Preface

Recursion
Posted originally on the Archive of Our Own at http://archiveofourown.org/works/30165624.

Rating:
Teen And Up Audiences
Archive Warning:
Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Category:
F/F
Fandom:
Life is Strange (Video Game)
Relationships:
Maxine "Max" Caulfield/Chloe Price, Victoria Chase/Taylor Christensen
Characters:
Maxine "Max" Caulfield, Chloe Price (Life is Strange), Victoria Chase (Life is Strange), Ryan Caulfield, Vanessa Caulfield, David Madsen, Kate Marsh, Taylor Christensen
Additional Tags:
Time Travel, Happy Ending, Friendship, Loss, Hope, Enemies to Friends, Second Chances, Humor, Action/Adventure, Fluff, Angst, Romance, Hurt/Comfort, Grieving, Badass Maxine "Max" Caulfield
Language:
English
Stats:
Published: 2021-03-20 Completed: 2022-09-18 Words: 303,354 Chapters: 80/80

Recursion

Summary

"Maybe I can actually make this work, or maybe I’ll just die trying. One way or the other, I swear I won’t let our story end like this." 

They survived the storm and made it out of Arcadia Bay, but fate doesn’t give up that easily. And when Max is robbed of the future she dreamed of, she's left with two choices. She can grieve, heal, and try to move forward...or she can risk everything she has left to try and change the world.

Prologue: This Is Not The End

 


 

October 7, 2015
Seattle, Washington

Living in Seattle means accepting that there are going to be days like this, especially during the fall months. The cold, damp, generally crappy days that make you resent anything that forces you to go outside. Personally, I've always thought that days like this are why Seattle is basically only famous for three things: grunge rock, coffee, and rain. And even if I have more or less gotten used to it, today the dark clouds hanging overhead feel especially oppressive.

We’re lucky that it hasn’t actually started to rain yet, but I know it’s not far off. Low rumbles of thunder have been rolling over the city from somewhere inland and the air has that unique about-to-downpour smell that locals are always going on and on about. I started noticing it after a couple of months. It's sort of an earthy smell that tells you you’d better get your butt inside.

I really hate storms. We both do, which is probably the reason we’re making our way across the sprawling cemetery grounds so quickly, moving past row after row of marble and granite headstones toward the section furthest from the main entrance. The markers are newer there, and mostly free of the dark green moss that seems to build up on any untended surface in the Pacific Northwest. Most of them are smaller, too, and set a lot closer together. Apparently more people are getting cremated these days. Guess they don’t want their family dropping a few grand on a pretty box they’re just going to bury anyway.

It doesn’t take long for us to reach our destination, a row of markers not noticeably different from the ones before and after it, and we part without a word. She waits on the gravel footpath, and I make my way down the line until I reach the one I’m looking for. I gaze down at it for a long time, trying to keep the tears from welling in my eyes, before finally speaking.

“Hey. I...uh...I know I haven’t visited in a while but...I dunno.” I offer a half-hearted shrug. “I guess I just didn’t know what to say.”

I lapse into silence again, distractedly fidgeting with the trio of bullets hanging around my neck.

“I know we said that I should move on after...y’know.” I look down, kicking at a small tuft of grass. “Actually, you said I should move on. Among other mixed messages. Either way, I don’t remember agreeing to anything.”

Glancing behind me, I kneel down to lightly brush my hand over the marker’s granite surface and lower my voice. “I still miss you. I miss you every single day. So much it hurts. I miss that little smile you’d give me if I said something dumb. I miss the way you never made the bed but got so weirdly neurotic about how your t-shirts were folded.”

I pause, taking a moment to collect my thoughts, flinching when an ice-cold raindrop lands on the back of my neck.

“I’m going to do something. Something kinda crazy. Something we never thought was possible. And I know that if you were here, you’d be calling me reckless or selfish for even thinking about it. I know I’m being selfish, but I also know that I can’t live without you. Two years ago, you just dropped back into my life and now I can’t even imagine trying to go it alone.”

She probably would’ve hated this plan. She’d be pissed at me for even considering it. She’d say that it was too dangerous. That even if she was out of my life for five years and only back for a little over one, it wasn’t worth the risk. She was weirdly pragmatic that way.

But she also isn’t here.

“So, yeah. You said I should move on, but I can’t. When we were together, I could tell myself that it was worth the price we paid. That having each other was worth giving up Arcadia Bay. But now?” I shake my head. “I just can’t.”

A sharp gust of wind rushes over the cemetery grounds, carrying the kind of damp chill that seems to cut right through you. Shivering, I hike my jacket’s collar a little higher and reach up to tug the dark blue beanie down over my ears. It helps, but only a little.

“That’s why I’m going back. Because I think there’s a way of making all this right. I think we’ve figured out how to...” I sigh. “Fuck, I don’t know if we’ve figured out anything. This is the riskiest thing I’ve ever done in my life, and that’s saying something. It’s half guesswork and half blind hope. Maybe we’re on the right track, or maybe I’m just so desperate that I’ve convinced myself we are.”

Reaching into my pocket, I pull out a slightly weathered photograph. The two of us look so content, staring into the camera with our goofy smiles, back when Arcadia Bay still existed and the world seemed so much simpler than it is.

Before everything went to hell.

Before she got sick.

It's one of the very few I have left, but I won't need it where I'm going. I look at it longingly for a second before placing it on the stone marker. “There are so many things that could go wrong. I might pull this off, but it’s probably more likely I’ll die trying.” I let out a soft, humorless laugh. “I guess I’ll be seeing you soon either way.”

My partner in this crazy-as-hell scheme loudly clears her throat and I look back. Her tone is respectfully low, but firm. “It’s a long drive, Max. We should get moving.”

“Be right there,” I reply over my shoulder. “You heard the lady. Gotta get going. I’d say goodbye, but I think that given the circumstances, I’d rather go with see you earlier.” Putting my fingertips to my lips, I reach out to press them against the cold stone. “I love you, Chloe, and I’m coming back for you. I swear, one way or another, I won’t let our story end like this.”

Flight


 

October 12, 2013
Hamlet Quick Stop - U.S. Highway 26
Clatsop County, Oregon

“Max?” Reaching over, I gently nudge her shoulder. “Hey...Earth to Caulfield.”

She jumps a little, startled. “What?”

“I asked if you need anything.”

“Oh.” She blinks, looking like she’s not sure how we got here. “Where are we?”

I point out the truck window to the shabby-looking gas station and the faded yellow sign that reads Hamlet Quick Stop. “We need gas.”

The Hamlet Quick Stop isn’t exactly a glittering oasis. The main building is about the size of a large single-story house with a pair of old gas pumps out front, and two-thirds of it is taken up by one of those places that looks like it’s trying to be a coffee shop, convenience store and newsstand all at once, and somehow managing to suck at all three. The rest looks like it used to be a garage or something.

There’s a long building on the other end of the lot that looks like one of those rent-a-space storage places and just beyond that, half-hidden under some trees, is a slightly beaten looking RV. For a second I think it might be Frank’s, then I remember that he was killed when the Two Whales burnt up, and I feel the familiar ache in my chest grow a little.

“Already?”

“Afraid so.” I hope I don’t sound as irritated as I feel. I should’ve remembered that my battered old truck’s gas tank had been a lot closer to empty than full, but I’d been so shocked that it’d survived the storm at all that the thought hadn’t even crossed my mind. If I’d been thinking, I would’ve siphoned some gas from another car before we’d left what was left of Arcadia Bay behind. It’s not like it would’ve been the first time; when you’ve got a truck and no job, you do what you gotta to keep it rolling. But even if either of us had been thinking that clearly, I doubt we would’ve found another car still on its wheels. “So, do you need anything?”

“I don’t know,” Max admits, her voice dull.

“You hungry?”

That draws a half-shrug from her, at least. “A little, I guess.”

“Okay. I’ll just get you a sandwich or something.” I’m reaching for the door handle when I remember that my wallet is as empty as the gas tank, because of course it is. “Hey...uh...I don’t suppose you’ve got some cash on you? I’m a little short right now.”

Max blinks slowly, as if she needs an extra second or two to parse the concept, then shakes her head. “My wallet was in my bag.”

I don’t start shouting, but it’s a near thing. It figures that somewhere in the process of bouncing from one timeline to another, Max would have lost track of her trusty messenger bag. I tried not to think about how that meant my dad’s old camera had been lost with it.

“Well, shit.” Tapping the steering wheel thoughtfully, I notice a few quarters in the cup holder. On a hunch, I check the glove compartment to find a half-dozen more, a few dimes, and a pair of crumpled dollar bills. A few minutes later, a thorough search of the truck’s cab has turned up another seven bucks in loose change, but the real find is under Max’s seat; a zip-loc baggie containing a few grams of weed.

If there’s one thing I’ve got an eye for, it’s shady characters, and the guy leaning against a rusty Dodge pickup next to the storage building definitely fits the bill.  The dude’s almost twitchier than Nathan Prescott, and his eyes linger on Max a little longer than I’m okay with, but a little fast-talking is all it takes to convince him to buy the weed. The sale nets us another twenty bucks. Altogether, it’s enough for the gas we’ll need to get us the rest of the way to Seattle with a little left over to buy some food, as long as we aren’t feeling very picky about what we eat.

I leave her with the truck and go inside, stuck on a question that’s been running around in my head since we made our way down from the lighthouse; if your entire life gets ripped from the face of the earth on Friday morning, what the fuck are you supposed to do with the rest of your weekend?

Me and Max had started out by looking for survivors. As violent as the storm was, we’d both been fixated on the idea that someone in Arcadia Bay must have made it through alive.

We decided to head toward my place, searching almost every building we passed along the way. Anything that seemed more or less intact or looked like it might’ve served as shelter.

Max had collapsed to the ground when we’d found the first corpse, throwing up what little food she had in her stomach. I’d knelt beside her, gently rubbing her back, and saying, ‘you’re okay’ and ‘that’s it’. All the shit you’re supposed to say when someone is puking their guts out. By the time we got to the Two Whales, she was barely reacting to the bodies at all, save for the occasional resigned sigh.

I’d insisted on checking the diner, despite what Max had told me. I’d hoped that she’d been wrong or that something had changed. That it would still be in one piece and that my mom would be safe inside with a bunch of other survivors. But all we found was a burnt-out shell with shattered windows and a very faint burnt-pork smell that I refuse to let my thoughts linger on.

We’d shouted until our voices gave out and we were reduced to banging pieces of debris together, hoping that someone might hear us, and we came across plenty of people along the way. No survivors, though.

I keep trying to remember the faces of the people we found, but it’s hard to distinguish them. All the dead just kind of blur together in my mind. Before yesterday, I probably would’ve found that more horrifying. I’m sure some therapist is gonna have a field day with me when I’m older.

It’d been eerie beyond belief when we realized we were the only thing making a sound. The birds hadn’t come back yet and even the ocean waves seemed subdued. Eventually we’d accepted that we were the only ones still alive and had given up on making any noise at all.

It was almost noon by the time we actually got to what was left of my house, and I can’t describe how surreal it was to see the place I grew up as a shattered wreck. Half of the roof - the half over my room, of course - had been torn away altogether, and the remaining half looked ready to fall off at any second. David’s dumbass dick-replacement muscle car had been picked up and thrown across the street; the back half of it was sticking out of Mrs. Wilcox’s living room. The front of the house on the left had been torn clean off, making it look like some kind of giant fucked-up dollhouse, and the house on the right was just...gone.

And right there, in the middle of all that devastation, was my old piece-of-shit pickup truck. Just sitting by the curb, right where I’d parked it, completely fucking untouched.

I think that moment will probably be burnt into my mind for the rest of my life. I’d reached for the pack of smokes in my pocket, realized that they were completely soaked, and my first thought had been to go buy more at the gas station up the road, but I couldn’t. There wasn’t a gas station up the road anymore. My second had been to steal a cigarette from my mom’s purse, but there wasn’t a cigarette in my mom’s purse, either.

Because there wasn’t a purse.

Because there wasn’t a mom.

And that was when it’d hit me like a fucking freight train. It felt like the air had been sucked right out of my lungs and before I’d known what was happening, I was crumpled on the ground, clinging to Max like she was my only lifeline and sobbing like a little girl.

So, back to that question. When you lose everything you know before breakfast, what do you do next? I can’t speak for everyone, but me and Max? We decided to get the fuck out of town.

The road had been shockingly clear of debris, despite the absolute carnage to either side of it; everything from downed power lines, to overturned cars, to the shattered remains of the town’s weaker buildings. Even a whale – an entire fucking dead whale – sprawled over the broken roof of a small house. I hadn’t been sure whether it was one of the whales that’d beached themselves, or some innocent animal the storm pulled out of the water to spitefully throw at some equally innocent people.

We didn’t make it far. We were barely past the bent but still cheerfully colored ‘Welcome to Arcadia Bay’ sign before we turned off onto a service road. We spent the rest of the afternoon and the entire night in the cab of my truck, curled up together under an old blanket as we tried hopelessly to get some actual rest. I’d drifted in and out of sleep the entire time, and at one point I’d woken to the sound of Max softly listing the names of her fellow Blackwell students, one by one.

Listing the names of the dead.

When the sun had finally come up, we’d agreed our best move was to make our way to Seattle, where we’d hopefully find Max’s parents waiting for us. We couldn’t call ahead – Max had broken her phone during the storm and mine was just as waterlogged as everything else in my pockets. Whether or not we had enough gas had been the furthest thing from my mind. It was just dumb luck that the route I picked brought us to a gas station only a few minutes after the truck’s gas light had come on. If we’d ended up stranded on the side of the road with no food, fuel, phones, or cigarettes, I might have just freaked out entirely.

An obnoxious set of chimes startles me when I pull the door open, and I take a second to glare at them like they did it on purpose. The layout inside is pretty much the standard for most gas stations, though the Hamlet Quick Stop’s interior looks like it hasn’t been updated in a decade or two. I make a beeline for the coolers against the back wall and grab a pair of semi-fresh-looking ham sandwiches from a refrigerator that looks like it’s been pulled right out of the mid-eighties.

I pass by a dusty stationary section on the way to the counter, and on a whim grab a spiral notebook and a pen. I know how much Max’s journal meant to her, and even though I can’t replace the one she lost, maybe this could be the next best thing. Sure, it might mean having a little less gas in the tank, but it’d be worth it. I’ll just make sure to plan the shortest route possible.

The kid at the register looks about seventeen, and I have to suppress a growl at the way his eyes blatantly roam over my body. I have zero fucking patience for this right now. Just wanna pay for my shit and get back on the road.

“Afternoon, hot stuff,” the idiot says, with what he probably thinks is a charming smile.  “How’re you doing today?”

“Peachy...” I look down at his nametag, which reads ‘Chris’. “...Dave. You?”

He looks confused, but that might just be his regular face. “Oh, I’m pretty g-”

“Yeah, neat.” I drop the sandwiches, notebook, and pen on the counter between us, then hold out the money we scrounged together. “Here’s twenty-seven bucks. Ring this stuff up and put the rest on pump one.”

“Uh, sure.” He nods, checking the price tags on the sandwiches. “So, you and your friend on a road trip or something?”

“Or something.”

“Cool, cool.” He gives me that same smile again, which really only draws extra attention to the giant zit on his upper lip. “Where you headed?”

“North.”

“Right on.” He nods. “From?”

“South.”

Frustratingly, the vague responses don’t discourage him. This guy needs to learn how to read the room. “No kidding? You see that big storm yesterday? The news said it was a real monster."

“No.”

“Oh.” The disappointment on his face makes me want to punch him. I manage to resist. Barely. “Supposedly it took out some shit-knuckle town on the coast. Like, totally wiped the place off the ma-”

“Just ring up the fucking sale, will ya?” I put enough of a growl in my voice that he actually recoils, and despite everything I feel a little proud of myself.

“Jesus, fine,” he grumbles, punching a few buttons on the register. “Don’t get your panties in a bunch.”

Picking everything up, I snatch the receipt from his hand. “Like you know shit about my panties.”

“Have a nice day,” he says to my back. It’s probably more out of habit than sincerity, since he quietly adds, “...bitch.”

“Heard that, needle-dick,” I shoot back, flipping him the bird over my shoulder as I shove the door open.

It doesn’t take long to pump the gas, and I can feel the kid glaring at me the whole time. It takes most of my willpower not to glare back. Part of me is just itching for a fight, but with my luck he’ll turn out to be Sheriff Billy-Bob’s nephew or some shit.

I tilt the nozzle up to make sure I get every last drop, hoping it’ll be enough, then climb back into the truck to find Max listlessly picking at her sandwich. She’s got that same detached, faraway look in her eyes, but I feel a little better when I see the notebook held protectively in her lap. I even feel a happy little flutter in my stomach when I notice the words ‘Property of Max Caulfield’ already written on the cover. “That good, huh?”

“What?” She looks at me, blinking, then down at her sandwich. “Oh, yeah. It’s okay. Thanks.”

I fight the impulse to ask if she’s okay, because at this point that’s an impossibly stupid question. We’ve asked it to one another who knows how many times since we left the lighthouse, and every time, no matter who’s asking, the answer is always the same.

No. Of course we’re not.


October 12, 2013
Interstate 5 Express
Seattle, Washington

The drive from Arcadia Bay to where Max’s parents live in Seattle isn’t very long, relatively speaking. About five and a half hours altogether, including stops, and when I check the distance on the cheap roadmap I pinched from the gas station, it seems like barely anything at all. It kinda reminds me of a line in song I heard once; Close enough to make the effort; far enough to make excuses.

I look at the sleeping girl next to me. What were your excuses, Max? Fuck, what were mine? If I hated being in Arcadia Bay so damned much, why didn’t I just drive up here one weekend to visit? I could’ve looked up Max’s address, and even brought Rachel alo...

I abandon the thought before it goes any further, filing it away with all of the other things I’ll ‘deal with later’.

Focusing on the road, I can see the tall buildings of downtown Seattle beginning to rise on the horizon and can’t help but feel a little intimidated by the size of everything. The two-lane Oregon Coast Highway that ran past Arcadia Bay is nothing compared to the eight-lane width of the I-5 Express, and I force myself to loosen my grip on the wheel as hundreds of cars move around us.

Growing up, the furthest I ever made it from home was an hour up the coast to the tattoo shop in Seaside. And after living my whole life in a town of just over fourteen hundred people, I’d actually found Seaside to be kind of impressive. Now we’re coming up on a city with something like eight hundred thousand people and I’ve never felt like such a pathetic small-town girl in my life.

I glance over at Max again. Somehow, despite the slightly alarming noise my truck’s engine makes as it struggles to meet the speed limit and the occasional asshole honking their horn as they blast by, she’s still asleep. I’m pretty sure my heartrate is in the triple-digits, and she’s over there sawing logs. Hardcore, Maximus. Very hardcore.

Finally our exit appears, and I unapologetically cut across three lanes to make it. The off-ramp leads onto a relatively calmer four-lane street, taking us past suburbs, shopping malls, and a golf course that looks bigger than Arcadia Bay was.

Checking the directions Max wrote on a post-it and stuck to the middle of the steering wheel, I diligently follow them to a quiet side street. Slowing to a crawl, I reach over to poke Max’s shoulder. “Hey, Max.” She makes an adorably unhappy noise and swats at my hand. I poke her again, a little harder. “Wake up. We’re here.”

“Huh...what?” She looks around blearily, her eyes lighting up as she recognizes her own neighborhood. “We’re here!”

Detective Caulfield cracks the case. “We sure are. Which one is yours?”

“It’s at the end of the block.” She points down the road. A second later, she starts bouncing excitedly in her seat. “That’s it! Right there!”

It’s actually a pretty nice place. I mean, the two-story house is no mansion, but it’s still half-again the size of the one I grew up in. It’s painted a deep red color that feels appropriately opposite to the blue my dad had been painting our place before he died. The tall front windows give me a pretty good view of the inside, and what I can see has the same comfortable lived-in feel I remember Max’s house having back in the day. It looks warm, too; a lot warmer than my truck’s barely functional heater can manage, at least.

Guess they traded up when they left the Bay behind. Lucky them.

I spot somebody standing near the windows as soon as we pull in, but the glare of the afternoon sun coming off the glass keeps me from seeing their face. If I were going to put money on it, though, I’d say it’s probably not her dad. I remember him being this huge lumberjack-looking guy, and even if I’m a lot taller now than I was five years ago, I’m still pretty sure the person in the window is too small.

My brilliant deduction is proven right when they step closer to the window and I instantly recognize Max’s mom. She’s peering curiously at us, probably trying to figure out where my busted-ass truck came from and what it’s doing in their driveway.

Then, when Max climbs out of the cab and offers a half-hearted wave, her confusion turns into flat out dropped-jaw shock. She shouts something we can’t hear to someone we can’t see, then she practically sprints away from the glass. About three seconds later the front door bursts open and Max’s parents are scrambling down the front steps toward us. Except for a few grey hairs and a little extra weight around her dad’s waist, they look almost exactly the same as I remember.

Max starts to run toward them and makes it about five steps before they’ve got her wrapped up in a big, relieved, tearful, Caulfield-themed group hug. She practically vanishes between them, and underneath all the I love you and thank god and so worried and glad your safe noises, I’m pretty sure I can hear Max crying. I’m happy to hear it, too, after seeing nothing but zombie-Max the whole drive.

The three of them probably stay that way, blind to the world, for at least five minutes before her mom lifts her head and looks in my direction.

“Is that...” she whispers, gently releasing her daughter to come closer. “Chloe Price? Is that you?”

I shift nervously from one foot to the other and raise a hand in a hesitant wave. “Hey, Mrs. Caulfield. Been awhile.”

“How...? Where did you...?” She keeps looking back and forth between me and Max, like she doesn’t know what to ask or who to ask it to.

“Chloe saved me,” Max lifts her face from where it’s been buried in her father’s chest to give me a watery smile. “She brought me back.”

Before I can point out that Max has saved me way more times than I’ve save her, which would take some time and probably a lot of complex bullshitting to explain, her mom has me wrapped in a crushing hug of my own. I barely have time to try and get some air back in my lungs before she starts sobbing into my shoulder. “Thank you, Chloe! Oh God, thank you for bringing my little girl home!”

I don’t know what it is, exactly. Maybe it’s the hug and the tears. Maybe it’s the solid familiarity of seeing my best friend’s mom and dad for the first time since I was fourteen years old. Maybe it’s that feeling of finally reaching the place you’ve been going.

Whatever the reason, it’s right there, trapped in the other woman’s embrace, that I finally release the white-knuckle grip I’ve been keeping on my own emotions. It all hits me at once and it seems like my entire body sags against Mrs. Caulfield’s. For a second, I’m not sure which one of us is holding up the other.

I start bawling my eyes out, just like I did before Max and I left the Bay, and all at once I’m struck by a memory of being eight years old. I’m sitting on the front steps of the Caulfield’s Arcadia Bay house and trying to be strong for Max, who’s sitting beside me, holding my hand, and openly crying at the fact that I got hurt. And there’s Mrs. Caulfield kneeling in front of me, gently wiping the dirt away from my freshly scraped knee and telling me the same thing she’s telling me now.

“It’s okay to cry, sweetheart. You don’t have to be brave anymore. You’re safe now.”

Sanctuary

October 12, 2013
Caulfield Residence
Seattle, Washington

Sitting at the Caulfield’s kitchen table, I stare into the mug of hot chocolate warming my hands as I wait for Max to emerge from upstairs.

Even after her parents had ushered us into the house, it had been a while before they seemed willing to let either of us out of their sight - not that me and Max were any better. For nearly an hour, it was like all we were able to do was sit and cry at the sheer enormity of everything that’d gone down. Every time it seemed like we were getting a handle on it, it’d all come crashing down on us again.

In the end, it was probably the mix of smoke, seawater, and two-day-old sweat smell that was wafting off both of us that got her mother to suggest we go get ourselves cleaned up. I definitely hadn’t complained when Max suggested I take the first turn in the bathroom. I’d been keen to not stink, and if Max wanted to give her parents a little more time to fuss over her, I wasn’t gonna say anything.

The shower had been heaven on earth. I probably stood under the hot water for half an hour, and I’m proud to say that I only cried once. The fresh clothes Mrs. C loaned me are almost as good. The Oregon State sweatpants and powder blue t-shirt might be a long way from my usual style, but they’re a shit ton better than going back to the same clothes I’d been wearing. With all the sweat, grime, and general nastiness of the last thirty-six hours washed away, I finally feel the tension I’ve been carrying begin to ease away. I’m surprised at how much there was; I must’ve spent the whole drive here wound up like a spring.

“Need a refill?”

Looking up, I find Max’s dad pointing to the mug in my hands and shake my head. “I’m good, Mr. Caulfield.”

He gives me the same look Max’s mom gave me right before she started saying stuff like ‘You’re an adult now, Chloe’ and ‘You’re more than welcome to call me Vanessa’, both of which are crazy concepts that have no basis in reality. I’ve never understood how Max could be so chill about calling my mom by her first name, because the idea of calling Mr. Caulfield ‘Ryan’ just feels weird.

Ryan sounds like some guy I’d try to bum a smoke from. It doesn’t matter that I’m almost twenty or that I’ve been smoking for years; the thought of asking Max’s dad for a cigarette feels fundamentally wrong.

“Wouldn’t mind some coffee, though,” I add, hoping to side-step the whole thing, and once again his expression does most of the talking for him.

“You really think that’d be a good idea?”

He’s got a point. I already feel like I’ve been awake forever and adding more caffeine to the mix probably wouldn’t do me any favors. Still, I don’t like backing down as a rule. “C’mon, Mr. C. I thought you were cool.”

It doesn’t get me any coffee, but it does bring a little smile to his face so I’m gonna call it a win.

“You know, I haven’t been called that since we moved to Seattle. One of the things that got left behind, I guess.” He chuckles softly. “Just like that table you and Max decided to carve a treasure map into.”

“Wasn’t the only thing you left behind...” God damn it. Even if the words came out softly, I shouldn’t have let them come out at all. They sound just as harsh and bitter as I feel, and I regret them as soon as they’re spoken.

He looks surprised for a second, then the smile falls from his face and he takes the seat across the table. “We didn’t want to leave Arcadia Bay, Chloe. I know it was a terrible time to have your best friend taken away from you. If we’d had any other choice...”

“I know.” I never blamed them for actually leaving. It’d been Arcadia Bay’s biggest tool, Sean Prescott (who’s hopefully rotting under that stupid fucking mansion of his right now), who’d been responsible for that. He’d been the one to shut down the town’s small train depot and put Max’s dad out of a job.

“God knows we wanted to stay. Your parents even tried to help.”

“They did?” I’m surprised, and probably a lot more than I should be. I keep forgetting that our parents were really good friends, too.

“Of course they did. Your dad was working on getting me a job with one of the Pan Estates construction crews, before the accident. It just didn’t work out. When Vanessa got a job offer from a firm here in Seattle, she had to take it.”

“Still would’ve been nice if Max had actually tried to keep in touch.” I manage to sound a little less bitter this time.

“Don’t be too upset with her, Chloe. Our first week here, she was so broken up about leaving Arcadia Bay that I think she spent as much time crying as not. It wasn’t entirely her fault.”

“It’s not like you took her phone away.” After I point that out, I give myself an imaginary pat on the back for keeping almost all of the resentment out of my voice.

“We might as well have,” He counters, gesturing to a wall in the living room I hadn’t bothered giving much attention to before now. There are dozens of photos hanging on it, and when I get up to take a closer look I see that most of them are pictures of Max. “We thought the best solution was to keep her occupied, so we pushed her into every single activity she showed the slightest interest in.”

In one, she’s wearing a slightly dirty soccer uniform and not looking especially happy about it. Next to that, I find her sitting with a small group of other kids, all holding guitars and smiling a little awkwardly. The next row down has shots of her standing next to a science fair exhibit (on solar eclipses, of all things), looking bored sitting on what looks like a model UN (nerd!), and on what looks suspiciously like a camping trip with...

“Seriously?” I point to the last picture. “Max was in the Girl Guides?”

“Rangers, actually. She wasn’t exactly in love with it, but at least it looked good on her Blackwell scholarship application.” He sighs, gesturing from one photo to the next. “When we look back now, it’s pretty clear that she was basically running on autopilot. Always moving from one thing to another, trying her hardest but never really enjoying any of it.”

“God damn...” I should probably be watching my language, but seriously...god damn. I’m surprised Max isn’t a total burnout. I always assumed she’d decided she didn’t have time for me anymore, but all this makes me wonder if she even had time for herself. Turning back to her dad, I say the first thing that comes to mind. “What the hell, man?”

He actually looks a little guilty. “We honestly thought we were helping her, Chloe. If we’d known we were practically shoving you out of her life...” He shakes his head sadly. “By the time she finally settled into photography, I think so much time had passed that she just didn’t know how to reach out to you again.”

“I’m glad she finally did, though.” Mrs. Caulfield comments as she walks into the kitchen. “The guest cabin is ready for you, Captain Bluebeard. It’s right across the hall from Max’s.”

Wincing, I briefly wonder if I can blame the sudden heat in my cheeks on the hot chocolate. “You remember that?”

“Of course I do. Remembering all the embarrassing details is half the fun of being a mom.” She hesitates and her smile fades. “Chloe, I...we can’t begin to tell you how sorry we are about what happened to your mother. Joyce was an amazing woman.”

I never would’ve thought that one little sentence could carry so much weight, but then my own emotions hit me like a sledgehammer to the chest and it’s like I can’t breathe. I mean, it’s not as if I’d forgotten that mom is gone...but I actually kinda had, a little. The same thing had happened when dad died. I’d be doing alright, and then I’d see a picture of him or hear a song he’d liked and before I knew what was happening I’d be a wreck.

The therapist Mom sent me to for a little while told me how grief comes in waves. She said that it wasn’t a constant thing, and that it was normal for me to not feel sad all the time. She’d probably hoped that I’d alternate between sadness and happiness before I finally got to acceptance. Instead I went for an extra-large helping of anger and stuck with that for the next few years.

“T-thanks...” Despite my best efforts, my voice is still a little rough. “I...uh...I appreciate that.”

The three of us sit, silent, for a full minute. And if you’re thinking that doesn’t seem so bad, go find a clock and watch a minute go by. Felt like a long time, didn’t it? Now imagine you’re sitting alone with your best friend’s parents, trying not to think about your dead mother.

Still think it doesn’t sound too bad? Well, fuck you, then.

It’s uncomfortable on so many levels, and I’m honestly thinking about fleeing the room when Mr. Caulfield finally breaks the silence. “You know, we were both so happy for Max when she got into Blackwell Academy, though. I don’t think she ever stopped wanting to go back home.”

Yes. Awesome. A topic other than death. I am 100% down with this. “Oh yeah?”

Mrs. Caulfield nods. “Absolutely. The way she acted when she got that acceptance letter, you’d think she’d won the lottery or something. And just between us, she applied to Blackwell before she even knew Mark Jefferson was teaching there.”

“Fucking freakshow that he was.” I’m kind of annoyed that the conversation has gone back to the dark side so quickly, so the muttered words are out before I’ve really thought about them. It’s not until I notice both of Max’s parents gawking at me, looking like they can’t decide whether to be shocked or angry over the remark, that I realize they’d have no way of knowing about everything that went down during Arcadia Bay’s final days.

“...I beg your pardon?” Mrs. Caulfield says slowly.

“Oh, fuck.” I suddenly wish I was anywhere else. Throw me in prison. Banish me to Hell. Trap me at a never-ending country music festival. Literally anywhere other than in this room right now. “Sorry, it’s just...shit. I don’t know if I should...”

“Chloe?” Oh god, she’s giving me her concerned mom look. There are nuclear weapons less powerful than Vanessa Caulfield’s concerned mom look. “What is it? What’s wrong?”

“Damn it,” I glance over to the stairs. I know I should probably wait for Max, but I can still hear the shower running and I honestly doubt I can stall long enough for her to finish. And since my backup plan to jump out the nearest window probably wouldn’t work out too well for me, I reluctantly gesture to an empty chair. “You better sit down.”

Compassion

“Are you mad?”

“No.”

“You sure? Because it kinda feels like you’re...”

“I’m not mad, Chloe.”

For a second, I consider telling Max that her tone says otherwise, but I’ve got a funny feeling that wouldn’t go over too well.

I should’ve waited before giving her mom and dad the whole story. I know that much. And even after I’d broken down and started talking, my plan had still been to stall like a motherfucker. I’d either tell them as little as I could possibly get away with, or give them such a crazy level of detail that Max would be finished and downstairs before I got around to any of the really bad stuff.

Unfortunately, not only did Max decide to take her sweet ass time in the shower, but once I got talking it all just started spilling out. I told them about Max saving me from getting shot, and about Nathan Prescott’s spectacular mental breakdown, and all about Mark Jefferson and Rachel and Kate Marsh.

By them time Max finally came downstairs, her still-damp hair up in a messy bun, I’d already filled her mom and dad in on way more gritty details than I had any right to. It’s actually good she appeared when she did, because I’m pretty sure that if I’d been left on my own for another ten minutes I would’ve blabbed about the whole ‘time travel’ thing, too.

Of course, her parents reacted almost exactly the way I was afraid they would. That is to say, exactly the way any loving parents would and should react. Her dad had looked a half second from bursting into tears, pulling a startled Max into a bear-like hug and muttering one apology after another. Her mom sat at the kitchen table, silent and angry, and I could practically see her silently listing the names of the people she intended to see suffer for what had happened to her daughter. If the look in her eyes was anything to go on, most of those people are probably lucky that they’re already dead.

Even after they’d calmed down a bit, they’d still demanded that Max sit down and go through it all again. That was a whole other level of shitty, because I’d already spent half an hour dodging around the fact that their daughter was a human time machine. That’d required no small amount of creative bullshit on my part, and I’d hoped that Max and I would have a chance to get our stories straight before her parents got to her.

Instead she’d been forced to answer all of their questions, sometimes more than once, while trying not to contradict anything I’d already told them. I’d done my best to cover for her when her responses didn’t line up or accidentally strayed into an alternate timeline, and between the two of us we’d pulled off something resembling a win. Honestly, I think her parents were just willing to write off some of our weirder answers to exhaustion.

The sun was almost down by the time they let us go. It’d taken more than a few slightly exaggerated yawns on my part before they finally suggested the two of us go get some sleep.

I hadn’t bothered to finish what was left of my hot chocolate; considering I hadn’t even touched it in more than an hour, it wasn’t even close to hot anymore. I just left the mug where it sat and quietly followed Max upstairs to a pair of doors, one plain and the other liberally adorned with a combination of postcards and polaroid photos.

“Okay, you’re not mad.” I’m not about to argue with her. I’m more than ready to own this particular clusterfuck. “I got it. I just didn’t mean to...”

She lifts her hand (her left hand, after almost raising her right) to stop me. “I’m really tired, Chloe. Whatever this is, can we do it tomorrow?”

“Yeah, sure.” I force a smile. “So, I guess I’ll see you in the morning, then?”

“Yeah.” For a second, it looks like she’s going to say something more. Then she lets out a faint sigh and disappears into her bedroom, closing the door behind her.

It’s always strange trying to go to sleep in someone else’s house. Even if it’s someone you know really well, there’s always something that feels a little off. Sounds you don’t recognize, or shadows that don’t point in the right direction. The guest room is no different, but after this last week I’d probably find a pile of rusty nails comfortable enough to sleep on.

Still, it reminds me that the last time I slept in a bed that wasn’t my own was almost a year ago. And considering I’d been with Rachel at the time, it’s not as though we’d really been focused on sleeping.

Poor Rachel...

I feel my entire body shudder under a wave of grief and squeeze my eyes shut, trying to banish the memory of what Max and I found at American Rust. I can’t even look at a real picture of her - they’re all on my stupid fucking dead-as-a-doornail phone – but I still try to picture her real smile instead. The smile that’d somehow convinced me to ditch school and jump onto a freight train going who-knows-where with a girl I barely knew.

When I’d said that Rachel had been my angel, I hadn’t been exaggerating. She’d reached down into the hole I’d dug myself into and pulled me back into the light. Being with her made me feel happier and more loved than I had since Max had left.

God, I loved her so much. Even after she broke my heart.

I shouldn’t have been so shocked when Rachel and I broke up. We’d been together for over a year and it’d been amazing, but that didn’t change the fact that I was who I was, and she was Rachel Amber. There wasn’t a single person who knew her that didn’t think she’d go on to do amazing things. She was going to take the world by storm, and I should have known that wasn’t going to happen while she was still tied to a half burnt out emotional train wreck like me.

Looking back, all the signs had been there. She’d been in her last year of school, and the closer she got to graduation, the more distant she became. Kisses on the lips became kisses on the cheek. ‘I love you’ was gradually replaced by ‘you’re so special’ or ‘you mean so much to me’. Her plans for leaving town started to feature the word ‘I’ a hell of a lot more than ‘we’.

I’d refused to see them, though. And probably the only thing that saved me from having a complete and total breakdown was how goddamn gentle she’d been about it. She hadn’t said a single negative thing about me. And believe me when I say I’d been looking, because I’d gone to full battle stations the moment the words ‘there’s something we need to talk about’ passed her lips.

Instead she’d talked about the way our lives were going in different directions. She’d said that I was an amazing person who deserved better than to live in her shadow. That I could accomplish great things of my own, but not if she forced me into a life that catered to her dreams. That I still meant the world to her and she still wanted to be friends.

I think the one that cinched it for me was ‘This doesn’t have to be an end, Chloe. Maybe it’s just an intermission’. That was why I spent so much time looking for her, long after even I started to believe she’d just taken off and abandoned me.

Because I thought she’d actually been straight with me. Because I didn’t know that all those kind things she’d said might as well have been followed by ‘while I fuck Frank Bowers behind your back’.

It’s hard to believe that it’s only been a few days since I learned about them. So much has happened since that it feels like years ago. I’d been so angry at the time, but now it doesn’t feel like there’s any point. Rachel’s gone. Whatever she did, whatever she hid from me, no amount of anger is going to bring her back.

I’m going to miss her, and a part of me is always going to love her, but I’ve spent enough time punishing myself over people who are already dead.

I really don’t want to start crying again, so instead of dwelling on memories I try thinking about the girl sleeping across the hall...and it takes me about half a second to regret it. It’s not like there isn’t a whole mess of confusing thoughts and feelings there, too.

“Max chose me,” I hear myself whisper, as if I need the reminder. I start rolling from one side to the other, trying to get comfortable as I mentally chew on the concept. Why did Max choose me? Why did Max kiss me? And why the hell does thinking about that still make my lips tingle a little?

I mean, come on! It’s not like that was my first kiss or anything! Except for some reason, that was sorta how it felt. Like something I’d been waiting on for so long that I’d pretty much given up on it actually happening.

Nope. Not going there. It was bad enough the first time around, before Max had moved to Seattle.

At the time, I hadn’t really known what was going on with me. I just knew that no matter how close the two of us were, it probably wasn’t typical ‘best friend’ behavior for me to constantly wonder how soft Max’s lips might be, or to let my thoughts linger so long on how she looked in a swimsuit.

I tried to forget about it after she left. I even dated a couple guys, like I thought I was supposed to. It wasn’t until after I met Rachel that I acknowledged those thoughts for what they’d meant; I’d been harboring a crush on Max before I’d even known what having a crush meant.

A crush I got over a long time ago, though. Max and I are 100% just friends now. No repressed feelings for me, thank you very god damn much.

Besides, there’s that one little detail about how Max isn’t gay.

Right?

I mean, she did kiss me...even if it was just a half-second peck on the lips.

And I know that our brief, barely-even-there kiss in my bedroom was probably nothing more than a ‘ha ha you dared me to but we’re just friends’ thing.

I really do, I swear.

...so why am I still thinking about it? Or about the way she smiled right after, while I was being a total spaz? Or about that how I knew, without a single word having to be spoken, that she wasn’t going to reject me or make fun of me?

Or about how her lips had been even softer than I imagined they’d be?

“Stop it,” I hiss, as if I can feel the empty room judging me. “It was just a stupid dare. That’s all. Don’t be an idiot.”

Except it doesn’t feel like that is all. Not anymore. Not since the lighthouse.

There’d been a moment up there, in the middle of all that chaos. Right before she’d torn up that photo, I’d seen something in her eyes and for a second, I’d have sworn that Max was gonna kiss me again.

“Cut. It. Out.” I whisper, squeezing my eyes shut and rubbing the heels of my palms into them hard enough that I see stars. After everything we’ve been through, my short-circuiting emotions are the last thing Max should have to deal with. “She’s not gay. Don’t you dare make things weir-”

The sound of the doorknob startles me into silence, and the bedroom door opens with a soft creak. The hallway is mostly dark, but I’m barely able to make out a slim shape entering the room before the door closes again. The sound of shuffling feet on the carpet comes next, and then the weight of someone sitting down on the bed.

“Max?” I sit up slowly, half-wondering whether I actually fell asleep and this is a dream. I swear to god if porno music starts playing I’m gonna punch myself awake. I mean, maybe not right away, but...no, focus. “You okay?”

She doesn’t speak for a moment, peering off into one of the dark corners of the room, then she murmurs, “I am mad.”

“I’m sorry,” I respond on reflex. I don’t even care if she’s talking about something I did or not. I just can’t stand seeing her look so sad.

“I’m not mad at you.” Max’s voice is so small that I can’t decide what I want to do more; kiss her until the pain goes away or go on a screaming rampage against whatever caused her any pain in the first place. Both are definitely appealing, but I’m not sure how helpful either would be to her right now.

“Okay. But you just said...”

“I’m not mad at you, Chloe,” Max repeats, turning to face me. I can tell that she’s been crying, even in the dim light, and the needle tilts slightly toward rampage. “But I am mad.”

“I see.” To be clear, I don’t see fuck all. But what else am I supposed to say?

“I...I didn’t want to bring all of it back with us,” Max continues, her voice cracking. “I wanted to leave it in Arcadia Bay, but now it’s here. It’s in my house with my mom and dad, and I should feel safe here, but I don’t.

Oh, goddamn it. Not only did I fuck up, I fucked up on multiple fucking levels. Leaning forward, I wrap my arms around her. “Hey, now. I’m here, too.”

“Yeah. Yeah, you are.” After a moment, she gently pulls away and stands up. I expect her to leave, but instead she lifts the covers and crawls into bed, curling up against my side.

“It’s too quiet in my room,” she murmurs, tiredly gesturing toward the door. “I couldn’t sleep.”

“Yeah.” Considering my heart is doing a decent impression of a jackhammer right now, I’m pretty impressed that I can keep my voice so level. “Me, either.”

“Can I...would it be okay if I stayed with you tonight?”

“Of course.” The answer comes before my brain has even processed the question, and the way her arm gratefully tightens around my middle make them easy words to stand by.

“Thanks.” She lapses into silence for another long moment, then says, “I’m glad you’re here with me, Chloe. I don’t know if I could do this without you.”

I swallow heavily as a rush of protectiveness and affection crashes over me, crushing any attempt to reason with myself. Without even thinking about it, I tilt my head to press a soft kiss into Max’s hair. “You’ll never have to find out. Partners to the end, right?”

“Always,” Max whispers sleepily, nuzzling her cheek into my shoulder with a gentle sigh. A few seconds after, her breathing evens out and I know she’s asleep.

Laying there, staring at the ceiling and wondering how the hell I’m supposed to get to sleep now, I’ve got no choice but to admit the truth - my crush on Max is not gone. My crush on Max is very much still a thing, and I don’t think it’s going anywhere.

In fact, I’m starting to suspect that my crush on Max might be a whole lot more than just a crush.

I’m so screwed.

Reunion

October 16, 2013
Caulfield Residence
Seattle, Washington

“Unbelievable.” Chloe growls, glaring at the television. “This is just un-fucking-believable.”

“Language, Chloe.” There’s not much heat behind Mom’s words. Her eyes are glued to the TV as the story of Arcadia Bay’s destruction dominates every news channel. As messed up as it is, people are captivated by the idea of an entire town being snuffed out in a single freak storm.

Mom and Dad have been getting a lot of phone calls, but they always take them in another room. Every now and then I’ll hear them reassuring someone that I’m fine and feeding them the story we’d come up with. Neither of us wanted to get turned into the face of the tragedy in the news, so we’d all agreed to tell people that Chloe and I just hadn’t been there.

As far as anyone is concerned, I hadn’t adjusted properly to life at Blackwell and had decided to come home in the first week of October. That the only high point of my time in Arcadia Bay had been reconnecting with my old friend, who’d been kind enough to drive me home to Seattle, then decided to stay for a few days so I could show her the sights.

Just dumb luck and good timing. Nothing to see here.

Dad took us to the mall yesterday so I could get a new phone. Luckily, the repair guy at the store was able to recover almost everything from the remains of my old one. Dad bought one for Chloe, too, and I think the only reason she accepted it was because she needed a phone number to put on all the job applications she picked up while we were there. Even though they’ve both gone out of their way to assure her that she’s welcome to stay for as long as she wants, I think she’s scared that my parents will suddenly decide she’s too much of a hassle to look after.

I don’t think she’d expected much when she turned it on. Probably not for dozens of messages to be waiting for her, and certainly not for all of them to be from the same person.

“The universe must have a real screwed up sense of humor.” Chloe begins pacing the room angrily. “I mean, of all people! Of all fucking people!”

The Coast Guard sent search and rescue teams into the remains of the town almost immediately (we probably just missed them) but even after days of looking, they’ve only found five survivors. Five people, out of nearly fifteen-hundred residents, that the media just would not stop talking about.

Glen Caspersen, (former) officer of the Arcadia Bay Police Department, (former) husband, (former) father, and friend to the (now scattered across half the county) community.

Officer Elliot Ross, another (former) Arcadia Bay Police officer. No wife, no kids, no friends, no job, no house, no hometown.

Victoria Chase, self-proclaimed Queen of Blackwell Academy, rich girl, aspiring socialite, victim, orphan.

Mark Jefferson, world-famous photographer, Blackwell Academy teacher, my (former) idol, vicious liar, abuser, kidnapper, pervert, murderer, and all-around disgrace to humanity.

And then there’s the person who has Chloe spitting fire. Head of Blackwell Academy security, military veteran, Chloe’s stepfather, and (to hear her tell it) the absolute bane of her existence; David Madsen. The man who’s practically flooded her voicemail inbox.

“Are you going to respond?” I ask, stopping her pacing with a gentle hand on her arm.

“Why? He’s probably happy I’m gone.”

“Come on, Chloe...”

She sighs. “I’m just having trouble believing he actually cares about me.”

“Of course David cares about you, Chloe,” I insist. Glancing in my parents’ direction. I lower my voice. “Remember what I told you about in the other timeline?”

“Yeah, I remember. Still tough to swallow.”

“At least let him know you’re alive.”

She pulls out her new phone, eyeing it dubiously. “Do I have to?”

“I really think you should.”

“Oh, fine,” she grumbles, leaning in to softly bump her shoulder against mine. “Just cut it out with the puppy-dog eyes.”

 


 

Chloe: im alive

Chloe: u can stop spamming my phone now

step-douche: Where are you?

step-douche: Answer the phone!

step-douche: I’m serious! Answer the phone right now!

step-douche: Chloe you need to answer!

Chloe: im not gonna pick up

Chloe: take a hint ffs

step-douche: Where are you?

step-douche: Are you safe?

step-douche: When did you leave town?

step-douche: Who are you with right now?

Chloe: oh my fucking god chill out

Chloe: seattle / yes / before u obvs / the person who convinced me to mssg ur uptight ass

step-douche: Who is that?

Chloe: none of ur business

step-douche: Please, Chloe. I just want to know you’re okay.

Chloe: im fine

Chloe: im super

Chloe: never been better

Chloe: satisfied?

Chloe: good talk

 


 

October 19, 2013
Caulfield Residence
Seattle, Washington

“I have no fucking idea how I got talked into this,” Chloe tells me for possibly the tenth time in the last hour. “No fucking idea at all.”

“It’s because deep down you’re a kind and considerate person,” I lean closer, squinting. “Like, way deep down.”

“Har har.”

After their slightly combative text message exchange, she’d thought she was done with David. Apparently he disagreed. He kept calling, and not long after she finally blocked his number she got a call from the Seattle Police Department asking if she was in danger. I’m almost certain that if my parents hadn’t been in the room, that poor officer would’ve gotten an earful of Hurricane Chloe.

Still, it was enough to convince her that David wasn’t going away. Dad ended up playing middleman, calling David on Chloe’s behalf to explain that his approach probably wasn’t having the effect he was hoping for. Eventually they struck a compromise; if Chloe was alright with it, David could come by the house and see for himself that she was fine. Actually getting her to agree was a challenge, but I finally convinced her to give him a chance.

It’s weird that I wish Chloe could’ve seen how broken up David had been in the Dark Room, after learning that she’d been killed by Jefferson. She probably wouldn’t appreciate the context, but at least she might understand where he’s coming from a little better.

“Where the hell is he, anyway? If he’s going to come wreck my day, he could at least show up on ti-” She’s interrupted by a sharp knock on the door. “Well, fuck. That’ll teach me to open my damn mouth.”

“Well?” I give her shoulder a little nudge. “You going to go answer the door?”

“Really? Do I have to?”

“Yes.”

“Man, being considerate is such bullshit,” she grumbles, rising from the couch like she’s got a hundred extra pounds on her shoulders and dragging her feet all the way to the door. Opening it with a long-suffering sigh, she doesn’t even have a chance to say hello before getting pulled into a relieved hug.

“Chloe, thank god!”

“Gah! Red light! No hugging!”

David immediately releases her, taking an awkward step backward. “Oh...er...”

Scowling, Chloe lifts a finger. “That’s strike one. Got it?”

“Got it.”

“Fine, come in.”

She leads him into the living room where the rest of us are waiting, crossing the room to drop down next to me on the couch. She doesn’t take my hand, but I do feel her lightly brush her knuckles against mine. I return the subtle gesture and she gives me a little smile.

For his part, David actually looks pretty surprised to see me. Is it possible that he didn’t make the connection? Or did he just assume I’d died in the storm with everyone else?

Standing, Dad steps forward and smiles. “Ryan Caulfield. This is my wife, Vanessa. And I guess you’ve met Max.”

“I have,” David replies, shaking Dad’s hand. “I’m actually a little embarrassed. I should’ve guessed that Chloe had left town with your daughter.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Chloe snaps, surprising everyone.

He hesitates, shrugging slightly. “I just meant that you two are obviously close friends.”

“Whatever,” she mutters, looking away. “Strike two.”

Well, this is off to a great start.

Clearing his throat, Dad gestures to an empty chair. “Please have a seat. Would you like something to drink?”

“No, thank you.” David drops into the chair and turns to Chloe. “I’m so glad you’re alright. After your mother...” He stumbles. “I looked for you everywhere. When I couldn’t find your truck, I hoped...well...it doesn’t matter. What matters is that you’re safe.” Chloe rolls her eyes a little and looks away, but she doesn’t say anything rude. Considering their relationship it’s probably the best he could’ve hoped for, but he still looks a little disappointed.

Dad clears his throat again. He’s never been very good with awkward silences. “We were so sorry when we heard about Joyce. She was a wonderful woman and a good friend.”

“Thank you.” He swallows, taking a moment to compose himself. “And thank so much for taking responsibility for Chloe.”

“Like I’m a fucking pet...” Chloe sighs, too quietly for anyone else to hear.

“Of course,” Dad insists. “She’s always welcome here.”

“I just know that Joyce would have appreciated it. We’re very lucky to have friends like you.”

“Joyce was our friend, Mr. Madsen,” Mom comments, leaning forward. “But we’ve only just met you. And if I’m being honest, what we’ve seen so far hasn’t painted you in a very good light.”

“Excuse me?”

“Vanessa...” Dad murmurs; she looks over at him and sighs.

“I’m sorry. That came out poorly,” she admits. “What I mean to say is that the only firsthand impression we have of you is a man who aggressively refused to take no for an answer and kept calling until his number had to be blocked.”

“I was just worried about her.”

“I understand that.” Her expression softens a little. “I’m not saying we’ve made up our minds about you. You’re just not off to a great start.”

“Besides,” Chloe adds. “I told you I was fine.”

“In a text message, Chloe. I wanted to actually hear your voice.”

“Seriously?” She rolls her eyes again. “Did you think I was being held hostage or something?”

“No. I mean, not exactly, but...” He gives her a slightly annoyed look. “After what I saw down in that bunker, can you blame me for being concerned?”

“It’d sure be a first.”

Another few seconds of silence go by before Dad breaks. “So, David, I hope the media attention hasn’t been too difficult.”

“It’s been alright.” Like the rest of us, David seems relieved to shift to a less confrontational topic. “Truth be told, I haven’t been getting much of it.”

“Really?”

“A few reporters spoke to me, but most of them seemed more interested in what I could tell them about Mark Jefferson.” David snorts. “That bunker was packed to the walls with evidence of what he’d been doing. Probably enough to nail that sicko on about a dozen charges.”

“Only three, actually,” Mom says quietly, bringing the rest of the conversation to a crashing halt.

“I’m sorry?” David blinks. “How do you...”

“I used to work at the Tillamook County DA’s office. I made some calls.” She glances at Chloe and me. “They’ll be charging him with kidnapping, assault, and exploitation of a minor. They might pursue possession and abuse of a controlled substance, too.”

I feel Chloe tense up beside me and already know what she’s going to say. “That’s it? What about Rachel? They should be going after that sick fuck for murder.”

“They can’t,” Mom says sadly. The look on her face makes me think of all the times Dad said how grateful he is that she works for a private practice now. “There’s no evidence that he was directly involved in her death, and they have to go with what they can prove.”

“But...but the DA is Rachel’s dad. Why wouldn’t he...” Chloe looks like she just had the rug pulled out from under her feet, and I don’t blame her; we’d both been sure that Rachel would finally get some justice. Taking her hand, I give it a gentle squeeze.

“James Amber has already recused himself. He won’t be involved in the case.”

“He’s fucking what?

I silently look at Dad, then at David. They both look about as uncomfortable as I feel. I doubt they expected the conversation to go in this direction either, and I have the impression that the three of us have just been downgraded to spectators.

“He had to, Chloe. It’s a high-profile case, and he couldn’t risk being accused of a conflict of interest.”

“Bullshit.” Chloe shakes her head. “That’s such bullshit.”

“No, that’s what can get a case thrown out, and Mark Jefferson has enough money to hire an attorney who could make that happen in their sleep. I’m sorry, sweetheart, but Mr. Amber is doing the smart thing.”

“But he killed her!”

“No, he didn’t.” Mom and Chloe both turn to glare at David. “He said that Nathan Prescott was responsible for that, and there were pictures that backed that up.”

“I fucking kno-” I squeeze Chloe’s hand as hard as I can, cutting her off. Despite giving David the information that led him to Jefferson, we never actually mentioned going down to the Dark Room ourselves. If Chloe admits that she’s actually seen the last photos of Rachel, it’ll open us up to a lot of questions we don’t want to answer.

“What was that?”

She takes a breath and gives me a grateful glance. “I said I know, David. I watch the news, too. I just can’t believe people can’t tell he’s full of shit.”

“Maybe he is. But with Nathan Prescott presumed dead, there’s no way to prove otherwise. And like Vanessa said, it’s about what they can prove.”

She turns to Mom, who doesn’t look very happy about being roped into David’s argument but still nods reluctantly. “I wish I could say he’s wrong, but even someone like Jefferson is considered innocent until proven guilty.”

“He is not innocent!”

“No, Chloe. He isn’t. But that’s how the system works.”

“The system fucking sucks.”

“Yeah,” Mom agrees. “Sometimes.”

“I’d hoped this would go a little smoother,” David admits.

“It’s fine,” Mom says, not very believably. “Let’s just move on.”

“No, it’s not fine. Chloe’s always been prone to overreacting, but that doesn’t excuse her being rude to you in your own house. Especially considering the way you were here when she needed you.” He gives Chloe a stern look. “Don’t worry, though; you won’t have to trouble yourselves for much longer. As soon as I get a job I’ll be able to get somewhere for us to live.”

I’m not sure if it’s me or Chloe who gasps, but her hand tightens around mine as her eyes jump nervously between David and my parents. “But...but I...I don’t...”

“Chloe is welcome in our home for as long as she wants to stay.” Dad and I exchange a nervous glance. We both recognize Mom’s ‘courtroom’ voice. David had better start stepping lightly.

“That’s generous, but I don’t believe it’s appropriate for someone else to have to take responsibility for my stepdau-”

“I disagree,” she interrupts, eyeing him coolly.

He scowls back, clearly not happy being argued with. “As I understand it, it’s been several years since you knew Chloe. Her and trouble tend to go hand in hand these days. She’s a good kid, but she needs discipline. That’s my job; not yours.”

Mom looks down for a second, tightens her jaw, then looks back up. “I’m going to be frank, Mr. Madsen. I don’t think you have the slightest idea what Chloe needs right now, I don’t think you’re interested in learning, and I’m more than a little concerned that your idea of discipline will cause her significantly more harm than good.”

“With all due respect, I think it’s what her mother would have wanted.”

“Like you’d know.” Chloe snorts.

“Chloe, don’t...” I begin, but she doesn’t give me a chance.

“No, I’m serious,” she continues, rising to her feet. “What the fuck does he think he knows about what Mom would’ve wanted?!”

“You better watch your tone, Chloe!” David growls, standing as well.

“Or what?”

“Okay, that’s enough,” Dad says, unsuccessfully trying to get between them. “How about we all just take a breath.”

“No, I’ve had it with her constant attitude. It’s always the same thing, day in and day out.” David jabs a finger in Chloe’s direction. “I’m the parent, you’re the child, and it’s high time you showed me some damned respect.”

“I only had one parent, fuckface!” She roars back, shoving past Dad to get right in David’s face. “And she died alone while you were hiding in a fucking hole!”

The room goes dead silent.

“Why you...you insubordinate little...” David is sputtering, beyond furious, his face bright red. His hand comes up like he’s going to hit her, then it’s flying forward with no time for Chloe to get out of the way. I’m almost ready to risk rewinding to protect her when his arm stops in mid-swing, my father’s hand clamped around his wrist.

“Don’t you dare!” he snarls, squeezing hard enough to make David cry out. “You lift your hand to her again and I will break it the fuck off!”

I almost feel sorry for David. My dad has been working in rail yards since before I was born, and he’s got a grip like a steel vice. When I was little he used to pick me up by the back of my overalls and run around the back yard, holding me out so I could pretend I was flying.

“I...” David blinks dumbly, glancing between Dad and Chloe like he doesn’t know what just happened. “I wasn’t...I wouldn’t have...”

“Shut it. You’re leaving.”

“But Chloe...”

“Isn’t your concern,” Mom cuts him off, moving to block Chloe from his sight. “Now I suggest you get out before my husband removes you.”

“O-of course.” David nods shakily, rubbing his wrist when Dad lets him go. “I just...”

“Are you deaf?” Dad snaps, shoving him toward the door. “She said get out.”

It almost looks like David is going to say more, but something in Dad’s eyes seems to convince him otherwise. He’s outside a few seconds later and the front door slams behind him. I glance down at my phone, shocked that things could go so bad, so quickly. He’d been here for less than fifteen minutes.

Stepping up beside Chloe and taking her hand, I try to get her to look at me. “Hey, it’s alright. He’s gone now.”

“I’m sorry,” she whispers, unable to look me in the eye. “I shouldn’t have...I’m so sorry.”

“You have nothing to apologize for. You didn’t do anything.”

“I provoked him.” Her voice wavers. “I’m always doing shit like that.”

“Max is right, Chloe,” Mom insists. “David is an adult. His actions are his responsibility. Not yours.”

“Adult, my ass.” Dad mutters, still scowling at the closed door. “I can’t believe that jackass is the only family you have.”

“I...” Chloe flinches a little. “I mean, I guess I’ve got my Aunt Dorothy, but she has ALS and mom said it’d gotten pretty bad. And we kinda fell out of touch with my Uncle Aaron after dad died. He was living in Texas, but that was a few years ago. I’m sorry.”

He turns around, a little confused. “Sorry that you’ve got other family?”

She shakes her head, embarrassed. “That they can’t take me. I know you probably want my freeloading ass outta here by now.”

“What?” Dad blinks, rushing to reassure her. “No, that’s not what I meant!”

“It’s cool. I get it. You guys have been so amazing and I’m hella grateful, but...” She looks down. “David was right. I just cause trouble. You’d probably be better off.”

My parents share one of those looks - the kind that seem to carry an entire conversation in the span of a heartbeat – and then Mom steps forward. “Chloe? Look at me, honey.”

Chloe cautiously lifts her eyes back up, looking like she’s bracing herself for the worst.

“I want you to listen closely, okay? Are you listening?”

She nods slowly. “...yeah.”

“You’re home now,” Mom says seriously, reaching out to gently place a hand on Chloe’s arm. “You’re not a guest, or crashing here, or staying at our house or anything like that. You’re home.”

Chloe’s eyes go wider than I’ve ever seen them (except for maybe the time I kissed her) and her bottom lip starts to quiver. “Y-you’re gonna let me live here?”

“That’s right, sweetheart.”

“Seriously?”

“Seriously.”

“Like, with you guys? A-and Max?” I’d laugh if her voice weren’t so full of doubt, like she can’t quite accept the idea that someone would let her live with them if they didn’t have to.

“Oh, no. Not Max.” Mom winks at me. “She’ll have to go live in the backyard.”

“I can live with that.” I give Chloe’s hand another squeeze. “Small price to pay for my very own Chloe.”

“That’s...wow,” she responds, then she looks at me and I see the familiar spark return to her eyes. “Does that mean I can have her room?”

Fearless

[12 Oct, 2013]

Kristen: Max?

Kristen: Are you there, Max?

Kristen: The news is saying that Arcadia Bay got hit by some kind of storm.

Kristen: Just hit me back so I know you’re okay.

 

[13 Oct, 2013]

Kristen: Seriously, Max?!

Kristen: Now is not the time to screen your calls!

Kristen: Please message me back.

 

[16 Oct, 2013]

Kristen: I’M LOSING IT HERE, MAX!!!!

Kristen: CNN SAYS THERE WEREN’T ANY SURVIVORS???

Kristen: THEY SAID BODIES ARE WASHING UP IN WASHINGTON!!!

Kristen: ANSWER ME, PLEASE!!!!

 

[19 Oct, 2013]

Max: I’m here, Kris. I got out in time.

Kristen: WHAT IN THE HELL?!?!??!

Kristen: A WEEK???

Kristen: IT’S BEEN A WEEK MAX!!!!

Kristen: WHERE HAVE YOU FUCKING BEEN??

Max: I know. I’m sorry. But I’m okay.

Kristen: Me and Nando have been freaking out this whole time!

Max: I’m sorry. Seriously. I lost my phone. And there’s been a lot going on.

Kristen: A lot going on??

Kristen: We thought you were dead!

Kristen: You call me as soon as you can, okay?!

 


 

Ryan: How are the girls doing?

Vanessa: I honestly can’t tell. They seem alright, but that’s what’s worrying. Should they be alright? Does that make sense?

Ryan: I’m sure they just need time to process everything.

Vanessa: That’s what’s so stressful. It feels like we’re living with a couple of timebombs and I’m just waiting for them to go off.

Ryan: I went through the same thing when you were studying for the Bar Exam. You seemed fine for months before the dam broke.

Vanessa: I wasn’t THAT bad.

Ryan: Sweetheart, we watched that movie where the little boy dies trying to get his friend’s ring back and you cried for two hours.

Ryan: We can’t keep them from hurting. All we can do is be there for them when they are.

 


 

Kristen: Hey Max. You there?

Kristen: If you’re feeling up to it, I thought we could go grab some coffee and catch up.

Max: hello u have reached max’s pants

Max: shes not in them right now

Max: pls leave a mssg

Max: kthxbye

Kristen: What?

Max: That wasn’t me!

Max: I was in the shower and Chloe figured out my password!

Kristen: Interesting.

Kristen: And Chloe would be...?

Max: Didn’t I tell you?

Kristen: You did not.

Max: She’s from Arcadia Bay, too. We were best friends growing up and she’s staying with my family.

Max: and shes super sexy and totes awesome at evrything

Max: I’m sorry! She keeps taking my phone from me!

Max: shes also way taller than i am and can go outside cus she isnt just wearing a towel

Kristen: I see.

Kristen: Chloe, I presume?

Max: what do u mean?

Max: ur crazy

Max: this is max

Kristen: Okay, ‘Max’. Do you think Chloe would like to come get coffee with us, too?

Kristen: Hello?

Kristen: You still there?

Max: Yes, I’m sure that Chloe would love to join us.

Max: Assuming I ever let her out of the hall closet.

 


 

Fernando: Hey, Max? I just got a text about you.

Fernando: Do you know someone named Chloe?

Max: Whatever she said, I’m sorry! :(((((

Max: She was my best friend growing up but she doesn’t have much of a filter.

Fernando: It’s cool. It wasn’t anything bad!

Fernando: I just wanted to know why a stranger was saying she was my new bro-in-law.

Max: Oh.

Max: Welcome to the family, I guess?

 


 

Max: What time do you get off work?

Chloe: please dont say get off in the same sentence as my job

Max: And there’s an image I’ll never get out of my head.

Chloe: u know nothing

Chloe: i had to clean out the bathrooms today

Chloe: ive seen things max

Chloe: horrible things

Chloe: i work in hell

Max: You work at Chipotle.

Chloe: same thing

 


 

Chloe: u up?

Max: Yeah.

Chloe: cant sleep

Chloe: bad dreams

Max: Me too.

Chloe: r we safe?

Chloe: here i mean

Max: Of course we are.

Chloe: k

Max: Come sleep with me?

Chloe: ya?

Max: Yeah.

Chloe: k

 


 

October 31, 2013
Caulfield Residence
Seattle, Washington

Halloween has always been my favorite holiday, and even though it’s only been twenty days since the loss of Arcadia Bay, Chloe and I have resolved that we’ll make a genuine effort to enjoy it.

We briefly considered dressing as pirates, just like when we were kids, but those memories come packaged with a bunch of others that neither of us feel remotely prepared to face just yet. Instead, we scrounge around the local thrift shops for ideas. Upon discovering a bright blue military dress coat, I’m inspired to dress like the Beatles in their Sgt. Pepper days. I even find a pair of yellow circular glasses to complete the look. Chloe, on the other hand, apparently feels no inspiration at all and settles for cutting two holes in an old bedsheet.

When my parents comment on the costume, she tells them she decided to dress up as a Blatant Scareotype; I roll my eyes, Mom hides a smile, and Dad high-fives her.

There’s a bunch of young families in our neighborhood, and – once I finally get Chloe to stop eating all the candy herself – I find myself looking forward to every knock on the door. Most of the kids don’t understand my costume, but a lot of the parents seem to get a kick out of it. Chloe’s mostly just gets her slightly amused smiles, right until a mildly smarmy young father asks what’s so scary about a generic bedsheet ghost.

“Your student loans won’t be paid off until your mid-foooooorties!” Chloe wails in response, waving her arms over her head. “Your home equity is dropping as we speeeeeak!”

Surprised, the guy laughed all the way to the end of the driveway. Chloe, naturally, spent the rest of the evening preening at the accomplishment.

Slowly, little by little, I feel a weight I’ve only vaguely been aware of lift from my shoulders. For a while, the tiny voice in the back of my mind that constantly reminds me of everything that’s happened goes quiet. Then, just as I’m finishing with a trio of adorable trick-or-treaters dressed as bear cubs, I turn around to find myself face-to-face with the camera on Dad’s phone.

“Say cheese!”                  

The flash goes off before I can think. I feel my throat tighten as spots dance across my vision, and for a split second I’m back in the Dark Room, Mark Jefferson looming over me.

Oh Christ...” I hear him say, as clearly as if he were right there beside me. “Look at that perfect face.

I’m barely aware of the shriek that erupts from my throat as I instinctively lash out, slapping the phone from Dad’s hand and sending it crashing into the tiles of the front hallway’s floor. I’m running before anyone can say a thing, rushing up the stairs and into my bedroom. Slamming the door, I curl up on my bed and purposefully ignore the concerned voices in the hall. It takes nearly ten minutes for my heart to stop thundering in my ears and, as I lay there, I wonder if there’s any truth to the idea that a camera can steal a person’s soul.

It’s not long before I hear a soft knock on the door. I assume it’s one or both of my parents and ignore it, hoping they’ll take a hint and go away. Another knock follows a second later, followed by Chloe’s hesitant voice. “Hey, Max? You okay in there?”

Part of me wants to ignore her, too, but I can’t. Not Chloe. “...yeah.”

“Feel like opening the door?” After a second, she adds, “It’s just me out here.”

Like always, my desire to be left alone pales next to the need to have Chloe by my side. “There’s no lock.”

Chloe opens the door slowly, peeking inside. “Mind if I come in?”

I just shrug, listlessly, and she takes it as an invitation. Closing the door behind her, she pads across the room and takes a seat at my side.

“Sooooo...” she begins, reaching out to stroke her hand up and down my back. “You kinda flipped out on your dad back there, huh?”

I wince. “Is he mad?”

“I think he’s more worried than angry. I know how he feels.” She leans over to bump her shoulder against mine. “Feel like talking about it?”

I mumble an answer, leaning back before our shoulders can break contact and curling a little into her side.

“Come again?”

“Camera,” I repeat, louder. “He took my picture. It reminded me...”

“...of him,” she finishes, looking sad, but not very surprised.

“Yeah.”

“I kinda thought that might’ve been it.”

Of course she did. If there’s anyone in my life who’d make the connection right away, it’d be her. “I know it’s stupid. It didn’t even happen in this timeline, but it still...”

“Hey,” Chloe gently takes me by the shoulders, turning me to face her. “You’re not stupid, you hear me? Even if it isn’t real for everyone else, that doesn’t mean it isn’t still real for you.”

“I hate it.” I squeeze my eyes shut, as if it’ll block out the memories. “I hate that he still has this...this power over me.”

“I know,” she murmurs. “I know you do.”

The two of us sit quietly for a while, Chloe offering silent comfort and me accepting it. Eventually, she leans back to look me in the eye.

“You feel like going back downstairs?” she asks. “Your mom and dad would probably like to know you’re okay.”

I silently shake my head.

“Want me to leave?”

I shake my head again, a little more forcefully, and wrap my arms around her.

“Geez, clingy much?”

I don’t respond, except to tighten my hold on her waist.

“Okay, okay. Message received,” she laughs. “I don’t think you’re up to any more trick or treaters anyway, are you?”

“Nope.”

“Fair enough. It’s getting kinda late, anyway. Maybe we should just get to bed. Sound good?”

It’s not the first time she’s said something like that, but tonight the ‘we’ echoes in my ears and suddenly all I can think about is a very important question that we’ve both been very deliberately avoiding. It’s sort of come up every night since we arrived in Seattle, and every time it does we manage to both avoid and answer it at the same time, both without ever having to say a word.

Will the two of us be sharing my bed that night, or hers?

That first night, when I’d curled up next to Chloe without any real fear of being rejected, had been about two people who just been through something horrible, each of us seeking security and comfort from the other. The next night had been the same. On the third night, when she’d come into my room with a sweet, hesitant smile, I’d taken her hand and led her to my own bed without a second thought.

I think we both figured it would be a temporary thing; a way to feel safe at a time when we were still regaining our balance. But as each night came and went, we just kept doing it. Never acknowledging how natural it felt. Never admitting that the way we held each other at night was a lot more intimate than you’d expect from two best friends.

Never talking about the big, intense, exciting, intimidating, beautiful, terrifying, and potentially life-changing things it implied. I know it’s ridiculous, even a little juvenile, but it sometimes feels like we’re both afraid to acknowledge this fragile thing between us.

Long story short, my best friend (definitely gay) and myself (99% probably gay, too) have shared the same bed every night for the last three weeks, curled up together in a way that no rational person could possibly consider platonic, and we’re both too utterly chickenshit to talk about what that might mean.

Like I said, ridiculous and juvenile.

I’ve tried to bring it up, by which I mean that I’ve definitely thought very hard about maybe trying to bring it up in a sort of offhanded way, but never have because I am, as noted above, utterly chickenshit.

But you know what? To hell with it. I’m probably not going to finally say the words, but I’m going to give it another shot anyway. And one, two, three...

“Chloe, there’s something I need to ask you.”

I feel my stomach drop. I heard the words out loud just now, and I did recognize my own voice, but I’m still trying to figure out how those two things actually came together. That wasn’t supposed to happen. I was supposed to be lying to myself. I was supposed to try, then fail, then give myself a nice pat on the back for trying. But it’s too late for all that now because they’re out there and it’s not like I can just take them back.

(Except I maybe could, and I’ve never been more tempted to rewind than I am at this moment.)

Chloe’s hand briefly falters in its path on my back, and there’s a tiny hint of not-quite-fear in her voice when she asks, “What’s up?”

Trying to hide my own nerves, I offer her a smile that feels a little forced. I briefly consider making up a different and harmless question when my voice decides to act on its own again. "What are we doing?"

She looks startled, and her hand stops moving altogether.

“When we sleep at night, I mean,” I continue, forcing myself to not look away. “We share the same bed every night, but we never talk about it.”

There’s a lot of uncertainty behind the amused look Chloe gives me. "Trying to get rid of me?"

“No, never.” I cautiously take Chloe’s hand, my heart thundering in my chest as I consider my options. Part of me wants to retreat, to take back what I said and return to the state of willful ignorance we’re been comfortably living in...but it’s too late for that. The question is out there and there’s no going back. All I can do is push ahead and hope I’m not about to break whatever fragile thing has been growing between us. "But in three weeks, I don’t think I’ve even considered the idea of us sleeping in separate beds. Have you?”

Chloe opens her mouth, then closes it and very slowly shakes her head.

“Right. So, I just want to know what this is.” I hold up our joined hands. “Because it feels like there’s something happening here. Like we’re becoming something more, but we’re afraid to just stand up and acknowledge it.”

“Max, I…"

I don’t let her finish. I’ve been holding all of this inside for way too long and I can’t stop now.

“Because we always sit together at dinner and I always want to move my chair a little closer to yours. And we’re always curled up together when we’re watching a movie. And the way we talk sometimes, like we’re pretending to flirt, but it doesn’t always feel like we’re pretending.” I try to swallow, but my mouth has gone dry. “And I don’t think my parents have noticed anything yet, but I feel like that isn’t going to last and I’d really like to figure out what this is before they do.”

I take a deep breath.

“And then there was that moment we had during the storm. The one by the lighthouse, right before..." My throat tightens a little, anxiety threatening to silence me, but I push through. "That meant something, right? Something important. I...I didn't imagine that, did I?"

Chloe doesn’t say anything, but she has a cagey look in her eyes that makes my heart clench in fear. After a moment, she sighs. "I...I really thought that all this was...I mean, I figured you just wanted your best friend close by.”

Oh, shit.

I read into things too much. I projected the whole thing like the stupid naive never-been-in-a-relationship dumbass that I am.

Embarrassed almost past the point of reason, I can’t keep myself from looking away. "O-oh. I’m...I’m sorry. I just thought that we...it doesn’t matter. I was wrong. I...yeah. I was wrong. We don’t have to talk ab-”

"No, you aren’t," Chloe interrupts softly.

I feel my breath catch. "I’m not?"

"No,” she admits. When I don’t interrupt her, she places a cautious hand on my knee. “What I meant is that I thought what we were doing was just a friends thing, because I was too scared to hope it was anything more. I feel something, too. I’ve actually felt it for a while.”

“You...h-how long is a while?”

Chloe blushes, looking away shyly. “Just a while, okay?”

Oh, no. No way does she get to walk away from that one. Reaching out, I gently turn her face back toward me. “Chloe. It’s okay.”

I can see it in her eyes; the moment she realizes that I’m not going to let this go. “Since...and I didn’t really figure it out until way later, but...kinda since before you moved to Seattle.”

Whoa. “Seriously?”

She shrugs a little. I think she’s trying to play it cool. If she is, she’s doing a terrible job. “Like I said, I didn’t really know what it meant at the time. I just knew that I liked the way you made me feel, like I was pretty and special. And how I’d find myself thinking about how nice your laugh was or get distracted by how shiny your hair looked in the sun. How I was always wondering if your lips were as soft as oh god I’m just gonna stop talking now.”

Oh my god. Here I am obsessing over the last few weeks, and Chloe's liked me since we were fourteen? “I don’t...why didn’t you say anything?”

“I didn’t want you to feel pressured, I guess? I mean, you didn’t even know what this was and I was barely even willing to hope there might be a chance for you and me to be...y’know...” She gestures hesitantly between us.

“Do you? Still, I mean? Y’know?” I’m almost too embarrassed by that grammatical dumpster fire to notice her nod again, and my entire body seems to soften with relief. "Really?"

"I mean, I never assumed,” she insists, letting out an unsteady breath. “I just...really hoped."

I feel myself break into a smile. "I did too. Hope, I mean.” Looking at Chloe, I find nothing but happiness in her expression. "So, are you saying...”

"That I really wanna kiss you right now," Chloe says in a rush. "I mean, y’know, if that’s cool."

Even coming from Chloe, I didn’t expect a response quite that direct.

"Y-yeah. Awesome. I am totes cool with that,” I say, silently berating myself for still sounding like an idiot and hoping it doesn’t show on my face.

I find myself studying every curve and contour of Chloe’s beautiful face as she turns back to face me. Lifting my hand from where it’s been resting on her thigh (and when exactly did that happen?) I let my fingers brush lightly up and down her ribs, smiling at the delighted shiver it gives her and marveling at the warmth that seems to radiate from her body.

Her hand catches mine near her hip and our fingers lace together.

"Hey," she whispers, and even sitting down I have to tip my head back a little to look into those bright blue eyes.

I’m not totally sure what thought process leads me to say, "Why do you have to be so tall?"

She lets out a surprised bark of laughter, breaking the heated tension between us. "I dunno. Maybe you’re just short?”

"I'm not short," I fire back, but I don’t put any real heat behind the words. Then, hesitantly, I ask, “...do you really think I’m short?”

"No, I think you're perfect.” Chloe smiles and a rush of heat seems to wash over me. Suddenly I’m lifting my face up to hers and she’s leaning in and then her lips are there, soft and warm.

I have to resist the urge to pull her closer and deepen the kiss. Instead I keep it gentle, I don’t push, and I try not to think too much. Even though I’ve known Chloe forever and it isn’t really our first kiss, (technically, it’s our third) I feel suddenly and intensely aware of my own body. For some reason, I can’t decide what I should be doing with my hands. I really want to wrap my arms around Chloe and hold her close forever, but for now I settle for looping my arms around her neck. The moment we pull away, my hands slip back down to rest on her shoulders.

"Wow,” Chloe whispers, grinning. “That was...”

"Really nice,” I smile, screaming at myself for choosing quite possibly the worst word in the entire English language. Nice was a warm blanket on a chilly afternoon or sitting down at the end of a long day, but not a word I would ever use to describe kissing Chloe Elizabeth Price.

Really, Max? Really?

I look up at her face, and even though she doesn’t look upset there’s still a tinge of something that looks like disappointment in her eyes. It’s just enough to send a quick bolt of fear through me that I might’ve just ruined an important moment. Her hands are still resting on my waist, though, and suddenly I realize that we’re still scared. Not as scared as we we’re before, but it’s like we’re afraid this new and amazing connection we have could end up broken if we don’t handle it very carefully.

But if I’ve taken one lesson away from that week in Arcadia Bay, it was that life is short. The feelings that Chloe inspire in me are amazing and wonderful and actually a little overwhelming but I’m sure as hell not about to turn back now. I’m here and Chloe’s here and if one of us has to leap off a cliff to make this happen, I’m more than ready to be the one to do it.

Taking Chloe’s face with both hands, I pull her down and kiss her the way I’ve been daydreaming about for weeks. She lets out a small squeak that might be surprise, and I really really hope that I haven’t just committed some obscure breach of first kiss (actually our fourth now, but who’s counting) etiquette. My worry vanishes when Chloe pulls me closer, returning the kiss with an almost feverish enthusiasm.

This kiss isn’t nice. It isn’t pleasant or agreeable or any other stupidly boring word my mind might come up with. This kiss is like fire and desire and lightning and...and...I could try to come up with a better way to describe it but I honestly couldn’t care less right now. A faraway part of my mind notes that Chloe’s leg is bouncing excitedly. The faint and rapid thumping her heel makes against the carpet feels like it matches my own racing heart.

We pull away much too soon for my liking, and I let out a faint, breathy laugh. “Wow. That was...”

"Nice?" Chloe looks entirely too pleased with herself, but now her cocky grin just makes me want to kiss her some more. Especially when she reaches up to brush a lock of my hair behind one ear. Her hands are back on my waist a second later, pulling me closer, and a soft gasp escapes my throat as I curl my fingers into the fabric of her shirt.

"Well, y’know...i-it was okay,” I respond shakily, because I’m an awkward spaz who feels so stupidly giddy right now that I barely know what to do with myself. Then I lean back to study Chloe’s face and feel my smile falter just a bit. "This is real, right? You aren't going anywhere?"

Chloe shakes her head. "Don’t worry, cutie," she whispers, pressing a wonderfully soft kiss to my forehead. "I'm staying right here."

 

Thankful

November 28, 2013
Caulfield Residence
Seattle, Washington

I can’t do this. It’s too much. Human beings weren’t made to deal with this much stress.

Swallowing heavily, I try not to think about the fact that my palms are sweating. I always thought that was a figure of speech, but they’re actually sweating. I can feel the panic growing, threatening to overwhelm me as I try not to think about the weight of the eyes staring at me. I know I’m breathing faster than I should be, but I’m afraid that it’ll be even more noticeable if I try to slow it down.

What if I start hyperventilating, though? Would I pass out? I don’t want to pass out. If I pass out then I’ll have to explain why I passed out, and it’ll be so much worse because I’ll have turned this into a way bigger thing than the big thing it already is! Max, don’t you dare pass out!

“Max? Are you alright?”

“Fine,” I croak, wincing at the way my voice sounds. Clearing my throat, I try again. “I’m fine. Just thinking.”

“Really? It’s not exactly a skill-testing question.”

What’s that loud thumping? Is that my heart? Should it sound like that? Oh God, am I going to have a heart attack?

“How about I go instead?” Chloe’s voice heads off my fatalistic train of thought, and I’m certain that there’s no way the look on my face could fully express the level of gratitude I’m feeling. “That’ll give Max a minute to think about it.”

Nodding, I sink back into my chair and happily let Chloe be the center of attention.

“Alright, let me see...what am I thankful for?” She strokes her chin thoughtfully. “Oh, I know! I’m thankful for that feeling you get when someone finally scratches a really annoying itch you’ve had right in that spot in the middle of your back that you haven’t been able to reach, like, all day.”

“That’s actually pretty good.” Dad pulls his eyes off the large turkey to give Chloe an impressed nod, then turns to Mom. “Is it too late to change my answer?”

“After telling your family, at Thanksgiving dinner, that the thing you’re most thankful for is the Seattle Seahawks?” She laughs, rolling her eyes. “Sure. Why not?”

“I’m also...uh...” Chloe stumbles when everyone’s attention returns to her. “I just wanted to say that I’m actually hella thankful for you guys letting me live here after...you know...everything.”

“Hella?” Dad whispers, and I shush him.

“You guys gave me a home when I had literally nowhere else to go, even though you didn’t have to,” she continues, awkwardly scratching the back of her neck. “I mean, I’m over eighteen. You could’ve just told me to hit the road, but you took care of me. I don’t think I’ll ever be able to repay you for that.”

“Oh, Chloe. We’d never ask you to repay us.” Mom smiles and Dad nods his agreement. “As far as we’re concerned, you’re a part of this family.”

Chloe blinks, stunned. “I...I am?”

“Of course you are, sweetheart.”

“O-oh. I didn’t really...” She looks down at the table, blinking rapidly in an attempt to hold back tears. “That’s really...wow.”

“Well said,” Dad teases lightly.

I lean over to wrap an arm around her shoulders, whispering, “You okay?”

Chloe offers me a little smile, her eyes shining. “Yeah, I...uh...I just need a sec.”

Looking up at Mom, I give her a playful scowl. “Mom! You broke my Chloe!”

“I’m sure she’ll be fine,” she says, the wry humor in her voice at odds with the emotion in her eyes.

Naturally, Dad picks that moment to clear his throat and turn to me. “Well, Max, that’s going to be a tough act to follow, but you’re up.”

My mouth goes dry again and the panic comes roaring back to the front of my mind. “I am?”

“There’s no escaping the Thanksgiving firing squad,” he says, grinning like the great big jerk he is. “What are you thankful for?”

“Heh. Right. Um...I’m thankful for...uh...for...” I’m stammering already. That’s not good.

Alright. This is it. Moment of truth. You can do this.

I turn to look at Chloe. She gently squeezes my hand under the table and offers me an encouraging smile.

C’mon. I’ve traveled through time and saved Chloe from certain death. Next to that, coming out to my parents should be a piece of cake, right?

I take a slow breath, then another. I pull the air deep into my lungs, hoping the action will help me calm down.

Since Halloween, Chloe and I have found it a little challenging to enjoy our budding relationship. Mostly because I, Maxine Angela Caulfield, am a gigantic chickenshit who’s freaked out by the very idea of coming out to her parents and totally doesn’t deserve such an awesome girlfriend like Chloe Price.

That’s why we’ve been doing just about everything we can to keep it a secret from my parents, which hasn’t been easy considering how hard we’ve both found it to keep our hands off of each other. It’s like I’m hyper-aware of everything she does, and I’d lost track of how many times I’ve had to force myself to stop staring at her lips. Anytime we’re on our own, it’s pretty much guaranteed that we’ll end up making out. It’s led to more than a few close calls, let me tell you.

I’m completely crazy about her, and she’s been nothing but supportive and patient. She hasn’t pressured me in the slightest or made me feel guilty for the way I felt. She’s basically been the perfect girlfriend in practically every way, and it just makes me feel even more like a great big chickenshit.

I don’t know why I feel the way I do. Logically, I know I have almost zero reason to be worried at all. Mom and Dad are as liberal as it comes, and the idea that they’d react badly to their daughter being a lesbian was crazy. Especially considering they were already perfectly aware that Chloe is gay. She’d come out to Joyce when she was sixteen, held no reservations at all about her own sexuality, and after Mom and Dad found out they hadn’t shown the slightest bit of discomfort about it.

That said, I don’t feel like my anxiousness is completely unjustified. Not only would I be telling my parents that I’m gay, but I’d also be revealing that Chloe and I have been in a secret relationship for almost a month. And I could pretty much guarantee that any follow-up questions would eventually lead to the fact that the two of us have been sharing a bed for even longer than that - even if the first month and a half had been entirely sorta-platonic.

It was that same point, though, that forced me to acknowledge that the longer we kept things a secret, the worse it would be when we finally came clean. I’d said as much to Chloe, and we’d decided to treat the whole situation like a band-aid; just rip it off in one go.

Now, sitting there with my parents looking at me expectantly, I suddenly have a whole new appreciation for the phrase ‘easier said than done’.

“I, uh...” I take a drink of water to stall for time.

“I hate to pressure you, sweetheart,” Dad laughs. “But you and I both know your mother isn’t going to let us eat anything unti-”

“I’m gay and I’m thankful for my beautiful, awesome, super-supportive girlfriend!” I shout, startling him. Squeezing my eyes shut, I turn to bury my face in Chloe’s shoulder and wait for the inevitable explosion.

“Well, how about that, Ryan?” Mom says after a brief, surprised pause. She sounds disappointed and I feel an icy stab of fear. “Max is thankful for her girlfriend. Not a football team.”

Cautiously cracking one eye open, I look to my father for his reaction. Rather than the frown I’d been dreading, he’s looking back at me with a mildly sheepish smile. “Geez, kiddo. Way to throw your old man under the bus.”

“Y-you guys aren’t upset?” I hesitantly sit upright, glancing between them. “That I’m...y’know...gay?”

“Of course we aren’t, sweetheart.” Dad’s voice is steady and reassuring and exactly what I need right now. “Why would we be?”

“See?” Smiling, Chloe leans over to kiss me on the head. I think I’m probably the only one near enough to hear the relieved tremor in her voice. “Didn’t I tell you they’d be cool?”

“O-okay...” I nod, feeling my heart rate slowly come back down from the triple digits.

“We love you, Max, no matter what. You never have to worry about telling us stuff like this.” Mom smiles and reaches out to gently take my hand. “Though next time, maybe not quite so loudly.”

My cheeks heat up and I laugh nervously. “Sorry. I guess that was probably kind of a surprise.”

“Little bit,” Dad nods.

“A double surprise,” Chloe snickers. “It was, like, coming out squared.”

“Oh, we weren’t surprised by that part,” Mom comments, casually sipping her wine like she hasn’t just started spouting crazy talk.

“W-what?”

“We figured it out on our own a while ago, sweetheart.”

“You did?” I’m not sure how the could have. I’d been so sure that our romantic subterfuge had worked. “But...how?”

“It wasn’t very hard.” Mom shrugs. “Personally, I started to suspect something was going on when Chloe’s underwear started turning up in your laundry basket.”

“They what?” I turn to glare at my newly-revealed girlfriend.

Chloe won’t meet my eyes and looks like she’s trying to hide behind her water glass. Under any other circumstances, I’d think it was cute as hell. “I didn’t think she’d notice.”

“Unfortunately for you two, she did,” Dad comments, smiling at us. It’s the same smile he wears every April Fool’s Day. I hate that smile. “But do you want to know what tipped me off?”

“What was that, dear?” Mom replies with false curiosity.

“What tipped me off,” he repeats. “Was when we spotted the two of you at the mall a couple of weeks ago, making out in the food court.”

“Wha-gck!” Chloe’s attempt to talk and drink at the same time doesn’t go well. As she tries to cough up the mouthful of water she managed to inhale, I use rubbing her back as an opportunity to hide my own furiously blushing face.

“Yeah. I hate to break it to you,” he chuckles, gesturing between us. “But you two really sucked at the whole ‘secret relationship’ thing.”

My face feels like it’s practically on fire now as my (apparently more perceptive than I thought) parents start laughing. Though Chloe is still coughing a little, I try to laugh along with them. “Okay...alright...t-that’s cool. Super funny, you guys.”

“It really was,” Dad admits, still chuckling.

“Yeah. But it’s all out in the open now, right?” I add, hopefully. “We’ve all had a good laugh, so what do you say we talk about literally anyth-”

“Not so fast, young lady,” Mom interrupts, her expression turning serious. “There’s something else we need to talk about.”

I actually feel my body go rigid. “There is?”

It’s fine. The worst part is over, right? How bad could it be?

“Yes.” She leans forward, placing her elbows on the table. “There is.”

“O-okay.” Chloe and I share a nervous glance. She takes my hand again. “What’s that?”

“Well, as happy as we are that the two of you finally decided to be honest with us, there was still almost three months where you weren’t.” Mom gives us an amused look that, for some reason, makes me very, very nervous. “Or did you really think we wouldn’t notice that the bed in ‘Chloe’s room’ wasn’t being used?”

 


 

[17 Nov, 2013]

Vanessa: Max and Chloe think they’re so sneaky. It’s adorable.

Ryan: What did they do this time?

Vanessa: They must have fallen asleep watching a movie. I got home and they were curled up together on the couch.

Ryan: That’s not so bad.

Vanessa: That’s not the good part. I was trying to sneak by when Chloe woke up, but she must not have realized I was there. She just kissed Max on the forehead, whispered ‘sweet dreams’, and went right back to sleep.

Ryan: Wow.

Ryan: They must think we’re really stupid.

 


 

Oh god, I’m so embarrassed. That was torture. That was a two-hour nightmare.

“Penny for your thoughts?”

Lifting my face from the pillow I’ve been hiding in, I look over to find Chloe regarding me curiously from her usual perch on the bedroom windowsill. Lifting a cigarette to her lips, she takes a long drag and then leans toward the slightly open window to blow the smoke out into the night.

“That was hell, Chloe,” I say slowly, as though this actually has to be explained. “That was literal hell, served with gravy and stuffing.”

“Well, first of all, your mom’s gravy is basically the exact opposite of hell,” Chloe laughs, finishing off her cigarette, she drops the butt into the old tomato soup can she keeps outside the window. Retrieving the pack from her pocket, she pulls out another and lights it in a single smooth action. “And second, that went really, really well.”

“What? I just spent two straight hours being mocked over Thanksgiving dinner!”

“Teased, babe. By your parents, who love you.”

“Whatever,” Groaning, I drop my face back into the pillow. “Worst dinner ever.”

Chloe doesn’t respond right away, and for a second I hope she’s let the subject drop.

“Alright, eyes up for a second,” she finally says, and I look up to find the wry amusement gone from her face. “You need a little real-talk. I thought you were just being dramatic, but now I’m starting to think you actually don’t get how lucky you are.”

A small part of me wants to correct her on that, but I restrain myself. “Lucky?”

Super lucky. Not only do you have parents that accept you, but those parents are actually allowing the sexy live-in girlfriend that you tried to hide from them to continue to be your sexy live-in girlfriend.” She snorts. “I mean, on the ‘coming-out-to-your-parents’ scale, that’s about as close to the top as you’re gonna get.”

“Was the ‘sexy’ addition necessary?” I ask, adding. “Not that I’m arguing.”

“Extremely necessary,” she nods. “Look, I didn’t tell you this before because I didn’t want to make you nervous, but my mom didn’t react very well when I first came out to her.”

I take a second to absorb this; it’s pretty much the opposite of what she’s always told me. “But...you said she was supportive from the start.”

“Not quite from the start,” she admits, taking another long drag on her cigarette. “Honestly, she kinda freaked out a little, which didn’t mesh well with how freaked out I already was.”

“You were?”

“Hell yeah!” she nods, emphatically. “I’d heard all the horror stories. Kids whose parents hated them for being gay, or who got kicked out of their homes. Part of me was scared she’d send me to one of those fucking conversion camps so a bunch of religious nutbars could ‘beat the sin out of me’ or some shit.”

“She’d never...” I don’t know what to say. That doesn’t sound like the Joyce I knew at all.

“I know, I know. I was being totally crazy. My point is that I was already pretty keyed up, and considering the conversation started by accident...”

“Wait, you came out to your mom by accident?” I don’t mean to laugh. I really don’t, but it’s such a ridiculous thing to happen that I just can’t help it.

“Hey, who’s telling this story?”

“Right. Carry on.”

Anyway, I’d had this whole plan about how to do it right. I was going to talk to mom when the step-douche wasn’t around, and Rachel...”

I manage to avoid flinching at the girl’s name. Of course she’d be part of this story; she’d been Chloe’s girlfriend back then. But that doesn’t change the fact that, even after everything, I sometimes still feel like I’m being held up against the ‘Rachel Amber’ benchmark.

“...said she would be there so she could do the whole supportive girlfriend thing.” Chloe continues, hopefully unaware of my irrational jealousy. “Well, that had been the plan. I forget whether it was Mom or David who brought it up, but we were having dinner and one of them made some comment about how Rachel and I were spending a lot of our time together.”

Uh-oh. I think I know where this is going.

“And I, with all my natural subtlety, responded with something along the lines of ‘I’ll spend as much time with my girlfriend as I want’.”

“How many ‘fucks’ are you editing out of that sentence?”

“At least two. And between Mom’s shock, David’s temper, and my usual grace under pressure...” She mimes an explosion with her hands. “We got into a huge fight in the middle of dinner and I ended up taking off into the pouring rain, minus a jacket. Then I head to Rachel’s place, having somehow forgotten that her family was on vacation that whole week. Now I’m stuck standing in the rain like an idiot. I had no clue where Frank’s RV was, I was too proud to go to anyone else, and I hadn’t quite reached my ‘breaking into Blackwell for the lols’ phase yet.”

“Yikes.”

“Yeah, it pretty much sucked,” she nods. “So, I’m walking down the sidewalk when this car comes up with its high beams on, horn blaring away. It pulls right up behind me, and I’m so amped up that I just start yelling and swearing before I’ve even gotten a good look at it.”

“Really? I have a hard time picturing that.”

“Oh, bite me,” she laughs, playfully flipping me the bird. “Anyway, I’ll give you three guesses who was driving.”

“It was Joyce, wasn’t it?”

“Got it in one, Maximus. And she had me in this bone-crusher of a hug so fast that I don’t think she heard a word I said.” Chloe pulls another cigarette from the pack, lighting it with the still-glowing tip of the one she’s just finished. “Which is a damn shame because I really brought my A-game for that one. I’m telling you, some of the shit I was saying would’ve turned a sailor to dus-”

“Chloe?” I interrupt gently. “Focus.”

“Right. Anyway, she’s crying and apologizing like crazy. Turns out she’d been driving around looking for me pretty much since I’d left. Just grabbed David’s keys and took off to rescue me. Didn’t even ask him first.”

I can’t help but grin at the mental image. That sounds like the Joyce Price I knew, and it’s pretty great to see Chloe talking about her with a smile. They might have had their differences, especially at the end, but I know how much she misses her mom.

“Then she told me that it took her about five seconds after I ran off to realize that I was more important to her than anything and that she loved me no matter what. From then on, she was chill as fuck about it.”

“I’m glad, but...”

“What does that have to do with tonight?”

I nod.

“Thinking about how that night went for me always reminds me that I was pretty lucky, and that you are too, and that not everyone is. I mean, there’s places where being together could straight up get us killed, and you’re freaking out because your parents were teasing us over dinner?”

I cringe. “When you put it like that, I do kinda sound...”

“Like a big ol’ drama queen?” she finished, smirking.

I roll my eyes; it’s a pretty fair description. “Yeah, pretty much.”

“Happens to the best of us, Max.” She leans against the window frame, blowing another cloud of blueish smoke outside. “I should know.”

“Geez. I suddenly feel like such a sheltered middle-class white girl.”

“To be fair, you are a sheltered middle-class white girl,” she points out, smirking. “But for the record, I’ll put up with whatever your mom and dad can dish out and more if it means I can be with you.”

My heart melts a little. It’s always a nice surprise when Chloe gives me a glimpse of her romantic side. “Good thing, too, because you’re pretty much stuck with me.”

Chloe winks, and the two of us lapse into a comfortable silence as she turns to stare out the window. Leaning back against the wall, I very briefly wish I could take a picture of her. Instead, I try to commit the sight to memory; Chloe’s casually slouched posture, the layered colors of her hair, and even the way the bedside lamp’s light falls on her smooth, pale skin.

Well, not entirely pale. My eyes are drawn to the slightly yellowed skin of her right-hand fingers, currently holding her latest cigarette. I wonder if she’s planning to have another after this one?

Of all the things that had surprised me about the ‘new’ Chloe, the smoking had probably been the most unexpected. The version of her I’d known growing up would have never touched a cigarette. She hadn’t even been able to stand the smell of them, complaining about it anytime Joyce had stepped outside to smoke. Since the two of us reconnected, though, that smell is just something I’ve come to associate with her. It’s in her hair, on her breath, and permeates almost every piece of clothing she owns – even the new ones she’s gotten since we came to Seattle.

That doesn’t mean I like it, though. And while I don’t have much pre-storm knowledge to go by, it does feel like she’s been smoking more lately. It’s something that’s been on my mind for a while, and although I’ve been meaning to bring it up with her, the part of me that hates confrontations keeps pointing out to me how great things have been between us and begging me not to rock the boat.

But I’m pretty sure this is the fourth cigarette she’d had since dinner, and if there’s one lesson I can take away from tonight it’s that the longer you wait, the worse it gets. “Hey, Chloe? How many of those have you had today?”

The question seems to take her by surprise. “How many what?”

I point to the cigarette in her hand, already burnt halfway down.

“Oh.” She shrugs. “Half a pack? Little more, maybe?”

“Is that a lot?”

Another shrug. “Depends on the person, I guess.”

“Is that a lot for you, then? I mean, did you smoke this much before?”

Chloe’s eyes narrow the tiniest bit. That’s probably not a good sign. “Why?”

“I was just thinking that it seems like you’re smoking a lot lately.” I’m careful to keep my voice calm. I don’t want her to think I’m trying to pick a fight. Even so, her relaxed slouch is gone, replaced by something a little stiffer and a lot more defensive.

“So what?”

I have a sudden feeling that I’m standing right at the point of no return. All I need to say is ‘never mind’, and that’ll be it; no fuss, no unpleasantness, no trouble. I’m not too proud to admit that I want to. Like really, really want to. I’ve never really been one to intentionally start an argument, especially with someone I care about.

Nothing will change if I back off now, though, and it’s because I care about her that I need to push ahead. “It feels like every time I look, there’s a cigarette in your mouth.”

“I’m fine, Max.” Chloe is openly glaring at me now, and I can feel my palms start to sweat again.

Begone, Chickenshit Max! You have no power here!

Steeling my nerves, I mentally brace up. “Chloe, I think you ought to cut back your smoking.”

“No, I don’t,” she responds evenly.

“Cigarettes are really bad for you.”

“Oh, are they? Thanks, Ms. After-School-Special.” Chloe rolls her eyes, lifting the cigarette to her lips and taking a defiant drag.

“Chloe, I...”

“Oh, for fuck’s sake, Max! If I wanted someone to tell me how to live my life, I’d talk to my damn mothe-” Chloe slams to a halt, her mouth snapping shut with an audible click. We both look away. “Just drop it, okay?”

I was already kind of annoyed, but for some reason the fact that she thinks she can just shut me down really pisses me off. “I’m your girlfriend, Chloe. You don’t get to tell me to shut up just because you don’t like what I’m saying.”

“What? I didn’t.”

“It kinda felt like you did.” I pause, forcing the anger out of my voice. “I swear I’m not trying to pick a fight. But I am worried about you. So no, I’m not going to drop it.”

“I’m a big girl, Max. I can take care of myself.”

I refuse to point out the irony in that statement. “That doesn’t mean I can’t take care of you a little, too.”

My point seems to catch her a little off guard. “Are you really planning to spend the rest of your life protecting me?”

“Of course I am.” I’m almost offended that she thought otherwise.

“Why?”

Okay, now I actually am a little offended. “Because I love you, you dummy.”

The snort of laughter that she lets out surprises us both, and the tension in the room begins to bleed away. “Damn, Max. Really feeling the romance over here.”

“Oh, shush.” I reach over to give her shoulder a gentle shove. “I do love you, though. And I don’t want anything to happen to you.”

She seems to take a moment with that, then rolls her eyes and gently kicks my shin. “Alright, fine.”

“...fine?” I echo, not sure whether or not I should be confused.

“Fine,” she says again. Pulling the pack from her pocket, she tosses both it and the rest of her unfinished cigarette into the old soup can, puts it outside and shuts the window. Walking over to the bed, she drops down next to me and leans her shoulder against mine. “No more cigarettes.”

“What? Seriously?”

“Mhm,” Chloe nods.

“After all that?”

“I’ve been meaning to quit, anyway.” She gives me a little smirk. “I just don’t like being told what to do.”

“You don’t...” It’s such a ridiculously Chloe thing to say that I don’t even try to hold in my laughter. “Oh my god, you’re such a brat!

“Guilty.” She shrugs. “Besides, you probably didn’t enjoy making out with an ashtray.”

I wasn’t exactly going to say that, but... “Not so much, no.”

“I figured. Now, c’mere.” She reaches out to pull me into a hug, “I love you, too.”

I hum happily at the words, nuzzling closer.

“Even if you are a guilt-tripping jerk,” Chloe adds, because she’s Chloe and of course she does.

“I can live with that.”

“Good.” She presses a soft kiss into my hair. I love it when she does that. “Because you’re pretty much stuck with me, too.”

 


 

Max: Picking up pizza on the way home. What kind do you want?

Chloe: u know how i like it

Max: lol

Max: You bet I do, hot stuff. ;)

Chloe: ...

Chloe: max

Chloe: havent we talked about this?

Chloe: HAVENT WE TALKED ABOUT NO EMOJI?!?!?!

Max: ( ˘ ³˘)~♥

Chloe: fucks sake, woman

Chloe: i love u so much but sometimes...

 

Respect

Max: First, I want to acknowledge that I’m a total wuss for doing this by text.

Kristen: Max, are you breaking up with me? ;P

Fernando: Not unless she’s breaking up with both of us.

Kristen: Oh, hey buddy. Sup?

Fernando: Not much. You?

Kristen: Same.

Max: AS I WAS SAYING, I have something really important to tell you guys.

Kristen: Max?

Kristen: Are you still there?

Max: Give me a second!

Kristen: Sure. Take all the time you need.

Fernando: When you’re ready.

Max: I’m gay.

Max: Guys?

Fernando: ...and?

Max: What do you mean ‘and’? Isn’t ‘I’m gay’ big enough?

Kristen: Holy crap I think she thinks she’s coming out to us!

Fernando: Did you think we didn’t know you were gay?

Max: HOW LONG HAVE YOU KNOWN?!

Fernando: Lol! Come on. It’s not like you tried super hard to hide it.

Fernando: Kris figured it out, like, an hour after we met.

Max: WHAT?!

Kristen: Dude, cool it with the all-caps.

Max: But how? I didn’t realize until recently.

Kristen: Wait how recently?

Max: For sure? Halloween, I guess?

Fernando: Are you serious?

Fernando: Is that why you said no when Sarah Hammond asked you out last spring?

Max: What!

Kristen: Holy crap! That’s why you blew off Lisa Carver when she started flirting with you at the beach!!!!

Max: Lisa wasn’t flirting with me!

Max: Was she?

Fernando: Wut.

Kristen: Max, she said your swimsuit looked hot and offered to buy you a lemonade.

Kristen: Max?

Max: I just thought she was being nice.

Fernando: Dude, really? Even I could tell she was into you. And I’m an idiot when it comes to that stuff.

Kristen: Seriously, Max. There were signals. Radio stations don’t broadcast that loud.

Max: Really?

Kristen: OMFG this is amazing. Hold on a sec.

Max: Why?

Chloe: holy crap whos lisa carver what else did she say tell me everything about innocent baby gay max!!!!!!!

Max: nooooooo

 


 

December 25, 2013
Caulfield Residence
Seattle, Washington

“My name is Chloe, and I’m an addict.”

“Chloe, stop.”

“It’s been twenty-five days since my last cigarette.” Her voice cracks slightly. “But I’m staying strong.”

