Maxine Caulfield was staring at the ceiling. The shoddy queen sized mattress provided by the Seagate motel was far from perfect, but right now it was the most comfort she'd had in days. The rain outside had increased in intensity over the past ten minutes. The soothing patter of the rain droplets clapping against the rooftop had quietly become a dull roar. Max was enjoying the soft mattress beneath her. It was nice to sit on something comforting after being confined in Chloe's rusty metal deathtrap all afternoon. Max took in a deep breath. She exhaled, using her diaphragm to empty her lungs.

Max sat up in the bed. She took in the décor of the cheap motel room. Max decided that cheap was the word that described it best. The room was sparse; it contained the bare minimum that a motel room should. There was an old box television, a queen sized mattress, an empty wooden dresser, and a golden colored lamp. The soft 40 watt bulb weakly lit the room. The walls of the room were a nauseating dark green color. The bottom half of the room was paneled with vertical wooden slats. It was apparent to Max that the Seagate had seen better days.

Max turned to the bathroom door. Steam was pouring from the open, brightly lit room. The sounds of running water were coming from the stark white threshold. Chloe Price was taking a shower.

Max stared at Chloe's silhouette. Chloe's figure was readily apparent. She was lathering herself. Max blushed at the image dancing on the shower curtain. Max felt guilty, partially for spying on her friend, but more so the guilt stemmed from her actions earlier in the day.

It was Friday, October 11th, sometime after 10:00 p.m. It had been the most trying day of Max's life.

Max pulled herself to the end of the bed. She stood up, turning to the dresser. She began rummaging through a large black suitcase which was sitting on the top of the shoddy piece of furniture. Chloe had purchased the container at a gas station that afternoon.

Max paused as she caught her own reflection in the mirror.

Max's dark blue eyes scanned the mirror image. She examined the face closely, as if looking at someone for the first time. Her brown chin length hair, usually neatly brushed, was matted from the rain. Slender faced, her cheek bones guided the eye down to a smooth but defined chin. Max had a small, petite nose. Freckles were present on her face. It was a splash of freckles, as if a painter had flicked them onto her smooth white skin with a paint brush. The thought amused her.

Max turned her body, examining her figure. She was thin, but healthy. Her frame was small, and so were her features. Max had always felt self-conscious about her modest chest. She wondered what Chloe would think of her body. It wasn't a thought Max had time to entertain yet. Would Chloe Price find her attractive? The thought made Max feel uncomfortable.

Max became still, continuing to stare into the mirror. Her eyes narrowed accusatorily at the image of herself. "Maybe Chloe Price would prefer someone who hadn't killed her parents." It was a depressing thought. Max had been trying not to think that way all afternoon, but the dark reality of the week's events had been hounding her all afternoon while riding in Chloe's 1990 Chevrolet C/K. The two girls had barely said a word to one another.

"You're not a good person", Max whispered.

Max averted her eyes from the mirror. She could no longer look at the image of herself. Max lied back down onto the bed. The guilt washed over her, she felt like she might drown in it. She let the tears come again.

Max was covered in a cold sweat. She sat upright in the queen-sized mattress. A blood-curdling scream was coming from outside the window. The scream was sharp, inhuman, and piercing. Max turned to survey her surroundings. There was steam lazily drifting out of the bathroom. Chloe seemed to still be in the shower. Max let out a small sigh of relief. She made her way to the window.

Max reached the glass in time to see the carcass of a rabbit being flown into the forest. A large brown owl had found some prey . The night sky was clear and the moon was full. The shadow of the silent predator was contrasted perfectly against the bright white moon. Max wished that she had her camera to capture the image.

The silence of the moment was broken by a soft metallic click. Max turned, trying to identify the source of the interloping noise. It had been the quiet closing of the bathroom door. Max decided that Chloe was being a 'shower hog'. The noise was a gentle reminder that showers do indeed exist. Max began rummaging through the black suitcase seated on the dresser.

There were two t-shirts. One was black with a yellow crossing sign on the front that showed the distinct outline of the legendary monster Sasquatch. Max smiled. The next shirt was from a guided tour company. A lighthouse was pictured on the center of the shirt. Max's smile faded. Lighthouses would forever hold a dark place in her heart.

