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chloe-caulfield94 · 3 months

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Max at Chloe's funeral

Max stood over her best friend’s coffin. Or was it her former best friend’s coffin? She wasn’t sure.

On one hand, the last time she saw Chloe had been five years prior, in the rear windscreen of her parents’ car. As Max drove away, Chloe was standing over her father’s coffin, almost in the exact same spot Max now stood. The last time Max communicated with Chloe had been four years ago, when she responded to a text from Chloe. Chloe asked Max not to ignore her phone calls and to pick up her phone from time to time. Max responded by saying she had been really busy, but she would totally call her later. She never did.

On the other hand, while Max had made new friends in Seattle – Kristen and Fernando, both of whom she liked and trusted - she had never developed with anyone a bond similar in depth and intensity to the one she had had with Chloe. It was only after Chloe had been murdered that Max realized Chloe had been like a family member to her. Like a sister.

As other mourners began to walk away, Max continued her silent watch over Chloe’s earthly remains, imagining the five years she could’ve spent with her best friend. The five years she had stolen from herself.

When Max saw Chloe’s bloodied corpse on Monday she didn’t recognize her. Only when the school security officer David Madsen started lamenting over his daughter’s lifeless body, repeating her name over and over, Max realized it was her best friend lying in a pool of blood on the floor.

Chloe’s short messy hair, dyed neon blue, was so unlike her old, long and straight blonde hair. During the wake, when Chloe’s body was displayed in an open coffin, she was much more recognizable to Max. She was dressed in a black pantsuit provided by the funeral home, almost identical to the one she wore during her father’s funeral, only slightly longer, to account for her growth in the meantime. Her hair, while still short and blue, was neatly combed behind her ears. Her hodgepodge of cheap jewellery was gone. Her tattoo was completely covered by the pantsuit’s long sleeve.

During the wake, Max heard other mourners say that Chloe looked “finally at peace”. She didn’t understand why they thought Chloe couldn't have been at peace in life. And the way Max saw it, while Chloe’s face, even paler than usual, was completely still, it conveyed anything but peace. Max was painfully aware that beneath Chloe’s black pantsuit was a hole in her breast, its edges held together by a thick thread, covering an entrance to a tunnel burrowed in Chloe’s flesh by a piece of metal which stopped her heart forever.

As Max was standing over her best friend’s coffin, not ready to let Chloe out of her sight as she had done five years prior, a blue butterfly flew in and sat on the wooden box.

And then Max remembered. She heard a voice. Chloe’s voice. She sounded differently. Not like a child anymore. But Max would recognize Chloe’s voice no matter how many years passed in the meantime. The older Chloe’s voice said all the things Max had ever wanted to hear. And all the things Max didn’t even know she wanted to hear, but deep down desperately needed to. Sweet, wise and heartfelt words of her long-lost best friend uplifted her heart.

“Every great artist gets rejected before they get accepted. So you have to enter a photo”.

“Stop being so goddamn humble. You’re like the smartest, most talented person I’ve ever known”.

“Once you get over yourself, you’re going to make the world bow”.

“You are! You just have to stop being afraid”.

“You’re kind and caring. Nobody could have a better best friend. Nobody!”

“You need to accept how awesome you are”.

“Stop beating yourself up, okay?”

“It’s time to start moving forward in time”.

“You’re Maxine Caulfield ... and you’re amazing!”

Max also remembered her own words, the ones she would’ve said during a week that never was, all in acknowledgment of how much Chloe meant to her.

“As long as we’re together, I don’t feel afraid”.

“As long as you’re there with me”.

“I always wanted my life to be special, an adventure. But not without you!”

“Your life has changed mine”.

And then she remembered things other than words. Handholding. Hugs. Longing stares. Kisses. Max discovered, to her great but oh so pleasant surprise, that while her love for Chloe was familial, it wasn’t like a love between sisters. It was like a love between spouses.

Max smiled wide remembering all of that. And then the butterfly flew away and she remembered something else. A kiss in pouring rain followed by a gunshot and a pool of blood. Smile immediately disappeared from Max’s face. She felt her heart stop for a moment. Then it started pounding furiously. It pounded so fast Max thought it would escape out of her chest. Her limbs became heavy and ice-cold.

“I … killed her?” – she asked in her thoughts.

“I killed her”- she answered her own question, muttering under her breath.

“I killed her!” – she screamed at the top of her lungs, having fallen to her knees.

The other mourners turned to Max. Joyce and David rushed to her. Joyce placed her hand on Max’s shoulder. Max’s body shook as she cried bitter tears. “I killed her, I killed her, I killed her” – she repeated.