“Babe, you don’t need to do this every time.”

“And I owe it all to one person...my rock...my guiding star...” Chloe, continuing to ignore me, turns to Mom and pretends to wipe a tear from her eye. “Mrs. C, from the bottom of my heart, thank you...for making dinner.”

Across the table, Mom smiles beatifically. “You’re very welcome, Chloe. It’s nice to be appreciated.”

“Please don’t encourage her.” I laugh.

“You’re welcome too, Max. I won’t even make you actually thank me.”

“There’s no need to be passive-aggressive, Mom.”

“I’ve got no idea what you mean.” She winks, rising from her seat. “Now, since someone has to go get dessert, it might as well be me.”

“I can help wi...whoa.” Chloe wobbles on her feet for a second, grabbing the edge of the table. Before anyone can say anything, she’s back to smiling. “Yikes. Headrush. Too much food, I guess. I’m okay.”

“You sure?” Mom asks, looking just as concerned as I feel. “That’s not the first time that’s happened recently.”

“Totally sure.” she insists, waving her hand dismissively. “It’s just my body being pissed cause I cut off the nicotine. C’mon, let’s go grab that pie.”

“Even after a month?” I’m no expert, but I’m pretty sure symptoms for nicotine withdrawal aren’t supposed to last this long. “Maybe you should go see a doctor. Just in case.”

“I can’t afford a doctor. I’m barely making enough to cover rent as it is.”

Mom and Dad glance at each other, then Mom puts a hand on Chloe’s arm. “We’d be happy to pay for you to see a doctor, Chloe. And we already said you don’t have to pay rent.”

“No way. I spent too long mooching off my own mother. I’m not gonna do it here, too. I want to pay my own way for once.”

“Well, maybe I can...” I begin.

“Keep saving those dollars up for university,” Chloe interrupts, giving me a reassuring smile. “Seriously, babe. I’ll be fine.”

 


 

Mom: Be honest. Did Chloe really like her Christmas presents?

Max: Of course she did. Why wouldn’t she?

Mom: It know clothes aren’t the kind of thing kids your age get excited about.

Max: Okay, I kinda resent the ‘kids our age’ thing.

Mom: And I understand that Chloe has been adamant about paying her own way.

Mom: But I couldn’t bear to see her with just a half-dozen thrift store outfits.

Max: She loved them, I promise. She even cried a little bit when we got upstairs.

Mom: She did? Why?

Max: It was actually really sweet. She said it kinda felt like she had a mother again.

Max: Mom? You there?

Mom: NOW I’M CRYING TOO THANK YOU VERY MUCH.

 


 

Max: I still think you guys are lying about all those girls asking me out.

Kristen: We really aren’t. As both your friend and an objective straight chick, I can definitively attest that you’ve got it going on.

Kristen: It’s like this innocent waifish ‘protect me now and ravish me later’ vibe.

Max: I’m not sure I want to talk to you anymore.

Kristen: Too bad, because you need at least one straight friend. It’s the rules.

Max: I guess I’ll just have to get by with Fernando.

Kristen: ...

Kristen: Oh, sweetie.

 


 

Chloe: guess who got a kickass new job!

Max: I guess Chloe?

Chloe: HELL YEAH I DID!

Chloe: no more mop and bucket for this girl!

Max: Congrats! That’s awesome! I wanna hear all the details tonight!

Chloe: pfft why wait?

Chloe: so u know how i took the truck to the mechanic today?

Max: Because you finally got tired of listening to the howls of the engine ghost?

Chloe: it was just a loose alternator ffs

Chloe: my truck wasnt possessed

Chloe: so i was talking to the guy at the desk

Max: Chloe, please just send one big text. Or actually call me.

Chloe: oh relax

Chloe: ANYWAY

Chloe: im telling him what’s up and hes being all

Chloe: okay sure little missy whatever u say

Max: Okay, I seriously hate that.

Chloe: right???

Chloe: so then im like

Chloe: listen here asshole

Chloe: i know engines and im saying its the alternator

Max: You tell ‘em, babe.

Chloe: then im all

Chloe: hundred bucks says im right

Max: Seriously, wouldn’t it be easier if you just called me?

Chloe: whatever im almost done

Chloe: anyway he checks if its the alternator

Chloe: WHICH IT WAS THANK YOU VERY MUCH

Chloe: then while his punk ass is paying up the owner walks by

Chloe: he hears what happened

Chloe: and starts laughing his ass off

Max: My phone won’t stop buzzing. People on the bus are starting to look at me funny.

Chloe: FINE

Chloe: we end up shooting the shit for a while and once he figured out that I knew my shit he offered me a job. nothing fancy. gonna start with basic shit like changing oil and fixing flat tires, but if I dont fuck that up or burn the place down then theyll probably start letting me do harder stuff in a couple months. my first day is on monday.

Max: Now was that so hard?

Chloe: yes

 


 

January 17, 2014
Caulfield Residence
Seattle, Washington

“So...” I draw the word out, glaring at the two girls sitting across from me. They both look beyond embarrassed, eyes practically glued to the floor, and for what it’s worth I know exactly how they feel. “I think we need to discuss boundaries.”

It takes them a few seconds to realize I expect a response, and a few more pass before my daughter utters a small, “Okay.”

I turn to her girlfriend. “Chloe?”

She flinches a little at her name, somehow looking even more ashamed than Max does. I feel a tiny flicker of guilt, but I force myself to ignore it. This is one of those ‘the parent must not show weakness’ moments. “Y-yeah.”

“Yeah,” I echo, nodding slowly. One of the benefits of being a parent with the unquestionable high ground is getting to control the conversation. I get to sit silently for as long as I like, and they won’t dare interrupt me. They don’t need to know I’m really stalling for time while I figure out what the hell I’m going to say next.

I’ve always tried to be a relatively easygoing mom. My own mother had been all about ‘rules and discipline’ when it came to parenting. In response, I rebelled like it was my job and basically put her and dad through six years of pure teenager hell. I had my first tattoo before I was fifteen. I was sixteen the first time I got brought home by the police.

I decided to take the opposite approach with my own daughter, and she turned out to be a pretty easy kid to raise. The most trouble Max ever got into as a teen was getting caught drinking with her friends once and coming home after curfew a few times. Even before that, the worst thing I can remember was the time she and Chloe decided to try taking the car out for a spin, and even that was innocent in its own way.

All told, I could probably count the number of times I’ve had to take a hard line with her on one hand. Honestly, that probably made it even scarier for her when I did.

That’s why, until today, I thought I’d won the offspring lottery. I thought I was crushing it at the whole parenthood thing. And while I’ve never been naïve enough to think that this sort of thing couldn’t happen, as Max got older I had started to hope it just wouldn’t.

I don’t want to be the one to say it, (I’m actually a little uncomfortable just thinking it), but another one of the parental benefits here is that I don’t have to. “And which one of you would like to say exactly why that is?”

From the way they tense up, you’d think I just asked for a volunteer to jump into a volcano. 

“If one of you doesn’t start talking, I’m going to choose for you.”

I love my daughter with all my heart, but if I’d been betting on which one of them would have the courage to speak first, my money would’ve been on Chloe. I’m pretty surprised when Max puts a hand on her girlfriend’s arm and raises her head to look me in the eye. “Because of what we were doing when you came in.”

“Uh-huh. And what were you doing, exactly?”

“I...” She looks stunned. Did she actually think I’d let her off that easily?

“I’m waiting.”

“We...we were...” She looks away, mumbling the rest.

“Loud enough for me to hear, please.”

I don’t think I’ve ever seen anyone look so betrayed, but if she’s looking for sympathy, she won’t get it from me. Chloe looks up and opens her mouth to speak, but I silence her with a glare. Max started this, and Max is going to finish it.

“W-we...” She swallows loudly and once again forces herself to look me in the eye. I almost want to tell her how proud I am that she does. “We were having sex.”

“That’s right.” I nod. “You were.”

I’ve read my share of parenting books over the years but let me tell you, not a single one of them prepared me for the experience of coming home from work early to find my daughter and her girlfriend naked on the living room couch.

Just to be clear, it isn’t what they were doing I was shocked by. They’ve been together since early November at least, and I’m not stupid enough to think that they’ve kept things PG this whole time. If I’m being totally honest, I’d have been pretty surprised if they had. But it’s one thing to be abstractly aware that my daughter is probably having sex with someone. It’s another thing entirely to suddenly find myself watching it firsthand.

I’m not sure what was worse; the sounds before they realized I was there, or the silence after they did. I barely remember telling them to go get dressed or their panicked rush up the stairs; just their mortified expressions and slightly askew clothing when I demanded they come down to the kitchen a few minutes later.

“You both understand why I’m upset, right? I mean, besides having seen things that no amount of bleach will clean out of my mind?”

Max looks away shamefully and this time, it’s Chloe who steps up. “Yes, Mrs. Caulfield.”

She’s using my full last name; she must be scared half to death. “Explain it to me, please.”

“Because you guys have been really great about me and Max sle...uh...I...um...”

“Sleeping together,” I finish before she can give herself a stroke.

“Y-yeah.” She nods jerkily. “You were chill about that, even after we tried to hide it for, like, two months, and...”

Two months?” Which I already knew, but the startled look on Chloe’s face is worth pretending I didn’t. “Never mind that right now. Please continue.”

“R-r-right, s-so we d-d-did...”

“Chloe?”

“Yeah?”

“Breathe.”

She takes a few breaths. “So you were cool with us...sleeping together...cause you thought we could be, y’know, mature about it. And today we weren’t. And that was hella rude.”

“Yes, it was. So now the question is whether or not that’s something we can still think?”

Her eyes widen. “I’m sorry! It was all my fault, I swear!”

“It takes two to tango, Chloe. And if what I saw really was entirely your doing, this would be a very different conversation.”

I must be more shaken than I thought. I’m usually much more deliberate with what I say. I was trying to make a joke about how ridiculous it is for her to try and take sole responsibility, but the instant the words pass my lips I know I’ve said exactly the wrong thing.

Chloe reels back like I’ve struck her, trembling as the color slowly drains away from her features. “N-no! I’d never...I would never...p-please don’t...”

She doesn’t manage to finish the sentence, but she doesn’t have to. The words are written all over her face. Please don’t hate me. Please don’t make me leave. She’s usually so energetic and outgoing that it’s easy to forget how much she’s already lost, and how afraid she must be of losing the rest.

“I’m so sorry, Chloe. That was a stupid thing for me to say and I didn’t mean it the way it sounded. I know that you’d never, ever do something like that. Forgive me?”

She nods, very slowly. “Y-yeah.”

Unbelievable. I can walk into a courtroom and prosecute a murderer without breaking a sweat, but the first time I try to be the stern parental figure with my daughter and her girlfriend I manage to fuck it up worse than I could’ve imagined. So much for holding the high ground.

“Alright, I think it’s safe to say that we’re all feeling pretty crappy by now, so we’re just going to skip the punishment part.”

Max eyes me cautiously. “We are?”

“We are. Partially because I’d have to explain why you were being punished to your father.” She looks profoundly horrified at the idea, as she should be. “None of us want that, do we?”

On almost any other day, I’d think the way they vehemently shake their heads in almost perfect unison was adorable.

“Chloe.” I didn’t think I could feel like more of an asshole, but the way she flinches... “You’re decent with a tool set, aren’t you?”

She nods, confused. “I...I guess?”

“Then here’s how this is going to go. After we’re done here, you’re both leave the house for the rest of the day while I have someone in to professionally clean the couch, cushions, blankets, rugs, and any other surface the two of you may have...enjoyed.”

“We only...”

“Please don’t finish that sentence, Maxine.” I take a breath. “Later this evening, a new doorknob with a lock will appear on Max’s bed. Chloe will install it on your bedroom door and you’ll both become familiar with how it works. And at some point in the next couple of days, two-hundred dollars is going to find its way into my purse, covering the cost of both. Got it?”

“Y-yes, Mrs. Caulfield,” Chloe says. Max just nods fervently.

I wave toward the door. “Go.”

They don’t need to be told twice. Bursting out of their seats, they scramble out of the room and up the stairs. A few minutes later, Max comes back in with her coat in one hand and a short stack of five and ten dollar bills in the other.

“Here’s sixty,” she mumbles, handing me the money. “It’s all we’ve got here.”

“Thank you.”

“And...” She forces herself to look we in the eye. “I’m so sorry.”

“I appreciate your saying so.” I put a hand on her arm. “I’m sorry, too.”

“‘kay.” She gestures to the door. “I’m just gonna...”

“Okay. Oh, and sweetheart?”

“Yeah?”

“Just so you know, you’re still wearing Chloe’s shirt." She lets out a strangled noise, and her eyes go especially wide when I add, “And it’s still on backwards.”

 


 

Kristen: Is Max okay?

Chloe: ya

Chloe: shes sleeping right now

Kristen: Thank god.

Kristen: That was really scary! What the hell happened? One second were just sitting in science class and the next thing I know she’s freaking out.

Chloe: panic attack

Chloe: she gets them sometimes

Kristen: Oh.

Kristen: Hey, can I ask you about something Max said?

Chloe: sure i guess

Kristen: Who’s Warren?

 


 

Chloe: look

Chloe: imma do something now

Chloe: and its gonna be hard

Chloe: and maybe a little weird

Chloe: but im doing it for u

Max: Should I be worried?

Chloe: ok

Chloe: here goes

Chloe: I love you so much, Max. You’re the best thing that ever happened to me. Will you be my Valentine?

Max: What?! Multiple sentences in one text?! Grammar?! And is that... *gasp* ...PUNCTUATION?!

Chloe: IT BURNSSSS USSS!!!

 


 

February 20, 2014
Caulfield Residence
Seattle, Washington

“What’s wrong, assholes?! Scared of a little rain?!”

I’ve made a point of keeping away from the windows lately, but I can’t resist peeking out the curtain to watch Chloe wreak havoc on the vultures who’ve been gathered on our front yard for the last few days.

It’d started last Monday when we’d come downstairs for breakfast. Chloe had been a few steps ahead of me and had spotted it first. She’d spun around, tried to stop me from getting into the kitchen, but she hadn’t been fast enough to keep me from seeing the front page of that day’s newspaper.

The sight of Mark Jefferson’s smug face, staring up at me from the kitchen table, had been like a punch to the gut.

At that point, I’d avoided him in every way I could. Just because he’d survived the storm didn’t mean I had to acknowledge his existence any more than absolutely necessary. I’d long since burned every book of his that I owned. I never looked him up online, no matter how morbidly curious I got. I’d even managed to mostly avoid thinking about him for weeks. That was why I hadn’t known that his trial started that day.

Luckily for me, the front page of the Seattle Times had been there, ready to tell me all about it. Because as heinous as his crimes had been on their own, they also tied back to the destruction of Arcadia Bay. It was the kind of story newspapers dreamed of. Tragedy, suffering, loss, destruction, perversion, betrayal, scandal, corruption, trauma, and death. All the things that people would never ever admit they craved.

It also had one more thing that drove reporters into a frenzy. Survivors.

Up until that point, the ‘cover-story’ that Chloe and I had left Arcadia Bay the week before the storm had mostly kept us off the media’s radar. We weren’t ‘Survivors of Arcadia Bay’. We were just two girls who, through pure dumb luck, didn’t get killed in the storm.

Sure there’d been a handful of reporters who’d put two and two together and ended up calling for a quote, but they never seemed very interested. We were background characters, and we’d been cool with that. But this time, they weren’t looking for survivors of the storm; they wanted survivors of Jefferson. People he’d personally affected.

People like the best friend of Rachel Amber, the girl he’d all but murdered himself. Social media really screwed Chloe on that one.

People like his favorite student, who he’d practically lusted after. The sick bastard named me personally in an interview.

There’d been a mob of reporters on our doorstep before mid-morning, all clamoring for a juicy quote from either one of us. They’d been relentless, shouting questions at the top of their lungs and jamming microphones in my parents’ faces anytime they left the house. Dad had called the police, but there wasn’t much they could do unless someone tried to force their way in.

I don’t know how long we could’ve gone on like that, but I don’t think we’ll have to find out. About fifteen minutes ago, Mom caught a man in our backyard with a camera lurking near the bathroom window. He’d run off the second she spotted him. Dad and I had been in the living room and found out about it about a minute later. Chloe had come downstairs about two minutes after that and found out herself. From there, it was about ten seconds before everybody else knew it too.

Going through the garage and turning on the lawn sprinklers on her way, she uncoiled the garden hose from the side of the house and started raining watery hell down on the gathered reporters. And wouldn’t you know it? They weren’t too enthusiastic about asking questions when they were just going to get a face full of water for their trouble. And I don’t think anyone is going to want to stand around on our lawn, soaking wet, in the middle of February either.

It probably hasn’t solved all of our problems, but it sure is satisfying to watch my own personal attack Chloe scare the wolves away.

 


 

[Unknown Number]: Hi, is this Maxine Caulfield?

Max: Who is this?

[Unknown Number]: My name is Paul Baker. I’m with Seattle’s Fox affiliate KCPQ 13 and I’m trying to reach Maxine Caulfield.

Max: How did you get this number?

[Unknown Number]: If you’re Maxine, would you be interested in doing an interview this week on the evening news?

[Unknown Number]: I’d like to give you an opportunity to talk about your former teacher, Mark Jefferson.

Max: Absolutely not.

[Unknown Number]: We’d be happy to compensate you for your time.

Max: NO.

[Unknown Number]: I’m sorry you feel that way. If you change your mind, you can reach me at this number.

Max: Don’t hold your breath.

<NUMBER BLOCKED>

 


 

Chloe: so u remember that jeep u worked on last week?

Chloe: with the punctured oil pan?

Tony: What about it?

Chloe: it came back in this morning

Chloe: owner said there was a weird sound coming from the undercarriage

Chloe: so i pulled the new pan to check all the bolts

Chloe: guess what?

Tony: Just cut to the punchline, will ya?

Chloe: put it to u this way

Chloe: know that socket wrench u lost?

Chloe: i found it

Tony: Fuck.

Tony: Okay, how pissed off is Rick? Like, 1-10 scale?

Chloe: zero

Chloe: did u a solid

Chloe: told the owner it was just a loose bolt

Chloe: put the pan back and didnt charge them

Tony: Damn. Thanks, Blue.

Tony: I owe you one.

Chloe: funny u should say that...

Chloe: is ur cousin still doing those fake ids?

Wings

March 13, 2014
Caulfield Residence
Seattle, Washington

“So, is Chloe excited to go camping next week?”

“She sure is. The only thing she would’ve liked better was to go on her actual birthday, but she got all stern with me when I joked about skipping school. She even insisted I get all my homework done before we leave.”

Playing Chloe up as a ‘responsible adult’? Really, Max? What is this? Amateur hour?

“I still can’t believe it. Abandoning your home country to camp among those northern savages. My own daughter.”

“Pretty sure Canadians aren’t savages, Dad.”

“Excuse me? Have you seen that so called ‘bacon’ of theirs? Savages, all of them.”

“Didn’t you raise me to be tolerant of other cultures or something?”

Ooh, subtle parental complement drop. Well played, kid. That’s more like it.

“Hm. That does sound like something I’d say.” I shrug, peering into the pot of spaghetti sauce and adding a little garlic powder. “You two just stay safe, okay? And make sure Chloe doesn’t overdo it.”

“It’s just camping, Dad. As long as we don’t make ourselves sick eating s’mores, we’ll be fine.”

Okay, now she’s just walking right into it.

“Really? That driver’s license your mother found on your desk would suggest otherwise, ‘Mackenzie’.” It’s a second before I hear Max’s fork hit the floor, then there’s only silence. I give the sauce another slow stir before glancing over my shoulder. “Trying not to panic?”

“Yeah,” she croaks. Understatement of the year. I’ve seen actual deer caught in actual headlights that didn’t have as much of a ‘deer caught in the headlights’ appearance as my daughter does now. It’s like her brain was given a choice between fight or flight and picked ‘nope’.

“How’s that working out for you?”

“Not great.” I almost laugh at the way her eyes keep darting between me and the door, like she’s considering trying to make a break for it. The longer it goes on, though, the less funny it gets. Freaked out is one thing but she actually looks a little scared, and scared daughters are basically dad kryptonite.

“Hey, it’s okay.” I step closer and pull her into a hug; she practically collapses against me. “It’s alright, sweetheart. You’re okay.”

I guess I shouldn’t be too surprised. Vanessa and I talked about this sort of thing that first night, after the girls had gone to bed. It’d been a long conversation, and by the end of it we’d been forced to accept three terrifying things. And what I’ve managed to step in right now is terrifying thing number one:

In some ways, our little girl never came back from Arcadia Bay.

I sometimes forget how different Max is compared to the person we sent off to Blackwell. She’s still our daughter, and nothing could ever make us love her with anything less than everything we have, but that doesn’t change the fact that what happened to her has changed her forever. She’s got scars we might never fully understand. She isn’t always going to react to things in ways we expect, and stuff I could’ve done before – like tease her about having a fake ID – isn’t really gonna fly anymore.

And that’s all I was doing; teasing her. Because short of turning her over to the police or something, there isn’t a lot else I can do.

That’s part of terrifying thing number two: Max doesn’t actually answer to us anymore.

If I wanted to punish her for having a fake ID, how exactly would I do that? Threaten to ground her? Cut her allowance? Send her to bed without dinner? Of course not. Our daughter is eighteen years old. Two days ago, her girlfriend turned twenty. They’re adults, whether we like it or not.

The only thing we could actually do is kick them out, and that’s so far outside the realm of possibility that there’s almost no point mentioning it. We could never do that to them, and I say ‘them’ because there’s no way that one of them goes and the other doesn’t follow.

That’s terrifying thing number three: As heartbreaking as it is to think about, Vanessa and I aren’t the most important people in Max’s life anymore.

We saw it in their eyes that first day, and we’ve seen it every single day since. I don’t even think they get how strong the bond they have is. What I do know is that if Max were ever forced to choose between us and Chloe, she’d pick Chloe. Every single time.

“You’re not in trouble, Max. I was just teasing.”

“I...I’m not?”

“No, you’re not. I mean, I’m not exactly jazzed that you lied about going camping.”

“We didn’t...”

“You think I don’t know the legal drinking age up there is nineteen? C’mon.”

“...sorry”

“Look, you’re an adult, as much as your mom and I hate to admit it. It gets to the point where we have to trust you to make your own decisions.”

“Really?

“Really. But please remember to use your real ID at the border, because if you get arrested by the Mounties, your mother and I will disavow all knowledge of you.”

Her eyes go wide for a second, then she laughs so hard that she snorts. Mission accomplished.

“Wow, dad. I love you, too.”

“Oh, Max. If you really loved me, you wouldn’t have suggested being tolerant of the devil’s bacon.”

“Dad!”

“They ruined bacon, sweetheart. Bacon.”

 


 

Chloe: american text...

Fernando: Okay?

Chloe: CANADIAN TEXT!

Fernando: Careful, dude. You don’t wanna get caught sneaking American texts over the border.

Chloe: never happen

Chloe: im a pro

Chloe: the ultimate sms bootlegger

Fernando: What?

Chloe: like during prohibition

Fernando: What are you talking about?

Chloe: when the gov banned booze

Chloe: and all those guys made mad bank sneaking it in from canada

Fernando: Oh, right. Wasn’t that back in the 50s?

Chloe: no it was the 20s

Chloe: wait

Chloe: dude!

Chloe: its my b-day weekend!!

Chloe: HOW DARE U MAKE ME REMEMBER SCHOOL!!!

Fernando: Exams are just around the corner, Clo.

Fernando: See you when you get back.

 


 

March 15, 2014
The Cambie Hostel
Vancouver, British Columbia

Throwing the hostel room’s curtains open, I watch with no small amount of amusement as my girlfriend throws an arm up to cover her face. “Ugh,” Chloe groans, refusing to open her eyes. “What is wrong with you?”

“Love you too, babe” I laugh, moving to sit on the bed beside her. Chloe opens one eye to peer at me coolly, then lets out an indignant huff and rolls away. I gently take hold of her shoulder and turn her back. “Alright, that’s enough of that. Time to wake up.”

“No,” she responds as she tries to pull the blanket over her head. “Too fucking early.”

I don’t comment on her sharp tone as I gently brush a hand over her vibrant blue hair. “A little hung over, are we?”

“I feel like garbage,” she moans. “I am hot, burning garbage.”

“Hmm,” I nod. “Sounds like you’re dying. I guess I should go call Mom and Dad, so they start planning the funeral.”

“Cute.”

“I can see the headstone now. Here lies Chloe Price. She died as she lived, surly and hung over.”

“Maybe I should die,” she mutters over the edge of the blanket. “That’d show you.”

“It sure would,” I try to sound as annoyingly cheerful as possible. “You feel up to eating anything?”

“Bacon. With extra bacon. Mama needs grease.” She frowns. “Real bacon. None of that ‘Canadian bacon’ crap.”

“You’ve been talking to my Dad, I see.”

“He knows what’s up.”

“Right. I’ll be back soon.” I kiss her gently on the forehead, and I’m just at the door when her voice warbles out from beneath the covers again.

“Max...? You still there...?”

She sounds so pitiful. I can’t decide if it’s sad or cute. “Yeah, babe?”

“Make sure the toast has strawberry jam.” She peeks over the blanket’s edge again. “None of that raspberry bullshit.”

“No raspberry bullshit.” I confirm, turning away so she won’t see me rolling my eyes. “Got it.”

To my credit, I manage to hold my laughter in until I’m out in the hall. It’s not that I don’t feel bad for her; I do. That doesn’t change how funny it is to see Chloe, who’d spent the previous evening touting her own invincibility between shots of who-knows-what, practically crippled by the resulting hangover.

Not that she hadn’t had reason to celebrate. We both had plenty of cause to celebrate. Honestly, I think Chloe spent as much time bragging about how I got accepted into UW as she did telling people it was her birthday.

I emerge from the stairs to see one of the hostel’s employees, a cheerful woman in her mid-twenties named Jesse, sweeping the floor of the hostel’s bar. She looks up with a smile. “Heya, Max.”

“Hi, Jesse.”

She, along with a couple other staff members and several of the people staying there, had been pulled into Chloe’s orbit the night before. “How’s the birthday girl holding up this morning?”

“Kind of a train wreck,” I laugh, pausing at one of the tables to give the hostel’s cat, Oreo, a gentle scratch between the ears. “I think I’ve seen healthier looking zombies.”

Jesse nods thoughtfully. “Yeah, that’ll happen when a 120-pound girl goes shot for shot with a bunch of 250-pound rugby players.”

“She still drank two of them under the table,” I counter, defensively.

“Whoa. Down, girl.” She raises her hands. “I’m not saying it wasn’t crazy impressive.”

I feel an embarrassed warmth bloom in my cheeks. “Sorry. Chloe brings out my inner mama bear.”

“Such is young love.” Jesse lays a hand over her heart with a dreamy expression. “Much beautiful. Very romance.”

My face only gets warmer and I try to change the subject. “So, are you feeling alright after last night?”

“Oh, don’t you worry about me, hon. Wasn’t my first pub crawl,” she laughs. “By the way, that fake ID of yours is pretty spot on.”

“W-what?”

“Lemme guess. You’re just a few months from your actual nineteenth birthday?”

“Um...”

“Relax, I’m not gonna turn you in or anything. And most of the bouncers can’t tell the difference. I’ve just seen enough of them to have a pretty good eye. Anyway, what’s got you braving the cold light of day?”

“I...uh...I’ve been sent on a quest for breakfast.”

“Ah, the time-honored morning-after grease bomb. I know it well.”

“Any good diners around?”

“A couple decent cafés.” She glances at her wristwatch. “Tell you what, though. Our kitchen technically doesn’t open till eleven, but the guys are already back there doing prep. I’ll get them to whip up some eggs and bacon for you guys.”

“Oh my god, that’d be awesome.” Though I don’t feel nearly as bad as Chloe, I still hadn’t been looking forward to braving the outside world. “You are legit my hero.”

“Aw, I bet you say that to all the girls,” Jesse winks, waving a hand as I reach for my wallet. “This one’s on me.”

“Really?”

“Sure, why not? Last night was a good time.” She shrugs, leaning the broom against the wall as she heads into the kitchen. “Shouldn’t take too long.”

Wandering over to the nearby patch of sunlight where Oreo is dozing lazily, I pass the time by giving the fluffy cat some very much appreciated attention. Purring loudly, he stretches out in that super comfortable looking way that only cats are able to pull off, making an unhappy little noise when Jesse reappears ten minutes later and the petting stops. I’d feel bad, but I only have eyes for the pair of cardboard containers in the woman’s hands. Both of them smell deliciously of fried eggs, toast, and bacon. Accepting them, I deeply inhale the wonderful scent and give Jesse a grateful look.

“Seriously, thank you so much. You’re awesome.”

“I know. Now, go feed your poor suffering girlfriend.”

“If I can resist eating it all on the way up. Do you guys have any of those little single-serving jam things?”

She points to a side table near the bar. “Right over there.”

“Thanks. Chloe needs strawberry jam.” I roll my eyes. “Apparently it’s a whole thing.”

Grabbing the jam and some cutlery on the way out, I hurry back up the stairs and let myself into the room. I’m not surprised that the only sign of Chloe is a large lump in the middle of the bed. Sitting down, I gently poke the lump’s side. “Wakey, wakey, eggs and bakey...”

It shifts slightly, murmuring, “...food?”

“Food,” I confirm.

Emerging from under the covers, Chloe awkwardly sits up and accepts the cardboard container I offer with a grateful smile. “I love you so much. You’re an angel.”

“Darn tootin’. And I ran into Jesse downstairs. She actually bought us breakfast.”

“That’s awesome. She’s awesome.”

“She knows. Feeling any better?”

“Not really,” she admits, shoving a large piece of bacon into her mouth as she speaks. “I used to be able to shrug off a hangover like it was nothing.”

“Oh, yeah. Keep talking with your mouth full. That’s super hot.”

“Is this what getting old is about?” Chloe continues, ignoring me. “Is it all downhill from here?”

“Says the 20-year-old. Maybe you’ve just lost your tolerance. You’ve barely had a drop of alcohol since October.”

“Don’t remind me,” she groans, dropping her face into her hands. “Ugh...this is bullshit.”

“Is it really that bad?”

She peeks out between her fingers. “Feels like someone drained the contents of a week’s worth of used diapers into a Big Gulp cup and force-fed it to me.”

“Okay, first off? That’s incredibly gross. But on the bright side...”

“There is no bright side,” Chloe interrupts, her voice muffled. “There’s never going to be another bright side ever again.”

“...the more creative your descriptions get, the better I know you’re feeling.”

“Not feeling better,” she moans. “Everything is ruined forever.”

I shake my head, laughing. “Eat your breakfast. You can sleep on the drive home.”

“I feel hot. Do I have a fever?”

“You do look a little flushed.”

“I knew it. I’ve got the plague.”

“Oh, cut it out, you big baby. At worst, you’ve just got a cold,” I smile. “And since you’re the one who decided to jump into a fountain at two AM, you’ve got no one to blame but yourself.”

 

Rise

March 19, 2014
Caulfield Home
Seattle, Washington

“My imprisonment has come to an end! Free at last!” Chloe shouts up at the sky, closing her eyes and taking a deep breath. “The sweet smell of the breeze. The warmth of the sun. I’d nearly forgotten what they felt like.”

“It’s been four days, Clo,” I laugh, watching her begin to dance around in the sunlight. “Stop being so dramatic.”

“Well, it felt like four years. You wouldn’t even let me outside!”

“You were sick!”

She’s been like this since we were kids. She always hated staying in bed, no matter how sick she got. I actually got chicken pox because she had them when she snuck out of the house to come see me. It had actually been really sweet. And I bet if she did the same thing now, I’d end up calling it romantic.

“Pfft! Barely!”

“A hundred-and-one degree fever isn’t ‘barely’ sick,” I point out. And that’s not even talking about the cough she had. It was the first time since October that we’ve slept separately, but even across the hall that wet hacking sound had kept me awake. I’d wanted to take her to the hospital after the second night, but she’d refused. She kept saying it was a waste of money for something that would just get better on its own.

And it had, slowly. The coughing had eased, her fever had gone down, and today I’d finally let her outside for the first time since we’d gotten back from our trip to Vancouver.

That’s right. As I’d predicted, Chloe had come away from her birthday with more than just a hangover.

It’d been somewhere around one-thirty in the morning when she’s somehow learned about the existence of a twenty-four-hour bakery only a ten-minute walk (or fifteen minute slightly-drunken shamble) from the very bar we were in. It’d immediately become her greatest birthday wish to go there, even after I pointed out that her birthday had technically been over for nearly two hours, and she demanded we go on a quest for fritters.

I might have been able to talk her out of it (okay, probably not, but a girl can dream) if everyone else hadn’t immediately latched onto the idea. Before I knew it, there were a dozen of us weaving our way through downtown Vancouver, and even I can admit that by the time we got there I was jonesing pretty hard for a danish.

Did anything happen on the way there? Nope.

Did anything happen while we were there? Or while we were all sitting on the chairs outside, happily noshing on late-night baked goods? Nope and nope.

It was on the way back, as we were walking past some banking building, that Chloe told me that she wanted to go for a swim. By which I mean, she yelled ‘splish splash, Max!’ and jumped (thankfully, fully clothed) into the fountain in front of the building.

But guess what? It turns out that splashing around in a fountain in the middle of a foreign city at two in the morning wasn’t the best idea ever. At least, that’s how the passing police officers had felt.

Lucky for us, once they got Chloe (who thankfully decided not to act like a brat) out of the fountain, they were surprisingly chill about it. They didn’t even ask to see our IDs, which was good considering the only one I had on me was a fake and I’m not badass enough for prison. They just asked where we were staying, and Jesse (who’d gone from drunk to sober in the blink of an eye) told them she was leading us on a pub crawl, and that we were headed back to the hostel when ‘the blue-haired birthday girl here decided to go full mermaid’. Then she promised to get us back safe, and the cops had just let us go.

Canada is awesome.

But while we’d avoided being sent to Canadian prison (which probably has polar bears or something) having to walk back soaked to the skin had left my poor Chloe with the mother of all colds. She’d been coughing like crazy by the time we got to the border, and by the time we got home she was sweating and shivering. Yet she’s actually upset that I made her spend the last few days in bed.

I swear, if I didn’t love her so much...

The sound of her coughing pulls me from my thoughts. She’s standing in the middle of the front yard, bent over at the waist, and looking like she’s trying to cough up a lung. I’m on my feet in a second and at her side a half-second after that, murmuring softly as I rub circles on her back. The coughing fit ends a moment later and she slowly straightens up.

“Oh, man. That fucking sucked.” She spits a disgustingly yellow wad of phlegm into the grass. “I quit smoking months ago. What the fuck?”

I gently move her toward the door. “I think it’s time to go back inside.”

“I think you’re right. Bleh.”

“You know, I feel like there’s a lesson to be learned here.”

“No, I don’t think there is.”

“You sure? Not even “don’t walk around at night, in March, while dripping wet?”

“Nope.” She gives me a serious look as I lead her into the house. “I splish-splashed on my birthday, Max, and I’d do it again.”

“Then you’ll probably get sick again.”

“Don’t care. This is my hill to die on, babe.”

“It probably will be.” Judging by the dirty look she gives me, I don’t think I said that as quietly as I meant to. “Just get to bed and I’ll bring you some soup. Try not to splish-splash on the way.”

“No promises.”

 


 

Chloe: so i had a messed up fever dream last week

Chloe: we were all out in the woods

Chloe: and we found this evil rock in a cave

Kristen: Hold up. How evil are we talking here?

Chloe: like 8/10

Kristen: Damn, son.

Max: Yeah, that’s pretty evil.

Chloe: right so it starts mind controlling nando

Chloe: trying to make him evil too

Fernando: What? Why me?

Chloe: cus ur a dude

Fernando: Geez. Kinda sexist, Clo.

Kristen: She’s not sexist.

Kristen: The evil rock is sexist.

Max: Because it’s evil.

Chloe: exactly

Chloe: anyway to save him from it we all had to kick him in the junk as hard as we could

Kristen: What?! No!

Chloe: it was the only way

Kristen: Don’t listen to her, man!

Max: We’d never do that to you!

Fernando: To save me from an evil mind-controlling rock? You damn well better!

 


 

March 26, 2014
Shorecrest High School
Seattle, Washington

“What do you guys know about Victoria Chase?”

“Gah!” Kristen usually isn’t what you’d call a stealthy person, so it boggles my mind that she can sneak up on me so easily. I usually jump sky high when she does, but since I’m sitting down I only jump high enough to hit my knee on the underside of the table. Fernando and Chloe immediately start laughing at my suffering. Jerks, both of them. “I swear, Kris. One of these days I’m going to put a bell on you.”

“Good luck with that. So, what do you guys know about Victoria Chase? You both went to school with her, right?”

“Yeah, but...

“She’s about my height, blonde and a total bitch,” Chloe interrupts, I turn to glare at her and she just shrugs. “What? She is.”

“That’s super helpful, Chloe. Thanks.”

“Anytime.”

“What are you doing here, by the way?”

“Great to see you, too.”

Kris rolls her eyes. “What I meant was, shouldn’t you be at work? Turning wrenches and stuff?”

“Shop’s closed for the day. One of the other guys knocked over a big drum of used oil, so he gets to clean it up while the rest of us get the afternoon off.”

Fernando loudly swallows a mouthful of fries. “So you decided to be that weirdo in their twenties who hangs out around the high school ogling the teenage girls.”

“Alright, smart guy. First of all, I’m only here to ogle one teenage girl.” She throws her arm around my shoulders. “Second, I...”

Kristen loudly raps her knuckles on the tabletop. “Can we focus, please? Victoria Chase? What do you know about her?”

“Not a lot, honestly,” I confess. “We didn’t exactly hang out. Why do you ask?”

Grinning, Kristen leans in like she’s about to share some deep, dark secret. I’m not the only one who unconsciously leans in too. “Okay. You guys remember how I told you about that friend of my brother’s who’s all hot for me for some reason?”

“Not really.” Fernando shrugs, popping a couple more fries into his mouth. “I probably tuned it out, but that definitely sounds like something you’d say.”

“Har har,” Kristen drawls. “So anyway, he’s studying journalism at UW and interning at the Seattle Times this semester. I guess he thought he could impress me with some ‘super secret eyes-only footage’ that the paper had, but that they weren’t allowed to publish until...er...”

“Until what?”

“Okay, look.” She sighs. “I know you guys don’t like talking about you-know-who’s trial...”

“That’s right, Kris.” I scowl, hoping she’ll take a hint. “We don’t.”

But!” she continues. “I got to watch a video of Victoria Chase on the witness stand and holy crap!”

Chloe and I share a glance. “Is that a good holy crap, or a bad holy crap?”

“Definitely a good holy crap. She was sitting there like a marble statue someone specifically sculpted to look like it thought it was better than everyone else in the room.”

“That does sound like her.” Chloe's hand darts out to steal one of Fernando’s fries, but he’s quicker than her and slides them out of reach. “But I’m assuming that’s not the holy crap part.”

“Damned right it isn’t! First, her and the state prosecutor laid out a testimony so rock-solid that it looked like what’s-his-nuts was gonna piss himself.

“Then when that prick’s punk-ass attorney goes after her during the cross-examination, she pretty much tore the defense’s case apart piece by piece. Totally mind-fucked Mr. Jerk-Off in the process. It was so savage!” she cackles. “Like watching someone’s hope get tossed into a woodchipper.”

“Alright,” Chloe nods. “That does sound pretty sick.”

“Nice use of imagery, too,” Fernando comments. Having finished off his french fries, he’s moved on to a fountain soda that’s probably bigger than what they should be serving in a public school cafeteria.

“Fucking badass, is what it was. I totally wanna be like her when I grow up.”

“You’re the same age.”

“You know what I mean. Anyway, could one of you guys give me her number?”

That’s unexpected.

“I don’t have her number, Kris. It was on the phone I lost.” I’m lying. I had everything on my old phone backed up online, including all my contacts. I just don’t think giving Victoria’s phone number to Kristen would work out well for either of them. “Sorry.”

“Also, possibly important side note?” Chloe adds. “You’re straight, dude.”

Kristen blinks, then smirks and waggles her eyebrows at her. “How dare you assume I conform to your narrow view of sexual orientation.”

“Are you really going to try the whole ‘look how nonconformist I am’ thing on the orphaned punk rock lesbian?”

“Fine, whatever. It’s not a sex thing.”

“I’d say it’s some kind of thing.”

“Do you have her number or not?”

“Nope. Sorry.”

She looks away with an annoyed huff, then grabs the drink out of Fernando’s hand, ignoring his protests. “Gotta get that number.”

 


 

Chloe: and there i am

Chloe: hanging around with a bunch of high schoolers

Nando: Technically those GED courses make you a high schooler, too.

Chloe: what

Chloe: how dare u

Nando: Unless you asked me to tutor you on American History for shits and giggles?

Chloe: maybe i did

Chloe: im a fucking enigma, man

Nando: Sure.

Nando: An enigma that goes to high school.

-------------------

 

 

Fall

April 5, 2014
Caulfield Residence
Seattle, Washington

I love Max so much - sometimes I’m actually blown away by how much - but the longer we’ve been together, the more I’ve been forced to accept that she’s just not the same girl I grew up with. Living in Seattle all those years changed her. It warped her in terrible and disturbing ways. Sometimes I don’t even recognize the monster she’s become. Because the Max I knew all those years ago?

She actually respected the sanctity of sleeping in on a goddamn Saturday. 

"C'mon, get up already!"

“Ugh...what is wrong with you?” Why does the universe mock me like this? Why did it have to twist the girl I love into a morning person?

“Are you just gonna sleep the whole day away?” she laughs, bouncing on the bed a little.

“I dare to dream.” Squeezing my eyes shut, I try to force myself back to sleep.

“Come on, Chloe. Didn’t you ever hear the phrase ‘you can sleep when you're dead’?”

"I bet I could sleep great when you're dead."

“Oh, don’t be a grump.”

I try burrowing deeper into the comforter. I’m not going to engage her anymore, because that’s what she wants. Maybe if I lay very still, she’ll just get bored and wander off.

“Hmm...maybe if I just pulled all the covers away...?”

I lift my head to glare at her. “Don’t you dare!”

“There you are!” she laughs.

Realizing I’ve fallen for her trap, I flop back onto the bed with a groan. “You’re a monster.”

“Aww, does my beautiful girlfriend need a kiss to revive her?” She teases, leaning over and peppering kisses on the top of my head.

“Nooooo...” I whine, softly batting at her with one hand. “Why are you so mean to me?”

“Fine then.” She huffs. Standing, she goes over to the closet and makes a show of finding something to wear. “Be that way.”

Oh, so she wants to play games, does she? Well, two can play at that...game, I guess?

“How about this, babe?” I murmur, smiling. “I’ll make you a deal.”

She pauses, glancing back over her shoulder. “I’m listening.”

“I’ll happily jump out of bed for whatever exhausting crap you probably have planned, if...” I pause, waiting for her to take the bait. It only takes a few seconds.

“If...?”

Grinning, I lift the covers slightly. The sudden rush of cold air sucks on so many levels, but that’s what it’s going to take for this to work. “If you climb back into bed and cuddle with me for five minutes.”

She backs up a half-step, eyeing me a little nervously. We both know that cuddles are basically her kryptonite. “I don’t know...”

“That’s my offer.” I shrug. “Take it or leave it.”

She hesitates, narrowing her eyes. “Just five minutes?”

I nod, placing a hand over my heart. “And not one second more, I promise.”

“Fine.” She sighs, climbing into bed like it’s some kind of chore. “But I’m watching the clock.”

“Sure you are, cutie.” I pull her close, burying my nose in her hair and smiling at the happy little noise she makes. “You just go ahead and let me know when my time is up.”

~o~

It feels like I only close my eyes for a few seconds, but a quick glance at the bedside clock reveals that a much more acceptable hour has passed. I let out a faint chuff of laughter.

“Wha?” The soft inquiry comes from somewhere beneath the comforter, and I raise it a bit to see Max blinking sleepily up at me. “Whatimezit?”

“Almost noon.” I give her a quick kiss before she can say anything. “Which is what you get for underestimating my cuddling powers.”

“Hrph,” she pouts. “Tricky.”

“That’s me. But I guess we can get up now.” I go to sit up, but she drops her head back onto my chest and curls her arm around my middle. “Max?”

“No.”

“Okay, very funny.” I try again, but she won’t move. “Come on, I’m hungry.”

“No food only cuddles,” she mutters, closing her eyes again.

“Can I at least grab my phone?” I can see it sitting next to the clock and I stretch my arm as far as I can, but it remains just out of reach. I try to shift Max, but she’s scarily heavy for someone so small.

“No phone only cuddles.”

“Seriously?” Alright, time to change tactics. Moving my hand down, I lightly run my fingers along her hip, just under the waistband of her shorts. “Well, if we’re going to be staying in bed anyway...”

“No sexytimes only cuddles.”

“Now who’s being a grump?” She doesn’t respond, because she’s gone back to sleep, because she’s a jerk. Rolling my eyes, I pull the comforter back up to my chin and wrap my arms around her.

“Fine, Caulfield. You win this round.”

 


 

Chloe: help

Chloe: im stuck

Chloe: might have to chew my arm off

Mrs. C: I beg your pardon?

Chloe: ur daughter wont uncuddle me

Chloe: im trapped

Chloe: its been an hour

Chloe: barely got to my phone

Chloe: shes like a sleepy anchor

Mrs. C: Sounds like you’re in a real pickle there.

Chloe: pls

Chloe: save me

Chloe: im so hungry

Mrs. C: Is the bedroom door open?

Chloe: a little

Chloe: y?

Mrs. C: Give me ten minutes.

Chloe: nooooo

Chloe: ill starve

Mrs. C: Just wait for it.

Chloe: do i smell waffles?

Chloe: holy shit

Chloe: she got up so fast

Chloe: there was just a blur

Mrs. C: Works every time.

 


 

Max: HAPPY EASTER!

Max: Okay, this feels a little weird, but my therapist suggested it. She says that reaching out to ask for forgiveness is the first step toward finding it, even if it’s only from ourselves. It reminded me of something you’d say.

Max: So, here goes.

Max: I’m sorry.

Max: I’m so so sorry. I’m sorry for helping you, just to end up failing you anyway.

Max: I’m sorry I don’t think about you as much as it feels like I should, so I guess that means I’m sorry for not being sorry enough.

Max: I’m sorry that I don’t regret it. I’m sorry that if I had to do it all again, I’d do the same thing.

Max: I’m sorry if that makes me a terrible person.

Max: I wish I could have it both ways, but who wouldn’t?

Max: I miss you, though. So much. Wherever you are, I hope you’re happy.

Kate: new phone who dis

Max: No one.

Max: Wrong number.

=CONTACT DELETED=

 


 

April 28, 2014
Pike Place Market
Seattle, Washington

I’m not even remotely surprised when I spot Chloe standing across the street from Seattle’s famous first Starbucks, leaning against a wall and almost defiantly drinking from a Seattle Coffee Works cup. Only she would suggest we meet up in Pike Place Market, then walk several blocks out of her way to not get a coffee from one of the five Starbucks nearby.

As I get closer, I carefully move out of her line of sight. Stepping lightly, I crouch low as I creep up behind my unsuspecting girlfriend. But just as I get close and prepare to pounce, Chloe waves casually over her shoulder.

“Hey, babe.”

“Aww,” I straighten up, frowning. “How’d you know I was there?”

Chloe wordlessly points to an expensive-looking car parked nearby, and I turn to see myself reflected in its polished door.

“Oh.”

She turns to smirk at me. “Better luck next time, I guess.”

“Boo-hiss, I say.” I point to her coffee. “Sticking it to the man again?”

“All day long, cutie.” Chloe winks, taking a long and loud sip of her drink and chuckling when a passing man with a Starbucks cup carrier tries to give her the stink eye.

“You’re out of control, Price. A menace to society.”

“And don’t you forget it.” Finishing the last of her coffee, she takes aim at a garbage can almost twenty feet away and sends the empty cup sailing through the air in a smooth arc. It lands dead center, and she grins. “Boom. Three points. WNBA, here I come.”

“Nice.” I turn to look at her expectantly. “So...?”

“So what?”

“So, how did it go?” Lifting her hands, I make a show of inspecting them. “No split knuckles. Should I take that as a good sign?”

Chloe snorts. “How do you know I didn’t just kick him in the balls?”

“Did you?” She looks away, scuffing the pavement with her toe. “Chloe...”

“Alright, alright. I somehow managed to keep myself from kicking David in the balls.”

I don’t think any of us were as shocked as Chloe when she got an email from her estranged step-father last week. We’d all pretty much assumed we’d seen the last of him after Dad not-very-gently threw him out of our home six months ago.

It hadn’t been very long, but most of it was an apology for how he’d treated her, both at my house and back in Arcadia Bay. He’d gone on to say that he’d made some very positive changes in his life and thought it was time to try and mend some bridges.

He told her that he was going to be in Seattle this week and, if she was willing, wanted to meet her. After thinking it over for two days, she’d finally responded with a yes.

“And I’m proud of you for it.” I didn’t tell her as much, but David’s temper hadn’t been the one I’d been worried about. “So?

“It went fine,” she admits. “We talked for about an hour, I guess. Got caught up.”

“About what?” I press, carefully.

“Mostly about Mom.” Chloe absently flexes the index and middle fingers on her right hand. She does that whenever she’s craving a cigarette. I feel a little glow of pride when she pulls a pack of nicotine gum from her pocket, pops out a piece and bites down on it angrily.

“You sure? Because I’m sensing some not-happy vibes.”

“I’m just feeling kinda off-balance.” Pushing off the wall, she lets me lead us through the market. “He was so different. I mean, he has a beard now. And I don’t think he’s gotten a haircut since the storm.”

“That’s a little tough to picture.”

“And that’s not even the craziest part. Turns out he’s living in some desert commune in Arizona these days.”

Surprised, I almost stumble over a crack in the pavement. “You’re kidding, right?”

“Nope. David Madsen straight up turned hippie on us.”

I slow my steps, turning to eye her skeptically. “Seriously, you’ve got to be making that up.”

“Couldn’t if I tried, hot stuff,” Chloe chuckles. “Couldn’t if I tried.”

“Wow. Was he dressed weird, too? Like, all tie-dyed and stuff?”

“Okay, he wasn’t that bad. Other than the general scruffiness, he actually looked more or less normal. His attitude, though?” She whistles. “Total one-eighty. He kept saying how sorry he was for how things went back in October.”

“That’s a good thing, isn’t it?”

“I guess.” She shrugs. “It seemed like he was on the level, but after everything...I dunno. Kinda tough to just take his word for it.”

“You don’t have to. You don’t owe him anything.”

“Would you believe he actually said the same thing? That he doesn’t expect anything from me and just wants to try and keep in touch. Said he checks his email every couple of days and even gave me a P.O. Box I could send letters to, if I wanted.” She takes a second to chew her nicotine gum some more. “He asked if it’d be okay if he wrote to me, too.”

 “What do you tell him?” I ask, carefully.

“I said he could if he really wanted to. I mean, it’s not like I could stop him.”

“Yeah, but do you actually want him to?”

“I...” She hesitates and her fingers twitch again. “...don’t really know.”

I lift her right hand, stilling the twitching fingers with a kiss. “Maybe that’s good enough for now. There’s no rush.”

 


 

Mrs. C: I’m at the grocery store. Did you need anything?

Chloe: couple rolls of antacid would be great

Mrs. C: You’ve been going through those things like candy lately. You okay?

Chloe: all good

Chloe: should probably cut back on the spicy tacos tho

Mrs. C: Is that Mexican food truck still parking across from the shop?

Chloe: u can smell the peppers frying from across the street

Chloe: dammit woman im not made of stone

 


 

May 30, 2014
D’Antonio’s Restaurant
Seattle, Washington

“You guys really didn’t have to do this again for my sake,” Chloe says, not for the first time that evening as she gestures around the elegant restaurant. “I’m a simple girl. I’d have been happy if we just hit up Chuck-E-Cheese and called it a day.”

“You know, you could have mentioned that before we ordered,” Dad chuckles when I deliver a playful, if slightly sharp, elbow to his ribs. “Ow! Kidding!”

“Yes, we did.” I reach out to take Chloe’s hand, lifting it to place a kiss on her knuckles. “Because we’re proud of you. Deal with it.”

“It’s just a GED certificate. And we already did the fancy dinner thing last week.”

“We all went out to celebrate Max’s graduation last week.” Mom points out, smiling at me. “And tonight we’re here for yours.

“And not for nothing, you did almost two years’ worth of studying in six months.” Dad tips his wineglass to her. “If that’s not something worth applauding, I don’t know what is.”

“Yeah, but...” Chloe fidgets, looking away. “Max is your daughter. I’m just...”

“Chloe Elizabeth Price, don’t you dare finish that sentence,” Mom scolds. “How many times do we have to say that you’re family, too? You deserve to be celebrated.”

“Cut it out, will you? You’re gonna make me cry.” Chloe laughs. She’s gotten better at accepting it when my parents tell her that, but she still has to take a deep breath before continuing. “I...wow...I can’t even start to thank you guys for everything you’ve done for me. I mean, you took me in and gave me a home. You helped me find a job. You’ve been crazy supportive the whole time. I don’t know what I did to des...deserv...” Struck by a sudden coughing spell, she turns her head away and presses her napkin to her face. It only lasts a few seconds, and once it’s done she turns back with an embarrassed look. “Heh...sorry. Must’ve eaten too fast.”

“Well, it probably helps if you’d slow down long enough to taste it,” I joke, ignoring the worried knot in my stomach. She didn’t even eat that much. “You okay?”

“Yeah. Yeah, I’m good,” she insists, reaching for her water glass. She raises it to her lips, but she’s overwhelmed by another wave of coughing. Rising a little unsteadily from her seat, she presses a napkin to her face again and gestures to the far end of the room, forcing the words out between wet hacks. “Just...just gonna...bathroom....”

The three of us watch her dash across the restaurant; at least two servers are forced to leap out of her way to avoid being bowled over entirely. It’s not until the restroom door closes that the lull in conversation becomes obvious, the other diners trading a mix of concerned and curious looks.

I spare my parents a quick glance. “I’m going to go make sure she’s okay.”

I don’t wait for a response before I’m on my feet. Following the same route Chloe so effectively cleared, I make it across the restaurant in just a few seconds and shove the bathroom door open. The only other person there is Chloe, hunched over and gripping one of the sinks, staring downward. While the violent coughing seems to be over, she’s gasping for air like she just ran a marathon.

I take a tentative step closer. “Clo? Are you alright?”

She turns to look at me, eyes wide with terror, and I freeze mid-step. There’s blood ringing her mouth and nose, oozing down to drip from her chin. My eyes follow one of the drops downward and I feel myself start to tremble; the sink’s basin is a horrifying mess of blood and phlegm.

“Max,” she croaks, her voice wet and rough. “What’s happening?”

-------------------

END PART I

-------------------

The Moments Between


 

[Unknown Number]: hey there hot stuff

=NEW CONTACT CREATED=

Chloe: heard i should call u for a good time

Max: Wow. Ten seconds and I’m already regretting giving you my number. ;)

Chloe: ya well 11 seconds and ur already corrupting my shiny new phone with ur emoji crap

Max: Twelve seconds and you’ve already picked the most obnoxiously loud text tone you could find

Chloe: 13 sec and ur lock screen is already some lame b&w hipster photo

Max: Fourteen and it feels really good to be texting you again.

Chloe: 15 and its pretty cool that ur number is the first contact i added

Max: Sixteen and seeing your name next to a Seattle area code sorta makes me feel safe.

Chloe: 17 and im really glad im here with u

Max: Eighteen and so am I.

Chloe: 19 thank u for saving me

Max: Twenty you saved me, too. :*)

Chloe: 21 always

Chloe: AND NO EMOJI!

 


 

Kristen: Haha! Holy crap, do you have a type or what?

Max: What are you talking about?

Kristen: Come on. You know I’m talking about Chloe.

Max: What about her?

Kristen: It was totally the first thing I thought when I met her yesterday.

Kristen: I was like “Yup, makes sense. That girl is 100% Max’s type”.

Max: You did not! Cut it out!

Kristen: Uh-huh. You remember that time we watched the Scott Pilgrim movie and you ended up crashing at my place?

Max: Vaguely?

Kristen: Remember how you were all ‘Oh, Ramona, I love your hair’?

Max: I never said that! >:(

Kristen: I’ve got some bad news for you, friend o’ mine.

Kristen: You talk in your sleep.

 


 

Chloe: what kind of arcane bullshit is this?

Chloe: how does anyone get anywhere in the city?

Max: Seattle public transit isn’t that bad.

Chloe: the hell it isnt

Chloe: i just want to go downtown

Chloe: not sneak into fucking mordor

Max: cough*nerd*cough

Chloe: theres like a thousand buses

Chloe: back in arcadia bay we only had one!

Max: “Back in my day, we only had the one bus! And that’s the way we liked it!”

Chloe: wow

Chloe: u cut me just now, max

Chloe: u cut me real deep

 


 

Chloe: hey u busy?

Kristen: Just doing homework.

Chloe: oh

Chloe: nvrmd

Kristen: It’s calculus. Trust me, you’d be doing me a favor.

Chloe: its just id talk to max

Chloe: but shes taking a nap

Chloe: and i dont wanna wake her up

Chloe: and her parents r still at work

Chloe: so im kinda on my own

Kristen: Say no more. What’s up, buttercup?

Kristen: Clo?

Kristen: Still there?

Chloe: i really miss my mom

<Incoming Call: Kristen Jacobs>

 


 

Chloe: have u guys seen my thing?

Kristen: What thing?

Chloe: the thing i had the other day

Chloe: i put it somewhere

Chloe: and now i cant find it

Kristen: Lol! You’re gonna have to be a little more specific, Clo.

Max: I’m pretty sure it’s where I left that book I was reading.

Chloe: i already looked

Chloe: its not there

Max: No, the other book.

Chloe: 1 sec

Chloe: found it!

Max: Yay!

Kristen: You two are so weird.

 


 

Chloe: THERE WAS SOMETHING IN THE AIR THAT NIGHT!

Chloe: THE STARS WERE BRIGHT!

Fernando: Don’t even.

 


 

Max: Have you walked past that antique store by the mall lately? They’ve got all these creepy old Santa dolls in the window display.

Chloe: they do?!?!

Chloe: i demand pics!!!!

Max: <santas.jpg>

Max: I think they’re supposed to be smiling but their faces look so weird.

Chloe: oh shit ur right!

Chloe: theres suspicious santa on the left

Chloe: and theres sketchy santa next to the little tree

Max: I bet that’s why Suspicious Santa is suspicious. He knows Sketchy Santa is up to something.

Chloe: so does angry santa

Chloe: hes the one sketchy santa should really be worried about

Max: Angry Santa?

Chloe: the one on the sled in the middle

Chloe: hes my favorite

Chloe: hes the santa we deserve

 


 

Nana May: Hello, Maxine!

Max: Hi, Nana! Look at you, texting like one of us upstart young’uns!

Nana May: Oh, shush. Did you get the Christmas present I sent you?

Max: I sure did! Coziest scarf ever! (^_^)

Nana May: You and your silly emodgys.

Max: It’s spelled emoji. :P

Nana May: Well, I still think that they’re silly.

Max: Haha! First Chloe and now you! Everyone is ganging up on me!

Nana May: That’s right. Your mother told me your old friend from Arcadia Bay was staying with you.

Nana May: That poor thing. What happened was so awful. How is she holding up?

Max: She’s doing alright, considering. I’m just trying to be there for her.

Nana May: I’m glad. She’s lucky to have a friend like you.

Max: Actually, there’s something I need to tell you about. Is it okay if I call you?

Nana May: Of course! I’ve always got time for my favorite granddaughter.

Max: Okay. You should probably sit down.

 


 

Chloe: hey max?

Chloe: u there

Chloe: max

Chloe: max

Chloe: max

Max: I was in class!

Chloe: sorry

Max: It’s fine. I’ve got lunch now. What did you need?

Chloe: i just wanted to remind u that u blush like crazy when ur turned on

Chloe: so while ur at school

Chloe: u probably shouldnt think about what we did last night

Chloe: or early this morning

Chloe: twice

Max: WHAT IS WRONG WITH YOU?!?!

Max: SOMEONE THOUGHT I WAS CHOKING!!!!

Max: THEY TRIED TO GIVE ME THE HEIMLICH!!!!

 


 

Chloe: ill meet u there right after work ok?

Max: Sounds good. :)

Chloe: no :-)

Chloe: WHAT THE FUCK

Max: Do my eyes deceive me? Have you finally seen the light? :D

Chloe: NO

Chloe: THAT WASNT ME

Chloe: IT WAS MY PHONE

Chloe: I DIDNT DO THAT

Chloe: I DONT USE :-)

Max: Looks like you do now!

Chloe: THIS WAS U!!!

Chloe: WHAT DID U DO????

Max: You might want to check your autocorrect settings, babe.

Chloe: i swear to god max

Chloe: ur lucky i <3 u

Chloe: NO!!!

Max: ;)

 


 

Chloe: oh my god

Chloe: that french toast u made this morning was so good

Chloe: i burped earlier and it was so tasty i just swallowed it again

Mrs. C: Thank you?

 


 

Kristen: Those reporters are still camped out on your lawn, right?

Chloe: sure are

Chloe: fucking vultures

Kristen: Don’t worry, I got this.

Chloe: what?

Kristen: Just wait for it.

Chloe: wait for what?

Chloe: hahaha omfg!!

Chloe: you did this????

Chloe: <front_yard.jpg>

Kristen: Yes, I did.

Chloe: how the fuck did you get a bunch of dudes with bagpipes over here?

Kristen: My cousin Derek is super into the whole Highland Games thing. I told him what was happening to you guys and he called around. Turns out one of local pipe bands felt like doing a little outdoor practice.

Chloe: the news fuckers are losing it!

Chloe: thank u!!!

Chloe: max sez thank u too!!!

Kristen: Come on, Clo. You guys know I got your back.

Chloe: theyre all so angry!

Chloe: i think theyre yelling but no one can hear them!

Chloe: max is laughing so hard she fell over!

Chloe: holy shit they just started playing final countdown this is fucking awesome!!!!!

 


 

Chloe: u wont believe this

Chloe: cody was doing intake gaskets on a v6 mustang today right?

Chloe: so he finally finishes and fires it up but guess what? 

Chloe: he left some green shop rags in the engine valley

Max: And that’s...bad?

Chloe: hella bad

Chloe: looks like someone shredded kermit the frog in there

Chloe: <engine.jpg>

Max: And now the Muppets are ruined forever. :*(

 


 

Chloe: i didnt know!

Chloe: why didnt anyone tell me?!

Fernando: About what?

Chloe: <poutine.jpg>

Fernando: Ah, yes. Canada’s gift to the world.

Fernando: That just the New York Fries stuff, though. Just wait until you try the real thing.

Chloe: this isnt the real thing?

Fernando: Dude. You’ve got no idea.

 


 

Max: I’m not going to be able to meet you guys this afternoon. I actually don’t think I should go outside at all.

Kristen: Feeling sick?

Max: Not exactly. Chloe took me to a show last night. A punk band she heard about called Bloody Bootstraps.

Kristen: At the risk of enabling your inner hipster, I’ve never heard of them.

Max: They were pretty good. Super loud, though. My ears are still ringing! :/

Kristen: Lol. Is that why you’re not coming out?

Max: No, that’s because I have a black eye. A really nasty one, too.

Kristen: SOMEONE PUNCHED YOU?!?!

Max: Chloe did, but she totally didn’t mean to! She was aiming for some perv who groped me in the mosh pit and hit me by accident. She’s really upset about it. :*(

Kristen: Wut.

Max: Don’t worry! It all turned out okay! There were these big biker dudes who grabbed the guy and totally threw him out. A few people even stopped jumping around to make sure I was okay. They were so sweet! :D

Kristen: WUT.

Max: Chloe says that’s ‘mosh pit etiquette’.

Kristen: WUT?!

Max: I know! I never thought I’d hear her use the word etiquette, either! :P

 


 

Chloe: heya bossman

Chloe: dont forget that its my b-day on the 11th

Rick (El Jefe): I already gave you the time off you asked for.

Chloe: just making sure

Chloe: me and the gf are going up to canada

Rick (El Jefe): Good for you.

Chloe: just sayin

Chloe: u know the legal drinking age up there is nineteen?

Rick (El Jefe): I’m aware.

Chloe: were going bar hopping

Chloe: its gonna be great!

Rick (El Jefe): Again, good for you.

Rick (El Jefe): Don’t party too hard.

Chloe: whoa now ur not the boss of me

Rick (El Jefe): Pretty sure that’s exactly what I am.

Chloe: ya, well

Chloe: ur not the boss of me in canada

 


 

Chloe: my hair is blonde

Chloe: y is my hair blonde?

Chloe: and y do i think ur to blame?

Mr. C: April Fools!

Mr. C: You were born blonde, remember?

Chloe: and i changed it to blue

Mr. C: Well, at least it’ll be easy to re-color. No harm done.

Chloe: oh is that right?

Mr. C: Won’t it? Like you said, you went from blonde to blue before.

Chloe: from natural blonde

Chloe: not bleach blonde

Mr. C: Is there a difference?

Chloe: yes

Chloe: there is

Mr. C: Oh.

Mr. C: So, exactly how much trouble am I in?

Chloe: ill see u when u get home ryan

Mr. C: What does that mean?

Mr. C: Chloe?

Mr. C: Chloe, I’m sorry!

 


 

Max: You shouldn’t have done that.

Dad: Is this about Chloe’s hair?

Dad: It was just a joke!

Dad: How upset is she?

Dad: Max?

Dad: Max, please answer me.

 


 

Vanessa: Where are you? It’s almost dinnertime.

Ryan: I think I made a huge mistake.

Vanessa: What’s wrong?

Vanessa: Did something happen at work? Are you alright?

Ryan: I played an April Fools prank on Chloe. I don’t think she took it very well.

Vanessa: That’s because no one likes being pranked, Ryan. I’m sure she’s not as upset as you think she it.

Ryan: She didn’t seem upset. She seemed really calm and now I’m a little scared to come home.

Vanessa: What could have possibly done that’s so bad?

Ryan: <convo_screencap.jpg>

Ryan: Vanessa?

Ryan: Sweetheart?

Vanessa: I just talked to Chloe.

Ryan: And?

Vanessa: Can I be your lawyer for a second?

Ryan: I don’t like the sound of that.

Vanessa: Come home right now and throw yourself on the mercy of the court.

Ryan: Seriously?

Vanessa: It’s that or sleep with one eye open. Because if Chloe doesn’t get you for this, Max definitely will.

 


 

Vanessa: So, are you planning on sleeping in the car tonight?

Ryan: Maybe I am.

Vanessa: Considering how much you love April Fools, you sure can’t take a joke.

Ryan: You’re all terrible people!

Ryan: I was afraid for my life!

Vanessa: Come on, Ryan. It’s not as though you’ve got the high ground here. You’re just lucky Chloe knows what peroxide smells like, or you’re really have been in trouble.

Vanessa: Now come back inside. Your dinner is getting cold.

Vanessa: Also, Chloe says she wants to laugh at you some more.

Ryan: Thank you. That’s very compelling.

Vanessa: Oh, cut it out, you big baby.

Vanessa: You tried to play a prank and got pranked yourself. Get over it.

Ryan: Monsters, all of you.

Vanessa: We love you, too.

 


 

Chloe: which is just a big pile of bullshit

Chloe: so im like listen here jackass

Chloe: just cause im doing my ged at 19

Chloe: instead of going to some fancy university

Chloe: doesnt mean im a fucking idiot

Chloe: so why don’t u take ur fucking bachelors degree

Chloe: and shove it right up ur ass

Chloe: before i do it for u

Chloe: fucking people like that

Chloe: drives me nuts

Chloe: u know what i mean?

Fernando: Ma’am, this is a Wendy’s.

Chloe: ok smart guy thats only gonna be funny like 3 or 4 more times

 


 

Chloe: im dying

Chloe: im sure of it

Chloe: my lungs are on fire

Chloe: pls remember me when im gone

Max: Aww... Is Mom being mean to you?

Chloe: theres a bright light, babe

Chloe: im going into the light

Max: You’re the one who said you wanted to get in better shape. :P

Chloe: DONT EMOJI AT THE DYING!

 


 

Chloe: u have the sexiest butt

Chloe: sometimes i just wanna bite it

Mr. C: That’s sweet, Chloe, but I’m spoken for.

Chloe: oh god no

Chloe: im so sorry!

Mr. C: I assume that message wasn’t intended for me?

Chloe: of course not!

Mr. C: Probably meant for Max, right?

Chloe: yes!

Chloe: ur name is right next to hers!

Mr. C: I see.

Mr. C: And is that how you usually speak to my daughter?

Chloe: IM SO SORRY!

 


 

Max: Why is Chloe scared of you?

Dad: Chloe is what?

Max: Scared. Of you. I told her you were bringing Chinese food home for dinner, and she asked me to just bring a plate upstairs for her.

Max: She also wants me to get you to taste it first?

Dad: That last bit seems a little excessive.

Max: What did you do?

Dad: Why do you think I did something?

Max: >:(

Dad: Fine.

Dad: <convo_screencap.jpg>

Dad: Forgive me for wanting to get her back for April Fools.

Dad: She’ll be fine.

Max: Okay, I’m going to give you two options here. The first is that you apologize to my girlfriend and promise never to do it again.

Dad: Uh-huh. And the second?

Max: You don’t apologize, and dinner tonight features a detailed presentation about me, my girlfriend, my butt, and the interactions between all three.

Max: And in case you think I don’t have the guts, remember that I’d be doing it for Chloe.

Dad: I see.

Dad: Apology it is, then.

 


 

Vanessa: You just never learn, do you?

Ryan: Apparently not.

Ryan: Still love me?

Vanessa: Always and forever, you big dummy.

 


 

Kristen: Guilty on all charges. Looks like that prick will be going away for a long time.

Max: Yeah.

Kristen: It’s not enough, is it?

Max: Never could be.

 


 

Chloe: theres something u need to see

Max: Can it wait?

Chloe: no this is too important

Max: Lunch just ended and I don’t want to be late for class.

Chloe: its a slo mo video of a dude getting sacked by a dog chasing a ball

Max: Okay I guess I can be a little late.

 

 


 

Kristen: Hey, Chloe isn’t responding to my texts. Or Fernando’s.

Kristen: Is she sick or something?

Kristen: If she is, I’m prepared to either bring her chicken soup or make fun about how whiney she is. Your call.

Kristen: Max?

Max: Don’t know

Kristen: You don’t know what?

Max: If she’s sick

Max: But I think she might be

Kristen: What are you talking about?

Max: I think she’s really really sick.

Kristen: Max?

Kristen: Max, are you still there?

Kristen: I’m trying to call you.

Kristen: Max, please pick up.

Diagnosis


June 6, 2014
University of Washington Medical Center
Seattle, Washington

Scowling at the clock on the office wall, I pull a small bottle of cough suppressant from my jacket pocket and take a healthy swig. Beside me, Max frowns but doesn’t comment. Since what happened at the restaurant a week ago, (seriously, just a week ago?) I’ve been going through nearly a full bottle of Robitussin every day. The syrupy-sweet taste is disgusting (and it seems to get worse with every mouthful) and it makes my head feel a little swimmy, but I’m too terrified of having another coughing fit to stop.

Max’s parents had rushed me out of the restaurant and taken me straight to the hospital, where a bunch of people in scrubs had poked and prodded and scanned and injected me with who-knows-what for hours. Max refused to leave my side the whole time; she only let me get x-rays on my own because someone threatened to call security, and even then it was a near thing.

Her parents harassed the staff for answers the whole time, but kept getting vague, non-committal responses in return. Personally, I’d been fine letting them handle it. I was just happy that my blood had gone back to staying on the inside, were it belonged.

We were at the hospital for nearly seven hours before they said that it was alright for me to go home. Actually, it’s probably better to say they shoved me out the door with a bottle of generic cough medicine in one hand and a short stack of paperwork for more testing in the other.

I’d almost freaked out when the hospital handed me the bill. I’d never seen that many zeros come after the words ‘Balance Owing’, and for a second I really thought I was screwed. I mean, Rick pays me pretty well for an apprentice wrench jockey, but I was still sure I was about to see every penny I’d saved in the last eight months go up in smoke. Before I even had time to wonder how much I could get for my truck, Max’s parents were handing over their own insurance information to cover everything.

I started to argue that it was too much (I really don’t know why I keep doing that) and they’d reminded me (again) that they thought of me as part of the family. They said that all I needed to focus on was getting better. They’d handle the rest.

Until that moment, I really thought I hadn’t had any tears left.

Deep down, no matter how many times they say the word family, a part of me still feels like I’m just the blue-haired punk chick who’s knocking boots with their daughter. I hope that changes one day. I really wanna have that moment where I look at Ryan and Vanessa (still feels kinda weird calling them that, but whatever) and think ‘that’s my family’ without flinching.

Anyway, I spent the next week either resting, eating disgustingly bland food (plain rice cakes are not a real snack, Vanessa!), or going through more tests. Most of them were simple shit like getting blood drawn or peeing in a cup. Others were invasive enough that I felt like someone should’ve bought me dinner first. Max was with me the whole time, though, so for her sake I went through it all without complaining. Too much, at least.

Finally, someone gave me the info for a specialist, and I set up an appointment to go see him. And being the responsible adult that I am, I absolutely let Max make sure I was actually there on time.

That time, however, was twenty-five minutes ago. We’ve spent that entire twenty-five minutes in a part of the hospital that appears to have fuck-all cell reception, sitting in an office where half the books on the shelves have titles I’m not totally confident I’d be able to pronounce. I’m just about to stick my head out into the hall to see what the damn hold up is when the office door opens, revealing someone who looks more like a doctor than any doctor I’ve ever seen.

He’s somewhere in his sixties, with white hair and a pair of horn-rimmed glasses, wearing the classic white doctor coat over a generic shirt/tie/slacks combo. Basically, he looks like the guy you see in a prescription drug commercial right when the voice-over says, ‘ask your doctor if whateverthefuck is right for you’.

“I’m so sorry I’ve kept you waiting,” he says as I’m making my insightful mental comparison, placing the file folder in his hand on the desk. “I’m Doctor Andrew Morris. You’d be Ms. Price?” He waits for me to nod. “Good. We spoke on the phone the other day.”

“Yeah.” A little irritation must’ve made it into my voice because Max gives my hand a gentle squeeze. I glance over to see her giving me a look begging me to be polite. “I mean, yeah, that was me. And don’t worry about the wait. Shi...uh...stuff happens, right?”

“That it does,” he chuckles. “Still, while it’s really not the type of first impression I prefer to make, it’s nice to meet you in person.”

“Likewise.”

He turns to Max. “You as well, Miss...?”

“Max. I mean, Caulfield.” She lets out a small, frustrated sound. “Max Caulfield. I’m Chloe’s girlfriend.”

“Pleasure to meet you, Ms. Caulfield.” He nods, not commenting on Max’s obvious nerves as he takes a seat on the opposite side of the desk. “Now then, Ms. Price. How are you feeling today? Any changes since we spoke?”

“Nope. Just wondering why I’ve spent the last week being poked, prodded, scanned, drained, and repeatedly stabbed with giant needles without anyone telling me why.” Okay, rein it in. Max wants me to be nice, so I’ll be nice.

He hums thoughtfully. “I understand it’s unsettling to be kept in the dark. However, many of the tests you’ve been through are used to identify a wide range of potential conditions. I’m sure no one wanted you to worry over all the possibilities.”

“I started coughing up blood last week,” I point out, swallowing another twinge of irritation. “I’m already worried.”

“Which was all the more reason to wait until your results came back.”

“Fine. Let’s just skip to the end. What’s the verdict? Pneumonia? Black lung? Brain parasites?” A little dark humor never hurt anyone, right? “What have I got and how to we fix it?”

The fact that he doesn’t answer right away might make me a little nervous, but it’s the look on his face that has just about every alarm in my head howling.

“Er...Doc? This would be a great time for some reassuring words.”

“Ms. Price...”

“Chloe.”

“Chloe,” he nods. “People don’t get referred to an oncologist for pneumonia.”

Something about the word sends a shock right down my spine. I know I’ve definitely heard it before; the definition is right on the tip of my tongue. I’m sifting through memories of every single medical show I’ve ever watched, trying to ignore the certainty I feel that something very, very bad is about to happen, when he continues.

“I’ll get right to it. Both x-rays and an MRI scan confirmed the presence of a large mass on the right side of your chest.” Opening the folder, he turns it around and slides it across the desk. The black-and-white x-ray on top shows an outline vaguely recognizable as my upper body. While the ribs on the left side are clearly visible, the right side is mostly obscured by a bright cloudy patch. “That’s why an FNA biopsy was performed.”

“A what?” Max’s voice is barely above a whisper. She’s staring, horrified, at the x-ray image.

“The ‘giant needles’ that Chloe mentioned,” he clarifies. “Unfortunately, the biopsy results were quite definitive. I’m very sorry to tell you that you’re suffering from stage 4 lung cancer.”

My first thought, right off the top, is simple and to the point. Something along the lines of ‘oh, fuck’.

My second, slightly more lucid, thought is ‘yeah, of course that’s what it is’. Because of course it is.

Then a silence follows that’s absolutely crushing. I feel a little like my head has been stuffed full of cotton. Everything seems dulled, muffled.  From the corner of my eye, I watch Max’s lips work silently as she tries to think of something to say. I can feel our linked hands trembling, but I’m not sure which one of us is causing it. It’s probably both.

“I understand how much of a shock this is,” Morris continues, as if that isn’t the most stupidly obvious statement in the entire history of mankind. “And there’s no need to rush this conversation. If you like, I can step outside and let the two of you take some time to process it.”

“No.” Even I’m a little surprised by the force behind the words. “What do we do? Gimme options.”

“W-what about surgery?” Max ventures, shakily. “You could just remove it.”

Sounds good to me. “Yeah, let’s do that. Slice the fucking thing out.”

 “I’m afraid it’s too late for that. The cancer has already spread out of your lung and into your lymph nodes and seems to be very aggressive.” Morris shakes his head sadly. “Even if a surgeon were to remove your entire lung, they still wouldn’t be able to reach all of the cancerous tissue.”

Of course they wouldn’t. “Fine. What can we do?”

“Well, the first thing we should do is immediately start you on an aggressive course of chemotherapy.”

“And that’ll get rid of it, right?” Max asks. She’s floundering; I can hear it in her voice.

“I wish I could say it was that easy, Ms. Caulfield, but this isn’t a cold,” Morris sighs, pulling off his glasses. “A single course of chemotherapy can take between three and six months, and it’s likely Chloe would need to complete several.”

“Oh.” She withers, curling into herself.

“That said, it’s very important for you to know that the situation isn’t hopeless.”

“You sure about that?” I hate how small my voice sounds. “Cause it sure feels pretty fucking hopeless right now.”

“But it isn’t,” he insists. “I’ve seen patients come back from the brink before.”

Right.” The word comes out dripping with so much sarcasm that I can practically taste it, but if it has any effect on him, I sure as hell don’t see it.

“But that’s because those patients were ready to fight for it. And unless I’m mistaken, Chloe, you strike me as a fighter.”

Even I’m surprised by the small laugh that bubbles up from my throat. “I...yeah. I guess I am.”

“I’m happy to hear that.” He nods, looking satisfied. “And although I can pretty much guarantee that this will be tougher than anything else you’ve ever faced...”

I wouldn’t be so sure about that one, Doc.

“...I can also guarantee that I’ll be right there with you.”

“You will?”

“I’ve been an oncologist for a long time, Chloe.” He smiles, leaning forward a little. “Fights like this are what I live for.”

Personally, I’ve always thought that big speeches were stupid. Whenever I watch one of those movie scenes where someone stands up at the pivotal moment and starts yammering on and on, I always wondered why anyone was paying attention to them. I mean, it’s a pivotal moment. Don’t they all have way more important shit they should be doing?

It’s one of the (oh, so many) things I love about Blade Runner. When the big moment came, Roy Batty didn’t screw around with some meandering bullshit. He gave us five sentences. Just forty-two words.

The Tears in Rain monologue. The defining moment of Rutger Hauer’s career and a piece of motherfucking cinematic history.

And maybe it’s the fear and uncertainty I’m feeling. Or maybe it’s just hearing someone who sounds like they know what they’re doing say I’ve got a chance. It doesn’t matter, because I’ll be goddamned if old Doc Morris doesn’t go from ‘grandpa’ to ‘badass’ in two sentences.

“So the question is,” he continues, still smiling. “You ready to figure out how we’re going to beat this thing?”

“Yeah.” I feel Max squeeze my hand again, and when I look I see hope in her eyes again. “Fuck yeah.”

“Well, then let’s gets started.”

-------------------

One False Step

Chapter Notes

June 9, 2014
Seattle Cancer Care Alliance - UW Medical Center
Seattle, Washington

It’s early summer when Chloe starts chemotherapy and even though the hospital is only a twenty-minute drive from home, she’s so antsy to get going that we end up arriving an hour early for her first appointment.

The waiting room is pretty generic. Uncomfortable chairs, outdated magazines, and the sound of low volume easy listening music in the background. Chloe had her infusion port implanted a week ago, and every now and then she’ll absentmindedly scratch at the bandage on her upper arm. It’s obvious that she’s trying not to stare at the other patients, not that I could blame her. A lot of them look like they’re in rough shape, and a couple honestly look pretty terrible. Almost everyone looks exhausted, and when I scan the room I can see more than a few beanies and scarves covering bald heads.

That last one makes me particularly sad. I don’t want Chloe to lose her hair. I like Chloe’s hair.

I’ve been killing time by flipping through a University of Washington course guide. The deadline for selecting first-semester courses is getting closer every day, and Chloe refuses to let her own health interfere the tiniest bit with my future. By which I mean she’s been badgering me relentlessly about it. Case in point, she seems to have noticed I’m not giving the course guide my full attention anymore. Leaning to the side, she gently bumps our shoulders together.

“Anything good in there?” she asks, probably hoping she doesn’t sound anxious. “Maybe something like ‘Pretentious Books 101’ or ‘Intro To Acoustic Covers You’ve Probably Never Heard Of’?”

“There’s actually a wait list for that second one.” I look back down to hide my smile. “But I was thinking about ‘Punk Music 1100: Culturally Significant Shouting.”

“Sounds dope. You probably don’t meet the pre-requirements, though.” She gives me an exaggerated once-over and I definitely still feel a little flutter in my stomach when she does. “No tats. Hipster-chic clothes. Not even any piercings.”

“My ears are pierced.”

“No sexy piercings,” she amends, wiggling her eyebrows. “Though if you wanted to change that, I certainly wouldn’t say no to going over some possibilities. Or all the possibilities.”

She’s expecting me to blush, I can tell. Instead I meet her innuendo-laced tone with a wink and a half-smile. “How about we take a nice, close look later?”

Yeah, that’s right! Who’s the one blushing now?

...okay, fine. It’s still me. but I’m giving myself points for trying.

“Chloe Price?” someone calls out, and we both look up to see a man in dark green scrubs scanning the room.

She raises her hand. I think she feels a little silly. “Uh...here?”

Smiling, he waves us up to the doors that separate the waiting area from the infusion clinic. “Hey there. Do you prefer Ms. Price or just Chloe?”

“Chloe’s fine.”

“Gotcha. Well, Chloe, my name’s Stu and I’m going to be administering your infusion today. How’re you feeling?”

“Okay, I guess,” she shrugs, only the slightest nervous waver in her voice. “I mean, I’ve got cancer. But other than that, I can’t complain.”

“Good attitude,” Stu chuckles, gesturing for us to follow him to a row of curtained off spaces nearby. “First time, right?”

“Am I that obvious?”

“A little, but don’t worry. It’ll probably be a lot easier than you’re expecting.” Turning to me, he asks, “I guess you’re here to keep Chloe company today?”

For Chloe’s sake, I refuse to sound the slightest bit anxious. So, with a laugh, I say, “Someone has to. She’d just get into trouble if I left her alone.”

“Fair enough,” he laughs, pushing a small curtain aside to reveal a comfortable looking chair and a few pieces of machinery. “So, we’re going to have to run a few tests before we can start your infusion. Just basic stuff like taking a blood sample and double checking your weight so we can calculate your medication dosages. Shouldn’t take too long.”

Poor Chloe. I can’t tell if she realizes she’s wringing her hands, but I did see her flinch the tiniest bit at almost every word of what Stu just said.

“You...uh...can’t just plug me in and press the go button?”

“Afraid not. Chemo infusions are all made-to-order, so it’ll take some time for the lab to get your medications ready for you. Normally you’d have to wait outside, but the schedule isn’t full today and I figured you’d be more comfortable in here.”

It’s pretty obvious that Stu has been doing this for a while, because not only do the tests and checks seem to breeze right by, by the time they’re over Chloe seems much more at ease. Before we know it, he’s already gone to get the lab started on her medicine. Forty-five minutes (which we spend watching videos of kids falling down on my phone and trying not to laugh too hard) go by before he returns, then it takes another ten to set up her infusion pump and connect the line to her port.

“And you’re ready to rock and roll,” he finally says, pressing a couple buttons on the infuser and stepping back as it begins to hum softly. “The process is going to take a few hours. Did you guys bring anything along to help pass the time?”

“Sure did.” I pat the messenger bag slung over my shoulder. “Laptop with a hard drive full of movies.”

“Good stuff,” Stu nods, pointing to a button on the wall. “Just hit the call button if you need anything.”

“We will.”

Pulling a small rolling table over, I busy myself setting up the laptop. Attaching an audio splitter, I connect two pairs of headphones and hand one to Chloe. “Alright. You can pick any movie you want.”

“Bla-”

 “You can pick any movie you want that isn’t Blade Runner.”

“Seriously?” Chloe groans. “I thought you loved me.”

“Even my love has limits, babe. And one of those limits is having to watch Blade Runner more than six times in one month.”

“Lame.”

I just shrug. She who controls the laptop, controls the empire.

“Hey, did I ever tell you that Daryl Hannah’s character in that movie was the...”

“...first girl you ever fantasized about? Many, many times.”

She lets out a disappointed huff. Her version of that very simple fact usually takes about five minutes and involves multiple cameos from other characters. “Fine. I guess I can settle for Kill Bill.”

“Which also has Daryl Hannah,” I point out, a little smugly. She couldn’t have possibly thought she’d sneak that by me. “As your girlfriend, I’m not sure if I should be enabling this obsession of yours.”

“But I thought you loved me?” Chloe repeats, pouting a little.

“Oh, fine, you big baby.” Leaning over, I queue up the movie. Chloe takes the opportunity to peek down the front of my shirt, which of course I notice. Rather than say anything, I briefly lean a little further forward. The tiny, almost unnoticeable noise she makes gives me a little thrill of my own. When I sit back in my seat, I see her trying to act casual.

It’s amazing how sometimes it feels like we’ve been together for years, other times it feels like we’ve only just started dating, and how both are equally awesome. “All set. You ready?”

“Yeah.” Slowly, her eyes drift from me to the infusion pump and back again. Then she settles into her chair and takes my hand in hers. “Yeah, I’m ready.”

 


 

It’s early evening by the time Chloe’s infusion is finished, and it leaves her feeling drained and more than a little sick. She spends most of the drive home with her head resting against the car window, dozing until I pull into the driveway. When I walk around to the passenger side and open her door, it says a lot when she lets me help her stand up and gently walk her into the house.

Her movements are slow, but steady, as she shuffles inside. I’m still just a step behind her, though, trying hard to not seem like I’m hovering. “So, how’re you feeling?”

“Like shit,” she confesses, half-heartedly toeing her shoes off.

“Anything I can do?”

“Honestly, all I can think about right now is taking a shower.”

“Don’t let me stop you, then.” An idea pops into my head and I step closer, taking her hand. “I mean, unless you’d like some company?”

"Aw, babe." Chloe smiles sadly. “Literally any other time, I’d be all about jumping your skinny hipster bones. But right now I’m just so...”

“It’s alright.” I rise up on my toes to kiss her. She may tease me about it sometimes, but I’ve always liked that she’s a few inches taller than me. Even though I’m the one with superpowers (even if I can never use them) it makes me feel safe. And it means that I’m pretty much always the little spoon, which I’m definitely okay with. “I totally understand.”

“Thanks. But hey, if you’d like to join me for a nap afterward, you know I never say no to some Max cuddl-gah!” She’s walking toward the stairs, looking back over her shoulder, and almost trips over a delivery box sitting in the front hall. “What the...?”

“Are you okay?”

“Yeah, I’m good.” She absently waves away my concern, leaning down to massage her stubbed toe and check the information on the box. “Just getting attacked by my own mail.”

“Oh? What did you order?” It doesn’t have any logos or markings on it to give away where it’s from. Just a plain cardboard box with her name and address. “Something cool?”

“Definitely not something cool.” Ripping the packing tape off, she reaches into the box and holds up a high school physics textbook. “Yay for summer school courses.”

She can groan and complain all she likes, but we both know it’s just a front. There’s a huge nerd underneath all that rebel punk bad girl bluster, and she’s already flipping through the textbook with an excited little glimmer in her eyes. “When did you register for summer school?”

“Last month.” She grins, putting the physics text down in favor of one on electronics. “Having my GED is great and all, but I still gotta buff up that GPA if I’m gonna start applying to universities, right?”

“Really?”

“Yep.” Her grin shifts into a smirk as she glances up at me. “This chick I’ve been dating keeps harassing me to think about my future.”

While I think that calling it harassment is a bit extreme, I’m not about to argue with the results. “Hmm. She sounds like kind of a pain in the ass.”

“I guess.” She shrugs. “Super hot though.”

“That’s awesome, Chloe. Seriously, I’m so proud of you.”

Blushing, she puts the textbooks back and lifts the box. “Yeah, well, it might take me a little while, so I better not hear any shit from you about having to date a freshman.”

“No promises.” I reach out to take the box from her. “Here, I’ll carry that for you.”

“I got it.”

“I don’t mi-”

Max,” she interrupts, a little sharply. “I’ve got it.”

“Okay, no problem. You’ve got it.” I raise my hands and take a deliberate step back, taken off guard by the sudden mood shift, and she at least has the decency to look a little guilty.

“I...it’s just...” Beneath her pride, there’s a tiny note of pleading in her voice. “I can still do stuff like this.”

“That’s fine, Clo.” A small, mean part of me wants to make her feel bad for startling me. I ignore it and keep my tone light. This lines up with pretty much everything I’ve read about supporting a loved one in cancer treatment. This won’t be the only time Chloe loses her cool a little bit and losing mine right back won’t help either of us. Whether I’m carrying the boxes, or she is, I just want her to know that I’m here for her. “That’s all you had to say.”

“I know.” Chloe looks away, and I can tell that the scowl on her face isn’t for me. “Sorry.”

“Hey, what do you say you go have your shower while I make some tea, then you can make it up to me with apology cuddles?”

The little smile that breaks through Chloe’s stormy expression kinda makes me feel like a legit superhero. “Deal.”

Turning toward the kitchen with a relieved sigh, I have to wonder how often we’re going to find ourselves in a similar situation again. As much as I love her, there’s no denying that Chloe has a temper. And although she’s always shown far more patience with me than she has with literally anyone else, that patience is really going to be put to the test. But, like just about every part of this totally messed-up situation, silently obsessing over what-ifs isn’t going to do anything other than turn me into a neurotic mess.

I’m barely around the corner, very deliberately not worrying about Chloe (which is just as hard as you’re probably imagining) and trying to remember what kind of tea Mom has in the cupboard next to the fridge, when a loud thump startles me. A muffled cry follows right after it and I rush back to find Chloe sprawled at the bottom of the stairs. She’s clutching at her arm, cursing angrily as bright red blood seeps from between her fingers.

I react instinctively, moving before I’ve even had time to consider what I’m doing. Reaching out to Chloe, I feel the familiar energy start to flow between my fingers. A strong vibration seems to claw its way up my arm and I just push. The noises around me distort, like I’m listening to everything through a long tunnel, and the room blurs. Chloe’s blood appears to leap up from the carpet, creeping back up her arm until it vanishes back under her hand.

The seconds roll back and Chloe rises off the steps, the scattered textbooks on the floor jumping back into the box, before the box itself leaps back up into her hands. As events reverse themselves, I start to understand what happened; she’d tripped over one of her own discarded shoes, fallen forward onto the stairs, and one of the box’s corners had managed to wedge itself under her newly implanted catheter port. Now I watch with disgust as the port re-seats itself in her arm, the torn stitches weaving themselves into her skin as she floats back to her feet.

I hate that this is happening, but if I’m already doing it then I’m going to do it right. I wait until Chloe has taken a few steps backward before relaxing my hand. The energy vanishes and the vibration fades away as everything comes back into focus.

“Stop!” I shout as Chloe begins to move forward again, reaching out to grasp the back of her shirt.

“What the...?!” She jumps a little, her gaze moving between me and the hallway she would’ve just seen me walk down. “The hell did you come from?”

“You’ll trip over your shoe.”

“What?” She looks down and scowls at the sneaker sitting between her feet. “Seriously, Max? I might feel like crap, but I’m a big girl. I’m not about to take a nosedive over my own damn shoe.”

“You can. You did. It was horrible.”

“What are you...?” She trails off, and I can see the growing dread on her face. “What the hell do you mean it was?

I don’t explain. I don’t have to.

Putting the box down, she reaches out to take me by the shoulders. “Please, Max. Please tell me you didn’t do what I think you did.”

I’m not exactly guilty, because I could never feel guilty for protecting her, but I still look away. “I...I didn’t mean to.”

“God damn it!” she shouts, throwing her arms in the air. “You promised me! You fucking swore that you’d never, ever do that again!”

“I know. It just happened! You tripped and tore your port out. There was so much blood and...it just happened.”

Chloe holds her glare for a long moment, then lets out a slow breath and moves to the stairs to sit down heavily. “Okay, let’s just calm down and think about this. I mean, it’s not like we can undo an undo, can we?”

I shake my head.

“Right. And it’s not like anything big changed. So what if I didn’t trip and hurt my arm? Not the end of the world.”

“It could be.” I say the words before I can stop myself, because I’m scared and an idiot and that’s pretty much how scared idiots roll.

“It’s not.” She’s glaring again, but there’s way more fear in her eyes than anger. “We’ll just, y’know, watch for the signs. Weird shit from before like the snow and the birds. See if any of it starts happening again.”

“What...” My mouth is bone dry and I swallow heavily. “What if it does?”

Reaching out, Chloe takes my hand and pulls me into her arms. “We’ll cross that bridge if we come to it, okay?”

 


 

I wish it could be as easy as Chloe made it sound, but the two of us still spend the next few hours standing in the backyard and ignoring my parents confused looks. We stare anxiously up into the evening sky with our hands clutched together until the sun finally dips below the horizon, and I almost cry with relief when the snow never falls.

We go through the next week in a permanent state of hyper-awareness, constantly on the lookout for any of the signs we know and watching nervously for anything else we might not have seen before. Anything even remotely unusual, from oddly shaped clouds to a dog that Chloe swears is looking at us strangely, is viewed with suspicion.

No birds fall from the sky, though. There are no unexpected eclipses or unexplained beached whales. The number of moons overhead holds steady at one, and by the time we reach the end of the sixth day, we’re willing to accept that we’re in the clear.

Just like I did before, I give Chloe my word that I’ll never mess around with time again, and I really mean the words when I say them. It’s not until much later, as I lay awake in Chloe’s arms, that I consider how much harder that promise has become to keep.

The first time I made it, right after the storm, it had almost felt like a formality. I’d been mostly sure that I couldn’t still rewind, even if I’d wanted to. Now that I know I can, it’s hard to ignore the little voice in the back of my mind that keeps pointing out how useful it could be.

I really don’t know what I hate more; the fact that I know that voice is just my own selfishness screwing with me, or the fact that so much of me desperately agrees with what it has to say.

What if Chloe has a bad reaction to some medicine? Shouldn’t I use my newly re-discovered powers to go back and make sure she doesn’t take it? Obviously, that would be an exception to my promise, because how could she get mad at me for keeping her safe? She’d understand. After all the other times I‘ve saved her, she’d be kind of a hypocrite not to.

Besides, we basically just proved that I could use my rewind without creating a storm. After all, it’d be pretty messed up for me to be handed cosmic powers that were guaranteed to break the universe if I used them at all. I kinda doubt that whoever or whatever gave them to me could be that dumb.

And now that I really think about it, what if the storm never had anything to do with my powers at all? Even if we've always assumed that saving Chloe from getting shot is what caused it, that was never anything more than a theory. We don’t know it for a fact. The storm might’ve been inevitable. I could’ve ended up sacrificing Chloe’s life for nothing.

Just the thought makes me a little nauseous.

But if I’m going to act based on assumptions, I think it’s just as safe to assume that unless I use them to save someone who I know is definitely going to die otherwise, rewinding is totally safe.

So, since Chloe is very much alive right now, and because I have no way of knowing for a fact when or if that’s going to change, there really isn’t any risk in finding a way to try and get her into cancer treatment earlier. All I’d have to do is find the right photo so I can go back and...

Nope. Red light, Max. Stop right there.

I shouldn’t even be indulging ideas like these, let alone actually considering them. Even if there is a possibility that these powers (wherever the hell they came from) could be used safely, it’s not worth trying. All it would take is one screw-up for things to go horribly wrong, just like before, and I refuse to take that kind of risk.

The only fact that matters is that they’re too dangerous to screw around with, and I need to accept that. End of story.

I take a deep breath, hold it for a few seconds, and let it out. Then I do it again, and again. After a few minutes I’m confident that my resolve is firmly back in place, and I let myself relax. Nestling further into Chloe’s embrace, I giggle softly at the happy noise she makes in her sleep.

I’m going to keep my word to her. I’m not going to do anything with these powers. For everyone’s sake, I’m going to try and forget they even exist.

Though it is nice to know that they’re there.

Just in case.

Chapter End Notes

Good news, everyone! I’ve been making such good progress writing this that, starting on Monday, I’ll be moving up to a 3 update per week schedule. A new chapter will be posted every Mon/Wed/Fri, with the last chapter will going up a few days before Life Is Strange: True Colors is released.

A Pounding Of Cure

July 6, 2014
Caulfield Residence
Seattle, Washington

“I don’t know why I’m so upset. Shoulda known this was gonna happen,” Chloe murmurs, hiccupping softly. “So fucking stupid.”

I lean closer to pull my distraught girlfriend into a hug, trying not to cry myself. “You’re not stupid, Chloe.”

She grumbles, but she doesn’t pull away. “Yeah, well, I feel stupid.”

We’d been told that Chloe would have days like this; that the combination of stress and chemotherapy’s harsh side-effects would sometimes be too much for her to deal with.

“Beating cancer is like running a marathon,” Doctor Morris had told us at the end of that first meeting. “It takes time, energy, resolve, and plenty of all three. And unfortunately, even the strongest people stumble sometimes.”

Despite the warnings, I’d been in awe of the resilience Chloe had shown. Aside from some tiredness and the occasional spell of chemo-induced nausea, I’d watched her swagger through the month following her diagnosis like it was a walk in the park. I’d even let myself buy into the ridiculous idea that she might be – not for the first time – an exception to the rule, breezing her way through the whole process.

I should’ve known that life doesn’t work that way. That it was only a matter of time. That there are always consequences. Maybe then I wouldn’t have been so shocked when I found Chloe in tears, sitting on the bathroom floor, clutching her hairbrush, and staring at the loose tufts of blue hair trapped in its bristles.

“I was doing so good, too,” she sniffs, letting the brush fall from her hand. It lands on the thick bathmat with a dull thump.

“You still are. I’m so proud of you.”

“But I don’t wanna lose my hair.” Chloe gently lifts a lock of her thinning hair and looks at it mournfully. “I’m already dealing with so much, Max. Why can’t I keep this?”

“It’ll grow back before you know it.” I wish I had something more meaningful to say. Something that might actually help Chloe feel better. “You can even try a new color, if you want to.”

“I don’t want to try a new color, Max!” She jerks out of my arms. “I want to not look like a fucking freak! And I want you to not fucking patronize me!

The small bathroom makes her outburst seem louder than she’d probably intended, and somehow makes the long silence that follows practically deafening.

“I’m sorry,” Chloe finally whispers. “I didn’t mean to yell.”

“It’s alright. I know you didn’t.” It’s a lie. I know she did, but that doesn’t matter. There’s a time and a place for real-talk, and this isn’t it.

Chloe curls back into my embrace, tucking her head under my chin. “Could...could you do something for me?”

“Anything.”

“Could you tell me it’s all going to be okay?”

“It’s all going to be okay, baby,” I say, placing a gentle kiss on the top of Chloe’s head. I’m still lying, but there’s still a time and a place. “I promise it’s going to be okay.”

 


 

Kristen: The coffee shop near my place is doing amateur stand-up tonight.

Kristen: You guys wanna come?

Chloe: prob not

Chloe: got my weekly semi-lethal injection today

Chloe: im usually pretty wrecked after

Kristen: Do you have to call it that? It’s weird.

Chloe: fine

Chloe: im probably going to be too tired after ive finished my lung cancer treatment

Chloe: better?

Kristen: Actually...could you go back to calling it the other thing?

 


 

Max: So I was out with Kristen this afternoon and something really random happened.

Chloe: did she explode into glitter?

Chloe: cuz thatd be pretty fuckin random

Max: Not THAT random.

Chloe: lame

Max: We were standing in line at Starbucks and started talking about Blackwell for some reason. Then the girl in front of us in line turns around and says she went to Blackwell, too. Small world, huh?

Chloe: that is random

Chloe: who was it?

Max: That’s the thing. She didn’t have time to talk, and I didn’t realize until just now that you and her actually would have been at Blackwell at the same time.

Max: Did you know a girl named Stephanie Gingrich?

 


 

July 22, 2014
Shoreline Skatepark
Seattle, Washington

This is the shittiest skatepark known to man. Seriously, it’s like someone was forced at gunpoint to pour concrete over some uneven dirt, and still managed to do a half-assed job of it. It’s only got a couple of flat rails, some dips in the ground, and a spectacularly lame two-foot-tall mini ramp.

Not that any of that has kept me from coming here at least a few times a week since Max and I came to Seattle. (When the weather wasn’t complete ass, at least.) I’ve gotten to know a few of the other regulars. Well enough to talk to, I thought. But I’ve been sitting here for hours now, since before the sun went down, and all I’ve got from anyone is uncomfortable looks and the occasional awkward hello.

At least the people who’ve never met me have a decent excuse to avoid me. Who wants to go talk to the weird pale chick wearing a hoodie and beanie in the middle of July? The lack of eyebrows probably doesn’t help. I look like a fucking space alien.

You probably would have teased me about that, if you were here. Then, after I was done pretending to be mad at you, you’d have done some of that makeup magic of yours and eyebrowed me right the fuck back up. I probably still would have looked weird, but it’d be a funny weird. I’d be okay with that.

I really did come here to do some skateboarding. You always liked watching me try to look cool doing it, and I figured it’d be a good way to clear my head. But I had a chemo infusion this morning and I’m still feeling kinda fucked up. So here I am, sitting in the dark with a skateboard on my lap, staring at a shitty skatepark that emptied out hours ago. It’s probably for the best. My balance is a little hit-or-miss these days, and I don’t think Max would be too happy with me if I went off my board and cracked my head open.

Oh, man...Max. Seriously, you don’t even know. I know you only ever heard me talk shit about her, and about how I’d rip into her if I ever saw her again, but then she appeared out of nowhere and fifteen minutes later we were hanging out back at my place. I mean, it’s not like everything was all forgive and forget, but it was like I knew right away that I was going to forgive her. Now we’re together and I love her so much that it blows my mind.

Life’s weird that way, I guess.

I don’t know how you would have reacted to that. I like to imagine you’d have been happy for us. Or that you and Max could have been friends. That would’ve been nice.

Aw, shit. See that guy walking over from that conspicuously unmarked car? Totally a cop. You can always tell. Even when they aren’t in uniform, cops always have that weird way of walking. Like they want to swagger but know they aren’t supposed to. Step-fucker used to walk like that. At least, before the desert hippies fixed his brain or whatever.

I could get up and leave, but that’d probably be worse. I see him, he sees me, and if I try to walk away he’ll just assume I’m a dealer or something. I’m not really interested in taking a couple of warning shots to the back tonight.

“Evening, miss.” Oh, great. It’s a young cop, too. These guys are always such tools. Why do they always point their flashlights right in your eyes? Fucking douchebags.

“Sure is.”

“The park closes at ten pm, you know.”

Oh, yeah. That’s another messed up thing about Seattle. Their parks have fucking hours. It’s like, ‘sorry, this wide-open patch of grass is closed for the night. Please come back tomorrow’. It’s ridiculous, and the only people who give a shit are the ones who wouldn’t be out here at night anyway.

“I’ll take your word for it.”

“Right. I’m gonna need you to stand up.”

Oh, for fuck’s sake. “Why?”

“Stand up, right now, and keep your hands where I can see them.”

I’m sure you remember this as the point where I’d say something especially stupid and land myself in trouble, but not tonight. There’s another cop walking over from the same car, and he’s way older. Like, late 40s with that ‘I’m too old for this shit’ vibe.

I like those cops. As long as you don’t fuck around or mouth them off, they don’t give enough fucks to give you any grief.

“The hell are you doing, Cooper?”

“This woman isn’t being cooperative.”

Yeah, I’m not doing this. Time to drop a nuclear shame-bomb on this knucklehead. Watch close. You’re gonna love this.

Step one; stand up slowly and try to look a little unsteady. This one is really easy for me because I feel pretty slow and unsteady these days.

Step two; heave a great and weary sigh, like I regret every single choice that brought me to this moment. Gotta be careful not to oversell it, though.

Step three; the finishing move. Reach up, pull off my beanie to reveal my weird-looking bald head, look the startled-as-fuck officer in the eye, and say:

“Shit. I’m sorry. I had my chemotherapy today and I’m always kinda bitchy after.”