Max had a sudden realization. The rain had stopped. She could still hear water gushing from the showerhead. She adjusted her gaze to the bathroom door.

"Chloe?" Max called out.

The distant hum of the shower was the only response. Steam was still pumping out from underneath the white bathroom door. Somehow it seemed menacing, as if punching at the air. The resounding silence made goose bumps run down Max's spine.

The warmly glowing 40 watt bulb, keening softly in the old tarnished golden lamp, blinked three times. It was extinguished by the familiar 'tink' noise that accompanies the breaking of a filament. Max was thrust into darkness.

A singular beacon of light now shined in the pitch black of the motel room: the bathroom door. The steam now resembled a fog. It was illuminated by the light creeping from the edges and bottom of the well-lit portal.

The adrenaline Max wasn't conscious she was waiting for forced her into action. She strode across the room with purpose. Maxine Caulfield has seen Chloe Price die three times this week. Tonight would not be the fourth.

Max reached the bathroom door, passing through the eerie steam. The bathroom door was slathered in condensation. Max reached out her hand. She squeezed the soggy, diamond shaped translucent handle and turned. The door gave way.

The bathroom was blinding at first. White walls, tile, and ceiling added to the brilliance of the room. There was a porcelain sink and toilet. Set into the wall sat the bathtub. Curtain drawn, the distinctive outline of Chloe Price was being expressed sharply by a light fixture above the tub. Chloe was lathering herself.

A man was standing in the center of the small room. He was taller than Max by half a foot. His overly long denim jeans were rolled up to fit neatly with his stylish leather men's shoes. A white dress shirt was tucked squarely into the denim, secured by a fine black belt with a silver buckle. A fine dark grey suit jacket completed the outfit. The first few buttons of the shirt were loose, revealing that he was quite physically fit. The man's face was covered with a purposefully sloppy goatee which matched the man's dark brown hair in both style and form. His eyes were dark, brown, and sharp. They gave a strong impression of intelligence, especially behind the man's thick, hip glasses. An old Polaroid camera dangled from his neck. At last, he held a large knife at his side. Stainless steel, the blade shined dangerously in the fluorescent atmosphere of the room. His name was Mark Jefferson.

"Hello Max.", Jefferson said, "It is so good to see you again. I'm glad you have decided to return to class." Jefferson's mouth turned downward into an exaggerated pout, "You don't seem excited to see me though."

Max's eyes widened in horror. Mark Jefferson was here for revenge. Max's mind began racing. How did he survive the storm? Did he kill Chloe's stepfather to escape?

Max's mind turned to the beautiful girl in the tub. Chloe seemed oblivious to the danger. Max screamed out Chloe's name. The vulnerable showering girl showed no response.

"Hush," Jefferson said. A stern look of disapproval crossed his face, "You will ruin our chance for this shot. You keep forgetting my number one rule of photography, always take the shot." Jefferson nodded and raised his forefinger a single time, reinforcing the importance of his statement.

Max called out to Chloe again. Why could Chloe not hear her? Why does Chloe never listen?

Max scanned the room, looking for a way out of the situation. Only the basic toiletries of a cheap motel were available. Chloe's clothes lay on the floor, a small pile of faux-punk accessories. Max considered the mirror above the sink. Jefferson was closer to it than she was. Her eyes finally settled on Jefferson's blade, it was her only choice.

Max knew that she had come too far now. Chloe had come too far now. Chloe Price would not die in this bathroom, or any bathroom. Not on Max's watch. Resolute to rewind time again if she must, damned be the consequences, Max charged at Mark Jefferson, her eyes were fixed on the dark, handsome man's blade.

Jefferson wound back his arm. Somehow the man had anticipated the tenacious girl's charge; he slammed Max against the porcelain sink. Max crumpled to the ground, pain shooting down her spine. Max knew what she must do. She reached out her arm. She was reaching out, seeking to touch time itself, to bend it to her will, to manipulate it like phantasmal clay. It was something she had become accustomed to, Max Caulfield was a human time machine.

Max Caulfield felt nothing.

Max's arms fell limply to her side. All she could do was stare at Jefferson. It was a blank, sad stare. Max tried to move her legs but it was futile. Her back had been broken by the impact with the sink. There was nothing she could do.

