Chapter Text
September 2, 2013. Mid-morning.
Max stared out the passenger-side window, eyes locked on the world rolling by. The leaves on the trees were still stubbornly clinging to their summer green—just a few weeks away from giving in to those rich oranges, reds, and browns she loved so much. Autumn was on its way, brushing light across everything in the soft, reflective tones that matched her photographic style. It made everything look like an old memory. A peaceful one.
It had been a while since Max felt that.
Beside her, her dad kept his attention on the road, ever loyal to his own driving mantra: eyes forward, hands at ten and two.
Her mom had stayed behind in Seattle, a decision her parents had made together and, true to form, told Max about only after the fact. She didn’t argue. If anything, she felt relieved. Not because things were bad with her mom—actually, they’d grown closer lately. But emotionally speaking, one parent was enough for this trip.
They were on their way to Arcadia Bay, the place that had always felt like home, even after it wasn’t anymore.
The trip from their Seattle house to Blackwell was roughly six hours, give or take stops for gas, snacks, and, in her dad’s case, the unavoidable coffee situation. Instead of the scenic coastal route, Ryan—who hadn’t driven through Oregon since they left five years ago—took the interstate. Something about Castle Rock.
“I know it’s not Maine,” he said, “but this is as close as I’ll get to Stephen King country without leaving the Pacific Northwest. If Paris, Texas exists, then Castle Rock, Washington has to count for something. Buckle up, kiddo, it’s a long haul.”
They made a few stops along the way—one longer one in Castle Rock, where, to Ryan’s absolute disappointment, he found zero references to any Stephen King stories. Max took advantage of the detour to snap several selfies, each one framed by a new backdrop: gas station sign, cloudy sky, rest stop bathroom wall graffiti.
That’s when her dad, clearly feeling brave, made the mistake of asking her if it even mattered where they stopped, since the subject of every photo was Max herself.
“The artistic inclination in this family,” she replied without looking up from her camera, “is clearly female.”
He couldn’t really argue with that.
The rest of the trip passed in light conversation and long stretches of silence that weren’t uncomfortable—just familiar. Neither of them brought up the reason behind Max’s sudden return to Arcadia Bay. Ryan avoided it because... well, parenting instinct. Max avoided it because... well, Max.
As they took the final turn into the school’s parking lot, conversation faded completely. Max sank into her usual state of quiet introspection, the kind that told her dad not to worry. When she was ready, she’d speak.
She just wasn’t ready yet.
They parked at Blackwell, and Max hadn’t spoken in over twenty minutes. Ryan killed the engine and turned to his daughter, who was still gazing out the window with a look somewhere between wistful and spaced out.
“We’re here,” he said.
Max blinked and turned toward him slowly. Their eyes met. She held his gaze for a second, then dipped her head, took a deep breath, and looked back up with a tiny half-smile.
“Finally.”
The real meaning behind the word didn’t need to be said. They both understood.
“Let’s get this over with,” Ryan said, stepping out of the car. “You brought half the house. Plus the guitar.”
“Plus the guitar,” Max echoed, smirking as she climbed out.
She started unpacking while Ryan made the first of many trips between the car and her dorm room. He was full of energy at first, probably fueled by caffeine and false hope, but it began to wear off by box number four. The final staircase nearly broke him.
During one of his many supply runs, Max heard a soft knock on her open door. She looked up from an open box and found a girl standing there with a shy smile and her hands politely clasped.
“Oh—hi,” Max said, surprised.
“Hi,” the girl replied. “I’m Kate. Kate Marsh. I’m in 222—next door.”
“Max Caulfield,” she said, dropping a rolled-up poster back into the box beside her.
There was a brief pause while the girl hesitated on the threshold.
“Oh—yeah, come in,” Max said quickly.
Kate stepped inside and offered her hand. “I just wanted to welcome you to Blackwell.”
Her voice was soft and kind. There was a slight bow of the head, like it took real effort to be this friendly. Max noticed.
“I’ve been here a couple of days already. If you want, I can help you find your way around once you’re settled.”