“Oh...I...uh...” Goodbye, flashlight. Hello, shame-face. You can tell he’s fighting the urge to apologize. Young cops hate to admit when they’ve done something wrong, even if it was just them acting like a jerk. Remember the time that rookie cop back in the Bay knocked you over cause he was looking at his phone instead of where he was going? And how he tried to make it out like it was your fault? Asshole.

“I think the word Officer Cooper here is searching for is ‘sorry’.” Damn. Old cop must practice that eye roll.

“No, it’s my bad. I guess I was kinda rude.” Shaming intensifies. “I’ve just been having a rough time lately.”

“You didn’t do anything wrong.” Pretty sure that only applies to me, because old cop has definitely taken over now and I’m getting the impression that ol’ Cooper here is gonna get a stern talking to back in the car.

You know, this is the kind of shit I can only pull off when I’m alone. I love Max to death, but she has the worst poker face in human history. And forget about if you were here. I’d be trying to look all repentant and pitiful and you just be laughing your ass off the whole time. No help at all, but at least you’d be enjoying yourself.

“Do you live near here, miss?”

“Yup. About ten minutes that way.”

“Need a lift?”

Huh. That’s actually kinda cool of him. “No, it’s a nice night for a walk. Thanks, though.”

“No problem. Just remember not to loiter in the parks after dark, okay?”

“You got it.” And off they go, two more helpless victims of Chloe Price’s Cancer-Powered Shame Ray.

I miss when shit like this would happen to both of us. We had some good times. Part of me wishes I could tell you that, or that I could wish you happy birthday in person. At the same time, I’m a little scared that by next year I’ll be able to.

I don’t want that. I don’t want to die. I want all the time I can get with Max, and I’m gonna keep fighting for it for as long as I’ve got any fight left in me.

Sorry, Rachel. I miss you like crazy, but I hope we don’t see each other again for a long, long time.

 


 

Max: Where are you? Mom said you went for a walk while I was out.

Max: Chloe?

Max: I’m not trying to be a mother hen but I’d like to know you’re okay.

Max: It’s starting to get dark. Where are you?

Max: Chloe, I’m really worried!

Chloe: im here

Max: Where have you been?! I was so worried!

Chloe: skatepark

Max: I’ve been freaking out and you’ve been skateboarding?!

Chloe: no

Chloe: just sitting

Chloe: rachels birthday today

Chloe: needed some time to think

Max: Oh.

Chloe: im sorry i worried u

Chloe: coming home now

Max: You don’t have to. I’m just glad you’re alright.

Chloe: k

Max: Do you maybe want some company?

Max: We could go get ice cream. I’ve been craving it all day.

Chloe: ya

Chloe: thatd be really great

Max: I’m on my way. Love you.

Chloe: love u too

Chloe: so much

 


 

[Unknown Number]: Is this Chloe Price?

Chloe: depends whos asking

[Unknown Number]: It’s Steph Gingrich.

=NEW CONTACT CREATED=

Chloe: holy shit

Chloe: whered u get my number from?

Steph: A girl named Kristen Jacobs gave it to me. And by gave, I mean practically forced on.

Chloe: srsly?

Chloe: howd she find you?

Steph: She was at my regular Starbucks. I ran into her and one of her friends there a few weeks ago.

Steph: I actually think she’s been waiting there for me.

Chloe: lol ya that sounds about right

Chloe: dont worry about kris

Chloe: shes intense sometimes but shes harmless

Steph: Good to know.

Steph: So...I didn’t know you made it out of AB.

Chloe: ya

Chloe: me and max barely got out in time

Steph: Max?

Chloe: the other girl u met

Chloe: shes my gf

Steph: Shit. That’s crazy.

Steph: How have you been?

Steph: Chloe?

Chloe: u got time to talk?

Chloe: its a long story

 


 

August 23, 2014
Slave To The Needle Tattoo
Seattle, Washington

“You’re sure about this?”

“Yes, I’m sure.”

“...really sure?”

“Seriously, Chloe? You’re the one who’s been harassing me to get a tattoo!”

“I didn’t harass you,” Chloe counters. “I just pointed out, on occasion, that you’d look pretty hot with one.”

“Uh-huh. ‘On occasion’. Sure.” Beside me, the tattoo artist, Jakob, lets out a soft chuckle. Shifting my weight a little to get more comfortable in the tattoo chair, I turn to give him a smile. “Sorry.”

He waves my apology away. “No worries. Far as I’m concerned, you’re the boss.”

“Well, I’m ready now.”

“Cool.” Putting a picture of my tattoo design on a small clipboard, he attaches it to the arm of the chair where he can easily reference it, nodding appreciatively. “I know I keep saying it, but this is such a sick drawing.”

“Thanks. It took a while to get it just right.”

“Hey, fair enough. Better slow and perfect than fast and flawed. You do it yourself?”

“I wish.” I shake my head, smiling at the drawing. “My mom minored in art in college. She helped me put it together.”

The image, which is going to take up the better part of my shoulder when it’s done, is of a broken pocket watch, cracked right down the middle. A vividly blue morpho butterfly is perched on the watch’s winder, looking almost real enough to take flight at any moment, and a flowing banner wraps around the base bearing the words ‘No Time Like The Present’.

“Ha! Awesome. I see a lot of folks coming through here who’re more worried about explaining their new ink to their mom.” He turns to Chloe, looking down at the tattoo on her arm. “I see you’re no stranger to the needle. Here to be the designated emotional support friend?”

“Emotional support girlfriend, actually.”

“Dope.” He hesitates, almost imperceptibly, then gestures to her beanie. “Hey, I...uh...couldn’t help but notice the lack of hair. It’s cool if it’s not my business, but...”

“Yeah, it’s cancer,” Chloe answers sharply. “Lung. Stage four.”

“Damn.” He winces. “That fucking sucks.”

“Really? No shit.”

“Hey, I feel your pain, sister.” He lifts the sleeve of his t-shirt to reveal an obvious chemotherapy port scar. “Kidney, ‘bout six years back. Kicked the crap outta me and I’m only running on one these days, but I still beat it.” He grins, reaching over me to gently clap Chloe on the shoulder. “Just keep fighting the good fight, okay?”

“Oh.” Chloe blinks, then a slow smile spreads over her face. “Yeah. Okay.”

“Right on.” Grinning, he lifts his tattoo gun and taps the control pedal next to his foot. It buzzes like a very large, very angry hornet in his hand, and I barely keep from flinching. “So, ready to see your girl get her first ink?”

“You better believe it. She recently went suddenly and unexpectedly hardcore on me,” Chloe smirks, pointing to the three fresh piercings lined up in the cartilage of my upper ear. “Just got those done this morning.”

“Nice,” he nods, giving me a smile. “Decided to lean in hard, eh?”

“Sure did. I’d actually like to add something, though. If it isn’t too late?”

“Depends what it is.”

Pulling a folded slip of paper from my pocket, I hand it to him and tap the inside of my right wrist. “I want to get that right here.”

Jakob looks down at the paper, then back up with a smile. “Totally doable.”

“What is it?” Chloe’s already leaning over me to get a look. “Lemme see!”

“Nope!” I wink at Jakob, who immediately re-folds the paper and holds it out of Chloe’s reach. “You’ll have to wait and see.”

She gives me a pouty look that, to be fair, usually works. “But Maaaaaaax...”

“Patience is a virtue.”

“So is knowledge,” she counters, instantly.

“Damn, she’s kinda got you there.”

I give Jakob a mild glare. “Who’s side are you on?”

“Sorry. Please continue.”

“C’mon. Just a hint?”

“It’s just a little something to remind me how much I love you.” I’m absolutely delighted when the vague answer makes her blush. “And that’s all your getting!”

“Oh, fine. Be that way.” Dropping back into her chair, she waves a hand in Jakob’s general direction. “You may begin tattooing my girlfriend.”

“You got it.” Dipping the tip of the tattoo gun into a small ink pot, he takes a moment to get comfortable and moves it up to my shoulder. “Alright, let’s do this thing.”

 


 

Chloe: do u know where my phone is?

Chloe: im worried i left it at chemo

Max: Is it on the desk?

Chloe: nope

Max: What about the charger in the kitchen?

Chloe: nope

Max: ...

Max: You just think you’re so darned funny, don’t you?

Chloe: yep

 


 

Steph: That was legit nuts. I’ve never seen someone roll that many nat 1’s in a row.

Steph: That was some Wheaton Dice Curse level craziness.

Chloe: what dice what?

Steph: It’s a thing.

Steph: Next time Max should probably play a halfling. They get to re-roll 1’s.

Chloe: i dunno if shed be into it

Chloe: shes still pretty salty about ur gf making fun of her all night

Steph: Yeah, I talked to Izzy about that. She’s really sorry. She was just messing around.

Chloe: ill tell max

Steph: What about you? Still down for the occasional one-shot?

Chloe: u kidding?

Chloe: callamastia fears no smack talk!

 


 

September 13, 2014
Caulfield Residence
Seattle, Washington

“Lemme just say that if there’s one bright side to this chemo bullshit, it’s the free weed.”

“It’s not actually free, you know,” I laugh, not looking up from my small pile of course outlines and notes. My university classes only started a week ago, and I already feel like I’m going to drown in class handouts. Beside me, Chloe is reclined in a patio chair, surrounded by a faint and pungent haze. “It’s just covered by insurance.”

“Same difference.” She holds the joint out. “You want a hit?”

“I don’t think you’re supposed to be sharing your prescription marijuana.”

“I have cancer,” Chloe counters, matter-of-factly. “I am no longer subject to the laws of man.”

“Pretty sure you are, sweetheart. I’ll pass.”

“Come on,” she teases. “I thought you were cool.”

“Not that cool.”

“Whatever.” She places the joint back between her lips. “Just means more for me.”

“Just out of curiosity, how baked are you right now? Like, on a scale of one-to-ten.”

Chloe considers the question for a moment. “Very.”

“That’s not a number.”

You’re not a number.”

“Ooh, sick burn, babe. Got me real good there.”

“Damn right I did.” She waves in the vague direction of my arm. “How’s your ink doing?”

“Healing. Kinda itchy, though.”

For the first couple of days, my new tattoos had actually been a little painful. The follow-up session for my shoulder a week later hadn’t helped with that. The few times I accidentally brushed either of them against something, it’d felt like rubbing a bad sunburn. In the last three weeks, though, they’d gone down to a slightly distracting but bearable itch.

I’ve been getting plenty of complements about my shoulder one. Probably because the weather has been fairly t-shirt friendly, so it’s the one people notice first. But although I really do love it, it doesn’t make me smile quite like the two-inch-wide rainbow-colored Jolly Roger on the inside of my right wrist.

Chloe took one look at it and (after she was done crying) immediately wanted to book an appointment to get a matching one. Instead, Jakob had stayed an hour after the shop officially closed and done it for her on the spot. He hadn’t even charged her. She’d asked him to put it inside her left wrist, so they’d come together whenever she and I held hands.

Me and Chloe; Arcadia Bay Pirates for life.

“Yeah, that’ll happen. The trick is to not scratch ‘em.”

I roll my eyes gently. “Right. I’ll keep that in mind.”

Across the yard, I can see my father watching the two of us with amusement over the barbecue lid. My parents have been surprisingly chill about Chloe smoking pot, though the fact that it’s been prescribed by an actual doctor probably helps. Their only condition was that she always smoke outside.

It’s going to start getting colder next month, though. I’ll have to try and convince them to let her use the garage, at least.

“It’s kinda funny, when you think about it,” Chloe takes a long pull and slowly lets the smoke curl out through her nose in long, white tendrils. I look away to hide my smile; I know Chloe well enough to know that my very-baked girlfriend is pretending to be a dragon. “Who knew all those years of daily wake and bakes were actually approved by the AMA?”

I don’t comment, laughing softly as I top up my bowl of pretzels. I hand the rest of the bag to Chloe, who accepts it with a grin and immediately shoves several in her mouth.

“Y’know what’s really fucked up, though?” she continues, swallowing heavily.

“What’s that?”

“What’s really fucked up,” she repeats, taking another hit. “Is how the universe threw a big ol’ bitch-fit when you kept me from getting shot, even though I was already dying of cancer.”

“You’re not dying,” I respond instantly, my good mood vanishing as I turn to glare at my girlfriend. “Don’t talk like that.”

Chloe doesn’t seem to have a response to that. She just gazes back at me with an expression I really don’t know how to interpret.

 


 

Chloe: dont think i can make it in today

Rick (El Jefe): That’s the third time this week, Chloe.

Chloe: i know

Rick (El Jefe): You’re putting me in a tough spot here. I can’t keep putting you on the schedule if you’re not going to show up.

Chloe: i got vertigo

Chloe: stuck in bed

Rick (El Jefe): Alright. How about you give me a call when you feel a little better?

Chloe: u gonna fire me?

Rick (El Jefe): Look, this isn’t a conversation to have by text.

Chloe: im a big girl, bossman

Chloe: u can be straight with me  

Rick (El Jefe): I need employees I can rely on.

Chloe: i get it

Rick (El Jefe): I’m really sorry, Chloe.

Chloe: ya

Chloe: me too

 

October Frost

3 Oct 2014

Chloe,

Thank you for including that photo of you and Max with your last letter. It went right up on the wall. It’s nice to have something to show everyone when I start talking about you guys.

How’s Max enjoying her first semester at university? I hear it can be kind of a shock to the system. I wouldn’t know personally. She’s a smart one, though. I think she’ll do fine.

Strange to think it’ll be one year in just a week. Sometimes Arcadia Bay seems like a lifetime ago. I don’t know if you got an invitation to the memorial ceremony being held in Portland on the 11th. I did, but I won’t be attending. I don’t feel like shaking hands with a bunch of politicians looking for a photo op. I can’t speak for Ms. Chase, but I wouldn’t bet money on her being there either.

If it’s alright, I’d like to give you and Max a call that day. Her parents as well if they’re available. I’d like to be able to talk about Joyce with people who actually knew her.

Everyone in Away sends their best. They all hope you’re feeling well enough to come visit soon. Joan especially. She just finished her last round of chemotherapy. She asked me to tell you she recommends chewing ginger root for the nausea. Sounds weird to me but I guess she’d know best.

I know it’s been rough but keep your head up. You’re going to get through this.

Take care,

David

 


 

October 11, 2014
Caulfield Residence
Seattle, Washington

Here’s a weird one for you.

Exactly one year ago, I was standing on the beach in Arcadia Bay. I was next to my best friend, the rain crashing down on us, watching the storm get closer and wondering if I’d live to the end of the day. Today, I’m sitting on a porch in Seattle next to my girlfriend, enjoying the reds and oranges of the setting sun, and wondering if I’ll live to the end of the year.

What’s so weird about that? The fact that when I was standing on that beach, my chances for survival had probably been a lot better.

Max doesn’t like to talk about it. I think she’s trying to protect me, but I can surf the web just as well as the next cancer patient. I’ve seen the sites and read the statistics and know full well that the odds are a long fucking way from being on my side.

Did you know that women (all of them, not just smokers) have a 1 in 17 chance of getting lung cancer in their lifetime? It’s true. Or that only around 1.4% cases happen to women under 35? And of those, only about 7% are in the 18-21 range. And of those, half won’t get diagnosed until they’re already in stage 4A. Turns out that when doctors see a young person that has trouble breathing, their minds don’t jump straight to ‘chest full of tumors’.

Long story short, a woman my age has a roughly 0.003% chance of getting diagnosed with stage 4A lung cancer, which is exactly what I have.

Lucky fucking me.

The five-year survival rate for someone with my diagnosis is 10%, unless I go and make the jump into stage 4B lung cancer. That’s when it’s time to start saying your goodbyes.

Shit.

Sorry, I’m not trying to be a downer.

Anyway, that Arcadia Bay Memorial thing is happening today. Max and I both got invitations, but she flat-out refused to go. Not that I blame her. The last thing she wants is to see all those names engraved on some stone monument. David isn’t going, even though someone actually managed to find him out in the desert to ask, and Steph said she couldn’t care less. Who the hell knows what Victoria Chase is doing? Probably flouncing around doing rich-people shit.

I was tempted, though. David’s probably right (which still feels weird to think) that the only people on that stage are going to be politicians looking for a little visibility, and I’m pretty sure the looks on their faces when I hobbled up onto whatever stage they have would’ve been priceless. They probably would’ve been scrambling to score a few points with the voters by getting a picture with Cancer-Orphan Chloe (now with chemo-infuser accessory!).

I probably could’ve guilted them into making me mayor of Portland or something. I mean, come on...I’m literally an orphan dying of cancer. It’s like a real-life cheat code.

Max wouldn’t like me saying that. My sense of humor has gotten a little darker these days (not that it was all flowers and sunshine before) but she still doesn’t like it when I make jokes about dying. I do my best to keep them to myself, but it’s hard. Sometimes it feels like dark, shitty humor is the only thing that lets me deal with the other stuff. Stuff like looking at my patient file while Doc Morris is out of the room and reading things like ‘alarmingly rapid progression’ or ‘treatment effect negligible’.

Fuck it. It is what it is, and I’ve got better things to do than sit here moping. This fucking sunset isn’t going to admire itself.

Who knows how many more I’ve got left?

 


 

Steph: So...one year.

Chloe: ya

Steph: How’re you doing?

Chloe: im ok

Steph: Really?

Chloe: just tryin not to think about AB

Chloe: or mom

Chloe: or rachel

Chloe: but i have max

Chloe: so im ok

Steph: Okay.

Chloe: what about u?

Steph: I'm just trying not to think about it. Focusing on the tour instead.

Chloe: gotcha

Chloe: where u guys at rn?

Steph: This little town in Colorado called Haven Springs. We’re playing the local bar.

Steph: I actually kinda dig it. Reminds me of a miniature Arcadia Bay, minus the bullshit.

Chloe: dope

Chloe: whats izzy think of it?

Chloe: steph?

Steph: Me and Izzy aren’t doing so good.

Steph: I actually think this might be our last gig.

Chloe: shit

Chloe: sorry

Steph: It fine. We’ve just been getting on each other’s nerves a lot. This much time stuck in the same van will really test a relationship, you know?

Chloe: think ur gonna be back early?

Chloe: or are u gonna go find urself on the road or something?

Steph: I actually think I might stay here.

Steph: I mean, just for a little while.

Chloe: ok but be careful

Chloe: dont want to end up stuck there

Chloe: working in some hick town record store or something

Steph: Right. As if.

 


 

Max: You missed it! I just slipped on a wet patch of floor and ended up flailing around for like 10 seconds before I fell on my butt. Kris said it was like the most awkward ice capades she’s ever seen.

Chloe: i didnt miss it

Chloe: i saw ur butt

Max: You aren’t even here.

Chloe: no seriously

Chloe: i always see ur butt

Chloe: im like that black guy from the thor movie

Chloe: the one who can see the whole universe?

Max: Heimdall?

Chloe: ya him

Chloe: im like heimdall

Chloe: but for ur butt

Max: ...

Max: How baked are you right now?

Chloe: heimdall chloe doesn’t answer to u

 


 

October 30, 2014
Caulfield Residence
Seattle, Washington

“Shit!”

My eyes snap up from my lecture notes just in time to watch Chloe stick the side of her hand in her mouth, and between the knife in her other hand and the drops of blood on the cutting board, it’s easy to guess what happened. I’m halfway out of my chair when Chloe turns to glare at me. “Don’t you dare.

“What?” Glancing down, I realize my right hand is already half raised. “I wasn’t going to.”

“My ass, you weren’t,” Chloe fires back, the words forming awkwardly around the knuckle between her lips. “Sit your skinny hipster butt down.”

Now it’s my turn to be annoyed. “Actually, I think I’m going to get the first aid kit before my dumbass girlfriend bleeds all over the kitchen counter.”

“It’s nothing,” Chloe holds out her hand. “See? Just a little...” She trails off. Despite her insistence, the half-inch cut is actually bleeding pretty heavily. “Okay, maybe a bandage wouldn’t be a terrible idea.”

“You think?” Pulling several paper towels off the roll next to the microwave, I ball them up and press them onto Chloe’s hand. “Hold this nice and tight, okay?”

“Got it.” Chloe seems more than willing to hide the injury from sight. Waiting next to the counter, she watches as I retrieve the red first aid kit from under the kitchen sink and start rummaging around inside, pulling out a handful of supplies.

“Okay, let’s take a look.”

Chloe hesitantly unclenches her hand and we’re both surprised to find that the wad of paper towels is practically soaked through. “What the hell?” she murmurs, her voice tight. “It wasn’t even that deep a cut.”

“Maybe you hit a vein or something.” I replace the bloody paper towels with proper gauze padding, then begin to snugly wrap Chloe’s hand up in white bandage. “As soon as I’m done we’ll go to the ER. You’ll probably need stitches.”

Despite herself, Chloe rolls her eyes. “Yay. I get to visit the hospital.”

“It’ll be fine,” I respond absently, trying to reassure myself as much as Chloe as I finish up and carefully tie off the bandage. “Okay, you wait here while I go get the car keys.”

I’m only out of the kitchen for a moment, but when I return I find Chloe leaning heavily against the counter and staring at her hand.

“Uh, Max? We might have a situation here.” The nerves in Chloe’s voice are as obvious as she holds out her hand; blood has already begun to soak through the thick layer of medical gauze, slowly changing the bandages from pristine white to harsh crimson. “This isn’t normal, right? I don’t think it should be bleeding this much.”

“No, it shouldn’t.” I half-turn toward the living room. “Hey, Dad? Could you come in here?”

The TV in the next room goes silent and we both hear the sound of my dad standing up from his recliner. He walks into the kitchen a moment later and frowns at the bloody paper towels on the counter. “You two do know Halloween isn’t until tomorrow night, right?”

“Chloe cut her hand.”

He gives me a puzzled look. “You know where the first aid kit is, don’t you?”

“No, that’s not what I...” I take a breath and try to keep my voice even. “She cut herself ten minutes ago, but it won’t stop bleeding.”

“Really?” Concerned now, he takes a closer look at the injury. “Yeah, that can’t be good. We’re definitely taking you to the ER.” Grabbing a nearby dishtowel, he hands it to Chloe. “Wrap this around it really tightly and hold your hand up by your shoulder.”

“Okay.” I hate how small Chloe’s voice sounds.

“We might have a long wait at the ER,” he continues. “Max, I want you to go grab some comfortable clothes for Chloe, then go to the bathroom and grab all of her medications. I’m going to go get the inside of the car warmed up.”

Chloe gives him a queasy smile. “You rock, Mr. C.”

“I try,” he grimaces. “Max. Get going.”

“Right.” This is fine. We can handle this. I’m ready to do whatever my girlfriend needs me to do. “I’m on it.”

“Uh, babe? I’m...I’m actually getting a little dizzy here...” Her wavering voice reaches my ears before I’ve even made it across the room. I turn back just in time to see her crumple bonelessly to the floor.

Chloe!

 


 

Kristen: How’s she doing?

Max: Sleeping right now.

Kristen: Have you been home yet?

Kristen: Max?

Max: No, not yet.

Kristen: You’d probably sleep better at home.

Kristen: Those chairs can’t be good for your back.

Max: I’m fine here.

 


 

November 27, 2014
Seattle Cancer Care Alliance - UW Medical Center
Seattle, Washington

Sitting by Chloe’s bedside, I absently poke at my rapidly-cooling turkey and potatoes. She’s asleep right now. She sleeps a lot these days, and heavily enough that there’s no risk that the sounds of regular hospital activity coming from the hallway might wake her up. I wish I could ignore them as easily. Even muffled by the partially closed door, I can pick out certain words and phrases that I’ve become increasingly familiar with since she was admitted.

We’d rushed Chloe to the ER following her kitchen accident, where we’d learned that she’d somehow managed to cut into her hand’s radial artery. That would have been bad enough on its own, but then the tests the doctor had ordered over her excessive bleeding had come back. They’d revealed that Chloe had developed a serious bleeding disorder, probably as a side effect of her chemotherapy. Her body just wasn’t producing enough platelets for her blood to clot properly. That meant even minor cuts could become potentially dangerous injuries.

Doctor Morris had recommended playing it safe by admitting her to the hospital for a little while. He’d thought it would give her a chance to recover her strength and, if they were very lucky, the bleeding disorder would turn out to be a temporary issue. He’d hoped that within a few days, she’d be recovered enough to go home with strict orders to take things very easy until she’d finished her current round of chemotherapy.

That was almost a month ago.

She hasn’t gotten any better.

“Max?”

“Hm?” I look up to the doorway. “Oh, hey Mom.”

“Your father and I are going to go get some dinner.”

“Okay.”

“It’d be nice if you came with us.” She glances at the cafeteria tray in my lap, keeping her voice low. “I know it won’t be the same as Thanksgiving dinner at home, but...”

“I’m fine here.” The answer is a reflex by now, even if it’s nowhere close to true. As an afterthought, I add, “But thanks.”

“Visiting hours are almost over,” she reminds me, as if I care.

“So?”

“So, I don’t like the idea of you taking the bus this late.”

“They haven’t tried to send me home yet.”

She nods, slowly. “Yes, they’ve been very accommodating, mostly because Doctor Morris put in a good word on your behalf. But that leeway won’t last forever.”

“Then I’ll be here as long as it does.”

“Chloe’s probably going to be asleep all night, sweetheart. She’d want you to do the same.”

“I’m fine here,” I repeat, sharply. She looks like she’s getting frustrated. I don’t know why. I would have thought that by now, she’d know better than to expect a different response.

“Are you sure, sweetheart?”

“Yes.” I turn back to Chloe, signaling the end of the conversation and hoping that Mom decides to take a hint. Apparently she does because she leaves without another word.

Setting my now cold dinner aside, I get up to close the door, then take a moment to grab an extra blanket from the room’s other, empty bed. I drape it over Chloe’s body as gently as I can, careful not to wake her as I tuck it up under her chin. The room is a little on the chilly side, and she gets cold so easily these days. As much as she teases me about being skinny, she’s always been on the slim side herself. Chemotherapy certainly didn’t help with that.

Lifting my hoodie off the back of my generic hospital chair, I zip it up and settle into the uncomfortable-as-hell seat as best I can. I take one more look at Chloe to make sure she’s resting comfortably, then pull out my phone and get back to the game I’d been playing earlier. It’s got 200 levels, apparently. I’m only on 16, but I’ve got plenty of time to change that, and nowhere else to be.

4B

December 21, 2014
Seattle Cancer Care Alliance - UW Medical Center
Seattle, Washington

The rules at the University of Washington Medical Center say that people who aren’t hospital employees aren’t allowed to go into staff-only areas. They also say that (assuming the first rule was ignored) those people definitely shouldn’t just help themselves to whatever they find there. And they definitely say that anyone caught breaking those two rules will be escorted out of the building by hospital security.

So it kinda says something when I walk out of the medical center’s second-floor employee breakroom (the one with the best coffee) holding two steaming paper cups, casually hand one to the security guard standing by the nurses’ station, and nobody bats an eye.

“Here you go, Duane. Black, triple-sugar, as requested.”

“Thanks, Max.”

As with a lot of people here, Duane and I have an understanding. He lets me get coffee from the breakroom whenever I want, and in return I don’t get him in trouble when I do it anyway. It works out well for both of us.

Walking purposefully down the halls, I try not to roll my eyes at the various holiday decorations I see or at anyone who wishes me ‘Merry Christmas’. It’s not their fault that I’m not feeling especially merry this year.

Ducking into the nearest open elevator, I hit the button for Chloe’s floor and sip gingerly at my piping hot coffee while trying to ignore the annoyingly upbeat holiday music being piped in from god knows where. When the doors open to my floor, though, I find Doctor Morris standing there. All at once, I get the unsettling impression that he’s been waiting here for me.

“Hello, Max. I’m glad I caught you,” he says, stepping into the elevator beside me and pushing the button for the next floor up. “Do you have a few minutes to talk?”

“It’s inside visiting hours,” I point out, a little defensively.

I’d already been a common sight at Chloe’s bedside since the end of October, keeping her company or, more commonly, quietly studying while she slept. If I’m honest with myself, Chloe’s absolute insistence that I keep going to my classes was the only reason I ever left. Once the fall semester came to an end, I’d all but moved in.

The evening and overnight staff had tried to kick me out on more than one occasion, always without success. I memorized the routes hospital security use weeks ago, and the occasional short rewind is usually all it takes to run circles around them. I do feel a little guilty about breaking my promise to Chloe, but if using my powers is what keeps me by her side than I’m willing to deal with her disappointment, if it ever comes up.

Anyway, by the time the nurses would make their next rounds I’d always be right back in the chair next to Chloe’s bed. Eventually the staff had come to understand that visiting hours were something that applied to other people and learned it was simply easier to leave me be.

“That’s not what I wanted to talk to you about,” he says, sounding a little less reassuring than I think he means to.

I glance at my watch. “I was going to take Chloe down to the garden.”

He nods. “I can arrange for a nurse to take her down if you like. You can meet her there when we’re done.”

Now I’m really starting to get suspicious. “This is sounding less and less like a voluntary conversation.”

“I’m sorry you feel that way, but it’s important.” The elevator doors open again, and he steps out into the hallway. “Please?”

Following him to his small office and waiting impatiently as he places a brief call to the nurse’s station on Chloe’s floor, I notice Chloe’s patient file laying open on his desk. I can’t make out exactly what’s written on the top sheet, but there’s enough red text on the page to make my stomach twist anxiously.

“You can have a seat, if you like,” he finally says, putting the phone down.

I ignore the offer, placing my coffee cup on the desk and crossing my arms. “What’s this about?”

Picking up Chloe’s file, Morris sits on the edge of his desk and regards me sadly. “This is something I wanted to tell you first, because Chloe is going to need you.”

My throat tightens and my heart seems to stagger in my chest. “Tell me what?”

“There’s simply no easy way to put this. Based on her most recent scans, we’ve determined that Chloe’s cancer has progressed to stage 4B. I’m afraid her condition is terminal.”

I stare back at him, confused. I know all the words he just used, but for some reason the way he’s strung them together doesn’t make any sense. “I...I don’t understand.”

“Her cancer has spread too far. It’s in her lymph nodes, both her lungs, and a CT scan revealed metastatic tumors in her liver, kidneys, and pancreas. It’s moved beyond our ability to control.”

“That’s...no,” I shake my head so forcefully that spots appear on my vision. “No. She’s only done one round of chemo! Maybe a second round will be enough!”

“I’m afraid that wouldn’t help.” He pulls his glasses off to rub his eyes tiredly, and for a second I’m struck by how old he suddenly looks. “In all my years of practicing medicine, I’ve never seen a cancer progress so rapidly or aggressively. The chemotherapy infusions barely slowed it down.”

“Then what about other kinds of treatment? I don’t care how much of a longshot it is.” I’m grasping at straws now. “There must be something!

“I wish that were the case, Max. I really, really do.”

“You can’t just give up!”

“We’re not giving up, Max. There’s simply nothing left for us to do.” He reaches out to put a hand on my shoulder. “I’m sorry.”

I jerk back angrily, slapping his hand away. “You’re sorry?

“Yes, I really am. I know how painful this is to hear. Please believe me when I say it’s just as painful to say.”

“Bullshit! That is complete bullshit. What the hell do you know about painful?!

He doesn’t respond or even look surprised at my outburst, and something about that just makes me angrier.

“Answer me!” I’m feeling short of breath, and a faraway part of my mind suggests that I might be on the verge of hyperventilating.

“I’ve been an oncologist for nearly twenty years, Max,” he reminds me, not unkindly. “I couldn’t even guess at how many patients I’ve treated in all that time, but what I can tell you is this; I still feel every single loss like it’s the very first. I swear to you that if there was even the slightest chance remaining, I wouldn’t rest until the fight was won.”

A tiny ember of shame rises from the confused grief clouding my thoughts. For six months, Doctor Morris had never been anything but a source of strength, determination, and support. I’m ashamed to have suggested otherwise. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to...”

“It’s alright, Max. I understand.”

There’s a moment of silence between us, during which a terrible question rises to the top of my mind. And although I hate it with every fiber of my being the very second I become aware of it, I know it needs to be asked. “How...how long?”

He doesn’t look surprised at that, either, but why would he be? He had to have known it was coming. “Chloe’s cancer is extremely aggressive,” he says, gently. “I’d estimate that she has few months. Maybe less.”

“Months?” I can’t possibly have heard that correctly. “Just months?”

He nods slowly.

“Her...” My throat tightens again, and it gets hard to speak. “Her birthday is on March eleventh. S-she’ll be turning twenty-one.”

His shoulders drop by the tiniest fraction, and I know what the answer is before he gives it. “I’m sorry, Max. That would be very, very unlikely.”

“No...” It comes out in a whisper as I begin to pace around the small office. My next try is stronger. “No!” The air in my lungs suddenly feels like it’s on fire; I need to get it out. “NO!!

I throw my fist without thinking, aiming at the nearest wall, and I feel something crack the instant it connects. “Argh!”

My rage evaporates as I cradle my arm close to my chest, and I look up at Doctor Morris with embarrassment. He frowns but, surprisingly, doesn’t look like he’s going to call security. Holding out his hand, he beckons me closer. “Come on. Let me take a look.”

“Is it broken?” I ask, wincing as he inspects the joint. “It really hurts.”

“I would imagine,” Morris gently turns my wrist over. “Probably a fracture. Must’ve been some punch.”

I glance at the pitifully small mark my fist left behind. “Sorry about that.”

“Don’t worry about it,” he says calmly. “Anger is a normal reaction to this kind of news, and you aren’t the first family member to pick a fight with a solid object. You probably won’t be the last, either.”

“But I...”

“I mean it, Max. Honestly, I’d much rather see you take your anger out on my office wall than say or do something that’ll upset Chloe. I think you’d have a hard time forgiving yourself if you did that.”

“Yeah.” I swallow, still uncomfortable with how severely I lost my temper. “What now?”

“Now, I think we ought to get an x-ray of that wrist. If it’s not too bad, you should be able to get by with a brace rather than a full cast.”

“That’s not what I meant.”

“I know,” he sighs. “The first thing you need to decide is whether you want me to tell her, or if you’d rather she hears it from you.”

“I...I think it should be me.”

“Okay.” He nods slowly. “I’m still going to clear my schedule for the afternoon. If you change your mind, or if you and Chloe have any questions, I’ll just be a phone call away.”

 


 

Balancing a pair of plastic bowls in my left hand, I try not to think of the dull pain radiating from my wrist. Doctor Morris had been right on the money when he’d diagnosed it; my little temper tantrum had earned me a hairline fracture. It wasn’t very bad, but I’d still be wearing a wrist brace for the next few weeks.

Shouldering open one of the doors leading to the Center’s courtyard, I step out into the cold air and immediately spot Chloe in her wheelchair, sitting next to the courtyard’s small frozen pond with a faraway look in her eyes. Walking over, I kneel down beside her and gently place one of the bowls on her lap. She jumps a little, surprised by my sudden appearance.

“Sorry,” I try for a reassuring smile. “Didn’t mean to scare you.”

Chloe lets out a small chuff of air that I think is a laugh, slowly pulling down her now ever-present oxygen mask to speak softly. “Damn ninja.”

“Guilty. I brought you something to eat.”

“Oh. Thanks,” she murmurs, picking up the bowl and poking at the food listlessly with her spoon. “What is it?”

“Oatmeal.”

“It’s orange.”

“It’s pumpkin pie flavored. Left over from Thanksgiving, I think.”

She squints down at the orange mush. “That was, like, a month ago.”

“I dunno. I guess they bought too much.”

“I guess,” Chloe echoes, but makes no move to eat. After a moment, she places the bowl back in her lap.

“Chilly today,” I comment, as though it wasn’t stupidly obvious. “Are you warm enough?”

“I’m good.” Chloe nods, patting the thick blanket that covers her legs. “What happened to you?”

“What?” I follow her gaze to the brace around my wrist. “Oh, yeah. Don’t worry; it’s nothing.”

“Seriously, what happened?” Chloe presses, reaching down to lay her hand over the brace.

“Unexpected trip,” I hope my awkward laugh is enough to stave off too many follow up questions. “I stumbled running up the stairs.”

“Is it bad?”

“Just a sprain. Nothing to worry about.” I hate how easy it’s become to lie to her.

“Max...” Chloe’s voice is soft but scolding.

“It’s nothing.” I hold up my hand and wiggle my fingers. “See? It doesn’t even hurt.”

She eyes me skeptically.

“Honestly, Chloe. I’m alright.”

A long moment passes before she seems to begrudgingly take my word for it. Sighing softly, she closes her eyes and leans tiredly back in her chair.

We sit in silence for a while, watching as a pair of ducks waddle back and forth across the pond’s frozen water. Every now and then, one of them stops to peck at the ice, probably after some morsel underneath. I absently wonder how thick the ice is, and what could possibly be so appetizing that the bird would try breaking through to get to it. “I’m surprised those two are still around,” I muse aloud. “You’d think they’d have headed south by n-”

“I’m gonna die, aren’t I?” Chloe asks, though the tone of her voice suggests it’s not really a question.

“W-what? No, you’re...”

“I’m not deaf, Max,” she continues. “I hear the nurses and doctors talking, and words like ‘terminal’ don’t just get thrown around for fun.”

“I...” My mouth works silently as I try to muster a response.

“It’s okay, babe. I’m not scared.”

I nearly shudder at the calm resignation in her voice. “I’m so sorry, Chloe.”

“Don’t be,” she sighs. “It’s not your fault.”

“I know. I really do, but...”

“Don’t do this to yourself, Max. Please.”

“I...I wish...”

“Me, too.” Chloe nods. Gently, she pulls my uninjured hand closer and laces our fingers. “We can talk about it later, okay?”

“But...”

“Let’s just watch these stupid ducks for a while. Can we do that?”

“...yeah,” I eventually respond. “Yeah, we can do that.”

 

Her Own Terms

January 9, 2015
Seattle Cancer Care Alliance - UW Medical Center
Seattle, Washington

Our New Year’s Eve passes quietly and, for the most part, unacknowledged. We don’t bother with champagne or party hats or cheering at midnight. Neither of us are interested in celebrating the start of a year Chloe won’t even live to see a third of. The first day of the winter semester also comes and goes as well, and while Chloe does encourage me to attend my classes, it’s a token effort, at best.

For the most part, our days are spent sitting in Chloe’s room, trying to figure out how to say all the things we want to say in the little time that remains. It’s on a day like that, during a lull in the conversation, that Chloe puts to words something that had been on her mind for some time.

“So, I’ve decided something,” she says, her voice is somehow determined and hesitant at the same time. “I don’t think you’re going to like it, but I want you to promise to hear me out before you get upset.”

“Why would I get upset?”

“Promise me, Max.”

A request like that is always a little suspicious, but I still nod. “Okay. I promise.”

“Alright. So, I...” She hesitates. “I was talking to Doctor Morris and there’s...uh...there’s this thing in Washington State called the Death with Dignity Act...”

I recoil from the bed, jumping to my feet so fast that the chair tips over behind me. “N-no! You can’t do that!”

“Max, you promised,” she reminds me.

“But...”

“Please.”

Not trusting myself to speak, I silently put my chair back on its feet and sit down.

“Max...” she pauses, considering her words carefully. “Everything hurts. Eating hurts and moving hurts and even breathing hurts. I...I can’t even go to the bathroom without crying, it’s so painful. I hurt all the time.”

“But you’ve got your...” I gesture to the auto-medication device next to the bed. The machine feeds Chloe a steady, regulated stream of morphine as part of her pain-management regimen. There was even a self-medicate button that allowed her to give herself a little extra every once in a while.

“It barely takes the edge off, anymore,” she sighs. “My body is tearing itself apart. And it’s only going to get worse.”

I don’t know what to say to that. What can I say to that?

“It’s a pretty simple process,” Chloe explains. “I just have to check off a few boxes that Doc Morris is willing to help me with, then make an official verbal request in front of two doctors, which is gonna be weird as fuck all by itself.” Chloe chuckles, despite herself. “Hey doc, would you mind killing me, please?”

“That’s not funny.”

“It’s a little funny,” Chloe counters gently. “After that I gotta wait two weeks before I put in a written request, then another two days before...well...y’know.” She looks away. “If Doc Morris starts the ball rolling tomorrow, it’d probably be done by the first week of February.”

The statement rips a sob from my throat. The thought of Chloe dying, no matter the circumstances, cuts me to the core. I can’t even stand the idea. But try as I might, I can’t think of a single point to rebuke Chloe’s request that doesn’t sound purely selfish. “No. No, that’s too soon.”

“I know it’s hard to hear, baby, but this is what I want.”

“I can’t do that again, Chloe.” I feel a little disconnected, and for a moment the woman in front of me is replaced with someone else altogether. Someone with long blonde hair and a breathing tube and a body that lays too heavy on the bed. What I did for her had been an act of mercy, but it had still wounded me in a way that had never fully healed. “Please don’t make me.”

Chloe only looks confused for a second. “Oh. Right. Bizarro me.”

“She...I...”

“I remember, Max. And I remember thinking she was a selfish asshole,” Chloe snorts. “Talk about fucking irony.”

“I killed her.” I whisper the words, like saying them too loudly will earn me some extra punishment. “I killed you. Please, please don’t make me...”

“Look at me, Max,” Chloe’s voice is firm, and I reluctantly lift my gaze to meet hers. “It wasn’t fair for her to put that on you, but this is different. The only thing I’m asking you for is to be here with me. I’ll go it alone if I have to, but I really don’t want to.”

“But why do you want to...” Leave me, I almost say, because it’s hard not to feel like I’m being abandoned. I know that isn’t what Chloe is doing, or even something that would have crossed her mind, but I can’t help that a selfish little part of me feels betrayed.

For her part, Chloe actually considers the question. “There was a dude here in the ward named Tony. You ever meet him?”

I’m thrown for a second. “I don’t think so?”

“You’d probably remember if you had. He used to do stand-up before pancreatic cancer landed him here.” She smiles, shaking her head. “Man, he was a funny guy. He could have everyone in stitches, even when he couldn’t even sit up on his own.”

“He got diagnosed as terminal, and all he wanted was to go out with some dignity. Started the whole process, but then his wife went to a lawyer and they blocked his request. Some bible-thumper bullshit.” Chloe winces and presses the self-medicate switch in her hand. A sharp tone from the regulator beside the bed tells us that she’s reached the end of her daily morphine allocation. “Fucking fuck.”

“Do you want me to go ask about that?” Standing, I glance toward the door, trying to guess how long it would take to make it to the nurse’s station and back. “Maybe someone can reset it or something.”

Chloe shakes her head sadly. “Don’t bother. They’ll just say no.”

“Oh.” I sit back down on the edge of the bed.

“Yeah.” She sighs, absentmindedly rearranging her blankets. “Tony was begging to die at the end, Max. Begging. We could all hear him, even after the nurses closed the door. And there was his bitch of a wife, sitting there praying like it actually meant a fucking thing. She forced Tony to suffer for no good reason at all.” She reaches out, weakly taking my hand. “I won’t go out like that. If I’m going to die, I want to do it on my own terms. I want to be at peace.”

Against my will, I start shaking my head. “You’re not thinking clearly.”

“You know I am, babe.”

“I could...could do something.” I sound desperate and I know it, but only because I feel desperate. “I could go back and...”

“Stop it, Max.” Chloe’s gaze turns serious. “If you love me, you won’t ever do that.”

"But it was supposed to be...we were supposed to..." I can’t bring myself to say it. After all the times I’ve saved Chloe’s life, I still can’t accept the idea of outliving her. We were supposed to have years and years together. I was never supposed to watch the love of my life wither away. "I just...I thought we’d have more time."

A thin sheen of tears covers Chloe’s eyes, but not quite enough to fall. “Me too.”

“I’m not ready to say goodbye.”

Reaching out, she gathers me into her arms and holds me as tightly as she can still manage.

“Me either.”

 


 

January 10, 2014
Seattle Cancer Care Alliance - UW Medical Center
Seattle, Washington

“You’re enjoying this, aren’t you?” I stare up into expressionless eyes, and they gaze right back down at me. I don’t get a response, but it’s not as though I expected to. “I saved her. Someone or something gave me the power to save her. But now you’re taking her away anyway. Even worse, you took away her hope. You made her want to die.”

I tighten my grip on the bench in front of me, listening to the wood creak softly. “You probably thought it was so funny, watching us rebuild our lives just so you could pull the rug out from under us. And for what, huh? Is this supposed to teach me some kind of lesson? Are you trying to prove some kind of point?”

I probably ought to be keeping my voice down, but I can’t quite manage to care. “I thought you were supposed to watch out for people. That you’re supposed have our backs. All I see is an insecure little punk who can’t stand to be proven wrong. A vindictive prick who just has to have the last word.”

“Max?” I turn to see Dad looking at me from the door. “Were you talking to someone?”

“No.”

“Oh. Well, Chloe was wondering where you were.”

“I’ll be right there.”

He glances to the front of the hospital’s small chapel. “Should I tell her you need some time?”

“No. I think I’m done here.”

He nods slowly. “Alright. No rush.”

After he leaves, I sit quietly for a moment before continuing. “After the storm, I decided to give you a second chance. I wanted to see if you could live up to the hype, but you’re just abandoning her anyway. Just like you abandoned Arcadia Bay. Just like you abandoned Kate.”

Standing up, I take one last moment to glare hatefully at the carved figure hanging silently on the cross, indulging the righteous anger roaring inside me, filling the space left behind by my own lost hope. I want to be given some justification for it all, just so I can reject it out of spite. I want to be offered some kind of comfort, so I can throw it back in that stupid, impassive face.

“So, y’know what? Fuck you. Fuck your storms, and your consequences, and you fucked alternate lives where you cripple the woman I love.”

Walking backward toward the exit, I raise my right hand and casually take back the last twenty minutes. The rewind is smooth and easy. No distorted sounds and barely any blur. It’s not even a challenge to stop exactly one second from the time I first came in. Pretty impressive if I do say so myself. The culmination of months spent practicing in secret and my eventual choice to simply no longer give a shit.

Turning away from those damned eyes, I shove the door open and flip the bird over my shoulder on my way out. Maybe it’s the wrong thing to do. I mean, I’m sure Kate would’ve been disappointed with me, even after everything that’s happened.

It’s even possible that I just told the actual source of my powers to fuck right off, but what difference would that make anyway? Whether it was this particular higher power or a different one altogether, whoever or whatever is was sure didn’t seem to care how I felt the last time they decided to screw around with my life.

And if, by some chance, they do have a problem with my attitude? Well, they’re more than welcome to come and tell me.

They know where I’ll be.

Passage

It all happens so fast.

I kept holding out hope that the wheels of bureaucracy would grind to some unexpected but not totally surprising halt, or that the request paperwork would just get lost in the system somewhere and eventually forgotten.

Instead, this seems to have been the one time when the universe decided everything should go smoothly and according to plan.

Doctor Morris had gotten the process started the day after Chloe had brought it up. I kind of suspect he and Chloe already had the paperwork ready to go and were just waiting until she’d had a chance to tell me. I try not to dwell on that possibility, though. It makes me feel like I was never a factor in her decision. Like talking to me was just another formality to be observed in the process.

Morris and one of his colleagues both wrote and submitted reports confirming the state of Chloe’s condition, and he’d arranged for a psychiatrist from King County Mental Health Services to come in and verify her mental competence. She’d even listened patiently while a state-mandated councilor had stressed all of her other options, including palliative and hospice care.

Apparently, Chloe needs to be in enough pain that killing her is the best option, but not so much pain that she might not be thinking straight. Makes total sense, right?

After that, it was only a week before she made her official verbal request. She didn’t even hesitate.

The mandated fifteen-day waiting period that had followed her first request had been torture. The entire time, I’d forced myself to put on a brave face and spent every hour of every day biting back the urge to try and talk Chloe out of it. I’d wanted to take her by the shoulders and shake some sense into her. To convince her she needed to hold on and keep fighting.

Then the waiting period came to an end, the final written request was submitted almost as soon as it did, and suddenly we were in the last forty-eight hours.

Even then, I kept harassing Doctor Morris with the same pleading questions. Were we totally sure that Chloe’s condition was terminal? Couldn’t there have been a mistake? Was there any treatment left to try, no matter how experimental or unorthodox? Anything at all?

And every time I did, despite his busy schedule, he’d listen patiently and answer each question in turn before confirming the horrible truth.

My poor, beloved Chloe was going to die. It was only a matter of time.

 


 

February 3, 2015
Seattle, Washington

I don’t know how, but the night before the final deadline Chloe somehow convinced me to go home and try to get some sleep. As if I could. Instead, all I’m able to do is lay there, staring at the bedroom ceiling, and it’s two in the morning when I give up on even doing that.

I dress as silently as I can and creep down the stairs, intending to call a taxi to pick me up at the end of the street. I even plan on leaving a note for my parents, but when I walk into the kitchen I’m startled to find Dad already there, calmly nursing a cup of coffee like he’s been waiting for me the whole time.

Maybe he has.

“Hey, sweetheart. Can’t sleep?”

I shake my head silently.

“Me, either,” he sighs. Finishing his coffee, he places the empty mug in the sink and picks his car keys up off the counter. “C’mon. I’ll drive you.”

The streets of Seattle are practically empty and the ride to the hospital is a quick one. Unlike every other time Dad’s given me a ride there, he doesn’t make small talk or offer to stop for bagels. He just glances at me every now and then, a sad expression on his face, wordlessly offering his support.

I’m just as silent, and even manage to hold on to my composure right up until we get to the hospital entrance. I come to a slow stop, glaring at the building I’ve walked into countless times. I know that it’s ridiculous to hate this place; it’s just a building. It’s not alive or aware of what I’m going through, and even if it were, this still wouldn’t be its fault. That doesn’t stop the anger that’s coiling like a restless snake inside me, threatening to burst out.

“Max?” Dad’s voice is careful; hesitant. He’s come to a stop a few steps ahead of me and looks like he can’t decide whether or not to come back. “Are yo-”

My enraged scream surprises me, cuts his question in half, and echoes between the hospital buildings as I unleash the most savage kick I can manage on a nearby garbage can. My most savage kick still isn’t very savage, though. The can teeters for a second before tipping over unimpressively, just a few loose pieces of trash spilling out onto the grass.

“It’s not fair!” I scream. “It’s not fucking fair! Why is this happening?!”

Dad doesn’t shush me, despite the hour, or try to offer any comforting words. He knows me better than that. He just waits patiently until I’m calm enough to go inside, then walks with me to the elevator. On the way, I silently reflect on the fact that someone standing outside the cancer center at nearly three AM and screaming about life’s unfair cruelty apparently doesn’t even warrant a call to campus security.

I stab at the elevator button without even looking, glare spitefully at the inside of the brushed metal doors as the car rises steadily, and soon we step out into a floor that I could probably navigate with my eyes closed. I don’t recognize the first nurse I see, which is unusual. Whether or not I get along with them, I still know every nurse on this floor at least by their face, if not their name. She looks like she’s about to try and get in my way, and I’m silently daring her to spout some shit about ‘proper visiting hours’ when an older woman in pink scrubs (Elaine, I’m pretty sure. Transferred from the ICU back in September) stops her. The two of them share a brief whispered conversation, then both women look at me sadly and wave me by.

I can still feel the snake writhing in my gut and, for a moment, I’m too afraid to go into Chloe’s room. I don’t want my final hours with the love of my life to be ruined by spite. Then I gently push the door open, my eyes fall on the sleeping figure inside, and the anger drains right out of me. All it leaves behind is a dull and hollow feeling that’s so much more familiar than it has any right to be.

Chloe’s always been a little pale and, back before all of this, I’d been jealous of her creamy smooth complexion. Now she’s lost nearly all color; she looks practically translucent, whiter than the sheets she’s laying on. Her skin is drawn tight over her bones, giving her a hauntingly skeletal look. I realize, with no small amount of horror, that she could almost be mistaken for a corpse. It’s only the occasional flick of her tongue against her chapped lips, the subtle twitch of her eyes beneath her eyelids, and the almost imperceptible rise and fall of her chest that prove otherwise.

I don’t realize I’m still standing in the doorway until I feel Dad’s hand come to rest on my shoulder. “She...she looks like she’s...like she’s already...”

“I know, honey.”

There’s something Dad knows that I don’t, but only because I couldn’t bear to know myself. He’d asked Doctor Morris for it and has been holding on to it until I was ready.

I’m not ready – I’ll never, ever be ready – but the question escapes my lips anyway. “When...when does...?”

I don’t finish asking, but I don’t have to. He knew this was coming. “Doctor Morris said that the 48-hour waiting period for the prescription is up at eight am.” He looks at Chloe and gives my shoulder a gentle squeeze. “After that, it’s up to her.”

It feels like the air has been sucked right out of my lungs. My knees buckle and I almost fall before Dad catches me and guides me to the chair next to Chloe’s bed. I want to wake her up, to hear her voice and convince myself that she’s going to recover, but a part of me is afraid that she’ll somehow crumble into dust if I even touch her. Instead, I just settle into the chair (which all but has my name on it by now) to wait for her.

“Is there anything I can...” Dad trails off before he can finish the question.

“No,” I answer flatly. “I’m fine here.”

He nods once, leaving me to my vigil. The sounds of the hospital floor fade into the distance as I sit quietly, and it isn’t long before I feel sleep starting to pull at me. I fight back, playing tug-of-war with my own consciousness. Every few minutes my head will start to dip forward, then my entire body jerks as I force myself to stay awake. Every time, I bolt upright and look around the room, secretly hoping that this has all been one big nightmare. There’s nothing I want more than to wake up at home and see Chloe smirking down at me, ready to tease me for falling asleep in a chair instead of coming up to bed.

Then I’ll look at the bed beside me, be forced to accept reality, and the cycle starts all over again.

As the hours pass, the floor grows quiet. There’s only a handful of staff that works the early morning hours in the oncology ward, and the other patients were either asleep or too weak to make much noise. At some point, one of the nurses leans into the room and dims the lights. Then, as I’m silently counting each of Chloe’s shallow breaths, I finally doze off.

 


 

I get some sleep, but I definitely don’t get any rest; I keep getting thrown from one vivid and confusing dream to the next. In one, I’m sitting on a beach with Kate, drinking tea and watching an eclipse over the water. In another, I’m cowering in the Two Whales diner, surrounded by hauntingly familiar faces as the storm descends on us.

The worst is finding myself back in the Dark Room. But this time it’s Chloe that’s tied to that godforsaken chair while Jefferson takes his pictures, and there isn’t a thing I can do to save her.

It’s the faint sound of rustling sheets that finally jerks me awake, and rather than looking around the room for the source my gaze goes immediately to the bed. Chloe is struggling to lift her eyelids, and her once crystal-blue eyes are cloudy as they slowly focus on me.

“Hey, beautiful,” she whispers with a soft smile, her voice only slightly muffled by her oxygen mask. “You’re here.”

“Of course I am.” Rising from the chair, I ignore the uncomfortable series of pops in my back and move to sit on the bed. “Where else would I be?”

“Look at you.” The frown on Chloe’s face makes me wonder how tired I look. “Have you been sleeping?”

“I’m fine, Chloe.”

“Max, you need to...” She’s briefly overwhelmed by a wet, hacking cough. “You need to take better care of yourself.”

“You’re one to talk,” I glance at Chloe’s hand and try not to think about how frail it looks.

She sighs and her smile turns weary. “Do I look as shitty as I feel? Don’t bullshit me, Caulfield.”

“You look beautiful.”

Chloe lets out a soft chuff of laughter. “Still a crap liar.”

The regret in that moment, the remorse, threatens to overwhelm me. For a moment, I’m sure that I’m going to be sick. “I’m so sorry, Chloe. I...I should have done more.”

"Hey, you cut that out." Chloe shakes her head. “This isn’t your fault, Max. I’m the dumb bitch who started smoking to piss off her mom.”

“That’s my fault, though.” I hate how bitter I sound. “You never would’ve started if I hadn’t left you.”

“Max, that wasn’t...”

“I know.” I don’t want to go down that old road again. Not today. “They told me that...that in the morning you...” Try as I might, I can’t quite keep my voice steady. “That you get to decide when.”

“Yeah.” Chloe offers a weak nod. “Hey, do you have your journal with you?”

“Um, I think so?” I reach down to rummage through the messenger bag I barely remember picking up as I left the house. I lost my old journal with everything else I’d taken with me to Blackwell, and after the two of us had left the ruined town behind, Chloe had tried to pull me out of my semi-catatonic state by buying me a thick spiral notebook from a gas station not far outside Arcadia Bay.

I barely remember her giving it to me; it sort of feels like it’s always been there.

I find it tucked between my ratty old wool scarf and the Surface tablet my parents had given me for Christmas, along with a card that none-too-subtly reminded me to register for my spring semester classes. “Got it.”

“Would you...” Chloe smiles, a little shyly. “Could you read me something from it? Something about us?”

It’s a surprising request, but I don’t think I could deny her anything she asked for today. “Oh. Y-yeah, sure.”

Flipping through the pages, I’m still trying to pick an entry when Chloe’s eyes light up. “Ooh...go back. Is that from right after Thanksgiving? Read that one.”

“What?” I instinctively pull the journal close to my chest. “No!”

“Yes.”

Chloe,” I hiss, feeling my cheeks grow warm. “I am not reading this one out loud. Someone might hear.”

“Pleeeeease?” she pleads softly, and my resolve crumbles in an instant.

“Fine. But it’s getting the suitable-for-all-audiences treatment.” Lowering the book back into my lap, I begin softly reading aloud. “I never would have thought Chloe could be such a romantic. She took me out to dinner tonight and then we went for a walk down by the waterfront. We actually got to go up in that giant ferris wheel on Pier 57. The whole thing is already covered in Christmas lights and there was a huge line up, but she must have bribed someone because we walked right to the front of the line.”

Chloe’s eyes still have a little twinkle left in them, but she admits nothing.

“The view was amazing, and when we got to the top she...” I pause, blinking back tears. “...she kissed me and told me she loves me more than she’s ever loved anyone in her whole life.”

“Still do,” Chloe whispers, weakly squeezing my hand and bringing the smile back to my face.

“Mom and dad were still out when we got home, so Chloe led us upstairs and we...uh...” I stumble, my blush deepening as I skip over the next three paragraphs. “It was all so amazing, and I’ve never felt so close to her.”

“Damn right,” she laughs softly. “I hella rocked your world, Caulfield.”

“Yeah, babe. Yeah, you did.”

“Still can’t believe we were together for, like, a whole month and managed to keep things PG,” Chloe muses, rolling her eyes lightly as she settles a little deeper into the blankets. “Read me another one.”

“Okay. Let’s see...” I flip through the pages, then one catches my eye and I grin. “We watched the New Year’s Eve celebration in Times Square on TV tonight, and right at midnight Chloe made some joke about balls dropping. I didn’t hear it all, but Mom looked super shocked and Dad laughed so hard that champagne came out his nose.” I lower the journal, chuckling. “I remember that. It was so funny.”

“Right? Your mom teased him about it for, like, a week.” Chloe laughs a little louder, then lets out a pained whimper and subtly presses her self-medicate button. The machine beside her bed chirps softly, then emits a nearly inaudible hiss as it administers a shot of morphine. A moment later, the tension bleeds out of her features and she relaxes again.

“You okay?” I don’t care how pointless the question is.

“M’fine. Keep going.”

I hesitate for a second, then look back at the journal. “Oh, jeez...”

“What?”

“Remember this one?” I tap the page. “I finally had my first tattoo session today. I flinched a little when the needle first touched my skin and a girl getting tattooed in the next chair over called me a wuss. Chloe told her to shut her mouth and go back to worrying about how to explain her new tramp stamp to her mom. Both artists laughed and the girl stormed out with her tattoo half-finished. Chloe Price, you’re my hero!”

“Hey, that bitch had it coming. No one messes with my honey.”

“Oh, that reminds me of another one.” I rapidly flip through the pages until I find the entry I’m looking for. “Last night was Chloe’s twentieth birthday pub crawl spectacular. We went all over Vancouver with a bunch of other people from the hostel and everyone had a great time – especially her. She looks so carefree and every time I see her smile I think I fall in love with her a little more.” I look up to give Chloe a playful glare. “But as much as I love her, if she doesn’t stop telling people I’m her ‘hot teenage honey’ I’m gonna make her sleep in the guest room.”

“Oh my god, I remember that. You actually tried once, too,” she laughs softly. “You caved after half an hour.”

“Yeah, well... I wanted Chloe-cuddles.”

The hours drift by as the two of us recount one memory after another, laughing together and barely noticing when the eastern sky begins to brighten. It isn’t until a soft knock pierces our little bubble that we look up to see Doctor Morris standing in the doorway. “Good morning, Max. Good morning, Chloe.”

I don’t respond, but Chloe somehow musters up her old cocky grin. “What’s up, Doc?”

He offers her a hesitant smile in return. “I’m genuinely sorry to interrupt, but I wanted to let you know that everything is ready. You just need to let me know when you’d like to proceed.”

“Right.” Chloe nods, her grin slipping away as fast as it appeared. “Yeah.”

“There’s no rush,” he hurries to add. “I’ve cleared my entire schedule, so you take just as long as you need.”

“Nope.” She shakes her head and I feel my stomach threaten to turn inside out. “No time like the present.”

“Are...are you sure?”

“I’m as ready as I’ll ever be, Doc,” she insists, wincing as she shifts her weight. “Waiting won’t change anything.”

“Well, if that’s what you want.” He glances around the otherwise empty room. “There isn’t anyone else you’d like to have here?”

“No. Just Max.” Chloe turns to me. “I wrote some letters. For David and your parents and some others. They’re in the drawer. You’ll get them to the right people?”

“Of course I will.” It’s Chloe’s last request. I’d walk to the ends of the earth and back if she asked me to. “You can count on me.”

“I know I can,” she says with an adoring smile I can barely endure. “Partners to the end, right?”

“Always,” I whisper. Turning to Morris, I try to find the right words for one more question I’ve been too afraid to ask. “So...um...how does this...?”

He seems to understand, but glances to Chloe - who nods – before he responds. “I’ll be administering three separate drugs; a sedative, a barbiturate, and a neuromuscular blocker.”

“Oh.” I’ve got no idea what that means, but it isn’t especially comforting. “And h-how long will it...?

“About ten minutes,” he says gently, then adds. “but the sedative will put her to sleep in about five.”

Five minutes. The answer hits me like a kick in the stomach. This is my last five minutes with Chloe. This isn’t happening. This can’t be happening.

“Max.” It isn’t until I feel Chloe’s hand brush my cheek that I realize how heavily I’m breathing. Her skin feels almost brittle, as though she might crumble at any moment. “Please look at me, sweetheart.”

"I..." I put my hand over hers and squeeze as tightly as I dare. “I’m scared.”

“I know. It’ll be okay. Just keep your eyes on me.” Chloe looks away just long enough to give Morris a nod. Though I try so hard to keep my gaze fixed on Chloe, I can still see his movements from the corner of my eye. I only narrowly fight back the urge to scream as he silently administers the first injection.

"Thank you for coming back, Max. For finding me again. For being the best thing that ever happened to me."

I force the lump in my throat down and try to smile. “I'm not so great. A hottie like you probably could’ve done way better.”

"Never." Chloe’s eyes flash intensely, just for a second, and she shakes her head. “Not if I had a hundred years to look.”

Wordlessly, I kiss the frail hand clasped in my own and barely hold back a shudder at how cold and lifeless it feels. For a moment, I imagine I can almost feel the dark, malignant thing inside her, devouring her piece by piece, and I’m suddenly filled with a blazing hatred like nothing I’ve ever known.

Hatred for everyone and everything in existence. For the disease that has been killing Chloe, and for the doctor who’s killing her now. For whatever spirit or god or demon cursed me with the ability to go back in time, but not far enough to save her. For my own helplessness, for Chloe’s stubbornness, and for the terrible and inescapable truth that allowing the love of my life to die on her own terms is the right thing to do.

Then, just as quickly as it flares, the hatred burns away. All it leaves behind is anguish and I let out a choked sob.

Chloe’s gaze begins shifting in and out. "Shh...this isn’t your fault, Max."

“I should have done more.”

"Don’t say that. You’ve made me so happy. I don’t regret a second we had together.”

"Neither do I, but...”

“But nothing lasts forever.” Chloe whispers. Her voice is so small.

"I can't." I shake my head. “I...”

"Hey." With great effort, Chloe brings her eyes back into focus. “I love you, Max Caulfield.”

“I love you, too, Chloe. Forever.”

She gives me one final, sweet smile as her eyelids flutter closed.

I lay my head down on her chest, my tears soaking into the blanket as Chloe’s hand comes to rest on my hair. As each breath comes a little more shallowly than the one before, the room seems to fall away and I can almost see Chloe standing in front of me, as beautiful as the day we’d been reunited. There’s a wide, beaming smile on her face, even as the heart beneath my ear begins to weaken.

As it gives its last faltering beats and her hand falls away from my hair, I imagine I can see Chloe giving me that cheeky wink I’ve always loved.

Then the vision fades, her heart goes still, and there’s nothing left to see.

-------------------

END PART II

-------------------

Condolences


February 8, 2015
St. Charlotte Community Church
Seattle, Washington

The funeral is unreal. I’m too drained for it to feel like a dream, too numb to consider it a nightmare. Everything about Chloe had been loud and vibrant and alive, but as I stare up at Chloe’s closed coffin, I can barely remember what any of those feel like.

Holding it in a church seems pointless. Chloe had never put much stock in religion. Faith had been far more important to Joyce than it had for her daughter, and the only time I’d ever imagined Chloe in a church at all was when I pictured the day the two of us would stand up and swear to spend the rest of our lives together.

Now that day is never going to come.

Sitting in the front row, I’m only half listening to the pastor speak. Most of my attention is focused on a stray cobweb dancing in the sunlight that streams in through the church’s stained-glass windows. It had drifted down from the rafters earlier in the service, catching on a framed picture of Chloe. As the man at the pulpit drones on about Chloe’s strength and bravery, as if he knew anything at all about her, I’m almost transfixed by the way the strand of spider’s silk sways in some barely present breeze.

For a moment I consider getting up to brush it away, then crying some more, and then ripping the still-beating heart from my own chest and offering it up to whatever gods might be listening, as though that might somehow convince them to give Chloe back to me.

I don’t do any of these. I just sit there, my insides feeling like they’ve been filled with lead.

The day Chloe had died, I’d cried and raged and thrown things like an angry little kid. Sitting in the church now, I just feel used up, like I just don’t have it in me to feel anything anymore.

It’s not until my mom put a gentle hand on my shoulder that I realize that the pastor has finished talking. All eyes are on me, and I realize that I’m probably expected to say something. I try to stand, but the thought of having to walk past the coffin sets my knees shaking. For a second, I’m absolutely certain that if I get too close to it, I’ll break down entirely. So, again, I do nothing. I stay rooted in place, only loosely aware of Dad going up to briefly speak to Pastor What’s-His-Name as I continue to stare at Chloe’s photo.

Her smile is so beautiful.

It isn’t fair.

Eventually the ceremony ends, and I let my parents lead me to the church entrance. I stand there and accept the condolences of each person that passes by. Most of them feel like hollow platitudes, especially the ones coming from people who’d barely known her. They’re just saying what they think they ought to say. I nod and thank them, silently wishing they’d stop wasting my air with their bullshit.

Other people, though, say things that remind me that I’m not the only one grieving.

The mechanics from the garage Chloe had worked at – at least, until she was too sick to work at all – pass by one at a time. Most of the men have genuine tears in their eyes as they pay their respects, and I acknowledge each of them with as much energy as I can muster. I even manage to remember most of their names.

Stephanie Gingrich is a surprise. I knew she’d gotten an invitation to the funeral, but I didn’t think she’d actually make the trip all the way from Colorado. She doesn’t seem to know what to say to me, and I guess I can’t really blame her. We’d gotten along well enough when she’d still lived in Seattle, but she was always Chloe’s friend more than mine. But she’s kind and sympathetic, and even if she and I were never that close, I know she’s going to miss having Chloe in her life.

If there’s anyone taking this as hard as I am, it’s David; he can barely look me in the eye as we’re talking. He and Chloe had worked so hard to repair their relationship after he’d moved out to Arizona. He’d made time at least once a week to call and check up on her, and eventually she’d actually begun looking forward to their conversations. She said that she was pretty sure he’d cried a little the day she’d finally called him ‘her old man’. It was as close to calling him ‘dad’ as she ever got.

I don’t know what to say either, so I just step forward and wrap my arms around his shoulders. He briefly accepts the gesture before stepping back, quietly excusing himself as he wipes the tears from his eyes.

It’s not until the last attendee has left that I go back inside. I follow the aisle to the front and stand next to the casket, only vaguely aware of my parents standing behind me.

Reaching out, I brush my fingertips over the casket’s smooth white surface. I feel my throat tighten as a nauseating sense of awareness wash over me. I’d known that the casket was Chloe’s, but I’m suddenly overwhelmed by the horrifying truth that she’s actually inside it.

Chloe’s in this box...

She died and they sealed her inside...

They’re going to drop it in a hole and cover it with dirt and everyone is going to pretend like this is all over and we should all just move on and...

and...

...I have to get out of here.

My feet are already moving as I glance back to my parents. “I...I need a few minutes alone.”

I don’t wait for them to respond before dashing out. I find a quiet room in a secluded corner of the church and barrel through the door with so much force that I don't even realize someone is already there. I’m standing at a small window overlooking the alley behind the building, alternating between gulping back deep lungfuls of air and choking on my own sobs, when they speak.

“Are you okay?”

I spin around to find Victoria Chase, of all people. She looks like she isn’t sure whether to leave or keep talking, and for a second I’m actually speechless. I didn’t even realize she been invited to the funeral. Then again, there could have been a full-grown elephant in the church and I might not have noticed. “I...w-what?”

“Yeah, I guess that’s a pretty stupid question right now.” She frowns a little. “I, uh, just needed to make a call, but...” She fidgets with the phone in her hands, glancing to the door. “Should I go?”

I haven’t seen Victoria in person since Arcadia Bay, even though she’s been right here in Seattle. I never even thought about reaching out to her. I find myself feeling like a bit of an asshole for that.

She seems different from the way I remember. Her blonde hair is longer now, but not by a lot. Her features are still as sharp and irritatingly flawless as they are in my memory. Still, there’s a brittleness to her now that wasn’t there before, like she’s still recovering from an injury; it’s not hard to imagine why.

“No. It’s fine.” I try to sound like I mean it but it’s hard to keep my voice steady. “I’m fine.”

I’m sure I look completely insane, all wide eyes and streaked makeup. Somehow my mom convinced me to wear a token amount today, and my eyes sting a little as it mixes with my tears. I turn away, embarrassed. I expect to hear Victoria’s retreating footsteps, but out of the corner of my eye, I see her still lingering by the door.

“I’m fine,” I say again, as though repeating it enough times might make it true.

“You know, it’s okay not to be.” A second later, she adds, “Fine, I mean. You don’t have to be fine.”

I hear her shuffle her feet awkwardly when I don’t respond.

“I’m sorry about Chloe,” she tries.

“Yeah, everyone’s so sorry,” I mutter darkly. A heartbeat later I regret the words. “Uh...I didn’t mean that to sound so...”

“I know,” she interrupts, not unkindly. “I am, though, for what it’s worth. She was...one of a kind.”

I know a hedge when I hear one, but I can’t really fault Victoria for not having something nicer to say. She and Chloe had already disliked each other before I returned to Arcadia Bay. Not even the storm could change that.

“Thanks.” Looking down at my hands, I add, “You know, I think you’re the first person who hasn’t just tried to make me feel better.”

“Did you want me to?”

“No. It’s different, but...I don’t know...refreshing, I guess.”

“That’s fair. I mean, you’re the only one who gets to decide how you feel.”

I almost smile. “That’s deep.”

“Don’t be too impressed. I stole it from my therapist,” she shrugs. “But for how much she charges, she damned well better be insightful.”

“You have any other words of wisdom?” I try to make it sound like a joke, but part of me really hopes that she’ll know the exact thing to say to make the pain go away.

She sighs, as though she can hear my thoughts, and shakes her head. “Sorry. I wish I had some fix-all advice I could pass on, but I don’t.”

“Some help you are,” I mutter, and she actually flinches a little. Looking away, I take a low and shaky breath. “I’m sorry. That wasn’t fair.”

“It’s alright,” she responds shortly, waving my apology away. After a moment’s hesitation, she pulls a business card from her purse and holds it out; the cream-colored paper is embossed with her name, and the information for the ‘Chase Space’ art gallery. “If you ever...I dunno...feel like talking, I guess.”

“Oh.” I accept the card, staring at it for a second before slipping it into my pocket. “Thank you.”

Sensing the conversation is over, Victoria offers me one last slightly stilted smile and makes her exit. Looking around the now-empty room, I briefly consider breaking down in tears again, then go to meet my parents outside.

 


 

[5 Feb, 2015]

Kristen: I understand if you need time right now, but I’m always here if you need me.

[8 Feb, 2015]

Kristen: Hey. Me and Nando saw you at the funeral today, but you didn’t look like you were up to talking to anyone.

Kristen: Just wanted to say that we’re ready when you are.

[11 Feb, 2015]

Kristen: Hey, Max. Haven’t heard from you in a while. How are you doing?

[15 Feb, 2015]

Kristen: So I called your mom and she said you’re fine, but I didn’t really like the way she said fine.

Kristen: I’m not trying to be pushy, but could you give me a call as soon as you’re feeling up to it?

[19 Feb, 2015]

Kristen: Okay, I can take a hint.

Kristen: But I’m still here, Max. Whenever you need me.

 


 

March 4, 2015
Caulfield Residence
Seattle, Washington

I’m surprised, in an absent sort of way, that nearly a month goes by before my parents really start bugging me to do something other than lay in bed. Not surprised enough to actually do it, but still surprised. I’m fine where I am. I’m not exactly happy, but I’ve managed to find some semblance of peace under the bedsheets, my face pressed into a pillow that I’ve convinced myself still smells like Chloe’s hair.

But mom and dad are nothing if not persistent, and once again I’m pulled from the sleepy haze I spend most of my time in by a gentle knock on my bedroom door. My mom’s soft voice follows a few seconds later. “Max? Are you awake?”

I don’t bother to reply. I have a feeling it’s a rhetorical question, anyway.

Mom tentatively steps into the room, and I recognize the disappointed sound she makes at finding me still in bed. “It’s past noon, sweetheart.”

“So?”

“So you should probably get out of bed.”

“Why?”

She looks surprised; this is a lot more conversation than she usually gets out of me. “You could try getting out of the house? Some fresh air will be good for you.”

“It’s raining.”

“It’s Seattle,” she counters with a fragile smile. “Eventually you’ll need to rejoin the world.”

“Fuck the world.”

“Language.” Her voice is scolding, as if I were nine years old rather than nineteen. As if I give the slightest shit about my fucking language. “Max, I'm not just going to let you waste away in here.”

“Then fuck you, too.” I lift the blanket back over my head.

I’m not entirely sure whether I mean it, or if I’m just trying to provoke her. Either way, I don’t have to be looking at her to picture the look of shock and anger on her face. Just a couple of months ago, I would never have talked to her like that. I’m certain that she wants to call me out on it, too, but she doesn’t.

Let it never be said that Vanessa Caulfield doesn’t know when to pick her battles.

“It’s not healthy to stay cooped up like this, sweetheart,” she insists, only the slightest hint of tension in her voice. “Why don’t you try calling your friends? They miss you.”

I know she means well, but talking to them will just remind me of Chloe, just like everything reminds me of Chloe. “Pass.”

“Maybe just a walk down to the park, then?” she presses, sitting on the edge of the bed and placing a hand on my shoulder. I hate that I actually find it a little comforting.

If I can’t bully her into leaving me alone, maybe guilt will work instead.  “Mom, I don’t...”

Please, Max,” she interrupts. “Will you go out long enough for me to do a load of laundry, at least?”

I reluctantly lower the blanket to look at her, finding only genuine concern in her eyes. And as much as I hate admitting it, the bedsheets are a long way from fresh smelling. “I’m not going to see anyone.”

“You don’t have to.”

“...fine. I’ll go for a fucking walk.”

If my language bothers her again, it doesn’t show. “I’m glad to hear that, sweetheart. I’ll wait downstairs. Just let me know when you leave, okay?”

“Whatever,” I mutter, watching her walk out of the room. Hauling myself out of bed with a disgruntled groan, I very briefly consider taking a shower but dismiss the idea just as quickly. Too much effort.

I glance out the window to gauge the weather, and even though the light drizzle that’s been falling all morning could barely be called rain, it’s wet enough that I can’t get away with just throwing a coat over my pajamas. A brief hunt for some clean – or close to clean - clothes turns up a pair of jeans, some acceptable underwear, and a concert t-shirt for a band called Firewalk that I don’t think I’ve ever seen live.

As I sniff the t-shirt and decide it’s fresh enough to wear, I wonder how long I'll have to be out to get Mom off my back. Probably an hour, at least. I can get pretty far in an hour. After Chloe sold her truck to help with whatever our insurance didn't cover (for the whopping $500 that got her) we both did plenty of walking. I'd be able to make it all the way to the hospital if I walked that long, not that I have the slightest fucking reason to... 

That’s when a thought floats to the surface of my mind. Or rather, a question. A question that’s been in the back of my head for a while. I haven’t asked it to anyone. I haven’t even spoken it aloud. I’m a little scared of it, if I’m being honest, and possibly even more scared of what the answer might be. I’ll never get an answer unless I ask, though, and maybe finally knowing will help. At the very least, it gives me somewhere to actually go. The alternative is just circling the block until I think Mom will be satisfied.

Yes. This is a plan. This is a thing that might (but probably won’t) help me feel better.

God knows I couldn’t feel any worse.

 


 

Seattle Cancer Care Alliance - UW Medical Center
Seattle, Washington

The halls are familiar, as are many of the faces I see. They mostly smiled at me when Chloe was still alive, probably trying to pass on some hope or good cheer in a place where both were sometimes in short supply. Now they look at me in surprise, blinking owlishly before glancing away.

They’re acting like I’m a ghost or something. I scowl as a passing orderly (who I know is named Dustin, because we’ve actually met) averts his eyes, then catch a look at my reflection in the window behind him. Turns out I just look about as shitty as I feel.

It doesn’t take me long to find who I’m looking for. Standing at one of the nurse’s stations, he’s pouring over a stack of patient charts when I come up behind him. I cough loudly enough to get his attention and although he looks as surprised as anyone else to see me, there’s still compassion in his eyes. “Max? What are you doing here?”

“Hi, Doctor Morris.” I try for a smile. Judging from his expression, I don’t quite pull it off. “Good to see you.”

He gives me a once over that suggests that I might actually look worse than I feel; it’s not a comforting thought. “Are you alright?”

“I’m fine.” It’s an obvious lie, but he doesn’t comment on it. “Do you have a minute?”

He glances at the stack of charts, then down at his wristwatch. “I suppose so. What can I do for you?”

“I wanted to ask you something. If I had...” I pause, then start over. “If we’d known about Chloe’s cancer early enough...”

“...could we have saved her?” Morris finishes, looking at me sadly. His expression makes me feel pitied, and for the span of a heartbeat I hate him for it.

“I guess you hear that a lot.”

“I do,” he admits. “What brought this on?”

I shrug, trying to seem nonchalant. “It’s just something that’s been rattling around in my head.”

“Hm.” He takes a deep breath and lets it out slowly. “The short answer is yes, of course, but only because early is a relative term. Anything is possible if you can wind the clock back far enough.”

“If only.”

“Pardon?”

“Nothing.” I take a moment to consider my next words. “I guess I just want to know if I could have done anything. If we’d known back when we reconnected in 2013, would it have been early enough?”

“You don’t want to go down that road, Max,” Morris says, shaking his head. “What happened to Chloe wasn’t your fault and dwelling on what-ifs isn’t going to bring her back.”

“I just want to know if this was always where we were headed.”

“If she’d stopped smoking in October of 2013 and started treatment right away?” he confirms. I nod and he offers me a slow shrug. “It certainly would’ve improved her odds.”

“By how much?”

“I couldn’t say for sure.” Pulling off his glasses, he rubs his eyes tiredly. “You need to understand that every patient is different. There are hundreds of factors to take into accou-”

Please. I just need to know if she’d be alive today.” I didn’t mean to say need instead of want, but I can immediately tell that he noticed. He doesn’t comment on that, either.

“I really can’t say for sure,” he insists, then lets out a faint sigh. “But in my personal opinion? Yes, I think she probably would be.”

 

A Thousand Words

March 11, 2015
Caulfield Residence
Seattle, Washington

“Happy birthday to you, happy birthday to you,” I sing softly, my voice cracking as I run my fingertips over the framed photo. “H-happy birthday, my Chloe. Ha...hap...” Sobbing, I squeeze my eyes shut and clutch the frame to my chest.

I asked my question, I got my answer, and it only made things worse.

He warned you, you idiot, I berate myself for the hundredth time. You should’ve listened.

I’ve barely left my room in a week, let alone the house. The trip back from the hospital is a blur. So is what I said to my parents when I got home, but whatever it was, it’s kept them from bothering me. My phone rang a lot the first day or so - probably my friends trying to get ahold of me at my parent’s request. I couldn’t be bothered to answer. They might still be trying, for all I know, but my phone is on the other side of the room and I honestly can’t remember the last time I charged it.

I open my eyes to gaze at the picture again. It’s the original version of the photo that had been placed atop Chloe’s casket at the funeral and, until I took it, had hung above the fireplace in the living room.

My mother had taken it on Christmas morning in 2013, only a few months after the storm. The two of us had come downstairs to find dozens of wrapped boxes around the tree. My parents had gone all out, buying Chloe as much as they could afford, to replace all the things she’d lost. I remember that morning like it was yesterday, just like I remember the radiant smile she’d worn the rest of the day.

It’s such a beautiful shot, full of warmth and happiness, and - in a cruel twist of fate - had been deliberately taken when I wasn’t in the room. As much as they wanted to capture the moment, they hadn’t wanted to upset me on Christmas. And I’d actually been thankful that they’d had been so considerate.

Even though I’d never gone through it in this timeline, memories of Mark Jefferson and his Dark Room have plagued me ever since Arcadia Bay. I’ve barely been able to stand the sight of cameras since, just the thought of having one pointed at me makes my skin crawl. That was the scar Jefferson left on me; an aversion to having my picture taken so severe that I’d actually refused to go up on stage for my own high school graduation.

Not the kind of thing that leads to a career as a photographer.

I’ve only managed to overcome it twice. One of those pictures is on my driver’s license, and the other is the thing that keeps pulling my gaze back to the closet across the room. It’s in the box tucked away at the back, carefully hidden away from prying eyes.

I desperately want to look at it, but I’m not sure I’ll be able to resist the temptation that comes with it.

As we’d moved into the new year and the events of Arcadia Bay’s final week fell further into the past, I’d tried to get over my issues around cameras. The therapist my parents asked me to go to had helped a little, but she didn’t know the whole story and it’s tough to help someone get over something that technically didn’t happen.

I did have a little success, here and there. As time went on, I eventually stopped breaking out in a cold sweat when I saw somebody holding a camera or flinching at the sound of a shutter. I was even able to walk through the more tourist-y parts of town without feeling like there were a thousand eyes on me.

But it’d been for Chloe’s sake, on our first Valentine’s Day as a couple, that I’d finally found the strength to stand in front of a lens. She’d insisted that she was going to take me on a fancy date and the moment we’d come downstairs, all done up for our evening out, Mom had started going on about how beautiful we both looked.

I’d done the whole ‘embarrassed teenage daughter’ thing, of course, but I couldn’t deny that Chloe looked stunning. I’d teased her that dressing nice would mean having to dig out her only pair of non-ripped jeans, but the clingy deep blue dress she’d worn had been absolutely breathtaking. We hadn’t even left the house, and my imagination had already moved way past dinner.

And somehow, whether it’d been Mom’s gushing or Chloe’s adoring smile or both, I’d agreed to pose for a single photo.

Slowly climbing out of bed, I’m almost to the closet when I narrowly avoid stepping on my missing phone, half hidden under a dirty t-shirt. When I pick it up, I’m surprised to find that it’s not only fully charged, but that it’s been plugged into the charger the whole time. No messages, though. I guess people decided not to bother anymore.

That probably would have upset me a lot more a couple of months ago.

The closet door opens with a familiar creak. Sitting down on the floor, I reach in to pull the box from under a ratty blanket and lift the lid. The first thing I see is a package wrapped in cheerfully colored paper that would have been Chloe’s twenty-first birthday present.

Despite advice to temper my expectations, I’d been almost certain that Chloe was going to be the one to beat the odds. So much so that I’d bought her gift almost six months in advance. When I’d come across the black hoodie proclaiming ‘Cancer Is My Bitch’ across the front in ridiculously bright pink letters, I’d known that she would absolutely love it.

I gently place it to one side, trying not to think about how useless it is now, and underneath I find the thing I’m looking for, staring right back up at me.

We’d only ever had one copy printed and I’d never had the courage to frame it, but I couldn’t imagine ever getting rid of it. Instead I’d hidden it away like the rare treasure it was, because for all that Chloe and I had loved each other, it’s the only photographic evidence of us as a couple.

Gazing at the picture and running my fingers over its glossy surface, I start to hear the faint sounds from the other side and force myself to look away.

I have to stop. I made a promise. I gave Chloe my word that I wouldn’t do this.

But what harm could it do if I just take a quick look? Go back and breathe in the moment? See her smile again? Just because I visit doesn’t mean I have to change anything, right? So long as I’m careful not to say or do anything unusual, it wouldn’t change a thing. I’ll be super quick and won’t interact with anything or anyone.

“Just for second,” I mutter to an otherwise indifferent room.

Taking a deep breath, I look back at the photo and almost immediately the world around it begins to blur. As the image itself sharpens, Chloe, me, and our surroundings seem to take on more depth, like watching a 3D movie. Next comes the feeling I remember; the sensation of gently tipping forward as the sounds of the past echo in my ears. Then there’s a blinding flash and I hear my Mom’s laugh.

“That’s a keeper!”

I’m blinking the spots from my vision as she lowers the camera, still getting my bearings when I hear Chloe’s familiar ‘I Fought The Law’ ringtone beside me.

“Oh, hang on. I gotta take this.” Before I can turn to look at her, Chloe has pulled her phone from a surprisingly well-hidden pocket and moved away. A half-second later she’s past the memory’s glowing barrier and out of reach, and it takes me another second to figure out what had just happened. That had been the day Chloe’s boss had offered her a full-time apprentice position at the garage. She’d come back from that phone call so excited that she’d actually been bouncing on her toes.

Memory is a funny thing. Looking back, I’d always thought of that day as a turning point in dealing with my fear of cameras. But apparently it’d still been so bad that I’d forgotten about Chloe’s phone going off almost as soon as the picture had been taken.

Just one more time I thought I was stronger than I really am.

“Are you alright, sweetheart?” I glance over to see my Mom giving me a slightly concerned look, but I don’t bother to reply.

Moving carefully to where I’d been standing, I lift my hand, take hold, and let myself be pulled back to the instant the photograph was taken. My arrival there is surprisingly jarring. It feels a little like running into a padded wall, and I lose my hold on the rewind when I hit it. I guess it’s not surprising that I can’t rewind to before the picture was taken, and I’d probably be more interested in why that was if I weren’t already exactly when I wanted to be.

“That’s a keeper!” Mom laughs, and although the camera’s flash practically blinded me again, I immediately spin to face Chloe. She makes a sweet little surprised noise, but as my vision clears all I can think about is that she’s here. She’s right here and right in front of me and so, so beautiful.

“Hey there, cutie. Happy to see me?” she asks, flashing me that wonderful smile of hers and leaving me breathless. It’s not the words that have me struck dumb. Chloe is...was...always so affectionate to me. But I haven’t heard her voice in more than a month and even then it’d been so, so long since it sounded so rich and full and beautiful that my promise to myself goes right out the window.

So happy. I love you so mu-” Her ringtone cuts me off before I can finish breaking my promise.

She laughs. “Hold that thought, babe? I’ll just be a second.”

I feel like such an idiot, watching her vanish past the edge of the photo. What had I been thinking? I’d been delusional to think I could really come back and just look. Could I really just stand here, look into her eyes, and not do everything in my power to save her life?

“Of course not,” I whisper to myself.

“What was tha-”

I don’t even let Mom finish before I rewind back to the beginning.

“That’s a keeper!” she laughs. Again.

I blink stupidly, trying to recover from that ridiculously overpowered flash. Again.

My vision clears to reveal Chloe giving me that smile that makes my heart ache. Again.

“Chloe, I need to tell y-” I’m interrupted by her ringtone. Again.

“Oh, hang on. I gotta take this.”

“It’s not that important!” I try to grab the phone from her hand.

“You’d be surprised, hot stuff,” Chloe fires back, winking as she lifts it out of reach. “I’m hoping this is good news.”

Chloe vanishes into the wall of light, and I rewind. Again.

I hit that same soft barrier, but this time I’m expecting it. Letting go of the rewind, I close my eyes to avoid being dazzled by the flash.

“That’s a keeper!”

I’m still thinking of something to say when I hear her ringtone and I angrily swipe at the device as soon as it clears Chloe’s pocket. My hand connects and knocks it from hers, sending it clattering across the floor and past the barrier.

“What the shit, Max?!

“Wait, Chloe! I need to talk to you!”

“Then just say so next time!” she shouts over her shoulder as she walks away. “You better not have broken my phone.”

And then, once more, she vanishes from sight. I react with a rewind that’s a lot more aggressive than it needs to be, so much that even the soft barrier at the memory’s opening hurts a little when I hit it.

“That’s a ke-!”

I don’t even let Mom finish before I grab Chloe by the arm and shout, “Cancer!”

Chloe gives me a funny look, then laughs and pulls free of my grasp. “Actually, I’m pretty sure I’m a Pisces.”

Seriously? That’s where her mind goes with that? Unbelievable. “What?! No, I mean yo-”

“Pause button, cutie,” Chloe interrupts, tapping one fingertip on my nose and laughing when I sputter. “I’ll be right back.”

And then she’s gone. Again.

“Son of a bitch!” I shout, stomping on the floor hard enough to actually startle my parents.

“Maxine! Watch your language!”

Mom is giving me the kind of scowl that only mothers unimpressed with their children’s behavior can pull off. It’d probably work if I gave a crap what she thought. Right now I’m so frustrated that, for a fleeting second, I honestly consider slapping that look right off her face. But the urge vanishes as quickly as it appeared. Mom didn’t do anything to deserve that.

“Sorry, mom.” I manage to sound genuinely contrite as I try to come up with something decently believable. “I...uh...I bit my tongue.”

Thinking about it, I don’t know why I’m bothering with either restraint or excuses. It’s not as though it matters. I’m just going to rewind and try again. I have to. I can’t give up now, not when she’s right there.

I roll things back, and this time I’m ready.

“That’s a keeper!”

It doesn’t matter that my vision is still a little dazzled by the flash; I already know exactly where Chloe is standing, and I don’t hesitate for a second. I’ve got my arms wrapped around her before she knows what’s happening, pressing my cheek to hers as I whisper, “Photo rewind.”

I can’t see her expression, but I definitely hear her startled gasp next to my ear. Her entire body goes stiff in my arms, then she lets out a delighted laugh. I’m so surprised that I allow her to pull back a bit, just enough to see her face. My mom and dad are standing behind her; they don’t see the flinty look in her eyes, and she sounds like she’s smiling when she says, “You too, cutie.”

When her phone rings, she silences it without even breaking eye contact. I hadn’t been sure what reaction to expect from her, but I know this isn’t it. She holds her glare for another second, then looks back over her shoulder with a grin that actually looks sincere and gives my parents a little wink. “Just a heads up, we’re about to get all disgustingly sweet and romantic here.”

“Alright, we can take a hint. We’ll give you two a minute,” Mom laughs, taking Dad by the arm and leading him out of the room. They’re out of sight for less than a second before Chloe hisses, much too quietly for them to hear, “What date?”

“Chloe, I...”

“What date did you come back from, Max?” There’s a harshness in her voice I haven’t heard since after we found Rachel’s body and even though I know Chloe would never hurt me, I still feel a shiver of fear run up my spine.

“Your birthday.”

“Next month?”

“N-no.” I shake my head jerkily. “Next year.”

“What time?”

“I...I don’t...” I can’t imagine why it matters, but her eyes make it clear how important it is to her. Racking my brain, I manage to remember what was on my bedside clock right before I came back. “A little after noon, I think? Chloe, I need to...”

“Stop.” She grabs my arm. “Not one word, Max. Don’t you say one more fucking word.”

“But I...”

Chloe’s grip tightens. It’s not enough to hurt but I still let out a surprised squeak. Her hard expression vanishes and she recoils like she’s been burnt. She looks shocked and distraught and a little afraid as her eyes jump between me and her hand. “Oh god, I...I didn’t mean to squeeze that hard!”

When I open my mouth to tell her I’m fine, she places her hand over it. Her touch is feather light, but it’s enough to silence me.

“I’m so sorry, Max, but I meant what I said. Please don’t say anything.” There’s a tremor in her voice now and eyes are full of disappointment. “You gave me your word that you’d never, ever do this again. You remember that, right?”

I nod again, slowly.

“Right. And I know you must think you’ve got a good reason, but whatever it is, it’s not enough to be worth it. It’s just too dangerous.”

Half of me wants to ignore her and start speaking anyway. The other half is rejoicing at the feel of her fingertips pressed against my lips.

“So, here’s what’s going to happen. You’re going to go back to your time, and I’m going to pretend this never happened. I’ll never tell the past version of you. If she asks about the lost time, I’ll blame the camera and she’ll believe me. It’s going to kill me to lie to her, but that’s how it has to be. Got it?”

And that’s when I realize that no matter what I say or do, this is never going to work. She’ll never let it. She’ll take whatever steps are necessary to protect me from myself, even if it means sacrificing her own life in the process. And she’ll do it without the slightest hesitation, just like she would have that day by the lighthouse.

Because she’s a hero.

More of a hero than I’ll ever be.

“Now, you need to get going so I can call my boss back. Hopefully I’m not fired or anything, cause that’d put a real damper on our date.”

“You’re not.”

I couldn’t help reassuring her, and I think she knows it because there’s barely any heat behind her glare. She even looks the tiniest bit relieved. “Alright. I’m gonna let you have just that one.”

I nod. Then, a hint of a smile pulling at the corner of my lips, I decide to push my luck a little. “I love you.”

There’s no glare this time. Just that wonderful, beautiful, one-of-a-kind crooked grin that’s hers and hers alone. “I love you, too, smartass. Now get out of here before I have to explain to my Max why I gagged her.” She’s almost at the edge when she pauses, looking back. “Oh, and do me a favor? Check your email when you get back.”

I can't bear to watch her pass through the barrier, and after she’s gone, I already know that no amount of rewinding will change how this plays out. Letting the burnt orange light close in, I try not to cry as my unkept bedroom comes into focus around me.

The bed is still a mess, and my half-eaten breakfast is still on the desk, long since gone cold. Worst of all is the plain, black dress I wore to Chloe’s funeral, which is still crumpled in the corner where I threw it weeks earlier. Nothing has gotten better. Nothing is different at all.

Of course it isn’t. Because she knew. Chloe always knew. I couldn’t change anything because I’d always gone back to that day. I was marching perfectly in time with a past I’d never even known about in the first place.

It’s why I remembered Chloe getting the job offer but had somehow forgotten her getting the phone call. Thinking back, Chloe actually had told me that having my picture taken had left me a little dazed. She’d been right about me believing her, too. I’d never even questioned it.

I let the photo fall from my hand with a sigh, and just as it lands back in the box of keepsakes, my phone lets out a soft chirp. I look down to find a single notification on the lock screen.

I’ve got a new email...and it’s from Chloe.

No.

She didn’t.

She wouldn’t.

Oh, who the hell am I kidding?

Of course she would.

 


 

Hey Cutie,

Did you know you can set up emails to deliver on a specific date? Like, months after you actually hit the send button? So even though I’m writing this on Feb 2nd, you won’t get it until my birthday.

(By the way, I hope you realize just how infuriatingly stubborn you can be. I swear it took me almost an hour to convince you to go home and get some sleep, just so I’d have time to write this at all.)

First off, let me just say that I think I’ve done a pretty good job keeping it all a secret for the last year. You never suspected a thing, did you? It wasn’t the easiest thing to do, but I’m an old hand at keeping big secrets away from people who will just get hurt by them. I know that doesn’t sound good, but I learned a long time ago that sometimes we have to lie to the people we love to protect them.

The first few months were probably the toughest. I was constantly second-guessing myself. I couldn’t help but wonder what horrible thing you’d come back to prevent. Was it something personal, like one of your parents dying? Was it something huge, like the next 9/11 or something? Had I even made the right choice by not letting you tell me?

But when Doc Morris said the word cancer, my first thought was ‘yeah, of course that’s what it is’.

Well, my actual first thought was more like, ‘oh, fuck’, but you know what I mean.

Even then, part of me hoped I was wrong. I hoped that I’d recover and that you’d gone back to prevent some completely different terrible thing. I wanted that to be true so badly, but I never really managed to convince myself it was. Deep down, I’ve always known that there’s only one thing that could make you do something so stupidly risky.

Alright, just a heads up: this thing is about to get pretty sappy, so I won’t judge you if you want to cry. If you need to go get tissues, now is the time. You’ve been warned.

I meant it when I said I’m not scared of dying, but I am scared of being without you. I don’t know if there’s a heaven (or a hell, though I hope I haven’t done anything bad enough for that to matter), but would you believe that if there is, that I don’t want to go if it means leaving you? You’re my everything, and the darkest days of my life were the ones when I didn’t have you. I can’t believe how lucky we are that we got a second chance.

I want you to know that I understand now, and that I don’t blame you for wanting to change the past. And since I’m still here, I can only assume that you never tried again. I’m so proud of you for that. You have no idea. I’m proud because if I’d been in your shoes, I know I wouldn’t have listened. I wouldn’t have had the strength to let you go. I’d have moved heaven and earth to get you back, even if I had to break both of them to do it.

I’m not saying that’s a good thing, cause it definitely isn’t. It would have been stupid, selfish, and kinda self-destructive. But then, if I’d ever had an autobiography, that would’ve made a pretty decent title.

I guess what I’m trying to say is that it blows my mind how in love we are, and love can make people do some pretty crazy stuff sometimes. 

Now, before you go getting any more ideas, I need you to know that I actually talked to the Doc about it the other day. He made it pretty clear that while it might’ve helped if we’d known about my cancer on Valentine’s, it still only would have made it a 50/50 shot. I would’ve had to start treatment months earlier to really change the odds, and I’m pretty sure the only pictures left of us from before Valentine’s are from when we were thirteen.

JUST SO WE’RE CLEAR, DON’T YOU DARE USE THOSE OR ANY OTHER PICTURES OR I SWEAR I’LL SEND SOME REALLY NASTY GHOSTS TO HAUNT YOUR SCRAWNY HIPSTER ASS! DO NOT TEST ME, WOMAN!

(I’d threaten to come down and haunt you myself, but come on. Let’s be real. I’m probably going to try and figure out how to do that anyway. So if you’re in the shower and the shampoo bottle suddenly falls over, don’t be scared. That’s just me perving on you from beyond the grave.)

I need you to know that I’ve cherished all the time we’ve had together, and that I wouldn’t trade a single second of it for anything. But if you’re reading this, it means our time is over. And while I’m not dumb enough to ask you to just let me go, I do have a last request. I want you to go have an amazing life. I want you to travel to new places and collect postcards and try weird foods and find different music and basically just go out and own the world.

(And maybe consider taking up pottery so I can go all Patrick Swayze sexy ghost on you. Just an idea.)

And I don’t want you to do any of that for me, Max. I want you to do it for YOU.

I’m getting pretty tired now, so I’m gonna close with something you probably thought you’d never, ever see. Remember how you once said that I’d eventually break down and start using emojis like a normal person? And then I told you that it’d be over my cold, dead body? Well...

( ˘ ³˘)~  

I love you, Max Caulfield, with all the fire in my heart, and as much more as I could grab when no one was looking.

Goodbye,

Chloe Elizabeth ‘Danger’ Price

Perchance To Dream

June 1, 2015
Seattle Central College
Seattle, Washington

“-iss Caulfield?”

Startled, I snap my gaze up from the textbook (that I wasn’t having much luck reading with my eyes closed) to find at least thirty people staring at me, and I have no idea why. Judging by the look on the teacher’s face, I’ve probably missed something. I have no idea what, though, which doesn’t quite put me back at square one, but honestly it might as well.

And he isn’t getting any happier while I sit here freaking out about it. I should say something. Ideally, something that makes it seem like I was paying attention, but not so much that it leads to more questions. Gotta be smooth, but vague.

“I...uh...sorry?”

See, that right there is the kind of grace under pressure that’ll get you into the finest universities. Then, after you fail all your classes (because you either didn’t study, didn’t show up, or just didn’t care), hopefully it’ll get you into summer make-up classes at a halfway decent community college, too.

“Am I keeping you awake?”

“Uh...no? I mean, yes.”

I’m fairly sure it was a rhetorical question, but I’d trade everything I owned for him to be the only reason I’m awake. If he were, I could just leave class, go home, and slip sweetly into dreamland. Maybe then I wouldn’t always feel dazed and sore and kinda confused all the time and a little bit like I’m always about to lose my grip on reality. Which wouldn’t be great because jumping from one reality to another is probably what got me here in the first place.

What’s that, you say? You want to know what the hell I’m rambling about?

Well, let me tell you a story.

It all started after I got Chloe’s last email. I think I probably read it a dozen times before I even looked away from the screen. I thought about what she would have looked like typing it, hunched over the keyboard a little bit, chewing on her bottom lip as she rocked her usual hunt-and-peck style...until I remembered when she wrote it and realized it was far more likely that she was laying back in her hospital bed, slowly moving one hand over the keyboard as she laboriously typed out the whole thing one letter at a time.

I spent the rest of the day thinking about what it must have been like for her to keep a secret like that for so long, and feeling like a grade-A shithead for even putting her in that position. I didn’t sleep a wink the night of Chloe’s birthday. I thought about so much that I just tossed and turned until the sun came up.

I spent the next day mulling over what she’d actually written. I promised myself (again, but I really really meant it this time) that I was done trying to change the past. More importantly, I resolved that I was going to live up to Chloe’s expectations for me. That I’d somehow learn to live without her and make the most of my life.

I started writing out a list of all the things I wanted to do, filling page after page with notes and ideas and goals that would’ve made Chloe proud. And naturally, as I wrote out each one, my mind immediately served up a convincing reason why it’d never happen. It went back and forth so much that I didn’t sleep that night, either.

Although I was pretty much dead on my feet the next day, I’d been shuffling around like a zombie so long that my parents didn’t notice anything was wrong until that evening. Once they did, though, the foot came down. It was one thing for me to be a self-pitying waste of space (my words, not theirs), but it was another thing entirely to be a self-destructive one, too.

I haven’t been told to go to my room since I was fourteen, but I hadn’t had the desire or the strength to argue. I made myself a nice cup of warm milk (Actually, Mom had to do it because I got so frustrated by the microwave that I almost started to cry) and went upstairs. I’d pretty much collapsed bonelessly onto my bed, tired like I’d never imagined was possible and exhausted right to the bone.

And then I lay there, more or less awake, until the sun came up. And then I kept laying there, wide(ish) awake and staring at the ceiling, for the whole rest of the morning.

That’s not good. That is, in fact, really bad.

“Miss Caulfield! I asked you a question!”

This guy, I tell ya. No respect for a good inner monologue.

“Oh...er...sorry. I didn’t get much sleep last night.” Understatement of the century. “Could you please repeat it?”

He lets out an annoyed huff but doesn’t push back. If there’s any upside to looking like an extra from The Walking Dead, it’s that people usually take you at your word when you say you’re tired. He just asks his question, and the universe actually throws me a bone today when it turns out to be about something I actually remember studying. It’s not a big win, but I’ll take it.

Anyway, where was I?

Right. So, just in case you’re not familiar with the wonderful world of sleep deprivation, let me offer you a quick rundown of how it works.

I’m going somewhere with this, I promise.

Staying awake for 24 hours kinda sucks, but you probably already knew that. Pretty much everyone has done it at some point. I mean, in university it’s practically expected. Sure, it’s not good for you, but it won’t really mess you up. At worst, most people end up feeling tired, cranky, and a little foggy in the head.

When you hit 36 hours, things start to get a little dicey. Besides being super tired, you may start to have microsleeps. These are brief little bursts of sleep (like twenty seconds or so) that happen without you doing it on purpose or even noticing. Imagine a lamp that, every once in a while and completely at random, turns off for a few seconds. But instead of a lamp, it’s you.

By the time you’ve hit 48 hours it’s not only hard to absorb new information, but your ability to remember what you have picked up is pretty unreliable. Your mental responses and reaction time are both way off, and your ability to socially interact with people is at roughly the same level as a parking meter. You’re not at the red line quite yet, but you sure can see it from here...or at least you would, if you could actually focus on anything.

If you’ve been awake for 60 hours in a row, I could say ‘welcome to the danger zone’. But I might as well say ‘rhinoceros tugboat cheesecake’, because the odds of you being able to read and retain either sentence are pretty darn slim. You’re well into extreme sleep deprivation territory now, and by this point you’re definitely having microsleeps. You’d probably perceive them as a kind of random unexplained flickering in your senses, except most things feel like random unexplained flickering by now.

This is also the point where you start to hallucinate. More on that later.

At 72 hours, you’re basically no longer a functional human being. Your body is begging for sleep, even if your brain won’t let it, leaving you with the motor skills and reflexes of warm Jell-O. Your ability to interact with other people isn’t just impaired; it’s completely shot. Even basic conversations are beyond you because by the time someone reaches the end of a sentence, you’ve probably already forgotten how it started.

And if you weren’t hallucinating before, you sure are now.

After that, the closer you get to 96 hours, the worse things get. Your brain has been running so long without a break that you’re way past ‘overheating’ and rapidly approaching ‘complete meltdown’. You’ll steadily lose your understanding of reality, your ability to accurately perceive the world around you, and even your sense of self.

This is called sleep deprivation psychosis. 0/5 stars. Do not recommend.