Mark Jefferson kneeled next to Max. He placed the camera around her neck. He brushed the girl's hair behind her ear. It was a strangely comforting gesture.

Jefferson spoke, His voice carrying the sad tones of regret and pity, "You tried your best. Sometimes things just are not meant to be, no matter how hard you try."

Tears had begun running down Max's face.

Max tried a final time to reach out to Chloe, "Chloe. Please. I'll do anything." The words were quiet, begging in nature, a prayer to the girl in the shower.

The shadow of Chloe Price came to a halt for a brief moment. Max watched in despair. Chloe began to lather up her short, blue-dyed hair.

"Chloe knows that Max. All three of us know how far you are willing to go." Jefferson said. He patted Max on the head, "I'm sorry she has to die. All of this is about you. I've seen your innocence, your fear, and your rage, but there is so much more I need to see before I can be satisfied."

Jefferson ripped the shower curtain back. It was indeed Chloe Price in the shower, exposed and vulnerable. Piercing shrieks of violins exploded from the walls. Every tile in the bathroom had become a small speaker, hundreds of tiny white speakers. The noise was deafening, louder than anything Max had ever experienced. Mark Jefferson raised his right arm into the air and brought the sharp blade down into Chloe's chest. Chloe let out a blood curdling, terror-fueled scream.

Jefferson was relentless; he stabbed at Chloe over and over, his arm pumping the blade towards her repeatedly. The knife connected a second time. Chloe's screams had become that of the rabbit's –inhuman and disturbing.

Jefferson was quick and focused with his attack. Chloe raised her arms, trying to block the blade. The water was in her eyes, making the task impossible. Chloe suffered a third wound to the stomach; the blood erupted from her torso.

Max tried to close her eyes in desperation. She could no longer stomach the gruesome scene. Her eyelids would not respond. Max clamped her hands over her ears. She was trying to drown out the shrieking violins. her fingernails begun to dig her scalp.

Jefferson brought the blade down three more times into Chloe's torso. Chloe could not last. She spun in the tub, exposing her back to her attacker. Jefferson inserted the blade one final time into Chloe's spine.

The blue-haired girl collapsed. Her hand pressed against the shower wall.

The sickening red blood was running down the walls. It was carried by the running water into the tub, riveting, twisting and vortexing down the drain.

Max was shrieking. Max could do nothing but shriek.

Jefferson was saying something, "MAX WAKE UP."

It was Chloe Price's voice. "MAX PLEASE WAKE UP."

Chloe Elizabeth Price was smoking. She had been smoking and crying all morning. She was sitting in an old wooden chair, the kind you would find at a kitchen table. Chloe had her legs crossed, propped up in the window. The cool breeze was blowing against the bottoms of her feet.

It was the Seagate Motel. A run down establishment only a few hours' drive from Arcadia bay Oregon. Chloe had rented the room the previous night.

Chloe's phone was sitting quietly in her lap. Chloe cared about exactly two people left in the world. The first was Maxine Caulfield. Chloe turned her head to look at Max. Max was tucked into the old, warm bedding provided by the Seagate. Chloe wanted to let the girl rest. The previous days had been daunting. It was a shock that both of them had survived the events intact.

The second person Chloe still cared for was David Madsen, her stepfather. The man had been missing since the day of the storm. Chloe checked her phone again. There was no response.

"Fuck it.", Chloe said. She could not sit on her anxiety any longer.

Chloe stood up from her seat by the window. She tucked her cheap phone into the back pocket of her torn punk jeans. She smashed her cigarette into the ashtray on the dresser. Chloe looked at herself in the dresser mirror.

Chloe was tall. She had light blue eyes. When she was younger, friends and family would always remark that she would make an excellent model. Her jaw line was perfectly curved yet strong. Her blue dyed hair fell straight down on either side of her head, stopping around her ears, which were left exposed. Chloe loved having her ears show. She was wearing the Sasquatch crossing shirt. Chloe smiled.

Chloe turned to the bed. Max's eyes were dark. Chloe could see small tracks where the sleeping girl's tears had dried. Max had sacrificed a small town for Chloe, Chloe's mother included. Chloe pushed the thought of Joyce Price out of her mind. 'We'll deal with that shit later.' Chloe had become an expert at dealing with tragedy and loss.

