lighting up as he notices something on her lap. "Oh my – you're an aspiring artist too, it seems!" Clementine smiles shyly at that, not used to people complimenting her on one of the few things that makes her happy. "You wouldn't mind if I… that is, I mean…"

"Sure," she finishes for him, handing Daniel the scrapbook as she invites him to sit against the other side of the tree.

Clem has to look away as he skims through the pages, always having been self-conscious about her drawings and never having felt that confident enough to show them even to her own friends and family, let alone to people she barely knows. Lee has seen some here and there, and had praised her for them and encouraged her to try and branch out to other venues, but Clementine had almost instantly shot the notion down. She just isn't ready for that sort of public appeal… not that her teachers really share her hesitance. Preaching on and on about showing your talent to the world, never letting your own worries keep you from banking on your dreams…

The sentiment is nice, she supposes. Not having to worry about anything, to live in a Disney-esque world where anything is possible and all of your dreams will magically come true. Not everyone buys into the rainbow-coloured bullshit that's been forced upon them, but Clem's started to notice that they are few and far between. Most of the students here would rather turn a blind eye to what life really has to offer and stay in their fairy tale delusions than wake up and realize that not all of them are going to make it big. In fact, Clem's almost completely certain that not even ten percent of them will.

Will it stop her from doing the things she loves? No, of course not. Drawing and writing has been part of the reason she hasn't jumped off a bridge yet with all of the messed up crap that's been tearing her life to pieces. Some may call her a pessimistic asshole, sure. Clementine prefers being a realist.

"I love the backdrops you have here," Daniel says after a little bit of time has passed. Curious, as usually that's not the first thing people point out about her artwork, Clem turns her head back towards him as he critiques the pictures with a critical eye. The guy knows his stuff, she'll give him that. "That blend of light and dark really meshes well together, don't you think? The rustic motif is a little dated, and the caricatures could use some work here and there… but the setting? Amazing. It really pops, doesn't it?"

"Huh… You… you really think so?"

"Oh, most definitely! You must have a knack for people at their most vulnerable state," he goes on, all the gushing being a little overwhelming as Clem finds herself staring down at the grass, grinning in embarrassment. "Do tell me though, where did you get the inspiration from?"

Faltering slightly, Clementine gulps as she tries to prepare an answer that'll appease him. It hadn't been the only reason, but her parents' untimely deaths had definitely made her speed up the process of drawing images of surviving the apocalypse and all it represents. Death, decay, destruction… what she at first thought would send her into a depressive, downward spiral had actually given her a form of release. It was a chance for her to break out of her hellhole and put that energy to the paper, and for her to see things from a different perspective. Daniel, she can tell, would probably rather sit back and draw the things that he sees around him – capturing all of the tiny, little details that people would normally miss or ignore. Max is often the same way.

Clem, though? She'd rather view things in a different light. She's found it fascinating to wonder what life would be like if everything became unhinged; if the world as they all know it was suddenly gone. Seeing people without all of the false pretenses and fake personas – that's what she's really trying to capture.

"Well…" she stutters, itching at the back of her scalp, "…it's, umm… movies and TV shows, really. I used to watch those old cheesy re-runs of horror classics when I was a kid. Y'know… Frankenstein, Dracula, Night of the Living Dead… that kind of thing."

"Ah, I see… Zombies are kind of your thing here, then?"

"I usually call them walkers," she grins, glad to have met somebody just as perceptive as she is for a change, "I dunno… Just sounds cooler to me."

Mulling it over before nodding in agreement, Daniel (thankfully) goes on about his own work, talking about all of the sketches that he's done over the years. Clem's lip purses when Rachel Amber's name comes up, but Daniel sees the reaction as just another student worrying about the girl's missing person posters lodged all over town. Not wanting to go into the nitty-gritty about her adventures – or "misadventures", by some standards – with Chloe and Max, Clementine strokes his ego as she agrees to let herself be Daniel's newest "muse". The boy's harmless enough, and despite his awkward tendencies, Clem finds that she might actually be able to connect with someone that doesn't involve murder plots or police chases or Vortex club parties. She finds herself kind of drawn to the idea of having an artsy kid like herself as a friend.