It was at the 76 hour mark (I’m pretty sure) that we come to the part of this story I like to call The Absolute Stupidest Thing I’ve Ever Done. Because despite having the approximate mental processing power of an onion, I somehow managed to find enough brain cells to come up with this train of thought:

I’m very tired > I wanted to sleep last night > I couldn’t sleep last night > I’ll try again tonight > Tonight is far away > I don’t want to wait > I’ll try to sleep last night again.

That’s right, ladies and gentlemen. I, Max Caulfield, decided to try rewinding while so sleep deprived that if you asked me to find the square root of something, I would have gotten stuck on the concept of ‘square’.

I’ve got no idea how far back I managed to go, if I managed to go back at all, because I don’t actually remember rewinding. The only thing I can recall is a few snippets of a deeply upsetting conversation I had with another version of myself.

Remember what I said about hallucinations?

The other me had been explaining how everything that had happened to me and Chloe since that day in the bathroom was my fault. How my meddling was the reason Chloe died. What’s weird is that she wasn’t cruel or bitter about it. She was actually surprisingly sympathetic. Out of the whole bizarre hallucination, though, the only thing I remember with absolute clarity is when she looked at me and said, very sadly, “If the world is going to keep turning, the dead need to stay dead and you need to leave her in the past.”

It wasn’t until later that Mom filled me in on what actually happened. She’d gone up to my room to see if I wanted something to eat. Letting herself in when I didn’t respond to her knock, she found me standing in front of my bedroom mirror, crying my eyes out and muttering ‘you did this’ at my own reflection.

Apparently she actually had to yell my name a few times before I reacted, and even then she said it was like I wasn’t totally sure who she was. Then she tried to get me to move away from the mirror, which is when I started screaming things like ‘She’s wrong!' and ‘She’s lying!’ at the top of my lungs. Then I kept screaming until the nice men in white coats came and took me away, after which I got to spend the next three days in the hospital undergoing a full psychiatric evaluation.

Good times.

I’m sure you’re all on the edge of your seats right now, but I’m afraid the story actually gets a lot less interesting after my brief stay in the loony bin. It didn’t take them long to figure out I was suffering from sleep deprivation rather than an actual psychotic break, so they shot me up with something and I spent the next twenty hours dead to the world.

The doctors who ‘treated’ me weren’t much help. They just wrote the whole thing off as stress, as if it weren’t completely obvious what was wrong. I knew exactly what had happened, just like I know exactly why I’ve been dealing with almost constant insomnia ever since.

You wanna know a fun fact about insomnia? Well, I can’t help you there, because there aren’t any. It’s pretty much awful all the way down. A regular person gets 50-60 hours of sleep every week, but in a good week I’ll get about half that; usually about 3-4 hours a night. That probably doesn’t sound too bad but believe me when I say it adds up.

I can’t even rewind to get an extra hour in here and there. Or at least I’m not willing to. I don’t know if that messed up sleep deprived rewind attempt actually did any damage, but for the last three months I’ve been too scared to try going back so much as a second.

“Miss Caulfield!”

When I snap back to reality this time, the other students aren’t staring at me. Only the teacher, because he’s the only other person still in the room.

“I...uh...”

“Class is over, Miss Caulfield.”

Yeah, that’d explain it. Nodding silently as I gather my things, I dump them haphazardly into my bag and shuffle toward the door. He’s giving me a concerned look that I see a lot these days and I can practically hear the words before he says them.

“Miss Caulfield, are you doing alright?”

I already know what I’m going to tell him, but people never believe you if you answer too quickly. I wait until the clock at the front of the room ticks twice, then say, “I’m fine. Just tired.”

“Maybe you should head home, then. Try to get some sleep.”

I’ve long since gotten bored of thinking up snarky responses to that suggestion, so I just nod and give him the best smile I can manage. “Thanks. I’ll try.”

 


 

University of Washington
Seattle, Washington

There’s this coffee place underneath the University of Washington Art building called Parnassus. A bunch of students started it back in 1951, which makes it (so I’m told) the university’s oldest café. It’s got a bunch of student artwork up on the walls and a super-artsy hipster vibe that somehow does a really great job of reminding me of all the ways my life has gone to shit in the last three months.

Geez...I really need to stop being so melodramatic.

It’s also Kristen’s favorite place on the whole campus, though, so that’s where I meet her for lunch after my classes are finished. Sitting across from her, I listlessly pick at a blueberry muffin and listen to her go on and on about the wonders of UW’s film school. I’m sure I look bored as hell (that’s kind of my permanent expression these days) and I really hope she doesn’t take it personally. I really am interested in what she’s saying.

“Max, are you even listening?”

“Of course I am.” She looks dubious. “Really, I was totally listening. You were talking about Jean Reno.”

“Jean Renoir, Max,” she corrects. “Jean Reno is an actor.”

Oh, so that’s how it’s gonna be. “You mean Jean Reno wasn’t an icon of the French silent film era? The British Film Institute didn’t rank him as the fourth greatest director of all time?”

Kristen blinks, pretty clearly surprised. “Okay, I’m sorry I doubted you.”

“I told you I was listening.”

“I know. You just looked, well...you know.” She puts her hand over mine, her expression softening. “Still not sleeping well?”

I shrug and smile a little. “Not great. It’s getting better, but still...”

“I’m glad. You’ve been through enough already. It’s high time the universe gave you a break.”

“Yeah, that’d be nice.”

“Have you talked to a doctor about it?”

“A couple. There isn’t a lot they can do, other than give me some drugs.”

And let me just say, no thanks.

Not long after my insomnia started, our family doctor prescribed some pills that were supposed to help me sleep. Since the little orange bottle said ‘take ONE before bed, as needed’, I decided I would try taking one pill before bed. I slept for twelve straight hours and waking up had felt like coming out of a coma. After that, drugs were a no-go for this sleepy girl.

“Seriously? It’s knock-out pills or nothing?”

“There’s a lot of lifestyle stuff. No caffeine, not much sugar, no looking at screens for a couple of hours before bed.”

“Sounds lame.”

“Lame is relative.” What a dumb answer. I suck.

“Still doing that whole, y’know, ‘tire yourself out’ thing?”

In case you’re wondering, the word she’s searching for is ‘exercise’. And for a while it’d been my very own bedtime cheat code.

I’d never been in very good shape growing up. While my fairly healthy diet (waffles excluded, of course) and my own natural skinniness had kept me looking slim, I could actually get winded if I ran up a flight of stairs too fast. So after I swore off medication, I moved on to good old-fashioned physical exhaustion.

At first, walking for about an hour before bed would tire me out enough to get an okay night’s sleep. Which, looking back, is kinda sad. But after a while, it’d have to be closer to 90 minutes. Then almost two hours, with a lot of hills, because here’s the thing about exercise; the more you do it, the more it takes to get the same effect.

It’s kinda like meth, except socially acceptable and super good for you.

Fast forward a few months. Now I run two miles almost every morning and go to the gym four times a week and it still doesn’t even add up to six straight hours a night. (See what I did there?) And on the rare occasion I miss a day, I barely get any sleep at all.

I’m in the best shape of my life, and I’m not even very proud of myself. It feels like I was forced here at gunpoint.

“Honestly, Kris, I don’t know how much more tiring out my body could take.”

I know she’s trying to help, and I really do appreciate it, but some of most common reasons behind insomnia are psychological issues; depression, stress, anxiety. Fun stuff like that. And a lot of people find relief by identifying and addressing those issues. Identification isn’t a problem for me, though.

Like I said earlier, I know why I can’t sleep. It’s the same reason my brain made a halfway-decent attempt at blowing itself up four months ago. It’s why I stopped going to classes. It’s the thing I lay awake at night thinking about and that distracts me a dozen times a day. It’s what drained the color out of everything and kept me from bothering to make an effort to do anything other than wait for the next day.

And I can’t do anything to change it.

Because even though she didn’t mean it to – even though she meant it to do the exact opposite thing – Chloe’s email made me realize something horrible. From that day forward and for the rest of my life, it didn’t matter what I did; every path would take me in the same direction.

Away from her.

 


 

Caulfield Home
Seattle, Washington

I can smell dinner cooking as soon as I open the door, and since it doesn’t smell like barbeque I know it must be Mom. Sure enough, I wander into the kitchen to find her hovering over a big pot simmering on the stove.

“Hey there, sweetheart.”

“Hi, Mom. What are you making?”

“Just stew.” She waves vaguely at the pot. “Nothing fancy. Anything exciting happen to you today?”

Mom has asked me that same question when I come home every day since I was a little kid. And even when I don’t really have anything to tell her, it’s still nice to know she’s interested. “I got lunch with Kristen.”

“That’s nice. How’s she doing?”

“Still planning to take over Hollywood.” I shrug, grabbing an apple out of the fridge on my way through. “So, y’know, the usual.”

“That sounds about right. Oh, don’t go anywhere yet.”

I’m a little tempted to pretend I didn’t hear her. I’m not really in the mood to get roped into helping with dinner.

“Oh, don’t give me that look. I’m not going to put you to work. I actually have a surprise for you.” Moving over to the kitchen table, she pulls the lid off a small box I hadn’t noticed before. “I was tidying up my desk at work and I found something I thought you would want.”

I’m already bored with the conversation, but I’ll indulge her. Like I said, it’s nice that she shows an interest. Makes me feel a little less two-dimensional these days. I watch her rummage around for a second, then she pulls out a small black picture frame and holds it out with a smile. “Here you go.”

I don’t take it from her. Not because I don’t want it, but because I seem to have forgotten how to use my arms. Or breathe properly. She can’t possibly be holding what she’s holding. She can’t be. I lost it along with my old journal and Chloe’s dad’s camera and everything else that had been in my messenger bag the day Arcadia Bay had been destroyed.

“Max? Are you alright?”

“W-where did you get that?”

“I told you, I was tidying up my desk at w-”

“No, I mean where did you find it? How did you find it?”

“You mean originally? It was in the pocket of your hoodie the day you came back to Seattle. I found it when I was putting your clothes through the wash.”

“Why do you still have it, though? Why did you have it at work?! Why didn’t you give it back to me?!

She looks pretty startled. I don’t think this is the reaction she was expecting.

“I...I meant to, but with everything that was happening at the time, it just slipped my mind. I didn’t find it again until a month later and by then it was pretty clear how you felt about pictures of yourself. I didn’t think you’d actually want it.” She looks down at the frame fondly. “It’s such a wonderful shot, though. I couldn’t just get rid of it, so I kept it at work.”

Unbelievable. This whole time, it’s been sitting on my mom’s desk. Right there for the asking.

“After Chloe died, I put it in a drawer and forgot about it. As soon as I saw it today, I knew you’d want it back.” She’s smiling like she’s offering me nothing more than a sentimental keepsake, rather than the one and only thing I’ve been wishing for since I lost the love of my life.

“Y-yeah. Yeah, I do.” I slowly reach out to lift the frame from her hand, staring in disbelief at a polaroid photo I thought I’d never see again - the selfie I took the morning after Chloe and I broke into Blackwell and treated ourselves to a dip in the pool. The two of us are bathed in the golden early-morning light and smiling sleepily into the camera, Chloe’s chin resting on my shoulder and a mischievous little smile on her lips.

“...aken?”

Looking up, I realize I missed Mom’s question. “What?”

“I asked when it was taken.”

“Oh. Do you remember that story I told you about our first kiss?”

Mom laughs. “The one where Chloe dared you to do it and you called her bluff?”

I nod. “I took this picture right before that.”

“Oh, wow. I suppose that sort of makes it the first picture of you and Chloe as a couple.”

I almost correct her, but in a way she’s not wrong. After that morning, we were together for the rest of Chloe’s life. “Yeah, I guess it kinda is.”

“Then you should definitely keep it. That’s not a memory you want to lose.” She shakes her head, going back to her stew. “Can you imagine being able to go back and relive moments like that? Wouldn’t that be something?”

“Yeah,” I murmur, as if she didn’t just say the most insanely ironic thing imaginable.

I’m suddenly so excited that I can barely breathe, and I barely pay attention as my feet carry me up to my room. This is it. The golden ticket. The solution I’ve been dreaming of.

I can save her.

I can save everyone.

Solid State Memories

June 4, 2015
Caulfield Residence
Seattle, Washington

I can’t save everyone.

I can’t.

Except I technically can, even if the idea terrifies me.

So you’d think there’d be a question of whether I’m willing to try, but there isn’t. It’s Chloe. Of course I’m willing to try.

It’s really a question of whether or not I should. And I shouldn’t, for about a million different reasons. Least of all the fact that I swore to her that I wouldn’t. It’s too risky, she said. No matter how much I want to...and I do want to.

I mean, I really want to.

What if I already did, though? What if this is just one more self-fulfilling prophecy?

No.

Stop.

I can’t save everyone.

That’s the chorus that’s been stuck on almost constant repeat in my head for the last few days. Sort of an ethical quandary, a moral dilemma, and an existential crisis all rolled into one. It’s been driving me nuts.

Though on the bright side, I’m so emotionally exhausted that I’ve been sleeping like a baby.

When I saw that beautiful long-lost photo, my first thought was that I’d been handed the key to fix everything that had gone wrong; to save an entire town. Until that moment, I’d thought that only three post-Chloe-reunion photos of me had ever existed. The picture Dad took on Halloween (which Chloe made him delete the next day), the photo from Valentine’s (which I’ll treasure forever, if only as a memento), and the picture for my Washington driver’s license (which led to a pretty nasty panic attack right after it was taken). Even my infamous fake ID had just been a copy of that last one.

That’s what had made this photo seem like a brilliant and wonderful opportunity. It wasn’t until later that I realized what doing using it would mean.

It would be one thing to save Chloe. To jump into a photo and come back to a world where she was still alive. Sure, I’d wouldn’t have had all the right memories, but Chloe would have totally been able to catch me up and cover for me.

Saving Arcadia Bay, though. That would mean I’d be coming back to a radically different world. With that many variables, it’d be almost impossible to tell what might’ve changed. And since the photo was taken in the middle of the week, who knows how the rest of it might go.

What if Chloe and I never end up together? Or I can’t save her from getting shot by Jefferson? Or prevent her from going after Nathan? What if past-me gets herself killed? What would I come back to then? Would I even come back at all?

And even if I were willing to take those risks, would Chloe want me to? Of course she wouldn’t. She’d be ready to kick my ass for even considering it. But that’s the Chloe who knows the possible consequences of photo jumping, isn’t it? If I use this photo, all that Chloe would know was that I’d come back to save her, her mother, and the whole rest of the town. There wouldn’t be any need to tell her the rest because it’d be a non-issue.

So what would I need to tell her? Aside from the obvious, I’d need to head off the biggest things we came up against on Wednesday and Thursday of that week, at least. I’d need to make sure things go more or less smoothly afterward, too. And I’d need to do it with just a few minutes to talk.

Sitting down at my desk, I pick up the framed photo and begin assembling a mental list.

First and foremost, I’d need to warn her about her cancer and make sure she knows to go see a doctor right away. That one is a no-brainer.

Second, because I can’t not, I’d need to tell her what happened to Rachel Amber. It’ll be painful to hear, but hopefully not as painful coming from me as it was finding out the way she did before.

Third, I’d have to let her know that Nathan Prescott and Mark Jefferson are the ones responsible for Rachel’s death, but I have to do it in a way that doesn’t send her into some kind of killing frenzy. Somehow I need to convince her to go to David, the police, or both.

Fourth, and possibly the most delicate, I need to let her know where Rachel’s body is buried. It’s the smoking gun on Nathan and Jefferson. But I also need to know she won’t go looking for it by herself. If there’s any way to spare her from that trauma, I have to try and find it.

Finally, she needs to know that the storm is coming Friday morning and that people need to get out of town before then. Aside from her cancer, that’s the point I’ll really need to hammer into her. Get out before Friday morning.

That’s when I realize that somewhere in the middle of that list, I went from thinking in terms of ‘I would’ to thinking in terms of ‘I will’.  I’ve already decided that I’m going to do this. Because what would the alternative be? Putting the picture up on the wall so I can look at it every day and wonder if that’s the day my resolve breaks? Throw it out or destroy it, so I can look back on it as a wasted opportunity?

Of course not.

And if I’m going to do it, then there’s no point stalling anymore. What happened before was probably like driving drunk. I’m not exhausted out of my mind this time. It’ll be fine.

Forcing myself to stop wondering what it might feel like to have your own mind shatter, I stare at the picture in my hand and wait for the world around me to blur, just like every other time I’ve jumped into a photo, but nothing happens. I don’t feel that shifting sensation I expect or hear any sounds from the other side. It’s less than encouraging, but I just add it to the growing list of things I refuse to be nervous about.

I try again, pushing harder, and this time the room does blur for a second. Just long enough that I briefly hear the sound of birds singing from the photo. I really hope that I’ve just gotten rusty in the last few months. That I haven’t somehow permanently injured the thing that lets me do whatever it is that I do.

Closing my eyes, I take a deep breath and try to recall every detail of that moment. The golden morning light and the sound of the flag in her window gently flapping in the breeze. The color of the bedsheets and the smell of Chloe’s shampoo on the pillow. The curve of her smile and her warmth against my back. I’m not even looking at the photo when the distinct scent of pot and tobacco tickles my nose.

Surprised, I open my eyes to find the room has blurred to the point of being unrecognizable. The thing in my hand doesn’t look like a photo; it’s like a portal, with details and depth so impossibly sharp that I’d swear I could just reach my hand through and touch the past. It’s like gravity itself shifts direction and I’m falling face-first off a cliff.

A heartbeat later, a burst light fills my vision before gradually fading to reveal a long-destroyed bedroom. The chuff of air on my cheek and body behind me are both warm and achingly familiar, and I flip over just in time to watch Chloe settle back on her pillow. She smiles at me; her head propped up on one elbow and everything about her glowing in the golden morning light.

I’m speechless, drinking in the sight of her. It’s such a wonderful image that it makes my heart ache to have to end it.

“We left a skid mark on Blackwell last night,” Chloe comments, breaking the moment and reminding me why I’m here.

If there’s one thing I know about Chloe (and I know a lot more than that) it’s that she doesn’t like being told to be quiet. That means I need to get as much out as I can before she has a chance to interrupt. “Chloe, listen carefully. This might be hard to believe, but I’m from almost two years in the future and I’m here to save your life. I’ve got a lot to tell you, and I don’t know how much time I have to do it. The biggest thing is that you’ve got lung cancer. It’s still in the early st-”

“Every great artist gets rejected before they get accepted.” Chloe interrupts calmly, as though I hadn’t even been talking. “So, you have to enter a photo.”

“What? That doesn’t matter! You’re sick, Chloe! You have to go to the doctor right away!”

Chloe’s smile fades and she glances away. Okay, she’s finally listening. “Come on, I don't want to see Arcadia Bay burned to the shore. I just say shit like that because I've been trying to get out of here since...since you left, basically. If I could find Rachel, then pay Frank off, I'd be leaving to start a whole new life.”

What the hell is she talking about? She’s giving me one of those tiny nods people do to show you they’re listening, but I’m starting to suspect that isn’t the case. “Chloe? Can you hear what I’m saying?”

She doesn’t respond, rolling away from me and reaching down to the floor. Picking up the remote control for her stereo, she flops back onto the bed and turns on some music. Getting up on my knees, I lean over her and wave a hand in front of her face. “Chloe? Chloe, can you hear me?”

I try getting her to meet my eyes, but it’s like I’m invisible. Even when I get so close that we’re practically nose-to-nose, her eyes move like she’s looking right through me. Confused, I put a hand on her shoulder and try to shake it, but it doesn’t move.

It doesn’t move at all.

She’s really there, and I’m really touching her. Her skin feels soft and warm under my palm, but other than that she might as well be made of stone. Even when I shove down as hard as I can, it doesn’t press her so much as an inch deeper into the mattress.

I reach for my pillow, frustrated and fully intent on smacking her in the face with it, but it won’t budge. I move closer to pull with both arms, and that’s when I notice that the mattress under my knees is rock hard. I’d been in this exact spot a second ago and it’d felt completely normal then; now it feels like I’m kneeling on concrete.

What the hell?

I turn back to Chloe, who’s closed her eyes and started humming softly along to the music floating from the stereo speakers and still hasn’t acknowledged my existence in any way. “Please say something, Chloe! Please!”

Desperate, I duck down to kiss her. But even though I can taste the faint tang of cigarette smoke and feel her breath against my lips, she doesn’t respond. I might as well be kissing a marble statue.

This doesn’t make any sense. The world doesn’t work this way. Things don’t go from soft to solid. People can’t feel like people and statues at the same time! What the hell is this?!

“Oh, does the schoolgirl have a test today?”

I practically leap off the bed and spin around to glare at her, as if she’d startled me on purpose. While I remember laying next to her the first time I went through this morning, just staring at the ceiling and listening to the music, I can’t recall every little detail of our conversation. That must have been a part of it, though, because she’s gone silent again.

Okay, I need to think. If I can’t talk to her and I can’t touch her, there must be another way to communicate. Moving around the room, it doesn’t take long to realize that everything in it is like the pillow. Even the things that should be soft or flimsy or pliable remain utterly immobile. And let me tell you, throwing all your weight into trying to move a single tissue and still failing feels really weird.

Then an idea pops into my head. Walking over to Chloe’s absolute mess of a desk, I immediately spot a pencil that’s probably spent as much time getting chewed on as it has actually writing anything. It’s right at the edge, with the pointy end sticking out about two inches past the desk surface.

It’s perfect.

I do a quick check to confirm it won’t move either, then I grip the end of it with my left hand. Holding my breath, I squeeze my eyes shut and nervously perform my first rewind in three months. It has to be the shortest one I’ve ever done, less than a second back in time, and to my relief my mind doesn’t come apart at the seams. It felt as smooth and effortless as I remember and, like I hoped, the pencil comes along for the ride.

At least, the last two inches of it does. It feels like snapping off an icicle, and when I take a close look at where it separated, it looks clean enough to have been cut by a laser. But the important thing is that it worked. I now have a perfectly usable two-inch pencil in my hand.

Take that, fucked-up reality! If you’re not going to let Chloe hear or feel me, than I’m just gonna write her a note! How do you like that, huh?!

I’m not quite there yet though. I need the other half of this critical formula. I need paper.

Most of the paper on and around her desk is crumpled into various-sized balls, and I’m disappointed to discover that even though I can rewind one of them loose, I can’t un-crumple it; I might as well be trying to unfold a baseball.

As Chloe continues to provide one comment or another to a conversation I’m no longer a part of, I hunt around until my eyes land on an old flyer pinned to the shelf above her dresser. I pinch the corner, do another burst rewind and come away with nothing but the small circle of paper that had been pressed between the tips of my thumb and finger.

Okay, fine. Be that way.

Not wanting to risk the loss of my precious pencil by putting it down, I hold it between my teeth as I press my hands to either side of the flyer. Squeezing my palms together, I try to maximize the amount of skin actually touching the paper before doing another rewind. The result is...well...it’s good enough. The loose piece of paper is roughly the size and shape of my hand and pretty uneven around the edges, but it’ll do.

Writing on a piece of paper using the palm of my hand as a backboard is, to put it mildly, a pain in the ass. It’s a constant effort to make sure it doesn’t look like it was written by a three-year old, and even more effort to communicate everything I need to without running out of space.

1. U HAV CANCER. NOT A JOKE. GO 2 DOC RT NOW!
2. RACHEL AMBER IS DEAD. IM SO SO SORRY.
3. RA IS BURIED @ AMRCN RUST. PLS DON’T LOOK!!
4. IT WAS N. PRSCOT & M JEFFRSN. TELL ABPD ASAP!!
5. STORM ON FRI MORN!! WARN EVRYN 2 GT OT OF AB!!
6. I LOVE U. GOOD LUCK. SEE U ON OTHR SIDE
-FUTURE MAX (FRM 11 JUN 2015)

Okay, so the final result isn’t perfect. But I doubt anyone else could do better, given the circumstances. And of course I’d prefer to tell her everything myself, but beggars can’t be choosers, can they? This is going to work. This has to work. All this note needs to do is accomplish five goals without screwing up the future or accidentally sending Chloe on some kind of death rampage. Easy, right?

Nodding to myself, I go to place the note next to her beanie. But as soon as I tilt my palm, the words slide right off the paper like sand off a pane of glass.

“Oh, come on!”

I try to re-write it, impatience making my writing a little sloppier. Then I nervously tilt the paper again and the same thing happens. Frustrated, I use the side of the pencil tip to draw a large patch, dark enough to conceal the color of the paper behind it, only to find that it slips away just as easily.

Resisting the urge to throw both of my hard-earned tools across the room, I start trying to puzzle out a way to use the rewind to write a message without actually undoing the message in the process. Then Chloe says something that grabs my attention.

“See if you can find a suitable outfit in my fashion hole.”

I feel my stomach clench when I realize I’ve lost track of time, and I barely notice when the pencil slips from my fingers. I make a panicked attempt to grab it...and I miss. The way it hits on the carpet, landing flat without the slightest hint of a bounce, reminds me of a magnet landing on metal. I know it’s lost, but I try to pick it up anyway; a quick tug confirms that it’s been rendered completely immovable.

“Goddamn piece of physics-defying shit!”

“Hey, there you go! Rachel left a bunch of her clothes with me,” Chloe sorta responds, her voice hitching slightly on the other girl’s name. “She’s your size.”

Nope. I don’t want to be here anymore. I can’t do this.

I try to let go of the moment and return to my own time, but it suddenly feels like I’m rooted in place. Really, fucked-up reality? Really? You won’t let me do anything, but you won’t let me leave, either?

This is because of that time I flipped off Jesus, isn’t it? I knew that was gonna come back and bite me one day.

“Max, you don’t have a style yet.” Chloe says as I watch her get up from the bed. The first time around, I’d been so distracted by the idea pulling off Rachel Amber’s ‘cool’ style that I hadn’t been paying attention to Chloe. Now can I see all the things that I’d missed before. I instantly recognize the wariness in her eyes, like she’s afraid that if she lets too much affection show it’ll be thrown back in her face. Even after that week, it took a long time for that to go away. Then there’s the slightly halting way she speaks, like she’s quickly double-checking every word before she says it.

At the same time, there’s no mistaking the way her eyes sweep over me as she walks over. It’d gone right over my head at the time, but she’s pretty blatantly checking me out. And the sway in her hips as she saunters over is definitely familiar; I’d know Chloe’s unique ‘Lookin’ For Some Lovin’ strut anywhere.

Oh, Chloe. I thought you were just teasing.

“At least give it a try,” she continues, completely oblivious to my reaction. “You can always rewind back to your chlorine brand t-shirt and generic jeans.”

The moment is getting closer and I can’t be here when it arrives. I just can’t.

Chloe lets out an exasperated huff. "Stop second-guessing yourself, Max! Put this on and...”

I practically shudder with relief when the burnt orange light around the edges of the room suddenly closes in, drowning out the rest of what Chloe is going to say. If I’d had the see that impish smile again, I might have tried to stay in that memory forever. If I’d heard those words, I’m pretty sure that my heart would break all over again.

I dare you to kiss me.

It takes a moment for the orange light to fade, slowly resolving into my Seattle bedroom. Glaring at the frame in my hand, I very, very briefly consider smashing it and ripping the polaroid inside to shreds. Instead I just drop it back on the desk and slouch down in my chair, scowling like the almost constantly angry jerk I’m slowly turning into.

Max the Angry Punk. I’d say Chloe would be proud if I wasn’t so sure she wouldn’t be.

If I really had to pick a word to describe how I’m feeling right now (besides frustrated and tired and admittedly a little hungry), I’d have to go with defeated. I have no idea what just happened. It’d been like I was some kind of ghost, invisible and unfelt.

No, it’d felt like more than that. It’d been like the world had been openly defying me. Like it had been deliberately fighting against whatever I’d wanted to do. That hadn’t been a phenomenon; it’d been a message. A velvet rope around some cosmic art exhibit with a big sign that reads ‘DO NOT TOUCH’.

Well, y’know what, multi-dimensional...museum security guard...thing? You aren’t the boss of me. I’m gonna leave a great big sticky chocolate thumbprint on your precious exhibit, whether you like it or not. I just have to figure out how.

There’s got to be a way to make this work. Something I haven’t considered. I know I need to try thinking outside the box, but that was always more Chloe’s area than mine. I tend to focus on what I can see in front of me. For better or worse, deep down I’m still a photographer.

Photographer. For some reason, that word resonates with something in the back of my mind. Sitting up, I follow the meandering line of thought, not sure if it’ll lead me to an answer or just more questions.

Photography. Focus...distance...perspective. I nod to myself as the concepts begin to line up. That’s it. I need help. A new perspective. But where the hell am I going to find someone who could provide a useful perspective on something like this?

First off, I’d need to find someone who’s actually going to listen to me rather than just assume I’ve lost it. They’d have to be clever, too. I need them to look at the problem in ways I wouldn’t consider. I’d also need then to be strong-willed enough that they won’t just freak out on me in the process. They’d have to be willing to call me out if I’m wrong, too. Chloe was never afraid to say what she meant, and I don’t need someone who’s going to walk on eggshells around me just because my powers intimidate them.

Oh, and while I’m being picky, they should also be a billionaire wizard genius with years of experience in time travel, because why the hell not?

The most important thing, though, is that they need to be willing to let me overwrite as much as two years of their life, and that’s a lot to ask of anyone. I might be ready to sacrifice everything to save Chloe, but I’m not delusional enough to think that everyone else is, too.

The idea of going to Mom and Dad is an immediate non-starter. They’re both dyed-in-the-wool skeptics when it comes to things like magic and the supernatural. You know those ‘Magic Revealed’ shows? They’ve got all of them on DVD. All of them. Even if I tried to prove it to them, I really don’t like my odds of getting them to acknowledge it was anything more than smoke and mirrors.

On top of that, I’m pretty sure they’re still kinda worried about my mental health, so if I dropped this on them there’s a decent chance they’d try to have me committed. Poor Max Caulfield; she had so much potential before the love of her life died and she went batshit crazy.

Kristen would be a decent option, assuming we could get past the ‘Max has lost her marbles’ phase. But even though I’m sure I could convince her that I’m for real, I don’t think it’d be a great idea. In some ways Kristen’s emotions are on even more of a hair trigger than Chloe’s ever were, especially when it comes to risks. Once, on a class trip to Mt. Rainier National Park, we stood in line for the zipline for an hour just for her to have an anxiety attack at the last minute.

Not much point proving to your friend that you can time travel if you’re just going to break her brain in the process.

Fernando would be much better. I don’t talk to him as much since he started going to university in Oregon (the irony isn’t lost on me) but he’s smart and he’s got no problem saying what he thinks. Plus, he believes in the supernatural so hard that he once confessed to having a full-on existential crisis when he found out that Santa Claus wasn’t real. However, his oldest sister and her husband just had their first baby. He’s pretty much in love with his new niece and when we do talk, it’s pretty much guaranteed that she’ll come up sooner or later.

She lives in Baltimore and I honestly can’t think of anything I could do that might prevent her from being born, but I know that wouldn’t matter. Fernando would never, ever agree to anything that might put his family in danger. End of story.

My eyes slowly drift around the room, as I consider and dismiss one option after another, eventually landing on the small corkboard hung on the wall above my desk. It’s pretty much empty, aside from last semester’s mostly ignored course schedule and a handful post-it notes scribbled so hastily that I’m not quite sure what they say. There’s also a business card that I’d pinned in the corner months ago and promptly forgotten about.

Peering at it now, I silently go over the qualities I’m looking for. Someone who’d believe me, or at least listen to what I have to say. Someone who’s smart, strong-willed, and wouldn’t hesitate to call me out. Someone who’d be willing to have the last two years of their life re-written.

Yeah, that figures.

Pulling the card off the board, I begrudgingly update the contact info on my phone before dropping both it and the device on my desk. I’m sure not going right now. I’ve been so busy stressing myself out over the last few days that I’m not exactly at my freshest.

I have a feeling that if I want to make my case, I’ll have to look presentable.

Bargaining

June 5, 2015
Central Business District
Seattle, Washington

Sitting in the taxi, I peer nervously through the rain-flecked window at the tastefully appointed building across the street, silently reconsidering my decision to come here. Also, very much regretting my decision not to bring an umbrella.

It’s not like we’re friends or anything. We never were. We’ve only spoken once since the storm claimed Arcadia Bay and at the time every word had felt painfully stilted. And considering it had been at Chloe’s funeral, that’s not exactly a good place to start from. But when all is said and done, only a handful of people made it out of Arcadia Bay. And of those, there’s only one who might actually be inclined to hear me out.

And if I’m very lucky, she won’t immediately assume that I’ve lost my marbles.

“Miss? Not that I mind running the meter, but...”

“Huh?” The cab driver’s voice snaps me out of my thoughts. Rummaging through my pockets, I manage to dig up about twenty bucks in crumpled bills and hand them over, giving him an ‘I’m not a crazy person’ smile that I’ve had way too much practice with. “Keep the change.”

Stepping out into the rain, I jog across the street and hurry up the short flight of steps to the large wooden door. To one side, a polished brass placard mounted right above the buzzer reminds me that the privately owned art gallery doesn’t actually open for another hour. Ignoring the cowardly urge to venture back out into the rain, I silently wish myself luck and push the buzzer anyway.

For a moment, I wonder if anyone is going to answer. Then the door unlocks with an audible click, opening to reveal the familiar - if surprised - face of Victoria Chase.

“Max?”

“Hey, Victoria.”

“Hey. Why are you...I mean, what can I do for you?”

“I was actually hoping to talk to you about something.” I hike my jacket’s collar up against the rain. “I know you’re not open yet, but...”

“No, of course. It’s fine.” She moves back, waving me in. “Come on in.”

Stepping past her to get my first look at the renowned Chase Space art gallery, I’m greeted by something that looks like it could have been pulled out of some European manor home. The walls are painted a crisp off-white, separated by polished granite columns. Both paintings and photographs – several from artists I used to idolize - hang on the walls, and in the centre of the room stands an eye-catching abstract jade sculpture. At the far end of the space is a narrow marble staircase that leads up to a second floor, which Victoria gestures me toward.

“Wow.” I look around as I follow her, trying to take it all in. “This place is beautiful.”

“Thank you,” Victoria responds smoothly as she looks back over her shoulder, giving me a smile that isn’t exactly fake. It’s more like one of those slightly vacant smiles you get from your barista or the FedEx guy. I wonder if she’s doing it on purpose or if it’s just a reflex. “We’ve put a lot of work into it.”

She leads me up the stairs to an unassuming wooden door, clearly marked ‘employees only’, and pulls a small silver keyring from her pocket. She unlocks it and for a second, I imagine it opening to reveal some picturesque fantasy world like Narnia or Rivendell. I’m only the tiniest bit disappointed when she ushers me into a less luxurious but still well-appointed office.

Following me in, she shuts the door and gestures to a red leather couch. “Have a seat.”

“Thanks.” Spotting a row of coat hooks beside the door, I shrug off my jacket and hang it to dry. On the far end of the room, a wide set of floor-to-ceiling windows look out over the street.

“Coffee?” Victoria asks, pointing toward a small kitchenette in the corner. I guess she’s still in customer-service mode.

“Yeah. Please.”

The silence that follows is broken only by the faint sound of Victoria fiddling with the coffeemaker. It’s a little awkward, I guess, but I don’t feel like filling the air with small talk. Victoria glances back at me every few seconds, and I’m starting to get the impression that the slightly forced politeness is just a stalling tactic while she tries to figure out what I’m here for.

It could be my imagination, but she also looks a little worried that I might suddenly break down crying. Considering the last time we saw each other I kept doing exactly that, I guess I couldn’t blame her. I’ve gotten that look from a lot of people, like they want to say something kind and comforting, but don’t want to accidentally make things worse.

Eventually, the coffeemaker lets out a soft chirp and Victoria fills two mugs, coming over to join me on the couch. “It’s not exactly gourmet, but...”

“It’s fine.” I accept the drink with a nod. “Thanks.”

For want of knowing where to start, I lift the coffee to my lips and start drinking it probably faster than I should. And that's when I know that she’s prepared to wait as long as she has to for me to explain why I’m here, because otherwise she probably would have commented on me shotgunning straight black coffee like hard liquor.

“Chloe died,” I eventually say, which isn't remotely close to what I’d actually intended to say. And although the coffee burnt my tongue a little, I don’t think it’s responsible for the sudden tightening in my throat.

“I know that, Max.” Victoria’s tone is cautious, a worried look on her face that she’s trying to hide behind her mug. “We spoke at the funeral, remember?”

“That’s not what I mean.” This isn’t off to a great start. Considering I rehearsed this conversation in my head about a hundred times on the way over, I shudder to think what would have happened if I’d just tried to wing it. “It’s just...I had this vision of a future where we were old and grey and happy and together and still just us.” I’m not going to cry. I refuse to cry. “And now she’s gone and it’s gone and I...I’ve got nothing else.”

Shit. What do I expect her to say to that? Realizing I’m putting her on the spot, I immediately start backpedaling. “Never mind. Forget I said anything. I’m fine.”

Victoria regards me skeptically as she taps a single perfectly manicured fingernail on the side of her mug. “You’re fine?”

I nod. I’ve been here for five minutes and I already feel like an idiot. Way to go, Max.

“Do you remember what I told you at the funeral? About how it’s okay to not be okay? Because however ‘fine’ you claim to be, I somehow doubt you came here just to ignore your problems over a cup of mediocre coffee.”

She’s got me there. And what’s worse, I can tell she knows she does. Crossing one leg over the other, she takes another sip of coffee and looks like she’s waiting for me to say something that isn’t a complete waste of her time. Serves me right for wanting someone smart, stubborn, and completely intolerant to bullshit.

“I want to fix it.” It’s a mildly better start. It’s still painfully vague, but at least it’s on point. And it does seem to pique her curiosity.

“Fix what?”

“All of it. Chloe, your parents, Arcadia Bay. Everything.”

“I see.” She delicately raises one eyebrow. “And how would you manage that, exactly?”

This is the big moment, although it did come up a little faster than I’d have liked. Regardless, I take a deep breath and square my shoulders. “Time travel.”

“Time travel,” Victoria echoes slowly, probably back to thinking I’m off my rocker. She studies me for a long moment before continuing. “Look, Max, I can’t imagine how hard losing Chloe has been for you. I mean, even I could tell what the two of you had was something special. But have you maybe considered talking to someone about this?”

“I’m talking to you.”

“I mean someone...” She gestures slightly into the air. “Better qualified to help you.”

Called it. “You think I’m crazy.”

“No, I don’t.” Her response is surprisingly intense. “But for better or worse, I think you’ve been trying to deal with a lot on your own, and you don’t have to. Speaking to a therapist helped me a lot when I was in the same place.”

“That’s not what this is.” I can already feel this going in the wrong direction and I try to get us back on course. “I’m not...”

“You know about the stages of grief, right?”

I nod and add a dramatic sigh for effect. If she insists on railroading the conversation, I refuse to let her think I’m happy about it.

“Did you know they don’t always happen in the same order? Or that you can go through a stage more than once?”

“What’s your point?” I follow the question up with a classic annoyed eyeroll. Shockingly, it doesn’t do anything.

“My point, Caulfield, is that this whole thing right here? This is bargaining.” Her brow furrows slightly. “I mean, it’s a really messed-up version of bargaining, but it’s still bargaining.”

“No, it isn’t.”

“Listen to yourself, Max.” She looks genuinely concerned and reaches out to hold my hand. Honestly, I’m a little taken aback. “You’re talking about building some kind of time machine to go back and save a town that’s long gone. That isn’t healthy.”

Oh, man... If the idea of time travel has her worried, I can’t wait to see what she does with this. “I don’t need to build a time machine, Victoria. I am a time machine.”

She blinks very slowly and, for a very brief moment, I’m a little worried she might’ve blown a fuse. “You...are...a time machine.”

“That’s right.”

“Right. Okay. Have you - and I swear, I’m not judging here - but have you been taking anything?”

“Taking anything?” The implication hits me a second later. “I’m not high, Victoria!”

“Hey, I’d totally understand if you were,” she says, adding, “I mean, I wouldn’t support it, but I’d understand. Shit, the month after Arcadia Bay I probably went through more weed than a Phish concert.”

I’m not high!” I pull my hand out of hers, crossing my arms like a petulant teenager and glaring at her. Unfortunately, even I know that my best glare falls somewhere around housecat on the intimidation scale.

“Alright, alright. Settle down.” Leaning back, she goes back to tapping her finger thoughtfully on her coffee mug. “Prove it, then.”

“What?”

“If you’re some kind of human time machine, you shouldn’t have any trouble proving it,” she points out. “So, prove it.”

“I... I don’t...” I look down, picking at a loose thread on the hem of my shirt. This part was always inevitable, because there was no way in hell I’d ever be able to get Victoria on board without providing solid proof. I’m glad I took a little time to practice first. I’d just hoped to provide a lot more context before, as Chloe once put it, whipping out my time dick.

What does it say about me that remembering that makes my heart ache a little?

“Unless you can’t do it on command. Or when someone is watching,” Victoria adds, eyeing me dubiously. “Either of which would be awfully convenient.”

“No, I can. It’s just I don’t want to...y’know...freak you out.”

“Don’t think very much of me, do you?”

“That’s not what I meant.”

“Then...?”

Okay. Guess it’s time for me to put up or shut up. Worst case scenario, she flips out and I have to rewind this conversation away to try again...and again...and again. Ah, the life of a time traveler. “Alright, fine. You ready?”

“By all means, wow me.”

Standing up, I take several big steps away from the couch and draw in a nervous breath. Victoria watches, a little impatiently, as I raise my arm. Ignoring her, I focus on the sensation that always precedes a rewind. It’s like dipping my hand in a rushing stream and feeling the almost chaotic flow of water rushing between my fingers. I reach deeper, past the tumbling currents, until I feel my fingers brush the bottom. I count off about thirty seconds in my head, then I grab hold.

That’s the trick to it, you see. In the early days, I’d looked at rewinding like I was playing tug-of-war with the universe. I’d grab hold and immediately pull with as much strength as I had, which was a pretty dumb strategy considering how incredibly bad I am at playing tug-of-war.

It took me a while before I started thinking less in terms of forcing and more in terms of enduring. I imagined time as a river that I was standing in. Instead of trying to swim against the current, I’d just dig my heels in, grab the nearest rock, then hold tight and let the past catch up to me. The longer I held on, the further back I could go.

Once I figured that out, all it took was practice (and a little trial and error) before I could rewind (though not really, but I still like the word) as much as an hour without breaking a sweat. Time Travel for Dummies by Professor Max Caulfield. No more headaches, no more nosebleeds, no more feeling like I was taking a power sander to my own brain just to buy back a few minutes.

I mean, except for those times I let go too quickly, or without knowing exactly where I was landing. Those would be the ‘error’ part of all that trial-and-error stuff.

I learned the hard way that the longer I held on, the more careful I had to be about letting go. Doing it right meant I’d get gently pulled back into the current alongside everyone else. Doing it wrong felt like having my arm ripped out of its socket before getting thrown from a moving vehicle into a brick wall. There were other fun bonuses, too. Like crippling vertigo that had me puking until I couldn’t even sit up, vicious migraines that would sometimes last for days, and several frighteningly bad nosebleeds.

Y’know in the movie Fight Club, when he says you can swallow a pint of blood before you get sick? I don’t know if that’s actually true, but I wouldn’t be surprised. And as a side note, blood tastes gross. Like, really gross. Seriously, I’d make such a terrible vampire.

As for my little demonstration rewind, it’s so brief that there’s almost no effort involved. From my perspective the room just goes the tiniest bit hazy for a second, like a really quick focus adjustment on a high-end camera, and the last half-minute blinks away.

I barely feel a thing, but to Victoria it would have looked as though I just vanished from the couch and instantly reappeared on the other side of the room.

She stares at me, her coffee mug hovering just shy of her lips, for what feels like a really long time. Then she very slowly lowers it back to the table, takes a deep breath, and simply asks, “What...the fuck...was that?”

“Time travel,” I answer shortly. Although the way it makes her eye twitch is kind of funny, I feel like laughing might not be a great idea at the moment.

“You just...” Victoria gestures between the spot where I’m standing and the seat I’d previously been occupying. “Weren’t you...?”

“I didn’t teleport, if that’s what you’re thinking.”

“God fucking help me, that actually is what I was thinking,” Victoria murmurs, looking like she’s just admitted to still believing in the Easter Bunny.

“I was sitting next to you. I stood up and walked over here.” I point to my feet. “And then I waited about thirty seconds before going back in time to the point I was still sitting down. So it’s the same as if I’d stood up and walked over, but without the middle part.”

The explanation is 100% true, but it doesn’t quite seem to have landed.

“You just have to think fourth dimensionally,” I add, and that really doesn’t help. She’s actually looking a little green.

“Oh. Yeah, okay. That...yeah.” Victoria rises from her seat, a little unsteadily. “W-would you excuse me? I just need to go...”

“Throw up?”

She blinks at me. “Did you just...”

“No,” I pick up a small waste bin near the door and hand it to her. “You just look like you might throw up.”

“Oh.” Dropping back onto the couch, Victoria hugs the waste bin to her chest and spends several minutes breathing deeply. Eventually the color returns to her face and she looks me in the eye. “You can travel back in time.”

“Yes, I can.”

“Holy shit," she murmurs. “Have you, like, always been able to?”

“No. Not until that last week in Arcadia Bay.”

“The last week?” Victoria pauses, her expression shifting into something I’m not totally comfortable with. “Before or after the storm?”

“Before the storm. About four days.” I thought the right thing to do would be to answer honestly and hope for the best, but the moment the words are out I can see I was wrong.

“Four days.”

“Victoria, I...”

“So, when Jefferson dragged me down into that bunker, you could’ve travelled back in time?” The question silences me so effectively, she might as well have hit my mute button. “And during all those funerals and memorials, you could’ve travelled back in time?”

“No, I could only go back a few...”

“When Arcadia Bay was being ripped to shreds and my parents were dying,” She cuts me off again, her voice taking on a disturbingly vicious edge. “You could’ve travelled back in fucking time?!”

“It’s not that simple.” I can still salvage this. I’m sure of it. “After the storm I wasn’t even sure if I could still do it! For a long time, I was too scared to even try!”

“Why?”

“Because...well...it’s just that using my power can have consequences. Bad ones.” I want to glace away, not sure I can deal with the accusation in her eyes when I say this part, but force myself to hold her gaze. “At the time I thought that using them might’ve been what caused the storm.”

Her eyes flash angrily. I’m pretty sure I just screwed up again.

What?!” Victoria explodes to her feet, the waste bin in her lap clattering loudly onto the floor. “Then why the fuck would you do it here?!”

“I said that’s what I thought at the t...” I try to explain, but she’s not listening.

“Jesus fucking Christ, Caulfield!” Victoria puts a hand to her brow, shaking her head in stunned disbelief. “What if you’d caused another storm? What if you already have? Did you even consider that?”

“It doesn’t work like that.” I take a breath and try to find my balance. “It only causes a storm if I specifically use it to save someone’s life.”

Victoria narrows her eyes, like she can see right through me. “You’re not sure about that, are you?”

How the fuck does she do that?

“Of course I’m sure,” I insist, then reluctantly add, “Like, ninety-five percent sure.”

“But you’re ready to take that risk to save Chloe? Just because you can’t stand the idea of being alone?”

“That’s not all this is!” Except that pretty much is all this is, but I sure as hell can’t say that now. “I...”

“No. Stop.” She holds up a hand and glares at me for a long, silent, and profoundly uncomfortable moment. I feel like I’m being visually dissected and it’s hard not to squirm. I don’t know if this is some kind of Victoria Chase battle-of-the-wills power move, but if surrendering is what it’ll take to move on, I’m happy to throw in the towel.

“Vict-”

“I seriously thought about killing myself after Arcadia Bay.”

I feel my stomach clench, lurch to one side, then drop out of existence altogether. Whatever I’d been about to say instantly becomes stupid and selfish, so for once I decide to keep my mouth shut.

“A few times, actually,” she continues, her tone disturbingly casual. “I even came pretty close once. Sitting in the bathtub with the razor in my hand. And sometimes I can’t actually remember why I didn’t follow through.”

I open my mouth to say something, but no sound comes out. It’s only the memory of our shared times in the Dark Room, long-since overwritten, that allows me to picture her as anything less than unbreakable.

“See, you and Chloe had each other after the storm. And you both had your parents.” Her voice cracks a little and she swipes angrily at the tears that threaten to form in her eyes. “I didn’t have anybody, Max. All my friends died in the storm. My parents were only children and my grandparents passed away when I was little. You think you know what being alone is? I was alone. I’ve been alone ever since.”

“I...I’m so sorry. I didn’t know that.”

If she’d been teetering somewhere between anger and despair, my words seem to be the tiebreaker. “Of course you fucking didn’t! You never even called to see how I was doing!”

“I...” Several painfully weak excuses come to mind, and I go with the one that does the least to make me sound like a self-absorbed asshole. “We never really got along.”

“That didn’t stop you from showing up here as soon as you wanted something from me, did it?” She snaps. “What do you want from me, anyway?”

“I’m...”

“Actually, you know what? Fuck you. Whatever it is, you’re not gonna get it. I want you out of here.”

“Victoria...”

“I’m serious.” She points to the door. “Leave. Now.

I try to come up with an argument, but all I can think of is the anger and pain in Victoria’s eyes. I even think about rewinding, but if the mere existence of my powers set her off this badly, I don’t know what trying again could possibly accomplish.

Finally, I just nod and lift my jacket off its hook. “Yeah. Okay.”

She apparently has nothing more to say. She follows me down the stairs and through the gallery’s lobby without a word, opens the front door, then slams it the instant I’ve crossed the threshold. The sound of the lock sliding into place feels especially final.

Flipping my jacket’s collar up again, I walk down to the sidewalk. Looking back, I think I see Victoria’s face in the window. Then I blink and it’s gone. Raising a hand to hail a cab, I resign myself to the fact that some bridges can’t be mended and try to think of anyone else I can possibly go to.

Unfortunately, the list of potential candidates still only has one name, and that name just got a great big red X drawn over it.

 


 

It’s late enough to be called early when my phone goes off, waking me from a restless sleep. Groping blindly at my bedside table, it takes me a few clumsy tries before I manage to find it, press it to my ear, and mutter a sleepy, “Hello?”

I immediately regret not looking at the caller ID first.

“Did I wake you?”

“Victoria?” Sitting up, I glance at the clock on the table. “It’s three AM.”

“Congratulations, you can tell time. What I asked was, did I wake you?”

“Yeah, actually, you did.”

“Good.” There’s a distinct hint of malicious satisfaction in the way she says it, but I’m too tired to care right now and silently resolve to be very annoyed about it in the morning. I’m considering hanging up on her when she asks, point blank, “Can you actually save Arcadia Bay?”

That wakes me up in a hurry. “What?”

“It’s a simple question.”

Like hell it is. “I don’t know.”

“Are you fuc-”

I cut her off. If she’s going to call me up at three in the goddamn morning, she’s going to listen to what I have to say. “I don’t know, Victoria. Even trying would be a thousand times bigger and more dangerous than anything I’ve ever done before. That doesn’t mean I don’t want to try.”

The line goes quiet for nearly a minute; only the faint sound of breathing confirms that she’s still there. “Do you still want my help?”

I don’t even have to think about that one. “Of course I do.”

“Fine. I’ll text you my home address. Be there Monday. Nine AM, sharp.”

“Got it. I’ll be there,” I agree. “And I’m glad you changed your mind.”

“Oh, I haven’t changed my mind. Not yet.”

“Then why are y-?”

“Because we’re both alone now. And if there’s even the slightest chance you can change that, I figure it’s worth giving you a chance to try and sell me on how.”

“Thank y-”

“Nine AM on Monday, Caulfield,” Victoria interrupts again, adding, “Bring pastries.”

She hangs up without another word, but I’m just too relieved to care. She might think we’re both alone, and maybe she’s right. But for better or worse, at least now we’re alone together.

 

-------------------

END PART III

-------------------

Hindsight


 

June 8, 2015
Chase Residence
Seattle, Washington

Standing on the sidewalk, I peer uncertainly at the ordinary-looking house. If it weren’t for the fact that virtually every car parked along the street looks brand-new, I’d be wondering whether I might have the wrong place.

I look down at my phone to check the address again, then make sure I entered it into Google maps properly. Just like the last few times, everything looks right. Everything but the house. When the two of us had gone to Blackwell together, I’d always pictured her living on a sprawling estate or looking down on the city from some well-appointed penthouse. It doesn’t matter that Montlake is supposed to be one of the richer neighborhoods in town. This just looks too humble to be Victoria Chase’s home.

There’s only one way to be sure, though. Walking up hesitantly, I knock on the door. I only have to wait a few minutes before it opens, and my worldview takes another hit. At the gallery, Victoria’s clothes had been the definition of professionally stylish. The skirt and blouse had been both simple and elegant, and her makeup had been applied flawlessly. Altogether, she’d made me feel a little shabby by comparison.

The Victoria standing in the doorway is wearing plain black leggings and a t-shirt with some pink-haired anime character on it. Her hair is just the slightest bit tousled, and she’s got barely any makeup on at all. She looks normal. Not that she didn’t look normal before, but now she looks normal-people normal.

“It’s two minutes past nine,” she says, her clipped tone derailing my train of thought. “You’re late.”

I blink, not sure if she’s serious or not. “I...uh...I wasn’t sure if I had the right place.”

She delicately raises an eyebrow. “Meaning?”

“I guess it’s not exactly what I expected?”

Crossing her arms, Victoria makes no move to invite me in. “And what did you expect, exactly? A castle?”

“No.” Hoping to dispel the increasingly awkward feeling in the air, I risk a smile. “I just figured the Chases would have something a little more mansion-y.”

Victoria’s cool expression morphs into a harsh glare. “You mean like my family’s home in Arcadia Bay, Max? The one your storm leveled with my mom and dad still inside?”

“I...I’m sorry, Victoria. I didn’t...”

She sighs, pinching her brow as she waves off my apology. “No, I’m sorry. I know you didn’t mean anything by it. I haven’t had a lot of sleep. You brought the pastries, right?”

I wordlessly hold up a brown box from the bakery near my house.

“Good.” She gestures inside, adding. “Take your shoes off.”

Stepping in, I take a second to glance around; in some ways, the inside of Victoria’s home is just as unexpectedly ordinary as the outside. Though there are some unmistakable signs of wealth - a framed photo on the wall, for example, that I recognize as being worth more than some cars - it still has a feeling of being lived in.

The small wooden bench by the door, while intricately carved and much nicer than the one at my parent’s house, is half-hidden by a collection of jackets and scarves thrown over it. An equally nice table next to it is home to the usual collection of loose change, keys, and unopened letters. Even the several pairs of expensive looking shoes are offset by a pair of well-worn and slightly dirty runners dropped carelessly beside them.

“You’re not going to uncover many secrets in my front hall, you know,” Victoria points out, reclaiming my attention.

“Oh. Sorry.”

“I’m just kidding, Caulfield.” She rolls her eyes. “Come on.”

Just as she had at the gallery, Victoria leads me upstairs and ushers me through the first door we reach, and the room beyond it just about takes my breath away. Every piece of furniture is made of the same dark polished wood and the plush red carpet feels wonderfully soft underfoot. What were probably clear windows to start with have been replaced with stained glass, and the light passing through the pattern of red, orange, yellow, and green facets give the whole space a kind of glow that makes me think of an autumn day.

“Whoa.” The whispered word escapes before I can stop it.

“This was my dad’s office,” Victoria says, a little sadly, as she steps past me into the room.

“It’s beautiful.” Tall bookshelves cover two of the three walls, and the third is home to dozens of Chase family photos. The first one my eyes land on is of a very young Victoria proudly holding up a dollar bill. The obvious gap in her beaming smile makes it easy to guess where she got it from, and I let out a completely involuntary giggle. “Aww...you were so little!”

“Yeah, I guess I was.”

“Was that your first visit from the tooth fairy?” I turn to find Victoria looking fondly at the photo. “You look pretty pleased with that dollar.”

“I was ecstatic,” she chuckles, surprising me a little. “At least until I found out all my friends got twenties. I felt kinda ripped off after that.”

“Wow. Hashtag one-percent-problems.”

“Oh, shut up.” Rolling her eyes again, she points to a Keurig machine sitting on a small side table. “I’m going to make some coffee. Want some?”

“Yes, please.”

Victoria nods, walking away and apparently leaving me to find my own seat; I decide that the safest choice is the one facing her father’s desk. The seat is even more comfortable than it looks, stirring up the memory of the time Chloe and I had broken into Principal Wells’ office at Blackwell and I had to talk her out of stealing the man’s leather chair.

The sweet memory, like most I have of Chloe, is accompanied by a familiar pang of sorrow in my chest. I close my eyes and try to will it away, and as a result I don’t notice Victoria’s return until a steaming coffee mug practically appears in front of me.

“It’s not much, but it’s definitely a lot better than the stuff at the gallery.”

“Thanks.” I take a quiet sip as I watch Victoria step around the desk. Settling into the opposite chair, she peers at me across the polished wooden surface. “So, after Friday, I thought...”

“For the record,” she cuts in smoothly. “I haven’t completely ruled out the possibility that you’re delusional.”

“I’m not delusional.”

“Would you know it if you were?”

“I...” I stumble over the question because she’s technically right. If I actually were delusional (which I’m not!) I probably wouldn’t know it.

She smirks. “Exactly.”

I let out an irritated huff. “Are you done?”

“For now,” she replies loftily. “So, you can travel through time.”

It doesn’t sound like a question, but I answer anyway. “That’s right.”

“How?”

“How do I do it, or how is it possible?”

“Both. But let’s start with how it’s possible.”

I have no idea why I suggested that. “I actually don’t know.”

“Not a great starting point.”

“Well, I don’t.” I throw my arms up, already frustrated. “It’s not like it came with a user’s manual!”

Her self-satisfied expression falters a bit, and she actually looks a little embarrassed. “Right. Sorry. I get that but I’m still feeling a little...I don’t know...”

“Overwhelmed? Confused? Frightened? Existentially nauseous?”

She laughs softly. “Pretty much all of the above.”

“Welcome to my life.” I pause, reaching into the box on the desk and pulling out a cherry danish. “Look, I’ll do my best but there’s probably going to be a lot of questions I can’t answer. Especially the technical stuff. And I’ve never had to tell the whole thing to anyone before, so the story might feel a little, y’know, non-linear.”

“Didn’t Chloe know about it?”

“Yeah, but she knew right from the beginning. We sorta worked things out together.”

“Fair enough,” she concedes. “Alright, we’ll just figure it out as we go. You say you got your ‘powers’ the week of the storm, right?”

“That’s right.”

“How? Did you get bitten by a radioactive time bug or something?”

“No idea.” I shrug. “They just kind of...appeared.”

“You just woke up one morning and you could time travel?” she asks, sounding dubious.

“Well, no. The first time it happened was when Nathan shot Chloe in the girl’s bathroom at Blackwell.”

“...I beg your pardon?”

“When Nathan shot Chloe...” I pause. “I mean, he did shoot her, but then I went back and stopped it. That’s why you wouldn’t know what I’m talking about. Because it didn’t happen. Sorry.”

“Somehow, you’re making less sense now than before you started.”

“See, that’s the whole non-linear thing I was talking about. How about I just start from the beginning?”

“I think that’d be a good idea.”

“Okay.” Collecting my thoughts, I lean forward to place my coffee mug on the desk. Victoria immediately gives me a dirty look, reaching across to lift the mug and place it on a coaster. “Alright, so I was sitting in Photography class on Monday, October seventh. I must have dozed off because I was having the most intensely vivid dream...”

 


 

Victoria listens quietly as I reframe the events of Arcadia Bay’s last week in a way she’d never have imagined. After the first few minutes, she pulls a legal pad out of one of the desk’s drawers and begins taking notes, occasionally looking back up with an intense gaze that makes me feel like a bug under a magnifying glass.

It takes over two hours to get through it all, and I only have to backtrack a couple of times to accommodate the alternate timelines. After I’ve finished, the only sound is the faint rustling of paper as she reviews the dozen (at least) pages she’s filled with her notes, questions, and thoughts.

Finally, she looks up and shakes her head in amazement. “This is...I don’t even know what this is.”

“I guess it does sound pretty out there.”

“No, it sounds like a Russian nesting doll of crazy. It’s like, this is pretty crazy, but I bet there’s some logic underneath it. Let’s take a look. Nope, just some more crazy.” Her laugh edges on hysterical.

“It’s not like I’m making all this up.”

“That’s the thing. I know you aren’t. It all meshes together too well.” At my confused look, she continues. “I mean, as bizarre as it all sounds, the details still line up. There’s no massive loose ends or obvious contradictions. Honestly, I’ve read bestselling novels with more plot holes.”

“Thanks?”

“It wasn’t a compliment.” I must’ve looked a little put out because she adds, “Or an insult.”

“Why do I sense a ‘but’ coming up?”

“Because nothing you’ve said answers my two biggest questions.”

I’m a little confused. I’m pretty sure I told her everything. “What are those?”

“First of all, what does any of this have to do with me?”

Oh, right. That. It’d seemed like a good idea when I first came up with it, but now that I’ve laid everything out I can’t really imagine what new input she could bring to the table. But then, that’s exactly the issue, isn’t it? So far, my imagination hasn’t been good enough.

“I know what I want to accomplish, but I can’t figure out how to make it happen. I’m too close to it all. Too wrapped up in how I’ve always thought of these powers. I need a different perspective. Someone who can, y’know, think outside the box. Someone who’ll see angles I can’t.”

“And you think that’s me?”

“Well, yeah.” At the risk of inflating her ego, I add. “You’re smart, tenacious, and you don’t have any preconceived notions.”

It’s funny watching her try not to visibly bask in the praise. “Sure, but so are a lot of people. Why me, specifically?”

I really hope she doesn’t take this the wrong way. I don’t want to make it seem like I only picked her for lack of any other options. “Because you’re from Arcadia Bay.”

She nods, slowly. “So you think I’d be a lot more invested in your success than someone else.”

I try not to cringe. “Yeah, more or less.”

She flips back a few pages, writes something down, then looks up to scrutinize me. “Which brings me to my second big question; what exactly are you trying to accomplish?”

This one I’m a little more prepared to answer. “I want to keep the town from being destroyed in the storm. To make sure Chloe knows she has cancer as early as possible.” I think about it for a second. “For Mark Jefferson to get caught and put in prison.”

Victoria snorts, muttering something that sounds suspiciously like ‘or a shallow grave’.

“And I want to make sure Rachel’s body is found. And that Nathan...” I trail off awkwardly.

“And that Nathan goes away for murdering her?”

“Yeah.”

“It’s been almost two years, Max. I came to terms with who and what Nathan was a long time ago. But yeah, I’d rather see him locked up in a mental hospital than killed by Jefferson.” She sighs, tapping her pen on her notepad. “Anyway, I assume you’re planning to use your Butterfly Effect thing to do all that, right?”

“My what thing?”

“Butterfly Effect,” she repeats, clearly expecting me to recognize the reference. “The movie with the tall guy from That 70’s Show?”

“I never saw it.”

“Oh. Well, you didn’t miss much. It was a crap movie with a creepy as fuck director’s cut. The only reason I brought it up is because he could do that photo bullshit, too.”

“It’s not bullshit. I really can us-”

“It’s not bullshit because it’s fake,” she interrupts, rubbing her eyes. “It’s bullshit because it’s stupid. Photographs aren’t magic. There is absolutely nothing about them that should allow people to travel back in time.”

I give her an unimpressed look. “And yet, that’s exactly what I can do.”

“That’s what I mean. You’re the one doing...whatever the fuck it is that you’re doing. Not the photos.”

“Then why is that the only way I can go so far back?”

“Maybe it isn’t.” Victoria shrugs. “Maybe they just give you something to focus on. How the hell should I know?”

I’m about to fire back with some snarky remark when I realize she’s right. Rewinding is one thing; I might not be able to explain it, but I’ve never felt like there wasn’t an explanation. Using a photo doesn’t make any sense at all. “Whatever. I’ve already told you that I tried both of the photos I have. Neither one of them worked. That’s why I’m here.”

“And those were really your only options? I thought you guys were BFFs growing up or something.”

“They’re the only two that might’ve been useful.” It’s not the whole truth but explaining why I don’t have more would mean having to bring up my issue with cameras. That would mean having to tell her about my visit-that-never-was to Jefferson’s Dark Room. I’d rather keep that to myself unless it really becomes necessary to share it. “The only way to help her is to get her into treatment as early as possible. Any photo taken after we came to Seattle would be too late, and the only pictures earlier than the one from her bedroom are from two-thousand-and-eight. Using any of those is just asking for trouble.”

“So all you have is the one from Valentine’s, which won’t work because by that point Chloe is wise to your time fuckery, and the one from Arcadia Bay’s last week, which won’t work because of bizarre impossible things that don’t make any sense.”

“Pretty much.”

“She really couldn’t hear you?”

“Or see me. She kept playing out her half of the conversation we had back then. Like she was seeing and hearing a version of me that I couldn’t.”

“Weird,” she murmurs, scratching her chin. “Maybe it’s like interference? Like whatever was going on that week was scrambling the signal?”

“Then why could I use the photo Warren took that week?”

She considers that for a second. “Maybe you could use them inside that week, or to leave that week, but not to go back into that week?”

I guess it’s as good a theory as any, for what it’s worth. Before I can say as much, my phone starts buzzing. “Crap. I have to get to class.”

She gives me a funny look. “It’s summer.”

“Guess that’s why they call them summer classes.”

“Trying to graduate early?”

“Just trying to graduate. Last semester wasn’t great for me.”

“Why no-” Victoria makes a faint choking noise as she tries to physically stop the words from coming out. “Sorry.”

“It’s okay,” I say, forcing myself not to be bothered. “People forget.”

“I know.” She frowns. “Still...”

“Even I forget, sometimes.” And I want to beat the shit out of myself everytime I do. “Seriously, don’t worry about it. I have to get going, anyway.”

“I...” She hesitates a second. “I can give you a lift.”

“Going to have the chauffeur bring the limo around?” I laugh a little as I say it, so she’ll know I’m kidding. I guess it works because she just gives me a mildly unimpressed look.

“I’m perfectly capable of making a four-minute drive, thank you. Do you want a lift or not?”

“It’s fine. I can get a cab.”

“Rhetorical question. Come on.” I follow her downstairs. “U of W, right?”

“Seattle Central College, actually.” Her surprised expression makes me want to look anywhere but at her. “I don’t want to talk about it.”

“That’s over by Anderson Park, right?”

I nod.

“A ten-minute drive, then." I get the impression that arguing isn’t going to do me any good, so I don’t bother. “C’mon.”

Stopping at the front door to pull on the worn runners I’d seen earlier, Victoria grabs a set of car keys off the table and leads me down to a blue Volkswagen Golf I’d noticed when the cab dropped me off. Considering most of the other cars on the street were makes like BMW and Lexus, I’d sort of assumed it belonged to a housekeeper or something.

“This is your car?” Climbing in, I look around the interior curiously. There doesn’t seem to be anything fancy about it at all.

“What did you think I drove?” she asks, a little defensively. “A Ferrari?”

I shrug. “Yeah, kinda.”

“I drive what I can afford, Caulfield. And believe it or not, that isn’t some dumbass Italian midlife-crisis-mobile.”

“Don’t you have a trust fund?” I wince; that sounded a lot snarkier out loud. Victoria doesn’t answer, drumming her fingers on the steering wheel, and after a few seconds I start to worry that I’ve crossed a line.

“The accounts are all locked.”

That’s...unexpected. “All of them?”

“My parents were smart about a lot of things, Max, but estate planning wasn’t one of them. The will they left behind could be charitably described as a total dumpster fire and it’s being disputed by at least nine other parties.” She sighs, starting the car. “Their business partner, Jessica, has been making the best of it. But until everything gets resolved, most of my family’s assets are frozen.”

My understanding of how wills work extends about as far as what I’ve seen on television, but ‘dumpster fire’ says enough to get the point across. I glance back at the house. “So...”

“Bought and paid for in my mom’s name,” she says, guessing my question. “Which is nice, since my dad made the downtown penthouse a corporate property for some fucking tax reason and it got sold. The house and my college fund are all I’ve got, and I don’t even have direct access to that; tuition payments get transferred directly to the university. And unfortunately, things like food and utilities cost money too.”

“You don’t say?”

“Yeah, yeah. Laugh it up,” she mutters, pulling away from the curb. “Poor Victoria Chase has to live like one of the peasants now.”

“Owning a house in Montlake doesn’t exactly scream ‘peasant’,” I point out, cautiously.

“What about having to eat nothing but beans for a week and a half because I blew my grocery budget going out on a Saturday night?” She grimaces. “There’s a lesson you only need to learn once.”

“So what do you do for money?” My brain catches up with my mouth a second later. “I mean, if you don’t mind me asking.”

“Same thing as most people. I have a job. Or did you think I hang around the Chase Space all day for fun?”

“Oh. I...uh...” I’m not sure what to say. They don’t exactly make Hallmark cards for former rich people. “That sucks.”

“It is what it is. And if I’m being honest, having to choke down a little humble pie has probably been good for me.”

“Right.” Hoping to change the subject, I ask, “So what are you going to school for?”

Victoria laughs humorlessly. “Business management.”

“Not your first choice?”

She shakes her head as we merge onto the I-5. “Definitely not, but it’s the practical one. I still might need to run things one day.”

The rest of the drive goes by in silence, and I spend most of it digesting what I just learned. It honestly never occurred to me that Victoria might be as broke as someone like her could be, or that she’d go to university for anything other than fine arts. Both seem to fly in the face of reason. I wonder if that had anything to do with her decision to help me?

Seattle Central College comes into sight soon after, and I turn to face her. “So, can I assume you’re in?”

She taps her finger on the wheel again. “I have work all day tomorrow.”

“Okay?”

“That means I won’t be home until six.”

“Oh.” I think that for now, that’s as close as I’m going to get to a yes. “Then I guess I should come by at six.”

“Get out of the car, Max.”

Climbing out and closing the door behind me, I lean over and smirk at her through the open window. “Should I bring anything?”

“I’m driving away now.”

“But what if we get hungry?”

“Then we’ll just order a damn pizza or something!” she snaps. “Now go to class before I run over your toes.”

 

 

The Definition Of Insanity

I hate when people say it was just a storm.

Arcadia Bay was wiped off the map. Everyone who'd been there had been killed. It’d been an unprecedented catastrophe. The deadliest natural disaster to hit the US since Hurricane fucking Katrina, and yet I still meet people who act like it was just some really bad weather. It's like the entire world went out of its way to forget and move on, and I can’t count how many times someone has implied – or even flat out said – that I need to do the same.

As if they have the right to say shit to me about it.

As if they were there.

None of them had to sit, trapped in a hole, listening to the barn above them being torn apart by the screaming wind and praying to whatever might be out there that the same thing isn’t happening to the people you love. It took an hour for the storm to pass over us, and we’d been forced to listen to Mark Jefferson laugh like some kind of deranged clown the entire fucking time.

The bastard hadn’t given up without a fight. Even with two cops and Mr. Madsen trying to hold him down, he hadn’t stopped trying to get free. He’d just kept on yelling and thrashing, right up until I’d decided to give him a taste of his own medicine. I’d grabbed one of the syringes from the tray next to that fucking chair, and pretty much stabbed him in the neck with it.

I’d hoped it’d knock him out, but I guess the dosage had been measured for someone my size. It definitely took the fight out of him, but it wasn’t enough to put him under. He was awake the whole time, loopy as hell and apparently incapable of shutting the fuck up. Listening to him go on and on about his twisted-to-fuck thoughts on capturing purity and innocence made the urge to kick his teeth in pretty hard to resist, and if I’d given in I can’t say for sure that the cops would’ve stopped me.

Sitting through that might have been worth it, if the video I took on my phone had helped put him behind bars. I’m just lucky that I showed it to Officer Casperson before the District Attorney’s office talked to me, because he’d made it crystal clear that showing that video as evidence would have been a really, really bad idea. Besides the fact that drug-induced ramblings don’t carry a lot of credibility, the video featured several pieces of colorful narration by yours truly. Including, among other things, “Shut your hole, shitbag, or the next needle I put in your throat will shut it for good!”

A first-year law student would have been able to destroy my testimony in court with that, and that wasn’t something we could afford. I’d been the prosecution’s most valuable witness. Their smoking gun. The only girl still alive who could say with certainty that Jefferson was guilty. All Jefferson’s lawyer would have had to do was undermine my credibility, get just one member of the jury to doubt my testimony, and there was a chance that piece of shit might go free.

There was no fucking way I was going to let that happen, so I’d deleted the video right then and there.

None of us ever mentioned what I’d done, either to the DA or on the witness stand. Our story was that Jefferson had gone for his gun, knocked over the cart with the syringe on it, and somehow got injected in the ensuing struggle. We’d never spoken of it again, and after the trial was over Glen Casperson downed a bottle of pills and carried the secret to his grave.

He was a good man, and I owe him a lot. Probably more than I realize.

Testifying at Jefferson’s trial had been a whole other level of intense. His eyes had been on me the second I walked into the courtroom, and I can still remember what it was like, walking toward the front of the room, feeling him watching me. The closer I’d gotten to the defense’s table, the more scared I was that he’d just reach out and grab me. I probably would have carried that fear all the way to the witness stand, if he hadn’t been stupid enough to say ‘Nice to see you again, Victoria’ as I passed by.

The judge brought his gavel down before I even had a chance to feel sick, telling Jefferson to keep his mouth shut or he’d be found in contempt. A half-second later, I heard his lawyer hiss something similar, shutting that bastard up for good. That’s when I’d realized that Jefferson wasn’t in charge of the room. He wasn’t even in charge of his table. Nothing in there belonged to him – he didn't have any power over me.

I, on the other hand, had the truth. And that made him my bitch.

My testimony went perfectly. The prosecutor walked me through the events of that night, weaving my account together with the ones from Mr. Madsen and Officers Casperson and Ross. Jefferson’s lawyer objected seven times, and every one of them got overruled. That must have pissed him off, because when it was his turn he came after me hard.

He tried to rattle me. He tried to paint me as a liar. He even tried to slut shame me, as if I’d actually have let that walking shit-sack touch me. He sent all the bullshit he could think of my way, and it took me less than fifteen minutes to shove it all right back down his throat. With each futile accusation and embarrassingly failed legal trick, I got to watch Jefferson turn paler and paler. And when the judge finally shut his lawyer down, I got to watch him break.

He’d kept his eyes on the floor when I walked out of that courtroom, right where they fucking belonged.

I wish I could say that had been enough. That verbally castrating his lawyer and sending that freak up the river had set me free. But life doesn’t work that way. Deleting a video from my phone couldn’t wipe the memories from my head, and I still think about the moment he revealed that Nathan had been his twisted little apprentice. Despite all the pain and loss and suffering I’ve been through, that’s the wound that refuses to fully heal.

The two of them had been working together at the same time I was primed to be Jefferson’s next victim. The empty binder with my name on it had been right there on the shelf and there’s no way Nathan hadn’t known. What had he said when he found out? Had he argued? Fought back? Had Jefferson been forced to threaten him to keep him quiet? Was that why Nathan had been so worked-up that last week?

Or had he just accepted that I was going to be the next girl he saw lying on the floor of that bunker, tied up and drugged out of her mind? Even worse, had he liked the idea? Had he been looking forward to seeing me like that? Had he suggested it in the first place?

Nathan Prescott. I hate him so much it makes my teeth ache, but I still miss him sometimes. How fucked up is that?

I knew he’d been having problems, but he’d always been so closed off about that kind of thing. I thought I’d been respecting his boundaries, but if I’d reached out to him earlier, maybe things could have been different.

Nathan is just one of my regrets, though. I’ve got plenty, from that week and before. I can’t count how many times I’ve wished I could just undo the mistakes I’ve made. How often I begged the universe to give me a chance to make things right.

I never would’ve imagined it would be Max Caulfield, of all people, who’d show up and offer me exactly that.

I never would’ve imagined I’d take her up on it.

 


 

June 14, 2015
Chase Residence
Seattle, Washington

Say what you will about Max Caulfield, but she’s a hell of a lot more stubborn than I expected her to be.

Even though we’d pretty much established from the start that the photo thing wouldn’t work, that hasn’t stopped her from trying it over and over for nearly a week. Every evening she’d arrive at my house with some new plan, and we’d go over it together. I’d point out all the holes that needed to be fixed (because there were always holes) then once we were both satisfied, she’d make another attempt.

She’s described what it feels like to her, but from my perspective it’s a lot less dramatic. She’d just hold the picture up, stare at it for a few seconds, then lower it again, blinking like she’d been lost in thought. And every time - every single time – she’d look at me with that same disappointed expression. I’d try not to take it personally, telling myself that she wasn’t disappointed to see me. I’m just the most immediate and obvious sign that she’s failed again.

The next thing she’d do is begin studying the room. It’s a little unnerving to know that she’s looking for changes I wouldn’t know anything about. After that we’d spend about fifteen minutes comparing notes, just in case, but there were never any differences.

I don’t know what she expects. The world on the other side never changes. It never becomes more pliable or cooperative, and it was pretty clear (to me, at least) that whatever changes she might manage vanish as soon as she does.

Not that it matters now. After last night, I have a pretty strong suspicion that our work with the photos is done.

She’d been looking pretty tired already, but when she’d emerged from that last attempt - her tenth in a row that night – she’d looked especially bad. Her shoulders sagged and for once she hadn’t looked at me. She hadn’t looked at anything at all, actually. She’d just started crying. It was only a little at first, just a few tears, but before I knew what was happening she was full-on bawling into the front of my hoodie.

It’d felt like some boundary was being crossed, and I’ll admit that a part of me wanted to push her away. But while I might not be the most warm and fuzzy person in the world, I’m not completely fucking heartless. Guiding her over to the couch, I’d just let her cry it out. Everyone needs to cry it out at some point. I definitely have.

Whatever had set her off, it’d taken her a while to get it all out. Her sobs had eventually faded into sniffles and hiccups, then into soft, even breathing. It’d taken me a minute to realize that she’d fallen asleep on my shoulder. I’d considered sending her home to sleep in her own bed or even calling her parents to come get her, but in the end I’d just laid her down on the couch, draped a blanket over her and gone to bed.

That was where I found her when I came downstairs this morning, and I would have woken her up if the gallery weren’t closed on Sundays. I figured if I didn’t have to go anywhere, neither did she. Moving quietly through the living room and into the kitchen, I’d filled up the coffeemaker and sat down to wait.

That was about half an hour ago, and I’m about fifteen levels into the latest Candy Crush knockoff when I hear a rustling sound come from the living room, followed by soft footsteps. Max appears in the kitchen doorway, blanket still wrapped around her shoulders, looking like she doesn’t know what to say.

I wordlessly point to the coffeemaker on the counter. It’s pretty much become our default greeting at this point. I offer coffee, she accepts it, and we let the rest of the talking wait until we’ve both got a cup. As if to prove my point, she silently gestures to my empty mug as she passes. I nod and she picks it up to get me a refill, just like I would have for her. A minute later she’s sitting across from me and still saying a whole lot of nothing.

“Feeling better?” I eventually ask, putting my phone down.

“Not really.”

She doesn’t look any better, either, but there’s probably no need to point that out. “Anything you want to talk about?”

“I almost did something terrible,” she eventually murmurs, looking down into her mug. “I’d tried everything and I almost...”

I give her time to collect her thoughts.

“I...I thought that if I tried holding her hand and rewinding... I was just...” She shudders. “I didn’t do it. I came right back, but if I had...”

If she had, she probably would've sliced Price’s hand clean off. I can’t believe Max had gotten desperate enough to even consider trying something like that.

“This...” She hesitates. “This isn’t going to work, is it?”

Not so long ago I’d have jumped on the opportunity to rub her nose in what should have been obvious from day one, but that was the person I used to be. I’m trying to be better than I used to be.

“No,” I respond, as gently as I can. “I don’t think it will.”

“I really thought...I thought if I had some help, I could make it work. But nothing ever changes.”

It’s like a part of her is just looking for permission to quit. I almost want to give it to her, too. I wonder, if I told her to give up on this whole thing right now, would she actually do it? Would she tear up the photos if I asked her to? Would she leave Chloe in the past and move on with her life?

No. No, she wouldn’t. I know a quitter when I see one and Max is no quitter. Luckily for her, neither am I. I agreed to this insanity, and for better or worse I’m going to see it through. “Alright, so Plan A didn’t work. That’s just how it is sometimes, right?”

She glances up from the table. “I guess.”

“So we can either give up,” I continue, my tone making it very clear that’s not actually an option. “Or we can accept that the photo isn’t workable and start looking for something else. Sound good?”

It only takes a few seconds for the misery in her eyes to fade, revealing her usual stubborn determination. “Yeah, sounds good.”

“Good. Now drink your coffee.” Standing up, I point to the cupboard next to the refrigerator. “Cereal’s in there, milk is in the fridge. Towels are in the bathroom if you want to get cleaned up. Do you want to borrow a change of clothes?”

“I...” She blinks up at me, surprised. “Sure?”

“I’ll leave some on the bathroom counter, then.” Grabbing my phone off the table, I hold it up. “I’ve got about a hundred more levels on this stupid game, so feel free to take your time. I’ll be in the office when you’re ready to get back to work.”

 


 

“So it seems to me,” I begin, tapping my pen on the desk. “That your biggest problem isn’t going back. It’s that you don’t get to stay back and make sure things play out the way you want them to. You get to make one or two changes in that moment and just hope that everything goes the way you want. That’s what happened with Chloe’s father, right?”

“Well...yeah. I mean, obviously.”

It’s been about an hour since I left Max in the kitchen, and she’s looking a lot better. Apparently, some breakfast and a shower were just what the doctor ordered. Unfortunately, that means she’s back to being difficult.

“I’m just pointing out the core issue. You made what should have been a positive change, but there were negative consequences you couldn’t possibly have expected.”

“That’s a fairly common theme.”

“Which is why I think that using a photo at all is pointless. There are so many variables to try and balance that you’re pretty much guaranteed to fail.”

“Gee, thanks. But that’s our only option, so...”

“If that’s our only option, you might as well go home. You said it yourself that it’s not going to work.”

“Yeah, but...”

“Look, what if you could go back the whole way without a photo? If you actually had the ability to wind the clock back to that week, make whatever changes you wanted to, then re-live all the time that’s passed since then?”

“I can’t.”

“Imagine that you could, just for a second. Would you do it?”

“Of course I would. But that doesn’t change the fact that I can’t.

I briefly wonder if fitting Max with one of those shock-collars that keeps dogs from barking would stop her from being so willfully fucking obtuse. Fortunately for her, I don’t have one handy. I settle for chucking my pen at her head.

“Ow! What the hell, Victoria?!”

Bullseye.

“Do I need to remind you that the reason you came to me is for my perspective? Because assuming that’s true, I’d appreciate it if you’d stop wasting my time expressing yours.”

“Wow. Thanks for somehow insulting me by repeating exactly what I asked you for.”

“It’s a gift.” I shrug. “Just don’t try to derail a hypothetical question by reminding me of what you think you can and can’t do.”

“Fine, sorry.”

“Good. From now on, I don’t want you to tell me you can’t do something at all unless you can explain exactly why you can’t.”

“But...”

“I have a whole fucking drawer of pens over here, Max.”

It’s a perfectly reasonable request; it just takes her a minute to admit as much. “Fine.”

“Alright.” I look down at my increasingly full note pad. “You said that when your powers first showed up, you could only go back a little while?”

She nods. “Only a couple of minutes. Maybe three, if I pushed.”

“And it hurt if you tried to push past that?”

“Like having an ice pick jammed into my brain.”

“Ouch,” I murmur, wincing as I write down another note. “So it was the pain that stopped you from going further? Not some kind of, I don’t know...barrier?”

“I used to think so, but I’ve gotten a lot of practice since then. Now I can do an hour and a half before I have to stop. Two, if I’m willing to deal with the migraine after.”

“I bet that back then, you’d have said that two hours was an insane idea.”

“Two hours is a lot less than almost two years.”

“That doesn’t matter,” I point out. “What matters is that it’s possible to improve.”

“It took me months to get as far as I already have. Who knows how long it’d take me to work up to two years?”

“I’m not suggesting two years. Not all at once, anyway. There’s no reason you couldn’t break the trip into sections.”

“You want to rewind two years an hour and a half at a time? That’d be...hang on...” Max reaches for her phone, as if it’s a hard number to figure out.

“Eleven thousand, six hundred and eighty.”

“Huh?”

“Eleven thousand, six hundred and eighty,” I repeat. “That’s how many trips it’d take. And no, I’m not suggesting that, because that would be stupid.”

“Did you just figure that out?” She asks, adding, “In your head, I mean.”

“It’s called math, Caulfield,” I point out. “Look, even if you could do that many jumps...”

“Rewinds.”

“Whatever. You’d probably lose a third of the time you took back resting and recovering along the way. That brings the number of jumps...”

“Rewinds.”

I briefly clench my teeth. “...you’d have to do closer to sixteen thousand. That means you’d need more rest, which means more jumps...”

“Rewinds.”

For a second I think about throwing my empty coffee mug at her. “...which means more rest and so on and so on. Both numbers keep going up, and that really doesn’t get you anywhere. What I was thinking was more along the lines of three months. That’d only be eight jumps and don’t you fucking dare say it!

“You swear a lot. Did you always swear this much?”

“None of your business.”

“Okay, okay.” She lifts her hands in surrender. “And I was just going to point out that it’s not likely that I’d be able to physically handle a three-month jum...rewind.”

“Not yet.” I give her a smug little grin, just in case she thinks I missed her verbal slip. “But we know you can improve, and three months is a lot more attainable than two years. Plus, even if you need to take a week and a half after each one to recover, that only adds one more...ugh...rewind to the total.”

“I think we’re getting a little hung up on this hypothetical of yours.”

“We might as well. It’s not like we’ve got anything else to work on. And the great thing about time travel is that you've got all the time in the world to get better."

"I guess."

She doesn't seem especially convinced, but I don't think I'll be able to change that today. Moving on, I ask, "You said the furthest back you can go without hurting yourself is an hour and a half, right?”

“More or less.”

“Let’s see it then.” The words are barely out of my mouth before Max sort of just...flickers. Kind of like a video skipping. “Let me guess. You just did it.”

“Sure did. We agreed to go with an hour, so here I am.”

“That looked easy enough.” A splash of dark blue at the hem of her shirt catches my eye. Was it there before? “What’s that?”

“Hm?” She looks down, frowning. “Oh, right. We went over to that bakery down the road while we were waiting for the hour to go by and I dropped my blueberry muffin.”

“And that was in the future?”

She shrugs. “That’s time travel for you.”

“Have you seen that before? That something happens to you, then you go back to before it happened but the evidence it still there?”

“Sure, a bunch of times. Why?”

“You know how I said you've got all the time in the world to get better?"

She nods.

"I think I might've been wrong. In fact, I think we might have a whole other problem to deal with.”

The Oldest I've Ever Been

“We haven’t even figured out the problems we’ve got, and you want to add more to the list?”

“Just go with me on this.” I take a moment to gather my thoughts. “Alright, let’s go back to the first time you used your powers. You said that you saw Chloe get shot, reached out your hand, and then the next second you were back in class, it was about fifteen minutes earlier, and no one had noticed a thing.”

“That’s right.”

“And you’re sure it wasn’t just a vision? Like the one with the storm?”

“Definitely not. Seeing the storm was all flashes and intensity. Like a really vivid nightmare. The bathroom was real. I could remember it all clearly when I got back to the classroom.”

“All the details? Getting out of class? The walk there? Even though that’s the only time you’ve physically traveled from one place to another while going back in time?”

“Yes, Victoria. I could remember everything. I could remember exactly what it felt like to be there.” She starts counting off on her fingers. “How it smelled. The way sounds echoed. The dumb graffiti scratched into the stall I was hiding behind. Even the way the wet floor felt under my knees. I was definitely there.”

There it is. That’s the kind of thing I was looking for. “The floor you were kneeling on was wet?”

“Yeah. So?”

I lean forward intently. “And what about when you went back to the classroom? Was there still water on your knees?”

“I really don’t remember, Victoria.”

“Try,” I press. She’s probably wondering why I’ve latched onto what seems like a completely pointless detail, but I want to know whether I’m actually onto something before I bother explaining my theory.

“Seriously? We’re talking about when I used time travel to keep your friend from killing my friend, and you want to know if my jeans were still wet?”

I nod. “Yes, I do.”

“Why?”

“For fuck’s sake, Max. Were they or won’t they?”

She throws her arms up, frustrated. “I don’t remember, okay?! It’s been almost two years! And honestly, at the time I was more concerned about whether or not I was losing my mind.”

Annoying as it is, she’s got a point. Honestly, we’re lucky she remembers as much as she does. “Fine.”

“Why’s it so important to you, anyway?”

“It’s just a theory. I saw the stain on your shirt, and I thought...”

“Thought what?”

“Actually, I’ve got an idea. Hang on a second.” Pulling one of the desk drawers open, I start rummaging around for the wristwatch I’m sure I saw the other day. “Where did I see that thing?”

She leans forward, trying to see what I’m looking for. “What thing?”

“Aha! Got it.” I hold out one of the many watches Dad had a habit of misplacing. “Here, put this on.”

Max eyes it, and me, a little suspiciously. “It’s not really my style.”

“Quit being a smartass and just put it on. I want to try something.”

It’s almost comically too big for her. She actually has to hold it in place, so it doesn’t just slide off. “Now what?”

“Let me see.” Grabbing her by the wrist, I check the watch against my phone; the clock on the screen changes from 2:03 to 2:04 and the watch follows suit a couple of seconds after. “Alright, here’s what you’re going to do. When I say go, you’ll wait for a minute or two, then do the...y’know...thing.”

“Rewind.”

“Whatever.” Am I being childish about refusing to call it a rewind? Yeah, probably. “Just go back when I first said go. Got it?”

“Sure, I guess.”

“Ready? Three, two, on-” Before I can finish, Max appears to flicker again. It’s a lot more subtle, but hard to miss now that I know what to look for.

“There. I...” Smirking, she lifts her hands to make very obvious and slightly obnoxious air-quotes. “...did my thing. Now will you tell me what this is about?”

“In a second. Let’s see that watch.” She slides it across the desk. Pulling out my phone again, I quickly compare the two. “Yeah, I was right.”

“Right about what?” she groans, frustrated.

“This.” I hold up my phone, which reads 2:06, and the watch, which reads 2:08. “You know that scene in the first Back to the Future movie where they put the dog into the time machine with a watch around his neck and send him into the future?”

“Back to the Future?” She doesn’t even try to hide her amusement. “Really?”

“Do you remember it or not?”

“I think so? I actually liked the third movie more.”

Fucking blasphemy. “You what?

“I liked the third Back to the Future more,” Max repeats, obviously unaware of the utter bullshit coming out of her mouth. “You know, the old west one?”

“Oh, I know which one you mean. And you better believe we’ll be coming back to that later.”

“Uh...sure.”

“The point is that they sent Einstein one minute into the future, and...”

“You actually remember the dog’s name?”

I glare at Max until her laughter awkwardly tapers off. “As I was saying, once they caught up with him, his watch was running one minute slow.”

“Okay?”

I roll my eyes. “Meaning that he was a minute younger than he would’ve been if he’d never travelled into the future, because he skipped over that minute. So if he’d traveled the other way...”

“...he’d have been a minute older?” Max finishes.

“Exactly. That’s why the time on the wristwatch you were wearing doesn’t match the time on my phone. The watch is older than it should be.”

“Just like the person wearing it,” she murmurs. “So every time I rewound...”

“You ended up a little bit older,” I finish, adding. “Which means that even if we do find a way for you to go all the way back, you’ll still be older than everyone expects. And the longer it takes us to figure it out, the older you be when you get there.”

Up until now, I’d been more or less assuming that Max’s rewinds were kind of like a short, permanent version of her photo thing. That she was (for lack of a better word) ‘ghosting’ out of her present body and into her past body, and then staying there. Except that’s obviously not what’s happening, and she seems way less alarmed by that that she should be.

“Oh.” She takes a few seconds to consider the idea, then shrugs. “Well, at least I’d get to keep my tattoos. They hurt enough the first time.”

“That doesn’t bother you at all?”

“A little, I guess,” she reluctantly admits. “A lot of things about all this bother me. But so far, nothing has come along that’s big enough to make me reconsider, including this whole ‘being older’ thing.”

It’s alarming how cavalier she can be about some of this stuff. I get that she’s had a while to get used to it, but I can’t imagine how someone could ever act so casual about fucking time travel. No one in the history of the world has come anywhere close to the kinds of forces we’re messing with and, my appearance notwithstanding, it’s a little hard not to freak out about it.

What’s more, I don’t understand how Max isn’t itching for an explanation for the things she can do. I know I am.

For starters, I want to know where the hell her abilities came from, because people don’t just develop time-travel powers out of nowhere.

I want to know how she’s controlling them. Is it mental or emotional? Neurological, maybe? Does she rewind in her sleep without realizing it? Or is it purely physical, like a muscle that can be made stronger over time? Does she even need to hold her hand out?

I want to know what’s powering them. Is Max just burning calories? Is that why she’s so skinny? Or does she have some kind of organic power source inside her? What if it’s like a biological nuclear reactor that’ll explode if she dies? Or what if she’s connected to something else altogether? I’m actually a little bit concerned (though I’d never say it out loud) that she might be putting out some kind of radiation.

And while we’re at it, I’d really like to know how she’s able to perceive time flowing backward from a linear time-moving-forward perspective without going batshit insane in the process. There is no reason a human brain should be able to work like that.

But most of all, I want to know exactly what’s happening while she’s rewinding. Is she moving? If she is, then how? Or is time moving, and if that’s the case then what’s moving it?

I mean, it’d be one thing if she’s the one moving through time. That’d be like running so fast that the sun seems to rise in the west. It’d be amazing, but it’s still kinda sorta something you can imagine a person being able to do. But if she’s actually reversing time? Forcing the sun to move in the opposite direction with pure willpower? I really, really hope that isn’t the case, because that’s got implications that I’m not sure I’m ready to cope with.

I have no idea how I’d be able to reconcile the girl sitting across from me and someone with the power of a literal fucking god.

Shaking my head, I force myself back to the matter at hand. “Fine. Whatever. The takeaway here is that we either need to work this out as fast as we can, or hope that Price is into older women.”

“Har har.”

“For now, let’s focus on how you can apparently carry physical objects back from the future now. Because that’s blowing my mind a little.”

She gives me a funny look. “How come?”

“What the hell do you mean, how come?”

“We already knew I could do that. I mean, that’s how I set off the alarm in the girl’s bathroom when I saved Chloe. By the time I found the hammer to break the glass, it was too late to stop Nathan. I had to take it back with me so I could set off the alarm in time.” She shrugs. “I guess I assumed the past versions of those things were just kinda teleporting into my hand. I didn’t think they were the older ver-”

“Stop,” I cut her off. “You actually knew about this?”

“Of course.” She nods slowly. “So did you.”

“No, I really didn’t. I’m pretty sure I’d remember something like that.”

“Yes, you did. I definitely told you. I remember doing it because it was right before...I...” She trails off, and I really don’t like the look that flashes across on her face. “...oops.”

“And just what the fuck does ‘oops’ mean?”

She shifts uncomfortably in her chair. “Okay, don’t get mad...”

“We’ll see.”

“...but something happened the first time I came over here.”

Oh, she fucking didn’t. “If you say what I think you’re about to say, you can forget about me not getting mad.”

“I... I did tell you about it,” she insists again, her shoulders sagging. “But you said something that upset me right after and I said something stupid and hurtful, so I...I took it back.”

“You rewound.”

She nods meekly. “Yes.”

“And you didn’t tell me.”

“No, but I swear I re-told you everything! At least, I thought I did. I must have left out the hammer part by accident.”

It’s strange. On some level, I think I’d assumed that she’d already been doing that. After all, we’d been getting along surprisingly well. But to actually hear her say it makes me feel a little betrayed. “How many times have you done that? Gone back without telling me?”

“That was the only time, I swear. I know I shouldn’t have done it.”

I have absolutely no reason to take her word on that, but I’m not going to insult us both by pointing that out. “What happened?”

“I don’t want to...”

“You’re on really thin ice right now, Max. What happened?”

“I...” She looks away, frowning. “I was explaining what happened after I went back to the bathroom, telling you how Chloe kept insulting Nathan before he pulled the gun and you...uh...you said...”

I have a nasty feeling I know where this is going. Even if I didn’t say the words out loud this time, I’d still been thinking that Price had been asking for trouble.

“...that she deserved it.”

Okay, that’s way worse. Fuck, I can be such an asshole sometimes. “Shit. I didn’t...I just thought that she’d been making the situation worse. Not that she deserved to get shot.”

“I know, but I still got angry, and...”

“And?”

“Please don’t make me say it again. It was so mean. I still feel terrible.” She does look pretty guilty, and I almost want to let her off the hook. Almost.

“I’ve said some pretty heinous shit to people, Max,” I point out, as if she needs to be reminded. “But if we’re going to trust each other, we can’t have this hanging between us. Just this once, I promise I won’t get angry.”

“You said Chloe deserved it, and I said...” She winces, not looking at me. “I said your parents deserved to die for being friends with the Prescotts.”

Damn. That is nasty. I mean, it’s not the worst thing someone’s ever said to me, but coming from Max Caulfield? Fucking savage.

“Max?” She doesn’t respond, her head bowed. How much has this been weighing on her? “Max, look at me.”

She hesitantly lifts her gaze from the floor, looking a little bit like she expects to get punched. Christ, you’d think she cut out my beating heart and showed it to me. Was I ever this innocent?

I lean forward, looking her in the eye. “That was a pretty shitty thing to say. How about we leave Mom and Dad out of it next time?”

“T-that’s it?”

“Did you expect me to flip out or something?”

She half-shrugs, looking kind of bewildered. “A little, maybe?”

“Max, you took a shot at my dead parents one time, turned back time to undo it, and still spent a week feeling like shit. I was such a colossal bitch in high school that I nearly drove an innocent girl to suicide. In what fucked-up world could I possibly claim the high ground on this?”

“I’m still s-”

“Apology accepted, okay?”

“...okay.”

“And no more secret take-backs.”

“Definitely not.”

“Now you’re going to go buy me a pint of ice cream.”

“I...” Max blinks as the cloud of self-pity around her starts to lift. “What?”

“The good stuff, too. None of that grocery-store brand shit.”

“Are you kidding me?” she asks, a disbelieving smile appearing on her face. “I’ve been feeling like the world’s biggest asshole, and you’re angling for a pint of ice cream?!”

“You’re right. Better make it two pints.” I pout, just a little. “One for every dead parent you so cruelly insulted.”

“You’re unbelievable.” She gets up, chuckling as she heads for the door. “Fine, but I’m picking the flavors.”

“One of them better have cookie dough, Caulfield.”

“You’ll take whatever you get!” she shouts back from the stairs.

“She said to the orphan!

“Oh, whatever!” The front door slams a second later.

Turns out that sometimes, just sometimes, I can actually use my bitchiness powers for good.

I can understand why she felt so guilty, and while I probably wouldn’t admit it to her, I’m actually kind of touched that my feelings meant that much to her. But I’m not made of glass, and I’m not going to break down just because someone takes a shot at my parents. It’s not as though I don’t miss Mom and Dad, because I do. I miss them so much, it hurts. I think about them every single day, but what happened to them is no one’s fault; not even Max’s.

It doesn’t matter whether or not her powers caused the storm. She didn’t ask to be forced to pick between Chloe and Arcadia Bay, and as much as I’d like to get angry about her decision, I’m not a hypocrite. Max was thrown into an impossible position and chose to save the person she loved.

For better or worse, I’d have done the same thing in her place.

Priorities

June 17, 2015
Freeway Park
Seattle, Washington

One of the things I miss most about Arcadia Bay is how green it was. There was grass and trees everywhere you looked. Seattle, though? Not so much. Not downtown, at least, which is why there’s really only one park within half a mile of the gallery. And as luck would have it, it’s about the same distance from Max’s own shameful place of employment.

“You’re a total stereotype. You realize that, don’t you?”

“For a paycheck and thirty percent off this baby?” Max holds up her giant mocha frappe whatever-the-hell sugar bomb with a satisfied smile. “I can live with that.”

“Honestly,” I sniff, taking a sip of my much more dignified latte. “A gay Seattle hipster chick with visible tattoos working at Starbucks? You’re one spiked bracelet and a book of shitty poems away from being a full-on cliché.”

“I didn’t hear you complaining about the discount.”

“Just because I’m disappointed in you doesn’t mean I’m not practical.”

“Uh-huh. So, why did you want to meet up?”

“Right. So I was looking at this new abstract surrealism sculpture at the gallery and it got me thinking.” This has been rolling around in my head all morning and I’ve actually been looking forward to talking about it. “You know how when you rewind, it’s like you’re standing still but everyone else is moving backwards?”

She nods, curious.

“I’m pretty sure that means that even though you’re operating outside fourth-dimensional space, you’re still tethered to regular three-dimensional space. I mean, you’d have to be. The Earth is spinning at about a thousand miles per hour and orbiting the sun about seventy times faster than that, so if there wasn’t something keeping you in place the entire planet would get pulled out from under your feet, wouldn’t it?”

“...right.”

“Right. Even if you only went back a second, you’d still...er...hold on.” I open up a unit converter app on my phone and check a few numbers. “Shit. Assuming it was during the day, you’d end up about a quarter mile east of where you started and about eighteen miles straight up.” I don’t know why Max is looking at me like that. This isn’t particularly complicated stuff. “Alright, where did I lose you?”

“You didn’t.”

“Then what’s with the blank expression?”

“I’m just...” She shrugs. “A little shocked, I guess?”

“At what? That I actually have two fucking brain cells to rub together?”

“What? No!”

“I had a 4.0 GPA for a reason, Max. Or did you think my parents just paid for my grades?”

“I know you’re smart, Victoria. Why would I have asked you for help if I didn’t?” She points her pita wrap at me. “And for your information, I was shocked because I never considered the possibility of getting thrown into space.”

Fuck. Now I look like an insecure bitch.

“And it was 3.9,” she adds.

“I beg your pardon?”

“Your GPA,” she explains. “It wasn’t 4.0. It was 3.9.”

“How the fuck do you know...” No. I’m not doing this. I’m going to let it go, because I’m a grown woman who is not insecure about how people regard her intelligence. “You know what? I don’t care. Let’s just move on.”

“Alri-”

“But for your information, it was only because I got a C in gym class one fucking time. And let’s not pretend that giving out letter grades for gym class isn’t complete bullshit, either, because anyone with a brain can see it should be pass or fail. But no, my GPA has to take a hit just so Mr. Always-Wears-Trackpants can feel like a big man.”

“Okay, geez. Point taken.”

“I’m just saying.” I should get a sign that says ‘Victoria Chase: Insecure Bitch’. I could wear it around my neck.

“And I’m not arguing.” she insists. Giving me a sly look, she adds, “You know, I never would have taken you for a closet nerd.”

“I’m not a nerd.”

“Whatever you say, Miss How-Dare-You-Question-My-GPA.”

“GPAs are important. I’m not a nerd.”

“Your surprisingly intense views on Back to the Future III kinda suggest otherwise.”

“Not liking a hack-job cash-grab of a sequel doesn’t make someone a fucking nerd, Max.”

“Come on. I’ve seen your DVD collection. I’m pretty sure owning that many director’s cuts and special editions definitely makes someone a nerd.”

“Those aren’t mine! They belonged to my...never mind.”

“What?”

“Forget it.”

“Seriously, what?”

“Ugh,” I groan. “My dad was a huge movie buff, okay? We used to have movie nights all the time and it just makes me feel better to re-watch the ones we really liked. Satisfied?”

“Aw. That’s really sweet.”

I bristle a little, but I don’t disagree. Those movie nights are some of my best memories. Mom always insisted that they were 100% family time. No cell phones. No laptops or tablets. No stepping out to ‘make a quick call’. Just Mom and I trying to watch a movie while Dad kept trying to tell us whatever facts or bits of trivia he knew about it, whether we wanted him to or not.

They’re also what sparked my interest in photography. I fell in love with the idea of capturing a moment in time and sharing it with the world as soon as Dad started introducing me to filmmakers like Stanley Kubrick and Ridley Scott.

“That’s not the point. I’m saying that he was the nerd, not me.”

“Got it,” she nods. “You’re not a nerd.”

“Damn right I’m not.”

“You just appreciate classic movies, like your dad did.”

“Exactly.”

“...but not Back to the Future III.”

I swear, I just want to slap the smug right off her face. “No, Max. Not Back to the fucking Future III.”

 


 

June 25, 2015
Washington Park
Seattle, Washington

I’m a simple girl, and (the contents of my closet notwithstanding) I have fairly simple desires. For example, my desire right now is to be able to enjoy getting out of the house for a reason other than work. But even though it’s a really nice day, I’m pretty sure that’s not going to happen. Mainly because for the last five minutes, Max has been staring at the bagel in her hand with a lot more intensity than it could possibly deserve.

It’s weird and distracting and I’m almost ready to say something when she takes a takes a bite, hisses over what’s undoubtedly a bitten tongue, then finally turns to looks at me. “Remember what you were saying on Wednesday? That whole ‘falling off the planet’ thing and how I’m probably still in normal space?”

Reluctantly putting my muffin down, I place my elbow on the picnic table, propping up my chin. “What about it?”

“What if I’m rewinding and something passes through the place I’m standing?”

“Has anything like that ever happened before?”

She shakes her head. “When I rewind it’s either in the spot I was standing the whole time, so no one would have walked through it anyway, or somewhere out of the way so no one freaks when I appear out of nowhere.”

“I...” I briefly consider the possible implications of that, such as disturbing images of Max fused with random strangers. “I don’t think this is something we want to test.”

She shudders. I bet she’s picturing the same kind of thing I am. “Definitely not.”

“It’s still something we need to be aware of, though. Probably not the only thing, either.” Reaching into my bag, I pull out a pen and a small notepad.

“Do you always carry a notebook around with you?”