“Oh, Max. it’s not your fault” – Joyce tried reassuring her. “Chloe … she was troubled. She ran in bad company. There was nothing you could’ve done to help her. She … She chose to remain angry”.

“She chose to remain angry” – Joyce’s words echoed both in Max’s ears and in her memory. She felt fury rise inside of her. Anger at herself and at everyone else in the town that had failed and killed her best friend.

“Fuck that. Fuck. That” – Max thought. She wiped her tears and slowly stood up. She turned to Chloe’s mother and said calmly: ”You know what, Joyce? I think I now understand why Chloe was always a daddy’s, not mommy’s girl”.

Joyce was taken aback. She took her hand off Max’s shoulder. “What? Max, what do you …”

“So when are you going to take down all of Chloe’s pictures from the walls? You hid away all of William’s pictures two years after his death. So in two years’ time they are going to be reunited in the closet, right? Father and daughter together at last. Just like they’ve been already reunited here in this cemetery plot”.

David intervened: “Max, you have no right to talk to Joyce like that …”

Max turned to David and asked him, in a raised voice, almost shouting: “What kind of a man hits his own child? I’ll tell you! No man at all!”

David opened his mouth to defend himself, but said nothing, apparently finding nothing to say in his defence. Max jabbed him in the chest with her index finger. Repeatedly. Hard.

Max screamed: “I’m pushing you! I just keep pushing you! Do something about it! Do what you always do when teenage girls push you!”

David’s face turned red. Not out of anger. Out of shame.

Max turned to walk away. And then she saw Frank Bowers standing on the sidelines. Fury rose inside of her. She pointed him with her finger and shouted: “What the fuck is he doing here? Why isn’t he in jail with Jefferson and Nathan? He’s the one who supplied them with date rape drugs!”

Frank looked around hesitantly, unsure if he should start running away or not.

Looking at David, Max shouted: “Hey David! This scumbag, who you were somehow unable to apprehend even though he often parked his drug van in the parking lot of the school you claim to provide security for, sold Nathan the drugs he used to roofie your daughter! You failed to protect her in life. How about saving the last shreds of your masculine pride and avenging her?!”

Frank tried disarming the situation the only way he knew how. With lies and threats: “This brat doesn’t know what she’s talking about! She’s probably high as a kite. Listen, girlie. I don’t know you. So I suggest you stop falsely accusing me, or you and I are going to have a serious talk …”

Max almost ran at him. She pushed him with both hands, making him stagger for a moment. Pompidou remained calmly seated on the ground. He did not stand in his owner’s defence, perfectly aware that Frank deserved every bit of what he was now receiving.

Max screamed at Frank: “But I thought you loved brats! Your entire life revolves around schoolchildren! You peddle your drugs to them! You exploit them as accomplices to your crimes, to do things you are too cowardly to do yourself! And some of them you even fuck, like Rachel!”

“I don’t know you. Get the hell away from me!”

“But I know you! Did you go to Rachel’s funeral as well? You know you killed her, right? You sold Nathan the drugs that he used to murder her. You know what he did to her? Have you seen the pictures he took of her? How he groped her? All of that is because of you!”

A grimace of rage appeared on Frank’s face. Without thinking, he instinctively reached into his pocket to retrieve his switchblade. Before he did, Max pushed him again, making him stagger.

“Stop that, you brat!”

“Or what? You’re going to put a knife to my throat, like you did yesterday at the beach? Chloe wrestled your knife away from you. If one girl beat you, I’m fairly confident I could kick your ass too!”

“You’re crazy! We never met before! And your friend Chloe …”

“She owed you money, I know. So you threatened to cut her! What a big, strong man you are! But when push came to shove, she beat you. She always did. Even when you had a gun and she was empty-handed. Always! Because you’re a weak parasite preying on kids. And she was strong. Stronger than you! You know how much time I spent replaying things so that you would come out of our little talk alive and unharmed? I really shouldn’t have. When violent armed thugs assault teenage girls, teenage girls have the right to defend themselves. But I didn’t do it for you. I did it for her. Because she was gentle and kind and I didn’t want her having to live with hurting you, even if it was just a scratch to the leg”.

Frank was still furious, but he didn’t reach for his switchblade a second time.

“You’re making shit up! Nothing of what you said ever happened!”