Neither of them see the flash of a phone camera from the window of one of the classrooms as Daniel starts with his portrait.

Tap…Tap…Tap…Tap…

"Man, did you check out Nate's new ride? Seriously sick shit right there – ain't nobody around here cruising around in a Beamer without getting some serious tail…"

Tap-Tap…Tap-Tap…Tap-Tap…

"Okay, so we've like, got some real problems here, Taylor! This guest list is way. Too. Huge. We've gotta cut some people off, seriously! Vortex club parties aren't cheap, y'know."

"Lemme see… Geez, Court! Why are there so many effing losers on here?"

"Who should we cut loose then?"

"Evan's expendable… Warren's out, for sure… Ech! What the hell is Alyssa doing there? Off! Off! Ooh, and take Trevor off, too! That'll really grind Dana's gears, hehe… Let's see, who else… Eenie, meenie, miney, Max…"

"Really? I totally thought that she and Vic were like, you know, friends and shit."

"Victoria? And Max fucking Caulfield? C'mon, Courtney, don't be stupid. You know that would never happen."

"Shh… keep your voice down, idiot. Pretty sure she can hear us…"

"Tch, who cares? Not like she does anything but chill by herself all day, anyways…"

Tap-tap-tap…Tap-tap-tap….Tap-tap-tap…

"They're gonna be throwing a total banger that night, babe. Wanna come chill with me before then?"

"Good joke there, asswipe. The only "banger" you're used to doing is when you're with Victoria!"

"What?! C'mon babe, you know that's not true…"

"Dana told me herself, Zach! I think that I'd know when to trust my best friend! Oh, and don't "babe" me, dickhead! Unless you want the entire school to know how much of a cheating bastard you are, I'd suggest you stay away from me and find someone else to fool around with."

Tap-tap-tap-tap-tap-tap-tap-tap…

"Ugh…" Max finally says, accidentally snapping her pen on the desk as she tunes out most of the conversations (if you can even call them that) in the room, instead turning her glare over to the window. The idiocy among most of the hypocrites who remain in Mr. Jefferson's photography class is matched only by Victoria's smug, irritating look. She's got her cell phone out, snapping pictures of whatever it is that's causing Nate to snicker like a child over in the corner, and Max has had just about enough.

Victoria, finally giving her victim of the week a break, puts her phone back into her pocket and shakes her head. "Hero of Blackwell, my ass… Let's see how your popularity soars after this," she mutters before turning back towards her desk.

Yeah. Getting out of this right the fuck now would be a good idea. It'd be a good chance for Max to clear her head from this toxic environment.

With Mr. Jefferson still not having come back yet after telling her classmates that he had to take something, most likely a call, Max meanders out of the classroom unscathed.

Well, not exactly. Queen Victoria over there gives her a nasty look as one of the other Vortex club cronies trips her up without so much as a peep. Knowing that fighting back would just be giving the assholes what they want, Max turns the other cheek and heads outside without another word. Sticks and stones, she reminds herself, sticks and sharp-as-hell stones.

Max finds the water fountain easily enough, although with the thing practically being buried underneath all of the Halloween decorations and school club flyers it's a miracle that the thing even works at all. The girl purposely avoids using the school washroom out of some paranoid, frantic belief that a similar event might happen in there as she splashes her face with the cold water. Call her crazy, but that washroom is cursed. It's about as cursed as can possibly be.

Hearing a set of footsteps echoing down the hallway, Max doesn't even need to turn around to recognize the cold, calculating voice of the person it belongs to.

"Mind telling me what you're doing out in the hallway without a pass, young lady?"