“You don’t?” I counter, flipping to the first blank page. “Alright, I don’t want us getting blindsided, so let’s lay it all out. We’ll start with your basic plan. Everything you want to accomplish, and how much of a priority each one is. We honestly should have done this on day one.”

Max shrugs. “Better late than never?”

“First,” I say, ignoring the urge to roll my eyes. I'm a little worried that if I start rolling my eyes at Max every time she deserves it, I could end up damaging my vision. “We need to figure out how to get you back to Arcadia Bay before the storm hits. Obviously, that’s priority number one.”

“Well, yeah.”

“Second, we need to think very carefully about where you actually rewind. It has to be somewhere that hasn’t seen much, if any, activity in the last couple of years. The last thing you need is some random person walking through the spot you’re standing and, I don’t know, merging with you or something.”

“My new recurring nightmare,” she shudders.

“No kidding.” I might not end up having actual nightmares, but it’s still a tough image to shake. “Third, we need to determine the exact point in time you’re aiming for. Fourth, we need to list out all the things you plan to accomplish. And fifth, we need to figure out how you’re going to actually accomplish those things.”

“Isn’t that a lot? I mean, considering we’re still hung up on the ‘how to get me there’ part?”

“Which is why that’s priority number one. And we are going to figure it out.” I hope I sound more confident than I feel. For all we actually know about time travel, I might as well promise to fly us to Mars. “Anyway, we’re going to set that aside for right now. Let’s start with number two.”

“Arcadia Bay,” Max says, before I can continue. “It’s where I need to be anyway. More importantly, it’s been empty all this time. Nobody there to accidentally walk through me.”

“Hm.” I grunt, because I really, really want to argue. But as much as I loathe the idea of returning to whatever’s left of Arcadia Bay, she’s right. When she travels into the past, she always appears in the spot she began rewinding from. Starting from anywhere else would just be a waste of time.

“I get it. I haven’t gone back since the storm, either. I don’t even like looking at pictures of it.” She shrugs. “But no matter how much time we spend pretending like there’s another option, we both know I need to do this in Arcadia Bay.”

“Well, at least that’s one point taken care of. Yay for progress,” I grumble, drawing a line through that sentence. “Okay, on to number three. How far back are you going to go? I think Monday afternoon is a pretty good possibility. It’d give you a good head start.”

“No, that’s way too early. The younger version of me needs to be there on Tuesday afternoon to talk Kate down from the roof.”

The bottom falls out of my stomach as soon as the name passes her lips. I forgot. How could I forget? Where the fuck do I, of all fucking people, get off forgetting about Kate? “Right. Of course. That was stupid of me. After...after Kate tried to...after that, classes were all cancelled for the rest of the day. You’d have the most freedom then.”

Max is frowning a little and the pity in her eyes makes me want to scream. “Victoria, I’m...”

“What about Tuesday night?” I interrupt, loudly. “You can drop right into your dorm room and no one will know the difference.”

She hesitates. Max is probably the kind of person who’d want to ‘talk about it’, but Kate Marsh isn’t a topic I want to dwell on. Ever. Thankfully, she seems to take a hint. “I actually wasn’t in my dorm room that night.”

“At all?” I ask, and she shakes her head. “Then where were you? It’s not like Arcadia Bay had much of a nightlife.”

“With Chloe.” She’s blushing a little.

“The whole night?”

“Mhm.”

Oh, this is too good. “So you’re saying that we can’t use Tuesday night because you and Price were doing the nasty?”

“No. We were just...”

She can’t even look at me. This is hilarious. “You were just...?”

“Maybe...possibly...breaking into the Blackwell pool to go for a swim?”

“Oh. So we can’t use Tuesday night because you and the blue menace were busy skinny dipping.”

“No! I mean...no, but...”

“How about Wednesday morning? Or is that going to interrupt your love life, too?” I look up from my notes to find her blushing even more. “Are you kidding me? Is there any point that week where the two of you weren’t going at it like rabbits?!”

“We weren’t even...ugh!” Even though her face looks ready to burst into flames, she manages a halfway decent glare. “Whatever. Wednesday morning is actually a pretty good option. Worth considering at least.”

“Alright, we’ll just put a pin in that for now. What do you say we try listing your objectives?”

“That’s another easy one,” she nods. “Save Chloe and save Arcadia Bay.”

Alright, that is way too broad. I might have to hold her hand through this more than I thought. “That’s the finish line. We’re talking about how to run the race. You need to be more specific.”

“Alright, fine. First, tell Chloe she has lung cancer and get her into treatment. The easiest way to do that woul-”

“Not quite that specific,” I interrupt, ignoring her irritated expression. “We can get into the fine details later. Right now we’re just listing your steps. Now, what’s the first thing you’re going to do when you get there?”

 


 

Chase Residence
Seattle, Washington

“What do you mean we can’t keep the storm from destroying Arcadia Bay?”

Three hours. We’ve been going around and around for three hours, all the way back from the park and into my living room, and somehow we keep coming back to this. Max is fixated on the idea of saving the entire town, but it just isn’t going to happen. “I’m not sure what part wasn’t clear.”

“Victoria...”

“Based off what we know, preventing that storm isn’t an option. If saving Chloe is what caused it, then preventing it means not saving her. And since I’m pretty sure you want Chloe to live...”

She gives me a look but doesn’t bother to respond.

“Alternatively, if the storm was caused by whatever gave you your powers, somehow preventing it means you don’t get them, and Chloe dies anyway. And both of those are ignoring the possibility that it was just a freak storm that, whatever your ego might think, didn’t have anything to do with you and your powers in the first place!” I raise a hand and take a slow breath. “You know what? I think that’s it for me. If we go over this again my brain might actually implode.”

For once, Max doesn’t argue. “You’re right. I definitely think that’s enough for tonight. I’m also kinda hungry.”

“Me, too.” Standing, I try to stretch the kinks out of my back. “Ugh. I really don’t feel like cooking.”

“We could order pizza?”

I’m tempted, but honestly even the thought of that much bread makes me feel a little bloated. I have no idea how Max can eat as many carbs as she does and still manage to stay so slim. Probably some kind of time-traveler bullshit. “Nah. I’m kind of in the mood for something different.”

“Like what?”

I think about it. “You know what I haven’t had in a while? Chinese take-out.”

“Ooh, yeah.” Max’s eyes light up. “Some beef broccoli sounds really good right now.”

“Alright, done. I know a great place.” I absently wave her toward the living room. “I’ll order. You go pick something to watch.”

“So, we’re just going to hang out tonight?”

She doesn’t exactly sound hesitant, but I still falter a little before glancing back. I hadn’t given it that much thought, but now that I look back over the last couple of weeks, almost all of our time together has been focused on this scheme of ours. For some reason, the idea of just hanging out seems a little strange. I haven’t spent much time with people my own age in a while, because it turns out that being a prickly, salty bitch doesn’t get you a lot of friends. All told, except for a few stiff workplace gatherings and a handful of one-night stands, I’ve pretty much kept to myself.

Honestly, just hanging out sounds really appealing.

“I guess? I mean...if you want to?”

“Yeah, actually,” she smiles. “Ask them to put extra sesame seeds on mine, okay?”

“You got it.” I feel my shoulders relax. “I can get some extra eggrolls, too, if you want?”

“I...I don’t...ugh...”

“Okay, it was just a suggestion.” I look back, annoyed, in time to see Max vanish from her seat on the couch and reappear in the corner of the room. Dropping my phone, I lunge forward just as her eyes roll back and catch her as she’s falling. She’s too heavy for me to hold up, but I still manage to ease her down to the floor. “Max?! Max, can you hear me?!”

She doesn’t answer, trembling like a leaf and gasping for air like she just ran a marathon. Her eyes are wide and staring at nothing, and there’s a steady trickle of blood coming from her nose. Grabbing a couple of tissues from the box on the coffee table, I gently press them to her face and wonder if I should be calling an ambulance right now.

“Come on, Max! I need you to say something!”

It takes a few more seconds, but her breathing gradually slows down. She blinks a little erratically as the trembling eases, then finally gives me a jerky nod. “I...I’m okay...I’m okay...”

“The hell you are.” I’ve never heard someone sound less okay in my entire life, including the time Courtney tries to kill a whole bottle of Jägermeister on her own. “What was that?”

“...rewind...came back...far...”

Yeah, that figures. This is probably gonna start being a regular thing. But as much as I want to know more, Max doesn’t seem like she’s in any shape to answer questions right now.

“Alright. You think you can walk?”

She considers that for a second, then nods slowly. “Mhm.”

“Okay.” I help her to her feet and hold her steady. “What do you say we get you cleaned up?”

“M’kay.” Max yawns loudly, her eyelids already drooping, leaning her head onto my shoulder as I lead her to the bathroom. “Pretty tired...”

“You look pretty tired.” Sitting her down on the edge of the bathtub, I pull a facecloth from the cupboard and run it under the tap. “But I’m going to let you get some sleep before I interrogate you, okay?”

“I don’t wanna couch,” she grumbles as I start cleaning off her face, careful not to press too hard on the small pimple by her lip. Someone needs to ease back on the greasy foods, I think. I’m almost done wiping the blood away by the time I notice there isn’t any on her shirt. It takes a second for that fact to register, and I lean back to take another look.

There’d been blood on her shirt before. I’m certain of it. Not a lot - just a few drops - but I definitely remember seeing it. I even remember thinking about how much the red stood out against the plain white cotton as I was lowering her to the ground. And now that I’m thinking about it, I’m not 100% sure that pimple was there when her nose started bleeding.

“Victoria?”

“Huh?”

“You’re staring,” she points out, sounding more perplexed than offended. I guess we can deal with this later.

“Sorry. And don’t worry about the couch either. You can sleep in the guest room.”

“You’ve got a guest room?”

“Yep. It’s got a real bed and everything.” I help her back to her feet and start guiding her toward the stairs. “We can talk about it in the morning, along with whatever stupid time-thing you just did, okay?”

“M’kay.”

Forever In A Day

June 26, 2015
Chase Residence
Seattle, Washington

It’s almost noon by the time I hear movement upstairs, and several more minutes before Max comes shuffling into the kitchen, looking like she tried to drink an entire bar last night.

“Morning sunshine,” I say. She kind of squints in response. I’m not sure if she’s trying to glare or if the room is just too bright. “Back among the living, I see.”

“Says you,” she murmurs, dropping into a chair. “That guest bed is really comfy, by the way.”

“I’m aware.”

“Why didn’t you ever tell me you had a guest room?”

It's a fair question, and one I knew she was going to ask. Unfortunately, the answer isn't something I feel like talking about. I didn't tell her about the guest room because it isn’t a guest room. It’s my room. It used to be, at least. 

The first place I stayed after Arcadia Bay was the downtown penthouse. The same one our family almost always stayed in when we were in Seattle. My room there had been comfortable and familiar and exactly what I’d needed while I was trying to come to terms with losing Mom and Dad.

I was there for three whole weeks before the first official notice of dispute was received by our lawyers. Some Hong Kong billionaire Dad had partnered with for some real estate ventures was claiming partial ownership of a dozen Seattle properties; including the one I was living in.

I’d wanted to fight him for it, but my parents’ lawyers had convinced me that the easiest way to make him go away would be to sell the properties and split the proceeds. Aunt Jessica – my parent’s chief business partner and Mom’s oldest friend – had disagreed. She’d said it’d be pouring blood in the water, and we’d have every asshole my Dad ever did business with crawling out of the woodwork looking for their payday.

Guess who ended up being right?

After the penthouse was sold, Aunt Jessica took me in without the slightest hesitation. I finished high school living in her townhouse’s small guest room. It was a nice enough place, but I spent almost all of my time there alone. She was traveling all over the world, brokering deals and establishing new partnerships, trying to keep the business afloat. And no matter how much I tried to think otherwise, it never felt like home and I never got over the feeling that I was imposing. Once I got my acceptance letter from UW (along with a dozen other universities I turned down, because I hadn’t wanted to leave Seattle) I told her I needed my own space and that I’d be moving into the dorms early.

And that was when she suggested the Montlake house.

Mom bought it years before the storm, and it was a private property completely apart from any of our other business holdings. She’d made it our away-from-it-all home. A place we could live without all the glitz and glamor. Where we could go for walks and wave to our neighbors and just be the Chase family every now and then. Believe it or not, it’d been really great to not be the rich girl every once in a while.

I’d assumed it’d been sold along with the other Seattle properties, and threw a bit of a tantrum over the fact that she hadn’t told me about it earlier. That’s when she’d confessed how worried she’d been about me, and how she’d been afraid of leaving me alone. I probably would’ve been offended by that if I hadn’t come so perilously close to committing suicide only a couple of months earlier. If she’d had any idea about that, she wouldn’t have let me out of her sight. But she didn’t know, so I managed to convince her to let me move in here last summer, a few weeks before classes started.

It’d been a little more challenging that I’d expected, and I hadn’t even looked at the main bedroom for nearly two months. As much as it helped to be surrounded by things that reminded me of Mom and Dad, that was I line I didn’t feel ready to cross. It wasn’t until the first anniversary of Arcadia Bay came and went that I finally accepted my parents’ death. I’d moved into the main bedroom the next day.

The night Max spent on my couch, after a mix of exhaustion and misery put her out cold, had actually been the first time I hadn’t slept here alone. She’s stayed over three other times since, and each time I considered letting her use my old room. Every time I went to make the offer, though, a little voice would remind me that letting her sleep there meant it wasn’t really my room anymore. And that meant that the room I slept in wasn’t really Mom and Dad’s room anymore.

It was stupid, but I just couldn’t force myself to let go. At least, not until last night, when I knew Max needed a real night’s sleep. That’s when it stopped being about me. I wasn’t going to leave Max hanging, because apparently we’re friends now.

“No idea.” I respond offhandedly, sliding a plate across the table with a few pieces of dry toast. “Here. If you can keep this down, I’ll make you some eggs.”

“Thanks.” She picks up a piece and nibbles on the corner. “What day is it?”

“Tuesday.”

 “How long was I asleep?”

“About fifteen hours.”

“Really?” She looks up at the clock on the wall. “Don’t you have work?”

“I called in sick.”

“You won’t get in trouble?”

“Max, I own the place,” I remind her, laughing. “Who am I going to get in trouble with?”

“Oh, yeah.”

“Besides, I wanted to make sure that my idiot time travelling friend hadn’t hurt herself. That’s worth playing hooky.”

She gives me a watery smile. “Thanks, Victoria.”

“Don’t mention it. Now, care to explain what last night was all about? I assume that was a spectacularly failed rewind?”

She shakes her head, wincing a little at the motion. “Successful, actually. Well, successful-ish. I rewound three days.”

“Really?”

“Mhm.”

“How’d you manage that?”

“Practice. I worked up to it. Two hours until it didn’t hurt anymore. Then three. Then six.” She takes another bite of toast, chewing slowly. “Including rests, I think I went through the next two days about eleven times.” She laughs softly. “I watched so much Netflix.”

Hm. That’s kind of unsettling.

“Then on Thursday night I just went for it. Started rewinding and held on until I couldn’t anymore.” She frowns. “I hoped I’d make it further, but after the first twelve hours things got a little...blurry. I couldn’t see what was going on around me anymore. There was just this rush of light and colors, then suddenly I was back.”

“I’m not so sure about the suddenly part,” I jump in. “Something happened with your shirt. You got some blood on it when your nose first started bleeding, but it was gone by the time we got to the bathroom to get you cleaned up. Like there was a delay before your clothes changed.”

“You sure it wasn’t just your imagination?”

“Definitely. But that’s not the really interesting part.” I point to the zit on her lip. “That didn’t appear right away, either.”

She brushes her fingers over it. “It didn’t?”

“Nope.” I shake my head. “It’s possible your clothes aren’t the only thing playing catch-up.”

“That’s...uh...I’m not sure what to think about that.”

“Look, we don’t know if it’s something to worry about or not, but at least we know to keep an eye out for it in the future. Right now, you just need to sit there and try not to hurt yourself while I make you a real breakfast.”

 


 

[4 July 2015]

Max: You’ll be here around three, right?

Victoria: Be where at three?

Max: My place.

Victoria: Why would I do that?

Max: Crap! I’m so sorry! I told you then I went back past it but forgot that I hadn’t re-invited you again!

Victoria: Are you having a stroke?

Max: Sorry! I invited you to come over to my place today. The families on my block do a whole thing for the Fourth of July. I remembered to tell my parents you were coming and even asked Dad to pick up some of that fancy root beer you like but I actually forgot to invite you again.

Max: I feel so dumb. (-_-)

Victoria: Really?

Max: Yeah, of course.

Victoria: I guess I’ll see you at three then.

Max: Yay! :D

 


 

July 4, 2015
Chase Residence
Seattle, Washington

“You really didn’t have to drive me home.”

“Whatever you say, ya big lush.”

“I had two drinks! I feel fine!”

“And you weigh, what? Eight pounds? Ten? I’m surprised you’re not dead from alcohol poisoning.”

“I weigh more than you, you skinny bitch!”

“Yikes, somebody’s a mean drunk.”

I bite back my response, turning back to the car window and silently watching the darkened streets of my neighborhood pass by. This is completely ridiculous. I had two drinks. Two! And they weren’t even close together! Max’s dad had said it was fine to have a beer with my hamburger on the Fourth of July (and let me just say, that guy knows how to grill a burger) and I accepted a single margarita from her mom an hour and a half later. At no point did I even feel the slightest bit buzzed, but that didn’t stop Max’s parents from insisting that she drive me home at the end of the night.

It’s a fifteen-minute drive from Ridgecrest to Montlake, and somehow Max has made it feel like an eternity.

“We’re here,” she says as she parks my car in front of my house, like I wouldn’t know where I was. “You okay? Need any help to the door?”

“Bite me, Caulfield.”

“You’re not my type, Chase.

“Whatever. I can make it to the door just fine, considering I’m not drunk!

“I know,” she says, getting out of the car. “And that’s what I told my parents, but they wouldn’t take no for an answer. And it’s a holiday weekend. There’re cops everywhere, and they didn’t want you risking a DUI.” She raises a hand before I can remind her, again, that I’m stone sober. “You’re a minor. You wouldn’t even have to be over the limit to get in trouble.”

“Says who?”

“Says my mom, the former state prosecutor.”

“...oh.”

She laughs. “You mind if I wait for my Uber inside?”

“I should make you wait on the lawn,” I grumble, unlocking the door.

“Oh, don’t be like tha-”

“Like what?” I turn around, but she’s nowhere to be seen. “Max?”

Glancing around, I can’t see anything she could be hiding behind, and the entire lawn is illuminated by the streetlights. That means a rewind, but if that’s the case than who knows where she is? Pulling out my phone, I’m about to press her speed dial when I hear a muffled thump from inside.

Letting myself in, the first thing I see is a lamp lying on the living room carpet, thankfully unbroken. The second thing is Max, sprawled out on my couch and not looking especially sober.

“Hi, Victoria,” she giggles, making no move to get up. At least she took her shoes off.

“Hey.” I return the lamp to the table. “Rewind, I’m guessing?”

“Yep.” Max answers, popping her lips on the ‘p’.

“How far?”

She waves lazily into the air. “Oh, you know.”

“Not really. Are you feeling alright?”

“Mhm. I’m great.”

“Yeah? Because you kinda look like you’re wasted.”

“M’not wasted.” She looks up with drooping eyes and gives me a crooked smile. “I’m perky.”

The hell she is. “The hell y-”

I’m halfway through my sentence when the shorts and t-shirt she’s been wearing all day instantly change into jeans and a light hoodie; it’s so fast I would’ve missed it by blinking.

I knew it.

I knew I hadn’t been seeing things before.

“Max, your clothes.”

“M’not taking them off.”

“What? That’s no-”

“Perrrrrrr-kee!” She shouts, interrupting me again. “S’funny word.”

Cautiously walking over, I reach out and press my hand to her forehead. She doesn’t have a fever, and she’s definitely not breathing as hard as she was last time. She seems more or less fine, except for the fact that she’s acting like she’s high as a kite. “Seriously, what the hell happened to you?”

“I’ll tell you but I’m just gonna take a little nap first.” She yawns, her eyes start drooping as she slouches down some more. Her head lolls to the side and she’s out before I can argue.

I briefly contemplate leaving her here and going to bed, except I don’t know what’s wrong. And because there is definitely something wrong with her, I don’t know if it’s safe to leave her on her own. The thought of waking up tomorrow to find her...nope. Not going down that road.

I send her mom a quick message, letting her know that Max is staying the night, then throw a blanket over the idiot passed out on my couch. Sitting down next to her, I start looking through my phone for something entertaining enough to keep me awake.

“You’re gonna owe me for this one, Max.”

 


 

“Ugh...”

By the time Little Miss Perky comes to, the sun is up, and I’ve just poured myself my fifth cup of coffee. I ended up abandoning my seat on the couch around three in the morning, afraid I was going to fall asleep, and I’ve spent the last three and a half hours in a hard backed chair I brought from the kitchen.

“Well, look who’s finally awake.”

“Victoria?” She cracks one eye open, looking around the room. “Did I fall asleep on your couch?”

“I wouldn’t say fell asleep so much as passed out.”

“Oh.” She rubs her eyes tiredly. “What’s today?”

“It’s Sunday. It’s actually been Sunday for about eight hours, but you slept through that.”

“Alright. I get it.” She reluctantly opens her other eye, sitting up with a groan. “I meant, what’s the date?”

“The fifth,” I answer, surprised. Then, just in case, “Of July.”

“Oh, wow. A lot farther than I expected.” When I gesture impatiently, she adds. “I started on the twenty-seventh.”

I do some quick mental math. “You came back three weeks?”

Max nods tiredly. “Looks like.”

“How?!”

She hesitates and I already know I’m not going to like her answer. “Drugs.”

“I beg your pardon?”

“Drugs,” she repeats. “Painkillers, actually.”

“We’re not talking about Tylenol, are we?”

“No.”

“Then what did you...” Then it hits me. She said that she was ‘perky’. “Please tell me you didn't take Percocet.”

“I...uh....”

“Where the fuck did you get Percocet from?” I ask, somewhat calmly, trying not to be pissed that Max is apparently abusing opiates now.

“From you, actually.”

“Then where did I get Percocet from?” The idea that I’d just give prescription drugs to Max is unnerving. “Oh god, tell me we didn’t steal them!”

“No, nothing like that!” she rushes to reassure me. “It was a prescription! You were walking downtown and got hit by a bike messenger!”

Out of everything, that’s the least surprising. I swear, those two-wheeled assholes are a goddamn menace. “How bad was it?”

“You broke your arm pretty badly. And a couple of ribs.” She winces. “I wanted to rewind it as soon as you called me, but you’d already had your brilliant idea while you were in the ambulance. We talked about it and decided to wait until you’d been prescribed something for the pain. You’d be fixed up either way, and we’d know if using painkillers could help me go back further.”

Time travelling under the influence. Shit, how concussed was I when I came up with that? It sounds like something Blackwell Victoria would’ve suggested. But then, Blackwell Victoria was the stupid, self-absorbed bitch who never came out of that bunker. “I’m not really sure how I feel about that.”

“I wasn’t sure either, but we’d pretty much hit a wall. We needed to try something new...” Max trails off, eyeing the steaming mug on the coffee table between us. “Could I...?”

Rolling my eyes, I slide the mug over to her.

“Thanks,” she murmurs, taking a sip. Even though it’s not loaded with her usual mess of cream and sugar, she still hums happily. “Anyway, you can’t argue with the results. Three weeks is a pretty big improvement.”

“I guess.” Did we really consider what combining the drugs and her powers might do to her? Or how badly she might get hurt before the pain was actually enough to make her stop?

“I actually think I could have gone further, too, except I...” She frowns. “I didn’t really feel like I was in control. It was like the steady point I was holding on to wasn’t steady anymore. It kept bouncing around, like it was trying to throw me off, but I was too loopy to figure out why.”

“No shit. You were high as a kite when you landed.” The memory reminds me of her unexplained wardrobe change. “And remember that delayed change thing I saw before? It happened again, but it took longer this time. Almost a minute.”

“Oh, yeah. Jump lag.” She shrugs, as if I should have the slightest idea what that’s supposed to mean. “It was probably closer to thirty seconds.”

She’s not surprised. She doesn’t even seem particularly concerned. I’d been all excited about making a new discovery, but apparently it’s already old news.

“Jump lag,” I repeat, slowly. “You mind explaining how that works?”

To her credit, she looks confused for a second. “Oh, crap! I’m sorry! My brain’s still all foggy and I did so many rewinds while you were testing it, I...” She cringes. “I sorta forgot that you don’t know about it yet. I’m really sorry.”

“Less apologizing. More explaining.”

“Right. Okay.” She gives herself a shake. “So, I managed to pull off a five-day rewind. It kicked my butt, but you noticed the delay again. You wanted to see if it was a constant thing, so I did a bunch of rewinding with a stopwatch and you eventually figured it out.”

“I did?” So I don’t get to enjoy my new discovery because I somehow managed to beat myself to the punch? I know it’s not Max’s fault, but I’m kinda annoyed about that.

“Yep. You worked it out as about one and a half seconds of lag for every day I rewind. Basically, the longer the rewind, the longer the delay.” A perturbed look crosses her face. “I can’t believe I’m using the word basically for stuff like this.”

“Should we be worried about it? I mean, you’re not going to suddenly turn inside out one day, are you?”

“You have a worryingly graphic imagination,” she laughs. “But no, as far as we can tell it’s a harmless side effect.”

“Do we have any idea why it’s happening?”

She shrugs. “The only decent theory you had was that photo jumps and rewinds are basically the same thing, except that with photos only my mind goes back while my body stays behind, kinda like an anchor.”

That actually makes sense. I bet that’s why rewinding is so taxing on her. It probably takes a lot more energy (or whatever you want to call it) to move a physical object instead of just whatever the hell her ‘mind’ is made of. “So it must be easier to send your mind over long distances, which leaves your body playing catch up.”

“That’s the theory.”

“I came up with that on my own?”

“Sure did!” Max grins. “All hail Victoria Chase, Queen of the Nerds!”

“As much as I appreciate the support,” I narrow my eyes at her. “if you ever call me that again it won’t be time travel that turns you inside out.”

King Me

July 21, 2015
Chase Residence
Seattle, Washington

“You know, it’s possible we’ve been coming at this from the wrong direction.”

“What direction is that?” Max asks, half-turning to look at me, her hands still in the sink as she finishes doing the dishes, just like she always does on the nights I cook.

It’s weird how, despite not actually living here, she still manages to be an amazing roommate. She always puts the towels she uses in the laundry hamper, always makes the bed if she crashes in the guest room, and I’ve never had to remind her to take off her shoes at the door. She’s even sorted the recycling a couple of times, because apparently ‘doing chores helps her think’.

Then there’s the money that mysteriously appears on the fridge every Sunday, pinned under a smiley-face magnet and somehow always enough to cover her share of the week’s groceries.

Honestly, if we weren’t planning to rewrite the last two years, I’d seriously consider just asking her to move in.

“I’ve been thinking about this since your drug-fueled crash-landing last week. Up until now, we’ve been trying to increase the length of your rewinds by looking for ways to counteract the pain. And that’s been working, more or less. But what if we went the opposite direction? What if instead of a painkiller, you tried a stimulant?”

“Like what? Caffeine pills?”

“I was thinking something a little stronger.”

“There is a guy at school who keeps trying to sell Adderall to people,” she says, adding, “But I’m pretty sure he’s a cop.”

“I’m not talking about Adderall either, Max. Do I look like Frank fucking Bowers to you?”

She looks over her shoulder and gives me a slow once-over, pretending to think about it first. “No.”

“Asshole,” I mutter, trying not to smile. “I’m talking about Epinephrine.”

She puts the last plate on the rack next to the sink and starts drying her hands. “And for those of us who aren’t great big closet nerds?”

“I’m not a...” I swear to god if she wasn’t such a good sorta-roommate. “Epinephrine is another name for adrenaline.”

“Then why didn’t you just say adrenaline?”

Because adrenaline is a brand name and for some reason that bugs the shit out of me. “Because it’s called epinephrine, and it might be the solution we’re looking for.”

“Uh-huh,” she mutters, skeptically. “But wouldn’t you know it, I’m fresh out. Don’t suppose you happen to have any epinephrine kicking around?”

“As a matter of fact, I do.” Walking over to the kitchen counter, I reach into my handbag and pull out a cylinder, about six inches long and bright yellow.

“What’s that?”

“It’s an EpiPen,” I say, adding, “I’m allergic to bee stings.”

“Okay.” She eyes it suspiciously. “And what are you suggesting I do with that EpiPen?”

“I’m suggesting you inject yourself with one before rewinding.”

She blinks, slowly, like she’s having trouble with the concept. “I’m not a doctor, but that sounds like a terrible, terrible idea.”

“Fucking around with time is a pretty terrible idea, too. So objectively speaking, who’s the irresponsible one here?”

“It won’t give me a heart attack or something, will it?”

“They sell these things over the counter, Max.”

“See, that’s not a no,” she points out. “Which I find concerning.”

“Look, it was just an idea. We can look into it more later on.” I return the EpiPen to my bag and turn back to see Max pulling my old checkers set out of the cupboard. “Seriously?”

“Yes, seriously,” she insists. “I’m going to beat you at this. I don’t care if you’re some kind of freaky checkers prodigy.”

“I’m not a ‘checkers prodigy’, Max. I’m pretty sure there’s no such thing.”

“Then how do you always win?”

“Have you considered the possibility that you just suck at checkers?” I laugh, and she shoots me a glare.

She’s actually getting pretty good at glaring. I must be rubbing off on her.

 


 

Max lost the first game pretty quickly. She made it a little longer in the second, and actually offered a hint of a challenge in the third. I guess her luck ran out after that, though, because the fourth game was a massacre and the fifth is going just as badly.

Lifting one of my pieces, I deftly take four of Max’s on my way to the far side of the board. “King me.”

“Damn stupid piece of...” she grumbles, glaring at the offending checker piece in annoyance.

“Oh, quit your bitching and king me.”

“Y’know what?” She leans forward, eyeing me suspiciously. “I think you’re cheating.”

“Oh, really?” I place an elbow on the table, propping up my chin and adopting a look of mild amusement. “And how, exactly, am I doing that?”

“If I knew that, it wouldn’t be working, would it?”

“Well, if we’re just going to start hurling around baseless accusations, how do I know you’re not cheating?”

She rolls her eyes. “Maybe because I keep losing?”

“A clever ruse, I’m sure. You’re just trying to get me to drop my guard.”

“I’m not cheating, Victoria,” she insists, rolling her eyes.

“So you say.”

“Oh, whatever. Nice try, but I’m onto you and your...mind...games...” The words slowly trail off as her eyes drift out of focus.

“Max?” She doesn’t respond, just staring into space. I snap my fingers in front of her face. “Earth to Caulfield. You still in there?”

I’m reaching out to touch her shoulder when she abruptly blinks about six inches to the right and lets out a shuddering breath. Gripping the edge of the table and squeezing her eyes shut, she sways back and forth like she just got off a roller coaster. “Whoa...”

“You alright?” That must have been a pretty long rewind; Max never looks great coming out of those.

“What? Oh, yeah. Yeah, I’m good.” She shakes herself, and glances around the room. “Well, I guess that worked.”

“What worked?”

“Your idea,” she says, as if that explains a fucking thing. “Today is the eleventh, right?”

“Yes, it is,” I say, annoyed. “What worked, Max?”

“Using adrenaline.”

“You actually used my EpiPen?”

She shakes her head. “Epi Junior. Half-dose versions for little kids.”

I didn’t even know those existed. “That sounds like a cartoon character.”

“You said that the first time, too,” she chuckles, picking up her water and taking a shaky sip. “We figured it’d be safer for the first few test rewinds.”

“First few?

“Yeah.” She takes another sip of water, already looking better. “We did a couple of one-week tests and a three-week test before this one.”

For the moment, I’m just going to ignore the fact that she referred to a three-week rewind as a ‘test’.

“Uh-huh...and where, exactly, did we get four EpiPens?” You don’t need a prescription for them, but I think most pharmacists might find that a little suspicious.

“From your doctor.”

That’s even higher on the crazy scale. “I really don’t see Dr. Spencer just handing four of those over, no questions asked.”

“No, it wasn’t your regular doctor. It was another guy, something-lock.”

Oh god, seriously? “Tell me it wasn’t Kinloch.”

“Yeah, that’s the guy.”

“Ugh. I must have been desperate.”

In Seattle, Dr. Duke Kinloch (and if that’s his original name I’ll eat my goddamn shoes) is basically Frank Bowers for the rich and famous. The guy the city’s wealthy residents go to when they’re looking for a specific medication that they might not necessarily need. After all, where else would all those aging trophy wives get their precious no-questions-asked valium prescriptions?

Max shrugs. “You said you needed insurance to cover the cost, and you needed a doctor to sign off for that.”

That...actually does make sense. If those kid versions are anything like the adult ones, four of them would’ve cost about $1200, at least. And that’s about the only thing that would’ve driven me to go see that quack. Just the idea that I stepped into his office makes my skin crawl, but I guess the Chase name still meant something there.

“Well, at least it was worth it. Right?”

“Yup. And it seems like rewinding burns off the extra adrenaline in my system. I barely even feel it when I’m done.” She laughs. “Six weeks is still kind of a wild ride, though.”

“Six weeks?!”

“That’s right. Six weeks, no nosebleed, no migraine.” She grins and gives me a little bow. “Cue applause.”

Her proud declaration triggers a familiar and unpleasant twinge in my stomach. I wish I could just ignore it and be happy for her, but every time Max emerges from one of her trips back I feel a small but annoyingly persistent sense of loss. While I’m genuinely glad she’s making progress, all that looped time adds up. For me, it’s only been about six weeks since this whole thing started. But as far as I can tell, it’s been a little over four months for her.

If someone told me how much that’d bother me, back when Max first knocked on the gallery’s door, I probably wouldn’t have believed them. Imagine my surprise when I realized that I actually liked hanging out with Max. I haven’t had any close friends since Arcadia Bay, and until she showed up I hadn’t realized how lonely I was. I like having a friend again, and it pisses me off that I only get to remember a quarter of it.

“Y’know, this is really starting to bug me.” The words come out a little more bitterly than I meant them to. “I don’t like that...”

“I’ve technically been your friend for longer than you’ve been mine?” she interrupts, and the sympathetic look in her eyes just pisses me off more.

“See, that’s the kind of shit I’m talking about! How many times have I told you that?”

“Once or twice.” She winces. “Sorry.”

“Stop fucking apologizing!” She doesn’t even flinch under my glare. But then, I guess she’s had time to get used to it.

“Here, I’ve got something that’ll help.” She reaches into the pocket of her hoodie, looking briefly surprised to find it empty. “Ugh, hang on.”

Tapping her fingers lightly on the tabletop, she stares at the sleeve of her hoodie impatiently. It takes me second to realize she’s waiting for the lag time to pass. I’m still adapting to the concept, but she seems to be used to that, too. Another annoying example of how far behind the curve I am.

She said it was a six-week rewind, so that should work out to a little over a minute of lag. And sure enough, I’ve barely finished the thought before her hoodie shifts from light grey to maroon and her hair gets longer. I’ve seen it all before, but for some reason, her ever-lengthening hair always catches me a little off guard.

Except for a few trims, I don’t think Max has had it cut once since Arcadia Bay. The short bob she sported at Blackwell is a distant memory, replaced by a loose ponytail that just about reaches the middle of her back. It’s actually visibly longer after this rewind, probably because even though she’s from six weeks in the future, the ‘practice’ trips she took beforehand mean that she’s roughly three months older than she was a minute ago.

I swear, no matter how many times I think about that, it’ll never stop being weird.

Grinning, she fishes a small leatherbound book from her previously empty pocket and hands it over. “Here you go.”

“What’s that?”

“Your recap journal.”

“I actually made one of those?” I’ve been thinking of starting a journal that Max would take with her everytime she goes back, just to keep myself up to date. It’s weird to be holding something that, until now, had been nothing but a half-formed idea. Especially when it looks as though I’ve already used up nearly half the pages.

Looking back up, I tap the small lock on the book’s clasp. “What’s the combination?”

“No idea. You won’t tell me.” She smirks. “But whatever it is, it’s never taken you long to figure it out.”

She’s right; looking down at the three-digit lock, I guess the answer almost right away. 2-2-4. What else would I pick?

The inside is almost as eerie as the journal itself. It’s unquestionably my handwriting but seeing pages and pages of text that I have absolutely no memory of writing (and technically, never actually wrote) is the tiniest bit unnerving. I can look through the whole thing later, though. For now, I flip right to the most recent entry.

Recap Notes: Rewind #46

Length : -42 days

Purpose : Epinephrine Test #4 Adrenaline Epinephrine Adrenaline It's fucking Epinephrine, Max!

Things To Remember

- Bolognese in the fridge has gone bad. Don’t eat.

- I thought it’d be funny to hide that blue beanie Max always has in her bag and pretend it got thrown in the trash by accident. It was Chloe’s beanie. She cried a little and almost rewound to save it. I spent the rest of the day feeling like an asshole.

- A blonde guy in a blue pinstripe suit will come into the gallery on the morning of August 5th. He’s the featured artist’s ex-husband and plans to spray paint her work.

- Pan’s Labyrinth scared the living shit out of Max. She spent half the movie hiding under a blanket. It was hilarious.

- Empty out the lint trap, dummy! Are you trying to light the house on fire?

- Don’t bother asking Max if can join her on her morning runs. You already did and she already said yes. It’s too late to back out now, so go buy extra icepacks.

- You and Max have watched up to S4 Ep11 of Parks & Rec.

- Finally figured out what that chicken marsala recipe was missing. See notes at the back.

Then I hit one that stops me in my tracks.

- Max knows you hate being called Vicky, but she doesn’t know why and she’s promised never to ask.

Shit.

There’s a pretty powerful message hidden in that statement. Not because Max called me Vicky at some point. She’s not the first and definitely won’t be the last. It’s because she knows it bothers me, and I never tell anyone that it bothers me. People who know that tend to ask why, which usually ends with me telling them to fuck off.

Nobody knows why. My own therapist doesn’t even know why. That means I trusted Max enough to tell her that, and enough to know she’d never press the issue.

“Anything good in there?”

“Huh? Oh, uh...it says don’t eat the Bolognese sauce in the fridge.”

“Ugh, good call. I’ll go throw it out now.” She stands, yawning loudly. “Would you mind if we went over the rest of this tomorrow? I kinda want to head to bed.”

“Excuse me?”

“I know it’s technically early, but I’m seriously wiped out and my pillow is calling.” She smiles, like she didn’t just casually invite herself to stay the night, then adds, “I’ll even make breakfast tomorrow, okay?”

“A little presumptuous, don’t you think?”

“What is?”

“Just assuming you can sleep here whenever you want?”

“Why wouldn’t I...” She stops, looks down at her phone, and murmurs, “Oh, right. Three days early.”

“Don’t worry. Because I’m such a nice person, I’m still going to let you stay.” I wave toward the guest room. “But maybe you ought to ask next time?”

“And maybe you ought to read the rest of that journal entry. I’m sure it’s in there somewhere.” She smirks. “Good night, Victoria.”

The rest of the journal entry?

Going back to the small book, I flip to the end and pick up where I left off. It goes on for a couple of pages and none of it seems very dramatic. Mostly just notes on what we’ve been doing to extend Max’s rewind range, punctuated with points about things Max and I have done or talked about. It really is reassuring to get caught up on the stuff I missed, so to speak.

I’m almost ready to think that Max was messing with me, then I reach the last point and just about choke.

- I probably should have written this first, but guess what? You’ve got a new roommate!

“What?!”

From upstairs, I just barely hear Max's laughter before the guest room door closes.

 

Sting

July 31, 2015
Seattle, Washington

Everything sucks. The entire world is pointless and everyone in it is an asshole. I should just quit my job, wear nothing but sweatpants, and eat cheesecake until I die. That’d show them. That’d show them all.

“Victoria?”

Ugh. Of course Max would pick now to drop by, when I’m in absolutely no mood for company. Maybe if I don’t make any noise she’ll go away.

“Victoria?” The front door closes, and I hear footsteps getting closer. “You home?”

Oh, that’s right. She lives here now. Yay.

Sighing, I sort of turn my head toward the door. “Living room.”

She appears a second later, backpack slung over one shoulder and wearing a t-shirt for some band called Bloody Bootstraps. I’ve never heard of them, but there’s no way in hell I’m asking her because I refuse to enable her hipster bullshit. I’ll just look them up later and see if they’re any good.

“Hey,” she says slowly, dropping her bag at the door. I’m sure I make quite a sight, still dressed for work and slouched on the couch like a sullen teenager. But I’m only going to be a teenager for three more weeks, so if I want to be a sullen one, then I’m gonna be a fucking sullen one. “You okay?”

“Peachy.”

“You don’t look peachy.”

“Well, I am.”

“You pretty much look the opposite of peachy.”

“Fine. I’m wallowing in my own misery. Can’t a girl wallow in her own home without being judged for it? Stop wallow-shaming me.”

Max hums thoughtfully and walks toward the kitchen. Blindly reaching for the remote, I turn on the TV. I’m still staring at the Netflix loading screen when she returns with a bag of pretzels (my pretzels, which she didn’t ask if she could have but what-fucking-ever) and holds out a bottle of water. I am a little thirsty, so I accept it with a mumbled, “Thanks.”

She drops onto the couch next to me, loudly opening the bag. “So, why are you wallowing?”

“Why do you care?” Probably because she’s my friend, I guess.

“Maybe I want to wallow, too.” She slouches down to my level. “Maybe I just need a good reason.”

“Maybe you’re a poser.”

“Imitation something something flattery.” She holds out the open pretzel bag. “Rough day?”

“You’ve got no idea.” I take a handful and toss one in my mouth. “People are the worst, Max. People are the fucking worst.”

“Wanna talk about it?”

“No.”

“Yeah, you do.”

Damn it. I actually do.

“The gallery is hosting a private event this weekend and we contracted a company to come in to move some stuff around. Four guys were supposed to be there at noon, but only three of them turned up.” I pause to munch angrily on another pretzel. “Apparently the fourth guy called in at the last minute saying his parents are in town and he wasn’t coming in. Which is bullshit because we booked four.”

“You couldn’t make do with three? Just asking.”

“No, we couldn’t. Most of the stuff we needed moved had to be carried by two people, and I’m not gonna pay some jackass in a back-brace to stand around and watch the other two work. That’s why I told this clown’s supervisor to get him on the phone and tell him to get his lazy ass to work.”

“Demure, as always.”

“Goddamn right, I am.” I sit up a little. “So the guy finally shows up half an hour later, and it’s some college kid with his entire fucking family along for the ride. Parents, siblings, girlfriend...the whole set just waltzes right on in. Then his mother gets right in my face and starts yelling.”

“Seriously? She started yelling at you?”

“Oh, yeah. How dare I make her precious baby work while his family is visiting! Don’t I know they’re only in town for the day?"

“How could you have possibly known that?”

“Beats the shit out of me, but apparently I ruined brunch.” I roll my eyes as dramatically as I can.

“That’s dumb.”

“I thought so, too. Unfortunately, I’m not rich enough to tell people what I actually think anymore.”

“You tell me what you actually think all the time.”

“Yeah, but we’re friends. That’s different.”

“Right. Of course.” She nods, chuckling. “So you let her live?”

“Had to. Too many witnesses. I even explained the situation at a reasonable volume, and said they were more than welcome to look around the gallery until the work was done.”

“You actually let them stay?”

“Seemed easier than trying to kick them out. Though I actually had to explain that they weren’t allowed to help move things themselves. As if I’d let their grubby little hands touch anything.”

“Isn’t that kind of obvious?”

“You’d fucking think so, wouldn’t you?”

“I thought you guys had a security guard. Where was he for all this?”

“That’s what I was wondering.” I take another handful of pretzels. “I found him dicking around on his phone. I was right in the middle of reminding him how jobs work when I hear this huge crash from the foyer.”

“Oh, no.”

“Oh, yes. I run back and you know what I see? The mother standing there like a moron with what’s left of a sculpture at her feet.”

“Which one?”

“The white marble eagle.”

“Aww! I liked that one!”

“Yeah, I did too.”

“Did she knock it over on purpose or something?”

“Nope. Remember when I told her that she wasn’t allowed to help? Apparently that didn’t quite land.”

“What?” Max gasps. Reactions like that make her a great person to tell stories to. “Why would she...”

“...think she could move a two-hundred-pound sculpture on her own? No fucking idea, but she tried to deny it at first. The second I came back she started ranting about how the sculpture wasn’t secured and it almost fell on her and she’s going to sue us blah blah blah. Then I point out each of the six security cameras in the room and she goes white as a fucking sheet. I seriously thought she was going to faint.”

“I probably would have.”

“No, you wouldn’t have fucked around with a nine-thousand-dollar sculpture in the first place.”

“Nine thousand?!”

“Yep. I thought she was gonna have a stroke when I told her what it was worth.”

“Damn. What happened then?”

“Just a bunch of theatrics. First her husband offers me five hundred bucks to forgive and forget. Then when I refuse, he tries threatening me. Started going off about how I’d better keep my mouth shut or he’d call my boss and get me fired.”

Just thinking about his red, shouting face makes me want to call the gallery and tell them I quit, which is why I left my handbag – and the phone in it – in the front hall.

“From the gallery you own?”

“Technically own,” I correct, bitterly. My name may be on the door, but as long as those overseas assholes are disputing that ownership, all the Chase Space’s day-to-day business is run by a third-party company. It feels like my business card should say Assistant Intern, for all the actual influence I have. “I did say so, and of course he didn’t believe me. According to him, there’s no way a woman my age could be a gallery owner.  Don’t even get me started on that.”

“To be fair, you’re nineteen. Even if you do sometimes act like you’re thirty-five.”

“Right.” I’m not quite sure how to take that, so for the moment I’m going to leave it right where it is. “Anyway, my name and picture are on the gallery website, and both the gallery attendants working today confirmed it. Things calmed down after that. Our lazy-ass guard told the whole pack of them to get the fuck out, and I got to spend the rest of the afternoon filling out paperwork and talking to our insurance company.”

“Wow. That seriously sucks.”

“Yeah. It does.” I mutter. Peering at the water in my hand, I silently debate whether today warrants pulling a bottle from the small wine cellar Mom had installed in the basement. It does have some pretty killer vintages. Unfortunately, that would require getting up. “Hey, Max? Would you mind doing me a favor?”

“I dunno...” she responds, feigning consideration. "I already brought you some pretzels."

My pretzels, you mean" I mutter. "I was just going to ask if you’d go grab a bottle of wine from downstairs. I’m thinking a Sauvignon Blanc would be good.”

“Um...”

I roll my eyes. “White wine, you peasant.”

“You once ate nothing but beans for a week, and I’m the peasant?” Ugh. I wish I’d never told her about that. “Well, it’s kinda early, but you look like you need it. Besides, I’m actually starting to get a taste for the stuff.”

“I’ll make a day drinker out of you yet, Caulfield,” I say as she’s walking away. Leaning forward, I go to place my water bottle on the table. “Hurry bac-urk!

Before I know what’s going on, Max already has me by the arm. She practically drags me off the couch, the water slipping from my fingers as I’m thrown to the ground. I land face down on the hardwood floor, sprawled out like an idiot and wondering what just happened. A half-second later a loud thumping starts up behind me and I roll over to find Max pounding her fist on the coffee table.

“What the fuck, Max?!” I shout, scrambling to my feet. “What the hell is wro-”

She rounds on me, livid. “Where the fuck is your EpiPen?!”

I come up short. “I...what?”

“Your EpiPen! Where is it?!”

“In my handbag.”

“And where’s your fucking handbag?!”

“I...uh...” The fury in Max’s eyes makes it tough to think. I’ve never seen her this angry. I don’t think I’ve ever seen anyone this angry. “I left it by the door?”

“On a coat hook, you idiot!” she snaps, hitting my shoulder hard enough to leave it stinging. “Where someone on the ground can’t reach it!”

She goes to hit me again and I slap her hand away, stepping out of reach. “Okay, what the fuck is this?!”

That’s what the fuck this is!” Stepping to the side, she points at the coffee table. Right there, next to my spilled water, are the smashed remains of a wasp. The kind that I’m dangerously allergic to.

“Oh.”

“Oh? Oh?! That’s all you’ve got to say?”

“I guess it stung me?”

“Yes, it fucking stung you!” She slaps my arm again, though a little lighter this time. “Why the hell didn’t you tell me your allergy was that bad?!”

“What are you talking about?”

“I’m talking about you almost dying! You weren’t even breathing when I came back! You were just laying there in the front hall! You barely had a fucking pulse!”

“I...” No, that can’t be right. It’s just an allergy. I’ve had it all my life. I was so young when I did the allergy test that I barely remember it. Thinking back, all that stands out is the doctor’s serious expression and how I’d felt so sick afterward that I actually turned down my parents’ offer to get ice cream. They’d insisted I carry an EpiPen everywhere after that, even grounding me a couple of times after I forgot it at home, but they never told me how severe it was.

“...te to save you.” Somehow, that cuts through my mind’s static.

“What?”

“I said I was almost too late to save you, Victoria. Another minute and you’d have been dead! Do you have any idea how close that was?”

My mind briefly stumbles over the idea of a time traveler being too late for something, then it hits me. If I’d died, that would have been it. Max wouldn’t have brought me back from the dead. She couldn’t without risking another storm, right in the heart of Seattle, which she would never, ever do.

I was almost killed by a fucking insect in my own goddamn living room.

I think I’m going to be sick, then I know I’m going to be sick. Max shoves a bucket from under the sink into my hands a second before it actually happens.

 


 

“Feeling better?” Max asks as I shuffle into the kitchen. I can’t see what she’s got on the stove, but it smells pretty good.

“A little,” I say, taking a seat at the small kitchen island to watch. “I’ve stopped flinching at every noise I hear.”

“That’s good.”

Nodding, I choose not to mention the EpiPen I’ve had with me almost since the moment I stopped vomiting. I even took it into the shower with me. “What’s for dinner?”

“Stir-fry.”

“Oh. What kind?”

“Beef.”

“That sounds goo-”

“What are we even doing?” she asks, tiredly.

“Talking about dinner?” I don’t know why I say it. We both know what she means.

“It’s been almost two months, you know.” She doesn’t turn around, the wooden spoon in her hand stirring the food in slow circles. “We’ve been at it for almost two months. You have, at least. I’ve been at it for close to seven.”

I know that, but it’s still weird to hear her say it. It’s July 2015, but physically she’s already reached March 2016.

“And for what?” she continues, laughing humorlessly. “We said we were going to fix things, but I’m still going to community college classes and you’re still dealing with assholes and it feels like we aren’t any closer now than we were on day one.”

“We’re a lot closer,” I say, carefully. “It took you almost half a year to work up to rewinding a couple of hours, and now your range is six weeks. It might even be longer than that. We’re making progress.”

“But getting there is only half the problem. We’re still running in circles trying to figure out what I’m actually going to do to change things. Go door-to-door? Hand out flyers? Stand on a street corner and scream like a lunatic?”

“Maybe not that last one. Public speaking isn’t your strongest area.”

“Well figuring out how to keep almost fifteen-hundred people from getting killed isn’t my strongest fucking area, either!” She pauses, letting out a shuddering breath. “It’s just...it’s like every idea we come up with falls apart the second we take a close look at it. Most of what we’ve got so far is just about not making things worse.”

“Which is pretty important, I’d say. We’ll figure out the rest.”

“That’s not the point!” She stirs a little harder. A piece of baby corn jumps from the pan and lands next to her feet. She doesn’t seem to notice. “Even if we do come up with a plan, how can I honestly expect to pull it off? How can I save an entire town from a freak superstorm when I was barely able to save you from a fucking bee?!”

“Wasp,” I correct before I can stop myself.

Fuck!” she screams, hurling her wooden spoon across the room. It hits the far wall and unimpressively clatters to the floor. “Who the fuck cares what it was?!”

A long, quiet moment passes. Then, pulling a dishcloth off the stove handle, she goes to pick up the spoon and wipe off the spot where it hit the wall.

“Sorry,” she murmurs as she walks back to the stove.

I don’t tell her it’s okay, because that wasn’t okay. But we both got a good scare earlier, so I can wait a while before telling her that. In the meantime, I just say, “I understand.”

She stirs the pan’s simmering contents in silence after that, not even looking up when I get myself a glass of water. It’s not until she’s dividing the stir-fry between two plates that she says, “We could stop, you know.”

Oh, no fucking way. “I beg your pardon?”

“I’m not saying I want to.” She still doesn’t look up. “Just that we could. We don’t have to risk everything. We could try...try to...”

“Try to what?” I press. I know where she’s going with this, but I want to see if she can actually say it.

"You know...move on?" She speaks haltingly, like the words are choking her. “Life isn’t so bad, right? And, well, the more I think about it, the more I don’t think it’s right to ask you to voluntarily get wiped out of exis-”

“Stop. Shut up.” If she’s thinking about quitting, she doesn’t get to put it on me. Standing, I walk to the junk drawer – the one everyone has somewhere in their kitchen - and root around until I find a fat-tipped marker.

“What are you...”

“I said shut up.”

Moving over to the wall Max recently attacked with a cooking utensil, I begin taking down the handful of photos hanging there and stacking them on the table. I’ll find new homes for them later. I take a second to regard the empty wall. Then, in numbers as large as the space will allow, I write:

1473 > 1

Capping the marker, I turn to face her. “Clear enough?”

“Victoria, I...”

"No? Then I'll explain it. I am not, in any way, more important than one thousand, four hundred, and seventy-three people.” I pause to let it sink in. “And I’m not getting wiped out of existence. You’re just winding the clock back. I’ll still be there. I’ll just be younger and a little dumber.”

“And what about the last two years, huh? You’re really willing to lose those?”

“Fucking happily!” I laugh. “The last two months have been pretty good, but the rest of it? Fuck that. Erase it. I’ll be better off.”

“But do you really want t-”

“I’ll tell you what I want, Max. I want my parents back. I want my friends back. I want..." I manage to stop myself before I say too much. "Just try to remember that you aren’t the only person to lose someone they loved."

“I know that, Victoria, but you’re my best friend. I don’t want to lose you, either.”

I’m her what? “Huh?”

“I said I don’t want to lose you, either.”

“Because I’m your...best friend?”

She nods.

“I’m your best friend,” I repeat, flatly. I know all the words, but that third one is proving a little troublesome.

Max gives me a slightly confused look. “Well, yeah.”

“...really?”

“Yes, really!” she insists. “Is that so unthinkable?”

“A little,” I confess. “I mean, most people tell me I’m a bitter, obstinate, borderline-reptilian bitch. And that was just this week.” Frowning, I add, “Mostly today, actually.”

“I don’t think today is a good example," she points out.

"I'm just saying, I don't really have friends.” There's a brief flash of sadness in her eyes and I immediately wish I hadn't said that. “What I mean is that it's been a while since I was anyone’s best friend."

“Well, you’re mine. Sure, you can be prickly, stubborn, pedantic, and kind of standoffish sometimes...”

“Thanks?”

She rolls her eyes. “...but I dare you to find a single page in that recap journal of yours that doesn’t have at least one happy memory we share. Because I remember all of them, even if you can’t.”

“Yeah, but...”

“Oh, quit arguing. I get to pick who my best friend is, and I pick you. Deal with it.”

The thing is, I don’t actually want to argue, because I’m already feeling better. I really like the comfortable, back-and-forth banter we share. The (mostly) good-natured teasing we fall into so easily, banishing the tension that’d been filling the room. The disagreement is still there between us, but the anger is gone. I know we’ll figure this out because...oh.

“Huh...I guess you’re my best friend, too.”

“Well, that was heartwarming.”

“Shut up.”

“Really feeling the love over here.” She slides my plate of still hot stir-fry across the counter. “Eat your dinner.”

I stab a piece of beef with my fork. “I mean it, though. Don’t you dare give up on Arcadia Bay for my sake.”

“Then give me a plan that’ll save it,” she counters, pushing her food around the plate. “I’m not going back unless I can actually succeed.”

“You will. We’ll figure this out.”

She snorts. “I wish I had your optimism.”

“Someone has to keep you in check, you little doomsayer.”

“Hm,” she responds, chewing.

“Hey, this is no different than when you hit the wall back in June. We just need to think outside the box.”

“Oh, is that all?” she grumbles.

“Ugh. Don’t talk with your mouth full, you animal.”

“Yes, mom,” she responds, smirking. “Unfortunately, I can’t show up unannounced and ask for your help a second time, so we’re all out of fresh perspectives.”

“I guess you’re not...” Wait a second. Are we?

“What?”

I mean, technically there’s still...

“I’m not what?”

We could always ask, right?

“Victoria?”

It’s worth suggesting, at least.

“Victoria!”

Gently placing my fork down, I steeple my fingers and regard her seriously. “I just had an idea.”

“Did you, now?”

“And it’s pretty outside the box.” I hesitate, but what have we got to lose? “We could ask David Madsen.”

Max blinks slowly. “Okay, I’m going to need you to get back into the box.”

“What’s wrong with just talking to him?”

“For starters, he lives all the way out in Arizona. Like, middle-of-the-desert Arizona.”

“Gosh, if only there was some form of technology that allowed you to talk to people over long distances.” I graciously choose to ignore her eyeroll. “Look, he was in the army, right?”

“Yeah. So?”

“So he probably knows a lot more about planning and strategy than we do.”

“The dead wasp on the coffee table knows more about planning and strategy than we do,” she counters.

“You didn’t clean that up?”

“Of course I did. I was being facetious.”

“I swear to god, I’m taking that word-a-day calendar away from you.”

“Just try it.” She fires back. “Seriously, though. Why does it have to be David?”

“Because the dead wasp isn’t talking. And for the same reason you came to me. He’s from Arcadia Bay. If we can convince him, he’ll have a vested interest in helping us succeed.”

“I guess,” she agrees, reluctantly. “But...”

“Alright, cut the shit. What’s the real issue here?”

“I...” Max sighs. “I haven’t talked to him since Chloe’s funeral.”

“And, what? You’re feeling guilty?”

“Yeah, a little.”

“Then this is a great opportunity to make amends. Give him a call.”

“You really think I should try explaining all of this over the phone?”

Damn it. That’s actually a good point. “Then why don’t we talk to him in person?”

“Are you suggesting we go all that way for a single conversation?” she asks, like the idea of traveling from one place to another is the definition of crazy.

“He’s in Arizona, Max. Not fucking Iceland.”

“Well, then let’s just hop on the private jet for a day trip.”

“Oh, cut it out.” I pull out my phone. “The town’s called Cameron, right?”

“No, that’s just where his PO box is. The place he actually lives is called Away, but don’t bother trying to look it up. You won’t find anything.”

“Come on. It can’t be that small.”

“No, it’s smaller. Calling it a hamlet would be generous. I don’t think more than thirty people have ever lived there at one time.”

Wow...Madsen went way off the grid. “Fine. What’s the nearest city, then?”

“David said that if we ever wanted to visit, the easiest way would be to fly to Flagstaff and rent a car. I don’t know exactly how long the drive would be, but we’d probably be looking at a couple of hours, at least. I think he emailed me a map, once.”

“Okay. Gimme a second.” I do a quick web search. “See? A return flight to Flagstaff is about two-hundred bucks. Easy.”

“Even if two-hundred bucks was easy, which it isn’t, that doesn’t include the car rental. Or the hotel room we’ll probably need to get, too.”

“I can afford it.” Barely. Probably.

“Aren’t your accounts still frozen?”

“The business accounts are frozen.” I pull up a travel website, filling out the fields as I talk. “Not my personal one, and I have a little money put away.”

“Maybe you do, but I sure don’t. Not enough to pay for a trip to Arizona.”

“Not a problem.” Tapping the confirm button, I turn the phone around. “There. Two round-trip tickets to Flagstaff.”

“What?! You can’t just buy us tickets like that!”

“I can, and I did,” I say calmly, as if I didn’t just spend more than our monthly grocery budget. “We fly out bright and early tomorrow morning.”

“Did you ever consider that I might have work this weekend?”

“Do you?”

“Well...no,” she admits. I already knew she didn’t. Her schedule for the next three weeks is stuck to the fridge, but I’m glad she didn’t try to bullshit me. “But what about you? I thought you said the gallery has an event tomorrow.”

“They can handle it without me.” I shrug. “And didn’t you say that this should be an in-person conversation?”

“Yeah, but...”

“Seriously, Max. Stop arguing.” My phone dings, and I barely hide my relief when I see the flight confirmation email. I’d been pretty sure there was enough room on my credit card, but not totally sure. “Yeah, it’s kind of expensive, but we’re trying to change the world. If that’s not worth investing in, what is?”

“I guess.”

“Look, we can talk about everything else on the plane tomorrow. For now, do you really want to waste time stressing over what’s already decided?” Picking up my plate, I point toward the living room. “Or do you want to go watch some more Parks & Rec?” 

Max glowers at me for a second, then picks up her own plate with a sigh. “I wanna watch Parks & Rec.”

“Good choice.”

Aperture

It starts, as it always does, with an uncomfortably bright burst of light. I don’t think I’ll ever get used to it, but at least over the last few months I’ve learned not to be distracted by it.

Luckily, I don’t need to see what I’m doing. My motions are as familiar as they are precise, practiced over and over again. My arm is already curled around her slim waist. It’s easy (or at least, it’s become easy) to lift her phone out of her stylishly concealed pocket and turn it off without her realizing it.

I’d make a hell of a pickpocket, assuming every situation was exactly like this one down to the smallest detail.

I subtly drop the phone into the potted plant behind us, where the soft soil cushions its fall; it doesn’t make a sound. With it gone, I can afford to take a second to absorb the sensations around me. The warmth of the room, the lavender in her shampoo, the smooth satin of her dress under my fingertips. They’re comfortable and familiar and for a fleeting second I can actually tell myself that I belong here. That I’m not an intruder, stealing a few sweet minutes that don’t belong to me anymore.

I know I shouldn’t do this. However much I tell myself that this is what’s been keeping me sane, it might actually be the single most unhealthy thing I can imagine. It isn’t real. Or at least, it isn’t the kind of real I’m allowed to have. I’m just torturing myself, but that doesn’t matter when she turns to smile at me.

Smiling back, I give her hip a small, affectionate squeeze and turn to Mom and Dad. "Hey, could you guys give us a minute?"

I almost gave up today. I got scared about something I had (almost) no control over and for a second I was ready to walk away from it all. That’s why I need this. I need to remember.

“Of course, sweetheart,” Mom laughs, taking Dad by the arm and leading him to the kitchen. Pausing at the door, she turns back to take in the sight of us. “You two just look so lovely together.”

“Thanks, Mrs. C,” Chloe says, not taking her eyes off me.

“Thanks, Mom,” I echo. No matter how many times Chloe looks at me like that, it always makes my heart do a little flip. “Now could you...”

“Alright, alright. I’m going,” she laughs, adding, “Just don’t get distracted and miss your dinner reservation.”

Mom!” I groan, and she laughs again.

The second she’s out of sight, I begin silently counting to eleven. That’s how long it takes for her to reach the kitchen and close the sliding door that separates it from the hall. I want that door to be closed, and I hear it do so the second I reach eleven.

Just like last time. And the time before that. I’ve pretty much got this down to a science.

“Well then, cutie,” Chloe murmurs, her lips curling into a salacious smile as she draws me closer. “You’ve got me all alone. What’re you going to do with me?”

I gaze into those crystalline blue eyes, but I don’t say anything. I can't say anything. Not yet.

“Max?” She gives my hips a playful squeeze. “Earth to Caulfield. You in there?”

I keep my silence, reaching up to gently brush my fingertips against her pale cheek. This moment of innocent affection never lasts long.

Her brow furrows, just slightly. “Hey, you okay?”

I want to nod and watch the worry lift from her face, but she’s too smart for that. I want to shake my head and tell her everything, but once she realizes what I’ve done, she’ll won’t let me get out more than a few words. All there is to do is savor the seconds before that happens, and I can already see the pieces coming together in her mind. It never takes her long; she was always so clever.

Sure enough, it's just a few seconds before she leans away from me. Her eyes dart to the camera on the table, then back.

“Max, did you...” And she’s there. “Oh god, you didn’t.”

I don’t bother admitting or denying it. There’s no point either way.

“It’s Valen-!” she stops, lowering her voice. “It’s Valentine’s Day, Max. That picture was supposed to be special. Please tell me you didn’t use it to break your promise.”

I don’t tell her that. I don’t tell her anything, but for Chloe my silence is as good as a confession.

“Motherf-” Chloe cuts herself off again, glancing toward the hallway. Then, in a furious whisper, she says, “You gave me your word, Max. You swore on the lives of everyone who died that you’d never, ever go back in time again.” She glares, waiting for me to offer up some reasoning or justification. “Well? Don’t you have anything to say for yourself?”

I don’t.

“Damn it,” she hisses. “Say something.”

I hate this part but, like everything else, it has to happen.

“Max?” There’s the tiniest hitch in her voice now. “Please say something.”

Very slowly, I shake my head. Angry, she throws her arms up, stalking away. She comes up short not far away, looks back at me, then opens her mouth to ask a question. Without waiting for her to speak, I point to the line she can’t see. The glowing border that marks the edge of this memory. It’s only a foot in front of her, but I knew she wasn’t going to cross it. She never does.

Startled, she skips back a couple of paces and turns to glare at me. She wants to feel angry with me - she wants to feel furious - but she doesn’t. She feels betrayed. I don’t know how obvious it would be to other people, but to me it’s written all over her expression. No matter how many times I experience this moment, it’ll always be the first time for her.

“I guess we’ve had this conversation before,” she says, flatly. It’s not a question. “How many times has it been, anyway?”

I’ve had to accept that there’s no way I can answer that question that doesn’t make things way worse. Instead I move toward her, one slow step at a time, eventually coming close enough to reach out and take her hand. She doesn’t pull away.

“Are...” she hesitates, looking at me searchingly. “Are you really not going to tell me why you’re here?”

She always lets me talk after this point, and I’ve tried to explain things to her so many ways. But no matter what I say, it always comes back to her one unshakeable belief; that her life isn’t worth the risk. We don’t agree on that. I doubt we ever will. This moment in time is Chloe at her most obstinate. That’s why I don’t try anymore.

I just stand with her, drinking in her presence, basking in the love we have for each other. I can actually feel it sometimes, like a thrumming energy inside me. A force that seems to draw us together. A physical pull I never noticed until it was gone, leaving me untethered and lost in a world I barely cared about anymore.

That’s what keeps me coming back here. A chance to feel that connection again, if only for a few minutes. Just being with her makes me feel stronger. More focused and grounded. Like I’m back where I belong.

I don’t care what someone else might think of that. I’m at peace with the idea that I might’ve gone nuts. Because I know my powers are real, so that makes her real, at least in this moment. And if losing my mind a little is the price of feeling the touch of her skin against mine, it’s a small price to pay.

“Max?”

I should say something. She doesn’t like it when the silence stretches too long. “Hey.”

Her entire body seems to shudder with relief. “Fuck me. I was starting to think you’d deleted your own brain or something.”

I lift my free hand to tap the side of my head. “Still here.”

She gently squeezes the hand holding hers and takes a second before saying, “You are from the future, right?”

I nod. “Mhm.”

Her features harden a little. “So you came back to change something?”

“No.”

That definitely isn’t the response she expected, and it leaves her off-balance enough for her to ask, “Then why...?”

I respond before she has a chance to stop me. “To see you.”

“To see...me?” she asks. I don’t respond, letting her draw her own conclusion. Like before, it doesn’t take long. “Because I’m dead.”

I nod, once. Trying to do anything more than that never goes well.

“But...you’re not here to try and save me?” I can’t help but flinch at the slight accusation in her tone, and she immediately takes hold of my other hand. “Shit, I’m sorry! That wasn’t...I didn’t mean that like it sounded!”

“It’s okay. I understand.” I rise up on my toes a little, pressing a kiss to her cheek, letting my lips briefly linger there before pulling back. “But no, I’m not here to try and save you.”

Technically, it’s true. I’m not here to save her. I’m pouring everything I’ve got into saving her somewhere else, but she doesn’t need to know that.

“Oh.” She seems to consider it. I don’t say anything, because there’s no right thing to say. I just try to offer a comforting presence while she works through her feelings. “Is it fucked up that I don’t think I’d be strong enough to do that? If I were in your place, I mean.”

“You would be,” I assure her, even though the idea makes me sick. “You’re the strongest person I’ve ever known.”

“Naw, I’m nothing special. Just blue hair, a bad attitude, and a killer bod,” she adds with a wink. “You’re this incredible, beautiful, passionate actual fucking superhero. It’s not even a contest.”

“Stop it, Chloe.” She always did that, deferring praise and brushing off complements. I know she thinks she’s just kidding around, but I still hate to hear her put herself down, even as a joke. “You’re so much more. You’re amazing.”

“Come on, Max,” she snorts. “Seriously, I’m a high school dropout with a shitty truck and a fuck-ton of abandonment iss-oh!

What? Am I supposed to listen to the love of my life say shit like that about herself and not kiss some sense into her?

“W-whoa...goddamn, Caulf-”

Shush, Chloe. Not done kissing you yet.

“...okay. Down, girl.” She pushes me back a bit, panting. “Your parents are in the next room, remember? I think we traumatized your mom enough the last time.”

What? What’s that supposed to...oh. The side zipper on her dress is undone. I guess I got a little carried away. Looking up, I smile sheepishly. “Sorry.”

I notice the mischievous spark in her eyes a half second before she grabs my waist and pulls me flush against her, ducking her head to nip lightly at a certain spot on my neck. The one just beneath my ear that practically makes me melt. I feel a rush of heat wash over me, pooling delightfully in my belly, and I can’t help the soft moan that escapes my lips. “O-ohh...”

Suddenly pulling away (because she’s evil), she gives me a wicked smile. “Sorry.”

You know, I don’t think she’s sorry at all.

“Would it help if I said that the Max you’re - possessing, I guess? - is definitely gonna get lucky tonight?”

No,” I growl.

“Yeah, I guess it wouldn’t,” she admits, smiling impishly, and it takes all the strength I have not to kiss her again. She has the same thought, I guess, because she lifts her hands off my waist and takes a deliberate step backward. “You...er...you should probably get going before we start getting frisky again. And don’t worry; I won’t tell my Max you were here. I’ll think of some way to cover for you.”

I sometimes wonder what would happen if I just left things this way and went back to my own time right now. Would it change anything? It’s tempting to go see, but not tempting enough to actually do it. I can’t imagine it changing anything worthwhile. Chloe still doesn’t know she has cancer, so it’s unlikely she’d get diagnosed any earlier. Not enough to make a difference, at least.

The most likely thing to be affected would be the email she sent me. It could be as simple as the wording, or she might not send it at all. Either way, that email is an important enough event that I’m not willing to risk fucking around with it. I have to change this moment back. There’s a certain way it has to go if it’s going to set me on the right path; working to get back to Arcadia Bay and the love of my life.

“Bye, Chloe,” I murmur. “I love you. So much.”

I flick my wrist before she can respond, rewinding this tiny, captured piece of my own life back to its beginning. I’ve had my moment; time to put things back as they’re supposed to be, even if it means dealing with that fucking flash again.

“That’s a keeper!” Mom says, as always, and I start to go through the motions. Just as I have every time, I spin in place and wrap my arms around Chloe before she can react. Bringing my lips to her ear, I whisper, “Photo rewind.”

She gasps, like she always does. Her posture turns rigid, like it always does. Then she lets out that delighted (but fake) laugh, and I let the whole scene play out. I know my lines perfectly, and I recite them like a pro.

This final run-through needs to go the same way every time. Who knows what effect deviating from the script might have? If I want to return to the world I came from, where I’m working to save her, then the timeline has to be preserved. I know all of this, I’ve done it dozens of times, and I always look away at the end. I tell myself it’s because I’m ‘maintaining the sequence of events’ but really it’s because I can’t bear to see her vanish.

I guess if I don’t watch it happen then a part of my brain is still able to pretend it never did.

That doesn’t mean I’m not tempted. There’s always that urge to call out to her at the last second. To say she means more to me than I could possibly describe. To tell her that I love her too much to ever let her go.

This time is different, though. This time I’m going to force myself to watch, because I almost gave up today and I guess I feel like I deserve a little punishment. Just a little after-dinner emotional masochism.

I treasure that last chance I have to tell her I love her, and I try not to cry when she speaks what will always be her last words.

“I love you, too, smartass,” she says, smiling warmly. “Now get out of here before I have to explain to my Max why I gagged her.” She’s almost at the barrier when she pauses, looking back. “Oh, and do me a favor? Check your email when you get back.”

This time, I refuse to look away. This time I return her smile as best as I can as she takes that last step...and then it happens. She stops, already partially wrapped in the burnt orange light, and glances back at me with an oddly piercing expression. A heartbeat later she’s gone, and I’m left wondering if I’m imagining things.

A quick gesture rewinds me back about five seconds.

“...email when you get back.”

She turns away, takes the step...and pauses, just like before. I rewind again; she does it again. And since this is the first time I made myself watch her go through the barrier, she may well have done that every single time. And to be honest, there isn’t much to it. Just a brief pause and a half-second glance, neither of which would be strange under the circumstances. The expression on her face is odd, though. There’s a quality to it, to her entire posture, that tickles at the back of my mind.

Rewinding again, I try to see the whole picture. I look for anything unusual, any motion that might catch the eye.

Turn, step, pause, glance, gone.

What am I not seeing?

Turn. Step. Pause. Glance. Gone.

I bet it’s right in front of me. Probably so obvious that my brain keeps dismissing it.

Okay. One more time. Pay attention.

Turn...Step...Pause...Glance...Gone...

...there! That’s it. It wasn’t her expression that stuck with me; it was her necklace.

Chloe’s three-bullet necklace was one of the handful of things that still connected her to Arcadia Bay, and she almost never left the house without it. Not even on that Valentine’s Day, when she’d somehow managed to make it work with her slinky satin dress. And in that brief second before she passes through the barrier, she reaches up to clutch those bullets with more meaning and conviction than Kate ever lent to her crucifix.

But why? Why did she look at me like that? What was it about her necklace that was so important in that moment? The questions rattle around in my head as the burnt orange light crashes in around me and gravity seems to wobble strangely for a second. Blinking, I shake my head as the present-day world reasserts itself.

I look around, but nothing seems especially different. I’m still in my room in the house Victoria and I share, sitting on my bed. My bag is still next to the door, ready for tomorrow’s unexpected trip to Arizona. My phone is still on my desk, right where I left it after calling my parents earlier. Most importantly, though, Chloe’s necklace is exactly where it’s supposed to be, right across the room and hanging from the corner of my mirror. I climb off the bed and, despite myself, approach it carefully, as if it might be booby-trapped or something. Of course, my reflection does the same thing, showing me exactly how stupid I look.

I’ve had this necklace nearby since Chloe died, but I don’t think I’ve ever taken a really close look at it. When I pull it down to inspect it more carefully, it doesn’t take long to discover that the back of each bullet unscrews to reveal a tiny hidden space.

Naturally, the first one I check contains a small, dried-out joint. She had an entirely legal prescription, but somehow still felt the need to have weed hidden on her person. Walking to the window, I lift it open and flick the joint out into the bushes. Happy smoking, little squirrels.

At first glance, I think the second one contains another joint, but a closer look reveals that it’s actually a small rolled-up slip of white paper, about half the length of a cigarette. The paper looks smoothly cut on one edge and raggedly torn on the other. Placing it on my desk, I move on to the third and final bullet to find another piece rolled up paper.

Unlike the last one, it’s bright yellow instead of white. A familiar yellow, actually. Sticky-note yellow. Curious, I carefully unroll it to reveal (shockingly) a folded sticky note, and I unfold that to find the words ‘I’m sorry’ written there. Sorry for what? I have no idea what that’s supposed to mean. I’m pretty sure that’s not even Chloe’s handwriting. It’s definitely old, though. The ink is a little faded and the creases are worn thin from repeated folding and unfolding. It's strange, though; the longer I look at it, the more it feels like it's stirring a memory.

Going to the paper from the second bullet, I notice the UW Medical Center logo on the side. Between that and the ragged edge, I’d bet that Chloe tore this off of a sheet of hospital stationary. Knowing her, it was probably part of her own patient chart. She was always driving her nurses and doctors insane with that, scribbling little notes and drawings all over her own official documents.

(Anytime anyone made a fuss about it, she’d laugh and say something like ‘get with the digital age’ or ‘papers are for rolling, yo’.)

Chuckling at the memory, I carefully begin to unroll it. I recognize Chloe’s distinctive scrawl a half-second before I read what’s written, and a full second before it rocks me to my core.

 

I don't know what you're planning, Max. But I trust you.

 

What?

What?!

Has this been here the whole time? Did I inadvertently do something in the past? Change some small thing just enough to change Chloe’s mind as well? Or was it just me? Have I changed so much that, even in the body of my past self, Chloe could recognize the difference? Enough, even, to realize that I wasn’t going to let her go? But, if that were the case...

I rush to my laptop and bring up Chloe’s email. It’s easy to find; I’ve got copies in my inbox, saved to the hard drive, and in cloud storage. I didn’t want to run the slightest risk of losing it. I read it carefully, then I read it carefully again. I memorized the words a long time ago, and I can say without a doubt that they’re no different now than they were before. But that doesn’t make any sense. Why would Chloe send me an email saying one thing and leave me a secret note saying basically the opposite?

Except it sort of does make sense. The answer was in that strange expression of hers in the past and in the paper the note is written on and right there in the first three words. It’s because she couldn’t be sure who she was writing to.

The email was for the Max who went through a photo barely a month after Chloe died. A girl filled with grief and uncertainty, who needed to be told she was loved and maybe even given permission to move on with her life. That Max would have kept Chloe’s necklace as a memento, put it in a box or a drawer, and eventually she’d have forgotten about it.

And if that had been the path I’d eventually chosen, Chloe didn’t want to stand in the way. She wanted me to be happy, even if it meant giving up on her.

But the note?

It was for the Max who couldn’t give up. The one who’d keep going, keep searching, keep trying until she found a way for us to be together again. The one who kept her eyes up, right to the bitter end. Chloe hoped, even then, that I would eventually find my way back to her. Then she hid a message in a place only her partner in time would ever think to look.

Ready to let me go, if I chose to move on. Ready to trust me, if I didn’t. Partners all the way.

God, I love her so much.

Letting the note fall from my fingers, I walk back to my bed to pick up the photo. I regard it thoughtfully for a long moment. Chloe is right there, in the past. But she’s in my future, too. And I can’t get to her if I keep hiding in old memories.

Before I can lose my nerve, I take a deep breath, then I rip the photo to shreds.

Going to the window, I cast the pieces out into the dark and slam it shut. No more living in the past, and no more holding myself back. I’ve got one goal now. One guiding point, waiting for me in Arcadia Bay in 2013.

I’m coming, Chloe. I swear it.

And there isn’t a goddamned thing on Earth that’s going to stop me.

 

 

-------------------

END PART IV

-------------------

 

Unspoken


 

 

August 1, 2015
U.S. Route 89
Arizona

“Wow! Check out all that desert, Max! There’s just so much desert!”

“Alright, you’ve made your point.”

“Look, look!” Sitting up, Victoria makes a show of pointing excitedly. “Even more desert!”

“Wow. Somehow that’s just as hilarious as the last four times you’ve said it.” I glance over with a sigh. “This was your suggestion, remember?”

“Yeah. That doesn’t mean I like playing a never-ending game of ‘is that a coyote or a bush’. How close are we, anyway?”

“About halfway.”

“Ugh!” Dramatically flopping back in her seat, she returns to watching the world go by, grumbling like it’s my fault she’s bored. I’m not the reason she forgot to bring headphones, I’m not the one who rented a car without an auxiliary plug-in, and I’ve got nothing to do with the lack of radio stations out here.

It’s been about half an hour since we’ve been able to pick up anything that wasn’t mostly devoted to explaining how ‘the gays’ are ruining America. Personally, I’m dubious. I feel like if there was some nationwide homosexual conspiracy, I’d probably have more than eight contacts saved on my phone.

I’m not complaining one bit, though. I haven’t done nearly as much traveling as Victoria has, and I sure wouldn’t have come out to Arizona on my own. Mostly since I wouldn’t have had the money to afford a flight. The only reason I’m here now is because Victoria bought the tickets without asking.

I hadn’t been sure how Mom and Dad would react to me unexpectedly leaving the state, particularly since I couldn’t tell them the real reason. I’ve spent enough time complaining about paying for tuition on Starbuck’s wages (which admittedly aren’t too bad) that I figured telling them I was taking a spontaneous trip to Arizona because ‘Victoria’s never seen the Grand Canyon’ (which is actually true but sounded painfully weak in my head) would result in them dropping a parental disappointment bomb the size of Texas on my head.

Instead they’d just said they hoped we had a nice time. Looking back, I don’t know why I was worried. The last time they showed anything close to actual disapproval was when I told them I was moving in with Victoria. And even then, all they did was ask whether I thought I might be rushing into the decision. It was a little weird. They’ve been acting weird for weeks, actually. Not creepy weird, but still weird.

We got into Flagstaff this morning, despite almost missing our flight. It turns out that even with the joint gone, Chloe’s necklace still smelled just enough like weed to catch the attention of one of the drug dogs. It took a half-hour of answering questions (while getting the stink-eye from various laminated-badge-wearing people) before they accepted the truth; it’d belonged to my partner, who’d usually been wearing it while smoking weed to counteract the effects of her fucking chemotherapy...though I said it more politely at the time.

It wasn’t a big deal, all things considered. The only time things almost got heated was when some TSA agent said we could get on the flight right that minute if I ‘just chucked that tacky thing in the trash’. I’m lucky Victoria was there, but not as lucky as the agent was.

The flight itself was about three hours, and I spent most of it asleep; last night’s discovery had left me emotionally drained. Then we’d rented a car at the airport and we’ve spent the last hour making our way north to the tiny community known as Away. Judging from David’s pictures, it isn’t much more than a dozen RVs and outbuildings clustered together in a remote piece of Arizona desert, but he’s somehow found peace there. I can imagine why, too.

It really is beautiful out here, despite Victoria’s stream of snarky comments.

I expect her to start up again at any moment, but nearly ten minutes pass by in silence before she starts tapping her fingernail on the door. I recognize the pattern, light at first but gradually getting louder; she’s working up to something. She does this from time to time, like some kind of anti-Chloe. Rather than blurt out an idea the moment it comes to her, she’ll ruminate on it instead, turning it over and over in her mind until she’s ready to share with the class.

It’s got to be the most obvious tell in the entire world. I wonder if she knows that she does it in perfect time? Seriously, it’s like listening to a tiny, irritating metronome. Waiting for her to unveil whatever she’s been working on sometimes feels like waking up five minutes before your alarm clock goes off. You just lay there, knowing for a fact that it’s about to go off, both hoping it will so the waiting can end, and hoping it won’t so you can stay peacefully in bed.

“Hey, Max?”

Finally. “Yeah?”

“I’ve been thinking about something.” She’s still watching the arid landscape go by. “Something you said the other day, about how you’ll get people in the past to believe you.”

“What about it?”

“I don’t think that proving you can time travel will be enough. You need to prove that they can trust what you’re saying. They need... I need to know I absolutely trusted you in the future.”

A few things go through my head at once; surprise that Victoria feels that way, guilt over feeling surprised, and a little apprehension over where she might be going with this. “How do I do that?”

She takes her time responding, and when she does I don’t think I’ve ever heard her sound so nervous. “You need to tell me something that you could only have heard from me. A secret that you couldn’t possibly have known otherwise.”

I take my eyes off the road for a second. She’s still staring out the window, back straight and hands clenched together in her lap. If it were anyone else, I’d say they looked scared. Whatever secret she’s considering sharing with me, does she think I’d turn around and use it against her? I realize it’s a stupid question the second it occurs to me, because of course she would.

Victoria’s been fighting tooth and nail for years. To climb to the top of Blackwell’s social hierarchy, to recover from the loss of everyone she cared about, to hold on to her family’s business, and even to keep from being painted as nothing more than another one of Jefferson’s victims. She’s had her armor up since she was fifteen years old and probably felt one step from the edge the whole time.

“You can,” I say, and she briefly glances over. “Trust me, I mean. If you have something you want me to say to you in the past, I promise I’d never tell it to anyone else. Not ever.”

“It’s not like I could stop you,” she snaps back.

“That’s not the point, Victoria. I wouldn’t tell anyone because I’d never do that to you.”

She turns to give me an apologetic look. “Sorry. I know you wouldn’t.”

“It’s okay.”

She doesn’t say anything for a while. She just looks at me with a contemplative expression; long enough that it actually starts to get a little weird. But just as I’m about to break the silence, she beats me to it.

“Taylor.”

That’s...not what I expected. “Taylor Christensen?”

“Yeah.”

I’m not sure why Victoria is bringing her up. Taylor had been her closest friend at Blackwell (and a lot longer than that, I’m pretty sure), and it’d been rare to see one of them without the other nearby. While I’d been at Blackwell, I’d pretty much written her off as just another bully. It wasn’t until rewinding let me slip past the walls she’d put up that I met the person underneath: a conflicted girl, far from perfect, scared for her hospitalized mother, and caught up in a web of high school politics that she didn’t like but couldn’t escape. Not unless she was willing to leave her best friend behind.

And although none of that can even remotely excuse the way she’d treated Kate, if she’d felt even half as guilty over what happened as Victoria still does, then she was probably a better person than I gave her credit for.

Chloe told me a little about what Taylor was like before I came back to Arcadia Bay. Some of the stories were things she’d seen herself, and some had been second-hand accounts that originally belonged to Rachel Amber, but both had seemed to paint the same picture. That although Victoria might’ve ruled the school, it was Taylor who kept her from being overthrown. She was the one who followed quietly in Victoria’s wake, doing her best to smooth things over and shield her from retribution.

It made sense. I’d always thought it was weird that Victoria never got slapped in the face for half the shit she pulled. I wonder if she knew how much Taylor did to protect her. I wonder who Taylor could’ve grown up to be if I hadn’t let the storm kill her.

“What about her?”

“That’s it. That’s my secret,” Victoria murmurs, looking away again. “She was my secret.”

“I don’t understand. Taylor wasn’t exactly...a...secret...” I trail off as a few things begin to fall into place. “Wait...really?”

She nods silently.

“You and Taylor?”

“No. Just me.”

“You’ve never talked ab-” I cut myself off before I can finish my idiotic observation. Of course she wouldn’t have. “So last night, when you said I wasn’t the only person to lose someone they loved...”

“Yeah.” She gives me a quick, side-eyed glance. “Surprised?”

“A little,” I confess. I never got that impression from her. But considering I’d been sleeping with my own girlfriend for almost a month before fully acknowledging that I was into girls, I’m probably not the best judge.

“Well, it’s not like I go around waving a pride flag.” There’s a brittle edge to her voice, and it sort of reminds me of the night I came out to Mom and Dad. It didn’t matter that I logically knew I had no real reason to worry. It’d still been one of the most terrifying moments of my life. And if this is her big secret...

Glancing in the rearview mirror, I pull over to the side of the road and shut off the engine. Taking a second to make sure the hazard lights are on (because my parents raised a responsible driver), I turn to look at her. “You never told anyone this before? At all?”

“Just Aunt Jessica, but that wasn't until after the storm.”

"Not even your parents?"

She shakes her head. “I figured it out and then spent almost a year convinced that if I told anyone it'd get back to Taylor and I'd lose her.” She shrugs. “Then I just lost her anyway, along with everyone else.”

“Oh, Victoria. I’m so sorry.”

“Yeah. Me, too.” She picks at a loose thread on her jeans. “It’s why I don’t like being called Vicky. It reminds me of her.”

I don’t know whether it’s appropriate to ask, but I have the strangest feeling that she really, really wants to talk about this. And who could blame her; it’s probably been eating at her for years. “You want to talk about it?”

“Please. Like you want to hear the whole sob story.”

“I do, actually.”

She gives me a brief, dubious look, then shrugs.

“It was at Christmas, the year before everything happened. My parents had to go away for some business stuff.” I guess I fail to hide my feelings on that, because she hurries to add, “They felt really bad about it and they even offered to stay, but I knew it was important. I thought I’d be fine on my own, so I told them to go.”

“Still...”

“That’s life.” She shrugs. “But as soon as Taylor found out, she decided she was going to come over and keep me company for the holidays.”

“That was pretty nice of her.”

“You’ve got no idea. See, Taylor’s whole family always had these big get-togethers over the holidays, and it was the only time her parents would voluntarily be in the same room.” She snorts. “The two of them fucking hated each other.”

“Really? Taylor’s mom sounded like she was really sweet.”

“No, she was. Her dad’s great, too. The way I heard it, they just shouldn’t have gotten married and took too long realizing that for things to end well. Tay was too little to remember, but she loved them both and they both loved her. So much that every year they’d agree to pack away their bullshit and play nice, for her sake.” Her lips turn up in a small, wistful smile. “She’d been looking forward to it for weeks, but she still dropped everything the second she heard I was going to be alone over Christmas. It was like she didn’t even have to think about it.”

“Wow.”

“Right? We spent the whole week together and it was so great.” She hesitates, glancing at me again. “Then on Christmas Eve we bumped into each other under a piece of mistletoe. She laughed, kissed me on the cheek and said, ‘Merry Christmas, Vicky’. That was such a crazy moment. I was just going to the kitchen to make some popcorn, then suddenly she’s right there and my brain is all ‘Surprise! You’re gay!’ and then my heart is all ‘by the way, Taylor is super hot and super awesome and you’re super-duper in love with her so have fun with that’!” She snorts. “Stupid heart.”

“Yeah, I know a bit about that.”

“But at least you had the guts to do something about it. I just hid like a coward because I thought my straight friend would hate me if she ever found out I loved her.”

“I’m sorry.” It feels like a stupid thing to say, but it’s all I can think of.

“Yeah.” Victoria cringes, like she just remembered something especially humiliating. “You want to know the really fucked up part?”

“Uh, okay?”

“I was so scared of giving myself away and losing her that I overcompensated like crazy. I started going on about boys I liked and even dated a few. I mean, briefly. They always took off after they realized they weren’t actually gonna get any. That’s why I started being all flirty with, y’know, him.”

She doesn’t have to say who he is; the venom she pours into the word makes it clear enough.

“I figured no one would suspect anything if it looked like I was all about the hot teacher all the other girls were into, and I’d never have to do anything with him. So fucking stupid.” Victoria goes silent, though her clenched fists do plenty of talking on their own.

“Oh.” I hesitate. “You don’t have to keep going if you don-”

“I was never going to sleep with him,” she interrupts. “But I...I wanted to win that stupid contest and I thought that it’d help my chances if I could get him to think I would, so I...” She squeezes her eyes shut and takes a shuddering breath. “It was right after Kate and I was still so messed up over what I’d done to her, and I...”

I don’t say anything, remembering the night Chloe and I spent sneaking around the Blackwell campus. We’d heard Victoria talking to Jefferson. Heard her flirting with him.

“He totally shot me down, thank fucking god. I’ve honestly got no idea what I would have done if he hadn’t. But then I freaked and threatened to tell people he’d offered to pick my photo if I’d...you know.” She shakes her head. “So stupid. I felt like such a piece of trash after that.”

I remember that, too. At the time I’d thought she was an evil, manipulative bitch. I’d never have guessed she’d thought so little of herself, too.

“It makes me sick that he wasn’t even being a good teacher or a responsible adult. He just wanted me to stay innocent so he could get his goddamn rocks off later. Fucking pig!” She slams her fist on the dash. “It took a long time for me to talk about that moment. Even to my therapist. It always made me feel...y’know.”

I nod. “Yeah.”

“Yeah,” Victoria echoes. After a few more minutes of silence, she suddenly asks, “So...uh...what about you?”

“What about me?”

“How did you figure out you were into Chloe?”

It’s the most desperate bid to change the subject I’ve ever heard, and her eyes are practically begging me to go along with it. Considering what we’ve been talking about, I’m happy to oblige. I’d want to talk about something else, too, if I were her.

“Let’s just say I wish I had a moment as Hallmark cute as yours. Mine was way dumber.”

“Yeah?”

“Big time. Chloe and I were in my room when I suddenly thought ‘You know, we’ve been sleeping together for almost a month. I’m pretty sure that means I’m gay, but maybe I should ask her’.”

“Bullshit,” Victoria slaps her palm on the dashboard again. “I am absolutely calling bullshit on that.”

“It’s true, I swear.”

“No one is that stupid.”

I shrug. “At least one person is.”

“I swear to god,” she shakes her head. “People like us are why terms like ‘lesbian disaster’ exist.”

“No argument here,” I mutter. “Feel better?”

“Yeah, I actually do.” She gives me a weird side-eyed look. “But just because we had a moment just now, don’t go getting any ideas.”

“About what?”

“About you and me. Because that’s definitely not happening.”

“I...excuse me?”

“You heard me.”

“Are you messing with me right now?” I give her the most withering glare I can pull off. “I’m planning to rewrite time to save the love of my life, and you’re concerned that I might try to hook up with you?”

“Jesus Christ, could you maybe sound a little less repulsed by the idea?”

“You just said...”

Her serious expression falls away. “Just because the answer is no, doesn’t mean it’s not flattering to be asked.”

“Wow.” Ignoring the infuriatingly shit-eating grin on her face, I start the car and pull back onto the road. “You are just something else, you know that?”

“And don’t you forget it,” she responds haughtily. “Seriously, though, thanks. For listening, I mean. You’re a good friend.”

“You’re a good friend, too.” I roll my eyes. “I guess.”

Platonic friend, though.”

The incredibly undignified snort of laughter I let out is entirely her fault. “Oh my god, you suck.”

“Like you’ll ever know,” she fires back, smirking. “How about you back off, you thirsty bitch?”

“How about you bite me?”

“For fuck's sake, Caulfield. No means no.”

Away

Chapter Notes

August 1, 2015
Away, Arizona

The last leg of our trip, a winding dirt road that branches off the highway and snakes its way through desert, takes us longer than we anticipate. It’s mid-afternoon by the time we roll into the unincorporated (and largely unknown) desert hamlet of Away. It’s not much to look at. Just a handful of dusty buildings and a few campers. Passing between one of the motorhomes and a small cluster of half-scrapped cars, I park our rental next to a row of homemade wooden planters.

“Well,” Victoria murmurs, “This place is certainly...”

“Unique?”

“I was going to say post-apocalyptic, but sure. We’ll go with unique.”

“Maybe don’t share that impression with the locals.” I get out of the car and the late afternoon sun hits me the second I do. It’s like a heated weight on my shoulders and I can already feel myself starting to sweat. We’ve had the AC running at full since we left Flagstaff and I’d forgotten how oppressively hot it was outside. Pulling a hair tie from my pocket, I put my hair up in a messy bun. The light breeze over the back of my neck feels absolutely wonderful.

“Speaking of locals, where is everyone?”

“Inside, if they’re smart. It’s about a million degrees out here.”

“No kidding.” Victoria lifts a hand to shield her eyes from the desert sun. “Which one is Madsen’s?”

“Pretty sure it’s that one.” I point to a nearby Airstream trailer. “C’mon.”

The gleam off the trailer’s silver exterior is almost as bad as the sun itself, but not enough to keep me from noticing the wood sheet leaning against the trailer’s side. Staring at the childish drawings on its surface in disbelief, I slowly walk over and kneel down to get a closer look.

Chloe and I did this when we were kids; a drawing of the two of us walking hand-in-hand on a beach, surrounded by things we wanted to see when we grew up. Dolphins and palm trees and giraffes and pyramids and a dozen other things. I can’t help but smile at the sloppy artwork, even if it makes my heart ache a little to look at it.

I haven’t seen it since Arcadia Bay, after Chloe and I dragged it up to her bedroom to use as an impromptu bulletin board, and I haven’t thought about it in nearly as long. I’d just assumed it was lost, along with everything else.

Victoria sidles up beside me, smirking. “Not exactly an artistic masterpiece, is it?”

“Sure isn’t,” I laugh. Reaching out, I trace my fingers along the rainbow that fills its sky. “I drew this with Chloe when we were about eleven years old. I never thought I’d see it again.”

“Max?” Surprised, I spin around to find David Madsen standing just a few feet away. He must’ve just come around the corner because he looks just as surprised to see us.

It still blows me away how much he’s changed. Back when I first met him (while taking the blame for some weed that definitely wasn’t mine) he’d only been out of the army for about four years and had still been ridiculously strait-laced. Except for the light stubble on his face, he could have stepped right back into uniform and no one would have noticed the difference. His aggressiveness and short temper hadn’t made him especially likeable, either.

These days, he’s a completely different person. His trimmed moustache and close-cropped hair have grown into a full beard and an honest-to-god ponytail, and he’s become more laid-back than I would have believed was possible.

“Hey, David.” I stand, brushing some dust off my knees, and point to Victoria. “You remember Victoria Chase, right?”

“Yeah, of course. Nice to see you again, Miss Chase.”

She nods, looking a little conflicted. Seeing him again is probably bringing back some tough memories. “You too.”

“So...you’re probably wondering what we’re doing here.”

Classic David probably would’ve growled at me for ‘being flippant’ or something. New & Improved David just smirks. “The question did cross my mind.”

I hesitate and briefly look to Victoria, who gives me one of her very rare encouraging smiles. “There’s something we need to ask you.”

“That’s all?” He glances between us, surprised. “Not that I’m not glad to see you, but you could have just called.”

I could have called anytime, for any reason, but if he’s not going to bring that up then neither am I. “Trust me, this isn’t a conversation you have over the phone. It’s kind of a whole big thing.”

“Hm. Guess you might as well come in, then.” He leads us around to the trailer’s door. “There isn’t a whole lot of room inside, but the air conditioning works, so it beats the hell out of standing in the sun.”

“Yes please,” Victoria groans, practically diving into the cooler air. Chuckling, David waves me in before following and shutting the door. Although the interior isn’t drastically cooler than it is outside, it’s still a relief.

“Have a seat wherever. Either of you want something to drink?”

“Just some water,” I say. Victoria just shakes her head.

“Well, then.” Settling onto a folding stool next to a cluttered workbench, he pulls a bottle of water from a minifridge and tosses it to me. “What’s this ‘whole big thing’ that brought you out to my particular middle of nowhere?”

I take a deep breath, happy that I actually practiced. “Okay, so the story I’m about to tell you is going sound crazy, but I promise I can prove to you that it’s not.”

“Interesting start,” he comments.

“Trust me, we aren’t even close to the interesting stuff yet,” Victoria counters, smirking a little.

“I can tell you right now that there are going to be some parts you don’t like,” I continue. “Probably even some parts that make you angry. That’s why I need you to swear that you’ll listen to the whole thing before you react.”

He lifts an eyebrow, but nods.

“Okay.” I take another breath. “It all started back during Arcadia Bay’s last week. I was sitting in Mark Jefferson’s class when...”

 


 

An hour later, after receiving a somewhat abridged version of the story, David leans back against his workbench and regards us silently. When he finally speaks, the first question he asks is exactly what we expected it to be. “So, your powers are what caused that storm?”

“We don’t know,” Victoria says. “It could’ve just as easily been the other way around, or they might not be related at all. We do know that nothing else like it has happened in almost two years.”

“Hm.” He watches us quietly for a moment. “Well, you weren’t wrong. That all sounds...”

“Crazy?” I venture.

“I was going to say far-fetched, but if the straitjacket fits.” he shrugs, chuckling. “I can’t wait to see how you expect to prove it.”

“That part’s easy.” Pulling a pen and a gas station receipt out of my pocket, I hand both to him. “Write whatever you want on there. Don’t tell me what.”

“Magic tricks? Really?”

“Just write something. And make it complex. Something we couldn’t just reproduce.” Standing up, I open the door and step back outside. Gesturing for Victoria to do the same, we move about ten feet away as David looks on with bemusement.

Shaking his head, he writes several sentences. He even adds a few small doodles around the edges. “There. Now what?”

“Crumple it up in a ball and hold it in your fist as tightly as you can.” Everyone always wants to see proof, so I spent the trip here coming up with something simple, but hopefully irrefutable. David has gotten a lot better in the last couple of years, but he’s still not entirely the open and trusting type. “You can feel it in your hand?”

“Yes, Max, I can feel it in my hand.”

“Okay. I want you to count backwards from three.”

“Alright,” he mutters dubiously. “Three, two, one. Now what?”

I scuff the ground with my heel, then walk back to the door. “Now you hand it over.”

“Aren’t you supposed to tell me what I wrote or something?”

“I’ve got no idea what you wrote.” I make a ‘gimme’ motion, adding, “Don’t unfold it.”

“Is this supposed to prove something to me?”

“Nope. Luckily, I don’t need to convince you right now.” I take the crumpled receipt from him, squeezing it in my left fist. “I need to convince you about thirty seconds ago.”

“I...what?”

 Returning to the spot I marked, I raise my right hand and flick the world back by half a minute.

“...two, one. Now what?”

“Can you still feel it?”

“Of course I ca...” He blinks, opening his hand. “What the hell?”

“Looking for this?”

He stares at the paper ball I’m holding up. “How’d you do that?”

Victoria beats me to it. “She got it from you after you counted, then went back in time to before you gave it back to her.” She turns to me. “Right?”

I nod, tossing the paper to David and stepping back into the trailer. He flattens it out on his workbench, eyes widening when he confirms that it’s the same one he’d been holding.

“She can do that all day,” Victoria continues. “If this time wasn’t enough.”

“No, just...just give me a second.”

“Take your time.”

He spends almost five minutes searching the small paper for some imperfection or sign that it’s a fake. Finally, he crumples it in his fist again and gives me a considering look. “I always wondered how you and Chloe figured Jefferson out so quickly. I’d been digging for months, and you managed to find that rat bastard’s little hole in a few days. Relatively speaking, I guess.”

“We couldn’t have done it without the evidence you’d already gathered.”

“Hm.” He tosses the ball of paper into a waste basket across the trailer. It’s a pretty impressive shot, actually. “So I guess the real question is...”

“Why did we come all the way out here to tell you?” He gives me the same suspicious look Victoria once did. “I didn’t rewind if that’s what you’re wondering. I just assumed that’d be your next question.”

“Rewind?”

“Don’t get me started,” Victoria mutters.

“We’re here,” I loudly interrupt, “because we need your help.”

“What could you possibly need my help with? Apparently, you’re the one with superpowers.”

“Yeah, I am. And I’m going to use them to fix everything. I’m going to go back to Arcadia Bay, right before the storm, and I’m going to save every single person I can.”

I’ve definitely got his attention now. “You can do that?”

“Maybe,” I admit. “It’s something we’ve been working on. The idea is to break the trip into eight three-month sections. I’m already up to six weeks – probably more if I don’t mind a rough landing – and we’ve come up with some ideas on extending that even further.”

“Unfortunately,” Victoria jumps in. “A plan to get her there is about all we’ve got. What to do after she arrives? Not so much.”

“So that’s the first thing we’re here for,” I pick up. “We need you to help us put together an actual plan. It needs to be thorough and foolproof and you’re one of the most security-conscious people I’ve ever met.”

“That’s a real polite way of saying ‘paranoid’, Max.”

I cringe. “Sorry.”

“It’s fine.” He shrugs. “I mean, you’re not exactly wrong. What’s the other thing?”

“The other thing we need from you...” I glance at Victoria again. “...is a secret.”

“Kind of hard for me to give you something if you won’t tell me what it is.”

“No, I mean a literal secret. Something personal and private that you’ve never, ever told anyone in your life.”

“I beg your pardon?”

“I need to have something I can say to you back in 2013 that’ll absolutely prove that you trusted me in the future.”

“I think you and I may have different understandings of what ‘personal and private’ means.”

“I know how it sounds, bu-”

“I’m gay,” Victoria cuts in. “I was in love with...uh...with someone who died in the storm, but I never told them. Before today, my Aunt Jess and I were the only people on earth who knew either of those things. I told Max two hours ago, so that two years in the past she can say something to a younger me that she couldn’t possibly know otherwise. That’s how she’ll know Max is for real.”

“Like a pass phrase,” he murmurs, nodding to himself. “Suppose it’s as good a method as any.”

“I know it’s asking a lot,” I say. “And I wouldn’t if it wasn’t important.”

“Hm.” He sits quietly, thinking. “I’ll be honest with you, I’m having trouble wrapping my head around this. Time travel? Re-writing the past. That’s...hell, I don’t even know what that is.”

“You get used to it,” Victoria wobbles her hand. “Sorta.”

“Look, even if it’s possible – which, cute tricks aside, I’m not saying I believe it is - it’s not the kind of plan you throw together in a day. The research alone would take weeks.”

“Which is why we’re asking for help,” Victoria points out. “We’re pretty out of our depth.”

Leaning back against his bench, he regards us quietly for a long moment. “I’m going to need some time to think about this.”

“Take as much as you need,” I say, adding, “The great thing about time travel is that we’ve got plenty to spare.”

“I suppose that’s true.” He points to the small charcoal grill just outside. “I don’t suppose you two are hungry?”

I glance at Victoria, who shrugs. “I haven’t eaten since the airport.”

I haven’t either, and my stomach picks that moment to remind me of it with an audible growl.

“I’ll take that as a yes,” David chuckles. “It won’t take long to get the grill ready. In the meantime, what else have you been up to? Seems you’ve got about five months to catch me up on.”

“More like a year,” I say, before I can stop myself. “I mean...uh...”

“Lemme guess. Time travel thing?”

“Heh...” I shrug helplessly.

“Well, I guess you can catch me up on the year, then. You want one burger or two?”

“One’s fine.”

“Two for me,” Victoria says, adding, “What? I’m hungry.”

 


 

The afternoon passes quickly into early evening, and as the air gets a little cooler, some of the other residents of Away emerge from their homes.

One of them is a woman David introduces as Joan. She’s sweet, and apparently a pretty successful artist. She’s also obviously undergoing chemotherapy. Even if I couldn’t recognize the signs at a glance, the sallow complexion, slightly sunken eyes, and distinct lack of eyebrows would all be dead giveaways. Another woman, Karen, stops by later to ask David about a broken TV. She’s polite, but kind of standoffish. It’s tough to get a feel for what’s going on behind her guarded expression, and I’m actually kind of relieved when she leaves.

