Chapter Text
“But seriously, I could frame any one of you in a dark corner, and capture you in a moment of desperation.”
I opened my eyes.
I was sitting in class, disoriented. Had I…gone back in time or forward? I dug in my back and saw the pile of photos was still there. I sat up, and sat back. Okay, that was good, except…what had I done between the cemetery and now?
Mr. Jefferson sat on a desk as he lectured, trying to be the cool teacher.
Blah blah blah… God I hate your voice now.
Taylor threw a paper ball at Kate, and Victoria’s phone vibrated with a phone call.
I glanced at my camera.
Might as well continue the fuckery, I thought, and raised the camera to my face, pressing the button for a selfie. The bright flash blinded me for a moment.
Shit! I forgot the flash was on. Cheeks burning, I put my camera down.
“Shh-shh-shh…I believe Max has taken what you kids call a selfie,” Mr. Jefferson said. “A dumb word for a wonderful photographic tradition. And Max…has a gift.” He smiled at me, but I refused to cater to him. I watched his mouth droop
That’s right. No more coy smiles and blushing. I did my best to keep a neutral face. I felt my eyebrows trying to pull down into an expression of loathing.
“Of course, as you all know, the photo portrait has been popular since the early 1800s. Your generation was not the first to use photos for selfie-expression.
“Sorry…I couldn’t resist. The point remains that portraiture has always been a vital aspect of art, and photography, for as long as it’s been around.
“Now, Max, since you’ve captured our interest and clearly want to join the conversation, can you please tell us the name of the process which gave birth to the first self-portraits?”
The Daguerreian Process, I thought.
Instead I said: “I’m not into capturing your interest. That’s kind of sick, isn’t it?”
I felt the class’ eyes instinctively shift to me. Oh fuck. Well…whatever. Too late now.
Victoria straightened up in her chair and slung an arm over the back of it.
Daniel coughed awkwardly, Alyssa fidgeted, and Kate sat up and made eye contact for the first time all class. Her eyes were red and puffy.
Mr. Jefferson scoffed nervously. “Uh…ha, I guess somebody hasn’t had their coffee,” he said. “Do you want to try again?”
Belittle me one more time, asshole.
“Okay, okay. The Daguerreian Process, blah blah blah.”
The classroom was silent. Even Mr. Jefferson didn’t have a witty comeback or deflection. I sat in the quiet like ooze, feeling every awkward second tick by. My classmates looked at me, or pretended to look busy. Mr. Jefferson, however, was staring me down with a calm expression.
“Let’s move on, hmmm?” He finally said. His eyes didn’t leave mine. “And Max…let’s talk after class.”
“Let’s not,” I said, and held up my hands.
“Shhh…I believe Max has taken what you kids call a selfie,” Mr. Jefferson said. “A dumb word for a wonderful photographic tradition. And Max…has a gift.” He smiled at me, but I refused to cater to him. I watched his mouth droop, confused as to why I wasn’t coyly smiling back.
“Of course, as you all know, the photo portrait has been popular since the early 1800s. Your generation was not the first to use photos for selfie-expression.
Sorry…I couldn’t resist. The point remains that portraiture has always been a vital aspect of art, and photography, for as long as it’s been around.
Now, Max, since you’ve captured our interest and clearly want to join the conversation, can you please tell us the name of the process which gave birth to the first self-portraits?”
“The Daguerreian Process,” I said dully.
“That’s correct, Max,” he said. “Do you…want to expand on that?”
I had run through all of my options for Jefferson and didn’t want to be stuck in this stupid lecture for any longer. The only thing that could placate him was to give him exactly what he wanted, just like in his creepy photoshoot. He wanted control, so… I guess I could play along.
“Sure,” I said. “Invented by Louis Daguerre in about 1830, it gave photographs clear defined features, perfect for capturing portraits in great detail.”
“Way to go, Max!” Mr. Jefferson smiled. “All the right answers.”
I let the class end naturally this time, and dug around in my bag to pass the time. I pretended to read my Student Handbook, and glanced around to see if the rest of the class had left. They had, except for Kate, who was forlornly sitting at her desk with a cheek in her hand. Up front, Victoria was leaning over Mr. Jefferson’s desk, kissing ass as usual.