David Madsen. The guy fits the stereotypical alpha-male, straight as a board, roughneck security guard to a tee, but Max has a sneaking suspicion that he sometimes pulls off the tough-guy charade to compensate for not being a full-blown police officer. According to that one cop at the Two Whales diner, Mr. Madsen was even too hardcore for their standards.

Fed up with people getting in her grill today, Max wipes her face with the back of her sleeve as she turns around to David's incriminating stare. "I was just getting a drink… That's not a crime now, is it?"

"Perhaps not, but wandering the hallways without a pass is cause for a day's worth of detention. Is that what you want? Huh?"

"No, but…-"

"Not even a day back from your suspension and you're already causing trouble…" he mutters with discontent. It's no secret that the two of them haven't seen eye to eye, but lately the problems have just been escalating. Ever since Max had "implied" that the guy had been somehow involved with the pictures and suspicions around the school, the security guard hasn't really been much of a fan of hers. "First with Chloe, and now here, too. What's it going to take to get through you kids' heads?! If I let these things slide and watch you kids run amok around here, what do you think would happen?"

Whatever moral high ground she thinks that she's standing on starts to shake and buckle, and in a split second, Max comes back with a rather spiteful accusation.

"Tell that to Kate Marsh."

Stunned and visibly hurt at the very idea of having anything to do with Kate's suicide attempt, David opens his mouth to say something, but Max beats him to it.

"I saw you taking pictures of Kate, you know. Watching her every move, creeping behind corners and – "

"We went over this already. And I'd watch your tone with me, Max," he advises, frowning even deeper as he folds his arms across his chest. "I would never jeopardize the safety of one of the students here, including you, and including Kate. I was following along because I recognized the signs of depression, and I was trying to help her out."

"Following? Yeah, sure. More like stalking."

"You know, it's unappreciative little brats like you that make this job a hell of a lot har-"

"Mr. Madsen, I think that's enough for a day, don't you?"

The both of them turn their heads down the corridor to find Mark Jefferson watching the exchange with an unimpressed glance. Tapping his foot against the tile floor, he adjusts his glasses upon his nose as Max notices a cell phone lodged in his other hand.

Eyeing the teacher up and down, David briskly straightens up – likely a habit from his soldiering days – as he explains the conundrum. "One of your students, I assume?" he insinuates, never one to let down his guard while on duty. "I hope you realize that Max here was violating the school safety code and several fire hazard regulations."

Giving her a sly wink as Max smirks a little bit, Mr. Jefferson defends his pupil as he beckons for her to come over. "Quenching a thirst isn't the end of the world, David. Besides – clearly I was taking too long for her attention to kick in," he jokes, ensuring Chloe's step-dad that all is well.

Begrudgingly, David turns on his heel and heads in the opposite direction. "Never trust a man in a goatee…" he murmurs, low enough so that nobody else can hear.

Feeling a little bit flustered to be talking to the teacher like this twice within the same week, Max fidgets with one of her wrist bands as she eventually meets his gave. "…um, thanks for the save, Mr. Jefferson," she dribbles out. Sometimes she still finds it hard to believe that she has a famous photographer as a teacher, but often she sees him less as a professional and more of an inspiration. If only she could have the confidence to go as far as Jefferson expects his students to reach.

The girl's expecting Victoria to go all Cyclops on her and blast a laser beam through the wall with her eyes just for even talking to the man.

"Don't mention it. But Max… try to stay out of trouble, would you? You're already behind with that suspension and all. I don't want one of my star pupils to fall from grace," he warns, nudging his head towards the classroom. "Go on, then. Take your seat, alright? I'll be with you guys in a jiff."

Curiosity is taking a bit of a hold on the girl with that cell phone in his hand, showing that whoever he was just talking to is still on the other end of the line, but there's no way that Max is going to take an unnecessary risk by probing further. Placing her hands in her sweater pouch, she's only able to catch a few snippets of conversation as Mr. Jefferson turns away.