Max gave her a once-over. She was neat and modest, her hair pulled into a tight bun. But what stood out most was the golden cross necklace she wore outside her shirt—not hidden, just... there.
Max must’ve stared too long, because Kate glanced down at it, then back up with a gentle smile.
“It’s kinda obvious, right? This is me,” she said, tapping the cross. “I don’t hide it, but I don’t expect anyone else to believe what I believe either. You seem cool. We can be friends even if we’re different. Unless... you’re secretly a devil worshiper. Are you?”
Max’s eyes widened. “What? No! Do I look—”
Kate burst into laughter, and Max immediately turned red.
“Sorry. Don’t be mad. You should’ve seen your face.”
“I know,” Max groaned, laughing despite herself. “I’m not great with people. I thought you were serious.”
Kate leaned in with mock sternness. “You never shook my hand.”
Max accepted it with a smile. “Max Caulfield, definitely not a demon worshiper. And yeah, once I make this place look less like a shipping warehouse, I’d love that tour.”
Kate beamed. It was a really lovely smile.
“Do you like tea?”
A little while later, the room was slowly transforming into something halfway livable. That’s when Ryan returned, carrying two final boxes and breathing like a man who’d just wrestled a mountain lion.
“Last two,” he wheezed. “We’re done.”
“Wanna sit down? Catch your breath?”
“Nope. Gotta hit the road. It’s a long way back.”
Max nodded, not quite making eye contact.
“Walk me to the car?” he asked.
“Why wouldn’t I?”
“Well... it’s your first day here. You’re almost eighteen. I figured you might want to maintain your street cred.”
Max raised an eyebrow, took the room keys, and waved him toward the door.
“You know I don’t care about that.”
They walked in silence. At the car, Ryan pulled her into a hug that was tighter than usual.
“Max…” he started, but his voice cracked.
“I know, Dad,” she said, eyes wet. “I know.”
“New adventures,” he said, and smiled through it.
“Right,” Max replied. Her voice said “sure.” Her face said something else.
“I should get going,” he said. “You know you can always count on us.”
Max didn’t say anything, but he watched her walk away—watched until she vanished into the dorms.
Then he started the car.
But as he drove through the streets of Arcadia Bay, something in his gut twisted. He hadn’t been back in years. Too many memories. Too many things unsaid.
And one thing in particular—something he never told her.
At a red light, he made a decision. He checked both sides of the road, then pulled out his phone.
“Dad?” Max’s voice came through, concerned. “Is something wrong?”
“No. Everything’s fine. But I need to talk to you. I’m heading back to Blackwell. Can you meet me in the parking lot in ten minutes?”
“Sure… but now I’m worried.”
“There’s nothing to worry about,” he said. “Just... something I should’ve told you a long time ago.”
Unknown date, 2008
Vanessa had been checking the clock every ten minutes since sunrise. Sleep had abandoned her early, and now worry filled the void. Next to her, Ryan—usually a deep, snoring, borderline-annoying sleeper—had tossed and turned all night. Finally, both adults gave up on pretending to rest and simply looked at each other.
“We can’t put it off any longer.”
Ryan propped himself up on one elbow and met her gaze. Her eyes were puffy and red, no hiding that she’d cried herself into exhaustion.
“We’ve probably made enough of a mess already,” he said—no sugar-coating, just truth.
“Oh God,” Vanessa whispered, her voice shaking. “This is a total disaster. It was already awful, and now some asshole runs a red light and kills Bill? Poor Chloe. Max is going to hate us.”
“Don’t do that. Don’t blame yourself,” Ryan said gently. “I know you’ll try to carry this whole thing on your back, but we’ve done everything we could. We’re out of options, Ness. This is the only way forward.”
“It still breaks my heart,” she said. “Chloe’s like another daughter to me, especially after everything. And now we’re going to destroy their world.”
Ryan pulled her into a hug, holding her tight. “Hey. Don’t cry.”
“I know it’s not my fault,” she muttered against his chest. “That doesn’t make it hurt any less.”
He stroked her back slowly. “They’re kids. They’ll be okay. They’ve got their whole lives ahead of them.”