For the most part, we just talk. Well, I talk and David listens. I tell him about the days, weeks, and months that have passed for me since Chloe’s funeral. About the failed photo jumps and the email and my brief flirtation with exhaustion-induced insanity. (He sympathized with how shitty insomnia is and was happy to hear it had mostly passed). About going to Victoria for help, and the (sometime reckless) things we’d done to extend my rewind range.

I briefly considered mentioning Chloe’s hidden note, too, but chose not to. There wasn’t any way to explain it without having to explain why I’ve been going back to the past, and I don’t feel like sharing. Those moments belong to Chloe and I.

Finally, as the sun dips lower, Victoria nudges my shoulder and points to the car. “We should really get going. I don’t feel too comfortable about driving out here at night.”

“You’re right about that,” David agrees. “You can probably get a motel room in Tuba City, head to Flagstaff first thing.”

“Actually, we’re going to go visit the Grand Canyon tomorrow,” I add, grinning at Victoria’s slightly indignant expression. She’d been a little hesitant to admit she’d never seen the Grand Canyon in person and had actually let out an excited little squeak when I suggested we take the time to go. “She’s never been.”

“You’ll like it,” he grins. Almost two years and seeing an honest grin on David Madsen’s face is still a little surprising. “It’s probably one of the few things in life that actually lives up to the hype.”

“So I hear,” Victoria grumbles.

“Well, even if it was a short visit, it was still good to see you both. And I really will think about everything.” He pauses. “Actually, I do have one piece of advice for you right now, if you’re interested.”

I nod. “Yeah, of course.”

“If we’re going to be emailing back and forth about this, we should make it sound like we’re working on something fictional. Like a book or a screenplay or something. As in, if you think an idea wouldn’t work, you’d say something like ‘no one would ever believe that’ or ‘that’s just sloppy writing’.”

“That seems a little excessive,” Victoria scoffs. “I mean, it’s not like the government has us under observation or anything.”

“As far as you know,” David counters, smirking.

“Seriously?”

“Hey, you asked for paranoid.” He shrugs. “Anyway, you’d better hit the road; the sun goes down fast out here.”

Stepping forward, I surprise him with a brief hug. “Take care of yourself, David.”

“Er...thanks. You, too. And...uh...” When I step back, he looks like he’s trying to decide whether or not to continue. “Look, that secret you’re after? It can be anything, right? So long as I’m the only person who knows it?”

I give him a nod. “Yeah, pretty much.”

“Fine. Chester Munroe thought you’d have his back.” The words come out stiffly, like they’re fighting to not be spoken. “If whatever this is actually happens and you want me to listen, say the words ‘Chester Munroe thought you’d have his back’.”

“Who’s Chester Munroe?”

“Doesn’t matter. If that isn’t enough to convince me, nothing is.” He shakes his head. “And to be honest, it probably won’t be enough. I wasn’t one to change my opinions back then.”

“I think you’re being too hard on yourself.”

“I don’t,” he says shortly. “Get going. I’ll email you once I’ve thought this over.”

Chapter End Notes

Since Away, AZ doesn’t actually exist (obviously), finding a spot to put it that matched the place we see in Life Is Strange 2 proved to be a little tricky. The steep walled canyons we’re shown aren’t very common in southern Arizona, so I figured it had to be up north. It had to be a fair distance from civilization (close enough for supplies, but far enough that no one bothers them), a few hours walk from the canyon itself, and legally couldn’t be inside a US National Park.

The most reasonable location I could find is at [36°05'28.4"N // 111°30'39.2"W]. It’s a fairly isolated spot just east of Grand Canyon National Park, on the western side of the 71,000 sq/km Navajo Nation, about a 2-hour drive north of Flagstaff, and roughly an 8-hour drive from the US/Mexico border.

Why did I bother working this out? Because I’m a pedantic nerd who puts too much thought into details no one cares about.

The Creative Process - Pt. I

Chapter Notes

Time to speed things up.

From: [email protected]
To: [email protected]
Subj: Book Idea

Max

I hope your trip to the Grand Canyon was everything Ms. Chase hoped it would be. It was great to see you again. I didn’t realize it had been so long. I guess time has a way of getting away from me out here. It’s good to know that you’re doing better. I know things were hard for a while.

I put some real thought into that book idea of yours. But while I can admit I was pretty conflicted about a story based on what happened to Arcadia Bay, I think it’s worth pursuing. I’m happy to help however I can. Write up a rough outline of how you want the story to go and send it to me when you get a chance. I’ll go over it and let you know what I think.

That said, I should probably point out that my time in the Army was spent in the infantry. Our role is to take and hold ground. Doing so successfully means operating as part of a large force. As such, much of my training wouldn’t be relevant to your character’s situation. She would be operating on her own. From a purely military perspective, the kind of tactics that would apply there would fall more into the realm of insurgent warfare.

Don’t be discouraged by that. A small group of prepared and motivated individuals can accomplish a lot. This is especially true when any opposing forces present don’t know to expect them. History is full of examples. I can recommend a few books on the subject that you might find helpful.

Let me know if you have any other questions. I’ll certainly try to answer them as best I can.

David Madsen

 


 

“I feel ridiculous. I feel ridiculous that I spent the weekend writing a plot outline for a fake novel, and I feel ridiculous writing you a fake email about it when you’re sitting right next to me.”

“Such is the artist’s struggle. Now get back to work.”

“You’re not my fake boss, Victoria.”

“No, I’m your fake editor. And you have fake deadlines to meet.”

“What was that? I should send you a singing clown telegram while you’re at work?”

“Don’t start a war you can’t win, Caulfield.”

 


 

From: [email protected]
To: [email protected]
Cc: [email protected]
Subj: Feedback

Hey Max,

So I went over the outline again. I would have gotten back to you sooner, but I wanted to take some time to think about it. You asked me to be honest, and that’s what I’m going to do.

First off, although I wasn’t sure how I’d feel about the premise, I was surprised to find that I really liked the way you’ve approached it. You’re not the only one to fantasize about being able to go back and save Arcadia Bay but giving the main character time powers instead of a time machine is an interesting twist.

That said, you’ll need to make some big changes if you’re going to get a publisher interested, because everything else is an unholy disaster. Seriously, I want to print it out so I can run it through a shredder and dump holy water on the pieces.

TTFN,
Victoria

 


 

“Was the holy water comment really necessary?”

“Maybe if you’d actually put in some effort, it wouldn’t have been.”

“It was a fake outline for a fake book! It’s not like I’m ever going to get it published!”

“See, it’s that attitude that’s hampering your creativity.”

“You know what? I’m taking your name out of the fake dedication.”

“Now that’s just unprofessional.”

 


 

From: [email protected]
To: [email protected]
Subj: Threat assessment

Max

Relative to the level of direct opposition she may encounter, you may want to consider whether or not your main character is capable of operating under the threat of an active engagement.

Worth thinking about.

David Madsen

 


 

“I can’t believe I’ve never seen this before. Me and Chloe loved Buffy. How did I not know that the guy who did that made other shows?”

“And here I thought everyone had heard of Firefly. I take it you approve?”

“Totally. It’s so good! How many seasons did they make?”

“Um...”

 


 

From: [email protected]
To: [email protected]
Subj: Re: Threat assessment

Hi David,

...what?

,Max

 


 

Victoria: Do you have plans Saturday night? The gallery is holding an event for our new artist’s showcase.

Max: Anyone good?

Victoria: Not really. Some pretentious bitch from Everett who takes pictures of old boats. But there’s gonna be free food and an open bar. Are you in or not?

Max: That does sound fun, but I’m meeting a friend for dinner.

Victoria: You have other friends?

Max: Very funny. Yes, I have other friends. Her name is Kristen. I’ve known her since eighth grade.

Victoria: Bring her along.

Max: Oh, no. Very bad idea.

Victoria: But no one will know her. Get her to dress all bohemian, then we’ll all get buzzed on expensive wine and introduce her to people as ‘the decade’s next visionary’ or something.

Victoria: All she has to do is call boat-bitch’s work ‘part of the old paradigm’, then be passive-aggressive to art scene bottom feeders when they try to agree with her.

Victoria: It’ll be hilarious.

Max: I’m serious. There is no way I’m introducing Kristen to you.

Victoria: Well, shit. I didn’t realize I was some shameful secret.

Max: That’s not what I mean. Meeting Kris would probably be super awkward for you. She saw a video of you testifying against Jefferson last year and she’s had this weirdly intense hero-worship thing going on ever since.

Victoria: Well, at least she has good taste.

 


 

From:  [email protected]
To: [email protected]
Subj: Re: Threat assessment

Max

How likely is it that she’ll end up in a fight, and can she handle it if she does?

As an aside, while I appreciate your efforts to include an army veteran, the character you’re describing seems like he’s still struggling to adapt to civilian life. I’ve known a lot of veterans like that. Calling them inflexible would be a massive understatement.

I’d strongly recommend rethinking whether you want to introduce that character into the story.

David Madsen

 


 

From: [email protected]
To: [email protected]
Subj: Re: Threat assessment

Hi David,

Why didn’t you say that the first time?

As she’s written now, she’d probably get her ass kicked. I’ll try to work on that.

Regarding the veteran, I hear what you’re saying, but I really feel like that character has the potential for development.

,Max

 


 

“Hey, welcome to Golden Gloves. I’m Chris.”

“Max. Nice to meet you.”

“Nice to meet you, too, Max. What can I help you with?”

“Do you guys have beginner’s classes?”

“We sure do! We actually have a bunch of great cardio, aerobic, and boxing-integrated HIIT classes, including a women-only class every Tuesday and Th-”

“This is a boxing gym, right?”

“That’s right.”

“As in, where you hit people with your fists?”

“Heh...yeah, basically.”

“Okay. I’m going to be straight with you. When I was in high school, I was abducted by a man who tied me up in his basement so he could take creepy pictures of me. I was down there for almost twelve hours before the cops came.”

“Uh...”

“And if someone ever tries to do something like that to me again, I want to make them regret the day they were born.”

“...”

“Do you think you can help me with that, Chris?”

“...damn. Okay, first we’re gonna want to set you up with a good pair of wrist wraps...”

 


 

From:  [email protected]
To: [email protected]
Subj: Re: Threat assessment

Max

Fighting is extremely physically taxing. Even between trained individuals, most fights last well under a minute. With that in mind, remember to be realistic about what we can expect from the character. She’d probably be much better off avoiding danger than courting it.

I disagree on the veteran, as written. I think publishers will as well.

David Madsen

 


 

Kristen: We still on for tonight?

Max: Yup. 

Kristen: Yay! It feels like I haven’t seen you in forever!

Max: Sorry. I guess I have been busy lately.

Kristen: Obvs. What’s the deal? You join a cult or something?

Max: Oh, I didn’t realize that was a serious question. No, I did not join a cult.

Kristen: Not even one of those not-a-cult cults like Amway?

Max: Not even one of those. I’ve mostly been spending time with an old friend.

Kristen: You have other friends?

Max: Why do people keep asking me that? Yes I do, you smartass. 

Kristen: Like an actual friend? Not just some side floozy?

Kristen: Not that I’m judging! We all need a little somethin’ sometimes!

Max: lol holy fuck Victoria is NOT my side floozy!

Kristen: Victoria?

Kristen: Who’s Victoria?

Kristen: That wouldn’t by some chance be Victoria Chase, would it?

Kristen: Max?

Kristen: Answer me, Max.

Max: Maybe?

Kristen: You said you didn’t have her number!

Max: That was over a year ago! We only reconnected a couple of months ago.

Kristen: Months?! MONTHS?!

Kristen: Why didn’t you tell me?!?!

Max: This! This is exactly why! Because I knew you’d go all crazy fangirl!

Kristen: You need to give me her number!

Max: I definitely don’t.

Kristen: I’m gonna get that number, Max. :)

Max: This is where restraining orders start!

 


 

“It’s simple, Max. Just say ‘never have I ever’, then a thing you’ve never done. If I have done it, I take a drink.”

“Why?”

“Because it’s the world’s most passive aggressive way to learn embarrassing things about your friends. Here, I’ll go first. Never have I ever...oh, I don’t know...driven a car through a garage door.”

“...”

“Your mom tells the best stories. Drink up.”

 


 

“Hey, it’s Captain Max. Been a while.”

“Hi, Jakob. How’ve you been?”

“Oh, you know. Keepin’ on keepin’ on. And, uh...I was real sorry when I heard about Chloe. You doing okay?”

“I’m...working on it.”

“Fair. So, it’s been, what, a year since you got your ink? You looking to book a touch-up?”

“Actually, I want to add to it.”

“Got the bug, eh? Right on. Your mom do up another killer design for you?”

“I was hoping you could help me with this one. You remember Chloe’s tattoo, right? The full sleeve one?”

“With the ribbon and roses? Totally.”

“Good. That’s the theme I want. Think you can work with that?”

“Hell yeah I can. When did you want t-”

“As soon as possible, please.”

“Hmm. Alright, I’ll throw some ideas together. Gimme a week?”

“No problem. Thanks, Jakob.”

“Anytime, El Capitan.”

 


 

Max: I might have accidentally let it slip to Kristen that we’ve been hanging out.

Max: Not that we’re roommates, though. Thank god.

Victoria: So?

Max: So now she won’t stop bugging me for your phone number!

Victoria: Then give it to her.

Victoria: Actually, hold on. Send me her number instead.

Max: Why? What are you going to do?

Victoria: There’s only one way to find out, isn’t there?

Max: ...

Max: <contact.inf/Kristen>

Max: I’m such a terrible friend.

 


 

“Seriously, why can’t I just warn people about the storm?”

“How would you do that, exactly? You planning on going door-to-door, telling everyone the sky is falling?”

“Of course not.”

“Because all that’s going to do is get a lot of doors slammed in your face.”

“You come up with something, then!”

“Look, I’m not saying it’s a bad idea. I just don’t know how you’d manage it on your own.”

“Call the cops and make a bomb threat?”

“For the whole town? I think even Arcadia Bay PD would call shenanigans on that one.”

 


 

From: [email protected]
To: [email protected]
Cc: [email protected]
Subj: Re: Evacuation

Max

Evacuating the town is a good idea in principle. I agree with Ms. Chase, though. There would have to be one hell of a motivator to get everyone up and moving. I’m not sure it’d be feasible with the resources available.

David Madsen

 


 

“For the last motherfucking time, clean your hair out the fucking shower drain you disgusting animal!”

“Good morning, Victoria. Want some toast with that unnecessary hostility?”

“You want to see hostility, Max?”

“Not really.”

“Force me to go fishing for another one of your loathsome hairballs! Then I’ll show you some fucking hostility!”

“We both use the same shower, you know.”

“Nice try, but the hair clogging the drain isn’t short and it sure as hell isn’t blonde. This one is on you, Katniss.”

“Yeah? Then why don’t we talk about the gum, hm? Whose fault is that?

“That’s...this isn’t about me!”

“Nuh-uh. You started this, and long hair doesn’t clog up drains nearly as often if some weirdo isn’t constantly chewing gum in the shower. I actually remember stepping on chewed gum in the Blackwell showers a couple of times, but I never thought it was you! What’s up with that?”

“I...I just have to, okay?”

“You have to.”

“If I don’t I start...”

“I didn’t quite catch that.”

“I said I start singing, alright? And once I start, I don’t want to stop, and then I take forever and end up being late to stuff.”

“...”

“What?”

“You chew gum in the shower to keep from serenading yourself?”

“It’s not that weird.”

“Speaking as your time-travelling roommate, it’s pretty weird.”

“Whatever. I’m just saying that if you want there to be any hot water left when I’m done, you’ll let me chew my gum in peace.”

“As long as you spit it in the toilet or something. Otherwise the clogged drains are your problem.”

 


 

Max: I don’t think a little respect is too much to ask, is it?

Max: This isn’t even her book. I’m the writer here. I’m the one who’s putting all the work in.

Max: So what if it isn’t perfect? It’s a work-in-progress! I’ve never written a book before!

Max: I guarantee that every great author in history started out with trash.

Max: It takes time to build something out of nothing!

Max: I bet no one ever told Jane Austen her earliest drafts were literary clusterfucks!

Max: Actually someone almost definitely did at some point but whatever.

Max: But god forbid I actually say as much!

Max: Or even suggest that she tone down her attitude a little.

Max: Because then she’ll just give me that damn look of hers.

Max: Like somehow, I’m the one who’s being unreasonable.

Max: It just drives me so crazy sometimes.

Max: Do you know what I mean?

Fernando: Ma’am, this is a Wendy’s

 


 

“Never have I ever pretended my birthday was in November, for some reason, when it was really in August.”

“...”

“Well, birthday girl?”

“Oh, just pour me the fucking drink.”

“Uh-huh. You know, you can sit there pretending you’re annoyed, but I’d rather go mini-golfing while we’re still sober-ish.”

“Oh, please. Mini golf is for kids.”

“Do you want to bullshit the time-traveler, or do you want to go get your favorite putter out of the closet?”

“...”

“I’m waiting.”

“...I’ll be right back.”

 


 

From:  [email protected]
To: [email protected]
Cc: [email protected]
Subj: Progress!

Hey Max,

Good news! You’ve graduated from unholy disaster to regular disaster! There’s hope for this thing yet!

However, while the idea of using the emergency broadcast system to warn everyone in town is neat and all, it’s also totally unrealistic.

First, how the hell would she accomplish that? It’s not like they’ll just let her walk into a TV station and hit the button. Second, even if she did, how many people would actually pay attention? Third, even if people pay do attention, most of them will just check the weather forecast and decide the message is fake anyway.

Basically, it’s a dumb idea, you should be ashamed of yourself for suggesting it, and the fact that you did makes me want to confiscate your keyboard forever.

TTFN,
Victoria

 


 

“Seriously? The emergency broadcast system wasn’t that bad an idea!”

“The FBI might disagree.”

“The FBI is not reading our email!”

“You don’t know that. What if they are, hm? I don’t want my reputation tarnished.”

“So you’re willing to throw me under the bus? Over a fake book?”

“Shouldn’t you have a little pride in your fake book?”

“Someone at the FBI is going to think I’m the worst writer ever.”

“Yeah, because the FBI is totally known for its artistic vision.”

 


 

From:  [email protected]
To: [email protected]; [email protected]
Subj: Re: emergency broadcast system

Max and Ms. Chase

The emergency broadcast system actually isn’t that bad of an idea. It’s a fairly reliable way to get in touch with a lot of people very quickly. Every county in the US already has the infrastructure in place for it. Ms. Chase does make a good point about verification, however. If the broadcast is immediately discredited then people would be even less likely to believe any subsequent warnings.

There’s also the question of finding a way to access and activate it. Might be too much of a stretch to be believable.

David Madsen

 


 

Victoria: Is the concept of subtlety completely lost on you?

Max: I think you’re overreacting.

Victoria: Overreacting?!

Max: Can this not wait until I get home?

Victoria: Didn’t we agree that you shouldn’t attract too much attention in 2013?

Max: I guess not.

Victoria: Because I’m pretty sure you said ‘You’re right, Victoria. I should do everything I can to look the same as I did in the past, because the fewer questions I have to answer about my technically-almost-twenty-one-years-old appearance, the better off I’ll be. I’m so lucky to have you here to think of these things’.

Victoria: Or did I just hallucinate that entire conversation?

Max: I’m pretty sure I never said that last part.

Victoria: It was in the subtext. Do you remember it or not?

Victoria: Well?

Max: Yes, I remember.

Victoria: That’s interesting. Because I’d love to know how your brain took the concept of looking as much like your eighteen-year-old self as possible and figured that meant getting a fucking half-sleeve tattoo!

Max: It was in the subtext?

 


 

“Never have I ever used time travel to steal an answer about the Daguerreian process from a classmate so I could pass it off as my own.”

“...pour it.”

“I knew it! I fucking knew it!

 


 

From:  [email protected]
To: [email protected]; [email protected]
Subj: Bait

Hi Max/David

I’ve been going over the part where the main character lures her abusive teacher (Seriously, Max, when are you going to start giving these people actual names?) out to the woods with some phone call, and I just don’t think it makes sense. And even if he did come out, wouldn’t he be expecting a trap?

My suggestion is to let him grab the bitchy high school girl who’s been practically hanging off him. As long as the police are waiting for him, she’ll be safe and he’ll be caught in the act. It’s perfect.

Think it over and let me know.

TTFN,
Victoria

 


 

“No fucking way!”

“I asked you to think it over, Max. Not kick my bedroom door in and yell at me ten seconds after you get my email.”

“Alright, fine. Hmmm...ohhhh...how interesting...”

“There’s no need to be patroniz-”

“Shush, Victoria. I’m thinking. Ah, yes...quite...fascinating. Okay, I’m done. Want to know what I think?”

“Gee, I bet I can guess.”

“No fucking way!”

 


 

From: [email protected]
To: [email protected]
Cc: [email protected]
Subj: Re: Bait

Ms. Chase

I can see what you mean. That would definitely make for a dramatic and dangerous scene. But you need to remember that Max is going for as much realism as possible. The risks in a situation like that would be very serious. She could easily be badly hurt or even killed. Honestly, I’m not sure the readers would believe it if she weren’t.

David Madsen

 


 

From: [email protected]
To: [email protected]
Cc: [email protected]
Subj: Re: Bait

Hello David,

Max has to be willing to put her characters in harm’s way. That’s the kind of thing that good storytelling is about. Besides, isn’t saving damsels in distress what heroes are for?

And you’re allowed to use my first name, FFS.

TTFN,
Victoria

 


 

From: [email protected]
To: [email protected]
Cc: [email protected]
Subj: Re: Bait

Ms. Chase

Thank you. I’ll keep that in mind.

Regards,

Mr. Madsen

 


 

From: [email protected]
To: [email protected]
Cc: [email protected]
Subj: Re: Bait

Nobody likes a smartass, Dave.

-V

 


 

From: [email protected]
To: [email protected]; [email protected]
Subj: Re: Bait

Play nice, children.

,Max

 


 

“I’m serious. I really, really don’t like this idea.”

“You don’t have to.”

“I can’t just use you as bait. It’s wrong.”

“Well, unless you’re willing to...”

“I’m not killing him.”

“I was going to say, ‘put him down like the fucking animal he is’, but whatever.”

“We’ve been over this. I want him in prison.”

“Then using me as bait is the only sure way to put him there, and you know it.”

“Come on. There has to be...”

“Jefferson has to take me because the police have to catch him in the act. Without me, all the other evidence is circumstantial.”

“That can’t be true.”

“The prosecutor walked me through the whole thing before I testified. Trust me, it is.”

“But...what if something happens?”

“Then I’ll just have to count on you swooping in to save my ass, won’t I?”

“Fine. I still don’t like the idea.”

“Noted. But just to be clear, no matter what happens, saving is the only thing you’re allowed to do to my ass.”

“Oh my god, what is wrong with you?!”

 


 

Max: What do you think about Hannah?

Victoria: Who’s Hannah?

Victoria: Is Hannah the tall redhead you work with who keeps giving me extra whipped cream?

Victoria: Because she’s not my type.

Max: No, that’s Jennifer. And she has a boyfriend.

Victoria: Of course she does.

Max: I thought she wasn’t your type? ;)

Victoria: FFS, Max. Look at her. She’s everybody’s type.

Max: ANYWAY! What do you think of Hannah as a name for my main character?

Victoria: That’s not bad, actually. It feels like it fits.

Max: Right?

 


 

[Unknown Number]: So, I heard you’ve been asking about me.

Kristen: Hoo dis?

[Unknown Number]: And with spelling like that, I’m curious as to why I should care.

Kristen: Oh, my deepest apologies. Pray tell, whilst thou giveth thine name?

[Unknown Number]: This is Victoria Chase, Kristen. Max Caulfield gave me your number.

[Unknown Number]: So far, I’m not impressed.

=NEW CONTACT CREATED=

Kristen: OH MY GOD I AM SO SORRY!!!!

Victoria Freaking Chase!♥: Sorry that you were rude? Or sorry that you were rude to me?

Kristen: Either? Both?

Kristen: lol You choose! :D

Victoria Freaking Chase!♥: Tell me something, Kristen.

Victoria Freaking Chase!♥: Do you really think I messaged you so I could answer my own questions?

Kristen: No?

Kristen: Sorry, I mean no.

Kristen: Of course you didn’t.

Victoria Freaking Chase!♥: Of course I didn’t.

Kristen: So...why did you message me?

Victoria Freaking Chase!♥: Why do you think?

Kristen: Hey! You said we shouldn’t be answering our own questions! ;)

Kristen: Hello?

Kristen: Alright FINE.

Kristen: I guess that’s not TECHNICALLY what you said.

Kristen: But I think we can agree it’s more or less what you said. :P

Victoria Freaking Chase!♥: Which one is it, then?

Kristen: What?

Victoria Freaking Chase!♥: What do you want me to agree to, Kristen?

Victoria Freaking Chase!♥: More?

Victoria Freaking Chase!♥: Or less?

Kristen: Ummmmm

Victoria Freaking Chase!♥: Or am I back to answering my own questions?

Kristen: MORE!

Kristen: I WANT MORE!

Victoria Freaking Chase!♥: See? That wasn’t so hard, was it?

Kristen: No, ma’am!

Victoria Freaking Chase!♥: Good girl.

The Creative Process – Pt. II

“I...hate...you...so...god...damn...much...”

“You say that every time, Victoria. I’m starting to think you don’t really mean it.”

“Fuck...you...Max...”

“You say that every time, too. And what have I told you about not leaning over like that? You’ll catch your breath faster standing up straight.”

“Fine. How far...have we...gone?”

“A little over a mile. I’m impressed.”

“Don’t...patronize me...”

“I mean it. When you started out you could barely run one lap without having to stop. You just did five.”

“I guess...that is pretty good.”

“That’s really good. Feeling better?”

“Yeah....Yeah, I think so.”

“Good, because you’ve got another three laps to go.”

“Why? Why are you doing this to me?”

“Because you asked me to. I think your exact words were ‘this is my last ever summer, Max, so whip me into shape no matter how much I bitch and moan about it’.”

“I lied. I wanna be fat. Fat and happy.”

“No, you don’t. Now c’mon. The sooner you’re done running, the sooner you can hold the pads while I try not to punch you in the face.”

“You’re an asshole, you know that?”

“An asshole who looks better in a swimsuit than you.”

“The fuck did you just say?!”

 


 

From: [email protected]
To: [email protected]
Subj: ACPD Info

Max

I don’t know if you ever met Elliot Ross. He was one of the two Arcadia Bay Police Department officers who survived with Ms. Chase and myself. He and I have stayed in touch. He’s with the Philadelphia Police Department now and I thought he might be interested in your project.

He doesn’t know if you’ll find it useful, but he wrote down as much as he could remember about the ABPD. It’s all in the attached document.

David Madsen

 


 

“Well, that’s helpful.”

“Yeah. Go, David.”

 


 

Max: What have you done?

Victoria: Could you possibly be more vague?

Max: You know exactly what I’m talking about, Chase! Kristen was half an hour late meeting me for lunch today because she was busy running errands.

Victoria: So? As much as it pains me to admit it, not everything is about me.

Max: I’m sorry, let me clarify. She said she was busy running YOUR errands.

Victoria: Oh right.

Victoria: Yeah, that was about me.

Victoria: She’s actually very hard-working.

Max: What did you do to her?

Victoria: Nothing remotely inappropriate.

Max: That is the least reassuring answer I’ve ever seen.

Victoria: Fine. See for yourself.

Victoria: <convo_screencap_1.jpg>

Victoria: <convo_screencap_2.jpg>

Max: Okay. Honest question.

Max: Are you the devil?

Victoria: Oh, Max. Don’t be ridiculous.

Victoria: Do you really think I’d tell you if I were?

 


 

“Never have I ever asked my parents for a new thousand-dollar designer handbag just because my old thousand-dollar designer handbag popped a stitch.”

“How rich do you think I was?”

“...”

“I’m actually a little offended that you think I was that materialistic.”

“...”

“Oh, just pour the fucking drink already.”

 


 

From: [email protected]
To: [email protected]
Subj: Emergency Alert

Max

Have you considered having her use an SMS alert? The most common example would be the Amber Alert system, but I’ve read that some states have it set up as a backup to the regular emergency broadcast system. It’s a little more your generation than mine but it would have the same result. Younger people tend to question what they see on TV but they’d probably believe what’s on their phone.

Just a thought.

David Madsen

 


 

“Hey, Max. Feeling any better?”

“No.”

“Probably shouldn’t have watched Grave of the Fireflies by yourself, huh?”

“I guess not.”

“What something to eat?”

“No thanks.”

“Need a hug?”

“...yeah.”

 


 

Victoria: So, are you going to be home tonight?

Max: Afraid I’ll miss curfew?

Victoria: I was just asking FFS.

Max: Sorry. That sounded funny out loud. I’m still at the library. I’ve been reading this thesis a guy published last year about naturally occurring UHF frequency interference in northwest Oregon.

Victoria: You’re kidding me.

Max: Nope.

Victoria: You’re never allowed to call me a nerd again.

Max: Because I was totally allowed to before.

Victoria: Whatever. It’s getting late, smartass. You should call it quits for today.

Max: I’m actually making a lot of progress.

Victoria: What you’re doing is developing unhealthy obsessive tendencies.

Max: ...your therapist?

Victoria: She knows her stuff.

Max: I GUESS.

Max: I have to admit, doing all this research while writing a pretend book at the same time has been kicking my ass a little.

Victoria: You can’t do it all on your own, Max.

Max: I know.

Victoria: I told you I'd help you out. You never let me help.

Victoria: Max?

Victoria: You still there?

 


 

“Is it really, Max? Is it really?

“I...”

“Is it better than The Fifth Element? Or The Matrix? What about 12 Monkeys, Max? Is it better than that?”

“Victoria...”

“Is it more iconic than Planet of the Apes? More significant than Akira? More beloved than E.T.?”

“You being ridic-”

“Are we just writing off the entire Star Wars and Star Trek franchises now? Do classics like Metropolis and 2001: A Space Odyssey just not measure up anymore?”

“Holy shit, Victoria! All I said was that Final Fantasy: The Spirits Within is a great movie!”

“Oh, no. What you said was that it was the best science fiction movie ever made. That means you rank it above Close Encounters of The Third Kind, Ghost In The Shell, and Blade Runner. Blade Runner, Max! Are you out of your fucking mind?!”

“Oh, god. Not you, too.”

 


 

Max: Why is Kristen mowing our lawn?

Victoria: Because I don’t want to and landscapers cost $50 an hour.

Max: Are you kidding me?

Victoria: Afraid not. I blame the economy.

 


 

From: [email protected]
To: [email protected]
Subj: Idea

Hey Max,

Ms. Victoria happened to mention the book you guys were working on and I had a thought about the credibility question. Since it takes place in a small town, rather than forcing Hannah to bend over backward trying to prove she’s credible, why not just remove the possibility of proving she’s not?

I personally love Mr. Madsen’s idea of using the emergency SMS system. It puts a modern spin on a classic trope that really adds something to the story’s atmosphere. With that in mind, I wanted to point out that a lot of small towns have fairly limited cellular service (one or two towers). If those were broken or disabled right after she sent the warning message out, then no one in the town would be able to call out and verify whether it was real.

The only potential hang up is that would only buy her as much time as it takes for someone to drive to the next cellular zone. That’s probably an hour or two, at most. BUT, if the message goes out in the evening, then they’d probably have to wait until morning to get an answer.

I may be overthinking it, but it seemed like an idea worth exploring.

Good luck with your writing! Let me know if you have any questions.

Regards,
Kristen Ann Jacobs
Administrative Intern - Chase Space Gallery

 


 

Max: Seriously? You make her call you Ms. Victoria now?

Victoria: She actually started doing that on her own. I simply didn’t feel any need to dissuade her.

Max: Kristen is not your minion!

Victoria: Of course she’s not. She’s my intern.

Victoria: At a prestigious art gallery that, estate disputes notwithstanding, I still technically own.

Victoria: An internship like that would look excellent on a scholarship application to a prominent arts school.

Victoria: Such as Kristen’s dream school, the USC School of Cinematic Arts.

Victoria: To which, coincidentally, my father made several generous financial contributions over the years.

Victoria: Giving the Chase name significant influence there.

Victoria: We have our own plaque.

Victoria: So is it really so awful that I make her spend eight weeks fetching me coffee and running errands?

Max: ...

Max: Honest question. Why go to the effort of helping Kris get into her dream school if we’re planning to undo everything anyway?

Victoria: Because this plan of ours might not work. That’s why I fully intend to keep acting as though life is going to go on. Kristen has the makings of a very talented filmmaker, and she deserves every chance to become one.

Max: You’re a surprisingly sweet person, sometimes. :)

Victoria: Tell anyone and I’ll deny it.

 


 

“Never have I ever gotten so freaked out by a reporter’s interview question about my love life that I manipulated the douchebro jock she was dating into sending me dirty text messages, driving a wedge between her and her best friend and deflecting her attention away from my own suspicious lack of boyfriend.”

“That’s...really specific.”

“...what if they died hating me?”

 


 

Steph: Hey, Max.

Max: Hi Steph. It’s been a while.

Max: What’s up?

Steph: Your friend Kristen forwarded me a draft copy of the book you’ve been writing. The time-travel one?

Max: Of course she did. -_-

Steph: Was she not supposed to?

Max: No, it’s fine. Kris can just get a little over-enthusiastic sometimes.

Steph: I remember. Anyway, I just finished reading it. It’s really good!

Max: It is?

Steph: Totally. I love the whole concept. The dialogue flows super well, and Hannah is such an awesome character.

Max: Oh, wow! That’s so cool of you to say! Thank you!

Max: I’m so glad you like her!

Steph: You haven’t been getting a lot of positive feedback, have you?

Max: Well, my editor/proofreader is Victoria Chase, so...

Steph: Shit. How the hell did that happen?

Max: It’s a long story.

 


 

“Ow, ow, ow.”

“Oh, stop being a wuss.”

“I’m not. I can’t feel my arms, Max. Are they still there?”

“If you can’t feel them, why are you complaining?”

“I...oh, fuck off.”

“Uh-huh. I’m not done. Get the pads back up.”

“So what’s...ow...with the...ow...whole She-Hulk thing...ow, ow...today?”

“No idea what you mean.”

“The...ow...hell you...ow...don’t. Ow, ow, ow, fucking ow! Damn it, Max! Take it easy, will you?”

“I am taking it easy.”

“Since when is trying to knock my fucking arms off taking it easy?”

“Since I saw your latest round of ‘editor’s notes’ this morning.”

“...”

“Seems you’ve got some pretty strong opinions.”

“I...look, you asked me to be honest.”

“Do you want to talk about it now, or do you want to just hold the pads?”

“...I’d rather hold the pads.”

“Yeah, I thought you might.”

 


 

From: [email protected]
To: [email protected]
Subj: Re: Idea from a friend

Max

I’m not going to beat around the bush. As interesting as Ms. Jacobs’ idea might be, disrupting communications and destroying public infrastructure in order to intentionally spread fear is pretty much the textbook definition of terrorism.

I’m not saying Hannah is a terrorist. However, a downed cell tower is going to attract a lot of very serious attention very quickly. She needs to try and operate under the radar. If she’s going to go after public infrastructure she should focus on something less suspect. I actually had some thoughts regarding the power grid. No one would think to question a storm-related blackout.

Did you know that Arcadia Bay only had one electrical substation? I’ve attached some notes I put together. Let me know what you think.

David Madsen

 


 

“So I just need to send out an SMS and disable the cell towers without being obvious? Sure. Why not? Sounds easy.”

“Oh, calm the fuck down. What were you going to do, Rambo? Start blowing shit up?”

“Maybe. Wouldn’t be the first time.”

“...the fuck is that supposed to mean?”

“Chloe and I once needed to get into Principal Wells’ office.”

“And?”

“And what?”

“Oh, wipe that stupid smirk off your face. What did you need to get into Wells’ office for?”

“Definitely not to steal his chair, I can tell you that.”

“What are you...never mind. Let’s skip to the part where you needed to blow something up.”

“We couldn’t find the key.”

 


 

Victoria: You grabbed your lunch off the counter before you went to work, right?

Max: Yes, Victoria.

Victoria: Good. Don’t forget you have a dentist appointment at 4.

Max: YES, VICTORIA.

Max: I swear, you’re going to be the worst helicopter mom someday.

Max: oh my god im so sorry.

 


 

Fernando: It’d never work.

Max: What wouldn’t?

Fernando: The idea to use the Emergency SMS system.

Max: How do you know about that?

Fernando: Kris told me about.

Max: Seriously?!

Fernando: You know Kris. When she gets excited...

Fernando: Anyway, I looked it up and you know where that SMS would have to come from?

Fernando: The Tillamook County Emergency Management Office.

Max: Okay?

Fernando: You know what else is in that building?

Fernando: The local Sheriff’s department and an office for the Oregon State Police.

Fernando: How do you like Hannah’s odds of making that happen?

Max: ...

Max: Damn it.

Fernando: Sorry, dude.

Fernando: I did have a thought, though.

Fernando: You heard of the NOAA?

 


 

“Who’s Noah?”

“It’s NOAA, Victoria. Not Noah. It stands for National Oceanic and Atmospheric Administration. They predict the weather.”

“Neat. And why do we care?”

“Because I can either try breaking into a building full of cops and forcing them to send out an Emergency SMS, or I can go to the NOAA station fifteen minutes outside of town and get the one guy working there to send a message to the Emergency Management Office for us. Instant early storm warning.”

“That’s...not a terrible idea.”

“Gee, thanks.”

“People might not listen to a storm warning, though.”

“People might not listen to a lot of things. We have to do the best we can. Just think it over, will you?”

“Okay, fine.”

“And don’t forget dinner tomorrow.”

“How could I? I’m basically the guest of honor.”

“It’s my birthday, so I’m pretty sure you’re just a regular guest.”

“Is that why your mom called to invite me personally?”

“Yeah, no idea what that was about. I’m glad you’re coming, though.”

“Me too. The reservations are at six, right?”

“Yup.”

“Cool. How fashionably late should I be?”

“I hate to break it to you, but in our tax bracket it’s just called late.”

 


 

Max: Seriously, I am SO SORRY about my parents!

Victoria: I already said it’s fine.

Max: I don’t know what they were thinking!

Victoria: Really, Max?

Victoria: We spend pretty much all of our free time together.

Victoria: We took a spontaneous trip to the Grand Canyon together.

Victoria: WE LIVE TOGETHER.

Victoria: And you can’t imagine why your parents might have thought I was your girlfriend?

Victoria: Yeah. That’s a real fucking mystery you’ve got on your hands there.

Max: Wow.

Max: When you put it that way, I don’t know how I’ve resisted your charms so long.

Victoria: Calm the fuck down, you thirsty bitch.

 


 

“Je ne t'ai jamais piégé en buvant en parlant français.”

“...what?”

“Tu m'as entendu, espèce de connard qui voyage dans le temps.”

“Oh, whatever. Just pour the damn drink.”

 


 

Steph: I was kinda bored at work today, so I turned Hannah’s power into a D&D spell.

Max: Okay?

Steph: I mean, I had to nerf the hell out of it, since the way it’s described in the story is broken AF. Being able to go back several minutes over and over is fine if you’re writing a book, but for running a balanced combat encounter? Not so much.

Max: *smiles & nods*

Steph: Oh, ha ha.

Steph: Anyway, I thought you might get a kick out of it.

Steph: <rewind.jpg>

 

 


 

“Hey, man. Who’s that chick?”

“Where?”

“Over there. The one whaling on the heavy bag like it owes her money.”

“Oh, she’s one of the regulars. I think her name’s Max or something.”

“She’s cute. Is she single?”

“No idea.”

“Think I should go say hi?”

“Didn’t go too well for the last guy.”

“She shoot him down or something?”

“Or something. He wasn’t taking a hint, got a little aggressive, and she dropped him.”

“Seriously? She’s tiny.”

“Yeah, but she’s fast. Like, freaky fast. Far as I know, no one’s ever landed a hit on her.”

 


 

“So I was thinking over that storm warning thing you were talking about, then I remembered what David wrote about the power grid and I had an idea. You ready?”

“Sure. Rock my world.”

“For the last time, Caulfield, keep it in your pants.”

“Just tell me your damn idea.”

“Fine. You know Alfred Hitchcock, right? The director?”

“Everyone knows who Alfred Hitchcock is, Victoria.”

“Fine. He’s got this famous quote that’s been running through my head. ‘There’s no terror in the bang, only in the anticipation of it’.”

“Okay.”

“So, you remember the double moon that last Thursday night? It was pretty unsettling, wasn’t it?”

“Yeah, for sure.”

“So imagine someone is at the End of the World party when suddenly everyone gets the same text message saying they need to evacuate the town. Then a couple of minutes later, before they’ve really had time to think about it, all the lights go out. Total blackout. What do they do?”

“I dunno. Probably go outside.”

“Where they see that double moon and feel...”

“...unsettled?”

“Exactly. They’ve still got the message on their phone, but the cell towers aren’t working with the power out so no one in town can call out to verify it. They’ll just be sitting in the dark, staring at the warning on their phone’s screen or at the most fucked up looking moon they’ve ever seen. You wouldn’t have to do a thing after that.”

“I wouldn’t?”

“Nope. You can just sit back and watch while their own imaginations scare them worse than you ever could.”

 


 

From: [email protected]
To: [email protected]; [email protected]
Subj: Re: POWER OF THE MOON!!

Max and Ms. Chase

I think you two might be on to something there. I do remember the double-moon that night. Even though I thought it was just an optical illusion, it was still pretty unnerving. Using that in conjunction with a power failure and a storm warning would probably be the best motivator Hannah could manage.

I suggest you do some serious research on how to accomplish both of those, though. This isn’t the kind of solution you can just pull out of your hat.

David Madsen

 


 

Max: I was just looking at my Google search history and there’s no way I’m not on some watch list somewhere.

Victoria: You and me both. Have you gotten a response from the Tillamook county records office yet?

Max: Yesterday. The county never bothered to rebuild the power grid out there, so there wasn’t much pushback when I asked for the layout. When I mentioned it was for a book, one of the clerks even took the time to walk me through some of the technical stuff over Skype.

Victoria: That was the last thing we needed, wasn’t it?

Max: Yup.

Victoria: Think we’re ready?

Max: As we’ll ever be.

 


 

From: [email protected]
To: [email protected]
Cc: [email protected]
Subj: Re: Latest draft

Hey Max,

I can honestly say that, as crazy as it seems, I think you’re done. The latest draft reads pretty well, and I think it’s ready to submit to some publishers. Don’t get me wrong, I still think this is a crazy longshot. But it’s the best crazy longshot it can be, so hopefully that’ll be enough.

I just hope some punk-ass editor doesn’t decide to kill the stuck-up high school girl after all. (Who I can’t believe you decided to name Victoria. Just learn to accept a little constructive criticism, you passive-aggressive bitch.)

TTFN,
Victoria

 


 

Kristen: Hello, Ms. Victoria.

Kristen: Permission to be briefly obnoxious?

Ms. Victoria: If you must.

Kristen: Holy shit on a stick!

Kristen: I was just walking across campus between classes and you know what I saw?!

Kristen: One of my favorite professors sitting on a bench having coffee with George Lucas!

Kristen: LIKE IT WASN’T EVEN A FUCKING THING!!!!

Kristen: Then my prof sees me standing there gawking like an idiot

Kristen: SO OF COURSE HE WAVES ME OVER TO INTRODUCE ME TO GEORGE LUCAS!!!

Kristen: And then he says TO GEORGE LUCAS that I’m,

Kristen: And I quote...

Kristen: “One to keep an eye on.”

Kristen: I owe you so so so so so so much for getting me in here!

Kristen: I’m done. Thank you.

Ms. Victoria: While I’m pleased you’re happy, I’ll remind you that you were accepted on your own merits.

Ms. Victoria: Not because someone ‘pulled some strings’ for you.

Ms. Victoria: All I did was get a few people looking in your direction. Your hard work and talent did the rest.

Ms. Victoria: Is that clear?

Kristen: Yes, ma’am.

Ms. Victoria: Good girl.

 


 

From: [email protected]
To: [email protected]
Cc: [email protected]
Subj: Re: Latest draft

Max

I agree with Ms. Chase. You’ve done a great job bringing everything together. I’m glad we were able to help. Nothing left now but to put it out there and hope it stands up.

Just remember that whatever publisher you might end up working with will want to make changes. Some might end up being better than what you planned. Some might not. It’s up to you to decide where you’re willing to compromise. I guarantee you’ll have to roll with a few punches if you’re going to succeed.

I know that Chloe would be proud of you.

Good luck.

David Madsen

 


 

Kristen: And I quote...

Kristen: “One to keep an eye on.”

Max: WHAT?! That is so amazing Kris! I’m super jealous!

Kristen: OMG THANK YOU!

Kristen: I told Ms. Victoria that story and all I got was a lecture about self-value.

Kristen: Sometimes I just want her to go squee!

Max: Don’t feel bad. She’s not really the type.

Kristen: I know. It’s just a little frustrating.

Kristen: I love her but I swear she can be so withholding!

Max: You WHAT her?

Kristen: gotta go fold laundry now talk later bye

 


 

“Nope.”

“Max....”

“Not happening.”

“Come on.”

“I don’t want to get my hair cut.”

“I know, but...”

“I’ve been growing it out for two years, Victoria! I like it! Chloe liked it!”

“I know, Max. But that’s the problem, isn’t it? Your hair is more than a foot longer than it was at Blackwell. If you don’t get it cut back to a bob, then there’s no point in disguising yourself at all.”

“Maybe I won’t disguise myself then. I’m going to be trying to convince people I’m from the future anyway.”

“Some people. Not everyone. You can hide your tattoos, for a few days at least. Long hair is a little harder to play off.”

“The hair stays.”

“Max, you can’t just...”

“The hair stays, or I tell literally everyone I meet about your chewing gum thing.”

“Fine. Whatever. The hair stays, you big drama queen.”

 


 

From: [email protected]
To: [email protected]; [email protected]
Subj: Re: Latest draft

Hi David & Victoria,

Thank you both so, so much. The last couple of months have felt like an uphill battle sometimes, but I couldn’t have done it without you!

David – I think she’d be proud of you, too. Joyce, as well. You’ve made a great life out there, and I know that Joan, and Karen and all the others appreciate having you in their community. Give everyone in Away my best and let them know I’m going to start visiting publishing companies bright and early on October 9th. Just in case they feel like sending a little positive energy my way.

Victoria – Believe it or not, telling me we’re out of toilet paper and then asking if you can borrow my latest draft isn’t constructive criticism.

,Max

 


 

“Never have I ever changed the world for the better.”

“Me, either.”

“I guess there’s a first time for everything.”

“I’ll drink to that.”

 

The Creative Process – Pt. III

Max: Hey Kris!

Kristen: I LOVE HER PLATONICALLY YOU HEINOUS SLAG SO FUCK RIGHT OFF AND DIE!

Max: WTF?!

Kristen: OH MY GOD!!! WRONG CONVERSATION!!! I’M SO SORRY MAX I DIDN’T MEAN YOU!!!

Max: I really hope not!

Kristen: I’m so so so sorry. That was supposed to be for my roommate! She saw what I texted you about Ms. Victoria and she’s been giving me so much shit about it!

Max: Seriously?

Kristen: It’s horrible! She’s such a fucking bitch! I thought I was done with this high school bullshit!

Max: Oh no! That’s terrible! :(((((((

Kristen: It’s not your fault. I’ve already talked to student housing about getting a room reassignment. There’s no way I’m putting up with this all year.

Max: Everything is okay otherwise? You’re liking it there?

Kristen: Oh, hell yeah. :)

Kristen: My classes are awesome. My teachers are awesome. The campus is awesome. Even my dorms are awesome, if you don’t include the fucking troll I have to share a room with.

Kristen: And even having to deal with her is a small price to pay.

Max: So no regrets about abandoning me for California?

Kristen: Nope!

Max: Haha! Ouch!

Max: Seriously, though, that’s awesome. I’m happy you’re happy.

Max: Mostly happy, at least.

Max: Because that makes me happy, too.

Kristen: Are you high right now?

Max: What?!?!?!?!

Kristen: No judgement! Those last couple of messages just had kind of a “I’m baked and texting all my friends” vibe. :P

Max: I’m not high! I’m just really glad you’re doing well and I wanted to tell you that! >:(

Kristen: Alright, alright! Sorry!

Kristen: So, what did you want before I dumped my roommate drama on your lap?

Max: Just checking in to see how you’re doing.

Max: I was going to say that I’m really glad we’re friends, but now I’m not so sure...

Kristen: Ha ha. Funny girl. I’m glad we’re friends, too.

Kristen: Shit! I totally forgot! I showed your book to one of my teachers a couple of weeks ago!

Max: Seriously?! Are you just handing out free copies on the street now?!

Kristen: Be annoyed later.

Kristen: Anyway, he really liked it, so he showed it to some people he knew. They must’ve liked it too, because they’re interested in talking to you about optioning the film rights.

Max: ...

Max: What?

 


 

October 3, 2015

“I’m so glad you could make it for dinner,” Mom smiles, a little nervously. “It feels like we haven’t had you over in forever.”

It takes a lot more effort than I like to keep from rolling my eyes. It’s been two weeks since my birthday, and my parents are still walking on eggshells. I’ve told them again and again that I’m not mad, and neither is Victoria. I might’ve been taken a little off guard by their assumption, but as Victoria pointed out, they really did have plenty of reasons to believe the two of us were dating.

That said, I wish they’d said so either before we’d ordered our food, or after we’d finished. The waiter had barely walked away when Dad had oh-so-innocently asked, ‘So, do you two have any special plans of your own for Max’s birthday?’. Then came the confusion, then shock, then embarrassment, then thirty minutes of eating in awful, stifling silence. Possibly the only thing that kept the whole dinner from spiraling into hell was the fact that Victoria actually is gay. I don’t even want to imagine the god-tier levels of horrifying awkwardness that my parents would’ve been crushed under if she were straight.

Honest to god, I might’ve had to stop them from trying to commit ritual suicide with a butter knife, right there at the table.

But while Victoria and I got over it after a couple of days, they’re still acting like they’ve committed some kind of social war crime. They’re practically on the edges of their seats right now, possibly waiting for me to explode or something.

“I know, right?” I reply, trying to sound as casual as possible “Totally my fault. I just let time get away from me.”

“No, it’s fine!” Dad insists. “You’re all good, kiddo.”

Normally I’d tease him about referring to a twenty-year-old woman as ‘kiddo’ but I feel like doing that will just trigger another avalanche of apologies. I’m annoyed enough as it is, trying to ignore how uncomfortable my tightly braided hair is. I don’t need anything else irritating me.

As subtly as possible, I reach up to rub the taut skin above my ear. I really need to learn how to do it myself. Victoria means well, but she’s been sporting her signature pixie cut since she was eleven and had to learn how to braid my hair on YouTube. And that would be fine if her technique couldn’t be mistaken for some kind of bondage thing. But it’s not like I have any other options. Mom has a strict ‘no hats at the dinner table’ policy that even Chloe’s beanie wasn’t immune to, and I really don’t want to try explaining why my hair is six inches longer than it has any right to be.

“So, how is Vic-ow.” Dad winces a little. Beside him, Mom smiles like she didn’t just step on his toe to keep him from saying Victoria’s name. That’s it; time to put an end to this.

“Okay, seriously. I already told you that I’m not angry that you thought Victoria was my girlfriend. Victoria isn’t angry, either. Literally no one is angry about that.” I pause to let that (hopefully) sink in before continuing. “What is making me angry is the way the two of you have been acting the last two weeks. You’re both so tense I feel like I could bounce a quarter off either one of you.”

They share a guilty look that I choose not to point out.

“I am literally begging you to relax,” I continue. “If it helps, I’m officially striking that whole evening from the record. It never happened, and we’re never going to speak of, think about, or apologize for it again? Sound good?”

“I suppose you’re right, Max.” Mom nods. “We’re...”

“Whatever you’re going to say,” I interrupt. “It had better not include the word sorry.”

Objectively speaking, it’s pretty hilarious to watch Mom (the lawyer) short circuit as she tries to come up with a way to apologize for almost apologizing, after I specifically asked her to stop apologizing. That’s probably why I’m happy to let her flounder for a few seconds before I change the subject.

“So, Victoria and I are going down to California next week.” The casual declaration seems enough to break through their wall of awkward embarrassment.

“What?” Dad asks. “Why?”

“It’s the middle of the semester,” Mom adds. “Don’t you both have classes?”

We don’t, because neither of us bothered signing up for anything this semester. Just another one of the many things my parents don’t need to know. “It’s just for a couple of days. Her Aunt Jessica got me meetings with a couple of publishing houses in San Francisco.”

Their attitudes flip like a switch. “Really? Sweetheart, that’s fantastic news!”

“They’re just meetings,” I stress, just in case this whole thing doesn’t work, and I end up having to explain myself later. Like Victoria said, it’s safer to assume life will go on. “No guarantees.”

“It’s still amazing, Max,” Dad insists, grinning. “We’re so proud of you. Our daughter, the future bestselling author.”

“One thing at a time. I’m not published yet,” I remind him, obviously not adding that I never will be, because it was all one big fake. I wish I weren’t so unhappy about that.

“Don’t worry about that. You wrote a great book, and you’re going to have publishers lined up around the block.”

“I appreciate the vote of confidence, Dad. It’s been...” I search for the right word. “...an experience.”

“It must have been,” Mom agrees. “The effect it’s had on you is amazing.” She and Dad share a look. “We were so worried about you last spring, but we just didn’t know how to help. Then Victoria appeared and it was like you just came back to life.”

“Uh...thanks?”

“All we’re saying is that we’re so happy to see you smiling again,” she continues.

“And we know you’re gonna knock their socks off in California,” Dad adds, grinning.

Looking at the happiness in their eyes, I’m suddenly blown away by how amazing my parents are. They’ve always looked out for me, always been there when I needed them, and they’ve never once asked for anything in return.

They’ve never even brought up how much Chloe’s cancer treatments must have cost them. They refuse to even talk about it. For them, it was a given. Chloe needed help, so they helped without the slightest hesitation. From what I’ve read, even with our insurance it probably would’ve been more than a hundred thousand dollars. But they paid it, and they even found enough money to help me pay for college, too. I’m pretty sure they had to re-mortgage the house to cover it all, and then how did I thank them?

By failing most of my classes and getting angry when they tried to help me.

I love my parents so, so much. I owe them more than I could ever hope to repay.

“Thanks,” I murmur, refusing to cry. “I’ll do my best.”

“And we’ll always be proud of you for that,” Mom insists. “We want to hear all about it when you get home, alright?”

I feel a sharp pang in my chest. They’ve got no idea that I probably won’t be coming back at all. But then, if everything works out, they’ll never have been in a position to miss me.

“You got it,” I answer. “I’ll fill you in on everything just as soon as I’m back in Seattle.” Which will hopefully be about two years ago. “I promise.”

 


 

Max: Hey Eugene. How’s Fernando?

Fernando: Har har. <[ref:/&#x1f644;not_found]>

Max: Umm...

Fernando: Ugh! My phone has been really glitchy lately. That was supposed to be an eye-roll emoji.

Max: Well, when the machines take over the world, at least you’ll be ahead of the curve.

Fernando: That’s why I like you, Max. You always see the silver lining.

Max: Seriously, though, how’s life in Eugene? I hear it’s the party capital of Lane County.

Fernando: Oh yeah. It’s off the hook, yo. <[ref:/ &#128530;not_found]>

Max: Wait!

Max: Let me Google it!

Max: Unamused face?! Poor Fernando! :(

Fernando: Yeah, it turns out that sophomore classes actually require some effort.

Max: You’re enjoying it, though? Like, if you could go back and choose again, you’d pick the same school?

Fernando: Yeah, for sure. Why do you ask? UW not doing it for you anymore?

Max: Just checking in. Making sure you’re doing okay. :)

Fernando: Ugh! Quit it, mom! You’re embarrassing me!

Max: So I guess you don’t want me to send you any of the brownies I made?

Fernando: I immediately withdraw my sarcasm.

 


 

October 6, 2015

Thump!

“...huh?” Startled awake, I peer angrily out from under my nice, cozy comforter.

Thump!

“The hell...?” Blinking, I turn to my bedside clock. It takes a second for my eyes to focus on the numbers. “Are you kidding me?”

Thump!

It’s seven-thirty am. It’s seven-thirty in the fucking morning, on a Saturday. What the hell is the meaning of this? Who the hell is making all this noise? I swear to god, if it’s that little punk from next door again I’ll make him regret the day was born. He’ll need therapy for the rest of his goddamn life.

Thump!

Pulling on my robe (I don’t care how pissed off I am; I’m not about to give that little shit a free show) and stomping down the stairs, I practically rip the front door open and storm outside to find...Max throwing a basketball at the house?

“Max? What the hell?”

“Morning, Victoria.” She doesn’t look at me as she picks up the ball (that definitely isn’t mine) from the ground.

“What are you doing?”

“Bouncing this ball off the house.”

“Yeah, I noticed. Why?”

“I’m trying to hit the same spot on the ground twice in a row.”

I hope that wasn’t supposed to explain things, because it really doesn’t. “Again, why?

“Because I keep trying and I keep missing and now I’m annoyed at it.” Thump! “Damn it.”

I should probably be more concerned about this than I am, but it isn’t totally unexpected. With the big day coming up fast, Max has been pretty on edge. That said, I feel like there might be something else at work here. Peering at the large to-go coffee cup next to her feet, I ask, “So what’s in that?”

“No idea.” Thump!Damn it!

“How could you not know?”

“I couldn’t sleep last night so this morning I walked over to that coffee place over on Lynn Street and told the guy to make me something with some kick and I drank most of it on the walk back.” She points vaguely behind her. “I got you one too.” Thump! “Argh!”

Sure enough, another large cup sits on the hood of my car. Curious, I pick it up to read the writing on the side and almost drop it again in shock. “There’s nine shots of espresso in this!”

“I thought it tasted kinda strong.” Thump! “Stupid ball!”

When I’m sure she’s not looking, I take the lid off my ‘coffee’ and pour it out. I’m surprised that it doesn’t burn the grass away on contact. “Okay...I’m just gonna go inside now.”

“Okay.” Thump!

“You going to be alright out here?”

“I’m good.” Thump!

“I’ll come get you when breakfast is ready.”

“Hey, Victoria?” Thump!

“Hm?”

Picking up the ball again, she turns to face me. “It’s really cool that you came out to see if I was alright since I’m pretty sure I must have woken you up and I’m really sorry about that since being your roommate is probably the happiest I’ve been since Chloe passed away and you’re a really great friend and if you’re making breakfast I’d like some scrambled eggs please.”

She’s turned back before I have time to respond, tossing the ball at the house just like before.

“Uh...okay.”

Walking back inside, I’m halfway to the kitchen when I remember we’re out of eggs, and all the way dressed before I realize that I didn’t even hesitate before deciding to walk to the store and buy more. And just like that, I’m struck by the fact that Max is going to be gone in a few days and that a small part of me doesn’t want her to go, because I was so lonely before and I don’t want to lose my only friend.

I know she has to, though. And the way bigger part of me can accept that. And besides, it’s not like I’ll be around to miss her.

Wow, okay. Enough of this angsty bullshit. I gotta go buy some eggs. I wonder if Max would be willing to put down her precious basketball long enough to come for a walk? At least it’d help her burn off some of that energy.

I should go ask.

 


 

“...hello?”

“Hi, Steph.”

“...Max?”

“Can I ask you a question?”

“...”

“Hello?”

“Better be a good question to call me at three in the morning.”

“It’s only two.”

“Colorado, Max. Mountain time. Like it matters this early.”

“Shit. Sorry. I’ll just let you go.”

“No, no, I’m awake now. Ask away.”

“...is Hannah being selfish?”

“Who? Wait, you mean the girl in your book, right?”

“Right. Isn’t it selfish for her to steal two years from the entire world just to save less than 1500 people? To take away everything that everyone has accomplished in that time and rewrite the world based on what she wants? I mean, there’s no guarantee she’ll succeed. She might even make things worse.”

“...”

“Steph?”

“...that’s some pretty heavy shit to lay on a girl this early in the morning.”

“Sorry.”

“S’fine. Just gimme a second here.”

“Sure.”

“Alright. Here’s my three AM, pre-coffee opinion. I don’t think it’s selfish at all. Most of the stuff she’s undoing is still going to happen, right? She’s not changing everyone’s lives. She’s one person, so she probably can’t, even with time travel powers.”

“I guess.”

“Besides, that’s not what the book is really about, is it?”

“What do you mean?”

“Come on, Max. You’re a great writer, but it’s pretty obvious who her best friend is based on. It’s not about Hannah going back to save the town. It’s about you going back to save Chloe.”

“I...uh...I tried to be subtle.”

“You were. Most people wouldn’t see it. I did because I went to school with her. Victoria would have, too, if she didn’t know from the start. And for what it’s worth, I don’t think it’s remotely selfish for you to want to go back and save her. Who wouldn’t want the power to do that?”

“What if...what if it was real, though? Like, actually real. What if someone gave you the power to go back. Would you do it? Even if it meant risking everything?”

“You better believe I would.”

“Really?”

“To save the love of my life? No power in the ‘verse could stop me.”

“Nerd.”

“Guilty. Can I go back to bed now?”

“I actually had one last question, if that’s okay?”

“Fine. Lay it on me.”

“Are you happy, living in Haven Springs?”

“...”

“Steph?”

“Yeah, I am. I really am.”

“Good. I’m glad. Now, go back to sleep.”

“If you insist. Bye, Max.”

“Goodbye, Steph.”

 


 

October 7, 2015

“I still can’t believe I wrote a novel.”

“So you did.”

“A novel, Victoria. An actual, hundred-and-ten-thousand-word novel. And I enjoyed writing it, too. Like, a lot more than I thought I would.”

“You know, normally I’d be looking for a way to deflate your ego right now, but I’m actually really proud of you.”

“You are?”

“Of course I am. You wrote an entire novel, Max. And you did it in just two months. That’s pretty amazing.”

“Well, with the rewinds it was technically longer tha-”

“Just take the fucking complement, will you?”

“Sorry.”

“...and?”

“And thank you.”

“You’re welcome. You know, if we weren’t going to undo things, I’d say you really should try sending it to publishers.”

“Seriously?”

“Sure. Assuming you got that dedication figured out?”

“I actually did.”

“Well, don’t keep me in suspense. Last I checked, you were still waffling between Chuck E. Cheese and the Jolly Green Giant.”

“Which is partially why I decided to put two dedications. The first one reads ‘For my dearest Chloe; my soulmate, crewmate, and partner in crime. I found you again in these pages, even if you never left my heart’.”

“Aww.”

“Aww?”

“What? That’s sweet.”

“Is it, now?”

“Oh, quit looking at me like that and tell me the other one.”

“Whatever, ya big softy. The other one says, ‘And for Victoria; my editor, navigator, and best friend. I’d have been lost without you.”

“You’re damn right you would’ve been. You’re basically helpless.”

“Gee, thanks.”

“You’re welcome. Do we have everything?”

“Car’s packed, snacks bought, playlists set. We’re ready.”

“Did you...uh...still want to stop at the cemetery on the way out of town?”

“Yes, please.”

“Is it weird that I feel like I’m going to miss this house? If this works then my family will still own it. The other me will never even know the difference.”

“I know I’m definitely going to miss it. The two of us made some really good memories here.”

“Quit flirting with me, Caulfield.”

“I’m not...oh, just get in the damn car.”

Closure

October 7, 2015
Interstate 5 Highway
Just north of Longview, Washington

“...ing up on Longview.”

Victoria’s voice surprises me and I turn away from the passenger window, blinking. “What?”

“I said we’re coming up on Longview.”

“Already?”

“Traffic was pretty light. We made better time than I expected. At this rate we should be at what’s left of Arcadia Bay a little after noon.” She points to one of those highway signs that tell you what’s available at the next exit, and Longview seems to have everything a weary traveler could ask for. “We’ll be pulling off the Interstate here, so if you want to make a pit stop, now’s the time.”

She’s right; there isn’t a lot on the route between Longview and Arcadia Bay, and I really didn’t think we’d get here so fast. I’d been hoping for another hour, at least. There’s something I want to ask for and I’ve been trying to figure out how to ask for it in a way that doesn’t end with her getting angry to the point of actual violence.

Looks like I’m out of time, though. I can see our exit coming up. I just have to bite the bullet and hope she listens rather than throwing me out of a moving vehicle at seventy miles per hour.

“So,” I begin, watching the lines on the road pass by. “I have something I want to ask you. But before I do I want you to know that it’s going to sound messed-up, so I want you to hear me out before you react.”

“Compared to resetting the last two years?” she smirks. “How bad could it be?”

“I...uh...” I swallow heavily. She’s definitely not going to like this. “I want to go see Mark Jefferson in prison.”

I expect Victoria to explode, but she doesn’t even respond. She doesn’t make a sound or take her eyes off the road. After a few seconds, she glances in the rear-view mirror, activates the right turn signal, and smoothly pulls the car over to the side of the highway. Coming to a stop, she pulls up the parking brake, turns on the hazard lights, and kills the engine. Turning to face me, she smiles sweetly. “Could you please repeat that, Maxine?”

Something in her voice makes me reach for the door handle. Without breaking eye contact, Victoria’s hand flashes to the driver’s side lock button; the sound of the locks engaging echoes in my ears. “I said I wan-”

“Because I couldn’t possibly have heard you correctly.”

“Victoria, I jus-”

“Since it sounded like you just suggested we go visit Mark god damned motherfucking Jefferson in prison!” She closes her eyes and lets out a shuddering breath. “But that can’t be right, because that would be fucking insane.”

“Look, I know how it sounds, but...” I pause, considering the words. “You remember when you testified at his trial?”

“You’re goddamn right I remember.”

“And that gave you closure, didn’t it? It helped you move on?”

Victoria’s eyes narrow slightly. “Where are you going with this?”

“I...it’s complicated.”

“Then un-complicate it.”

“Victoria, I...I was there. In Jefferson’s Dark Room.”

“What do you mean, you were there?”

“I mean he took me and he...he had me t-tied to that...that chair, and...” It’s been two years, and I can still feel the tape on my wrists.

“Oh god,” she whispers, the anger draining from her face. “How? When?”

She listens quietly as I recount events that never actually came to pass. How Chloe and I followed the clues to Jefferson’s bunker and discovered the Dark Room, where we found the last photos ever taken of Rachel Amber. About finding Rachel’s grave at American Rust, trying to stop Chloe from killing Nathan, and our panicked rush back to the junkyard to keep the evidence of Rachel’s murder from being destroyed. 

Seeing Chloe die, the feel of the needle piercing my neck, and looking up to see Jefferson looming over me. Waking up in the bunker, dazed and tied to a chair. Seeing that timeline’s Victoria and trying to convince her that everything was going to be alright, only to have that bastard make a liar out of me.

My desperate photo jumps, the bright and shining timeline I abandoned to save the girl I love, being rescued by David, using Warren’s photo to go back, saving Chloe, and setting the police on Jefferson to create that final timeline.

“When David and the cops bust into the bunker and saved me,” Victoria says, slowly. “That was because of you?”

I shrug. “More or less.”

“Oh, Max.” She reaches over and pulls me into a hug. “Why didn’t you ever tell me?”

“It didn’t happen to me in this timeline. I changed things, so it didn’t happen.” I try to force the tremor out of my voice. “I...I didn’t think I had the right. Not when you...”

“Stop that. You remember it, so it happened,” she insists, unknowingly echoing Chloe’s words from almost two years ago. “You have as much right to hate him as anyone.”

“That’s why I want to go see him. However the plan goes, this might be my last chance to look him in the eye and show him I’m not scared of him anymore. Or at least tell him to fuck himself to his face.”

“Okay, that I can understand,” Victoria admits with a rueful chuckle. “But as much as I’d love to give you that, I’m pretty sure you can’t just drop by for a surprise visit.”

“You’re right. You have to be on a prisoner’s approved visitor list.”

“And how do you plan on getting arou...” She trails off. “Oh shit. He sent you a letter, didn’t he?”

“Yeah, he did.” I hesitate. “You, too?”

She nods. “And I sent him a strongly-worded response.”

“How strongly worded, exactly?” Knowing Victoria, the description is probably grossly inadequate.

“I might have threatened to fillet him from the waist up, then tie the loose skin in a knot over his head so he could suffocate in his own stink.”

“Holy shit, Victoria.”

She shrugs at my horrified look. “I read it in a book and thought it sounded scary.”

“Yeah, just a little.”

“Anyway, it probably landed me on some kind of watchlist or something, so I doubt they’d let me in to see him.” Victoria frowns. “But why did he send one to you, if he never...you know.”

“He, uh...” I shift uncomfortably in my seat. Remembering the twisted affection Jefferson had for me makes me want to puke. “He really liked me. He said he was disappointed we never got a chance to work together. He said I could come visit anytime.”

“Oh my god.” Victoria looks appropriately disgusted. “That’s just...ugh.”

“Yeah,” Another memory pops up, bringing a fond smile comes to my face. “Chloe actually burnt the letter and...” I drop my face into my hands, embarrassed. “...and then she convinced me to pee on the ashes.”

“Okay, that’s fucking gross,” she laughs. “Totally justified, but still gross.”

“It was a very Chloe idea,” I admit.

“Yeah,” Victoria nods. “She and I never really got along, but hearing you talk about her makes me wish I’d had a chance to know her the way you did. I never thought I’d say this, but she sounds like she was pretty cool.”

“She was. And I think you two could’ve been friends.”

“I’m pretty sure she actually hated me, Max.”

I shake my head. “She hated rich Victoria. She would’ve liked regular-person Victoria. Regular-person Victoria is a badass.”

“Damn right I am.”

“So, about Jefferson...what do you say?”

Smirking, Victoria starts the engine again and smoothly pulls back onto the highway. “I say that you’re long overdue to give that vile, perverted pile of dogshit a piece of your mind.”

 


 

October 8, 2015
Oregon State Penitentiary
Salem, Oregon

Visiting hours at the Oregon State Penitentiary are pretty narrow; just a three-hour window in the middle of the day, and they were long over by the time we made it to Salem. I briefly considered rewinding, but that would mean going back to a point before I convinced Victoria to come here in the first place, and I really didn’t feel like having that conversation again; especially not over the phone, since she’d be back in Washington state in a suddenly empty car.

We were fine spending the night in town. One of the upsides to knowing you’re going to change the past is that you don’t feel bad about spending money in the present. We treated ourselves to two of the best hotel rooms we could afford, ordered a ton of room service (mostly drinks and desserts) and stayed up late making fun of crappy pay-per-view movies. Then we each got to stretch out on our very own (super comfy) king size beds for an amazing night’s sleep.

I woke up the next day feeling better than I have in a long while, and by the time we arrived at the penitentiary I felt ready for anything.

Getting in to see Jefferson proved to be shockingly easy. My name was still on his list of pre-approved visitors (shudder) and signing in was just a matter of showing them my driver’s license. A bored-looking woman behind an inch-thick window passed a small basket to me through an opening and told me (in such a monotone that I actually wondered if it was a recording) to empty the entire contents of my pockets into it.

A moment later I was trading the full basket for a numbered slip of paper, then she directed me to follow an intimidatingly large and grim-faced guard to the visitor’s area. He explained the prison’s visitation rules on the way.

“Remember that you’re here to visit one inmate and one inmate only. You’re not to speak with anybody else, not even another visitor. You and the inmate will sit on opposite sides of the table. There will be no physical contact of any kind. Understood?”

I nod. Something in the man’s voice gives the impression that each rule is followed by an unspoken ‘or you will be shot’. “Got it.”

“You will give absolutely nothing to the inmate. And that means nothing, no matter how harmless it may seem. No cigarettes. No photos. Not even a stick of gum. Is that clear?”

“You guys actually took everything I had back at the...” I trail off when he gives me a sharp look. “Right. Gotcha. Nothing.”

“You’re going to be monitored and recorded the entire time you’re here and you’ll be expected to exercise proper behavior. Any physical contact, yelling, loud cursing, vulgarity, or other kind of disruption will result in the immediate termination of your visit.”

Everything around me, from the concrete walls to the reinforced steel doors to the tone of the guard's voice, feels cold and impersonal. This entire place seems like a draconian hellhole, and it warms my heart to know that Jefferson has been locked inside it.

We arrive at a steel door that looks more or less the same as all the others, just as the guard finishes his little speech. I wonder if he’s got it timed so that happens? There’s a faint buzz as the magnetic locks release, and the guard pushes the door open to reveal a large space that looks surprisingly similar to a high school cafeteria. He holds it open until I’ve passed through, then closes it behind me with a dull thump and gestures to a nearby table.

“Wait here and the inmate will be brought to see you. Any last questions?”

I feel like asking to borrow the taser strapped to his belt might not go over well. “No.”

He gives me a curt nod, murmurs something into his radio, and moves to a small guard station next to the door. A few minutes later, he gestures to the far edge of the room. I look just in time to see another door open, revealing the one and only Mark Jefferson.

I’m not surprised to see that he looks different from the last time I saw him. His beard is gone and his hair, once carefully shaped to look just the right amount of messy, has been reduced to little more than a ragged buzz cut. The stylish-enough-to-not-look-too-stylish glasses I remember have been replaced by cheap black plastic frames, and one of the lenses is visibly scratched. I recognize the dark patches under his eyes as a dead giveaway that he doesn’t get much sleep, but those eyes still light up when he sees who’s come to see him.

Another stone-faced guard escorts him to the table as quickly as the shackles that connect his ankles and wrists will allow. The result is a satisfyingly stupid shuffle that completely robs him of whatever charisma he might’ve had left.

Sitting down as smoothly at his restraints permit, Jefferson waits quietly while the guard secures them to a hook on the floor, giving me a smile that makes my skin crawl. It’s not until his escort has walked away that he speaks. “Well, if it isn’t Max Caulfield. I have to say I’m surprised to see you here. I was wondering if you’d actually received my lett-”

I’m out of my seat before he can finish. Surging across the table, I grab his head in both hands and slam his face into its steel surface with all the strength I have. All the time I’ve spent at the gym finally pays off; the crunch of his nose breaking against the tabletop might be the most gratifying sound I’ve ever heard in my life.

The pained howl he lets out as a torrent of blood begins pouring down his chin is a very close second.

“That was for Kate, you sick motherfucker!” I drive a follow-up punch right into his shattered nose. It hurts and my aim is a little higher that I meant it to be, but it’s absolutely worth it when the bridge of his cheap glasses snaps under my fist. Jefferson cries out again as the two halves clatter to the floor, tears of pain streaming down his face. “And that was for Victoria!”

He lets out a frightened whimper when I raise my fist again, and I swear I’d give anything for a recording of it. I’d make it my ringtone. From the side of my eye, I can see the guard that brought me in is a lot closer now. I don’t have much time left to act, but I’ve dreamed of this moment. Without gloves or wrist wraps, this is probably going to hurt - a lot – so I want it to be worth it. That’s why I’ll wait the second it takes for his eyes to open. Because I want him to see it coming. And when he does open them, when he squints up at me through his tears, I know I don’t have to say it. He already understands.

This one is for me.

I throw my last punch, piling all the weight I can behind it. It lands right where I want it to, just below what’s left of his nose. Another bolt of pain rockets back up my wrist as his head snaps back, but the shackles keep him from going far. He almost immediately rocks forward again and spits his two front teeth out the table.

The guard’s fingers are already closing around my arm when I twitch my hand. Everything freezes in place. I take one last moment to enjoy the damage I’ve done, wishing that my phone hadn’t been taken away when I arrived; I would’ve loved to have a picture of this to show Victoria.

Sighing, I turn my wrist a few degrees and try to ignore the throbbing as I watch events roll back. The guard beside me withdraws his arm, then starts to run backwards to his place against the wall. Jefferson’s teeth seem to hop back up into his mouth as the blood staining his orange jumpsuit flows back up into his nose. A few seconds later he seems to miraculously heal his own broken face by bouncing it off the tabletop.

I watch the world comes to a slow stop as I ease the rewind to a halt. Sitting back down, I slide my battered fist out of sight and let time resume moving forward right in the middle of Jefferson’s sentence. “...surprised to see you here. I was wondering if you’d actually received my letter. But having you visit is such a pleasant...”

I don’t bother listening to whatever he’s rambling on about. No one ever tells you how much it hurts to punch someone, but I use that pain to help me summon up every single cruel thought I’ve ever had about the man. I force myself to recall everything he’s done to me in excruciating detail; the feeling of duct tape on my wrists, the sudden pain of a needle piercing my neck, the nauseating disorientation of the drugs, and the words he kept muttering to me between the clicks of the camera shutter; the ones that left me feeling filthy and exposed for weeks after. Even the devastating sight of Chloe’s lifeless body crumpling to the ground, the perfectly circular hole above her left eye just barely visible in the dark.

I gather all of it up - the rage and loathing and disgust he’s forced me to carry for the last two years - and pour it all into the most vicious smile I can manage.

Jefferson flinches so hard, you’d think I’d pulled a gun on him.

“Stop talking, Mark,” I say evenly. “It’s bad enough that I have to share the same air as you. Don’t make me listen to you waste it.”

Pretty good, right? Victoria thought of that one.

“I...”

I make a small, sharp gesture with my left hand; enough to shut him up without accidentally alarming the guards. “The only reason I’m here is to enjoy the sight of you behind bars, hopefully getting beat up on the regular by some 300-pound guy named Tiny.” I raise my voice just enough to reach the nearest tables. “Because I hear that’s what happens to grown men who drug and molest teenage girls.”

Jefferson’s eyes go wide with terror and he ducks his head slightly. To my delight, several of the nearby prisoners look in our direction. One of them - a mountain of a man with a collection of military tattoos and biceps that look bigger than my legs - glances at the young woman sitting across from him, then turns back to glare murderously at Jefferson.

“Heh. I think you just made a new friend.”

“Max, you can’t...”

“You’re probably thinking I just made this place into an extra special kind of hell for you, that there’s going to be a waitlist for people who want to kick the living shit out of you, but you’re wrong. What I just did is irrelevant, because you’re irrelevant.” Glancing over my shoulder, I see the same guard that brought me in making his way toward us. He really doesn’t look happy. “Looks like our time is up, anyway.”

“Ma-”

“Shush, now.” I rise from my seat just as the guard arrives. “We’re done here.”

 


 

The process of signing back out is both abrupt and unfriendly. A paper bag containing the few things I checked in is practically shoved into my hands. Then I’m told, in no uncertain terms, that my name is going to be removed from Jefferson’s approved visitors list and that I’ll have to re-apply to get on it again.

I smile just as sweetly as I can. “No need. I won’t be back.”

Another expressionless guard (seriously, these guys are like Vulcans) walks me to the exit and all but shoves me out the door. Crossing the parking lot with a spring in my step, I find Victoria standing by the car, idly playing with her phone. She looks up as I get close. “So? How’d it go?”

“Pretty sure I just earned my very own spot on the no-visiting list.”

“Glad to hear it,” she laughs, tucking her phone away. “So, was telling him off as satisfying as you hoped?”

“It was okay,” I shrug. Glancing around to make sure no one is nearby; I pull my hand out of my pocket to show her my injured knuckles. Bruises are already forming on three of them, and one is actually bleeding a little. I must’ve split it on Jefferson’s teeth. Gross. I need to remember to disinfect that. “Punching him in the face was a real treat, though, even if it did hurt like hell.”

The way Victoria’s eyes light up, you’d think she just won the lottery. “Wait, are you serious?”

“Yup. It’s too bad I had to rewind it away.”

“How hard did you hit him?”

“Harder than I’ve ever hit anything in my life.”

“Damn.” Her eyes widen. I’m no prize fighter, but she’s had to hold the punching pads for me enough times to know I’m no slouch, either. “How bad was it? Did you break his nose?”

I nod, not even trying to hide how pleased with myself I am. “Knocked a couple of his teeth out, too.”

“Really?” She leans closer, excited. “Did he cry? Please, please, pleeease tell me you made him cry.”

“Like a little bitch.”

“That’s beautiful, Max. That’s just beautiful.” She pretends to wipe away a tear. “The only crime is that you couldn’t leave him like that.”

“Yeah. Though I did very loudly call him out for molesting teenage girls. A lot of the other prisoners in the room didn’t seem too pleased about that. Even if all of this does get rewound away, I bet tonight is gonna be pretty nasty for him.”

“Oh, shit!” Victoria crows, laughing loudly enough to startle a passing couple. “You are my goddamn hero!”

“All in a day’s work, ma’am.” Grinning, I bump my shoulder against hers. “Let’s get out of here.”

Homecoming

October 8, 2015
Ruins of Arcadia Bay
Tillamook County, Oregon

It’s late evening by the time I turn the car off the relatively smooth asphalt of the Oregon Coast Highway and onto the cracked, unkept road that branches off to our destination. The county road crews probably stopped bothering to maintain it after the town was declared beyond repair. The handful of still-functioning lights only serve to make the drive creepier.

The fact that the old Welcome to Arcadia Bay sign is still standing has to be one of the most unsettling things I’ve ever seen. It’s crooked as hell and two years of neglect haven’t done it any favors, but it’s still right where it was the last time I saw it. As we get closer, the car’s headlights reveal some hasty spray-painted editing.

“Hell Came to Arcadia Bay,” Max reads aloud, shivering a little as we pass by. “Jesus, that’s dark.”

“Sounds about right to me.”

She glances at me, then turns back to the window. “Did you ever think you’d come back?”

“Hell no. It was hard enough trouble shaking the memories of this place the first time around.”

“I never really managed to do that. I still remember driving out of town with Chloe like it was yesterday.”

The trees begin to thin out around us as we enter the storm’s path. There aren’t any visible stumps, but the uneven earth gives away where trees were torn right out of the ground. The road starts descending, and a minute later we come around the last curve and what’s left of Arcadia Bay comes into sight.

There isn’t much left to see. Most of the buildings are gone, their remains long since cleared away. The only sign that any of them were ever there at all are the cement pads they once stood on, now half covered in moss. A gaping hole is all that remains of the gas station on the edge of town, probably from when the underground gasoline tanks were dug up. With the town gone, I guess they couldn’t be bothered to fill it up when they were done.

Glancing in the rearview mirror, I catch a brief glimpse of the broken remains of Arcadia Bay’s iconic lighthouse.

The roads here are in even worse condition. Grass is growing up from the unkept concrete, and I have to swerve to avoid potholes more than once.

“It’s weird. I thought there’d be more left.”

“The state contracted some companies to come in and clean everything up about a month after the storm.”

“I never heard about that.”

“They tried not to make a big thing of it. Guess they didn’t want it played up in the news.” My eyes are pulled to the edge of town, which would have been blocked from sight when everything was still here. Now, with the storm having ripped anything taller than six feet out of the ground, I can see all the way to the spot where my parents died. “I only found out because they needed my permission to demolish what was left of the mansion.”

“Oh. Sorry.”

“Whatever. Where are we headed?”

“Chloe’s old house,” Max murmurs. “We need to go south on Bay Avenue until we’re two blocks past where the Two Whales used to be. Then turn left and drive another two blocks. Whatever’s left of it will be there.”

“No prob...what the hell?” I trail off, bringing the car to a slow stop. Killing the engine, I climb out to stare at the road ahead of us in disgust. There are at least fifty parked vehicles blocking the way, along with just as many tents. There are dozens and dozens of people milling around, and few of them are even trying to light a large bonfire on the spot where the Two Whales Diner used to be. “Oh, you’ve got to be fucking kidding me.”

Max gets out as well, glancing at me over the car’s roof. “Who are these people?”

“Fucking believers,” I snarl.

I’ve heard about ‘Arcadia Bay Believers’ before, mostly from stuff I read online. People who’re convinced that the storm hadn’t been a simple natural disaster. That it’d been the work of God, or the devil, or ancient spirits, or space aliens, or whatever. It depended entirely on who you asked - though as far as I know, no one has credited the storm to a time-travelling teenage girl yet.

I’d always pictured a small group of old hippies waving crystals around and disheveled UFO whackos who lived out of their cars, and there are a few of those types. A lot of them don’t look much older than us, though.

“Evening.”

Surprised, I turn to see a heavyset, bearded guy sitting on the hood of a ridiculously old station wagon. He’s got a laptop balanced on his knees and looks like he should be holed up in his mom’s basement playing League of Warquest or whatever the fuck it’s called. Gesturing to the dozen or so people clustered nearest to us, right in the center of the street, he says, “It’s a bit of a wait for the internet spot, I’m afraid.”

“The what spot?” I manage to keep most of the disdain out of my voice. What does get through doesn’t seem to faze him.

“The internet spot. It’s basically a ten foot by ten-foot box with the only active phone signal. Which is weird, considering how good the signal is just outside of town. Must be some kind of natural phenomenon.”

“Localized atmospheric interference. It messes with signals in the UHF range,” Max responds absently, eyeing the crowd with more contempt that I would have thought she was capable of. “It started after the storm. Some guy at Oregon State did a thesis on it last year.”

“Seriously?”

“Mhm.”

“Do you remember his name? I’d love to look it up.”

“Not really,” she says, as if she didn’t spend a week pouring over the man’s research.

Well, if Max gets to be rude to strangers then I’m definitely not bothering to play nice. “So, which nutjobs are you here for? The ones who think it was ghosts, or the ones who think it was aliens?”

“The ones who read blogs, actually,” he laughs, pointing to his laptop. “Brody Holloway. I write the travel blog A Tribe Called West.”

“Never heard of it.”

“I’m still building up a following.” He shrugs.

“And this is how you’re doing it? Your following must not have very high standards.”

“In my experience, people dig stuff that’s genuine and offbeat. I’d say these folks definitely qualify.”

“Yeah, well, I’d say they’re assholes.”

“Aw, they’re not so bad.” Brody shrugs. “A little lost, maybe, but who isn’t at some point?”

“It’d be nice if they picked somewhere else to get lost.” Max glares at a passing girl whose t-shirt reads ‘Embrace The Storm’. “People died here.”

He nods solemnly. “Almost fifteen hundred.”

“Fourteen hundred and seventy-three,” we correct in unison, the words coming out almost automatically.

“Uh...I stand corrected.” He coughs, placing his laptop on the hood of his car and walking over. “Look, no offence, but I think you two are being pretty harsh considering you drove all the way out here yourselves. What gives these people any less right to be here than you?”

“They weren’t here when it happened.” I don’t know why I’m suddenly so protective of this godforsaken place. I just think these assholes don’t have the right to be here. Not this week.

“I think you’re setting the bar a bit high,” he says, not quite frowning. “If memory serves, only five people made it out.”

“Seven,” Max says.

“No, it was five.”

“There were seven.” She doesn’t look at him, but her tone is absolutely frigid.

He studies us for a long moment before responding softly. “Including you two, I’m guessing?”

I slowly draw my hand out of my pocket, making sure he has a clear view of the small pepper spray canister I’m holding. If this guy turns out to be a freak, then he’s about to be a blind freak. “Pick your next words carefully, neckbeard.”

“Hey, you don’t have to worry about me.” He raises his hands a little, glancing over at the small crowd. “But you probably shouldn’t share that little detail around. I meant it when I said these folks are harmless, but some of them can still get a little...er...intense.”

“Noted.” I get back in the car, gesturing for Max to do the same. “Good luck with your blog thing.”

Before I can reverse away from the idiots, Brody gently taps on my window; I lower it about an inch.

“I, uh...” He coughs awkwardly. “You probably hear this all the time, but I’m really sorry for what happened here. No one should have to go through that.”

“We appreciate that,” Max replies before I can say something a lot less polite.

“Right. Look, I’m gonna go start a rumor that you guys are just posers. They’ll avoid you like the plague on principle. Hope that helps.”

“Thanks, I guess.”

“No problem. Good luck with...” He shrugs. “Whatever you’re here for, I guess.”

Backing away from the beachside asshole convention, it doesn’t take too long for us to find another way around. We count the blocks carefully to make sure we’re in the right place, until Max finally points to an empty lot that looks like all the others. “That’s it.”

“Really?” The house itself is long gone, just like everything else. What had once been a lawn is now a patchwork mess of knee-high grass, and weeds emerge from nearly every crack and crevice in the old foundation. To me, it doesn’t look the slightest bit different from any of the other pads in sight. “You’re sure?”

“Yeah.” Max opens the car door and immediately makes her way toward the foundation. “Definitely sure.”

“I can’t believe this was ever a house,” I comment, following. Along the way I kick at a small piece of concrete, sending it bouncing across what used to be a driveway. “I can’t believe any of these were houses.”

“The front door was right here. That was the kitchen, and that was the living room. The stairs were right here.” She points to each spot in turn, moving forward slowly. I can hear her whispering softly, counting her steps until she reaches a place on the edge of the pad and looks up into the sky. “Chloe’s old room was right above where I’m standing. I could tell you exactly where everything was the last time I saw it.”

“I’m not sure if that’s creepy or sweet.” It’s definitely sweet. And besides, if I could draw at all, I could probably sketch Taylor’s dorm room from memory.

“I practically grew up in this house. I could’ve made my way around blindfolded.” She smiles, and there’s such a deep and profound longing in her eyes. I wonder if anyone has ever looked like that for me?

She points to the corner. “The bed was right here.”

“Figures you’d start with that.”

“Oh, shush. Her desk was here, and the stereo would have been here, so...” Closing her eyes, she takes five deliberate paces and stops. “This is it. This is the spot where Chloe and I had our first kiss.”

“Technically, you’re about fifteen feet below that spot.” I laugh at her annoyed look. “But I get what you mean.”

“Are you suggesting that I rewind from the top of a fifteen-foot ladder?”

“Sure. Because nothing could possibly go wrong with that idea.” I pause. “Actually, what are you planning to do about that?”

“I’m going to end the last rewind a little early. Probably just a couple of hours after Chloe and I left town, when her house was still more or less standing. I’ll rewind through the storm itself in her garage, then I’ll go up to her room and rewind the rest of the way from there.”

It’s actually not a bad idea. I wish I’d thought of it. “Well, don’t step on a rusty nail or anything. C’mon, I’m starving.”

Grabbing the sandwiches we bought at the Subway in Tillamook, the two of us sit on the hood of my car and listen to the noise those idiots on the waterfront are making. They’re about six blocks away, but with nothing to block the view we can see their stupid bonfire from here. I wonder where they’ll all end up in the new timeline. Will they be living normal lives somewhere, or will they just find some other weird-as-fuck thing to obsess about? I guess it doesn’t really matter.

The sun is down by the time we’re done eating, and with no signal there isn’t a lot my phone can do to distract me. I briefly consider playing a few levels of my most recent mobile game obsession but considering my high score (along with my phone and myself) are all going to be erased from existence tomorrow morning, I don’t really see the point.

Balling up my sandwich wrapper, I blithely toss it into the street and move to collect our blankets from the trunk. I’m not exactly thrilled to be sleeping in my car in the middle of an abandoned town, but for some reason Max is dead set on leaving bright and early tomorrow morning and I don’t feel like renting a motel room we’re barely going to use. If anything happens, Max will just rewind it away anyway.

Tossing one of the blankets to her, I wrap mine around my shoulders and settle into the driver’s seat. It takes a second to get it fully reclined into it’s not-entirely-comfortable semi-sitting state. And even then I find myself squirming to find a position I can sleep in.

Max, who seems to have settled easily into the passenger seat, sounds fairly amused by my struggle. “You okay over there?”

“Yeah, totally.” I don’t know if she can see me in the dim light, but I glower at her anyway. “I’ve always wanted to sleep in my car like a fucking vagrant.”

“I don’t think many vagrants have cars.” she points out, chuckling.

“Oh, well, that makes it way better.” I roll onto my side, still trying to get comfortable. “Seriously, is there any actual reason behind leaving tomorrow morning? Couldn’t you just go right now?”

“I could,” she nods. “But I want to leave tomorrow.”

“Why, exactly?”

She hesitates before answering. “Leaving tomorrow morning at eight AM will make the trip exactly two years.”

“What possible difference could that make?”

“I don’t know. Maybe none,” she admits, rising up on her elbows to look at me. “But it feels better to do it that way, and I’m happy to take any advantage I can get, even if it’s just in my head. If knowing I’m going back exactly two years helps me get into the right headspace, then that’s what I’m going to do.”

I guess I can’t dispute that. And really, the whole ‘what’s the difference’ argument cuts both ways. “Whatever.”

“Get some sleep, Victoria.” She rolls away, pulling her blanket up to her chin. “We’ve got a big day tomorrow.”

Maybe you do, I think with just the tiniest amount of bitterness. I won’t even exist after tomorrow morning, and I don’t know if I should be relieved or worried about how okay I am with that. The closer we’ve come to this, the more I’ve wondered whether or not I’d want to back out at the last minute. But here we are, right on the edge of it, and all I feel is resolve.

Even if the last two years haven’t been a nightmare, this still isn’t the life I want. I miss my mom and dad, I miss Taylor, and I’m tired of regretting all the things I never had the courage to say. But unlike almost everyone who’s been where I am, I’ve been given a way to do something about it. Max is going to go back and rewrite history, and everything that’s happened will be wiped away. A clean slate for all of us.

Reaching down to my bag, I brush my fingers over the sealed letter I’ve got stashed there. The one addressed to ‘Past Victoria’. I’ve been working on it for weeks, trying to find a way to reach the girl I was before. I need to be sure that stuck-up little idiot really knows what’s at stake and understands what she needs to do to set things right.

It’s not that I don’t think Max can convince past-me that she’s telling the truth, but when all is said and done there are some words that can’t come from her; not if she expects 2013 Victoria to really hear them. And this letter will, hopefully, tell her everything she needs to know to get her shit together and not make any stupid mistakes going forward. The kind of mistakes I know she’ll make if I don’t warn her.

It’s the best I can do for her. I hope it’s enough.

Leap Of Faith

October 9, 2015
Arcadia Bay, Oregon

“Rise and shine, Caulfield!” I shout, giving Max a not-particularly-gentle shove on the shoulder. She falls gracelessly out of her recently opened car door, hitting the ground in an uncoordinated tangle of limbs, then scrambles to her feet as she tries to get her bearings.

The sun is little more than a glow on the eastern horizon as I watch the whole scene with amusement.

“Oh, good. You’re awake.”

“Was that really necessary?” she grumbles, glaring tiredly at me.

“No. Pretty funny, though.”

“You suck.” Rubbing the last vestiges of sleep from her eyes, she grabs her jacket from the car and pulls it on to ward off the morning chill, idly flexing her fingers.

“How’s your fist of fury feeling?”

“Hm?” She glances down at the lightly bandaged knuckles of her right hand. “Fine. A little sore, I guess.”

“You’re lucky that cut wasn’t deeper,” I remind her. “Did you put more disinfectant on it?”

“Yes, Victoria,” she responds with an affected groan.

“I’m just checking. No regrets, I’m guessing?”

“Absolutely none,” she chuckles. “Have you made coffee yet?”

“Of course I have.” What kind of savage does she take me for? I spent good money for the best portable coffeemaker on the market. Something I cheerfully remind her of as I pour her a cup, before returning my hand to the deep pockets of my super-cozy fleece hoodie. Whoever came up with athleisure deserves a Nobel prize.

I’ve never been the type to jump out of bed in the morning, and I’ve always set my alarm to reflect that. The big event wasn’t until eight AM, so I figured that an hour would be enough time to force myself awake and get ready. But as it turns out, laying in the dark wondering what it might feel like to be erased from existence doesn’t make for a good night’s sleep.

Existential dread is lonely, it turns out, and I’ve already been awake for hours. I was so relieved when seven o’clock rolled around and I finally had an excuse to wake Max up.

We take our time getting ready. Max double-checks the contents of her bag while I go through the motions of preparing what I’ve been trying very hard not to think of as my last meal, and we both devote way more attention to those tasks than necessary. Her bag is exactly the same as when she checked it last night, our breakfast is instant oatmeal, and neither are worthy of more than a few minutes of our time.

We’re stalling, and we both know it. We’re also trying to fill the air with something other than stifling silence. Arcadia Bay had always been tediously quiet, but it’d still been alive. Even in the dark hours of the early morning, stumbling back to the dorms after some party with Taylor and Courtney, there’d still been the distant sound of passing trains and the yellow glow of the streetlamps. Not anymore.

It doesn’t matter that the trees are growing back, or that I can occasionally hear some small animal rustling in the brush; this is a dead place now. Even all the noise the nutjobs down by the beach made last night hadn’t quite overcome the disturbing sense that we were trespassing in a graveyard.

When Max suggests we play a few games of checkers before she leaves, I can’t agree fast enough. I packed the set when we thought we’d be arriving here a full twenty-four hours earlier, just in case we got bored, and now I’m glad for the distraction. The first couple of games go just like you’d expect; with Max getting trounced. We’re in our third now, though, and Max is looking especially pleased with herself. If I had to guess, I’d say it’s probably because I’ve only got one piece left on the board.

“Scared yet?” she asks, eyeing the captured piece I’ve been idly tapping on the car’s hood.

“Of course I am,” I admit. “Aren’t you?”

She smirks. “Nope.”

“Seriously?” I’m not sure whether to chalk that up to confidence or delusion. “I don’t know about you, but the idea of bending time into a pretzel to save fifteen-hundred people from a possibly-supernatural storm seems like it’s worth being scared of.”

“I was talking about the game, but thank you. I feel so much better now.”

“Oh.” Yeah, I guess that makes more sense. “Why would I be scared of the game?”

“Because I’m winning.”

“Is that right?” I lift up my piece, hold it for a second, and put it back on the board.

“Seriously? Are you going to move or not?”

“Actually, you know what?” I make a show of checking my phone. “I think it’s time to get going.”

“What?! No!” Max gestures indignantly at the board. “You can’t do this!”

“I sure can.”

“I’ve finally got you beat!”

“Uh-huh,” I chuckle at her outraged expression. “C’mon. You have places to be.”

“I’m counting this as a win. I won this game.”

“If that makes you feel better, you go right ahead.”

“This is completely unfair.”

“Said no winner, ever,” I fire back, standing up and stretching.

“Whatever,” she grumbles, sliding off the hood. Lifting her empty travel mug, she points at mine. “Refill?”

“Please.”

“I might need a second to figure out that overbuilt coffee thing of yours. You just stay here and keep being a jerk.”

Amused, I watch her walk over to the incredibly easy to use (seriously, I’ve explained it to her three times already) coffeemaker. Once I’m sure she’s not paying attention, I look down at the unfinished checkers game and pick up my last piece. Finally springing the trap I’d lured her into, I slowly hop the small red disc around the board as I deftly capture all but one of Max’s. Finally coming to the far edge of the board, I let my fingertips linger on it for a second.

“King me,” I murmur, smiling.

“What was that?”

“Nothing.” Sweeping the board clean, I pack up the set and toss it in the car. “You ready for this?”

“As I’ll ever be,” Max sighs as I follow her to the spot below where Chloe’s room had been. “Unless you can think of anything?”

I couldn’t have asked for a better opening than that.

“Yeah, actually.” Reaching into my pocket, I pull out my message to the past. “I want you to take this with you.”

“What is it?”

“It’s a letter I’ve written for myself. My younger self, I mean. I want you to give it to her when you see her.”

Taking it from my hand, Max eyes me a little warily. “What’s in it?”

“Some of it is just confirmation of the stuff you’re going to tell her anyway,” I admit. “And some is about pushing her into action. Because whatever big inspirational speech you’ve been practicing for eighteen-year-old me, I can pretty much guarantee that it won’t work.”

“Give me a little credit. I got through to you, didn’t I?”

“Convincing her you’re telling the truth isn’t even close to the same thing as convincing her to do what needs to be done. I don’t care what you think you remember about me; you do not know enough to pull that off on your own.” I reach over to tap the letter. “That’s your silver bullet. That’s how you get through to her. End of story.”

“If that’s ‘some of it’, then what’s the rest?”

“That’s private.”

“There aren’t any lotto numbers in there?” she presses. “Sports statistics?”

“Do I look like Biff fucking Tannen to you?”

“Maybe a little bit around the chin,” she teases. I’d probably want to smack anyone else for that remark.

“Okay, first of all? Why would I need to send her lotto numbers? She’s already rich. Second? Screw you.”

“You think we have enough time?” She glances down at her watch. “I mean, I guess if we skip the cuddling after...”

“What are you...” Are you kidding me? She picks now to finally start playing along? “Oh, go fuck yourself.”

“See, now you’re just putting out mixed signals.”

Damn it. She’s trying to make me laugh and I’m a little annoyed that it’s working. Shutting my eyes, I take a slow breath. “Seriously, Max. I just want to be sure she doesn’t make any of the mistakes I think I was headed for.”

“That’s all you had to say.” She taps a finger against the envelope. “You think it’ll work? Taking a letter back to before it existed?”

“I think so. I got the paper, pen, and envelopes from my dad’s desk, so I know for a fact that they all existed two years ago. As for the writing, I’m hoping it’ll act the same as my recap journal; the ink vanishes from the pen and reappears on the page.”

“I guess we’ll see,” she murmurs.

No, you’ll see, I think, almost bitterly. I’ll never know one way or another.

Although I push the thought away before it can take root, it still reminds me of the other request I have for her. The slightly embarrassing one I’ve been putting off for weeks because I can’t think of a way to phrase it that doesn’t make me sound unbearably needy and pathetic.

“There’s...uh...one last thing.” I murmur, just loudly enough to be heard. Ugh...I already sound needy and pathetic.

Max almost certainly doesn’t think so, though. She’s probably concerned because she’s one of those weird ‘genuinely nice’ people. “What’s that?”

“I...” For fuck’s sake, just say it already. “Okay, look. I know that I’m always busting your balls over one thing or another...”

“You?” She grins. “Never.”

“And I realize I’m not always easy to get along with,” I continue with a withering glare. “But you really mean it when you say I’m your best friend, right?”

She looks so bewildered that you’d think I asked in another language. “What?! Of course I do!”

“Alright. Good.” I nod, relieved. It’s not like I’m insecure or anything (because I definitely haven’t been the tiniest bit worried that she was only pretending to be my best friend because she needed something from me) but it’s nice to hear her say it out loud one last time. “Then could you...I mean if this whole thing works and you don’t end up destroying the universe or something...”

“Wow. Thanks, Victoria. No pressure.”

I reach out to lightly cuff her shoulder. “What I’m trying to ask is could you...I don’t know...try getting to know the young me? I know I was a monster bitch back then, but I actually really admired you and I think...I know I’d want to be friends with you.”

If I did have any insecurities about that (which I don’t), they wouldn’t even have had time to flare up before Max pulls me into a hug. “Are you kidding? I was already going to, dummy. You think I’d just give up on you?”

“Okay. Right.” A sudden breeze kicks up some dust, and I have to pull away to wipe at my eyes. Because of the dust. “Could you...uh...can I have that letter back for a second?”

Snatching it out of her hand before she can reply, I tear it open on my way back to the car. There’s a pen and a couple of spare envelopes in the glove compartment (just in case I wanted to make any last-minute revisions) so it’s easy to add a quick note, underline it, then reseal it.  

I use the short walk back to compose myself and calmly hand the letter back. “There.”

“What was that all about?” she asks as she tucks the letter into her bag.

“I was adding more lotto numbers and sports statistics,” I say, smirking. “Ready to get this show on the road?”

“You know it.” She bumps her shoulder against mine, the corner of her lips ticking upward. “By the way, I’m totally telling younger Victoria that you cried when I said we’d still be friends.”

“What?! No, I didn’t!”

“You kinda did.”

“Don’t you fucking dare!” Try as I might, I can’t even muster a proper scowl. God help me, I’m actually smiling.

“Can’t stop me. Best friend privileges.”

I shouldn’t be laughing. I’m just encouraging her. “That’s such bullshit!”

“Hey, I don’t make the rules.”

“Fine. I don’t want to be your best friend anymore!”

She steps into a chalk circle she drew on the ground last night. “Liar.”

“Asshole,” I fire back, still grinning. “Do you have everything?”

“Sure do.”

Since anything she carries back with her vanishes from wherever it was at the time she arrives in, we didn’t know what would happen if she tried going back to a point before any of it actually existed. That’s why we’ve made sure that everything she’s taking with her was already around two years ago. Otherwise, the best-case scenario would probably be that she arrived in 2013 stark-ass naked.

The worst-case scenario would be her pants causing some kind of world ending paradox, which I have to admit is both terrifying and hilarious.

Luckily, it’d only taken an afternoon and a couple of thrift stores to reproduce the Walmart-chic look she had back in high school. We ended up coming pretty close to what she’d been wearing most of that week. Generic jeans, t-shirt with a nondescript logo, sneakers, and a grey hoodie. The only things she hadn’t budged on was Price’s bullet necklace and navy-blue beanie.

“Camping stuff?”

She nods, patting the messenger bag slung over her shoulder. “All packed.”

The real challenge had been finding the supplies for the stops she’ll be making along the way. The most weight she’s ever managed to carry back was thirty pounds, so we ended up settling on a few of those silver foil emergency blankets we pulled out of the Chase Space’s old first aid kit, a hammock we bought at a used camping gear store, an old fire-starter from the seventies that the old guys working there showed us, a water bottle with a built-in filter my mom bought me when I was fifteen and showed a brief interest in hiking, and some emergency food bars that both look and taste like sawdust.

“You left your phone?”

“It’s in the car.” Another thing she wouldn’t need. Even if it survived the trip, the network probably wouldn’t recognize it. Easier to just use her phone from back then.

“Remember, each jump comes with about two and a half minutes of lag time.”

“I remember, Victoria.”

“Got your rocket fuel?”

“Yep.” She holds up a full-size EpiPen with a nervous smile. She’s got six more in her bag - one for each long jump - along with two EpiPen Junior pens to get her to the finish line. “Never used an adult dose before. Should be interesting.”

Getting ahold of those had been a lot easier than it had any right to be. Just like Max had said after that first six-week jump, all I had to do was feed Dr. Kinloch some story about going on a year-long backpacking trip around the world. I didn’t even have to try very hard to make it believable. He just smiled, nodded, then signed off on the insurance form.