"We're going to be okay Max," Chloe whispered, knowing she would never leave the girl.

Chloe turned from the bed to the small black suitcase sitting by the dresser. She pulled on a pair of socks. She then secured her feet into a long black pair of boots by the door. Chloe stepped out of the motel room. She was sure to close the door quietly as to not disturb her sleeping friend. The thought came to her, 'No, we're way more than friends at this point.' The thought was exciting, but years of living a disappointing life kept Chloe from fully trusting the emotion.

The small motel courtyard looked much different in the mid-morning sunlight. Chloe began walking towards the Seagate's main office. It was unseasonably warm for the second week of October. Her rusty truck sat there patiently. 'THE BEAST LIVES,' she thought, smiling at the ancient Chevy.

The parking lot was barren save for a few lonely vehicles. There was a red sedan and a brown mini-van. Chloe wondered if either of the vehicles had come from Arcadia Bay. Could these be refugee who had also escaped the storm? She decided that it didn't matter either way.

Reaching her destination, Chloe pulled the office door open and crossed into the small building. Chloe immediately recognized Sherman. He was the manager of the Seagate. The man was old and weathered, his white hair tucked beneath an old Seahawks baseball cap. Sherman's gaze was locked onto a small television sitting at the counter. Chloe walked up to the counter. She wanted to see the television.

"It looks like the NOAA is going to have a press conference." Sherman said, "Seems like the news has been speculating that this wasn't a normal storm."

Chloe knew that the storm had not been a natural phenomenon. A tinge of unease spread across her face.

"I came from Arcadia," Chloe said.

Sherman's face was graven, "How bad was it?" Sherman knew that the question might upset the girl, but he needed to know the answer.

Chloe thought about the question. She wished that she didn't have to.

Chloe couldn't help but recall The Two-Whales diner. It had been a tiny building with only a handful of seats. Joyce Price had been a waitress and cook. A strong portion of Chloe's childhood had been spent in the diner – a second home. The quaint establishment had been destroyed by the tornado. All Chloe could picture was the wreckage. She would never forget the image of Joyce Price, covered in blood and riddled with shrapnel.

"It was bad," Chloe said. She didn't want to say more.

Sherman felt as though he could see the girl's pain. It was the way she had paused. Her eyes had failed to meet his own. Had he seen tears starting to form?

Sherman's voice was remorseful. "I'm sorry for prying," Sherman said, "My brother was from Arcadia. I haven't been able to contact him yet."

A depressing thought crossed Chloe's mind: This man's brother might have died for her.

"What's his name?" Chloe asked.

"James," Sherman said, "James Gates. His friends knew him as Jimmy."

Chloe thought on the name for a moment. It wasn't a name she had recalled hearing before, but she could not place it. Having spent her entire life in Arcadia Bay, Chloe felt guilty that she knew so few people there.

"I'm Sherman by the way," Sherman said. Chloe's sincerity had touched the man. It seemed like she really cared. He could also see from her expression that something terrible had happened to her.

Chloe shook the man's hand. There was comfort in the firm handshake.

"Chloe," she said, "I'm afraid I've never met your brother."

"Don't worry about it," Sherman said, "Jim's a tough one. I'm sure he'll turn up."

Chloe's stepfather came to mind. David Madsen was a tough one. Chloe prayed that he too would turn up.

"So then," Sherman said, "What can I do for you?"

Chloe remembered the reason she had come to the office, "Do you have any food?"

Sherman did have food in the small office. There was an assortment of pre-packaged breakfast food on a small shelf. Chloe decided on a box of pop-tarts, chips, and two large bottles of water. Chloe tried to pay for the food but Sherman insisted that it was on the house.

"You can stay an extra night too if you want." Sherman said.

Chloe smiled at the older man's sweet gesture. The first person she had met since leaving Arcadia had been wonderful.

"It's okay," Chloe said, "I think we need to get further away from Arcadia. We're headed for Seattle."

Sherman gave Chloe a polite nod as she left the small office.

Chloe knew that she should check the internet. What had the rest of the world discovered about the storm? Maybe there was information online about the incident. Food in hand, she began making her way towards the room where Max was asleep.

Chloe heard shrieking coming from the distance. She stopped for a moment, confused to where the alarming noise was coming from.