Vanessa pulled back just enough to look him in the eyes. “We need to be there for Joyce. And you... you should step in. Be a father to Chloe. That’s what Bill would’ve wanted.”
Ryan didn’t answer. He simply held her, rubbing her back in slow, calming circles.
“I’ll talk to her,” he said eventually. “You’ve been through enough already.”
Max woke up earlier than usual that Saturday—not that she noticed. Normally on weekends she’d get up before noon (barely), eat breakfast with her parents (their one hard rule), and then head straight to Chloe’s house. She wouldn’t be back until Sunday evening, smelling like mischief and probably with blue glitter stuck somewhere on her.
But since Bill’s accident, she’d been getting up earlier, sacrificing sleep to be with Chloe as much as humanly possible. And that day, which seemed like any other, she came downstairs still groggy, having no idea what was waiting for her.
“Morning,” she yawned, flopping into her chair at the breakfast table.
Her parents were sitting across from her with untouched plates and unusually tight grips on their mugs. Silent—way too silent.
Ryan cleared his throat. “Max… we need to talk. And there’s really no easy way to say this.”
She looked up mid-bite, instantly alert. “Is Chloe okay?”
“She’s fine,” Vanessa jumped in quickly, her voice a little shaky.
Ryan reached for her hand across the table and took a breath. “We started looking for work outside Arcadia Bay a while ago. At first just in Portland, to stay nearby, but... your mom got a really good offer. One that can support all of us. And I’ll have better job opportunities too. It’s the right move.”
Max frowned. “What city?”
“Seattle, honey,” Vanessa said, trying to make it sound exciting. “We already found a house—there’s even a guest room for Chloe.”
Max’s eyes widened. “Seattle?”
The word hit like a punch to the gut. Seattle wasn’t just far—it was a different universe.
Vanessa looked at her husband helplessly. “Next Sunday. I start work Monday. You’ve got the week to... say goodbye.”
Max blinked slowly, trying to process it. “I’m gonna miss you.”
Ryan tilted his head. “What do you mean you’re gonna miss us?”
Max looked at him, her voice cracking. “Seattle. You’re going to Seattle.”
Silence—the stunned kind. Ryan muttered something under his breath, something not fit for breakfast conversation, but thankfully neither of them registered it. Then he straightened up, breathing through his frustration.
“Max. The whole family is moving. That includes you.”
“No.” It wasn’t a shout. It wasn’t a tantrum. It was calm. Solid.
Final.
Ryan tried again. “You’re thirteen. You can’t stay here alone. You don’t even have a place to live.”
Max folded her arms. “Yes, I do. I’ll stay with Chloe. She’ll love it.”
“Max,” he said, trying to stay calm, “you have to listen to us now. We’re going to Seattle—all of us. You can visit Arcadia Bay during school breaks, and Chloe can visit us anytime. But this decision is final.”
Max’s answer didn’t change. “No.” Her tone wasn’t angry or loud, but it locked in place like a steel door.
Vanessa stepped in then, her voice barely holding together. “After what happened to Billy, Chloe made you promise not to leave her. I know that. But this isn’t your fault, Max. And it isn’t hers either. Life is just…”
Max didn’t flinch. “And I made that promise. I’m not breaking it.”
That hit Vanessa like a freight train. She stood quickly, hands shaking, tears rolling. “I can’t do this, Ryan. I can’t.”
She left the room, murmuring something neither of them caught.
Ryan watched her go, then turned back to Max and pulled his chair closer. He was quiet for a moment, then said, “Your mom’s heartbroken. This isn’t your fault, but she’s done everything she could. So have I.” He sighed. “I know you’re just being loyal to your best friend, and I admire that—I really do. But we have to move. You’ve got one week. Say your goodbyes. Pack up next Sunday.”
For a few seconds, Max didn’t move. Didn’t blink.
Then the dam broke.
She dropped to her knees, arms wrapped around her stomach as if she could hold the grief in, but it poured out anyway. She cried until she couldn’t anymore, then kept going, curled up on the cold dining room floor, her whole body trembling.