“Yes it did!” Max turned to David once more. He was holding Joyce in his arms, who was sobbing. Max shouted: “David, this piece of shit threatened your daughter with a knife. He called her a whore, over and over again. You want proof? Go through the text messages on Chloe’s phone. Mister genius drug lord over here sent death threats from his own phone number. David, if Frank is not arrested by cops by the end of the day, you have no right to call yourself a man, you hear me?”

David let Joyce go and started walking towards Frank. Frank sprinted away. Pompidou hesitated for a while, looking curiously at Max, but then he followed his owner.

Kate approached Max. She placed her hands on Max’s shoulders. With a sincere smile on her gentle face, she said: “Max, I am so, so sorry about Chloe. We’re here for you. It’s okay to feel hurt”.

Max wanted to thank Kate for her kind words. But before she did, something caused her anger to rise again. She and Kate were approached by Victoria, who said: “Kate is right, Max. If you need any help, just let us know. I …”

“Why are you here?” – asked Max coldly.

“Oh, I knew Chloe. One time she gave me a pep talk when I was afraid to go out on stage. She told me everything I needed to hear then. Ultimately I didn’t perform that night, but that’s another matter, involving Rachel, and I don’t want to speak ill of …”

“No, I mean why weren’t you expelled from Blackwell?”

“What? Max I was … misled. I didn’t know …”

“You led an intense campaign of cyberbullying against a fellow student. I’d say that warrants expulsion. Oh, right. Your parents are too rich for you to experience the consequences of your actions”. Max turned to Kate and said: “Kate, you do realize she knew you were roofied by Nathan, right? The campaign of hate she unleashed against you would be evil in its own right even if she thought you genuinely got drunk. Because Victoria has no right to judge you or anyone else. But she knew Nathan drugged you. She witnessed something that any rational person would consider to be a date rape in progress. A girl was drugged and removed from the party by a boy. And not only she let that happen, she laughed, recorded it and then lied about it to the world”.

Victoria was indignant: “I didn’t know about that, Max. I thought that was just a stupid prank by Nathan. I couldn’t possibly have known …”

“You knew, Victoria. You knew about ‘the good shit Nathan hooked Kate up with’. Why even lie? Kate would forgive you even if you told her the truth. If you know you will be forgiven, why hide your crime? At this point, aren’t you lying mostly to yourself? And explain one thing to me. Yesterday at the pool, when I told you what Nathan did to Kate, you didn’t believe me. But when I said you might be next, it’s like a switch flipped in your brain. You almost immediately believed my warning. Isn’t that a double standard? When it was about Kate, you were willing to give Nathan the benefit of the doubt that even though he did to Kate exactly what date rapists do to their victims, he was actually taking her to get help after an innocent prank. But when your safety was on the line … Then you weren’t willing to take any risks. Then you immediately assumed the worst about him”.

“You’re delusional! We didn’t talk yesterday at all!”

Kate interjected: “It’s okay, Max. I forgive her. Let’s not get angry over the past”.

“Forgive her for the both of us, then. Because I don’t. I won’t”.

Max turned to walk away but once again the sight of one of the mourners fuelled her anger. At that point, she wanted to feel angry. Anger staved off guilt. She approached the pastor. She remembered him from before her move to Seattle. The Prices and the Caulfields went to church together on Sundays. One of his sermons now rang loudly in Max’s head. It was about the people living on the edges of Arcadia Bay’s society. Homeless, runaway teenagers, drug addicts. He preached standard Calvinist filth. How the destitute and the sick deserved their lot in life for being sinners and how the youths who disobey their parents and use drugs have only themselves to blame when they inevitably turn up dead. To his credit, the pastor had at least one tiny shred of decency left and he didn’t repeat that sermon at Chloe’s funeral. Max asked him: “Reverend, what do you call a person whose blood washes away the crimes of unrepentant sinners?”

“Oh, Max. Don’t worry. By his blood, the sins of your friend are forgiven. She’s with him in heaven now”.

“No, you are wrong. By her blood you all were spared”.

Max left the cemetery. Warren ran after her.

“Woah, Max! That was … badass! I didn’t know you like that!”

Max kept walking. Warren walked next to her.

“Warren, are you blind? A beautiful, cool, strong-willed girl is into you. Why are you ignoring her?”

“You mean you’re into me, Max?”

“No, Warren. I obviously mean Brooke. There was a girl like that who was into me. I fucked it up. Don’t repeat my mistakes”.

“Oh … I know about Brooke. I just … you know, kind of benched her until the situation with you is resolved”.

“Wow. You are a player after all, Warren”.

He smiled. But Max had more to add.

“And I didn’t mean that as a compliment”.