Ugh. As mean as Victoria was, I probably should warn her to take some steps back.
Oh, well. While they chatted, I could talk to Kate. I walked over to her desk and paused. Her head looked so heavy on her shoulders, and her notebook was filled, not with class notes, but depressing doodles.
I swallowed. “Hey Kate,” I said. “How are you doing?”
“Oh…” she glanced up. “Hi Max.” Kate sighed. “I’m just great. Now that everyone is laughing behind my back and calling me a viral slut. Especially Victoria and Taylor.”
I know that crap bothers you,” I said. “But none of it is true. Everyone who knows and cares about you knows that. They’re just inventing bullshit reasons to be mean. You are kind, compassionate, and always do the right thing.”
“Thanks Max,” Kate sniffed. “But it is true. And I don’t always do the right thing. Even Mr. Jefferson thinks so… I can tell. I lost control and did a bunch of things that I would never normally do. I am the slut they say I am.” She covered her face with her hands. “And I never should have gone to that party. I knew it would end up being bad for me.”
“Aw come on… you just kissed some guys! I know that might seem horrible, because of your beliefs. But trust me, Kate, it’s not. You have a great heart, and I know that God understands and knows that too.”
“Max,” Kate sniffled. “The thing is that…it wasn’t just that.” She burst into sobs and covered her face again. “I can’t even remember it!”
Woah… so not just drunken antics. I put my arm around her.
“Go on, Kate,” I said. “I’m here to listen.”
“I…I had one sip of red wine and I got dizzy and sick,” she said. “Nathan Prescott saw me and said he would take me to the hospital. He was being really nice for a change.”
“Nathan!” I said. “He’s the opposite of nice.”
“After I had the wine, I don’t remember anything from the party. Then I was driving for a long time and waking up in this…bright room. It felt like a hospital, but I was so out of it. Someone was talking to me in a soft voice. I thought it was a doctor…and I felt a sting in my neck…it felt so real, and when I finally woke up, I was back in my dorm room. I don’t know what was a dream or what wasn’t, and I felt…really gross, even though I can’t explain why.”
“Did you…” I breathed deeply. “Did you feel anything anywhere specifically?”
“I just…I just felt really dirty, like I had been exercising and went to sleep in sweaty gym clothes,” she said. “Does that make sense? And I had some new bruises, but I thought, well, maybe I was just clumsy and bumped into things. And Nathan must have dropped me off at my dorm room after the party. But…” She burst into tears again.
“I’m so sorry Kate. This is serious shit and it’s not your fault,” I said firmly. “I think you were drugged! So double shame on the Vortex Club for not only doing that to you, but then making fun of you. I want to help you anyway I can, okay?”
“Do you…do you think I should talk to someone? Maybe I can tell Mr. Jefferson. I am his classroom assistant, and he told me to come to him with anything that was going on.”
Fuck! Oh no! Definitely not.
“Ummm…”
“I thought he was your favorite teacher?” Kate said. “I just…thought it might be easier to talk to than...”
“Look, Kate, I believe you,” I said firmly. “And if you ever feel like no one has your back or cares, just know that the majority of us do. It’s only a handful that are spreading this shit. And trust me, it’ll disappear soon and everyone will forget about it. But if you want to tell Mr.-- uh, I just think it would be good to have some proof first. It’ll be really hard to get others to believe you without it. Especially with that video out there.”
“I just don’t know how I can walk around pretending like everything’s okay when it’s not,” Kate sniffed. “And if my family or church find out…”
“Kate,” I said softly. “I can’t promise they won’t. But if they do…”
She stared at me and shook her head. “I’ll lose everything. And you think I should do nothing?”
“No! I just mean that you should gather up everything you can first. You’ll have your friends,” I said. “Your real friends. And you can count me as one of them. No matter what happens, I am always here for you. I’ll help you gather proof.”
“Thanks Max,” Kate said. “I feel…a little better, just having been able to talk about this…I think.” She got up from her chair and shakily sighed.
“Maybe you could use a hug? I know I could.” I opened my arms, and Kate nodded and fell into them. “Oh, and we have to go for tea this week,” I said. “Maybe…even a trip to Portland, just us?”