Eventually, she stood. Her face was dry, her eyes red. But there were no more tears, no more sobs.
Just emptiness.
Numb.
Unknown date, 2008
“Wait for me in the car, please.”
Max’s voice was barely audible—a fragile thread hanging between two collapsing worlds. Ryan watched her closely, alarm painted across his face like war paint. His hands twitched at his sides, restless and helpless.
“This isn’t right,” he said, his voice low but heavy. “You can’t do this. Chloe’s your best friend—your only friend. You’ll regret it.”
But Max didn’t look back. Didn’t argue. Her silence was louder than words—sharp-edged and collapsing in on itself.
“I won’t be long,” she murmured.
Each step toward the Price house felt like walking barefoot across broken glass. She moved slowly, as if gravity had gotten personal. When the familiar porch came into view, her eyes caught on the house’s half-painted siding, still left unfinished since Bill’s funeral. It stood like a metaphor no one asked for—unresolved, abandoned, like so much else.
She rang the doorbell and, deep down, hoped no one would answer. Let it end here. Let the goodbye be unspoken—clean, painless.
But the door opened.
And there was Chloe.
Well... what remained of her, at least.
She looked like something rescued from a fire—hair unwashed, face hollow, pajamas hanging off her like loose skin, eyes ringed in shadows. Max had never seen her like this, not even after her dad died. Not even then.
But maybe she should’ve expected it. After all, they’d been at war for a week—a cold, quiet war made of texts left on read, phone calls unanswered, wounds left to bleed. Max had refused every plea, and Chloe had stopped trying.
Until today.
Max had surprised everyone by asking her dad to drive her to Chloe’s house. She hadn’t said why. Maybe because she didn’t know either. All she knew was that she needed to see her—one last time.
“You’re here,” Chloe said, her voice cracked and trembling. “I thought I’d never see you again.”
Max didn’t hug her. Didn’t step inside. She just stood there at the threshold.
“I don’t have much time,” she said. Her voice sounded foreign, distant, like it belonged to someone else. “You... be good, okay?”
Chloe blinked. Her whole body tensed. “Are you serious?” she snapped. “That’s what I get? ‘Be good’?”
She lunged forward and threw her arms around Max, but Max stayed stiff, her own arms dangling at her sides like dead weight. Chloe stepped back, wiping her tears on her sleeve, confused and crushed.
“Please,” she said, barely audible.
The silence that followed was suffocating.
Chloe had tried to hold herself together in front of Max for days. She’d hidden the worst parts—the missed meals, the shattered CDs, all of it. But now, with Max finally in front of her, the mask broke.
“I don’t get it,” Chloe spat. “Why are you doing this? Why now? What changed?”
Max clenched her fists so hard her nails dug into her palms. She bit the inside of her cheek, trying not to scream. Because there was no explanation that would make this okay. Because words wouldn’t fix it. Because she was breaking a promise that mattered more than anything else.
And Chloe saw it.
“I see,” she said, wiping her nose on her sleeve. Her voice was raw—splintered wood and gravel. “Max... what am I to you? Just tell me. Even if it’s the last thing you ever say to me, just answer that. What have I been to you?”
One answer echoed so loud inside Max’s mind it nearly tore her in half:
Everything.
You’re everything to me.
But the words never made it to her lips.
Time stood still. A thousand timelines fractured and faded in that instant. Somewhere, in another version of this universe, Max spoke the truth and everything changed. But not here. Not in this one.
“I have to go now,” she whispered. “Take care of yourself. Please.”
She turned.
Chloe didn’t follow. She didn’t beg again. She didn’t move.
Max walked back to the car like someone returning from a war—not victorious, not defeated. Just ruined.
She opened the door, sat down, and closed it.
But the silence didn’t follow her.
It came in waves—Chloe’s voice, shattering in the background, echoing through the air like smoke from a fire.
I hate you, Max.
I never want to see you again.
She didn’t hear all the words. But she felt them—burned into her, carved under her ribs like names on a gravestone.
And she knew, even before they left Arcadia Bay, that she’d carry them for the rest of her life.