At least it was for a good cause, rather than me just looking for a way to get doped up. Even if this timeline only has a few minutes left, I’m gonna ride that sweet sense of moral superiority right to the end.

“You’ll be fine. Tell me the travel plan.”

“Seriously?”

“Humor me.” She gives me a look, so I add, “Call it a last request.”

“That’s not funny.”

“I’m waiting.”

“Fine,” she huffs. “Seven long rewinds right here with at least a day to rest in between. Remember that three and seven are going to drop me into the middle of winter, so be ready.”

“If you can, gather up some sticks before you make those jumps so you can start a fire.”

“I know, Victoria. Stop worrying.”

“I’ll worry if I fucking want to. Continue.”

“When I get to December 2013, walk out to the woods to avoid the demolition crews. Rewind to the evening after the storm, then come back here. Hide in the garage while rewinding through the storm, then head upstairs before rewinding the rest of the way.”

“Perfect.” I nod. “I know you want to get there but don’t push yourself too hard. Stick to the schedule and don’t be afraid to take longer breaks if you need them.”

“Yes, mom,” she groans. “Any other obvious stuff you want to tell me?”

“No.” It’d be nice if there were. There’s nothing left for me but to stand here until I cease to exist. The rest is up to Max. “Last chance to back out and go home.”

“No way.”

“I didn’t think so,” I chuckle, taking a step back. “Good luck, Max.”

“Thanks.” She pops the cap off the EpiPen, eyes it for a second, then suddenly I’m wrapped up in another hug. “I’m going to miss you so much, Victoria. I really couldn’t have made it here without you.”

“I...uh...” My voice cracks a little and for once, I don’t care if she notices. “Is it weird to say I’m going to miss you, too?”

“No,” she whispers, shaking her head. Then she takes a deep breath and steps back into the circle. “Well, here goes everything.”

I wince when she jams the EpiPen into her thigh, almost feeling the jab of the needle myself. I’ve only used one once, and it wasn’t an experience I care to repeat. The way your heart starts racing is bad enough, but it’s the sudden feeling of powerful and undefined anxiety that really sucks – especially when the only reason you did it in the first place was because someone dared you to.

Max’s breaths are coming fast and shallow, each one sounding a little sharper than the one before it. Her hands are visibly shaking. “O-oh shit...”

“You okay?”

“F-f-fine,” she responds, stumbling over her own tongue a little. “A little weird b-but...okay...”

“Think it’s going to be enough?”

“P-probably. I sorta f-feel like m-my heart is g-gonna explode.”

“You’re joking, right? It’s hard to tell.”

“T-t-totally.”

Yeah, I don’t think she’s joking. “Whatever. Go change the world already.”

“You g-got it.” She raises her right hand and closes her eyes. “S-see you earlier, Victoria.”

I really wish that were true.

I’ve never seen Max rewind before - how could I have? – and I wonder if this is what it’s like every time. It’s so strange, as though the air around us is humming. It’s like I’m standing next to a huge bass speaker, feeling the sound vibrating in my bones and dancing over my skin. And I don’t know if it’s my imagination, but I swear I can see something forming in front of Max’s palm. Something that defies description and sends an icy shock of fear right through me.

Fighting the urge to squeeze my eyes shut, I take another breath and remind myself there’s nothing to be afraid of. This isn’t going to hurt. I’m not dying.

Max is going to build a better life for all of us, and it doesn’t matter that I’ll never see it. There’s going to be a new Victoria Chase. She won’t have to think about the last two years, because they’ll never have happened. She’ll have Mom and Dad. Hopefully, she’ll have Taylor, too. She’ll go on to live her life, never knowing what it feels like to lose everything.

And except for Max, no one will remember the girl who stood in the ruins of Arcadia Bay, imagining a better world as she waited for hers to en-

 

-------------------

END PART V

-------------------

 

 

 

Consequences


I expected the pain. I always knew that this could be excruciating.

I expected the raging, chaotic storm of light and darkness around me. I figured I’d have to deal with the bucking and twisting current, trying its hardest to throw me off into oblivion.

I expected the confusion, too. Even on the days I thought of rewinding as ‘easy’, I never really lost sight of the fact that I didn’t actually know how I was doing it. Maybe I’m just a little paranoid, but it’d always felt like every rewind came with an indistinct feeling of disapproval.

(“I’m letting you do this,” said the Universe. “But that doesn’t mean I like it.”)

I expected all of this and more because it made sense to me. It seemed logical that going so far back would be a thousand times worse than anything I’ve ever experienced, and I’m not wrong about any of it. But in all my preparations, I always assumed that the hardest part would be to keep going.

I thought I’d be fighting to hold on the whole way, but now that I’m here, I’m not sure I could let go if I wanted to. The still point I’m holding feels like it’s glued onto my hand. It hurts like hell, but in a weird way that’s comforting. I’m so used to the absurdly contradictory sensations that come with time travel that good old-fashioned pain is almost a welcome change. That said, I’d still like it if my brain didn’t feel like it’s getting too big to fit inside my skull.

(If my head explodes while I’m rewinding, would the pieces land at different points in time? Asking for a friend.)

I once read that if you grab a live electrical wire, it’ll make your hand seize up and you won’t be able to let go again. You’ll just keep on holding it until it kills you. The thought makes me want to go back and find every past version of myself who ever thought time travel was easy so I can kick their asses, one by one. Then, when they got to the future, they would go back and kick some naïve Max asses themselves. It’s the only acceptable punishment; an infinite cycle of quantum ass-kicking.

(I should really stop putting the word quantum in front of everything. It probably doesn’t mean what I think it means.)

I sometimes really hate the way my body tries to physically understand time travel. There’s never any consistency to it. Sometimes it feels cold, sometimes it feels hot. Sometimes it’s like the deepest crushing ocean, and sometimes it’s like the empty vacuum of space. And then there was the one and only time Chloe convinced me to try her prescription weed and the five-minute rewind that felt like I was running on a hamster wheel for hours and hours.

Seriously, that stuff was potent.

(Just a little more. Push the envelope. Be the ball. Leave it all on the field. I shouldn’t have binge-watched Friday Night Lights with Victoria last month.)

My muscles feel like they’re burning and freezing all at once, like I’ve been thrown into the middle of the arctic ocean and forced to swim for shore. The only alternative is drowning, and it’s that thought that triggers some hardwired survival instinct buried deep in my brain. The one that forces you to inhale, no matter how hard you try to hold your breath. The same instinct that’ll drive an animal to gnaw its own leg off to escape a trap.

Entirely against my will, I start trying to get free. My hand refuses to cooperate, stubbornly maintaining its hold like it doesn’t belong to me anymore. I pull harder, trying to free myself, imagining I can feel the strain of my joints as they threaten to dislocate. I’m almost ready to start clawing my own arm off when my hand suddenly relaxes, and I tumble away.

(Maybe I should have thought this through better. Or...you know...at all.)

I brace myself for a rough re-entry, hoping that I’ve managed a couple of months at least...but the normal flow of time doesn’t reassert itself. The world around me doesn’t come back into focus. Instead it gradually fades into darkness as I come to a soft landing on an unseen surface. The chaos is gone and the buzzing pain of the adrenaline fades as a warm sensation begins to creep up my legs. A sense of vague contentment washes over me, making me wonder why I’d been so worried in the first place.

I decide, cautiously relaxing, that it feels like I’m standing ankle-deep in a warm stream. Except now the current is calm, slowly flowing past my legs. Like a relaxing bath, where the water is just the right temperature to make you feel like it isn’t even there.

(Except it’s not actually wet. That’s weird.)

I can see a line of pulsing energy in front of me; a bright thread that stretches from my future into my past. I reach out, letting my hand hover close without actually touching it. It seems to hum, rushing past at a speed I can’t even imagine, and as it does I feel like I can just watch the past flow by. The water-that-isn’t laps gently at my knees as I watch Chloe going through chemotherapy, but in reverse it seems like she grows more and more healthy as it goes on. Her skin brightens and her blue hair comes back.

(Everything is fixing itself. I didn’t have to do anything. That was so easy.)

As the soothing flow rises above my waist, I watch Chloe’s twentieth birthday go by. I see the two of us supporting each other as we follow Jefferson’s trial, our first Valentine’s Day, and Chloe excitedly opening presents under the Christmas tree just two months after the storm. Each glimpse comes with a rush of happy memories, and I let my arms fall limply to my sides as the flowing warmth envelops my chest.

I see our first night in Seattle and watch myself hesitantly creep into the guest bedroom where Chloe lay awake. The not-exactly-water sensation rolls over my shoulders and, for a second, I’m not sure if I’m climbing into bed with her, or just watching my younger self do it.

(It couldn’t be both, could it?)

It feels like the water is lapping at my chin now, and for the first time I wonder - in a nebulous sort of way - whether something might be wrong. I want to keep my head above the surface, but when I kick my feet I realize that I’m not standing on the bottom anymore. I try again, but I can’t really feel my legs. I know they’re there and I can feel the weight of them. They’re just kind of...numb.

(Is this bad? I think this might be bad.)

The warm, dull sensation starts in my hands as well, creeping up my arms until I can barely move at all. I’m not sure I’ve been breathing at all for the last few minutes, but just to be safe I take a deep breath right before my face slips beneath the surface. I lose all sense of sight and sound instantly, wrapped in a warm liquid cocoon. Something like sleep begins to tug at my consciousness, and I wonder if this is what being in the womb feels like.

(Wow, that’s actually kinda gros-)

(Wake up, Max!)

Wait, what?

(Don’t lose yourself! Focus!)

Is that my voice? I don’t think that’s my voice.

(Hold on!)

Huh?

(HOLD THE FUCK ON!)

Hold on. Okay. I can do that.

Summoning up my strength, I force my right arm to respond. It lifts slowly, as though I’m moving it through half-dried cement. Reaching out, I splay my fingers wide as I look for the steady point I’d been holding on to. It can’t be far, but all I can see is darkness and my arm is getting weaker the longer I search.

I’m getting scared that I’ve lost it forever when I suddenly make contact with something and a crackling bolt of energy rockets up my arm. A shockwave pulses from my hand, rushing out in all directions and instantly bringing sensation back to my body - including the burning pain of the adrenaline. The feel of warm, flowing water vanishes, replaced by a violent, ice-cold current. I can feel myself being jerked in every direction and I tighten my grip, holding on to that still point like it’s my only lifeline.

(That’s it! You got this!)

It seems to buck in my hand, trying to throw me off as it draws me deeper into the dark. The familiar pain that comes with holding on too long begins to set in. It feels like a steel vice wrapped around my skull, squeezing every coherent thought from my mind, and replacing each one with pain. Before long, the pressure begins to coil its way around my chest, as well. It crushes the air from my lungs, and I’m sure that if I weren’t surrounded by pitch darkness, I’d be watching my vision fade to black. I force myself to hold on as the current rushes violently by, buffeting me like a ragdoll. I tell myself that it doesn’t matter if every other muscle in my body fails, so long as I can maintain that grip.

(I believe in you! You ca-)

Just as I think I can’t hold on any longer, the pressure is gone, and I feel solid ground under my feet once more. I gasp for air, savoring each sweet breath, and hesitantly crack one eye open to see...the Blackwell Academy science classroom?

“What the hell...?” Opening my other eye, I turn a slow circle. It’s definitely the Blackwell science classroom. Everything looks just the way I remember it, too. The rows of desks, the locked cabinets, and the faint but ever-present chemical smell. Even the way the sunlight streams in through the windows feels familiar. The only thing missing is the students. The entire space is devoid of life, in fact, except for one other person.

“Miss Grant?”

My old science teacher, who I know for a fact was killed in the storm, is standing right in front of me in a classroom that was reduced to rubble two years ago. “You’re late, Miss Caulfield.”

The whiteboard behind her is completely covered in unintelligible mathematic scribbles. If any of it is supposed to make any sense to me, it’s failing miserably.

“H-how are you...what are you doing here?”

Crossing her arms, she gives me a stern look. “I’m trying to teach class. And the sooner you sit down, the sooner we can get started.”

“But...”

“Sit down, Miss Caulfield.”

For lack of a better option, I slowly make my way to the nearest table. As I take a seat, I feel an absurd flicker of anxiety over not having my textbook.

“All right, everyone. Settle down,” Ms. Grant says, addressing the otherwise empty room. “Today we’re going to be going over the finer points of temporal mechanics, with a particular focus on how Maxine Angela Caulfield is an unforgivably irresponsible fuckup.”

“What?! That’s not...!” I begin, but she silences me with a sharp look.

“If you have something to add, Miss Caulfield, you can raise your hand like everyone else.”

“But I...”

“Yeah, Max. Quit being disruptive.”

Startled by the unexpected voice, my head snaps to the seat beside me. The girl sitting there appeared out of nowhere and without a sound. Her feet are up on the table, her chair is tilted back as she plays with her phone, and she’s the spitting image of what I’d looked like when I’d gone to Blackwell. 

“Heya, Max,” she says with an affected cheeriness that puts my teeth on edge. “How’s it going?”

“Oh, you’ve got to be shitting me,” I groan.

“Missed you, too,” she responds mockingly, not looking up.

Imagined or not, the nightmare I went through as Chloe practically carried me up to the lighthouse was still one of the worst experiences of my life. And when you look at my life, that’s saying something. “What the hell is this?”

“This is me watching you screw up again,” she shrugs. “Just like I knew I’d eventually have to.”

“Fuck you.”

“Well, someone’s feeling feisty.”

No, I’m not doing this. This isn’t at a version of me from a parallel timeline or a 'Max I left behind' or some bullshit like that. This is just a figment of my own neurotic imagination trying to scare me, and I have more important things to do than be insulted by an old nightmare. “I don’t have time for this.”

“You don’t have time? Are you cereal?” She cackles. “Fuck me, that’s such a stupid phrase. That’s probably why you like it.”

“Whatever.” Rolling my eyes, I start to rise from my chair when she reaches out to grab my sleeve.

“Actually, you should pay attention to this part.” She gestures to the front of the classroom. “It’s pretty important. You might even learn something.”

“Thank you, Maxine,” Ms. Grant says, smiling at her. “As I was about to say, the principles behind time travel are incredibly complex. More complex than the human mind can possibly fathom. In fact, if a human did try using time travel, she’d be much more likely to cause problems than solve them.”

Turning to the whiteboard, she gestures to the mess of calculations. “As you can see here, one of the worst possible abuses of time travel would be to intentionally inhibit, counteract, or otherwise circumvent the termination of a sapient being.”

“That means keeping someone from dying,” my old nightmare stage-whispers.

“A hypothetical example of this,” Ms. Grant (I guess?) continues, “would be averting the shooting death of a young woman in a high school bathroom, thereby creating a new timeline. In this new timeline, neither a very troubled student nor a deeply disturbed teacher get arrested, an innocent bullying victim is driven to suicide, a marriage is destroyed, and – finally – and entire town in northwestern Oregon is wiped off the map.” She turns back, looking me in the eye. “All because one stupid girl couldn’t let the dead stay dead.”

“That’s not... I never asked for these powers!” I have no idea why I’m defending myself to people who don’t exist. This is a nightmare, just like before; my own anxieties run amok. Any minute now I’ll be running through a dark maze, or late for an exam, or naked in public. Maybe all three.

“Always with the excuses. It’s never your fault, is it?” The other me snorts. “You may not have asked for them, but you sure do love using them.”

“Oh god, will you just shut up already?”

“I’ll shut up when you finally get with the fucking program,” she says. Despite her hostile words, her voice is calm and measured. “I told you before that if the world is going to keep turning, the dead need to stay dead and you need to leave her in the past.”

The words land heavily, dragging me back to the day I was talking to myself in the mirror, sleep-deprived almost past the point of sanity and hating my reflection for every gentle word she said back. It might be the most vivid experience I’ve ever had, even if I’ve never been able to fully recall it.

“Oh, remember that, do you?”

“I...nope. That was just some screwed-up hallucination, and so are you.”

“Ouch,” she pouts mockingly. “Guess that’s what I get for being nice.”

I don’t know what infuriates me more; the way she’s talking to me now, or the fact that she really had been surprisingly kind then...except she wasn’t real. Not then, and not now. This is all in my head.

“I even tried taking the passive route, locking a moment in time to keep you from fucking around with it. Not that it stopped you from trying over and over and over...”

“That was y-” I refuse to finish the question. It not like that’s some big reveal. She knows everything I do. Taking a breath, I harden my resolve. “No. I’m ignoring you.”

“Sure you are,” she laughs. “Y’know what’s crazy? This plan of yours. I mean, you spent months putting it together with your little band of merry morons, thinking you’d covered every angle. And all the while missing the great big danger sign right in front of your face. The most obvious thing in the world, and you happily ignored it so you could try to save your precious Chloe.”

I refuse to acknowledge her, but she still has my attention. Insecurities are like that. They worm their way past your defenses and stick you where it hurts. I can’t block her out, and she knows it.

“Do you know what happens when you rewind someone back to life, Max? Do you have even the faintest fucking clue?” I don’t bother responding. She’s probably dying to share whatever nonsense my mind has cooked up, anyway. “Of course you don’t. If you did, you wouldn’t even be here.” She pauses. “No, actually, you’re pretty stupid so you probably would.”

I try to open the classroom door, but it won’t budge. The knob won’t even turn.

“Have you ever seen the inside of a clock? It’s pretty neat. All those springs and gears working as one. All fit together so perfectly.” She hums happily. “The universe is kind of like that. Everything working together in harmony. All the pieces set just so. At least, until some moron comes along and starts putting parts where they aren’t supposed to be. The more complex a machine is, the more damage an out-of-place piece can cause. And guess what? The universe is pretty fucking complex.”

Waxing poetic about clocks? What is she, a Bond villain? C- for effort.

“When you save a life, every single thing that person does from that point on has an effect on other people,” she continues, because she’s an asshole. A fictitious asshole. “And then those people go on to affect other people, who affect even more people. You let enough time go by, and you could see entire nations rise and fall just because one fucking person didn’t die when they were supposed to.”

Also known as the plot of who knows how many time travel movies. That C- just turned into a D, Fake Max. See me after class.

“I know you’re listening, Max,” she sing-songs, mockingly. “Chloe was a jammed gear in the machinery of the universe, and things started going wrong the second she existed where she wasn’t supposed to. I mean, did you think that all those birds forgot to fly all on their own? Or that a bunch of whales suddenly decided to take up sunbathing?”

I briefly consider trying to open one of the windows, but there’s nothing outside. Just an off-white expanse, because apparently my mind could create sunlight but couldn’t be bothered to add a few trees. Meanwhile, Bizarro me just keeps on talking.

“But hey, the universe can be flexible. I mean. if it really needs to be. It probably could have adapted if you’d only saved Chloe the one time. But no, you just had to keep on doing it. Do you have any idea how many times you kept her alive that week?”

Four, I think. Maybe five. It gets a little tangled.

“I bet you’re only counting the big ones. The bathroom. The ricochet. The train. Jefferson putting a bullet in her head.”

Some of the worst moments of my life, and she’s reciting them as if I need to be reminded.

“Do remember how much it hurt? How every time the universe tried to course-correct, it felt like having your head split open? I bet you do.”

I start looking for something heavy, telling myself I want to use it on the pane of glass in the door and not on my doppelganger’s skull.

“There were others, though. Ones you didn’t feel and never even knew you prevented. A car accident she didn’t get into because she was driving slower to talk to you. A fight with Frank Bowers she never started because you were there to pull a gun on him. You kept her from taking a knife to the gut on that one.” She laughs humorlessly. “Nine times, altogether. And every time, the universe had to bend a little further to adapt, and more tension built up.”

I can see her staring at me from the corner of my eye. I keep telling myself that she’s not real. It’s just my own mind screwing with me. Trying to piss me off and bait me into a pointless argument. Give me an excuse not to focus on the much scarier task at hand. I really wish it weren’t working so well.

“And when things finally snapped? Boom!” She slaps her hands together and I almost jump. “Fifteen hundred innocent people, stone fucking dead.”

“Fourteen hundred and sixty-three,” I correct automatically, cursing myself for responding at all.

“Oh, spare me. You might know the number, but how many of them can you still name? How many have you just forgotten?” That one actually hurts. “I gotta ask, though. What’s it like knowing that you killed a whole town, just so your blue-haired sweetie could suffer a thousand times more than she had to?”

I turn to face her. “What?

“Come on, Max,” she sneers. “Haven’t you ever heard of consequences?”

“Your actions always have consequences, Miss Caulfield,” Ms. Grant adds, startling me. She’d been so quiet that I’d almost forgotten she was there.

“See?” The other me points at the woman. “At least a gunshot would’ve been quick. She’d have gone into shock and bled out in minutes, never even knowing about the cancer. But she didn’t get her gunshot, did she? She had to keep going, suffering every day while that disease was eating her alive, and it was all your fault.”

The accusation grinds against something raw inside me and all thoughts of escape fly from my mind. Surging forward, I grab her by the front of her hoodie and haul her upright. “Shut up!”

“Ooh!” she laughs, looking unconcerned about the hold I have on her. “I think I struck a nerve.”

“I didn’t kill her!”

“Well, you sure as shit didn’t save her.”

“I said shut up!” I snap, shaking her. I can feel the tears on my cheeks and I’m furious at myself for letting her make me cry. “Why are you doing this to me?! Why won’t you just leave me alone?!”

“Because you’re doing it again, you arrogant bitch!” She shouts, shocking me into releasing my grip and shoving me back a few steps. “You think you’re some big hero by trying to save everyone, but it’s just going to make everything worse! You think it was bad the last time? You have no idea what bad is. You haven’t just failed to learn from your mistakes; you’re going back to make way, way worse ones.”

The way she’s speaking, slow and condescending, almost makes me feel like a stupid little kid...but I refuse to give her that victory. I remind myself that she’s a figment of my own imagination, she doesn’t know anything I don’t, and I’m not about to be bullied by myself.

“This is bullshit!” Furious, I lunge forward and shove her right back. She doesn’t even try to move out of the way, and I’m not sure which one of us is more surprised when I send her tumbling to the floor. She stares up at me, stunned. “First I’m a fuckup for getting everyone killed, and now I’m a fuckup for trying to save them? Pick a damn side already!”

I expect her to jump up and fight back. I expect her to twist the knife or accuse me of being stupid and arrogant again. I want her to scream something cruel at me, so I can scream something cruel back at her. I want us to go round and round until our voices give out and we’re reduced to glaring. I’m aching to show this spiteful little bitch how much I hate her, and so I’m a little unprepared when she just sighs and rubs her eyes tiredly.

“Fine, Max. I’ll spell it out for you, if that’s what it takes.” Slowly climbing to her feet, she lifts a hand and snaps her fingers; Ms. Grant (or whatever the hell it’d been) vanishes into thin air. “The people in Arcadia Bay were never supposed to die. But they did die, in the storm that you created by refusing to let Chloe die. The same storm that will always be created if Chloe Price lives and will always destroy the town.”

“Which is why I want to get everyone out. So nobody dies.”

“Oh, for fuck’s sake,” she mutters. “Haven’t you been listening? Didn’t you hear me say how much damage a person can do just by being around when they aren’t meant to be?”

“I get it, alright!” I didn’t mean to start shouting, but it does make me feel a little better. “Chloe lives, storm gets created, town gets leveled. That’s why I want to get everyone out!”

“Leaving you with a town’s worth of people who should have died.”

“I...oh.”

“Yeah. Oh.” She gestures in the vague direction of the whiteboard. The equations start shifting and rearranging, though they don’t make any more sense to me now than they did before. “If Chloe dies, the people in Arcadia Bay will just keep going like they always have been, living out their pointless little lives in some shithole Oregon town and barely making a ripple in history.”

She gestures again, and the math seems to get a little messy.

“If Chloe lives and everyone else dies, that does make a ripple. A manageable one, though. Most of the world didn’t give a shit about Arcadia Bay when it was there; why should they give a shit when it isn’t? It’s a tragedy for a couple of months and a statistic forever after.  But if everyone lives...”

Another gesture turns the entire board into a tangled mess of scribbles.

“Do you get it now? You see what you’ll get if you try to have your cake and eat it, too?” She looks at the board. “Fucking chaos! Entire histories rewritten. Empires rising out of nowhere. Others never existing at all. Timelines would all but shatter! Who the fuck knows what could come out of that mess?”

You ever have one of those crappy tutors who know the material super-well but suck at explaining it? And then they get pissed off when you don’t understand what seems obvious to them? “That’s ridiculous! None of them were supposed to die in the first place! How is them living now such a disaster?”

“Because they’ll fucking scatter! Fifteen hundred people out in the world, living lives that were never supposed to have existed in the first place! That’s not ripples, Max. That’s a fucking tsunami!”

Wait a second...something’s off here. (Besides the whole ‘I’m literally arguing with myself’ thing, I mean.) She’s trying so hard to make her case, but does she really think she could ever convince me not to save Chloe? What is she...oh... oh.

“You’re trying to talk me out of doing this.”

“Are you fucking kidding me?! Of course I am, you dumb f-”

“No, I mean you’re trying to talk me out of it. But why would you bother? Why would you need to unless that was your only option?” I smile as the pieces come together. “It’s because you need me to quit, isn’t it?”

“I...” For once, I think she’s actually speechless. Oh my god...am I really this neurotic? Am I really so tied up in knots that I’ll invent another version of me just to try and psych myself out? Unbelievable. One more reason I’m going to need to see a therapist when all this is over.

Turning away from her, I slowly walk around the classroom, letting my hand brush over each surface as I pass by. The textures all feel real enough; the delicate roughness of the wallpaper, the smooth sides of the wooden supply cabinets, and even the slightly worn laminate tabletops. The air even has the faint chemical tinge I remember. Gotta hand it to my imagination; it really worked overtime on this one.

Pressing my hand against the wall, I close my eyes and search for that flow of energy. I know it’s out there, just beyond the edges of whatever the hell this room is. And the more I focus on my destination, letting the details refine themselves one by one in my mind, the more I can feel it rushing by under my fingertips, like the flow of water through a heavy plastic sheet.

It seems to pulse in time with my heartbeat, and the harder I push, the more it bleeds through the wall and into me. I can feel it in my bones, washing across my skin, and suddenly every breath I release seems to come out as a hum. It’s rushing in my veins, and there’s a tension to it that’s inching closer and closer to the breaking point. The room around me begins to twitch and blur. Then, as a familiar burnt-orange glow begins to creep in on the edges of my vision, she cries out.

“Max, wait! Please!”

I’m so surprised that I actually do stop. The room snaps back into focus. “What did you just say to me?”

She glares at me. “You fucking heard me.”

“Because it sounded like you said please.”

“I...” Her lips twist like she’s swallowed something bitter. “I can stop you, but...”

“Yeah, okay.” I start to raise my hand again.

“Stop that!” She reaches out to grab my wrist. Her grip is like steel and almost disturbingly cold. "Of course I can, you idiot. I could wipe your arrogant ass out of existence. That doesn’t mean I want to."

"Aww. I didn't know you cared."

"I don't," she snaps. "But consequences cut both ways."

Again with the cryptic bullshit. “Oh, is that right?”

“Yeah. It is. Remember when I compared the universe to a clock?”

“You mean your whole b-movie supervillain monologue? What about it?”

“You’re a piece of that clock, too. So am I. So is everything. And as much damage as a loose or misplaced part can cause, it’s nothing next to the loss of one.”

I’m...not really sure how to respond to that. As if I’m some important piece of this universe clock? Is this my ego talking, or my own sense of existential dread?

“Look, I’m deadly serious about how much damage what you’re trying to do could cause. But forcibly stopping you could cause just as much. Maybe even more.” She sighs, her expression softening. “Don’t force me to choose. Just say the word, and I’ll send you right back where you came from. You can tell Victoria it didn’t work. The two of you can go home and move on with your lives.”

“I can’t ju-”

“Your book would’ve been accepted by the first publisher you took it to, you know,” she interrupts. “They’d have signed you to a three-book deal. You’d be an actual novelist.”

“...really?”

“Mhm. And Victoria’s legal problems were coming to an end. Another year and she’d have regained full control of Chase International.” She smiles a little. “Bestselling author Max Caulfield and billionaire industrialist, Victoria Chase. It was going to happen anyway. All you have to do is let the clock keep ticking.”

The life she’s describing isn’t hard to picture. It’s something I’ve thought about before, in my most hopeless and discouraged moments. When the idea of risking everything on some crazy time-travel scheme seemed utterly impossible. And now, like then, the idea of giving up and finding a way to live again is so tempting...but it isn’t real. She’s making it up, because I made her up. And since bullying, threats, and insults haven’t worked, my subconscious has moved on to bribery.

I’ve heard this song before. Stage three. Bargaining.

“I think we’re done here,” I answer, simply.

Her smile collapses and she just stares at me. For a second, I swear she even looks the tiniest bit scared. Then her lips move, and all I can discern is a faint, “...never stop.”

“What?”

“You’ll never stop, will you?” I get the impression that it isn’t really a question. “It doesn’t matter what I do. You’ll never, ever stop.”

“Welcome to the conversation. Now let go and get out of my way.”

She doesn’t move, but she does release my wrist. I try to be subtle about trying to rub some warmth back into it. Standing uncomfortably close and still staring at me, she takes a slow breath. “Fine. We’ll try it your way.”

Well, that’s new. “Is this some kind of reverse psychology thing?”

She looks down, takes another deep breath, then looks back up to glower at me. “Here’s how this is going to go. I’m going to give you a shot at your happy ending, I’ll deal with whatever damage you’re definitely going to cause as it comes up, and we’ll both just hope that it’s less than what would’ve happened if I just ended you right here.”

“How very generous of you.”

“You can’t begin to fathom how generous it is, you fucking ingrate.” She snarls, baring her teeth. “You get one chance, Max. One. And when you just end up making everything worse, like I’m fucking certain you will, you’re going to have to live with that. No more do-overs.”

“Is that right?” I scoff.

“Yeah, asshole, it is. Wiping you out would have serious and far-reaching consequences that I’d much rather avoid, but there’s a big fucking difference between shouldn’t and won’t.” She jabs a finger into my chest. “You become a big enough problem and I might just decide to take my chances.”

“Ooh, scary,” I snort, despite the shiver that runs down my spine. I know she’s not real. She’s just some character my mind invented to screw with me and I’ve got no reason to listen to a word she says. That doesn’t change the fact that a little part of me wants to be scared.

“Just hold still,” she grumbles. “I’m going to give you a push. Enough to get you where you’re going.”

“What kind of push?” I chuckle nervously. What kind of weird shit am I throwing at myself now?

“Don’t ask questions you can’t comprehend the answer to,” she responds, unhelpfully. “Just be ready for a rough landing.”

“Are you sure you’re not actually going to wipe me out of existence?”

“Don’t fucking tempt me,” she presses a disturbingly cold palm to my stomach. “I am so tired of dealing with your bullshit.”

Does her saying that mean I’m actually a little suicidal? At this point, I wouldn’t be totally surprised. “Yeah. Right back at’cha.”

“One chance, Max,” she reminds me. The sunlight streaming into the room flickers the tiniest bit, and I’m pretty sure I feel the ground under my feet tremble. “Don’t fuck it up.”

“Gosh, I’ll sure try.”

“Oh, and a word of advice?” She grins wolfishly as the room begins to flicker and fade again. “Everything has limits, so be careful how much time you waste after you get there.”

“Wait, what the hell is that supposed to m-” Before I can finish, a staggering wave of something slams into me, violently shoving me backward. The classroom vanishes as I’m plunged back into the void, and just before I black out I swear I can hear Chloe’s voice floating up from the darkness.

(You can always rewind...)

First Kisses (And Other Things That Can Kill You)

October 9, 2013
Arcadia Bay, Oregon

“...back to your chlorine brand t-shirt and generic jeans.”

I can’t help but grin at the playfully indignant expression on Max’s face. It looks exactly the same as the one she used to give me when we were kids, and for a second it’s like I’ve been thrown five years back in time to one of our countless sleepovers.

“You suck!” she laughs. “I like my shirt and jeans.”

While I’d never admit it out loud, Max’s whole look does fit her nicely. Somehow she manages to make the ‘hipster waif’ thing look cute as hell. Though after our little adventure last night, I’m a little preoccupied with what she’s got going on underneath it.

I suppress a groan and remind myself, not for the first time in the last couple of days, that I left that particular childish crush in the past. I’m not going to fall for Max all over again just because we took a midnight dip in the Blackwell swimming pool. Who cares that she’s saved my life at least three times since Monday?

Or that she totally took the fall for that weed with step-douche, less than an hour after I almost ran her over?

Or that she straight-up pulled a gun on Frank Bowers and threatened to cap him, just to protect me?

Or that she made a pipe-bomb, like a fucking badass, to break into Wells’ office like it wasn’t even a thing?

Or that it’s taking a lot of willpower not to imagine what she’d look like naked?

...I might be in trouble.

“It would be cool to try on Rachel’s clothes,” Max comments, ignorant to my staring as she roots through my closet like the big ol’ snoop she is. “Just to see if they fit.”

Oh, yeah. This is a great idea. I’m sure dressing Max up like my missing ex-girlfriend won’t stir up a confusing tangle of emotions that I’m completely unprepared to deal with right now. Thinking about it, maybe it'd be better to just run Max’s regular clothes through the wash. I know Mom won’t mind and we’ve probably got lots of time before El Step-Douche gets home.

I’m about to suggest it when Max pulls a dark green flannel shirt from the closet, holds it against herself, then hangs it up again. I can’t help but imagine what it’d look like against her gentle curves, which immediately leads to remembering what those curves look like without a shirt.

I haven’t felt this frustrated since the last time Rachel spent the night. It was just a couple of weeks before she disappeared and months after we’d gone back to being ‘just friends’, which was something she seemed to get used to a lot quicker than I had. Fuck knows I’d been trying my hardest, too, because I definitely wanted to keep her in my life. But Rachel was always a naturally flirtatious person, and having a beautiful girl playfully flirt with you all evening when you know it isn’t going anywhere is pretty rough.

Having to share the same bed with a beautiful girl when you know it isn’t going anywhere is even worse. And doing it while your brain refuses to stop reminding you of what she looks like without her clothes on? That’s just cruel and unusual punishment.

Fuck.

I’m definitely in trouble.

New plan: Get Max dressed, right now.

"Stop second-guessing yourself, Max!” I take her by the arms and give her a playful shake. Her skin feels warm and soft under my palms and I immediately let go. “Put this on and let your inner punk-rock girl come out! You can afford to take chances! Whenever and whatever you want to try.”

She still looks a little uncertain and I decide she needs a push. Just a little nudge to kick off that trademark Max Caulfield shyness and make her want to put on some damn clothes and go downstairs before I do something stupid.

“For example...I dare you to kiss me!"

Oh, look. I did something stupid.

"What?"

She looks stunned at my suggestion. The sudden flush in her cheeks makes my heart do a nervous little flutter, and I privately admit that was probably a bigger push than she needed. I’m not going to back down now, though. I don’t care whether it’s been five years or fifty. If there’s one thing I know about Max, it’s that she’s a total wuss when it comes to stuff like this.

"I double dare you,” I press, moving a little closer, not letting her break eye contact. “Kiss me now."

I know exactly how her brain works. I guarantee that in a couple of seconds she’s going to start stammering. Then she’ll look down at her feet, make this adorable little frustrated sound, glare at me like an angry kitten, and toss out some lame-ass excuse that I’ll tease her about. We’ll both laugh, finish getting dressed, then we’ll head downstairs for some breakfast.

Maxine Caulfield. As predictable as the tide.

I’m one hundred percent certain that she’s going to be the one to back down, which is probably why I’m so startled when she rises up on her toes and quickly presses her lips to mine. Pulling away from her and retreating a step, my brain starts screaming something along the lines of, ‘Holy fucking shit she actually did it! She kissed me! Max just kissed me like it wasn’t even a crazy thing to do and it felt amazing and I’m totally blowing it!’

Thankfully, on the outside I manage to get away with a stammered, “D-damn...you’re hardcore, Max.”

Trying to ignore my racing heart and hoping I don’t look half as flustered as I feel, I turn to pick up my phone and flop onto the bed. Looking back, I give her my practiced Chloe-don’t-care smirk. “Now I can text Warren and tell him he doesn’t stand a chance. Y’know...unless he’s into girl-on-girl action.”

I guess it’s a pretty good recovery because she laughs softly and rolls her eyes. I don’t know how I can find that so annoying and so attractive at the same time.

“You’re such a...whoa...” She wobbles on her feet a bit. And I’m not sure whether it’s my eyes playing tricks on me, but I swear she sorta...flickers. Like when a video skips a frame and even though you didn't really see it, your brain is still telling you something weird just happened.

“You okay, Maximus? Haven’t blown a fuse on me, have you?” I tease, because teasing Max is safe and familiar territory. I mean, except for that one time about thirty seconds ago when I teased her and it accidentally-on-purpose led to her kissing me. “Aw, did I make you swoon with one little kiss?”

“No,” she murmurs. “Just a head rush.”

“You sure?”

She nods, a little unsteadily.

I try to laugh, but something nervous is tightening in my chest. “Look, if this is about the dare, I’m sorry. I was just messing with you, y’know?”

“No, that’s not...I... uh...” She’s starting to look really shaky now. Even though her eyes are pointed right at me, it’s like she’s looking right through me. She starts blinking rapidly, breaks out in a sweat, and her breaths are coming fast and short.

If this were anyone other than Max ‘straight-edge’ Caulfield, I’d say it looked like she’s having a bad trip. But at least I know how to handle a bad trip. I’ll just pretend that’s what this is. It’ll be just like that time Rachel took that fucked-up acid. If I can talk Rachel Amber out of a tree while she’s tripping balls, I can handle whatever this is.

“Okay, Max.” Standing up, I slowly take both her hands and give them a gentle tug; she’s a little reluctant, but eventually starts following me toward the bed. “We’re gonna get you laying down, okay? Then we’re gonna take some nice, deep breaths.”

“I think something weird is happening,” she whispers. “I don’t...I don’t feel right.”

“I know, but you’re gonna be fine. Just follow me.”

“I...wait, stop.” Pulling her right hand out of mine, she looks down at it with confusion and slowly flexes her fingers. “Is this my hand? I...I don’t think this is my hand.”

I clamp down on the urge to freak out. I’ve heard plenty of stoned people do the whole ‘hands are weird’ bit, but they never actually doubted whether their own hand belonged to them. They never sounded scared that it wasn’t, either. “That’s totally your hand, Max. Promise.”

“No,” she shakes her head. “No, this isn’t my hand. T-this is someone else’s hand.”

I grab her hand again and hold it up between us. “You feel that? I’m holding it, see?”

She looks at it, then at me. “I...I don’t think you are.”

Okay, that probably isn’t a good thing. Lowering our joined hands, I lean down a little to look her in the eye. “Hey, you trust me, right? You know I wouldn’t lie about something important?”

She blinks, then nods hesitantly.

“Then I need you to trust me when I say that’s definitely your hand, even if you can’t feel it, okay?”

“But I can feel it.” She sounds really scared now. “It’s just not mi-”

Her voice cuts off mid-word, like someone just hit her pause button, and suddenly she’s staring at me like I just appeared out of nowhere. Her panicked breathing slows right down as her stunned expression shifts into something more like awe.

“...Max? You still in there?” I give her another gentle tug toward the bed, but it’s like trying to pull a statue. She doesn’t respond and I’m starting to think this actually might be a good time to freak out.

Then she blinks, raising her hand to cup my cheek and smiling so brilliantly that the entire room seems to light up. It’s absolutely breathtaking, and there’s an undisguised joy in her eyes that my poor pre-wake-and-bake brain has no idea how to handle.

“I made it,” she whispers, almost too softly to hear. “You’re alive.

“I am?” I laugh nervously, worried that Max might’ve just gone a little crazy. “I mean, yeah. Last time I checked.”

“Chloe,” the way she breathes my name sends a rush of goosebumps down my arms. She looks like she’s about to cry, but she’s still smiling so brightly. I’m getting some serious mixed messages here, and the warmth of her palm against my cheek is making it really hard to figure them out. “Oh god, I’ve missed you so much.”

“Y-yeah?” I don’t know why the words make my mouth go dry. I know she missed me. I missed her, too. It’s been a long five years, but we’ve talked about this already.

“So, so much. I can’t even tell you how much.”

“Well, that’s not exactly breaking...news...” I trail off when I realize that she’s a lot closer than she was a second ago. So close that we’re just one deep breath away from touching. “Uh...Max? W-whatcha doin’?”

“Showing you,” she whispers, knotting her fists in my shirt, pulling me down and pressing her lips to mine.

Whenever I’ve allowed myself to daydream about kissing Max (which still happens way more often than I care to admit) I’ve always thought she would start out soft, even a little timid. That I’d have to slowly coax her out of her shell. Gently fan whatever flame might be inside her into something bright and hot and passionate. I never imagined that I’d be the one hesitantly bringing my hands to rest on her slim waist, heat rising from my stomach and heart pounding in my chest. Or that she’d be the one to loop her arm around my neck, her fingers tangling in my hair while the other arm pulls me hard against her.

A soft moan rises up from somewhere low in my throat as her fingertips trace a feather-light line just above the waistband of my shorts. My whole world narrows down to just her; the soft feeling of her lips moving against mine, the heat of her body through the thin fabric of our clothes, the way her touch leaves my skin tingling in its wake, and even the faint smell of chlorine that still clings to her skin.

But just as I start to think I could happily dwell in this warm haze forever, Max violently lurches out of my arms and stumbles back with a choked cry, clutching her head like she’s ready for it to fly apart at any moment. Our eyes meet for barely a second, and the expression of utter terror on her face chills me to the bone. Then her knees buckle and she collapses to the ground. I’m beside her in a heartbeat, pulling Max back into my arms as she whimpers and clutches at my shirt.

A small trickle of blood falls from her nose, rapidly growing into a steady stream. She’s trying to speak, but all I can think about is the way the blood stains her teeth as her lips move silently. Hoping to stop the bleeding, I snatch a handful of napkins out of an old fast-food bag and press it to her face. Almost as soon as I do, blood begins to leak from her eyes as well, mixing with her tears as they flow down her cheeks.

“Oh, shit! Oh, fucking shit! Max! Max!

With a faint groan, Max’s eyes roll back and she starts to shake violently. I try to hold on to her, but I can’t press the napkins to her face and keep a good grip at the same time. She jerks out of my arms after just a few seconds, her head hitting the floor with a dull thump and leaving a bloody half-print of her face on my cheap blue carpet.

The room suddenly seems to tilt on its side, and for a second I’m sure I’m going to puke. Everything feels weird. Everything feels wrong. It’s like my heart is beating too fast and the air is too thick to breathe. It’s got to be adrenaline or something. It has to be. The entire room looks like it’s stuck on fast forward.

The American flag over my window is jerking back and forth. The motes of dust that had been hanging in the beams of sunlight look like they're caught in a hurricane. Max lashes out blindly and her hand hits an empty soda can, and even though I swear it whips across the room like a bullet, it hits the wall with nothing but a light tap.

Then, almost as soon as the thought passes through my head, Max stops seizing altogether, her eyes falling shut as her entire body goes limp.

“Oh, no...” Icy panic starts to take root inside me. I give her a hard shake, hoping more than anything that her eyes will open, and she’ll just be okay. “Wake up! Please wake up!”

“Chloe?” I hear my mom’s voice about half a second before she walks into the room. “What in God's name is all that racket abou...Oh, my lord! Chloe, what happened?! Is...is that Max?!”

Startled, I spin around so fast that I fall square on my ass. “I...I don’t know! She just fell and started shaking! I didn’t know what to do!”

Mom’s eyes go ridiculously wide as she takes in the scene, and under different circumstances I might have actually thought she looked funny. She doesn’t answer me, turning back to the open door. “David! David, get up here!”

What? When did the step-douche get home?

“Joyce?!” A half-dozen thumps follow as he takes the steps two at a time. He comes around the corner a second later, still dressed in his Blackwell Security uniform. “What’s is it?! Is Chloe alrig...Oh shit!”

“D-David, I...” I’m stammering like an idiot, still clutching Max’s limp hand as I look up at him. “I don’t...I can’t...”

“It’s okay,” he says evenly, kneeling down beside Max and gently shouldering me aside; I don’t even try to resist. Pressing two fingers to her neck, he leans over to listen to her breathe. I watch his brow furrow as he silently counts off Max’s pulse. It’s been a while since I took that first aid course in school, but I feel like the number he’s getting is way too high. After a few more seconds, he looks up to Mom. “Joyce, go grab the first aid kit from the kitchen.” He turns to me. “Chloe, call 911.”

“But...”

“Now, Chloe!”

Any other day I’d push back just on principle, but not today. Giving him a shaky nod as Mom rushes out of the room, I grab my phone from the bed and force my hands not to shake. Dismissing the half-finished text to what’s-his-name, I dial the emergency line and press the phone to my ear. It rings once, then twice. Just as I think I might start screaming, somebody picks up.

“911, what is your emerg-”

I don’t even let her finish. “My friend is hurt, or sick, or...or something and we need you to send an ambulance right fucking now!”

“Alright, miss. Can you tell me what happened?”

“I...she was fine, and we were talking and then she...she got dizzy. Then she just fell down and started shaking and...and she...she’s...”

The dispatcher’s voice is cool and steady. “Ma’am, I need you to give me your address so I can send an ambulance.”

“It’s...uh...” In a strangely detached way, I’m a little embarrassed that I can’t immediately remember my own address. “It’s 44 Cedar Avenue. In Arcadia Bay.”

“Got it. There’s an ambulance on the way now. Are you calling from the phone number there?”

“Am I what?” The question throws me a little. How the fuck does knowing the number I’m calling from help Max? “Who cares?”

“Ma’am, I need to know I can reach you if the call drops.”

“If the fucking call drops, tell them to fucking drive faster!” I know I shouldn’t be yelling, but I’m scared and the blood on Max’s face makes her look too pale. Max, who kissed me a few minutes ago and now she’s on the ground and I seriously don’t even know what’s going on right now. I’m only half-aware that the woman on the phone is still talking when Mom rushes back in, first aid kit in hand. Pulling the small red bag open, she looks to David for guidance.

“Grab the gauze pads and hold them under her nose,” he says, his voice as steady as the 911 operator’s. “That should stop the bleeding. Be careful not to cover her mouth. Got it?”

Mom nods weakly, pressing the gauze to Max’s face. It starts soaking up blood right away, and I’m so caught up watching pristine white give way to crimson that I don’t realize I’ve lost my grip on my phone until I hear it hit the carpet with a dull thump.

The sound catches David’s attention. Glancing over his shoulder, he takes one look at me before grabbing the phone off the floor and putting it on speaker. “Hello?”

“This is 911 dispatch,” the operator responds. “Who am I speaking to?”

“David Madsen. You were just talking to my stepdaughter. I think her friend had some kind of seizure.”

I can hear the woman typing on her end. “Is she still seizing?”

“No, but her breathing is fast and shallow, and her pulse is racing; I’ve got it at almost one-seventy.”

“Is she awake or responsive?”

“No, I think she’s unconscious. Hang on.” He rubs his knuckles firmly against Max’s sternum; she doesn’t move or make a sound. Then he pulls his keyring from his pocket, leans to the side, and runs the tip of one key sharply up the arch of her foot; Max’s toes twitch, and he lets out a relieved breath. “She didn’t react to a sternum rub, but her foot reflex is normal.”

“Good.” She sounds relieved, and a little surprised. I know the feeling. “That’s good. Does she have any injuries? Maybe a head wound?”

“Nothing I can see, but she’s bleeding from her nose and eyes.”

“Is there any blood in her ears?”  I try not to freak about the sudden edge in the dispatcher’s voice.

“None.”

“Does she have a history of seizures or epilepsy?”

He turns to look at me, the same question in his eyes. I shake my head. “N-no. I don’t think...no.”

He turns to Mom and she shakes her head, too. “No, she doesn’t.” She hesitates, then adds, “At least, her parents never said anything.”

“Do you have their phone number?” David has a familiar look on his face now. It’s that same infuriating ‘I’m in charge around here’ expression I’ve seen a thousand times and it’s usually enough to set me right off, but right now I actually find it a little reassuring. At least someone in the room seems to know what to do. Mom nods and he jerks his head toward the door. “Go call them. Just to be sure.”

“O-okay.”

As she rushes out of the room again, the operator asks, “Is she wearing a medical alert tag? A bracelet or maybe a necklace?”

David quickly glances at Max’s wrists. “No, nothing.”

Alright.” She hesitates, almost imperceptibly. “Do you know if she’s taken anything? Drugs, or maybe medication that isn’t hers?”

“I...hang on.” He turns to me again. “Did she?”

"W-what?" I’m a little confused.

"Drugs, Chloe. Did Max take any?"

"No! No, she didn’t!"

"Are you sure?"

"Of course I’m sure!” I snap, actually kinda pissed that he’s imply otherwise. This is Max we’re talking about. She actually follows that whole ‘maximum of 8 pills in 24 hours’ thing they put on aspirin bottles. “She doesn’t...she’s not... for fuck’s sake, that wasn’t even her weed yesterday!"

I’m surprised when his glare softens. Pressing his palm over the phone, he glances at the open bedroom door and lowers his voice. “You need to be honest with me, Chloe. If she’s taken something, lying about it isn’t going to help her. I promise you won’t get in trouble.”

“She didn’t...I don’t...” I look away, my hands anxiously bunching the fabric of my t-shirt. It’s been five years since Max left. A lot can change in five years. “I don’t think she did, and I don’t think she ever would...b-but I don’t know for sure.”

“Thank you, Chloe. I believe you.” He lifts his hand off the phone. “We don’t think she’s taken anything, but it’s not impossible.”

“I understand. I’ll inform the paramedics, just in case. Will they be able to get in on their own, or does someone need to meet them?”

“The front door is unlocked. My wife will meet them there. We’re on the second floor, first door on the right.”

“Thank you, sir. The ambulance is just a couple minutes away.”

“Alright.” He looks up at me again and nods. “We’ll be waiting.”

Does Not Compute

Arcadia Bay Medical Centre
Arcadia Bay, Oregon

We’ve been sitting in the stuffy waiting room of Arcadia Bay’s hospital for over an hour, and I’ve been trying to give a fuck about the same dumbass waiting room magazine for nearly as long. Finally giving up, I toss it onto a side table and turn to the man sitting quietly beside me.

“So, David.” It feels weird to be talking to him without sarcasm. “Really seemed like you knew your shit back there. Are you, like, secretly a doctor or something?”

“No,” he responds shortly, then adds, “But I learned a few things in the Army.”

“Oh.” There’s a landmine of a comment if I ever heard one, but to hell with it. “Well, thank you.”

David just shrugs, because of course he does, but I’m not about to let him off that easy.

“I’m serious. Thank you so much. You were a fucking lifesaver.”

“It was nothing,” he responds gruffly.

“Dude, it was everything! I was fucking useless! I couldn’t even think. Max was just laying there helpless, and I...I...” Damn it, I’ve gone too far. The tears are building up again. Hoping he doesn’t notice, I squeeze my eyes shut to keep them from falling.

I hear David open his mouth to speak, hesitate for a second, then say, “I know how bad it can be.”

I don’t know what I expected him to say, but I’m pretty sure that wasn’t it. And even though it feels like another landmine I can’t help but ask, “What?”

“When a friend is fine one second and bleeding on the ground the next. It’s like the whole world slams to a stop, then starts going a million miles an hour, and all you want to do is help them, but you can’t remember how.”

Surprised, I give him a shaky nod. “Y-yeah.”

“Yeah,” he sighs.

I know I should leave it there, but curiosity gets the better of me. “Was that how Ph-”

“What do you think is taking Joyce so long?” he asks, a little sharply.

“Dunno.” I might be a little dense from time to time, but that’s one topic that’s definitely closed for business. We go back to sitting in silence for a while, then a thought occurs to me. An incredibly stupid thought with no basis in reality that still scares the shit out of me. “What if this is my fault?”

“What?” Now he looks off-balance. I wish I were in the headspace to enjoy it.

“Right before she fell, she...” I stare at a crack in the waiting room’s linoleum floor, unable to believe I’m about to say this completely idiotic notion out loud. I’m actually about to go with ‘never mind’ when the words come out in a rush. “I dared her to kiss me and she totally did but then I kinda spazzed ‘cause I wasn’t expecting her to actually, you know, do it and then she got all weirdly happy and kissed me again and it was amazing and then she...”

“Hold up. You dared her to...” He trails off as his mind catches up with my rambling. “Oh, uh...”

“What if it, like, freaked her out so bad that she had an aneurysm or somethi-”

“Chloe,” David shifts a little awkwardly in his seat. “I’m pretty sure that isn’t what happened.”

“But...”

“I can pretty much guarantee that wasn’t what happened,” he insists, a familiar sternness creeping into his voice. “Look, you can’t start blaming yourself for something that was outside your control. It won’t help you, and it definitely won’t help Max. Trust me on that.”

I’m torn between the desire to argue, because it’s David, and the desire to agree, because it’s Max. I am in no way equipped to make this kind of decision right now.

“And for what it’s worth,” Reaching over, he awkwardly pats me on the shoulder. “I think Max is going to be okay.”

“You do?”

“Yeah, I do.” He risks a small smile. “I’m guessing she’s tougher than she looks.”

I laugh, despite myself. “Man, kittens are tougher than Max looks.”

He actually chuckles, and I almost recoil in shock. Are David and I having a moment? Is that what’s happening right now?

“Well, she’d have to be made of some pretty strong stuff to take the fall for you, wouldn’t she?”

“What do you...” I stop mid-sentence, remembering the weed that Max took the blame for and my own panicked confession earlier. “Oh, right. That.”

“Yeah. That.” He scowls a little, then sighs. “I meant what I said, though. You’re not going to get in trouble for having that pot in your room, and neither is Max.”

It feels like I’ve dropped into the twilight zone or something. David is being chill about drugs. It’s the latest in a long line of jarring things that have happened to me in the last couple of hours, and I’m honestly not sure how much more I can take. “We’re not?”

“I promised you wouldn’t if you told me the truth, and I keep my promises.”

“Oh.” For want of something better to do, I pick at one of the rips in my jeans. “That’s actually pretty coo-”

“Chloe? David?” Mom’s voice interrupts me before I accidentally pay David a compliment, and she walks into the waiting area a second later with an irritated expression. “There you two are. I swear, it should not be so hard to find parking in such a small town.”

I smile as she strides purposefully across the room. Now that the initial shock has worn off, Mom’s back to being everyone’s favorite no-bullshit waitress. I don’t know how many times I’ve complained about it or called her a hardass, but right now I’m just really happy to know I have something solid to lean on.

Sitting down, she wraps her arm around my shoulders. “How’s Max? Any word yet?”

“Not a fucking thing.” She looks like she wants to scold me for swearing but keeps it to herself. I guess having my best friend (I think...?) in the hospital has earned me a free pass. “Are her parents coming down?”

She nods. “They couldn’t book a flight to Portland until tomorrow, so they’re driving. They should be here in a few hours.”

“Is that a good idea? Driving, I mean. They must be freaking out.”

“I tried to talk Vanessa out of it.” She sighs. “I told her that no one should get behind the wheel in the state they’re in and that getting into a car crash wouldn’t help Max.”

“No shit.” I haven’t seen Max’s parents in years but can’t help laughing at the image that pops into my head. “I can totally see Mrs. C going full-on Road Warrior down the I-5.”

Mom doesn’t seem to find it as amusing. “Don’t you joke. If I were in her place, I wouldn’t let anything in the world keep me from getting to you.”

A warm feeling blooms in my chest. Embarrassed, I cough loudly and gesture to the admissions desk. “Man, what is taking so long? If they don’t tell us something soon, I swear I’m gonna lose it.”

The universe must have been listening, because a second later the sliding doors next to the desk open and an overweight woman in pink scrubs emerges, clipboard in hand. She looks around the mostly empty waiting area for a second before her eyes settle on me. “Chloe Price?”

I practically explode from my seat. A quick glance at the laminated badge clipped to the woman’s ample chest confirms that she’s one of the hospital’s nurses. “Is Max okay? Do you know what happened?”

“Max?” It’s weird how hung-up people get on the whole ‘but that’s a boy’s name’ thing. “Her driver’s license says...”

“She prefers Max,” I interrupt. I seriously don’t have time for this shit. “Can I see her?”

“In a minute, Ms. Price.” She holds up the clipboard. “I see you put yourself down as her next of kin.”

“Yeah?”

“Are the two of you related?”

“We’re...” I hesitate. “No, we’re not.”

The woman shakes her head gravely. “Next of kin is reserved for immediate family. You can’t just...”

“I know, I know. But she goes to Blackwell and her parents are in Seattle. I mean, they were. They’re on their way, but it’ll be hours before they get here. For now, I’m all you’ve got.”

“She’s still in high school?” She looks a little surprised.

“That’s right.”

“Hm.” She glances over my shoulder, into the waiting area. “Is that your mother and father?”

Normally I’d make a point of saying that David is my stepfather, but that doesn’t seem very important right now. “Yeah.”

“Maybe I should talk to them.”

“I’m Max’s best friend. We’ve known each other since we were little kids.” Except for the last five years, but I’m not about to mention that part. “There’s nothing they can tell you that I can’t.”

 “Well, I suppose we can start with...”

“We can start with you telling me whether or not Max is okay.” Since there’s this whole thing about flies, honey, and vinegar, I add, “Please.”

She sighs. “She seems to be doing fine.”

“Oh, thank god. What was it? I mean, what happened to her? Was it actually...” I don’t really want to ask. “Was she on something?”

She hesitates, then shakes her head. “It doesn’t appear so. The lab results are still pending, but she doesn’t show any signs of drug abuse. At least, not for the symptoms she was brought in for. Actually, perhaps you could answer a few questions about that.”

What questions could I possibly answer? I’m not a fucking doctor. “Uh, I guess? Fire away.”

“Were you there when the ambulance was called?”

I nod, not really wanting to think about it.

“According to the emergency dispatcher, she was having a seizure. Is that correct?”

“Yeah, that’s right.”

“It was also reported that she was bleeding heavily from the nose and eyes. Can you confirm that as well?”

This is fucking ridiculous. “Yes, I can confirm that. So could anyone who laid eyes on her, for fuck’s sake.”

“Please mind your language, Ms. Price.”

I want to tell her to mind her own fucking language, but I just take a slow breath. Copping an attitude isn’t going to get me in to see Max any faster. “Look, I’m sorry. I’m just really worried about her.”

“I understand.” She studies me for a second. “Was Mac...er...Max involved in an altercation recently?”

What?

“Altercation means a figh-”

“I know what altercation means. And no, Max hasn’t been in a fight recently. Or ever, probably.”

“Hm.” I can tell she doesn’t believe me. Fuck knows why. “What is your and Max’s relationship, exactly?”

“I already told you, I’m her best friend.”

Just her friend?”

“Yes, I’m just her friend,” I say. Even though after this morning, I’m actually not sure where Max and I stand on that. “Is that important?”

“Not necessarily,” she hedges, giving me a look that I’ve seen too many times in this dumbass town. No idea why it’s coming up now, but what-the-fuck-ever. “I just want to rule out some things.”

“What things, exactly?” If she hears the irritation in my voice, she doesn’t react to it.

“Well...” She hesitates the way people always do when they’re worried what they’re about to say is bigoted bullshit. In my experience, that’s usually because it is bigoted bullshit. “It’s just that there’s a few infectious conditions that are common in certain social groups.”

Yup, there it is. I somehow resist the urge to grind my teeth. “By which you mean...”

She leans in and lowers her voice. “I’m referring to homosexuals. The fact is that there are certain dangerous and infectious diseases that are commonly passed between people like that. We won’t know for sure until the rest of her blood panel comes back, but I’d like to avoid any risk she might pose to the staff or the other patients.”

Any risk she might pose.

Max comes in covered in blood, and this bitch is afraid she might have one of those ‘gay diseases’? I can almost feel my blood starting to boil, and for a second all I want to do is grab the fire extinguisher off the wall and see how many hits I can get in before security can take me down. I’m so caught up in the fantasy that it takes me a second to realize she’s still talking.

“-ikely is, if her tattoo is any indication.”

“What?” Out of everything she’d said, it’s weird how that’s the thing my brain stumbles over. “Max doesn’t have a tattoo.”

“Yes, she does.” She actually double-checks her notes. “Two, actually.”

Wait.

Hold up.

This does not compute.

Max doesn’t have a tattoo, let alone two tattoos. I’d know if she did, considering I saw just about every square inch of that girl in the pool last night. She was practically naked. I’m pretty sure I’d have noticed if she had any tattoos. And even if these supposed tattoos were hidden by her underwear (don’t think about that right now, Chloe, I swear to god) Max is way too much of a wuss to even get inked in the first place, let alone somewhere like that. Right?

Unaware of my brief mental spiral, Nurse Asshole is looking at me like she’s waiting for response. Well, if that’s what she wants, I’ll give her a goddamn response.

“Y’know what? Fuck this and fuck you. Where is she?”

“I beg your pardon?”

“Did I stammer? I’m gonna go see Max now. What room is she in?”

“I...”

“Tell me what room, or I swear to fucking god I’m gonna walk right over to the Beacon and tell the first reporter I see what the staff here thinks of gay people. Maybe I’ll even add the part where you shared private information with someone who isn’t a family member.” I don’t know if that’s as big a deal as TV shows always make it sound, but I really hope it is. “I bet your boss will just love to see that shit on the front page.”

She recoils, her eyes going wide. I know that face, too. It’s the look that people who say ‘I’m not prejudiced, but...’ get when they realize they’ve just been called out. “You can’t just... 

“Test me, bitch.” I lean in closer, enjoying the way she flinches. Sometimes it’s nice to be tall. “See what happens.”

After a few more seconds, her shoulders sag and she points down the hall. “She’s in room number twelve.” Her voice is practically dripping with resentment when she adds, “And I’m sorry if what I said was offensive.”

“Yeah, I bet.” I wave in the opposite direction of Max’s room. “Go be an intolerant cow someplace else.”

I walk away without another word, torn between righteous satisfaction and seething anger.  Some bullshit just never goes away, some people will always be dumb fucking assholes, and in small-town Oregon there’s plenty of both to go around. It’s times like this I’m so glad mom is cool with me being gay. Even David manages his own brand of awkward tolerance. Honestly, being gay is probably the only thing he’s never given me any shit about.

I use the walk to Max’s room to calm myself down. The last thing she needs is for me to go in there angry. It’s time for me to put on my Supportive Chloe hat. Taking a deep breath, I stuff all those irritating thoughts into the box marked ‘Shit I’ll Deal With Later’ and push the door open.

Cognitive Dissonance

This is the closest I’ve been to Max since the paramedics showed up and kicked me out of my own bedroom.

She looks so much better than the last time I saw her, not that the bar for that was very high. Whoever dressed her in the pale blue hospital gown cleaned her up as well. If I hadn’t seen it myself, I’d never believe that her face had been practically covered in blood when the ambulance had taken her away.

I linger in the doorway, taking in the sight of her, and the longer I do the more I get the impression that there’s something weird about her. I can’t quite put my finger on it. It’s not anything bad or wrong; just somehow different. It’s not until I move closer that I start getting the impression that she looks...older?

It’s a weird-as-fuck thought to have, but it’s true; standing at her bedside and looking down at her, I’m almost certain that she looks older than she did before. But that can’t be right, can it? It’s only been a couple of hours.

I reach down to gently brush her hair aside, wanting to get a better look at her face, and that’s when I notice that it seems longer. Like, a lot longer. It shouldn’t even reach her shoulders, but I can’t even see the ends. It looks like most of it has been tucked beneath her neck. Confused, I reach down and gently draw a lock of it out with a hooked finger. Reality sorta tilts sideways as more hair just keeps on revealing itself. By the time I reach the end, I’m looking at a lock of Max’s hair that’s at least three times longer than it has any right to be.

Okay, hold up. That’s not possible. It’d take years for her hair to get that long. They’ve got to be extensions or something. Leaning in, I carefully run my fingers through her hair as I search for the glue or tape or whatever the fuck some weirdo (who, mark my words, I’m gonna find and kick the ever-living fuck out of) used to give Max hair extensions while she was unconscious. And while I don’t find anything, something else does catch my eye.

Moving her hair out of the way gives me a better view of her right ear; specifically, the trio of tiny holes along its upper edge. I never would have noticed them if I weren’t looking so closely, but there they are.

For a half-second, I’m ready to go full rampage through the hospital until I find the fucker responsible. Giving her hair extensions is messed up but piercing her ear while she’s out cold is fucking assault...except that isn’t what happened. It can’t be, because there’s no swelling or redness. Wherever the hell these came from, they didn’t happen recently.

“What the entire fucking hell...?” I murmur, backing away from the bed. Max has helix piercings. Three helix piercings, which is three more than me and I can’t believe that I’m taking that a little personally but come on! I’m the rebel and she’s the hipster wuss! What kind of twilight zone bullshit is this?

Gently tucking her weird and impossible hair under her shoulder where I don’t have to be freaked out by it, I move to the end of the bed to check the clipboard hanging there. As almost totally sure as I am that this is Max, I still feel the need to confirm this isn’t some complete stranger who just happens to look a whole hell of a lot like my best friend.

Unfortunately, what’s written under ‘Patient Name’ just leaves me with more questions. “Who the fuck is Mackenzie Clayton?”

Then, just when I think this whole thing can’t get any more insane, I look up from the chart and see the impossible. I don’t care what that XXL-scrub-wearing bitch said. Max does not have a tattoo. Even though it’s possible that I wouldn’t have noticed the piercings, there’s no way in hell I could’ve missed a tattoo...except I must have. Because (unless I’m straight-up hallucinating now) there’s definitely something peeking out from under the long sleeve of Max’s baggy hospital gown that looks very much like a fucking tattoo.

Putting the chart back, I’m moving to take a much-needed closer look when a knock at the door scares the living shit out of me. I spin around, my arms flying up in some kind of defensive flail, to find a timid-looking girl standing in the doorway. She’s dressed in what looks a little like pajamas with her blonde hair up in a bun, looking almost as startled as I feel.

“Hi,” she says, tentatively raising her hand and giving me a little wave. “I’m sorry if I scared you.”

“You didn’t,” I snap, sounding a lot harsher than I meant to, and the way she flinches kinda makes me feel like an asshole. “Sorry. Tough morning.”

“That’s alright. I understand.” She steps forward, her hands raised ever so slightly. It reminds me of the way someone might approach a snarling animal, and I try not to feel a little offended. “I’m Kate. I go to Blackwell with Max, and I wanted to see if she was alright.”

“Oh.” I take a second to look the girl over. She seems nice, if a little tired. I’ve seen the same shadows under her eyes in the mirror enough times to assume she probably hasn’t been sleeping well lately. Her name rings a bell, though, and it isn’t until the light reflects off a gold cross hanging around her neck that it hits me. I've never met her in person, but between Max's and Rachel's descriptions... “Hang on. You’re not...y’know...Kate, are you?”

“I might be?” She responds, smiling a little hesitantly. “I’m a Kate, at least.”

“I meant are you that girl who tried to jum-” My jaw snaps shut with an audible click.

“Oh.” Until that moment, I’d never really seen someone try to hide in their own shadow.  “Yes, that was me.”

“Shit!” I wince, glancing at a still-sleeping Max and lowering my voice. “I’m so sorry.”

“It’s fine,” Kate says, her voice tight. It feels like she might as well be crying ‘IT’S NOT FINE!’.

“No, that was a totally fucked up thing to say,” I shake my head. “I’m such an asshole.”

“Really, it’s alright. I understand,” Kate insists. “Everyone makes mistakes, right? No harm done.”

“You sure?”

“I’m sure,” she nods. “I mean, who am I to judge someone for messing up? I couldn’t even jump off a building properly.” Her eyes go wide as saucers, she lets out a faint choking sound, and her gaze drops to the floor. “Oh. Oh no. I...I was trying to...I promise that sounded funny in my head.”

“I sure hope so,” I murmur, eyeing her for a second. “Hey, what do you say we just pretend the last minute never happened?”

She nods vigorously. “Yes, please.”

“Okay. Cool.” Standing, I stick out my hand. “Chloe Price.”

She accepts it with a shy smile. “Kate Marsh. It’s nice to meet you, Chloe.”

“Right back at’cha. So, you’re here to see Mad Max?”

“Mhm,” Kate nods again. “I ran into Mr. Madsen while I was going for a walk and he told me she was here. He’s our school’s head of security.”

“Yeah. And my step-dou...er...stepfather.”

“Really?” Like before, Kate’s tone says a lot more than the words do. “Oh.”

“So he’s an asshole professionally, too? Figures.”

“He’s not that bad,” Kate counters, not very believably. “It’s just been a difficult week, is all.”

“Yeah,” I mutter, looking back to Max. “And it’s only fucking Wednesday.”

“So, how do you know Max?”

“Me and Maximus go way back. Been friends since we were, like, six.”

“Oh. She...er...”

I know what she wants to say, and not so long ago it probably would have sent me off on one of my famous ‘Max abandoned me’ rants. But sitting here, thinking about this morning, and looking at Max laying there, it suddenly seems a lot less important. “She’s never mentioned me?”

Kate nods.

“We lost touch after she moved to Seattle. Only just started hanging out again.”

“That must be nice, reconnecting after so long.”

“Yeah.” It’s been amazing actually; a bright flash of hope after a really dark six months...but I don’t think me and Kate are quite at that level of sharing. Speaking of sharing, though... “Hey, do you know how long Max has had a tattoo?”

Kate blinks. “Max has a tattoo?”

I point to the barely visible inked edge. Curious, Kate steps forward and tentatively lifts the hospital gown sleeve to reveal the full design. “Oh, wow. That’s amazing.”

“Y-yeah...” Holy fucking shit. Max really does have a tattoo. Max has a fucking amazing tattoo, beautifully designed and expertly done and a lot bigger than I expected. It takes up her entire upper arm, from elbow to shoulder.

The broken pocket-watch at the center is incredibly detailed - right down to the brushed metal of its body and the tiniest cracks in what was left of its glass face – and so is the astonishingly realistic blue butterfly perched on the top of it. Leaning closer to study it, I see what looks like the Arcadia Bay lighthouse on her inner arm, and the silhouette of a doe beneath. There’s also a series of weird, jagged shapes that form a ring around the bottom; it takes me a second to realize they’re the pieces of a smashed polaroid camera.

“No time like the present,” Kate reads aloud, tilting her head to the side thoughtfully. “I bet that’s a photography reference. Capturing a moment, right?”

“Sure,” I respond, absently. “I guess.”

She might be right about that, but the writing on the banner isn’t what has my heart thundering in my chest. What I’m struggling to get a grip on is the fact that both the pocket watch and butterfly are entirely framed by a wreath of roses and thorny vines, all woven together with a long blue and purple ribbon. The same blue and purple shades as my hair.

Stunned, I absently reach up to brush my fingertips over my right arm. Max and I both have blue butterflies. We both have roses, and thorny vines, and a long, curling ribbon and what the actual fuck? Our tattoos are too alike to be a coincidence. It’s like hers was inspired by mine, but the first time she saw my tattoo was less than two days ago.

This shit does not compute!

There’s a tattoo that belongs to Max, inked right on Max’s arm, right in front of me, fully healed and inspired by mine...and I’m still having trouble believing it exists, because there’s absolutely no possible way that she hasn’t had that thing the entire time we’ve been hanging out. So why didn’t I see it before?

How could I not have seen it? She was wearing short sleeves this morning, and it sure wasn’t there then. I guess she could have covered it up with makeup or something, but when would she have been able to? We woke up at the same time, didn’t we?

She couldn’t have already had makeup on from yesterday. It would have come off in the pool last night. And even if it didn’t, she was wearing long sleeves all day. Why would she even bother covering it at all?

Has she been rewinding to cover it? What for? Did she think I’d judge her or someth-

“-hloe?”

I snap my eyes up to find Kate looking at me curiously. “Say what?”

“Are you okay?”

“Yeah. Guess I’m just a little up in my head right now.”

“I get it,” Kate assures me, pointing to Max’s wrist. “Did you see this one?”

Curious, I move around the bed (while taking note of Max’s obviously split knuckle, because that’s definitely going to come up later) to get a better look...oh.

Oh, damn.

All thoughts about Max’s other tattoo fly out of my head, because the small thing inked on the inside of my best friend’s wrist is a hell of a lot more important right now. The skull-and-crossed-swords design says enough all on its own, but there’s no mistaking what the rainbow coloring represents.

It’s a pride tattoo.

Max is gay.

Max Caulfield (who is gay) has a pride tattoo on her wrist that represents something unique and meaningful to just the two of us. Arcadia Bay Pirates for life.

Wait...Arcadia Gay Pirates for life!

“What’s so funny?”

I look up at Kate. “Huh?

“You were giggling.”

“Sorry. It’s kind of an old inside joke me and Max have.”

“That must be nice.” Something about the way she says it makes me feel a little sad for her. I’m actually kinda relieved when she looks back down. “Isn’t it strange that even though she’s asleep, she still looks tired?”

“She’s had a rough morning.” But at least she’s not covered in blood anymore. All weirdness aside, I can be plenty thankful about that.

“What happened to her?”

“She had a seizure.”

“What?” Kate gasps. “Why?”

“Dunno. Apparently the docs don’t know why either.” I snort. “Hopefully I didn’t actually blow her mind or something.”

“What?”

“Just something dumb I was freaking myself out with earlier.” I laugh a bit at her puzzled look. “Okay, this is gonna sound really stupid, but because Max collapsed right after kissing me, for a minute I’d almost convinced myself that kissing me was why she collapsed.”

Kate blinks owlishly. “Max kissed you?”

“A couple of times, actually,” I wiggle my eyebrows suggestively.

Furrowing her brow, Kate looks down at Max with a strange expression. If I didn’t know better, I’d say she...oh no. No, I must be missing something here. There’s no way I just did what I think I just did.

“Max is gay?” she murmurs.

Oh, fuck.

“You...you didn’t already know that?”

Kate shakes her head slowly.

Oh, fuck.

I can’t believe it. Max is lying unconscious in the hospital after having some kind of fucking aneurysm in my bedroom, and I just casually outed her to one of her friends. What am I going to do next? Light her on fire?

“Oh, shit. Holy fucking shit. I...I didn’t mean to...I thought...I mean, she was so chill about...and she’s got that tattoo...and I...I just assumed...” I can feel my brain melting down and drop my head into my hands. “Max is gonna kill me.”

“Hey, it’s alright,” Kate says softly, and I look up to see her giving me a worried look. “I won’t tell her you said anything.”

“...you won’t?”

“Not a word.” She mimes zipping her lips shut. “Promise.”

“Okay.” I feel my heart rate slowly drop back into the double-digits. “So you’re not...er...”

“Upset that she’s gay?”

I nod, a little cautiously. Kate doesn’t really seem like the type, but I’ve been wrong before.

“Of course not.” She says it so matter-of-factly, like she’s the tiniest bit offended that I’d suggest otherwise. “I’m a little surprised, but Max saved my life. She was there for me when nobody else was. Why would I think any less of her just because she’s different from me?”

Well, shit. This is not what I figured Blackwell’s religious girl would be like. I was ready for a full-blown fire and brimstone rant; not more support and acceptance than I’d expect from almost anyone else in this town. I can see why Max likes her. “Damn, Kate Marsh. Somebody sure raised you right.”

“Yeah.” Her smile fades just a tiny bit. “I guess so.”

On second thought, her attitude might be despite her upbringing rather than because of it. That actually makes it even more impressive. “I’m just saying, you’re a lot better than some people I’ve met.”

“Thanks.” She glances away. Geez, how little praise does this girl get? Considering the reason she’s here, it’s probably safe to guess it’s not enough. “I think I’m going to head back to my room now. When Max wakes up, would you tell her thank you for me? And let her know she’s in my prayers?”

“Sure. No problem.”

Anyone who looks at Kate can tell that she’s going through a rough time right now, and I know a little about what that’s like. How it feels to be so low that you start to think you’ll never really come back. To think that maybe it’d be easier to just throw in the towel. But if you’re lucky, someone will come along at just the right moment and pull you back from the edge.

That was what Rachel did for me. For Kate, it was Max.

It makes me feel even worse about being such a bitch to Max yesterday. Maybe if I’d taken a second to actually think about why she insisted on answering her phone instead of acting like an attention-starved little brat, I would have realized how serious it was. I’ve been trying not to think about what might’ve happened if I’d forced Max to reject that call, and even though everything turned out okay, I still wish I had a way to make up for it.

And right then, I have what I really hope is a great idea.

“Hey, Kate?”

She turns back at the door. “Yes?”

“Y’know how you said inside jokes are nice?”

She nods, a curious look in her eye.

“I’m glad you suck at jumping off buildings.”

Kate blinks, then surprises us both with a loud snort. Slapping her hands over her mouth, she eyes Max nervously as her shoulders shake with silent laughter. After a second, she cautiously lowers them to reveal a bright smile. “Chloe, that’s awful.”

“Awfully good, I hope?”

She nods again, still giggling a little. “Thank you. I think I really needed that.”

“Anytime, Special K.” I hesitate. “Can I ask you a weird question?”

Her head cocks adorably to the side, just a little. “I guess?”

“How long has Max been rocking her haircut?” Kate gives me a funny look, so I vaguely add, “It was different when we were kids.”

“Oh.” She shrugs. “I’ve only known her for about a month, but her hair’s been that short the whole time.”

So, I’m not seeing things. I could believe that Max had managed to hide her tattoos from Kate till now. It wouldn’t have been too hard to do. But her hair really was shorter before. “That’s what I figured. Thanks.”

“No problem.” She gives me a parting smile, and then it’s just me and Max again. She hasn’t moved a muscle, and I’m not sure whether I should be relieved or worried that Kate and I didn’t wake her up.

I’ve got about a million questions for her, and the longer I think the more keep coming to mind. Part of me wants to shake her awake and demand answers, but I manage to resist. She’ll wake up when she wakes up. For now, there’s nothing for me to do but wait.

 


 

Chloe: im in maxs room

Mom: Is she alright?

Chloe: dont know

Chloe: better i think

Chloe: shes still asleep

Mom: what did the nurse say?

Chloe: just a bunch of bullshit

Mom: What does that mean?

Chloe: nothing important

Chloe: forget it

Chloe: gonna stay in here til max wakes up

Mom: Alright. I’m going to go back to the house and wait for her parents. Do you need me to bring you anything before I do?

Chloe: no

Chloe: im fine here

 


 

I feel as though I’ve been floating in this dark, featureless void for a really long time. Unfortunately for me, I can’t seem to remember how I got here.

I can remember saying goodbye to Victoria in Arcadia Bay, but try as I might, I can’t recall anything else between then and now. Other than my bizarre science-classroom-themed hallucination, I mean. That’s probably not good. What if trying to travel so far into the past screwed up my brain? What if it just ended up killing me? What if that whole bit with bizzarro-me was just a super-lame version of my life flashing before my eyes?

I really hope not, because that would make this the afterlife. And if that’s what it is, it’s pretty underwhelming.

I’m just starting to wonder how I’m going to keep myself entertained for eternity in a featureless void when a point of light pierces the darkness. Another follows shortly after, then another. Soon there are enough that the glare grows painful. I try to look away, but no matter what I do the light is somehow always right in my eyes. I feel it envelop me entirely, then slowly give way to a room with plain off-white walls.

The curtains on the nearby window are open, and the light that woke me up comes from the afternoon sun streaming in.

Where the hell am I? Is this a hospital? Why am I in a hospital?

“...ax? Shit, Max, can you hear me?” A blurry shape drifts into my field of vision, and I squint to try and bring it into focus. As my sight begins to clear, I can almost make out the shape of someone hovering above me...and a bright splash of beautifully familiar blue. Frustrated and confused, I try to speak, but my tongue feels heavy, and my throat feels bone dry. I suddenly realize that I’ve never been so thirsty in my life.

“Crap. Hang on.” The person vanishes from sight, and I use the moment alone to try and organize my scattered thoughts. How badly did things go? More importantly, how many rewinds have I done? Was just one enough to land me in the hospital?

The last thing I can clearly remember is standing in the ruins of Arcadia Bay with Victoria. I remember using the EpiPen, starting the rewind, and then nothing but a stream of disjointed sounds and images. Then something wonderful comes back to me. The sight of Chloe’s face, wide-eyed and just as beautiful as I remember. The feel of her lips on mine for the first time in so long. Was she real? Just some hallucination?

Before I can really think on that, a blurry man wearing green hospital scrubs suddenly appears at my bedside.

“Welcome back, Miss Clayton.”

Miss Clayton? Who the hell is...oops. I thought I’d taken that particular keepsake out of my wallet.

“Do me a favor and try to follow this with your eyes,” he continues, raising his hand. A small point of light appears in the middle of my sightline. Watching my eyes intently, he moves the small light from one side to the other, then up and down. I want to complain about the sudden brightness, but the light goes away before I can say anything. Somewhere off to my side, I hear the sound of a pen scratching on paper. My vision is much clearer now, enough to make out that he’s somewhere in his early thirties, though his shaggy hair and crooked smile make him seem younger.

I try to say something again, but I can’t create much more than a faint rasping sound.

“Alright, alright. Just a second.” His (the doctor, I guess?) voice is tinged with humor. He floats back into sight a second later with a small plastic cup of chipped ice. I take the straw between my lips, and I think the cool water might be the best thing I’ve ever tasted. “Easy now. Little sips.”

“Whe...” My voice cracks again. He holds the straw to my lips, and after a few swallows I feel ready to try again. “Where am I?”

“In the hospital,” he responds, as if that weren’t completely obvious. “You were brought in this morning.”

“Why?”

“You can go over that when you see the doctor. I just have a few things to check first.”

I nod again, not willing to trust my voice any more than I have to. The nurse (definitely a nurse, now that I’ve gotten a better look at him) runs through the tests smoothly, poking my toes to check my nerve responses, having me touch my nose with my eyes shut, and asking me a few questions about current events.

My dry throat turns out to be a good thing; it gives me a few seconds to think about the answers. They’d be easy questions for anyone else, but with no idea how far back I’ve gone I have to hedge a bit with my answers. Thankfully, he doesn’t seem to notice.

“Well, you seem to be in good shape, considering.”

“Considering?”

“Considering whoever called the ambulance said you were having a seizure,” he says. “The doctor might want to send you to Portland for an MRI, but we’ll have to see.”

I don’t really hear the last part and I probably wouldn’t have cared if I did, because when he half turns to gesture at the door I get a real good look at his staff ID. More importantly, at the logo at the top.

Arcadia Bay Medical Center.

I made it. Holy shit, I actually made it. But if that’s true...

Forcing my excitement down and hoping he didn’t notice my reaction, I try to sound casual. “Was there someone in here? Before you?”

“You mean your blue-haired bodyguard?” He chuckles. “I asked her to go out into the hall during your check-up.”

“Chloe...” Oh my god. It was real. She’s alive. I really did see her and I really did kiss her and she’s right outside.

“I suppose you’d rather have her back in here?”

I nod as hard as I can and regret it almost instantly.

“Headache?” He picks up a small paper cup from the table beside the bed and hands it to me; inside are two white pills. “These should help.”

“Thanks.”

“No problem.” He makes one last note on the clipboard, then hangs it at the end of the bed. “The doctor will come by a little later to talk to you, but it looks like whatever happened to you hasn’t left lasting damage. Now I suppose you’d like me to...”

I nod again, more gently. “Yes, please.”

“I’ll go get her.” He grins and walks out. “Don’t go anywhere.”

 

 

Somebody I Used To Know

What in the hell is taking so long?

How much time does this guy need to confirm that Max is awake? And why do I need to wait out in the hall while he does it? 

I bet El Bitch Grande is behind this. She probably made some shit up and turned the rest of the staff against me. This is a goddamn conspiracy. Well, if she thinks she can get away with this shit...

“Chloe?”

“Huh?”

“She’d like to see you.” I’m on my feet before he’s finished talking, but he’s blocking the door. What the hell, man? “I know you’re anxious to get in there but try to be gentle with her. She’s in a hospital bed for a reason.”

“C’mon, man. It’s not like I’m gonna to jump on top of her or something.”

“Glad to hear it.” Smirking, he steps aside before I can shove him out of the way. I’m through the door a half second later and suddenly there she is, sitting up and smiling at me. My heart leaps the moment our eyes meet and before I know it I’ve already rushed to her bedside. “Oh god, Max! Are you okay? What the fuck happened? I thought you were dying! Was it something I did? If it was I am so, so sorry! Please forgive me! I was so scared tha-”

“Chloe.” She silences me with a single word, lifts her hand, and the way she gently brushes her fingers against my cheek makes it really hard to focus on whatever I was just saying. “Hey.”

“H-hey.”

“I’m okay,” she says, softly.

“You are?”

“I am.”

“Oh.” I swallow heavily. “You...uh...you really scared me.”

She doesn’t respond, and I can feel my face growing warmer under her touch. There’s something in the way she’s looking at me, like I’m the most beautiful thing she’s ever seen. For a second I think she’s going to kiss me again. I’m about to lean forward when she lowers her hand and looks away. “I know. I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to.”

The spell is broken the instant our eyes break contact and I suddenly remember that I’m actually kinda pissed. “You didn’t mean to? What the fuck was that, Max?!”

“It’s...uh...it’s kind of a long story.”

Oh, there’s no way in hell that I’m letting her get away with that bullshit. “I’ve got time.”

“This might not be the best place.” She leans forward to try and peer out the door. “We should really...”

“Don’t you dare try that stalling shit on me. I want to know what the fuck is going on! Why the fuck did you have some kind of fucked up seizure in my bedroom? Are you sick? Do you have a brain tumor or something?” I pause. “Oh god you have a brain tumor, don’t you?”

She giggles softly and I can’t decide whether I still want to kiss her, or just smack her upside the head. “No, Chloe. I don’t have a brain tumor. I’m pretty sure that was a one-time thing.”

“You’re pretty sure...what?” My mind ticks a few points toward ‘smack upside the head’. “Okay, then how about you tell me who the fuck Mackenzie Clayton is?”

“That’s...”

“And where did those fucking tattoos come from?”

“I...”

“And how the fuck did your hair get so long? Are those extensions? They’ve gotta be extensions!”

“Actually...”

“And since when are you gay?”

“Well...”

“And while we’re at it, what in the fuck was that kiss all about?!”

She blinks, the corners of her lips curling up in a smile. “What do you mean?”

“You know perfectly fucking well what I mean.”

“Oh, right.” She shrugs. “Well, you did dare me to kiss you.”

Is she smirking at me? Oh my fucking god. “Do not mess with me right now, Max.”

“Oh, did you mean the other kiss?”

“Yeah, I mean the other kiss,” I repeat in the most mocking tone I can pull off, which is pretty fucking mocking. I’ve had a lot of practice.

“Was there something wrong with it?”

“No, it was...” Amazing? Magical? So insanely hot that I’m getting a little worked up just remembering it? “That’s not the fucking point! You...you just kissed me!”

“I sure did.”

“Why?!” I hold up my hand before she can answer. “And if you say it was because I dared you to, I will seriously flip the fuck out.”

She smiles, looking up at me through her eyelashes. Her hair falls to shadow her face a little, making her eyes look dark and a little hungry. I’m pretty sure she’s messing with me but I’m also pretty sure it might be the sexiest thing I’ve ever seen and oh my god what is wrong with me? “I did it because I really, really wanted to kiss you.”

“Look, you can’t just...just...kiss someone without giving them a heads up!” Holy goddamn, did those words really just come out of my mouth?

“I can’t?”

“No!” I’d much rather say ‘yes, you can’ followed by ‘now kiss me again’, but I’m having trouble keeping up with this whole conversation. I feel like I’ve fallen ass backwards into some kind of screwed up alternate universe where Max is the brash punk girl and I’m the shy, stammering hipster chick.

“You know, you could have just kissed me,” she points out, a little smugly. “Without the whole ‘I dare you’ part.”

“I...” Really, really wanted to but that was back when I thought you were straight. “...didn’t want to freak you out.”

She looks like she’s about to argue, then nods thoughtfully. “Yeah, that’s fair. I probably would have freaked out a little.”

“But you just said...”

“Oh, just a heads up?” she interrupts. “I’m gonna kiss you now.”

“You’re wha-”

Max reaches out, silences me with a gentle fingertip, then leans forward to replace it with soft lips. It’s brief, not even enough time for me to kiss her back, but the impish smile she gives me as she’s drawing back still leaves me feeling a little short of breath. “Was that better?”

 “I, uh...what?”

“I’ll take that as a yes.”

I need to get back on my feet. Get back in control of this conversation.

“So...uh...I guess you are gay, then?” Holy hell, what is wrong with me today? I’ve said some really dumb shit in my life but asking the girl with the pride tattoo who keeps kissing me whether or not she’s gay has to be the dumbest.

“I’m sorry?” she laughs.

“I’m...um...” I’m fidgeting now. I hate things that make me fidget. The last time I felt this flustered was the first time Rachel and I...never mind. “Just asking for a friend.”

“Uh-huh.” She rolls her eyes. “Well, feel free to tell your friend that yes, I’m gay.”

“Oh. Okay.” I swallow dryly, wishing I had a glass of water or something. “Kinda surprised you didn’t mention it earlier.”

“I totally would have but the way I remember it, I didn’t really figure it out until a few weeks from now.”

The more I try to unpack that sentence, the less sense it seems to make. And she’s smirking at me again. Oh my god, what a brat. “Okay, seriously. What is going on here?”

“I’ll explain everything, I swear, but first we need to get out of here.”

“What?” Yeah, that settles it; Max has gone crazy. “A few hours ago you were bleeding out of every goddamn hole in your head!!”

“I guess I got better.” Leaning over, she starts inspecting the heart monitor thing she’s connected to. After a second, she grins and presses a button on the side. An ‘ALARM MUTED’ message appears on the screen, followed quickly by ‘NO SIGNAL / CHECK LEADS’ as she makes short work of removing the various sensor pads stuck to her body.

“You can’t just leave!”

“Sure I can.” She grins, reaching over to press a blue button on the wall marked ‘PAGE’. Throwing off the blanket, she swings her legs around and hisses when her toes touch the ground. “Ah! Cold floor!”

I’m worried and still kinda pissed off, but my Max-teasing reflex cannot be denied. “Need me to go get your slippers?”

“Oh, shush.” She stands, swaying on her feet for a second. “Whoa. Head rush.”

My mind flashes back to the last time she said those words, and I’m instantly assaulted by the image of her crumpling bonelessly to the ground. Only this time, her head cracks against the hospital room’s white linoleum floor. I barely even think before surging forward, grabbing hold of her and pulling her body tight against mine.

“Well, hello there,” she purrs, her face barely an inch from mine.

“Uh...hey.”

Her voice is infuriatingly innocent as she asks, “Was there something you wanted?”

You know what? Fuck this. I’m Chloe Fucking Price, and I’m done being on the defensive. “Yeah, actually. There is.”

“And what’s tha-”

I don’t give her a chance to finish, closing the distance and capturing her lips. She lets out a surprised (and extremely satisfying) squeak, then she’s pulling me closer, kissing me like she hasn’t seen me in a hundred years. Grasping the front of my jacket like she’s afraid if she lets me go, she’ll never see me again.

The possessiveness of it makes me feel strangely cherished as I savor the feeling of her lips on mine. My wandering hands have only just begun to explore the very open back of her hospital gown when we’re suddenly and rudely interrupted by a loud cough.

We spring apart like a pair of teenagers caught making out (which I guess we kinda are) and find the shaggy-haired nurse from earlier standing awkwardly in the door.

“Uh, did one of you hit the call button?” He glances at the blue button next to where Max is leaning. “On purpose, I mean?”

“Oh, er...” Max raises her hand a little. “Yeah, that was me.”

“Right. Did you need something?”

“Yes, I’d like to check out, please.”

“I’m not sure that’s...”

“I’m fine checking out AMA.”

He doesn’t look happy about it, but he nods. “I’ll let your doctor know. It might take a little time, though, and you’ll have to sign a waiver.”

“That’s fine.” Max smiles sweetly. “Do you know where my clothes are?”

“Yeah, I’ll grab them for you.” He hesitates. “We’ll have to hold on to your driver’s license, though. At least until your bill is settled.”

“I understand.”

He nods again, pulling the door closed as he leaves.

“I’m kinda surprised they didn’t throw your clothes out as soon as you got here,” I comment, trying to ignore the way Max’s open-backed gown is reflected in the room’s mirror. I almost succeed, too, but damn it; I’m not made of stone.

Max gives me a confused look. “Why would they?”

“You were still wearing the clothes you slept in when they brought you here. And they were pretty much covered in blood.”

She blinks, startled. “I was?”

“Yeah, you were." I wait for her confused expression to fade. It doesn't. "Do...do you not remember that?”

“No, I do, but...” She scowls, shaking her head.

“But...” I prompt, trying not to worry that she’s lost her marbles. Seriously, I’m getting really tired of having to worry about Max like that. I just want to worry about her normally for a while.

“It just doesn’t make sense,” she mutters. “My clothes should be here.”

It sorta seems like she’s talking to herself, but her tone still makes me feel a little defensive. “Well golly fucking gee, Max. I’m sorry I didn’t remember to pack you a fucking overnight bag while they were loading you into the fucking ambulance.”

“That’s not what I mea...” Max trails off. “Wait, how long was it from when I kissed you to when the ambulance drove away with me?”

“What? How the hell should I know?” What kind of question is that? Just for that, I’m gonna straight up ogle her in the mirror. That’ll show her.

“Try to guess,” she presses, like it’s actually really important.

“I dunno.” Ogling intensifies. “Like, fifteen minutes? Maybe twenty? Shit got kinda fucked-up and it’s not like I had a stopwatch.”

“All at once?” she murmurs, almost too quietly to hear, turning toward the door (and coincidentally, turning more of her back to the mirror). Her gown is tied up enough to keep her out of ‘indecent exposure’ territory but the smooth (and surprisingly toned) length of her back, her skin all pale and freckled, is still totally stare-worthy.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” I ask, absently.

“I’ll tell you later.” She glances back over her shoulder, adding. “Maybe when you’re not busy undressing me with your eyes?”

Uh-huh. Two can play at that game, Caulfield. “Pretty hard to undress you with my eyes when you’re barely dressed.”

I swear, watching the faint blush creep up her neck is just the best thing ever.

“You shush.”

I really want to see If I can make her blush even worse, but Mr. Nurse picks that exact moment to come back in. He’s carrying a sealed blue bag that he holds out to Max. “Here you go. Everything you came in with.”

“Thanks.” Max nods, accepting the bag with one hand and trying to hold the back of her gown closed with the other.

“Y’know, you’re actually pretty lucky,” he comments on his way out the door. “Usually the paramedics cut peoples’ clothes off before they get to the hospital. Guess they didn’t think it was necessary.”

“Yeah, real lucky,” Max murmurs. Ripping the bag open, she peers inside and her shoulders sag with relief. “Oh, thank goodness.”

“You’re really that happy about a set of blood-stained PJs? Hell, I’ve tossed clothes in the trash with a lot less blood on ‘em.” Max doesn’t bother to respond as she starts pulling out clothes...none of which I’ve seen before. “The hell? Did they give you the wrong bag or something?”

“No, it’s...”

What a load of crap. Like we aren’t dealing with enough right now. Max doesn’t need to be going through some rando’s dirty laundry, too. “Yo, nurse guy! Get back in here!”

Chloe!” Max hisses.

“I’m just...” I stop, take in Max’s pissed off expression, and try to figure out how things just went south. “What?”

The same guy comes back into the room before she can answer, a concerned look on his face. “Everything alright?”

I nod, pointing to the plastic bag. “This isn’t Max’s stuff.”

“Yes it is, Chloe,” Max mutters, smiling tightly.

“It’s not?” he asks, his brow furrowed.

“Nope. Must’ve been a mix-up.”

“Huh. Sorry about that. Lemme take a look.” He walks over and checks the bag’s contents. “No, these are definitely her things.”

“Pretty sure they’re not. She wasn’t wearing any of those when they put her in the ambulance.”

“I don’t know what to tell you, but she was wearing them when she got to the hospital.” Pulling a sheet of paper out of the bag, he hands it to me and points to ‘Mackenzie’s’ name (whatever the fuck that’s all about) at the top of the page. “See?” Then he points to the signature at the bottom. “I logged it all myself when she was admitted.”

“I...”

“It’s definitely my stuff, Chloe,” Max insists, cutting me off. “See?

Turning to argue, I just about choke when I see her holding up a three-bullet necklace. My three-bullet necklace which should still be at home, because there’s absolutely no way Max could’ve had time to grab it.

“I...uh...r-right.” Turning back, I give him what I really hope looks like a normal smile. “Sorry, dude. My bad.”

“Don’t sweat it.” He shrugs, turning to Max. “The doc has to sign off on your discharge paperwork before I can bring it to you, but that should only take about twenty minutes. Sound good?”

“Sounds good. Would you mind closing the door on your way out?”

“Sure.” The door clicks shut a second later, and I take a very long, very slow breath.

“Max, how in the hell do you have my fucking neckl...ahh!” I turn back to face her, then immediately spin on my heel, raising a hand to block the view. “Dude! A little warning next time?!”

“What are you...?” Max sounds genuinely confused for a second, then her voice turns strange. “Right. Sorry. I guess I kinda forgot.”

“You forgot that you were naked?

“No, I just...” Max hesitates again.  “Forget it. I’ll explain later, I promise.”

“Whatever,” I grumble, still a little hung up on the image of Max’s body framed by the early afternoon light. I keep my eyes fixed on the far wall, trying not to let the rustling sounds behind me lead my imagination anywhere I don’t want it to go. “So, uh, what’s up with your hand?”

“Hm?”

“The split knuckles?”

“Oh, right. I punched someone,” she says in a surprisingly matter-of-fact tone. “And I only split one knuckle, thank you very much.”

“Seriously?”

“Seriously.”

“What’d they do to set you off?” Max isn’t exactly the ‘violence first’ type. “Must’ve been pretty nasty.”

“Worse than you can imagine,” she responds, darkly. Before I can ask, she adds, “Okay, I’m dressed.”

I cautiously glance over my shoulder, not sure whether I’m relieved or disappointed to find her fully clothed.

There’s nothing remarkable about what she’s wearing. The clothes are more or less the same style she’s been rocking since Monday. The only weird thing is that they fit her perfectly, and I’d bet everything I own that when she’d been loaded into that ambulance, the only thing she’d had on under that blanket had been blood-stained pajamas.

That’s not the kind of thing a person forgets.

“New clothes?”

“Sorta,” she answers shortly, looking around. “Have you seen a messenger bag?”

“You mean yours? It’s still back at my place.”

“No, a different one. It’s made from dark red canvas. It should have been with the rest of my stuff.”

“Nope.”

“You mind double-checking?”

“I guess,” I glance around the room, even stoop to look under the bed, but there aren’t many places a messenger bag could be hiding. I stand up to find Max leaning close to the room’s mirror, fiddling with something under her hair. “What are you doing?”

“Putting my earrings back in,” she mutters, wincing slightly.

“Seems like a weird time to worry about your jewelry.”

She turns her head to give me a flat look. There’s already one steel ring in her upper right ear, and she’s holding two more. “Have you ever had a cartilage piercing close up? Because I have, and it sucks.”

“I’ll take your word for it.”  I’m trying really hard to not be jealous of how badass her new piercings look. “No luck with the bag. I don’t think it’s here.”

“Must’ve appeared back at your place.” She catches my expression in the mirror and adds, “I’ll explain...”

“Later,” I finish, rolling my eyes for the umpteenth fucking time. “Yeah, I remember. Just a heads up, I doubt that excuse is gonna fly with your mom and dad.”

She chuckles, turning back. “Then I guess I’m lucky they’re in Seattle, aren’t I?”

“Not anymore.”

She puts the last earring in with a faint hiss. “Not anymore?”

“Yeah, they’re driving down. Should be here...” I pull out my phone. “Fuck, pretty soon actually.”

“They’re what?!” she cries, spinning around. “Who the hell called them?!”

“My mom did.”

“And she told them to come here?!”

“Dude, you had a seizure. You’re in the fucking hospital. Why the fuck wouldn’t she?”

“Okay, we have to leave. Right now.”

“What’s the rush?”

“Because they aren’t supposed to be here. The plan doesn’t account for them.”

“The plan? What plan?”

“I said I’ll explain later.”

Alright, that’s it. Time out.

“No, you’ll explain now.”

“We don’t...”

“I swear to god, Max, we aren’t going anywhere until you tell me what the fuck you’re talking about!”

“There isn’t time.”

I cross my arms and plant myself between her and the door. I know it’s a pointless gesture. If she wants to, she can just rewind right the fuck around me. I just hope she decides to trust me instead. “I’m waiting.”

“Damn it, Chloe.” She squeezes her eyes shut, looking like she’s trying to gather her thoughts. “Alright, look. I’m not your Max, exactly. I’m from two years in the future. I traveled back to this week from October 2015 to change the past.”

Part of me really wants to call bullshit, but I have to admit that it explains a lot. And if I’m being honest, going from ‘Max can time travel’ to ‘Max can time travel a lot’ isn’t exactly a huge mental leap. That doesn’t mean I’m anywhere near satisfied, though.

“Alright.” I nod slowly. “And?”

“Chloe, I...”

And?

“Fine,” she huffs, like I’m the one being difficult. “In my timeline, Arcadia Bay gets wiped out by a superstorm in about...” She glances at her watch. “...thirty-six hours. There won’t be any warning. Everything is destroyed and only seven people make it out alive, including you and me.”

“I already know about the sto-”

“Chloe, seriously.” She glances past me to the door. “You have no idea how much I don’t want to leave without you, but I will if I have to.”

I hold my glare for another moment. “There’s a longer version of this, right?”

“Way longer.”

“And you’re going to tell me everything?”

“Absolutely. I promise.”

“...you really piss me off sometimes, you know that?”

“Yeah. Sorry.”

“Whatever. But just so we’re clear.” I step forward, jabbing a finger at her. “This is the kind of best-friend level trust you definitely haven’t earned back yet.”

“I know,” she nods, looking happy enough to cry. “Thank you, Chloe.”

“Yeah, well, you’re just lucky you’re hot.”

Her eyes go a little wide, despite everything, and she glances away with a shy smile. A faint blush is creeping up her neck again. I don’t care when she says she’s from; she’s still Max.

I turn around so she can’t see me smiling back. “Alright, let’s go see about getting you signed out.”

“No time.”

“You can’t just dine and dash, Max. The hospital has your driver’s license, remember?”

“No, they have Mackenzie Clayton’s license.”

I’d actually forgotten about that. I guess my brain deleted that little tidbit to make room for some hi-resolution ‘naked Max’ memories. Honestly, no regrets there. “Yeah, who the fuck is Mackenzie Clayton?”

“Nobody. It’s a fake ID.”

“Hold up. You have a fake ID?”

“Seriously, Chloe?! Later!” She pulls a very familiar blue beanie out of her pocket (where the hell did she get that?) and pulls it on, tucking most of her hair out of sight. With it on, and with her ears and tattoos hidden, she looks just like the Max I went swimming with yesterday. “We need to be gone before Mom and Dad get here, or they’ll never let me out of their sight.”

“Alright, alright. Lemme just make sure the coast is clear.” Peeking out the door, I don’t see anyone in either direction. “Looks good.”

I lead the way into the empty hallway, trying to remember if I passed any exits on my way here. Unfortunately, at the time my mind was stuck on the whole does Max actually have tattoos thing. Which she does, it turns out. Two of them. Maybe more. But as much as I really, really want to check if there are more, that’s a fantasy for another time. Luckily, I notice that the intersection down the hall features a convenient fire door on the far side, so I grab Max’s hand and we make a break for it.

We’re almost there when a trio of hospital staff members come walking around the corner ahead of us. They’re chatting to each other and not looking in our direction, but there’s absolutely no way they won’t notice us rush past them and escape out a fire exit.

Jerking to the right, I pull Max into what I really hope is an empty room and shut the door behind us as quietly as I can. “Shit, that was too close.”

But when Max doesn’t respond, I turn around to discover that it is, in fact, not an empty room.

“Max? Chloe?”

“Oh...uh...hey, Kate.”

Misdirection

“This isn’t what it looks like,” I blurt out, which is kind of dumb considering this is pretty much exactly what it looks like.

“It looks like you’re sneaking out of the hospital,” Kate points out, because we obviously are.

“What? That’s crazy. We’re not sneaking out.” From the look on her face, I might as well be trying to convince her that my hair is actually red. “We’re just leaving. Like normal people.”

“Please don’t lie to me, Chloe.” I thought my mom’s ‘disappointed’ voice was tough to deal with, but I’ll be damned if Kate Marsh’s isn’t straight up devastating. “Max, you’re sick. You should be in bed.”

“Chloe and I need to go, Kate.” If Kate’s weapons-grade concern is affecting Max as much as it’s affecting me, it sure doesn’t show. “I don’t have time to explain everything, but I need you to trust me when I say it’s important.”

“Max, you had a seizure,” Kate shakes her head. “Nothing is more important than your heal-”

“I’m a time traveler.”

Oh, I see Future Max has no chill. That’s totally not going to make things harder.

“You’re...what?”

“A time traveler. If I focus, I can rewind time around me.” Max’s voice is low and calm, her hands raised like she’s dealing with a frightened rabbit. “It’s a really long and really complicated story that we don’t have time for right now, but I swear to you that I’m telling the truth.”

Dropping a bomb on someone like that is a pretty ballsy move, especially for Max. And judging by the stunned look on Kate’s face, I expect her to either call Max crazy or go running for the nearest doctor; maybe both. Instead, she glances down and whispers, “Courtyard...”

I have absolutely no idea what that’s about, but it seems to mean something to Max. Kate’s still looking at the floor, her eyes tracking back and forth, but whatever it is she’s trying to work out, Max seems willing to give her time to do it.

“I saw you come around the corner. When I...when I was up on the roof,” Kate continues, softly. “I know I did because I remember thinking that I didn’t want you to see me.”

“That’s right.”

“You were all the way down in the courtyard.” She swallows and I can almost see the pieces coming together in her head. “But then you were just...there. One second you were standing on the ground, and the next second you were right behind me on the roof. I thought I’d imagined it, or lost the time, but...I didn’t, did I?”