"…yes, I underst- ….No! Absolutely not… Just… sigh… go ahead with it, okay? We'll be in touch soon. Oh, and what did I say about calling me here? At my work, no less? …Fine, fine… Just get it done."

Max quickly darts back inside just as Mark checks over his shoulder. Whether that was one of his friends or maybe somebody more… intimate, she isn't certain.

…Gah! Just butt out of this, Max. It's not important. You've got bigger fish to fry, she reprimands, finding her seat at the back of the room as she pops open her journal. Time to go Super Sleuth, Caulfield. Time to look for Rachel…

Thanking her lucky stars that there weren't any sharp syringes or drug paraphernalia on the table where she landed, Chloe groans as she clutches her side in pain. The landing hadn't exactly been graceful, but if it was the only way of getting inside this tub, then she was going to take it.

Coughing as she initially falls to the floor, Chloe takes a minute to chill and catch her breath a little bit. Two break-ins, a possible murder and a cover-up… Chloe's on a fucking roll this week, as long as she was trying to go for teen criminal of the month. Though for all of the things she's done, the girl is constantly trying to convince herself that it's for a solid cause. Finding Rachel is at her very top priority, and if she's going to be the only fucker around that's going to give enough of a shit to at least look, then she'll be the Mother Theresa of Arcadia Bay.

Afterwards? The three of them leaving – her, Rachel and Max – seems like the next logical step. A trio of roadies hitting the western States, a couple of beers in their hands and nothing but miles of open highway might be just what Chloe needs to clear her head and forget that any of this had ever happened.

Assuming of course they both still wanna tag along, that is… They do, right? Yeah, they would. No way they'd abandon her again.

Pulling herself up, Chloe takes the opportunity to make sure nobody had seen her climb aboard the crap-mobile. The curtains are out covering the front windshield, and the only other windows besides the one she snuck through have been boarded up, so she sighs with relief when she doesn't spot anyone else rushing towards the RV. Getting caught breaking and entering right now would not look so good on the résumé.

With the rush of living life dangerously coursing through her veins, Chloe gets to work. With the vehicle being impounded the way it is, she figures that the cops have more than likely already combed through this place and gotten most of the valuable intel. But Chloe's willing to bet that there's something lying about that they missed, seeing's how the Arcadia Bay police could barely catch a criminal if the person shot them in the face. That, and knowing Frank at least a little bit, she assumes that the guy definitely would've stashed some things away in case somebody happened to come snooping around his place uninvited.

Chloe just hopes that it's not just pot or heroin lined up in the walls. Or a meth lab. Too much baggage with that kind of thing. She doesn't want to find that the guy turned out to be the Heisenberg of Arcadia Bay.

Five minutes of checking through cupboards and drawers produces nothing, and the only thing of even substantial importance is the bowl for Frank's dog, Pompidou. Frowning as she glances at his name emblazoned in big, bold letters all around it, she feels a twang of guilt as she remembers the animal. He may have been a vicious little mutt when Frank needed him to be, but Chloe holds no ill will towards the little guy. "Hope you found a nice beach house somewhere, boy…" she whispers, placing the bowl back underneath the sink.

Sighing in frustration, Chloe holds her hands upon her head as she starts to lose hope. She really thought it would be easier than this. Scooby and the gang always used to make it look so easy back when she was a kid – find out what the problem is, start investigating, gather clues, get into some trouble, solve the mystery. Rinse and repeat, like a thousand fucking times. Although to be fair, as Chloe had grown older, she couldn't help but laugh whenever Shaggy and Scoob would end up getting the munchies, carefully disguised as needing some "Scooby Snacks".

As she leans against the counter with heavy bags under her eyes, going over in her head the millions of scenarios as to what this "dark room" might entail, she tries to ignore the growing pit of dread forming in her stomach. If Rachel were indeed perfectly fine, she would've called her best friend by now, or at least replied to her billion and a half texts already sent. She doesn't need to be some kind of genius to figure that out. And it scares the crap out of her.