"CHLOE PLEASE, I'LL DO ANYTHING"

"Max", Chloe yelped.

Chloe sprinted to the room marked "1". She retrieved the key from her pocket and jammed it into the lock. Chloe slammed the door open. What she saw terrified her.

Maxine Caulfield was in bed. Her legs were thrashing, kicking the coverings off of herself. Her arms were compressed around her ears; her fingernails had begun digging into her scalp. Blood was pouring from the lacerations.

Chloe paused for only a few seconds. She knew what she must do. She darted across the room. Chloe grabbed at Max's hands, pulling them down, away from the Max's scalp. Max once again began screaming. Max was trying to force her arms back up to cover her ears. Chloe hugged the smaller girl with all of her strength, trying to keep Max from hurting herself.

"MAX WAKE UP", Chloe cried out. She had no idea what to do, "MAX PLEASE WAKE UP."

Chloe felt Max's body go limp in her arms. Max's eyes opened, soaked with tears.

"Oh, Chloe" Max breathed. The mental anguish of the nightmare had been too much. Relief poured over Max as she looked up at her friend. Satisfied that Chloe was safe Max let herself pass out.

Chloe laid her friend down upon the pillow.

Chloe took a deep breath, finally able to process what had happened. Tears began running down her face. Chloe stared at Max, examining the pretty, freckled face of her companion. Max had always been so sweet and innocent. Chloe knew Max deserved none of this. Chloe felt her stomach tighten under the mixed emotions of anxiety and love.

Chloe wiped the tears from her eyes. She carried a look of strong determination.

"This time I will be the one saving you."

"What the hell happened to her?" Sherman asked. The older man had come running at the sound of Max's screams. He placed Chloe's plastic bag of food on the dresser.

Chloe was sitting in the old wooden chair. She held Max's hand in her own. She was afraid to move too far away, afraid that Max would try and hurt herself a second time. Max had been unconscious for the last five minutes.

"She lost so much in Arcadia." Chloe responded. Her gaze was fixed on Max. Chloe wiped max's forehead with a small damp hand towel.

Sherman leaned over the bed, looking at where Max had gouged herself, "Doesn't look like she hurt herself too bad. Probably don't need stitches, just make sure it doesn't get infected, honestly."

"Thank you again Sherman." Chloe said.

Chloe sprung up from the edge of the bed. She hugged the older man. Sherman was surprised at how tight the tall girl squeezed him.

"Listen if you need anything else you let me know, you are more than welcome to stay here an extra night okay?" he said, "I left your food here on the dresser; I need to get back up front."

Sherman left the room. He was sure that the crisis was over. It would be a long time before he forgot about the tattooed, blue-haired punk girl and her unconscious friend.

Chloe crawled into the bed next to Max. She laid her palm on Max's shoulder.

"Max, wake up," she said. Chloe shook her friend gingerly "Come back to me Max."

Max's eyes slipped open.

Max saw Chloe hovering over her. Her head was searing in pain. She glided her hand up to her temples. There were small divots where she had scratched herself. Max remembered the nightmare in detail. She knew that she'd hurt herself.

"I had the crappiest dream ever." Max said. She sat up in bed.

"Don't get up Max," Chloe said. She rose from the chair putting her hand on Max's shoulder, trying to keep Max from rising.

Max could see that Chloe was nervous, afraid that Max would hurt herself again. Max allayed Chloe's fears.

"I'm okay Chloe. It's over," Max said, "I won't hurt myself again."

Max patted the bed, motioning for the large girl to lie beside her. Chloe flipped off her boots and crawled into the bed. The two girls lay facing one another. Chloe took Max's hands into her own, squeezing them for reassurance.

"You scared the shit out of me dude," Chloe said.

"It was so real Chloe," Max said, "Jefferson was here and he had you trapped in the bathroom. He went full psycho on you in the shower, you know, like the movie; he had a big ass knife. I tried to stop him but I couldn't. I tried to rewind time but I couldn't. I couldn't do shit." Max had become visibly upset. "All I could do is watch you die." She turned away Chloe, facing the other direction, afraid of the incoming intimacy. "Losing you has become my biggest fear. I ruined time and space just so I didn't have to lose you. Chloe I don't want to even imagine it."

