Dreamcatcher

Chapter Sixty: The Dark Room Pt. II

"I'm getting some spectacular images here, Max." 

The second time Max came around, she found herself seated upright and numb from the neck down. This time, it felt more excruciating the longer she endured the horrendous torture by Mark Jefferson, as now, she was bound to a chair with her limbs taped to the arms and legs of the chair she was put in. 

Directly in front of Max was Jefferson, monitoring a camera he had aimed directly at her. To her left was a photography umbrella with a red light calibrated to deliver a dark and sinister glow to add to the photoshoot. 

The effects of the drugs wore of faster than it did earlier, leaving Max capable of feeling more strength to return to her. 

It wasn't physical strength that was being restored within her. It was courage. 

"Mr Jefferson, why are you doing this?" Max questioned with a glassy voice, interrupting Jefferson's monologuing to her unconscious-now-conscious state. It hurt her greatly to view the man whom she once looked up to and idolised, now revealed to be a sick, twisted individual who preyed on young girls in order to capture their youth and innocence for his personal collection. 

A smile broke on Jefferson's face, followed by a light chuckle as he stood upright instead of bent over to stare at Max through his camera mounted on a tripod. 

"Oh, Max... I'm so glad you asked that question," he replied humorously. "Uh, simply put: I'm obsessed with the idea of capturing that moment innocence evolves into corruption. That shift from black, to white, to grey... and beyond. Most models are cynical. They lose that naiveté. However, some Blackwell students carry their hope and optimism with them like... an aura. And those lucky few become my models - my subjects." 

Now that she finally understood his motive, Max felt absolutely no remorse for his mental sickness; that he attempted to plague her with, that he successfully had done to Kate Marsh. 

"You're a psychopath. And this is your last session." Max spat heinously. 

"Au contraire, Max. I'm so sane that nobody knows what's happening to you right now. And don't get me started on your late partner. I had enough of those faux-punk sluts in my Seattle days." 

"You killed Clark! YOU MURDERED MY BEST FRIEND!" 

"He had a loaded weapon. This was clearly self-defence. But that's what happens when you play with guns or try to fuck with me." 

"He was unarmed!" 

"But still a threat. I couldn't take the risk either way." 

"You're a murderer! You killed him in cold blood! You will not get away with this. I want you to know that." Max seethed, hocking with venom at the man in front of her. 

"Oh, wanna bet?" He challenged. "And in case you were wondering, Nathan has outlived his usefulness." 

"You didn't..." 

"Oh, but I already have. The Prescott's are going to have a major scandal when the town finds out what their elitist son has been doing for homework." 

As he stared at Max, the lighting became more and more ominous for the fact that she stared at him with cold, cruel thoughts. She wanted Jefferson to suffer for what he'd done: for the harm he brought onto others, and for manipulating people for his own personal gain. 

"You used Nathan." Max accused. 

"I prefer the term, 'manipulated.' Like with an image, Nathan's was easy to twist around. I became a sort of father figure for Nathan. It happens often in teacher-student relationships. It was kind of touching... for a while." 

"Did you tell him everything about your plans at Blackwell?" 

"Don't be stupid, Max. I told him what he needed to hear. In return, I had access to the Prescott fortune. Who do you think paid for this glorious dark room and equipment?" Jefferson answered without taking a single breath. "How else could I get all these hip new drugs for my subjects? Nathan thought he could be an artist like me. He actually thought he could mimic what I do with a camera and subject. Like father! But not like son... I do have to admit... he did a pretty good job delivering Kate Marsh to me at that party last week." 

A shiver went down through Max's body at the mere thought of what Nathan did to poor Kate before her untimely death. The guilt still resided within her for failing to save Kate. Even more so for the fact that she failed to even consider a romance with her. 

"Do you finally get it now, Max? I can't compromise my vision with amateurs." 

"You are an amateur. Look at the trail of death you left behind. You can't blame all this on Nathan. I don't care what you do to me. You're going to die, motherfucker! For Clark, for Chloe, for Kate, and for everybody else." 

Jefferson chuckled lowly. 

"I do love your spirit, Max, but you have brought yourself here, by your own choice. Anyway, I like my models to be seen and not heard. So I have to make sure there's nothing left behind of you. I will miss you, Max. Truly." 

The brown-haired man wandered over to a box and picked up Max's diary and waved it in his hand, taunting her. 

"You... you still have my diary?" 

"Don't worry. Nobody's going to read it," he said as he held the book by its spine and opened its contents. "There's nothing more innocent than a teenager's diary. Oh... look at your selfies. What a waste of talent. Look at that shot, Max. You can do so much better. Sorry, could have done so much better..." 

In Max's diary was a photograph she'd not viewed in quite some time - ever since she first left Seattle. It was a photograph of her younger self the day she first took ownership of Chloe and Clark's father's Polaroid camera five years ago, the day William died. 

Max focused on the photo, reminiscing about the good times she'd spent with her two late best friends before everything turned upside-down. 

The faintest voices rang out from the photo, startling Max. While Jefferson had his attention on going over his work, Max focused harder on her self-portrait. Familiar voices of her past self vibrated in her ears like the high-pitched ringing that increased the more she focused on the photograph, to the point that Max found herself in the most unlikely of places. 

Max was back in the past.