Nothing about this is simple, because of course it fucking isn't. Ever since her dad died, things have gone from rocky to rockier for the girl. People have come and gone, but nobody ever ends up sticking around. Her mom is the exception, of course, but there've been a few times over the years where, admittedly, she just about deserved to be kicked out of her life, too. Chloe knows that she's been prone to push Joyce's buttons in all the wrong places and at the worst times imaginable, but Chloe's been given plenty of ammunition over the years.

What's the saying? You always hurt the ones you love?

A few stray tears stray down her face as she irritably rubs them away. Just thinking of all this shit is giving her a migraine, and her brain can't handle the emotional overload that's been attacking her on a consistent basis this week. Had she known that Max was back in early September… had she known about Frank's involvement earlier…

Click!

Startled as her left ankle accidentally bumps into a false panel in the side of the RV, Chloe jumps as some sort of folder falls in a heap on the floor. Curious, she tilts her head to the side in confusion as she bends down to pick it up. This thing must've been pretty important to Frank for him to have hidden it away in such a secret location, and Chloe's interest only peaks as she turns to the first page.

"Some kind of… photo album?" she quips, wondering why a guy like Frank Bowers would be carrying something as sentimental as this on board. All Chloe ever saw was the drug-dealing, sketchy side of him, without stopping to see that he was a person just as much as the rest of them. But what could've he been taking pics of? Nature? Cars? Dogs? All three? Chloe goes to work in a hurry, eager to find out.

If Frank was a grouchy bastard in person, you would never be able to tell by some of these. Images of him as a child adorn the first few pages, with him and a smiling couple poised on either side of him standing out in particular. Frank graduated high school? From Blackwell, no less? She wouldn't have bet any sum of money on that wager.

Sitting down at one of the pull-out desks, stripped bare by the police most likely, Chloe can't help but feel a twinge of sympathy for the guy. Sure, the man was a total sketch-bag in broad daylight and a fucking vampire at night, but taking a glimpse into his life this way reveals a side to him that makes her feel almost guilty for having to act as they did. And that's even at the cost of her own life.

She's about to close it back up and try to get back to looking for clues, when all of a sudden she comes to an image of Frank and some other girl. All you can see is a couple holding hands, with no faces or anything to identify the pair, but one thing stands out like the motherfucking sun.

"Th-that's…!" she cuts herself off, recognizing that bracelet from anywhere as she frantically turns to the next few pages. What she sees sends a chilling tingle up her spine as she widens her eyes in anguish, but then slowly turns to anger as more and more pictures of Frank and Rachel show up. Time and time again it's the two of them, laughing in each other's arms, playing catch with the dog, making out among the stars… One picture of Rachel in a rather… compromising position with Frank almost makes her gag involuntarily, but she holds it in before tossing the entire photo album against the wall; making a loud smack as it lands. Right now though, Chloe couldn't care less if everyone and their mother heard the racket she just made.

Hot, steaming tears stain her cheeks as Chloe clenches her fists tightly. "Why… why the fuck would she do this?!" she seethes, getting more pissed off as she ponders it further. "First Dad goes and dies on me, then Max bails on me for years, my mother gloms onto step-fucker, and now THIS?! I can't believe she was banging Frank… Rachel straight up lied to my face! Why didn't she say anything?!"

With so many conflicts raging around in her mind, and unable to tell who to blame or who to feel bad for or whatever, Chloe grits her teeth and makes for the doorway; no longer caring if anyone sees her or not. What's she got left to lose, anyways? Her life? Pfft, yeah right! That died along with her dad five years ago! Her family? Oh boo-hoo! As if her home life is any better than what it's like anywhere else in this shitty excuse of a town! Her friends? Fake assholes, the lot of 'em! Never around when she needs them, and betraying her while they smile and laugh right in front of her face!