Max felt Chloe's long arm move beneath her as the larger girl hugged her tightly from behind. Max gave in, letting herself become the small spoon.

"Listen to me Max," Chloe said. Her voice was strong. She needed Max to understand.

Max's heart picked up its pace as Chloe's embrace enveloped her.

Chloe continued, "I told you I'm never leaving you. You don't have to be afraid when you fall asleep. I will always be there in the morning Max. I want you to remember that the next time you're stuck in a nightmare."

Max spun in the large girl's arms. They were facing each other, very close now. Max stared into the blue, caring, and warm eyes of her companion. Max knew what she wanted to do. She wanted to kiss Chloe, to tell her that she too would never leave, to tell Chloe that she was in love with her. Not a simple bond of friendship but something much greater.

"Chloe, I…." Max started, but she could not finish the phrase. Maybe if she'd had more adrenaline she could have said the words. 'I love you' was something she had told Chloe countless times when they were children.

Max felt the pause growing awkward. "Chloe, I… am so fucked up."

"I'm fucked up too Max. We might be fucked up, but at least we're together." Chloe said.

"So fucked up", Max agreed. She grinned.

"No more of this crying shit," Chloe said. She released the small girl and sat up. "I got pop-tarts."

"Holy shit pop-tarts?" Max couldn't contain her joy at the thought of the dumb breakfast food.

"Pop-tarts, water, and sour cream chips," Chloe said, "I'm pretty much the ultimate provider."

Chloe hopped out of the bed and snapped up the bag of food. She flourished a single time before depositing a single package of pop-tarts into Max's lap with a large bottle of water.

"This is it Max, these pop-tarts are the start of our new life." Chloe said, "Don't say I never got you anything."

"You are such a dork Chloe oh my god." Max's grin was uncontrollable.

Chloe crossed the room and turned the television on. "The hotel manager said that there was going to show a press conference about the storm. The NOAA has an announcement about the storm, you know, the National Oceanic and Atmospheric Administration."

"Sounds like it could be useful." Max said. She had something else on her mind.

"Chloe could you hand me my phone?" Max asked, pointing to her messenger bag resting next to the television stand. "I'm going to give my mother a call."

Max regretted her choice in words. Chloe didn't say anything but Max could see the word 'Mother' bring a tinge of pain to the girl's face.

Chloe retrieved the phone from the bag. She tossed the phone to Max who was now eating the pop-tarts.

"I've been waiting for David's call all morning," Chloe said, retrieving her own phone from her back pocket. "I am going to check social media." Chloe leaned back in the old wooden chair. She propped her feet up on the television stand and began to thumb through her phone.

Max was now sitting cross-legged in bed. She had indeed received several calls and texts over the night. She felt guilty for not reaching out the night before, but sleep had taken her quite quickly.

Vanessa Caulfield, Max's Mother, had texted: "Max please call immediately. There is a bad storm heading your way." A few hours later: "Max please tell me you are safe. Your dad and I are worried sick. Please call as soon as you are safe. Please be okay."

Ryan Caulfield, Max's Father, had texted: "Call your mother Max. The weather is looking pretty nasty down there." A second text: "Give me a location and I will drive down there and get you. I love you so much."

Max dialed the phone number to her parents Seattle home. The phone rang only a few times before being picked up.

"Maxine?" Vanessa Caulfield's voice came through the phone. Vanessa was the only person in the world allowed to call Max by her full name. Max decided she would stay strong in this conversation.

"Mom it's me," Max said, "I'm okay."

"Max do you need help? Where are you at?" Vanessa continued, "Your father is on his way now. He left this morning as soon as we saw the tornado on the news."

Max said, "Mom I'm okay, I escaped the storm. I'm not hurt. I am with a friend; you should remember her, Chloe Price."

Chloe had turned to face the phone conversation. She was staring at Max. Vanessa and Ryan Caulfield had always been kind to her. She hadn't realized it until this moment, but it wasn't only Max she had missed for all those years. She had lost three friends when the Caulfield's left Arcadia Bay.

"Mom I'm coming home. Tell dad to turn around on the highway. Chloe is bringing me home." Max stared directly at Chloe. "Mom Chloe lost everything; she is going to stay with us."