Kate didn’t smile, but she nodded and wiped her eyes. “Okay. I’ll think about it. If I’m up to it.”
As Kate walked toward the front of the class, Mr. Jefferson waved her over and, in a hushed tone, asked if she was okay.
Their conversation began out of earshot, but as it progressed, it became heated.
I slowly walked to the back corner of the room, looking at the tripods and printers. There was even a class photo of us from the first week of school. I was half-smiling, tucked in the back of the class. Even with all my efforts to fade into the background, somehow, I had captured Mr. Jefferson’s attention. My stomach turned and flipped, and I felt suddenly dizzy.
Enough of that, Max. You. Are. A. Victim.
“Enough of this martyr crap!” Mr. Jefferson snapped suddenly.
I jumped. Woah. What the hell are they talking about?
“Maybe this is your way of getting attention,” he continued.
“Yeah, because I asked to be filmed without my consent and put on a viral video,” Kate sniffed. “You just don’t get it!” Turning on her heel, she walked briskly out of class, her head down, but she was sniffling again.
I was taken aback. Kate was being bullied by Victoria and Taylor, of course, but Mr. Jefferson had acted…
I slung my bag over my shoulder and walked toward the door.
“I see you, Max Caulfield,” Mr. Jefferson said, and I jumped. “Don’t even think about leaving here until we talk about your entry.”
I paused. I could leave the classroom and then just continue my day and rewind if I needed to, or I could just talk to him now.
I sighed. I had thought about this and dreaded it all weekend.
“Can we talk in private, please?” I said.
“Well…of course.”
Breathing deeply, I pulled a polaroid out of my bag.
“Here’s my photo for the ‘Everyday Heroes’ contest,” I said, holding it to my chest. I wasn’t sure if I could do this after all.
“Oh. Uh, that was easy,” he said.
“No,” I said. It wasn’t easy at all.”
“Well, I can’t pre-judge yet, but I’m very…happy that you decided to enter. That means a lot to me. The first step for any artist is to put themselves out there in the world without fear. To be…innocent.”
“Or guilty,” I snapped, handing my photo over. Mr. Jefferson lifted the photo, smiling as his fingers brushed mine. It was the photo of me, tied up, with Jefferson’s leg and shoe, the very same ones he was wearing now, in fact, visible in the shot.
Mr. Jefferson’s neutral expression dropped.
“What is this?” he demanded. “Max, what is this?”
“What do you mean?” I asked calmly. Inside, my insides tremored. My legs were shaking.
He shoved the photo back at me. “Where did you get this?” he hissed.
“What do you mean?” I asked innocently. “You took it. In the Dark Room.”
“I don’t know what you’re trying to do here, Max,” he snarled. “But I’m not playing into it. This is…this is…defamation. Libel.”
“I thought you liked this kind of thing,” I said. “You know…the moment innocence evolves into corruption.”
I showed him a second shot, where more of his body and clothing could be seen. In another shot, he was laying behind me, and his face was visible. He had hitched my leg up over his hips. I was clearly in pain. I remembered the feeling of being stabbed through the abdomen and the blood that followed.
“Max,” Mr. Jefferson gripped my shoulders. A vein above his eye was popping. He was sweating, but fighting to keep control. “What is this…did you Photoshop these? Did you pay someone to create them?” He lowered his voice into a growl. “Does this have something to do with Kate?” His eyes flickered to Kate’s empty desk and then toward the center of the room, where I knew Rachel Amber -4 Ever- was carved into the wood.
“I never--” Mr. Jefferson covered his mouth with a hand. Seeing him flustered was terrifying, yet exhilarating at the same time. His response was far more intense than I anticipated. Somewhere, in the deep dark neurons of his psychotic brain, did he possibly remember? Was it a repressed memory, or did he have some kind of dark dream?
I almost felt sorry for him.
Almost.
Because technically, it never did happen.
Actually technically technically, it did, I reminded myself. I rewound it for everyone but myself.
Suddenly, the veins in his forehead stopped throbbing and his face went from purple to neutral. His facial expression relaxed as he gazed into the distance. Finally, he cleared his throat.
“Are you all right, Max? Did something happen?” He asked softly. “Did someone…hurt you?”
Yeah…you.