"FUCK EVERYONE!" she screeches, fully prepared to charge back to her truck, grab another of David's handguns and –

Collapsing to her knees, Chloe leans her head against the doorway and breaks down. She's got no fight left, the sizzle having burned out just a little while ago. Any sense of hope has faded away, replaced with a desperation and self-loathing so deep that she can't help but feel terrible.

I'm such a bitch, she criticizes, repeating a mantra over and over again that she didn't really mean what she was lashing out about. God… I'm such a miserable, selfish bitch…

In her blubbering state, cradling herself inside of an abandoned RV with no leads, no backup plan and, most importantly, no support, Chloe buries her face in her hands and sobs. Loudly, uncontrollably. There's nothing left for her to do, and she can't help but feel the same as she did on that fateful day at fourteen years of age – helpless, shocked into submission as she leaned into Max's side and didn't move for almost an entire day. Right now, she's never felt more alone.

She can't even see the pieces of paper that've slipped out the back of the binder and onto the floor from the tears stinging at her eyes.

"Alright, sir, for about sixty-seven miles, that'll be… fifty-four dollars and forty-five cents," the cab driver explains, turning around to face his passenger in the back seat. "So, will that be cash? Credit? Debit?"

The grizzled man stares at him for a few moments, his face one of annoyance and a bubbling anger neatly contained under a gaze that would frighten small children and make even the toughest of souls quake in their boots. Unsettled by the intimidation coming off of the guy, the driver gulps and readjusts his machine to read out a different number.

"Umm…" he stammers as his fingers shake, "…forty… forty…five?"

The passenger points his thumb down, and the driver nearly keels over when he takes that as more dangerous than simply a lower cab fare.

"Ok, ok… thirty-four."

"Nope."

"Thirty! That's reasonable enough, right?"

"Lower."

"Oh c'mon, man! I've got a family to feed!"

"Michael, is it?" the man affirms, pulling his way up in between the seats as the driver is startled back to facing the front. "Listen to me, pal. You've got a good thing going here. A steady job, freedom to come and go as you please, and from the sounds of things, a roof over your head. Most people would kill for something like that. I myself don't actually have that luxury at the moment."

"…I'm, uh… sorry to hear that, sir…"

"I appreciate that, Mike. I really do. So here's my proposal," he suggests, the fur line of his winter coat gliding across the cab driver's face as he freezes in place. "You're going to take this twenty right here… Hey, eyes front, Michael. Your reputation as a respectable employee is on the line here," he snaps his fingers, his grin widening when he realizes that he's got this shakedown in the bag.

Michael contorts his face as his passenger flaps the twenty dollar bill in his face, watching as the thing falls like a feather into his lap. He doesn't even dare try to use the help button on the dashboard for fear of the guy shooting or strangling him to death.

Content with the outcome, the man places his hand firmly on Michael's shoulder and pats him a couple of times. "I know you'll do the right thing here. Have a nice day, Michael."

Watching as the cab speeds away as quickly as possible, the man takes a deep, contented breath as he smells the sea breeze pulling off the salty, ocean air a couple miles down the road. The man checks his watch to see that it's about four fifty-two in the afternoon, and so, suitcase in hand, he starts to walk down the road to find the place he's supposed to be at later tonight.

A welcome sign, mostly weathered and faded after years of neglect, is the first thing to greet him as he stops to examine it up and down. "Welcome to Arcadia Bay…" he huffs, not very impressed so far as he accidentally drops his wallet to the ground in front of him. Grabbing the thing back up, the man goes to put it back into his pocket when he notices a particular item he forgot to get rid of before travelling over here.

Taking out his aviation membership card, he rips the piece of plastic in half, the name William Carver being stricken from the record as he buries it in a nearby trash can.

"Time for a clean slate," he remarks, continuing on his way as a young couple smiles in a friendly way towards him.