"What about Joyce?" Vanessa asked. Vanessa didn't know how difficult the question would be to answer.

Max paused, staring at Chloe, who was listening with intent.

Max's eyes started to wet as she answered her mother's question. "Joyce is gone."

There was silence on the other end of the phone.

"Max is Chloe with you right now?" Vanessa asked.

"Yes" Max answered. She was unsure what her mother intended.

"Could you please hand the phone to her?" Vanessa asked.

Max scooted to the edge of the bed and placed her hand on Chloe's shoulder. "She wants to speak to you."

Chloe took the phone, "Hello?" She was surprised that Vanessa would want to speak to her.

"Chloe Price?" Vanessa asked. "This is Vanessa Caulfield."

"Yeah, this is Chloe." Chloe responded.

"Chloe I'm so sorry to hear about Joyce," Vanessa continued, "I need you to listen to me very carefully now." Vanessa's voice was empathetic but also stern and commanding.

Chloe was listening with her full attention.

Vanessa spoke, "Ryan and I were very close to your parents. I know in my heart that if anything would have happened to us that both Joyce and William would have taken care of Maxine. I want you to know that you will always be welcome here in our home. We will take care of everything when you get here."

Chloe's eyes were filled with tears.

"Chloe?" Vanessa asked, unsure if anyone was still on the line.

Chloe had to choke her answer out through her tears, "I'm still here. I'm listening Vanessa"

"Bring my daughter back to me," Vanessa said.

"I will. I promise." Chloe said, handing the phone back to Max.

Max had begun shedding tears when Chloe did, caught in the emotions.

"Mom?" Max asked.

"Listen Maxine, you and Chloe get back here in one piece. If Chloe can't drive let me know, I will send Ryan, or even a damn taxi if I have to," Vanessa said, "Chloe can stay with us. The Prices were good people. I am going to call your father. He only left maybe an hour ago; I can catch him before he gets too far. Don't worry about anything except getting home. I will call FEMA to confirm that both you and Chloe are alive and safe. Keep your phone on and call me if anything happens. Maxine I love you so much."

"I love you too, mom, tell dad I love him," Max's tears were now partially from relief, "We will head out this afternoon after we get our shit together over here. Goodbye Mom." Max ended the conversation with Vanessa.

Max knew that most of the tears had been from deep relief. She placed the phone on the dresser and handed a bottle of water to Chloe. Chloe took the bottle as she was wiping away the last of her own tears.

"Honestly Chloe," Max said, "This crying shit is probably going to be with us for a while."

Chloe nodded her head in agreement, "Thousands of dollars in therapy."

Max lied face down on the bed, her feet near the head of it this time, her focus was now the television. "It looks like that press conference is in half an hour."

Max and Chloe spent the next 15 minutes composing themselves. Max changed into the lighthouse T-shirt. Chloe suggested that Max should take a shower. Max hadn't dared to look at the bathroom door since she had awoken. There was no way in hell that she was going to set foot in that room.

Both girls were scouring the internet for information on the storm. Max was combing the list of the deceased on the FEMA website. There were names she recognized, but the large majority of them were strangers to her.

Chloe could see that Max was torturing herself. Chloe wasn't sure if there was anything she could say to comfort Max. What happened to Max was supremely unfair in Chloe's eyes. Max Caulfield could have stopped the tornado. All Max had to do was rewind time and let Chloe die. The universe had given Max a terrible choice: The town or Chloe. Max chose Chloe in the end. Chloe felt guilty even though the choice was out of her hands. 'I'm not worth all these people.' She thought.

Chloe's eyes widened as a new text notification popped up on her phone. This was the kind of news they needed right now.

"Max, I just got some info from Justin's Facebook," Chloe said, "All of the students at Blackwell made it out, or at least everyone who was on campus when the storm hit."

Blackwell Academy was the prestigious Arcadia Bay art school where Max attended. Mark Jefferson had been a professor there. Chloe's stepfather, David Madsen, had been a security guard.

"There are huge ass storm bunkers under the school," Chloe said. She was standing now, happy to be able to deliver good news. "The Prescott family made their money on bomb shelters in the cold war. It makes so much sense dude!"