I began to shiver, because that was the tone of voice he had used in the…Dark Room.
Someone was speaking to me in a soft voice, Kate had said.
I glanced down at the photos in my hand. A white backdrop, bright lights with lightboxes, the leg of a chair. The floors were brand-new, waterproof wood flooring, clean and sterile. The cabinetry on one wall was clean, fresh-painted steel.
A bright room…like a hospital. I bet it even smells like cleaning products.
But…how could Kate remember the Dark Room if the Dark Room didn’t exist in our world?
Because it does exist here, my subconscious said. Umlaut just brought it to CarnEvil for him to use with me.
Fuck! That was totally true. Jefferson wanted to live out his sick fantasies without consequence.
And yet, as satisfied as I was with confronting him, I knew that I needed to rewind. I now knew that Kate was his victim, and maybe Rachel Amber, too. And I felt intuitively certain that he wasn’t just going to let me go free.
So I held up my hands.
“I see you, Max Caulfield,” Mr. Jefferson said, and I jumped. “Don’t even think about leaving here until we talk about your entry.”
I glanced up. Kate had just stormed out of class. That meant that I had already comforted her, and she had tried to talk to Jefferson. I was safe, still off his radar…for now.
That’s why he’s being so aloof and cold towards her situation, I thought. He’s gaslighting her to keep her from investigating the truth.
“I don’t have one yet, but…I think I know what I want my theme to be,” I said.
“Oh? That’s great news! Are you willing to share it?”
I smiled brightly. “I don’t know if it’s because I just turned eighteen,” I said, “But I’ve been…fixating on this one idea of how childhood evolves into adulthood.” Meeting his eyes, I continued, “You know…like when innocence evolves into corruption.”
I watched the color drain from Mr. Jefferson’s face as he searched mine to see if I knew something. Then his face shifted…to opportunistic.
“I think that’s a wonderful and… complex concept that we often see explored in art,” Mr. Jefferson said carefully. “Songs of Innocence and Experience. Paradise Lost. The Madonna/Whore complex. It’s a universal experience. But I’m sure you, as a young woman, experience it in a particular way.”
Got you, motherfucker.
“Just don’t forget that your entry is due this Thursday. So no waiting for the elusive ‘perfect moment.’ David Foster Wallace once wrote that ‘Destiny leans trenchcoated out of an alley,’ but we’re so busy trying to control everything that we never notice.”
“Right. Okay,” I said.
“Just take the shot, Max,” he said warmly.
Oh I will, motherfucker.
I didn’t know how I could catch him, but I would. Maybe I’d let him catch me, so that the photos had merit. I’d place myself in his Dark Room, and I’d prove Kate was his victim somehow. And I didn’t care how many times I had to rewind to do it. I had the photos.
And I was going to call Chloe. Today.
I also knew that after this task, I would feel immense emptiness, and I would have to face my CarnEvil trauma, but fuck it.
I headed out to the hallway and stuffed my earbuds in my ears. I needed a serious time-out in the bathroom. Bittersweet guitar and drums filled my brain and helped me focus. I wanted to scream. I wanted to cry.
Forget the horror here
Forget the horror here
Leave it all down here
It’s future rust and it’s future dust
It wasn’t the undead Carnival that I had nightmares about. That was another matter entirely.
In my nightmares, there was a hairy chest against my back, my wrists numb from duct tape. He breathed into the back of my neck and took my virginity again, and again, and again, and I cried out loudly in pain every time. It was a sharp and searing hot pain like an electrical current. His large hand wrapped around my throat. I couldn’t quite see him, but I could feel him, and no matter how hard I tried to fight him off, he was too strong. In other dreams, he simply invaded them, disrupting a cozy afternoon sipping tea in Portland, or browsing a nerdy bookstore in Seattle, or walking across campus in the dark.
I’m the fury in your head
I’m the fury in your bed
I’m the ghost in the back of your head
Sometimes Umlaut’s sallow skull and long teeth haunted me, but mostly it was black hair, glasses, and trimmed beard. Long, thin patent leather shoes. A soft voice. A bright room. A fingertip.
A camera shutter. Aftershave.
Hell is Empty, I thought. All the Devils are Here.
I took a deep breath and dialed Chloe’s number.