The wealthiest family in Arcadia Bay was the Prescott family. In the 1960's the Prescotts had made a fortune capitalizing on the public fear of the atomic bomb. Blackwell Academy was founded primarily by donations from the Prescott family. Chloe was making the connections.

"I bet the Prescotts helped fund the school so that they would get contracts to build the shelters underneath it or some other corrupt shit like that." Chloe continued with her theory, "Back when I went to Blackwell, Justin, Trevor, Rachel, and me would sneak into the shelters and hang. It's so hella fucking cool that Justin was able to save people."

Max checked her Facebook feed. Chloe was right. There was a photo of Justin standing in front of a large crowd of people. He had saved dozens of students. Max felt a massive amount of relief. She scanned the photo carefully. She knew most of the students that went to Blackwell academy. The population of the school was quite small due to its exclusive nature. She recognized a majority of the students in the photo. There were some faces that were missing.

"Chloe this is so wonderful…" Max said, "…but there are so many people that aren't there. I let those people die Chloe."

Max's words were infuriating. Chloe thought it better to save her frustration. Now was not the time to argue.

"Look," Max motioned to the television.

The press conference was about to begin. Chloe raised the volume of the old television. The screen showed a polished wooden podium sitting in front of a glass fronted building. The Seattle municipal court. There were clusters of journalists waiting for a speaker to appear.

A man in khaki slacks and a white dress shirt approached the podium. He had long, blonde, unkempt hair that dangled down around his ears and curled up past his chin, which was covered in a blond well-groomed goatee. He was very fit. He had the look of someone who had been working tirelessly. The bottom of the screen read: "Northwest NOAA Station Chief, Walker Williams."

The man with two last names started his announcement as the crowd came to a still hush.

"First off I would like to give my sympathy to everyone that was caught up in the tragic events that happened yesterday. FEMA has done a wonderful job coordinating rescue efforts. They have asked me to read a few statements. If anyone you know is still missing you need to contact FEMA immediately by phone or on the FEMA website. Survivors of the storm that are displaced are to report to Blackwell Academy. The football field will become a temporary housing area; there will be food, water, and medical supplies there. The National Guard will continue to sweep the area for survivors."

The man paused briefly, shuffling a few papers around on the podium before continuing, "I must say that this was no normal meteorological event. Our preliminary data sets show that this was not a tornado. You see, a tornado usually rotates cyclonically. This means that in the northern hemisphere the strong majority of tornados spin counterclockwise and in the southern hemisphere the strong majority spins clockwise. There have been exceptions to this rule but they are fairly rare. This meteorological phenomenon was compromised of bands of spinning force spinning in opposition to one another, hundreds of them. These oppositional forces are what caused such heavy damage. This has never been seen before. In the days preceding the storm there were very strange lunar patterns observed in and around the northwest region. We have been in contact with NASA since late last night trying to see if any connections can be made. Early this morning cooperating NASA and NOAA principal investigators named the event a Lunar Vortex. If anyone in the scientific community believes that they can contribute to the understanding of this event please contact NASA immediately. Once again our thoughts and prayers go out to the families of the deceased and anyone that is still looking for the missing. I would like to open up the press conference to questions from the press at this time…"

Max and Chloe watched the remainder of the press conference. Walker Williams fielded several questions from the journalists about the storm. All of the answers were honest and scientifically accurate as possible. The press conference wrapped up and Chloe turned off the television.

"Damn that guy was a hunk." Chloe remarked.

Max sighed at the inappropriate comment. In the back of her mind though she knew Chloe was correct. The man with two last names was quite handsome.

"I guess this means the storm really was my fault." Max said. She wanted to feel bad for herself again.

"Max lets go see that guy." Chloe said. She was very serious now and Max could see the excitement growing. "Maybe he can help us understand your power? He is in Seattle, we are going to Seattle, it's can't be a coincidence."

"They will probably just try and dissect my brain." Max said. She hopped out of bed and started looking for her socks and shoes.

Chloe stood up and put her hands on her hips, "Come on man, this isn't some dystopian sci-fi novel from the 60's. That guy looked legit. He would totally respect your human rights."

"I just want to get home Chloe." Max said. She started packing the suitcase. She motioned for Chloe to do the same. Somewhere in the back of her mind Max knew Chloe was right. She would have to tell someone else about her powers eventually.