Max shakes her head, slowly. “No, you didn’t.”

Kate’s brow furrows a little. “You were bleeding, too, weren’t you? From your nose. You looked like you were in pain.”

“A little.” I know that look on Max’s face, and I’d bet anything that it was a hell of a lot more than ‘a little’ pain. Oh, you’d better believe we’ll be talking about this later, Caulfield.

“No, you were in a lot of pain, Max. It looked like you could barely stand.”

“It wasn’t great, but what was I supposed to do?” Max shrugs helplessly, ignoring the five-alarm glare that I’m practically drilling into the side of her head. “I couldn’t give up. Not while you needed me.”

The look on Kate’s face when Max says that is like nothing I’ve ever seen. Seriously, you’d think Jesus Christ himself just walked in with a cookie bouquet and asked if she wanted to hang out.

“Y-you couldn’t?”

“Of course not.”

Aw, shit. Kate’s starting to tear up, which means that Max will probably want to do something dumb like stay until she feels better. Don’t get me wrong; I totally get where she’s coming from. But even if Kate is putting out a bigger ‘protect me’ vibe than a box of kittens, it’s just not something we have time for.

Damn it. Why do I have to be the level-headed one here? “Hey, I hate to wreck the moment, but the hallway is probably clear. If we’re gonna go, we need to go now.”

Max looks back and forth between me and Kate, conflicted. “I...”

“No, she’s right,” Kate interrupts, wiping her eyes. “Someone’s going to notice you’re gone soon. You have to go.”

“You heard the lady.” I take Max by the arm, ready to pull her out of there if I need to.

“Alright, alright.” She pulls away, moving to the door. “I just have to take care of something first.”

Before I can ask what that’s supposed to mean, Kate rushes between us and puts herself between Max and the door. “Wait, let me check first.”

Pulling the door open a little, she quickly peeks outside, then softly closes it with a grim expression.

“They’re still out there?” I ask, kinda pointlessly.

Kate nods. “And they can definitely see my door from where they’re standing.”

Okay, that’s not awesome. Luckily, we’ve got our secret weapon. “Looks like you’re up, Max. Ready to get your rewind on?”

“Um...actually,” she says, swaying on her feet a little. “I’m not sure I should right now.”

“What? Why the fuck not?”

“I’m feeling a little weird.” She gestures vaguely to her head. “I think I should take a break before any more rewinding.”

“What do you mean more?”

“Thought about it. Figured I ought to get this back after all.” Grinning, she holds up a Washington State driver’s license belonging to the mysterious Mackenzie Clayton.

“How the hell did you...?”

“It was in the administration office. Took me a few tries.” She leans back against the wall. “The security guy is surprisingly quick on his feet.”

“Is that why you look like you just ran a marathon?”

“Two years, remember?” she mutters, but at least she has the common freaking decency to look a little guilty. “Cut me some slack.”

“Alright, fine. So your time voodoo is off the table. That’s just great.”

“The fire exit is just across the hall.” Kate points out. “If you sprint, you might make it before they see you.”

I want to roll my eyes. I want to roll my eyes so badly because that was an extremely eyeroll-worthy suggestion...but I don’t. She’s just trying to help. “I don’t think they’ll miss a couple of teenage girls sprinting out the fire door, no matter how fast we g-”

“They will if I distract them,” Kate interrupts. I give her a dubious look and I know this is a serious situation and all, but the determined expression she fires back is fucking adorable. “I can do it. I’ll just get to the end of the hall, sit on the floor and act like I’m upset. I bet I can even cry a little.”

Well, at least she means well. “No offence, but there’s three of them. I don’t think that one upset patient is going to be enough.”

“It’ll work. They’ll pay attention to me. They have to. I...” She looks away, embarrassed. “I’m still on suicide watch. If they think I might...um...do something, then someone has to sit with me until my doctor gets here. I just need to go over there and make a scene.”

Huh. That might actually work. And it’s kind of a badass move, too. I swear, the more I get to know Kate, the more impressed I am. “You sure?”

She turns to Max. “You said it’s important, right?”

Max nods. She looks kinda bewildered; I don’t think she gave Kate this much credit.

“Then I’m sure. Someone gave you these powers for a reason.” I’m pretty sure it’s unconscious, but the way her hand moves to the cross around her neck makes it pretty clear who she thinks ‘someone’ is. “So I believe that whatever’s important for you is probably important for everyone else, as well.”

“Kate, I...”

“I owe you my life, Max. Compared to that, this is nothing.” She’s already halfway out of the room. “Listen by the door and you’ll know when to go.”

She’s gone before either of us can say a word.

“Damn, Max. Kate’s kinda hardcore.”

“I know,” she laughs softly. “Before now, I never would’ve put the words ‘Kate’ and ‘hardcore’ in the same sentence.”

“Guess it’s true what they say, huh? That it’s always the one you least suspect?” I bump our shoulders together, smiling even though I’m not sure what the fuck I’m talking about. Am I flirting with Max right now?

“Oh, Chloe,” she murmurs back with hooded eyes and a small, suggestive smile. “You have no idea.”

“Kinda wouldn’t mind finding out, though.” Yup, we’re flirting. And even though I know that this is absolutely not the right time, I’m also pretty interested in finding out why Max is looking at me that way. I’m so caught up in it that I nearly jump out of my fucking skin when I hear Kate’s scream.

“I HATE IT HERE!”

“It’s alright, Miss Marsh. I’m here and I’m listening. Why don’t you have a seat so we can talk?”

“I DON’T WANT TO TALK! I WANT TO GO HOME! I WANT TO GO HOME RIGHT NOW!!”

I risk a glance out the door. Sure enough, all three of them are entirely focused on Kate. And if I didn’t know better, I’d say she was right in the middle of a full-on meltdown.

“Is it working?” Max whispers.

“Fuck yeah, it is. Ready?”

“Hold on,” she whispers, then gives me a quick kiss that leaves my lips tingling. “For luck.”

“O-okay.” The door is right across the hall, but now I’m a little nervous that I might just run headlong into the wall.

“We should probably go now,” she reminds me, smiling.

“Right. Totally.” I take her hand. “Let’s roll.”

I double-check that Kate still has things under control (which she does, like a boss) and together we bolt for the fire door. We make it in a few seconds, none of the staff so much as glance in our direction, I don’t run into any solid surfaces, and the last thing I hear before the door closes behind us is Kate Marsh’s straight-up Oscar worthy performance.

 


 

44 Cedar Avenue
Arcadia Bay, Oregon

Getting out of the hospital is one thing but getting anywhere else requires wheels. That’s why, about fifteen minutes after our bold escape, the two of us are lurking behind a hedge on my block and eying my house warily.

“Is anyone home?”

“What, like I have x-ray vision now? You tell me, future girl.”

“Geez, I was just asking!”

I grunt an apology, wishing I actually had an answer for her. There aren’t any cars outside but considering mom doesn’t have one and David always parks in the garage, that doesn’t tell us a whole lot.

“Alright, I’ve got my keys on me.” Pulling my keyring out of my pocket, I unclip the one for my truck and hand it to Max. “You can drive, right?”

“Uh, yeah?”

“I’ll get in and out as fast as I can. Get to my truck and be waiting with the key in the ignition. Hopefully, we won’t have to make a break for it, but better safe than sorry, right?”

“You sure you want to do this? We can just take the truck and go.”

“You said you came back with a messenger bag, right? Well, since the hospital didn’t have it, there aren’t a lot of other places it could be. Besides,” I glance down at myself. “I could use some cleaner clothes.”

“Okay. Don’t be long.”

The two of us dart across the street together, splitting up where my truck is parked on the curb. The front door is locked when I get there, but that still doesn’t mean much; step-douche always locks it, even when we’re at home. I let myself in as quietly as I can, listening for anything that might tell me who’s home. I can’t see anyone, and I definitely don’t hear mom doing her thing in the kitchen. There is something that could be David fucking around in the garage, or it could be the clothes dryer running. Either way, I’m not sticking around one second longer than I have to. I just have to grab what I came for and get the fuck out.

I make my way up to my room, and the first thing I notice is that the blue carpet that normally sits at the foot of my bed is missing. Mom probably took it out as soon as she got home, either to wash or throw out. Considering how much of Max’s blood was staining it, I’d be happy if I never saw it again.

Looking around, I actually find two messenger bags. The one I recognize as Max’s, dark blue with a Seattle skyline patch sewn on it, is still sitting beside the bed. The other one, dark red and a little newer looking, is on the floor next to my dresser and looks like it was kicked there from across the room.

Pulling an old duffel out of my closet, I shove both bags inside followed by a clean change of clothes for myself and some of Rachel’s old stuff that should (hopefully) fit Max okay. I get Max’s phone off the charger on the bedside table, then grab my lighter, some rolling papers, and a bag of weed; I have a feeling that what comes next is going to call for a little stress relief.

Finally, after a moment’s hesitation, I reach under the bed and grab the revolver I pinched from David’s gun cabinet, sticking it in the back of my jeans. I only have a dozen bullets left out of the handful I originally took, but it’s a lot better than nothing.

Thinking about bullets, I glance over to the drawer handle where I usually hang my three-bullet necklace. I’m not exactly surprised that it’s gone, but it does seem to add a little more weight to everything.

Hurrying downstairs as quietly as I can, I’m almost at the front door when I hear my mom’s voice.

“Chloe? Is that you?” She’s standing in the door to the backyard, and I’d bet anything she’s been stress smoking. “What are you doing home? Is everything alright?”

“Yeah. I’m just grabbing some things for Max.” I lift the bag. “Toothbrush, change of clothes, stuff like that.”

“How’s she doing? Any change?”

I shake my head. I suck at pretending I’m not nervous, but I’m hoping she’ll just think it’s because I’m worried. “She was still asleep when I left.”

“Oh.” Her face falls. “How are Ryan and Vanessa taking it?”

“I...how would I know?”

“You didn’t see Max’s parents at the hospital?”

“No.”

“Hm. You must’ve just missed them.”

Blinking, I look past her and notice the pair of small suitcases sitting next to the couch. Talk about good timing.

“I guess I should be getting back, then.”

Her phone rings before I can even reach for the door, sending a wave of dread right through me. I know that I should get moving. Every second I’m here is another second closer to either me getting caught, or to someone noticing Max outside in the truck. Instead I just watch in dumb silence as mom pulls out her phone and lifts it to her ear.

“Hello? Oh, we were just talking about you.” She briefly puts her hand over the mic to whisper to me. “It’s Max’s mother.”

“O-oh.” I nod. I should be running. I should already be in the truck, but my feet feel stuck to the ground.

Mom is still listening, and she’s starting to look worried. “Hang on. Chloe’s right here. I’ll ask her.” She turns to me. “What was Max’s room number at the hospital?”

“Uh...twelve, I think?” It comes out as more of a question, but she doesn’t seem to notice as she relays the answer. “Something wrong?”

She nods. “They can’t find Max. The hospital says she’s not even registered as a patient.”

This is going downhill so fast. I try to look like I don’t know Max is right outside, reminding myself that it’s not like anyone will think to ask about a patient named Macke-

“Who’s Mackenzie Clayton?”

Son of a bitch. “W-who?”

“Mackenzie Clayton. That’s the name of the patient in room twelve.”

I’m so screwed. “No idea.”

“You were sitting in that room for nearly four hours, Chloe.”

“Maybe I got the number wrong?” It’s not even a decent attempt at a lie; even if it weren’t obviously bullshit, my voice is so choked that I don’t think anyone on earth would believe a word I say.

She lowers the phone and her eyes narrow suspiciously. “Why are you lying to me?”

“I...uh...”

“Chloe, where’s Max?”

Fuck this. I’m out.

Spinning around, I throw the front door open and bolt out of the house. Max must’ve been watching for me, because I’ve barely gone a few steps before I hear the truck’s engine come to life. I yank the passenger door open a few seconds later, jump inside, slam it shut behind me and shout, “Drive!”

Mom’s not even across the yard before we’re peeling out. I can’t hear her yelling over the engine but when I look back, I can see her expression well enough to know that this probably won’t end well for me.

“I’m screwed,” I moan, slouching down in my seat. “Your folks are gonna call the cops and I’m gonna go to prison. I don’t wanna go to prison, Max. I’ve seen that orange and black show.”

“You’re not going to prison, Chloe. And put on your seatbelt.”

“I’m a smartass, Max. I don’t know how to not be a smartass. I’ve never even tried. There’s no way I wouldn’t get shanked my first day.”

She laughs. “Did you grab my bag, at least?”

“Both of ‘em.” I pant the duffel bag between us. “They’re in here.”

“Awesome. Now we just need a place we can talk.”

“No problem. American Rust, here we come.”

“No!” Max practically shouts.

“Uh...okay.” 

“I mean, it should be somewhere that no one would think to look.”

Filing it away with all the other weird-as-fuck stuff Max has said today, I take a second to think. “Actually, I might know just the place.”

Behind The Curve

Just Outside Arcadia Bay, Oregon

“This is amazing,” Max laughs. “I can’t believe it’s still standing.”

I wasn’t sure what to expect, bringing Max back here; part of me had been afraid she’d think it was weird. But judging by the way she’s grinning up at the tree fort we built when we were kids, I probably shouldn’t have worried.

“I’ve tried to keep it in good shape over the years.” I admit, hoping I sound chill. “I might have made a couple of upgrades.”

“More than a couple. Last time I was here it was just a few sheets of plywood and some two-by-fours. This is like a whole other thing.”

I don’t know if she’s really that impressed or just stalling for time. Either way, I can’t help but bask in the praise a bit. I’m actually pretty proud of myself. I may not be a pro, but I had all my dad’s old tools, and I can Google like nobody’s business. “I guess. I mean, I just cleaned it up a little.”

By which I mean reinforcing the floor, patching the holes in the roof, putting up some cheap insulation I found, adding some carpet, using some clear plastic for windows and sanding everything smooth.

What can I say? I needed something to fill the hours after the fine folks at Blackhell showed me the door. And besides, it turns out that girls usually won’t want to hang out in your tree fort if it’s cold, wet, and covered with splinters. Honestly, if you’ve found a girl who’s interested in hanging out in your tree fort at all, you do what you gotta do to hold on to her.

At least until she breaks up with you and skips town without a fucking word.

No. Stop. Not going there right now.

“More than a little. I can’t wait to see what the inside looks like.”

“It’s no big deal,” I shrug, trying to play it cool and definitely not staring at Max’s ass while she’s climbing up the ladder.

“I’m serious, Chloe. It looks amazing.” She points at the handmade sign next to the trapdoor entrance; the one that says Warning: Booby Traps. “That part is a little concerning, though.”

“It’s a bluff,” I reassure her. Ushering her in ahead of me, I shut the door and lean back against the tree trunk that makes up the fort’s back wall. “See? All safe.”

“Any particular reason for it?”

“Hell yeah. I caught a couple of Vortex Club assholes banging in here and decided that was enough mental scarring for one lifetime.” Max glances uncomfortably at the cheap rug I bought at a garage sale. Six bucks well spent, if you ask me. “Oh, relax. That was before I got the carpet. I hope it was worth it, too, cause the dude fell over trying to get to his pants and I’m pretty sure he ended up with splinters in his dick.”

She blinks, surprised, then lets out a bark of laughter. “I can’t believe you never told me about that.”

Oh, right. For a second, I’d just been enjoying spending time with my old friend, but the comment shatters that illusion. And while I’d love to keep talking about treehouse-related shenanigans, I want answers more. “So. The future, huh?”

She sighs. I guess she was stalling, after all. “Yeah.”

“As in the actual, legit future?”

“No, Chloe,” she deadpans. “I’m from the fake future.”

“Are there hoverboards yet?

“Afraid not.”

I snort. “Okay, that right there is a bullshit future.”

“I’m from twenty-fifteen, Chloe. Not the year three-thousand.”

“And we were promised hoverboards by twenty-fifteen. Hence, I sayeth bullshit.”

“You sayeth?”

“It’s...sorry, it’s kind of an inside joke. I was in this play onc-”

“Right,” she nods, smiling. “The Tempest.”

Fuck. I’m trying to be chill about all this, but every time I start to relax, Max says something else to remind me how out of sync we are.

“I wish I could have seen it,” she continues, smiling. “I bet you were amazing on stage.”

“I did okay, I guess...” Now why did she have to go and say something like that? I’m not sure if pouncing on her is the appropriate response, but it’s definitely the most tempting one. (No. Bad Chloe. Down, girl.) “So...twenty-fifteen, was it?”

“Yup.”

“Is that why you look...” I gesture at her vaguely. “...older?

“Pretty much.”

“And why your hair is so long?”

“That’s how hair usually works.”

“Sorry.” Combing my fingers through my own hair, I add, “It just looks like a lot for two years.”

She gives a little shrug. “Technically three.”

My mind sorta stumbles; I’m getting disturbingly used to the feeling. “Say what?”

“Two calendar years.” She explains, like that helps. “But it works out to almost three years with all the rewinding.”

“Wait, so you’re actually twenty-one?”

She seems to think about it, silently counting on her fingers. “More like twenty and two-thirds, I guess.”

“You guess?

She shrugs again. “I don’t really think about it.”

“Sure you don’t,” I roll my eyes. Then, smirking, I add, “Cradle-robber.”

“Oh, don’t you even start. I had to put up with your ‘I’m older so I know best’ crap for years. You don’t get to give me shit for being the older one now.”

“I think we both know that’s not true.”

“Hm,” she grunts, crossing her arms and staring off to the side a little. Translation: Chloe’s right, Chloe wins, Chloe is the greatest.

“So,” While I’m trying not to sound smug, I have to admit that I’m not trying very hard. “Why’d you stop cutting it?”

“Because you thought I should try growing it out. You liked it long.” She hesitates. “You do like it, right?”

“Oh, I definitely like it,” I answer truthfully. I never imagined Max with long hair, but it looks good on her. Really good. Like, ‘I want to run my fingers through it with one hand, gazing into her eyes while the other hand has her moaning and writhing underneath me’ good.

“Chloe?”

“Huh?” Startled, I realize I’ve been staring at her (not that she seems to mind) and I jump on the first question that comes to me. “Why’d you look normal back in my room, though? Younger, I mean.”

“Jump lag,” she says, simply. “It’s a time travel thing.”

I glance around, picking up a bottlecap from the floor and throwing it at her. “Try again, Caulfield.”

“Hey!” She tries to bat the cap out of the air, misses, and gets hit right in the forehead. “Cut it out!”

Smirking, I hold up another bottlecap.

“Fine,” she grumbles. “Basically, when I rewind there’s a delay between my mind arriving and my body catching up with it.”

“What? That’s crazy. No there isn’t.”

“Yeah, there actually is.”

“I’d have noticed.”

“Been watching me that closely, have you?” she asks, grinning at the blush I can feel coloring my cheeks. “Seriously, though, it’s really short. Like, a millisecond for every minute I go back. I’d have to rewind almost five hours just for the lag to take more than the blink of an eye.”

Okay, that is pretty fucking fast. “A millisecond per minute?”

“That’s right.”

I start trying to figure that out. It shouldn’t be too hard; math always came pretty easy to me, even if school didn’t. So if there’s twenty-four hours in a day, that works out to fourteen-hundred minutes. And since there’s a thousand milliseconds in one second...

“Chloe?” Max asks, and I immediately lose my place.

“Just gimme a sec, will you?

I look away, adding up the numbers on my fingers as I go from hours to days to weeks, until I finally reach the answer I’m looking for. That’s why I didn’t see it when she went from bedroom Max to hospital Max. It must’ve happened in the ambulance. “Eighteen and a half.”

“Eighteen and a half what?”

I realize I said the last part out loud. “Eighteen and a half minutes. That’d be the whatchamacallit after a two-year trip, right?”

“Uh, yeah. Almost exactly.” She nods, looking impressed. Then a shadow crosses her face. “It wasn’t supposed to happen all at once, though. That’s what I’ve been trying to figure out. The plan was to break the trip into eight parts with a day in between. Two and a half minutes of lag each. Eighteen and a half means I did the whole trip in one rewind.”

“Hardcore,” I comment.

“But that should have been impossible,” she adds, opening up the red bag she spent most of the drive here rooting through and dumping its contents on the floor. “And there’s a ton of evidence that I didn’t, too.”

The small pile doesn’t mean much to me; aside from a couple of small tools and a half-full water bottle, it’s mostly empty food wrappers and a wadded-up bundle of cloth I’m pretty sure is a hammock. The only thing that really sticks out is the heavy resealable bag holding eight or so yellow tubes. While I can’t quite place where I know them from, the needles sticking out of their ends are a little alarming.

“All the supplies I brought for the trip are used up. The hammock even has dirt on it.”

“Okay, so then you broke it up into parts.”

“But I’m not dirty. It should have taken me over a week to go the whole way, and I feel like I showered this morning. My hair isn’t even tangled.”

“They probably got you cleaned up at the hospital.”

“So they brushed out my hair?” She holds up her hands. “But didn’t get the dirt under my fingernails?”

I shrug, not sure which side she’s arguing for. “I guess they don’t offer manicures?”

“The clothes I’m wearing aren’t dirty either. Like, at all. They were put in a sealed bag as soon as I got to the hospital, and they still smell like laundry detergent.”

“Maybe you changed into fresh ones before you did the last rewind?”

“I didn’t have any to change into.”

“Seriously? Eight days with no fresh clothes?” I wrinkle my nose. “I’ve done the dirtbag punk thing a couple of times, but that’s just gross.”

“All I had room for was a spare t-shirt and some extra underwear.” She holds up another resealable bag. “And they’ve all been worn.”

“For fuck’s sake, Max! Did you do it all at once or not?!”

“I don’t know,” she confesses, looking a little lost and even the tiniest bit scared. “I just...I don’t remember the trip at all. All I remember is...”

“Is what?”

She shakes her head, shivering a little. “Just a bad dream.”

I suddenly want nothing more than to pull her close and tell her everything is going to be okay. And unlike the distinctly hornier urges I’ve been having, this one is a lot harder to ignore. It feels like an actual, physical pull. Like some kind of gravity that’s drawing me toward her, and if I just relax I’ll fall right into her arms - and a big part of me really, really wants to do just that.

It’s what actually steers me back to a very important and fairly intimidating thing that’s been on my mind since she woke up. “Hey, Max?” I begin. “Can I ask a maybe-stupid question?”

She seems to shake off her unsettled vibe like it’s nothing. I’m actually kinda jealous. “Go ahead.”

“With all the...uh...” Flirting, kissing, steamy looks, touches, and loads of casual affection. “...stuff you’ve been doing since this morning, can I assume that in the future we’re...y’know...” I gesture between Max and myself and she laughs softly. “What’s so funny?”

“Sorry. You just made that exact same gesture the first time.”

“First...time?” You better believe that phrase takes my imagination to some really interesting places.

“When we first talked about this,” she explains. “And yes, Chloe. We were together in the future.”

“Together,” I echo. I’d already been thinking it (and let’s be honest, kinda hoping it) but actually hearing it is a little weird.

It must be written all over my face, because she cringes a little. “Is that too much right now? I don’t want to be...you know... too much.”

“Right. Because you’ve been super chill up to now.”

“I missed you,” she fires back, a little defensively. Then, in a very low voice, she mutters. “And I’m coming off an really long dry spell so maybe cut me a little slack.”

Hold on...let’s just back up a little.

She said we were together. As in, past-tense.

And she said really long dry spell.

Were together. Dry spell.

Were. Dry spell.

Really long.

Max minus me equals dry spell.

So then Max plus me equals...sex?

Error.

“Chloe? Chloe, are you okay?”

“Huh?”

“You kinda spaced out there for a second.”

“We’ve had sex.” Oh my fucking god, do I have a head injury?

“Oh...uh, kinda?” She shrugs a little awkwardly. “I mean, technically I’ve slept with you, but you’ve never slept with me.”

Damn it. She’s right, and I don’t think I’ve ever been more annoyed about something in my entire life.

“Look, could we maybe not talk about our...er, my sex life right no-”

I’m honestly not sure which one of us is more shocked when I interrupt her with a disturbingly girlish giggle.

“What...” she laughs. “...was that?”

Holy shit, what the fuck was that? “...nothing.”

“You giggled!”

“I did not!”

Smirking, Max narrows her eyes. “Sex.”

To my horror, I actually fucking giggle again. What the fuck kind of pod person have I become? Can you be a pod person and not know you’re a pod person? “Stop that!”

Naturally, Max seems to think my descent into madness is hilarious. “Sex!”

This time I slap a hand over my mouth and get away with nothing but a faintly choked noise.

“Okay, who are you and what have you done with Chloe Price?”

“Who are you and what have you done with my shy scrawny hipster?”

Lifting an eyebrow, she pulls the neck of her top out, peers underneath, then offers me a very interesting smile. “Not that scrawny.”

She cackles joyfully when I let out another involuntary giggle. How the hell does she keep doing that?

“Look, hearing you say that is just weird. It’s like hearing a kitten swear.”

“Oh, really?”

Uh-oh. She’s moving closer and I do not like that look in her eyes.

Alright, fine. I really like that look in her eyes and I’m fully on-board with everything it implies. I just don’t like feeling as though I’ve completely lost control of the situation. Because let’s be honest, I have. Again.

She’s leaning in now, but just as I start thinking she’s gonna kiss me again she shifts to one side. I barely have time to register the feeling of her cheek brushing against mine before her whisper tickles my ear. “...sex.”

My breath catches in my throat and for a second, I can’t think. I’m tingling all over and there’s a very pleasant warmth pooling in my belly. I can already feel the mother of all blushes burning on my cheeks and right at that moment I’m pretty sure I’d be willing to sell one of my kidneys if it’d make all our clothes magically disappear.

Oh my god, why am I acting like this?

I’m nineteen years old, for fuck’s sake! I’ve known Max since we were little and despite everything, she’s still my best friend. She should not be having so much of an effect on me. I need to get a hold on myself. Even if Future Max is hella toned, and has those fucking killer tattoos, and that long hair I just want to run my fingers through, and those dope piercings I can sorta admit I’m a little jealous of, and keeps kissing me and smiling at me like that and pretty obviously wants me as bad as I want...

Okay, that’s it.

“Stop. Time out,” Careful to keep my hands away from any fun bits, I reach out and gently push her away. “How about we just slow down the sexy express for a second, okay?”

“Oh, sorry. I shouldn’t have...” She trails off, embarrassed, and moves back to sit against the far wall. “I didn’t mean to...

“No, you didn’t do anything. I mean, not exactly. This is just...”

Fuck. How do I put this?

Hey, Max. I’ve been frustrating the fuck out of myself for years, fantasizing about jumping your bones even though I didn’t think I’d ever see you again and kinda hated you a little. But now you’re back and right here and super-obviously into me and my libido decided to take all those old fantasies, play them on repeat, then go full throttle without asking me for permission. Do you think you could do me a solid and just not be hot for a while?

Yeah, I don’t think so.

“Just what?” she presses.

“Hella intense,” I croak, finally.

“Oh. Is that...bad?” she asks nervously.

“I...uh...not exactly,” I hedge. “But ever since we woke up this morning, it’s like whenever I’m around you I get all crazy aware of everything you’re doing. And everytime I’m looking at you it’s like I can’t think straight. And it feels like everything has been turned up to eleven and sometimes the only thing I can think about is how much I want to grab you and oh my fucking god what the hell is wrong with me?!” I shout, dropping my face into my hands.

“And you say I’ve got no chill.”

“Shut up.”

“I mean, if it makes you feel better, we...uh...” She trails off. “Never mind.”

“We what?”

“It’s nothing. Nothing helpful, anyway.”

“Max...” I say, warningly.

Alright,” she huffs. “I was just going to say that we were both like that, when we first got together. We couldn’t keep our hands off each other.”

She was right. That really isn’t a helpful place for my mind to go right now.

“We couldn’t?” I ask, because of course I do.

“Right from the start. Like we were drawn to each other.” She chuckles softly. “Which was kinda tricky, considering I was too much of a wuss to come out to my mom and dad.”

Somehow, that’s even more unbelievable. “Seriously? Your parents would be totally chill about that!”

“I know, I know. I was being dumb,” she admits. “My point is that I get it, okay? And I’m sorry if I’ve been making things hard on you.”

Somehow, I keep myself from making a dick joke. I feel like I deserve a medal for that. “Not your fault.”

“It is, a little. I’ll try to tone it down.” She winks, patting the floor. “I’ll even stay all the way over here, just in case.”

“Thanks. I mean, that’d be good right now. I guess.” It’s weird to be so in favor of an idea, and yet so against it at the same time. “So, how about we talk about literally anything else now?”

“Sounds good,” she laughs. She still has a really pretty laugh. “What did you have in mind?”

With all the really fun stuff taken off the table, we might as well deal with the elephant in the room. “How about the big rewind? Seems like something worth talking about.”

“Right. That.” She lets out a slow breath. “It’s like I told you, Arcadia Bay is going to get wiped out by a storm on F-”

“On Friday. Yeah, I remember. That’s not why you’re here, though.” I’m actually a little offended by how surprised she looks. “C’mon, Max. If this were about Arcadia Bay and this storm of yours, you wouldn’t have waited so long before coming back. Something else happened down the line, so fess up.”

She hesitates, again, which is getting pretty annoying. For someone who promised she’d tell me everything, it seems like there’s a lot she doesn’t want to share.

“It was me, wasn’t it? I died.” Once I started thinking about it, it was a pretty easy conclusion to come to. “You said you missed me, earlier. You can’t miss someone unless they’re gone.”

 “I...” She doesn’t immediately deny it, which is probably as good as a yes. “I wanted to ease you into it.”

“Too late now,” I laugh. I should probably take this more seriously, but how many times has Max kept me alive in the last couple of days? Two? Three? I’d rather just get to the point already. “So, how’d I go out? Was it cool, at least? Like, did I die saving a baby from a burning building or something?”

She shakes her head sadly. “Nothing like that.”

“It must’ve been pretty epic if you had to come back so far to stop it. I didn’t get abducted by aliens, did I?”

“It was cancer.”

I’ve changed my mind. I don’t want to get to the point anymore.

“You died from terminal lung cancer,” she continues, adding. “In early 2015.”

“No.” I start shaking my head, like it’ll make her change her mind. This can’t be right. I must be missing something. I can’t get cancer. I’m only nineteen. “No, that’s bullshit.”

“I’m sorry, Chloe, but it isn’t.”

No,” I repeat, louder. “You’re wrong.”

“I can’t tell you how much I wish I was.”

“Stop that! Stop talking like I’m already sick! I’m not gonna get cancer!” I’m shouting now, feeling so blind-sided that I almost miss the way she flinches. “What?”

“You’re right,” she sighs, looking down. “You’re not going to get cancer.”

“That’s what I sa-”

“You already have it.”

The entire world slams to a halt. “W-what?”

“You have lung cancer, Chloe. Right now.”

“But...but I’m fine. I feel fine.” Mostly fine, at least. Maybe I’m not in the best shape but being lazy doesn’t give you fucking cancer! “And I smoke weed! Isn’t weed supposed to prevent cancer or something?”

“No. The THC just helps in counteracting the chemotherapy nausea.” I don’t know why, but the matter-of-fact way she says that chills me to the fucking bone.

I don’t know how to deal with this. I can’t deal with this. It’d been weird enough staring down a future where I was dead, but I figured whatever happened to me could be prevented this time around. Like getting shot or hit by a train, I’d just have to not be in the wrong place at the wrong time. But this? I can’t outrun this. I can’t dodge out of the way or even avoid it, because it’s already inside my chest.

“But...I don’t wanna.” I don’t even care how stupid that sounds. For some reason, I just want to go home and hug my mom. “There’s got to be something...”

“There is. There absolutely is.” She takes my hand. “It’s still early. Last time you didn’t get diagnosed until way later, and by then it was too late. The sooner you’re in treatment, the better your chances.”

“Fuck,” I whisper. It feels like my brain is completely locked up and going a mile a minute at the same time. “This...this is so fucked.”

“I know, but you’ve got good odds if we get on top of it now. Not if you wait.”

Nodding slowly, I’m not even aware that I’m pulling the pack of cigarettes from my pocket until I feel Max’s hand come to rest on top of them.

“Chloe, you’re more important to me than you would believe,” she says, seriously. “Which is why I swear to god I will slap you if you ever put one of those things in your mouth again.”

“Max, I...” I glance at the pack in my hand. “Just one more?”

“No.”

“Just to take the edge off?”

“Slap you, Chloe,” Max repeats, without the slightest hint of a smile. “Right in the face. Not even joking.”

“Fuck.” Crushing the pack in my fist, I toss it into the corner with a scowl. “There. Happy now?”

Smiling, she squeezes my hand. “Thank you.”

“Yeah, sure,” I mutter, still wrestling with the ‘I’ve got cancer’ thing.  It fucking figures, though. Rachel was always on me to quit, anyway. She’d be giving me the biggest ‘I told you so’ look right now if she were...here...

Like magic, the entire concept of cancer gets booted out of my head. “Wait! Holy shit! Do you know where Rachel is? I mean, we must have found her, right?”

After two more years, she must have turned up! If Arcadia Bay got wiped out, there’s no way she wouldn’t have wanted to make sure I was okay. She probably called me (or, let’s be real, sent me an email) before the dust had even settled.

I bet she went down to LA after all, and somewhere in her weird Rachel-brain she got the idea that she’d be doing me a favor by not telling me. Or she thought that if she did tell me, I’d end up following her down there like some pathetic lovesick puppy. Which I probably would have, but who the fuck cares now?!

This is awesome! Even if I’m gonna be sick as fuck, I’ll finally be able to introduce Max and Rachel. I always figured they’d be friends. Oh damn, I can’t wait to get the jump on her! I’ll call her first and surprise the fuck out of...

...why is Max looking at me like that?

“Max? What is it?”

“I...” She hesitates, glancing away, and the shadow that passes over her face makes my blood run cold.

“We...we do find her, don’t we?”

She nods slowly. “We do, but...”

“But what?” I press, getting scared now. “But what, Max?”

“I...I’m so sorry, Chloe.”

 

-------------------

END PART VI

-------------------

 

 

Fallout


October 9, 2013
Just Outside Arcadia Bay, Oregon

“Chloe, stop!”

“Fuck you!” I shout over my shoulder, but I don’t look back. Right now I feel like I could run through a brick wall. Like the devil himself could show up offering me everything I’d ever wanted, and I’d kick him square in the balls for trying to stand in my way. Like nothing in the world could stop me...but I’m not gonna look back.

Brick walls and devils are one thing; Max Caulfield is another. And if I look back she’ll do that thing she used to do when we were kids whenever I lost my temper. The thing where she looks at me with those big fucking eyes of hers and starts saying things that are true and suddenly I’m calming down.

I don’t want to calm down. I want to be angry. I want to be enraged. I want to be righteously fucking wrathful because Rachel was fucking Frank Bowers and straight up lied to my face about it. Because Nathan Prescott killed her and buried in a shallow grave and if I actually stop to think about that I’ll probably lose it entirely. And now I am starting to think about it, so I scream so hard my throat hurts and even though my heart is thundering in my chest and my lungs are on fire, I still push myself to move faster.

“Chloe, please calm down,” Max’s voice is just behind me and I hear her stumble as she tries to match my longer stride. “Just stop and talk to me.”

“I said fuck you, Max! And fuck talking!” I snap back. “You lied to me!”

“I didn’t lie. I...damn it.”

In the blink of an eye, she goes from twenty feet behind me to right between me and the truck and I barely manage to stop before slamming into her.

“Please, Chloe, I just...”

Oh, that’s fucking it. If Max thinks I’m gonna put up with her time travel bullshit right now, she’s out of her fucking mind. Getting right in her face, I grab her by her hoodie and yank her close. “You just what, Max? Just forgot to tell me that the whole six months I’ve been searching for Rachel she was already fucking dead?!”

“I was going to tell you, Chloe. I swear I was. I just needed to find the right time to do it.”

Fuck you!” I shout again, shaking her. It’s infuriating that she doesn’t look nearly as intimidated as I want her to be. “It should have been the first fucking thing out of your mouth!”

“But...”

“I loved her, Max! Do you get that?! Rachel was here for me after everybody else stopped giving a shit!” I shove her away. “Including you!”

Max stumbles backward and her eyes go wide when her heel catches on an exposed root. Her arms pinwheel for a second as she tries to keep her balance, then she drops on her ass with a small yelp. She doesn’t even try to stand up. She just sits there in the dirt, looking up at me with wide-eyed shock.

Damn it. Now I just feel like an asshole.

It doesn’t matter that I’m so mad at her that I’m practically seeing red. She’s still Max, which is why I don’t even think before I step forward and reach out my hand. It’s kind of crazy that even though I was the one who knocked her over, she doesn’t hesitate for a second before letting me help her to her feet.

“Chloe, I...”

“Don’t.” I didn’t like seeing her fall over, but I do kinda enjoy the way her mouth snaps shut. “Whatever you have to say, I don’t wanna hear it. Move it or get left behind.”

Even though I’m pretty sure I wouldn’t really have left Max behind; she definitely doesn’t give me a chance to consider it. She’s sitting beside me before the keys are in the ignition, still quiet but watching me intently. She looks a little pale and keeps rubbing her forehead. I almost ask if she’s alright, then I remember that I’m mad at her.

I wish I still had my cigarettes on me, just so I could light one right in front of her. Then I’d just blow the smoke right in her smug ‘I’m-from-the-future’ face. Then I’d feel like an asshole again. Then I’d probably remember I have cancer and start crying, because I have fucking cancer.

I don’t want to die. I don’t want Rachel to be dead. And I want to be able to trust Max but I also want her to be lying about the cancer and about Rachel and...and...

“FUCK!” I scream, stomping down on the gas pedal, and I feel the back tires spin on the loose dirt for a second before they find a grip.

It’s a bumpy quarter mile to the end of the old service road and the turn onto Bay Avenue. Our secret hideaway isn’t a very long walk from my house, and when we were kids it only ever took about fifteen minutes to get there. But back then we traveled in a straight line through the woods. Taking the truck might be easier, but it does make the trip longer.

“Chloe, you need to slow down.”

“No, Max. What I need to do is kill Nathan Prescott.” Deep down, I’m a little worried at how easily the words come out. Glancing down at the truck’s speedometer, I do note that the needle is already past forty and creeping closer to fifty.

From the corner of my eye, I see her furiously shaking her head. “No, you can’t do that.”

“The fuck I can’t.” I’m very aware of the handgun tucked into the back of my jeans as I put a little more pressure on the gas. “That perverted little shit murdered Rachel, so I’m going to blow his fucking brains out. Simple.”

“Chloe, please listen. I have a plan, and it doesn’t include you going to prison for murder.”

I turn to glare at Max, but her expression is so open and earnest that it threatens to rob me of my anger; for some reason that makes me want to lash out even more. “You have a plan?! Are you fucking kidding me?”

“Watch the road, Chloe.”

I ignore both Max’s request and the nervous tremor in her voice. “Because any plan you might have that doesn’t include saving Rachel’s life is bullshit. You’re a fucking time traveler, Max! Why can’t you just go back and warn her?”

Her eyes dart back and forth between me and the truck’s windshield. “Please, Chloe, if you’re not going to stop at least watch where you’re going!”

“Were you even willing to try?!” She looks like I just slapped her. “Or is she not worth saving?!”

“It’s not like that, Chloe! I don’t even know if it would have been poss-” Max’s eyes suddenly go wide as saucers. “LOOK OUT!

My attention snaps back to the road and all thoughts of Rachel, Nathan Prescott, and vengeance fly from my mind. While my focus has been on Max, I’ve let the truck drift into the oncoming lane. Now I suddenly find myself facing an eighteen-wheeler head on. Its chrome grill seems to fill my vision as it bears down on us, its horn blaring.

Oh no, I think as my entire body seizes in panic. Just like Dad.

Then Max lunges over and jerks the steering wheel to the right, swerving my battered pickup back into its lane. Although we manage to avoid a collision, it’s a terrifyingly near miss; the oncoming semi-trailer passes closely enough that its fender manages to shear my side-view mirror right off the door. The harsh sound it makes as it’s ripped away pulls a frightened scream out of my throat.

I slam my foot down on the brake, leaving a pair of black skid marks as my truck fishtails on the pavement. Forcing it back under control, I cut to the right, taking us off the road and onto the gravel shoulder. Prying one trembling hand off the wheel, I shakily turn the key and kill the engine, then lean forward to rest my head of the steering wheel. “Oh, god...oh, fucking shit...I can’t breathe...what the fuck...”

“Are we alive?” Max stammers, her knuckles white on the dashboard. “We’re alive, right?”

“Y-yeah,” I confirm weakly. I take a few more ragged breaths, trying to force my heart to stop thundering in my chest. “We’re alive. Oh, fuck me...”

Deep breaths, in and out, slowly bringing myself back down. I feel almost back to normal when a banging on the window scares the living shit out of me and I let out a surprised yelp. We both turn to find a man who could only be the semi-trailer’s driver staring back at us, pale-faced and shaking. I take another deep breath and roll down the window.

“Holy hell! Are you girls okay?”

“Y-yeah,” I nod, shakily. “Yeah, we’re okay.”

“Oh, thank god,” he sighs, his whole body sagging with relief. “You two scared the bejesus outta me! What the hell were you doing back there?!”

“We...” I hesitate. “We were arguing. I... I wasn’t watching the road...”

The truck driver scowls at me. “Are you kidding me? You coulda been killed!”

“I know, I...” My face burns with shame and I can feel tears threatening to fall. “I’m so, so sorry.”

He glares us both for another moment, then the anger slips from his face. “Hey, now. Everyone is safe; that’s what’s important. Seems the good lord was watchin’ out for you.”

I choke back the urge to comment on ‘the lord’s’ supposed involvement and nod silently. Max does the same.

He glances back to where his truck is parked. “I guess we oughta trade insurance information.”

I look down at the trio of ragged holes where my pickup’s side mirror used to be, trying desperately to think of a way to explain that I don’t actually have insurance. I doubt he’d understand that I’d been forced to choose between spending my precious little money on that or weed, and now that decision had come back to bite me.

Hello again, hindsight. So nice to feel your boot up my ass again.

“Between you and me, though?” The truck driver continues. “I wouldn’t bother.”

“I...what?”

He shrugs. “Look, I dunno what your deductible is, but mine is definitely more than it’ll cost to fix that dent you left in my fender. Tryin’ to claim it is just gonna drive up my premium, so I might as well fix it out of pocket and save myself the grief.”

“Yeah?” I allow myself a cautious flicker of optimism.

“Yeah.” He taps my door. “I’m happy to give you my info if you wanna make your own claim, but I’d bet you can find another mirror for this heap in a scrapyard. Probably cost you about twenty bucks, tops. Say another forty to get a mechanic to bolt it on. Easy peezy.”

“Right. I’ll...uh...do that.”

He sighs again, absently adjusting his hat. “Are the two of you sure you’re alright? You don’t need me to call anyone?”

“I think we’ll be fine,” Max pipes up. “But thank you.”

“Of course.” He offers us a smile. “You girls drive safe now.”

“Yeah.” I nod. “You too, man.”

Rolling the window up, I watch him walk back to his truck in the rearview mirror. It’s not until he pulls back onto the road that I feel the tension start to bleed away. Tilting my head back to rest against the cool glass of the cab’s rear window, I let out a shuddering breath.

I reach for my cigarettes without even thinking about it, half-surprised to find nothing but an empty pocket. Oh, that’s right. I threw them away because I’ve got fucking lung cancer. Which is apparently going to kill me, assuming I don’t just get hit by a truck first.

What the fuck is wrong with me? Why do I always do this? Why do I always lose my shit instead of taking a second to just think? Max comes back again from two years in the future to save my sorry ass (again!) and how do I thank her? By flying off the fucking handle just because she didn’t want to hurt me.

“Chloe, I...” I feel Max’s hand gently come to rest on my arm. “I’m sorry. You’re right. I should have told you right away, but I was just so happy to see you again and I... I didn’t want to....”

“What? No!” I snap my head up, gripping Max’s hand like a lifeline. “I was angry, but that doesn’t...I should’ve...Fuck, Max! I’m so stupid!”

“You’re not stupid! You got upset and overreacted, but you’re not stupid!”

“I almost got us both killed! God, I’m such a shitty friend. I was probably a shitty girlfriend, too. You deserve way better.”

“No, you were amazing. No one else could...ever...” She trails off, her head dropping onto my shoulder. “We’re doing that thing again.”

It takes a second, but I let out an embarrassed groan as soon as I remember what she’s talking about. “Oh, fuck. We are, aren’t we?”

It was rare for Max and me to actually fight over something growing up, but when we did it always went the same way. We’d yell at each other until one of us went too far and said something really hurtful. Then, like a switch had been flipped, we’d start trying to make it all better by apologizing and going back and forth over which one of us was the worse friend and how the other deserved better. From there, it wouldn’t be long before we were crying in each other’s arms.

Of all the things we used to do as kids, it was probably one of the dumbest. I guess some things never change.

“I really am sorry,” I murmur, tilting my head to rest on Max’s and absently noting how nice her hair smells.

“Me too.” Her voice is a little muffled by my shoulder. “Forgive me?”

“Yeah. Forgive me?

“Of course.”

Before, this would be the part where we changed the topic to literally anything else. It could be a movie we just saw, or a song we both heard, or even some stupid piece of school gossip. Anything was fair game, as long as it wasn’t whatever we’d been fighting about. The thing is, I’ve got no idea what movies Max has seen lately. I don’t even know what kind of movies she likes. I can almost guarantee we don’t have the same taste in music anymore. We must have some things in common, especially if we end up dating in the future, but that’s almost worse.

We might’ve spent the last five years separated, but at least we were still on even ground. Now she’s got two more years of memories together (just sixteen months, cancer-girl!) and I’m still not sure how I’m supposed to deal with that. How long am I going to spend playing catch up? Where do I even start?

Actually, I know exactly where I need to start. “Max?”

“Yeah?”

“Rachel. You said...you said we found her, right? Not that the cops found her. We did.”

“Yeah, we did.”

“Where...” I try to swallow the lump rising in my throat. “Where is she?”

“I don...” She cuts herself off before she can lie to me. Good. As happy as I am to see her again and as sorry as I am for losing my temper, I don’t know how well I would have reacted if she’d lied to me just now.

“Where is she, Max?” I ask again. “Tell me.”

Pulling away, she slides back to look me in the eye. “No.”

“What do you mean, no?”

“I mean, no. I’m not telling you.”

“Max, please, I need t-”

No.” We’re lucky that we’re stopped or the force she puts behind that one word might’ve sent us into the oncoming lane all over again. “I’m not telling you. I’m never telling you, because if I do you’ll go looking for her.”

“Of course I would!” I don’t understand why that’s a bad thing. I can’t just leave her out there.

“I won’t let you do that, Chloe. Finding her was the worst moment of your life. I can’t watch you go through that again.” She has this almost desperate look in her eyes, like I’m standing on a cliff and she’s trying to talk me back from the edge. “Please, just remember her the way you do right now. Beautiful and smiling and alive. She’d want you to remember her how she was. Not how...”

Not how she is. That’s what Max was going to say. Against my will, my mind starts forming images. Terrifying images fueled by too many movies and the horrible knowledge that my long-lost angel has been rotting in the ground for half a year. A wave of nausea rolls over me and for a brief second, I think I might throw up.

“I’m sorry.” She squeezes my hand, and I realize she never actually let it go. “I know it’s not what you want to hear.”

The way she’s looking at me reminds me of when I was ten years old and she convinced me not to try jumping my bike over a parked car. Or when I was thirteen and she kept me from climbing down the lighthouse cliff to look for caves. Or twenty minutes ago when she told me I was done smoking.  

She’s trying to save me from myself, and I already know there’s nothing I can do to change her mind.

Fuck.

“Just promise me that you’ll tell someone?” I wish I didn’t sound like I was begging. “I don’t care who. I...I need to know that she won’t just...”

“I will. I swear we won’t abandon her. I’d never let that happen.”

“O-okay.” It’s not the answer I wanted, but for now I tell myself that it’s enough. I still have another question, though. I’m just not sure if I should ask it. Or whether I can handle the answer if I do. “Max, I...there’s something I have to know.”

“Chloe...”

“And I want...I need you to swear you’ll tell me the truth.”

“I might not tell you the answer.” She lifts a hand before I can respond. “But I swear I won’t lie to you if I do.”

“Fine.” That’s probably the best I’m going to get. “When Rachel...” How badly do I want to know? “...was it...” How scared am I of the answer? “...did she...?”

I can’t seem to force the question out, but Max guesses it anyway. “It didn’t hurt, Chloe. She didn’t suffer.”

I can tell that it’s not the whole truth, but it’s enough to finally bring it all crashing down on me. I curl into myself, sobbing as Max wraps her arms around me. “W-why? Why?! I...I loved her!”

“I know,” she murmurs softly. “I know you did.”

“She didn’t deserve...she was gonna get out of here...we were gonna go down to LA and...and...”

“Just let it out, baby,” she whispers, pressing a gentle kiss on my head. “I’m right here.”

Sneaking In and Coming Out

Blackwell Academy
Arcadia Bay, Oregon

“Have I mentioned that I hate this?” Chloe mutters, eying the two-story brick building resentfully.

It’s taken us over an hour to get here, making our way along the various service and logging roads that weave through the woods that surround the town, trying to get as close to Blackwell as we can without being seen.

“Yes. Repeatedly.”

That includes ten minutes of walking through the woods and the fifteen we’ve spent lurking in the trees like a couple of weirdos. And the entire time, Chloe has been grumbling about why we’ve come here at all.

“We can’t ask someone else? Anyone else?”

“No, it has to be Victoria.” I knew that Chloe and Victoria didn’t get along, but I didn’t realize it was this bad. “I already told you she’s a friend. I wouldn’t be here without her.”

She might be able to fool someone else into thinking she’s doing better, especially compared to how she was in the truck, but not me. I know her too well to ignore the ‘I’m repressing my feelings!’ vibe she’s giving off. Unfortunately, I also know her well enough to know that calling her on it won’t help at all; she’ll just dig her heels in and build her walls even higher.

Future Victoria was your friend,” she reminds me. “Present Victoria is a spoiled little bitch.”

I love Chloe so much, but that doesn’t change how much of a great big pain in the butt she can be sometimes. “I know. We still need her to help set things right.”

“But...”

“And even if I wasn’t here to see Victoria, I still need to check in on Alice.”

“Who’s Alice?” If she thinks she’s hiding the note of jealousy in her voice, she’s nuts.

“Alice is Kate’s pet rabbit, Chloe. I’m taking care of her while Kate’s in the hosp-” My phone chirps in my pocket. “That was quick.”

Pulling it out, I open it to read Warren’s latest message.

 


 

Max: Hey, Warren. I need a favor.

Warren: More wacky spy craft, 007?

Max: Sorry, nothing that cool. I just need you to come let me into the dorms.

Warren: The dorms where you live?

Warren: Can’t you just walk in the front door like everyone else?

Max: I want to get in without being seen. All sneaky-like.

Warren: This isn’t some walk of shame thing, is it?

Max: Ew! No!

Warren: Then what’s up? Anything you need to talk about?

Warren: I’m as good at listening as I am at science! :)

Max: I just want to get to my room without anyone asking about what happened with Kate, okay?

Warren: Say no more! I’m at your service.

Warren: Ready at the door. Just knock when you’re here.

 


 

“He’s at your service?” Chloe reads, cringing a little as she peers over my shoulder. “The nerd has it bad for you.”

“I’m aware.” I tuck my phone away. “Stay here. I shouldn’t be too long.”

“Fuck that. I’m coming with you.”

“Pretty sure people would wonder why you were on campus,” I point out. “I actually live here.”

“You know what, Caulfield?” Her eyes narrow a little. “I’ve had it up to here with your logic bullshit.”

“I’m sure you’ll be fine.” I don’t even think about it before I lean in and kiss her. It’s just a quick peck on the lips, but before I can apologize (I really am trying to cool it with that kind of stuff!) she puts a hand to my cheek and kisses me back. When she pulls away, there’s a kind of excitement in her eyes that makes me want to leave Warren hanging for a little while longer.

“Okay,” she breathes. “You’d better get going. Before I decide I want to do that again.”

“That doesn’t really make me want to leave.”

“Go,” she laughs, giving me a light push. “The sooner you leave, the sooner you’ll be back. Just don’t make me bust in there and rescue you,” she warns. “Cause I’d do it.”

I feel that little flutter of happiness that Chloe’s protective side always gives me, bringing back the memory of her going after reporters with a garden hose. “I know you would. Be back soon.” Grinning, I snatch the beanie off her head. “Just gonna borrow this!”

“Hey!”

“I’ll give it back! Promise!”

“You better. Now get going already. You’re keeping the boy wonder waiting.”

I’m happy it’s a short jog to the dorm’s south fire door. It’s just around the corner from the door to Samuel’s equipment room, which is lucky for me. With classes cancelled for the rest of the week, there are students milling around everywhere. I don’t know if any of them know about my brief stay in the hospital this morning, but I’d rather avoid any awkward conversations if I can.

Pulling the beanie on and tucking my hair mostly out of sight, I thump my fist against the door. Warren opens it so fast that he nearly hits me. When he said he was ready, I didn’t think he meant he was that ready.

“Hey Warren," I say casually, managing not to wince at the monster black eye he got while protecting me from Nathan Prescott. I'd forgotten how bad it was. "Thanks for the sneak-assist.”

“Sure, I...” He falters the tiniest bit at the sight of me, which isn’t completely unexpected. My cunning beanie-based disguise can only do so much to hide the changes in my appearance. His confusion doesn’t last long, though. It only takes a second for the response I’m counting on to kick in. He gives his head a little shake, and I can practically see him willfully dismissing what his eyes are telling him, because his brain thinks it’s impossible; that I’m not the same Max he saw just yesterday. “Uh...don’t mention it.”

For better or worse, people tend to see what they want to see.

“I gotta say, though, I’m pretty curious about what you’re up to this week. First bombs and now covert operations? Makes me wonder whether my girl Max is actually a secret agent.”

I pointedly ignore the way he drops ‘my girl’ in there, like I wouldn’t even notice. “I can neither confirm nor deny, Mr. Graham.”

“Fair enough.” He glances away, scratching the back of his neck and leaning against one of the vending machines in a failed attempt to look casual. “So, uh, I don’t know if you got my message this morning, but I still have that extra ticket for the drive-in. If you changed your mind, I mean.”

Crap.

For all my talk of setting things right for a better future, this is a conversation I’d really been hoping to avoid. Warren is pretty much the definition of a good friend, but I need to make it clear that’s all he’ll ever be for me. I wish there were an easier way to do it, but it’s better to just rip the band-aid off now than leave the poor guy hanging.

“Look, Warren. You’re asking me out, right? On a date?”

“I...” He blinks, smiling hesitantly. “Er, yeah, pretty much.”

“Yeah,” I echo. “Look, I’m really flattered, but you should probably know that I’m...”

His smile collapses. “Not interested?”

“...gay.”

I can almost see the gears in his head grind to a halt, and I sort of want to pinch his cheek and coo at how adorably bewildered he looks. “You’re...gay?”

“Yup.”

“And when you say that you’re gay, you mean...”

“That I’m a girl who likes other girls.”

“Oh.” A beat. “So it’s not me?”

I laugh, despite myself. “No, Warren, it’s definitely not you. You’re great, but you’re just not my type.”

“Yeah, I guess not.” He scratches his neck again, looking like he can’t decide whether to cut his losses or keep talking, then asks, “Just out of curiosity, what is your type?”

I step to one side, pointing to where Chloe leans casually against a tree. She smirks back at us, looking every bit the rebellious punk girl I’m head over heels in love with, and he swallows heavily. “Is that Chloe Price?”

“Sure is.”

“You’re dating Chloe Price.”

“Sure am.”

“...holy shit.” He turns back to me, stunned. “I am seriously not your type.”

“Sorry I didn’t say something sooner.”

“No, I’m sorry. I probably should’ve taken a hint.” I fight the urge to apologize again. The kicked-puppy vibe he’s giving off is killing me. “But thanks for being straight with me, I guess.”

“Just the opposite, actually.”

“What?” A second passes, then he groans and rolls his eyes. “Very funny. Thanks for being honest with me.” 

“Of course.”

“Right, so...” He coughs, toeing the floor awkwardly. “If you’re all good here I think I’m just gonna go...be somewhere else.”

Smiling, I lean a little closer, lowering my voice. “A quick word of advice first?”

“Er...sure?”

“When you’re feeling up to it, you should go talk to Brooke Scott.”

“I should?”

“Yeah, you should.”

“How come?”

“Sorry, little buddy.” Smirking, I reach out to pat him on the head. “I can’t do all the work for you.”

Warren heads back into the boy’s dorms, looking slightly baffled and a little put out by the ‘little buddy’ remark. A quick glimpse past his shoulder makes me glad I’m not doing the same. There has to be a dozen students milling in the hallway and I’d have better luck walking through the walls than making it through that crowd unnoticed.

I take the steps up to the second floor two at a time. This shouldn’t be too hard. I just have to sneak past almost every other room in the dorms without bumping into anyone I know or having any conversations. Unfortunately, my room is at the end of the hall, so if anybody has come around asking about me, everyone probably knows it already.

Whatever. Can’t do anything about that now. I’m hoping I can just get in, talk to Victoria, duck into my room to check on Alice, then get out again without anyone else knowing I was ever here.

So, naturally, it makes perfect sense that I walk right into Taylor at the top of the stairs.

“Hey, watch where you’re...Max?”

I give her a sheepish smile. “Hey, Taylor.”

She glances past me. “Sneaking in the side door, huh?”

“I...uh...”

“Hey, I don’t blame you. I’d be sneaking around too if I got Nathan suspended.”

Shit. I actually forgot about that. Like I need any more problems. “Yeah, I figured I’d keep a low profile and wait for him to cool off.”

“You’ll be waiting a while.” She hesitates. “Look, I don’t want to sound like I’m trying to scare you, but you might want to consider going home for a few days. Nathan’s always been kinda high-strung, but the last few months...I dunno.”

“I appreciate the heads up. Really.”

“Least I could do for the hero of Blackwell.” She fidgets with one of her jacket buttons. “Look, before you go, I wanted to say sorry for being kind of a bitch to you this year. Especially when you were one of the few people to actually give a shit about me and my mom.”

“Apology accepted,” I say, watching some of the tension bleed out of her. “How’d her back surgery go?”

“Really good. She’ll be recovering for a while, but the doctors are really optimistic.”

“That’s awesome. Give her my best next time you talk to her?”

“I will.” Her smile falters a bit. “You know, it feels like the only ones who’ve actually cared enough to ask are you and Victoria.” Some expression must pass over my face, because Taylor frowns and looks away. “Yeah, I guess she’s no one’s favorite person right now.”

“I didn’t say anything.”

“I know. It’s just...” She runs a hand over her face. “She wasn’t always like this, you know.”

I’ve got places to be, but there’s something in Taylor’s voice that makes me curious. “She wasn’t?”

“No. Before we came to Blackwell she was...” Taylor looks back over her shoulder, sighing. “She was actually really sweet.”

I might be reading into things here, or just seeing what I want to see, but the expression on her face feels awfully familiar. It’s wistful, regretful, a little affectionate, and a lot like Victoria herself used to look when she’d talk about Taylor to me.

That’s...interesting.

Is it possible that she...? I mean, it’s not impossible. I hadn't intended to get involved in this particular part of Victoria's past, but if I’m right (which, knowing me, is probably fifty-fifty) than this definitely changes things.

That’s a big if, though.

What should I do now? Should I say something? It’s not like there’d be any risk in asking, right? If I’m wrong or it goes badly, I can just rewind it away.

Fuck it. I didn’t come back in time to tip-toe around.

“Hey, Taylor? Can I ask you a personal question?”

She turns back, surprised. “Uh...I guess?”

“Are you into girls?”

The thing is, there’s really no subtle way to ask someone if they’re queer. You either ask it or you don’t. There’s also no way you can really predict someone’s reaction. And while I don’t expect Taylor to flip out on me, I’m still pretty relieved when she responds with a neutral, “Why do you ask?”

“My gaydar can be a little hit-or-miss.” I lie, tapping the side of my head and putting my pride tattoo on full display. Her eyes briefly jump between it and my face. She looks a little nervous, so I add. “I’m not planning to ask you out. I mean, in case you were wondering.”

“Oh, good.” She cringes. “Shit. Sorry.”

“It’s fine,” I laugh, waving off the apology.

“I didn’t mean for that to sound so...it’s just, you’re cute but...” She stops, her not-quite-an-admission catching up with her.

“But I’m not your type?” Say what you will about time travel, it definitely makes navigating conversations like this a lot less stressful.

She shakes her head, slowly.

“If it helps, you’re not my type either.”

It’s kind of funny to watch her expression cycle through shock, indignance, and embarrassment so quickly. I think a part of her is used to being most people’s type. “Oh. Yeah, cool, I get it. You’re...uh...you’re probably more into sexy librarians, right?”

“Tattooed punk rock chicks, actually.”

Surprised, it takes her a second to respond. “Seriously?”

“Yup.” Though if Chloe ever felt like trying out a tight pencil skirt and glasses, I definitely wouldn’t say no.

“Well, aren’t you just full of surprises.”

“I like to keep people on their toes.” I shrug. “Don’t worry, though. I won’t say anything to anyone. I was just curious.”

“No, it’s...I mean, it’s not that I’m hiding, exactly. And no one’s ever just, y’know, asked.” She looks over her shoulder again. I wonder if she realizes she’s doing it. “I just don’t...er...”

Time to go all in. “Want Victoria to know you like her?”

Her head snaps around so fast I’m surprised she doesn’t sprain something. “What?”

“Victoria. You like her.” I give her a mildly stern look. “And don’t even try that ‘of course I like her she’s my friend’ junk. I know pining when I see it.”

“I...” Sagging against the stairwell wall, she drops her face into her hands. “Crap. Am I really that obvious?”

“Probably not to most people. Definitely not to Victoria.”

“You think not?”

“If you were, do you really think she wouldn’t have said anything?”

“Good point.”

“You probably should tell her, though.”

“Seriously?” She looks up with a flat, unimpressed look. “Would you risk losing your best friend over a crush?”

“I already did.” I smirk. “Ended up with a girlfriend.”

“I...this is different.”

No, it isn’t! I want to shout. Victoria loves you and it’s killing her not telling you!

For a second, I consider dragging her to Victoria’s room and locking them both in there because this is not difficult. If a brick-head like me can figure it out with someone like Chloe, there is zero reason why Taylor and Victoria shouldn’t be able to as well.

But this isn’t my problem to solve. They have to get there on their own. What I can do, however, is give them a little head start. Maybe help Taylor see it’s worth taking a risk.

“Okay, I’ve got a question for you. You know how Victoria chews gum in the shower and sometimes spits it out before she leaves?” At her surprised look, I add, “You only have to step on so many wads in the morning before you figure out where they’re coming from.”

“Oh. Yeah, fair enough,” she laughs. That’s a good sign.

“So here’s the question. Do you think that’s a gross-but-still-kinda-cute personal quirk, or a completely disgusting habit? Because if your answer is what I’m betting it is, you might want to reconsider whether or not your crush is just a crush.”

“I...” She stops, brow furrowed as I watch the wheels turning in her head, then her eyes go wide. “Oh.”

“Thought so,” I sing-song.

“Okay...wow. Did you seriously Miyagi me just now?”

“Little bit,” I reply, winking.

She laughs, shaking her head. “You’re pretty cool, Max. You know that?”

“Aw, shucks.” I’m still not great at taking complements, so I don’t really have to play up my sheepish expression.

“I mean it. You’re a good person, too. Kate’s lucky you were here when she needed you.” She looks away, her smile fading. “The rest of us sure as fuck weren’t.”

“You’re not a bad person, Taylor,” I tell her, picking up on the subtext.

“Tell that to Kate,” she scoffs. “I don’t know if I’ll ever be able to look her in the eye again.”

“Hey, seriously, you’re not a bad person. What you did was wrong, and you all let it get way out of hand, but we both know that you never meant for things to go that far.” I put a hand on her shoulder. “A really bad person would’ve wanted to see Kate up on that roof.”

“I guess.” She doesn’t look totally convinced, but it’s a start. “What’s with you dropping all the wisdom bombs today?”

“I’ve got an old soul.” I shrug. “Kate will forgive you. She’s like that.”

“No one is like that.”

“Trust me. Kate is.”

“I just wish I could make it up to her somehow. Something to show her I’m...I dunno...”

“Worth forgiving?”

She winces, but she doesn’t argue.

I could probably try all day to convince her that Kate really isn’t the kind of person she needs to make things up to, but even I can see that she’s desperate to make amends. The Victoria I left behind in the future had still carried so much guilt over what she’d done, and for Taylor the wound is still open and raw. 

Well, if she really wants to do something for Kate, then I have just the job for her. “You know, I might have a way you could start.”

“You do?! How?! Whatever it is, I’m your girl!”

"Alright." I can't help but grin at her enthusiasm. “How do you feel about rabbits?”

 

Once & Future Friends

I have to admit, watching Taylor fuss over Alice is pretty adorable. She actually lets out a delighted little squeak the moment she lays eyes on the black and white bunny, quietly gushing over how cute she was as we carry her cage over to Taylor’s room. She listens dutifully when I explain Alice’s care instructions, checks three times to make sure it's alright to pick her up and smiles a little wider each time I assure her that Alice is very cuddle friendly.

Finally I head back towards Victoria’s room, eyeing the barricade tape that seals off Kate’s door. As I walk by, I pause to read the apologies and words of support covering her whiteboard. I remember thinking they were mostly bullshit the first time around. Looking back, I actually believe that none of the students who bullied her saw it coming. I know Victoria didn’t, and that she never stopped carrying the guilt of what she’d done. I wonder how many of the others would’ve felt the same way, if they'd lived past Friday.

And then Victoria’s room is right in front of me. I’m just raising my hand to knock on the door when the room immediately to the right opens and out comes Brooke Scott.

Because of course.

“Oh. Hey, Max,” she says, her tone slightly clipped. “How are you?”

The look in her eyes isn’t mean; just a little resentful. Even the first time around, it’d been pretty obvious that she liked Warren. Looking at her now, she might as well be wearing a sign around her neck that reads ‘I don’t hate you but I hate that he likes you’.

During my fun-filled insomnia days, I got pretty good at saying what I meant; mostly because I barely had the brainpower to do anything else. And as a result, I learned that a lot of people aren’t used to that. Right now, Brooke is expecting to do the usual social song and dance with a fellow student; not get put on the spot by an annoyed time traveler with zero fucks to give about this kind of high school crap.

“Warren has an extra ticket to the drive-thru movie theatre.”

She blinks, surprised. “I...”

"And I think you two would have fun going together."

To her credit, Brooke recovers pretty quickly. “He’d probably rather go with you.”

"I'm not interested." I shrug, ignoring the faint bitterness in her voice, and add, "Mainly because I’m gay."

For the second time in less than a minute, I see her train of thought derail. “You’re...what?” 

"Gay," I repeat. Why do people keep reacting like that? Is it that unbelievable? Does some part of ‘I’m gay’ need further clarification? “That means I’m into girls. Not Warrens.”

“Oh.” She takes a moment to digest this new information. "But Warren..."

"Is fully aware of that fact, since I took the direct approach and just talked to him," I continue, giving her a pointed look. "It worked great. You should try it sometime."

She eyes me a little uncertainly. “...you really think he’d want to go with me?”

"Only one way to find out."

"I just talk to him," she says, slowly, as if we were talking about defusing a bomb or something.

“Just talk to him," I confirm. "He’s downstairs right now.”

"...are you sure?"

"Yes, Brooke. I'm sure. It's crazy how much you're his type." Lightly taking her by the shoulders, I turn her toward the stairwell and give her a little push. “Now go get ‘em, tiger.”

Brooke only hesitates for another second, then she straightens her back and marches toward the stairs, a purposeful gleam in her eye.

Poor Warren. I get the feeling that guy isn’t gonna know what hit him.

Glancing up and down the now-empty hallway, I wonder if I’ll actually be able to knock without interruption. Lifting my hand, half expecting to hear someone else call my name, I give the door two sharp raps. It opens a few seconds later to reveal the one and only Victoria Chase.

“Oh. It’s you.”

“Nice to see you too, Victoria.”

“What do you want, Caulfield?” Ah, the old ‘call-them-by-their-last-name’ power move. Classic Victoria.

“Can I come in for a minute?” I look over her shoulder, making sure no one else is here. “We need to talk.”

“Whatever it is, you can tell me here.”

“Here’s the thing...” I pause, reflecting on how many times I’ve told people the same story. I’ve pretty much got it down to a routine. “This is going to sound crazy, but...”

“Oh, spit it out, already!” she snaps. “Some of us have better things to do.”

You know what? Fuck it.

I shoulder past Victoria, ignoring her indignant shout and walking into the room. Taking a seat at her desk, I spare a half-second to enjoy her outraged expression before rewinding...which proves to be harder than it ought to be.

It felt like this at the hospital, too, when I was retrieving my fake ID. And again when I was trying to stop Chloe. Time is still moving backward, but it feels kinda sluggish. Almost stiff, like trying to work a sore joint. I’m sure it’s got something to do with my trip back and I’ve been trying not to overthink it. Whatever this is, I really hope it passes soon. I’ve got enough crap to deal with over the next two days without adding some kind of sprained time muscle to the list.

Fortunately, I don’t have far to go. I let go of the rewind a couple of seconds after Victoria opened the door and lean back to enjoy the show.

“...o you want, Caul...field?” Bewildered, she leans forward to look up and down the hallway. I’d be confused, too, if the person in front of me vanished into thin air. “Where the...?”

I loudly clear my throat, and she spins around so fast I briefly think she might fall over. “Hi.”

She glances over her shoulder, then back to me. “How did you do that?”

“That’s actually what I’m here to talk about.” I pull the beanie off and watch her eyes go wide as my hair tumbles down over my shoulders. “You’ll probably want to sit down.”

 


 

“Time travel.”

“Yup.”

“You’re a time traveler,” Victoria repeats, slowly.

“That’s right.”

“You, Maxine...”

“Max,” I correct, probably pointlessly.

“...Agatha Caulfield, are a time traveler?”

“It’s Angela. And yes, I am.”

“And in the future, where you’re from, we’re actually friends?”

“You got it.” Well, if she was going to get hung up on anything, that’s probably one of the more predictable things.

“Is this a joke? Because if it is, it’s a really stupid one.”

“Yes, Victoria,” I deadpan. “I vanished into thin air and reappeared inside your room as a joke.”

“Why would I possibly believe something this insane?”

“Maybe because I vanished into thin air and reappeared inside your room?”

“That could’ve been some kind of...of...smoke and mirrors thing.”

Wordlessly, I reach up and brush my hair over my shoulder.

“Nobody likes a smartass, Caulfield.” she growls, narrowing her eyes, and it suddenly occurs to me that she hasn’t been swearing. It’s a little weird.

“You know, it’s kind of refreshing to know you didn’t always curse like a drunk sailor every time you spoke.”

“What the fuck do you know about how I speak?” she snaps.

Yeah, I pretty much asked for that one. It’s a pretty decent segue, though. “I know you better than you think.”

“I seriously doubt tha-”

“I know you got your first dollar from the tooth fairy when you were seven, but you felt a little cheated when you found out your friends all got twenties.”

She blinks, surprised. “What?”

“I know you have to chew gum in the shower to keep yourself from singing,” I continue, adding, “And occasionally leave that gum in the drain, which is absolutely disgusting.”

“Who told you that?” She glances at the door. “It was Courtney, wasn’t it?”

“Nope.” I smirk. “I also know you’ve got some pretty intense views when it comes to the third Back to the Future movie.”

“So does anybody with half a brai-” She stops, visibly angry that I drew that reaction out of her. She’s not going to put up with this much longer. Time to bust out the big finish.

“And I know you spent last New Year’s Eve crying and eating ice cream. You told your mom it was because a boy you’d fallen for didn’t like you back...but it wasn’t a boy, was it?”

Victoria’s entire body goes rigid. “L-look, I don’t know what you think you’ve heard, but...”

“It was Taylor,” I finish, softly.

Victoria’s mouth snaps shut so hard, people out in the hall probably heard it.

“You’re in love with her, and now you’re terrified of losing her because of it.”

One second she’s staring at me like I’m a truck barreling down on her at full speed, and the next she’s on her feet, locking the door.

“No, I’m not,” she hisses, looking like she wants to beat the crap out of me for suggesting otherwise.

“Yeah, you kinda are.”

“No, I’m not.”

“Yes, Victoria, you are,” I insist, calmly. “For almost ten months now. Ever since she blew off her family’s annual trip to spend Christmas with you. You two bumped into each other under some mistletoe your mom put up, then she kissed you on the cheek and said, ‘Merry Christmas, Vicky’. You’ve been head over heels crazy about her ever since.”

“I never...did she...?” she stammers. Very slowly, she returns to the bed and shakily sits down. “H-how can you know that?”

“You told me. Because we’re friends. That’s why you don’t like it when other people call you Vicky. It reminds you of that kiss, and that makes you blush.”

She looks genuinely scared now, her eyes jumping between me and the closed door. “Alright. How much?”

“What?”

“How much do you want? What’s it going to cost to keep your mouth shut?”

“This isn’t blackmail, Victoria.”

“What the fuck is it, then? Some kind of revenge bullshit?” She’s back on her feet in the blink of an eye, glaring down at me. Unfortunately for her, I’ve met way more intimidating people. “You planning on outing me to everyone? Getting back at me for what I did to Kate?”

“No, I’m-”

“You think I don’t know what I did? That I don’t already feel like a piece of fucking trash?” She sounds almost hysterical, her breaths coming fast and ragged. “You want to take away my best friend, too?”

She’s edging closer to panic with every word. She’d told me how hard it had been for her, but I had no idea it’d been this bad. If I’d known she’d been so wound up about this, I wouldn’t have pushed so hard. Slowly rising to my feet, I try to look as non-threatening as possible and take a small step toward her. “I would never do that, Victoria. Not ever.”

She stares at me, wide-eyed and shaking, looking like she can’t quite reconcile with the idea that I could ruin her but choose not to. The sight of it breaks my heart a little, and before I know it, I’m wrapping my arms around her and pulling her into a tight (mostly one-sided) hug.

“I’m so sorry,” I continue as she slowly stops shaking. “I didn’t mean to scare you.”

“I...I w-wasn’t scared,” she eventually murmurs into my shoulder, but makes no effort to pull away.

“Right. My mistake.” Gently letting go, I guide her back to the bed before returning to the chair. I give her a minute to get herself together before continuing. “I was just trying to show you that in the future, you trusted me enough to tell me all that. And I swear I’ll never betray that trust.”

“And I’m just supposed to believe that?”

I can’t help a little smile. “You are familiar with how trust works, right?”

“Whatever,” she grumbles. I’ll give her one thing; she bounces back quickly. “I’m already going to be a fucking pariah around here after what I did to Kate. I don’t need to be the school’s only lesbian, too.”

“If it makes you feel better, you wouldn’t be.”

“I wouldn’t?”

“Nope. You’re not even the only lesbian in this room.” It’s kind of funny, how alarmed she looks. I’d be offended if we weren’t totally on the same page. “Relax. You’re not my type.”

“Oh, thank fucking god.”

“Gee, thanks,” I fire back, laughing. “You sure know how to make a girl feel pretty.”

I’m a little surprised when she looks away guiltily. Though considering her recent crash course in how words can affect others, I probably shouldn’t be. “I just meant...”

“I know what you meant, Victoria. You’ve only got eyes for one girl, and it sure isn’t me. Besides, I’m taken.”

“By who?” She cringes, muttering. “Damn it.”

“You should probably get a handle on that bitchiness reflex.” I ignore the glare she sends my way. “And it’s Chloe Price, since you ask.”

Of all the things I’ve told her, somehow that seems to shock her the most. “You’re dating Chloe Price?! How the hell did you end up-”

“I love Chloe more than you can possibly imagine,” I cut her off, leaning forward and jabbing a finger at her face. “So pick your next words very carefully.”

“...never mind.”

“Good call.”

“At least I know I’m not delusional,” she adds. “Not in my wildest dreams could I imagine you and Price hooking up. I mean, how did the two of you even meet?”

“On the playground.” Smiling, I add, “We were six.”

“I thought she grew up in Arcadia Bay?”

“Mhm. So did I, until I moved to Seattle in 2008.”

“Bullshit. If you grew up here, how did we never run into each other?”

“Spend a lot of time among the peasants, did you?”

“That’s...yeah, okay,” she sighs. “Look, presuming for the moment that we’re not both completely fucking nuts, why the hell are you telling me any of this?”

“Because I’m here to change the past, but I can’t do it without your help. I’m about to ask you to do the hardest thing you’ll ever do. And I have it on pretty good authority that you’re going to say yes.”

“I assume that this ‘pretty good authority’ was me?”

“Good guess.”

“And why would I think that?”

“Remember the storm I told you about? In the timeline I came from, only seven people survive it. You, me, and Chloe are three of them.”

Victoria blinks, slowly digesting the idea. “Just seven?”

“Just seven.”

“Do my mom and dad...” she asks softly, afraid of the answer.

“No.” I shake my head. “I’m sorry.”

“Then who?”

“We’ll get to that.” I don’t think it’s necessary to name names yet. I don’t want to overwhelm her again. For better or worse, this Victoria isn’t quite as tough as future Victoria.

“How is that even possible?”

“There wasn’t any warning. By the time anyone knew anything was happening, the storm was already on top of them.”

“Then how did we survive?”

“Chloe and I were up by the lighthouse, so the storm missed us.” I look away, still wrestling with the memory. “We had to watch the town get destroyed, and we couldn’t do a thing to help it.”

“What about me? How did I survive something no one else did?”

“That part is...more complicated.”

“Then how about you fucking un-complicate it,” she snaps.

“Actually, I’m not the person who’s going to.”

Reaching into my pocket, I hold out the envelope with Victoria’s name on it. She slowly takes it from my hand, eyeing it warily. “What’s this?”

“It’s a letter.”

“No shit, Caulfield.” Victoria scowls, briefly looking like her regular self. “Who’s it from?”

“You. You wrote it in 2015.”

She blinks, looking down at the envelope.  “This is from me?”

“Yep.”

“You didn’t read it, did you?”

“Of course not.”

Tearing it open, she unfolds the sheets. Her eyes snap back up almost immediately. “This is my handwriting. I wrote this?”

“Yes, you did.” I really shouldn’t laugh, but the bewildered look on her face is pretty funny.

“I mean, I wrote this?” She points to something at the top of the first page. Probably Future Victoria’s last-minute addition. Whatever it is, it’s definitely knocked this Victoria off-balance.

“If you say so.” I shrug. “Like I said, I never read it.”

She gives me another suspicious look, then starts reading, her lips moving slightly as her eyes track back and forth across the pages. A whole spectrum of emotions dance over her face, from surprise to confusion to horror, and I can’t help but wonder what could be evoking each reaction. There’re several parts that she goes over more than once, occasionally glancing up to peer at me uncertainly.

When she finally finishes, she allows the letter to drop into her lap, and stares blankly at the wall. The silence stretches out until I clear my throat, startling her a little. “So? What does it say?”

I expect a sharp remark, or at least a glare. Instead she stands up, opens her door and points into the hallway. “Please leave.”

Okay, she just said please. What the hell did Future Victoria write?

“I’m serious, Max,” she insists. “I’d like to be alone.”

“Victoria, we really need to...”

“This says that I can trust you.” She holds up the letter. “And it says we’re friends.”

“We are.”

“Then be my friend and give me time to...” She sighs. “This is just a lot to take in.”

I check my phone. “Fine. I’ll be back in a couple of hours, okay?”

“Don’t bother. I probably won’t be here.”

“Vic-”

“I’ll call you, okay?” She waves out into the hall again. “Now if you don’t mind?”

Always Take The Shot

The fuck is taking her so long?

All Max had to do was talk to Chase and feed a rabbit, right? What could possibly be taking so long? Because the longer I stand here, the more likely it is that someone’s gonna wonder why. At least I didn’t stay in the trees like Max wanted me to. For all her talk about ‘plans’, you’d think she’d know that some blue-haired chick lurking in the bushes is pretty much guaranteed to attract unwanted attention.

“Fuck’s sake,” I hiss, forcing my hands apart to keep from picking at my own nails. This is so stupid. It hasn’t even been two hours yet, and all I can think about is having a smoke. Tweaking addict isn’t a good look on me, and I’m really not loving having to deal with the nic twitches right now.

Leaning against the side of the dorm building and trying to look casual, I absently raise a hand to rub my chest and take as deep a breath as I can. What is cancer supposed to feel like? My lungs don’t hurt or anything. They feel pretty normal, actually. But then, what’s normal for a chain-smoker who never exercises? Maybe it does hurt, but I’ve just gotten so used to the pain that I don’t notice anymore. Wouldn’t be the first time.

I realize I’ve started picking at my nails again and angrily jam my hands in my pockets. Someone is smoking nearby. I can smell it, and it smells really good. I’m pretty sure they’re just around the corner, and it’s not doing a lot for my patience. I’m just debating whether to go ask for a drag like the nicotine-addicted loser I am when I’m saved by the side door opening.

Max looks surprised, glancing between me and the tree line. “What are you doing here?”

“Waiting for you.”

“No, what are you doing here,” she emphasizes, pointing to the ground.

“Waiting for you.” I repeat, mimicking her tone and trying not to laugh at her irritation. “Took you long enough, too.”

She gives me that ‘I’m annoyed at you but I’m not going to give you the satisfaction of hearing me say it’ look of hers, as if I don’t already know. She’s always been so easy to mess with and, like almost everything else today, it kinda makes me want to kiss her.

Because apparently I can just do that now.

“I got delayed,” she finally says.

“Anyone looking for you?”

“I don’t think so. It just took me longer than I expected to get to Victoria’s room.” She shakes her head, chuckling. “I was headed there when I unexpectedly found out someone is gay. And I had to come out to, like, three people on the way. On the bright side, I found a bunny-sitter for Alice and I might've fixed Warren up with Brooke Scott.”

“Uh...okay.”

“It was a whole thing.”

“Sounds like.” I pause. “Who set off the old gaydar? It wasn’t Victoria, was it?”

“No, it wasn’t Victoria.”

“Then...?”

“It’s...complicated,” she murmurs. “I can’t go into it without talking about someone else who isn’t out, and I gave them my word I wouldn’t.”

“Oh. Right.” I think back to the brief time I’d spent thinking I’d accidentally outed Max to Kate. “No, I get that.”

“Thanks.”

I shrug, doing my best to stifle my curiosity. “So how’d Tricky Vicky handle the big reveal, anyway?”

“Don’t call her that.”

“Why not?”

“It’s just a personal thing for her.” I wait for her to provide more of an explanation, but apparently I’ll have to live without it. “Anyway, she took things fairly well. Better than I expected. Definitely better than a lot of people would have.”

“Well, whooptie-shit for her.” I roll my eyes. “I seriously can’t picture  you two as friends. Back when you first said it, I actually thought ‘is she talking about the same Victoria Chase? About my height, blonde, total bitch?’ Because that was how crazy it sounded.”

“Tell me how you really feel, why don’t you?”

“Just sayin’.”

“Victoria was the only person I could talk to after I lost you. And if it helps, she was a very different person by 2015. She lost everything to the storm. Her parents. Her friends. Her home. You and I still had each other, but she didn’t have anyone.”

Well, shit. How that hell am I supposed to argue with that? Losing my dad just about crushed me. I lost Max, too, but I still knew she was out there somewhere. I can’t even imagine what I’d have done if I’d lost everybody I knew.

“She didn’t even have access to her family’s money,” Max continues. “She had a job, drove a regular car, and lived on a pretty tight budget.”

“Well, way to make her sound like a real person.”

“She was a real person,” Max insists, adding, “I think you’d have liked her.”

“The fuck I would have.”

“I’m serious. Believe it or not, she’s actually a huge sci-fi nerd.”

“Uh-huh. You'd have had better luck convincing me she actually was a space alien,” I roll my eyes. “I actually might have believed that.”

“I’m serious,” she laughs. “And I really do think you guys could be friends, too.”

“Whatever,” I mutter.

“Without her help, I’d never have made it back. She let herself get wiped out of existence so I could come back and save you, so...” She lets the sentence hang like some big ol’ guilt-trippy cloud.

“Alright, fine. She’s never been anything but a bitch to me, but I’ll give her another chance, okay?”

“That’s all I ask. Now let’s ge-” Max cuts off with a faint choking noise, staring wide-eyed at something over my shoulder. Glancing around, I don’t see anything worth freaking over. Just a couple of jock types chucking a football around, good old Samuel fiddling with the sprinklers, and some pretentious-looking hipster dude.

“What are y-urk!” Max jerks me back around, balling her fists in my jacket and pressing her face into my chest. I’d probably be a lot more into it if she weren’t shaking from head to toe. “What is it? What’s wrong?”

“Don’t turn around.”

I glance over my shoulder again. There still isn’t anyone worth giving a shit about. “Why not?”

“He’s over there. He’s right there and you can’t turn around.”

“Who the fuck is he?”

“Jefferson.” It’s scary, the way she snarls the name. Until now I wouldn’t have believed Max was even capable of expressing that much hatred, let alone be able to pour it all into one word. “We have to g-”

“Max?” It’s the hipster guy, who’s apparently decided to come over to say hi. I don’t see what’s so scary about him.

“Oh no, oh please god no, don’t do this to me...” I swear, it’s like she’s trying to crawl inside my jacket.

“It’s okay, Max,” I shifting to the side just enough to block her from the guy’s sight.  “Just say the word and we’re gone.”

“...no,” she whispers back, slowly releasing the grip she has on my jacket. “I’m...I’m okay. I can do this.”

“Do what?” I murmur, keenly aware that what’s-his-name is getting closer. I don’t give a fuck who this asshole is; if he tries to lay a finger on Max I’m gonna kick the living shit out of him. “C’mon, Max. Gimme something to work with here.”

“I see you there, Max Caulfield,” he calls out again. She pulls back, glaring at my shirt like she can see right through me.

“He’s nothing,” she hisses. “He’s nothing.”

“Wha-”

She’s already stepped around me before I can ask what that is supposed to mean, giving this guy a bright smile. “Hi, Mr. Jefferson. Fancy meeting you here.”

“At the school where you live, and I work?” He smirks. “Imagine that.”

Max responds with an embarrassed laugh, and if I hadn’t heard the vicious way she said his name a few seconds ago, I swear I’d have thought it was legit. “Oh, right.”

Wait a second. I do know this guy. This is that photography teacher that Rachel (don’tthinkaboutitdon’tthinkaboutit) kept going on and on about. Apparently he’s some big-time artistic genius. He just looks like another too-rich-for-his-own-good asshole to me.

“Hm.” He turns to me, giving me an appraising once-over I’ve seen plenty of times. Like he’s trying to decide whether or not I’m worth his time. “Who’s your friend?”

“Oh, this is Chloe,” she says, curling her arm around my back and resting her hand on my hip. It’s a small, affectionate gesture that soothes my temper a little and kinda makes me feel warm all over. “She’s my Chloe.”

“Well, nice to meet you, Chloe.”

“Yeah, you too,” I mutter distractedly, a bit more interested in Max calling me ‘her Chloe’ than with some rando. Apparently he doesn’t give two shits about me either, because I haven’t even finished speaking before he’s turned his attention back to Max.

“I’m glad I ran into you, Max. I noticed you still haven’t handed in a photograph for the Everyday Heroes competition. You are planning to submit one, aren’t you?”

“I haven’t decided yet,” she shrugs. “After everything that happened yesterday with Kate? And then Nathan getting suspended? Honestly, photography has been the last thing on my mind.”

For a half-second, I swear that he gets this crazy-intense light in his eyes. It’s so brief that I can’t tell whether he looked angry or offended. “I suppose that’s fair. But for better or worse, Miss Marsh made her own choices.”

Damn. That’s cold.

“She’s my friend. I was worried about her.”

“I understand that. And I’m happy that she’s getting the help she needs,” he adds. He’s sounds sympathetic, but even I can tell he’s full of shit. “But take some advice from someone who’s been in the industry for a while. You shouldn’t let other people’s shortcomings stand in the way of your success.”

Other people’s shortcomings? I’m starting to think there’s something not right about this guy.

“What do you mean?”

“I know this might sound harsh, but friends come and go. A missed opportunity is gone forever.”

Max tenses beside me. Her smile doesn’t go anywhere, but I can feel her hand shaking against my hip and for a second I’m sure that she’s about to tear him a new asshole. I wouldn’t blame her. I barely know Kate, and even I think he just earned himself a solid boot to the nuts. Then she suddenly relaxes, nodding slightly. “You’re right. It is stupid to pass up a good opportunity, isn’t it?”

“Absolutely,” he agrees. “So I can count on you to submit an entry?”

“Of course,” Max laughs, and I feel her hand slide from my hip to the gun still tucked at the small of my back. Smoothly pulling it out of my jeans, keeping it out of sight, she adds, “Just need to wait for the right moment.”

What the fuck is she doing? What the fuck is happening right now?

“Come on, Max,” he scolds gently, unaware he’s talking down to someone holding a fucking gun. “What have I said about that?”

“I know, I know.” I’m not sure what’s scarier; that her laugh sounds so casual, or that it’s just loud enough to cover the sound of the gun’s hammer being pulled back. “Always take the shot.”

Oh my god.

Max is gonna cap this guy. She’s gonna blow his fucking head off right here and he’ll never see it coming.

“That’s rig-”

“Hey, Max!” I interrupt, throwing my arm around her shoulders, keeping her from stepping away. “We’ve got to get going, don’t we?”

She looks up at me, blinking like she’s coming out of a trance. “I...what?”

“You...uh...” Bullshit powers, don’t fail me now. “You said you’d go to the clinic with me, remember? Hold my hand?”

From the corner of my eye, I see Jefferson give me a disdainful look and wonder what he’s thinking. That I’m pregnant? Whether I’ve got some fucked-up STD? The whole ‘burnout from the wrong side of the tracks’ image has its uses, I guess.

“R-right. Of course. Sorry.” Max nods, shakily. “I guess we should go.”

“That’s fine,” Jefferson says, as if we need his fucking permission. He offers me a brief, tight smile. “Don’t let me keep you.”

Whatever, asshole. I just saved your fucking life.

“I’ll see you later, Max,” he adds, turning to leave. “And I’ll be waiting for that photo.”

Keeping my eyes on him as he walks away, I reach back to take the gun from Max’s hand. She’s holding it so loosely now that I’m surprised she hasn’t already dropped it. Careful to keep it out of sight, I very gently let the hammer move forward before tucking it back into my jeans. I turn back to Max to find her glaring at Jefferson, and holy shit. If looks could fucking kill.

“Let’s go.” I grab Max’s wrist and pull her toward the tree line.

We walk for a few minutes, stomping through the brush until I’m sure that Blackwell is out of sight. We’ve just about reached the halfway point between the school and my truck when I round on her. Surprised, she staggers to a halt.

“Care to tell me what the fuck that was about?”

“I...” She shakes her head, slowly. “Not now.”

“Wrong answer,” I growl through clenched teeth.

“I mean it, Chloe. Not now.”

In the last fifteen minutes I’ve wanted to kiss her, protect her, beat up a stranger for her, and (as of about three seconds ago) smack her upside the head. For a minute there, I was even a little afraid of her. I almost feel bad for future Chloe; being in a relationship with Max must be fucking exhausting. “Remember when you promised to tell me everything?”

“Of course, and I will. But there are other people who need to hear this and I don’t want to talk about it more than I have to.”

I hate letting her off the hook, even temporarily, because I want to know why in the hell I just had to stop her from killing one of her teachers in public. I almost feel like turning her upside down and shaking her until the answers I want come loose...but I don’t.

The kind of extreme reaction Max just had doesn’t come from nowhere and doesn’t come out without a good reason. Something happened to her. Something that piece of shit back there is responsible for. And whatever that might have been, if it was bad enough to bring out Max Caulfield’s homicidal side, I’m not going to make her go over it any more than she has to. “Fine. But I’m not letting this go.”

“I wouldn’t expect you to. Thank you.”

I don’t say anything. Pulling the gun out again, I hold it up between us and pop the cylinder out. Ejecting the remaining bullets into my hand, I snap the cylinder back into place and stuff them into my pocket. If she decides to go all murder-y again, she’ll have to fight me for them.

Sticking the now-unloaded gun back in my jeans, I silently dare her to say something about it.

She doesn’t.

Smart.

“So,” I say, resuming the hike back to the truck. “What’s next, future-girl?”

“There’s one more person we need to see.”

“Oh, awesome. Who’s it gonna be this time? Satan?”

She doesn’t answer right away, and the look on her face kinda makes me regret asking. “Just promise me that you’ll keep an open mind?”

Call To Duty

44 Cedar Street
Arcadia Bay, Oregon

I’m not gonna lie; I really, honestly thought Max was fucking with me this time.

I figured she was still freaked out from our run-in with that Jefferson guy and she was trying to ease the tension or something. Either that or she’d just had a stroke, because why the hell else would she say something as batshit crazy as ‘We need to go talk to David’? What the fuck could El Step-Douche Supreme possibly have to contribute?

“See him yet?”

“You’re looking in the exact same direction I am, Max.” Which isn’t exactly true since she’s mostly been staring at her phone.

We decided to leave the truck at the tree fort and hike back through the woods like when we were kids, waiting until the sun was down before leaving the trees and slowly making our way toward my house. The folks in my neighborhood aren’t very nosy, so we don’t have to put too much effort into staying out of sight. Not like that retired old bag that lived across the street from Rachel (shesfuckingdeadbutdontthinkaboutit) and was always up in everybody’s business. I swear she just lurked by her window all day with a pair of binoculars like the wrinkled old creeper she was.

“Are you sure he’s going to come outside?”

“Yes, I’m sure.”

She lets out an annoyed huff that I feel more than I see. Hiding in our neighbor’s bushes might not be super comfortable, but it does have some upsides. Having Max sitting in front of me, the length of her back pressed up against me, is definitely one of them. I can feel her breathing in time with me, and I’d probably kiss her again if we weren’t waiting for David to appear.

“I just don’t want to sit out here all night.”

“Just trust me, okay? It’s Wednesday night, which means he’ll be rolling the trash bins down to the curb at eight.” I swear, you could set your watch by David’s patterns. Once I had them figured out, sneaking out of the house was a breeze. “Douche-Bot is predictable as fuck.”

Max shifts a little, glancing over her shoulder. “David’s a good person, Chloe. He’s just got some issues he needs to work out.”

“Uh-huh.”

“I’m serious.”

“And I believe you,” I insist. “And since he basically saved you from bleeding out on my bedroom floor this morning, I’m willing to cut him a shocking amount of slack. That doesn’t mean I have to like it or him.”

I shouldn’t have mentioned this morning, because Max immediately turns to look at me with those soft, compassionate eyes of hers. “How are you doing?”

“M’fine.” It’s not the first time she’s asked, but it’s not really something I feel like discussing. “The ground is a little cold, I guess.”

“You know what I mean.”

“Not really.” I don’t know why I’m trying. She’s always been able to see right through my bullshit.

“Chloe...” It’s unreal how much Max can say with just my name.

“I’m...fuck, I dunno.” In a way, even the fact that I’m supposedly dying takes a backseat to the fact that I’m never going to see Rachel (dontthinkaboutitpleasethinkaboutanythingelse) again. “It’s all still there, but I’m just...putting it off.”

She nods. “I understand.”

Sighing, I lean forward to drop my chin on her shoulder. “Can we talk about something else, please?”

“Of course.”

“I swear I’ll handle it later.” I’m not sure why it felt so important to tell her that. “I just can’t right now.”

“I get it. Really.” She tilts her head a little to one side, pressing her cheek to mine. “But I’ll be here when you’re ready.”

“I know. Thanks.” I peer down at her phone. She’s been fiddling with it for a while now. “So, what’re you looking at, anyway?”

“Hm? Oh, nothing.”

“Uh-huh. Is it porn?”

It’s pretty cute, the way she tries to cover her laugh. “No, it’s not porn.”

“Good. Because if it were, I’d be pretty pissed that you didn’t let me watch, too. Unless it’s really weird porn.” I give her side a gentle poke. “Is that it, Max? Is it weird porn?”

“It isn’t any kind of porn, Chloe.”

I snort. “Prude.”

“I’m not a prude,” she fires back, sounding surprisingly defensive about it. Before I can respond, she adds, “But it still isn’t porn.”

“Then what’s so amazing that you just can’t put your phone away?”

Max hesitates, then raises her phone for me to see. “Take a look.”

It’s the message history between Max and her mom. I don’t even need to check the dates to tell the difference between yesterday and today, and I pretty much instantly wish I hadn’t bugged her about it. I don’t know how I always manage to step in shit like this. It’s fucking uncanny.

 


 

Mom: We are so proud of you for saving that girl. We want to know how you are, so please call us as soon as you can. I miss your voice!

Max: Sorry Mom, I'll call you back in a few minutes. Swear!

Mom: Thanks for letting me gush over our Blackwell hero. Let us know if you want to come up for a quick getaway, okay? We love you!

Max: Love you, too!

Mom: Answer your phone right now, Maxine!

Mom: We know you’re with Chloe. And we know you have your phone.

Mom: Max, please answer!

Mom: I can see you’re getting these messages. Just send one back so we know you’re okay!

Mom: Your father and I are scared, Max! Just pick up the phone and talk to us!

Max: I’m okay, Mom.

Mom: Where are you?

Mom: Please come back to the hospital!

Max: I can’t. I’m sorry. I promise I’ll explain later, but right now I need you to trust me.

Mom: Whatever you’ve done, it doesn’t matter! You won’t get in trouble.

Max: I love you both.

<CONTACT BLOCKED>

 


 

“Oh. Shit.”

“Yeah.”

“You blocked your mom’s number?”

“I had to.” She nods. “Dad, Joyce and David, too. I’m surprised you haven’t.”

“My phone’s been off since the last time we were here,” I admit. “I’m sure I’ve got all kinds of fun shit waiting for me.”

“A lot from David, I bet.” She shrugs at my curious look. “It was a whole thing. I’ll tell you another time.”

“Did he get all weird in the future or something?”

“He just had some trouble adapting after the storm. He got better after he moved to Arizona.”

“What’s in Arizona?”

“A desert commune.”

“Okay, now I know you’re fucking with me.”

“Am I?” Tapping my knee, she points at the house. “There he is. Right on time, too.”

“See? Didn’t I tell you?”

“I’m sorry for doubting you,” she laughs, and I don’t have to see her face to know she’s rolling her eyes at me. “C’mon. Let’s go.”

Standing up from behind the bush (and trying to ignore the prickling sensation in my half-asleep leg), we move quietly over to the edge of the fence like a couple of creeps, hoping that he doesn’t notice us too soon. The last thing we need is for him to start yelling.

Coming within ten feet of where David is rolling one of our garbage bins to the curb, I glance toward the house, then cup my hands around my mouth. “Psst! David! Over here!”

He turns in our direction and does an actual double take; the trash bin’s handle slipping from his grip. Luckily, it tips over to land on the grass with a muffled thump, and not on the pavement. “What the fu-?”

“Shh!”

“What in the hell...” He’s gawking, like he can’t quite believe we’re here. “Max, where have you been? Your parents are worried out of their minds!”

“I’m fine, too,” I snap. “Thanks.”

My remark doesn’t even earn me the usual David-glare. Ouch. “You both need to get inside right now!”

“No,” Max hisses, lifting her hands. “You can’t tell them we’re here!”

“What are you talking about?! Why the hell would-”

“Chester Munroe thought you’d have his back,” Max interrupts, and David goes as still as a statue.

“...what did you just say?”

I feel my shoulders stiffen; the last time I heard David use that tone, it was followed by a smack upside the head. Slowly reaching under my jacket, I let my hand come to rest on the gun. Max warned me that David might react like this, but that won’t stop me from pistol whipping the shit out of him if he lays so much as a finger on her.

“I said Chester Munroe...”

“Where the fuck did you hear that?” He growls, storming over to where we’re standing and getting right in Max’s face.

“I heard it from you,” she responds evenly, not flinching or breaking eye contact. He probably doesn’t even notice when she raises her hand a little in my direction. It’s enough to remind me that we’re here to talk (for some fucking reason) rather than bludgeon him unconscious.

Fine, I’ll back off for now.

“The fuck you did.” He leans in a little closer. Max looks unimpressed.

“You told it to me in 2015,” she insists, coolly. “I asked you for something I could say that would make you listen, and that’s what you gave me.”

David stares at her for a long moment, then slowly echoes, “2015.”

She nods.

“As in...two years from now?”

She nods again.

“Right.” He eyes her warily. “We should get you back to the hospital.”

“I’m not crazy.”

“I didn’t say you were,” he says in what I think is supposed to be a calming voice. “I just think you’re a little confused. You lost a lot of blood this morning. It’s normal to be disoriented.”

“I’m not confused, I’m not disoriented, and I need you to listen.”

His hand snaps out, gripping Max’s arm hard enough to make her gasp. “No, what you need is to-”

Cli-click.

It’s amazing how loud the sound of a gun being cocked can seem; it cuts David off so sharply that you’d think I’d already shot him. “Let her go.”

Very slowly, he turns his head and locks eyes with me over the gun’s sights. “Where did you get that?”

“Did I fucking stutter?” There’s no tremor in my voice. My hand doesn’t shake. “Hands off. Now.”

David’s an asshole, but he’s not a moron. He releases her arm and takes a step back. For her part, Max looks cool as ice. It probably helps that she thinks the gun isn’t loaded. Sorry, Super Max. The hand is quicker than the eye (especially when that eye is glued to a cell phone) and I’ve spent enough time on the business end of David’s temper to know when to hedge my bets.

“Put the gun down, Chloe,” David rumbles, smart enough to keep his hands where I can see them.

“Hard pass.”

“You’re making a big mistake.”

“The only mistake we made was coming here,” I spit back. “I told Max you this was a bad idea. And somehow, she still convinced me to give you a chance.”

“Chloe...”

“Save it. We’re leaving. Don’t follow us.” I laugh humorlessly. “Y’know, that Chester guy really had your number. Why the fuck did I ever believe I could trust a piece of shit like you?”

I don’t know who the fuck Chester Munroe was or what happened to him, but David’s usual bright red rage face goes white as a sheet. You’d think I just booted him square in the sack.

“N-no...” he stammers. “That wasn’t...I...I didn’t...”

I’m sorely tempted to twist whatever knife I just stuck him with, but Max appears between us before I can. She doesn’t run over, she’s just suddenly there. Startled, David stumbles backward, trips, and falls on his ass. “Wha...what?”

“That’s enough.” Max hisses. “We haven’t got time for this. We’re already behind schedule, so the two of you need to stop trying to gut each other.”

“Max, I...”

She whips her head around, giving me a fiery glare that I should not find as sexy as I do. I know Rachel (dontthinkaboutherforfuckssake) teased me a few times about being a closet sub but god damn...

“Chester Munroe thought you’d have his back,” Max repeats, slowly turning back to El Step Douche. “I’m not crazy, David. I’m a time traveler, and if you don’t listen to me right now, everyone in this town is going to die on Friday morning.”

Climbing slowly back to his feet, he eyes Max like she’s a bomb ready to explode. “What are you two plann-”

Max sorta flickers before interrupting him. “We’re trying to save everyone, but we can’t do it on our own. We need your help.”

He looks past her to me. “I’d feel better about that if there wasn’t a gun pointed at me.”

“Fair enough.” Glancing over her shoulder again, Max says, “Chloe, you don’t have to put it away, but could you please point it somewhere else?”

“Fine.” I might enjoy having El Douche at gunpoint, but even I can admit that it’s probably not very constructive. David’s eyes follow the gun as I slowly lower it to my side. “But if you hurt her, you won’t live to regret it. Clear?”

“Yeah,” he mutters, eventually. “Clear.”

“Good.”

“Better?” Max asks.

He eyes Max for a second. "Not the word I’d have gone with."

"You know what I mean."

"Hm." Running a hand over his face, David quickly glances back at the house. "Max, where did you...it’s just that there’s literally no one on earth you could have heard about that name from other than me, and I haven’t even said it out loud in years."

“Then how do I know it?”

“I don’t...” He stops and gives us both a guarded look. “Did I tell you anything else?”

“No. You said that’d be enough to convince you.”

He eyes us both for another moment, then nods at Max. “I don’t know about convinced, but you’ve got my attention.”

“That’ll do for now.” Max glances past him at the open garage. “We should go somewhere else to talk.”

“Or we could just go inside,” David counters. “Like reasonable adults.”

“The fuck would you know about being reasonable, asshole?” I mutter. For a second it looks like he’s going to say something, but then his eyes fall back to the gun in my hand, and he keeps his mouth shut.

“Absolutely not,” Max counters. “Joyce and my parents can’t get involved.”

“Why not?”

“They won’t be any help. Honestly, they’ll probably just get in the way. And they definitely won’t listen to a word I have to say.”

“I’ll vouch for you,” he insists, turning to scowl at me when I laugh. “Believe me or don’t, Chloe, but her knowing about Munroe buys her a lot of credibility.”

“I appreciate that,” Max says calmly, shaking her head. “And if I hadn’t ended up in the hospital I might have taken you up on it. But now? There’s no way my parents will let me go anywhere other than back to the hospital or back to Seattle.”

He doesn’t look very happy about being challenged (I mean, does he ever?) but he doesn’t push back, either. Who the hell was this Chester guy?

“Can you at least tell me what this is about?”

“Your investigation, for a start.” For the second time in the last five minutes, Max just about knocks David off his feet with one sentence.

“How do you know about that?”

“Not here,” Max replies. “If you’re going to betray us, save us all some time and do it now. Otherwise, go make up an excuse to leave. Once you’re in your car, I’ll text you a destination.”

He doesn’t move right away, peering at Max like he’s looking for something. Then, when he finally turns around, he practically jumps out of his shoes when he discovers her already standing there. Even from my angle, it was weird as fuck to see her blink from one spot to another like that.

“Wha-!” He cuts himself off, glancing at the house again.

“Just a little reminder,” she says evenly, putting out a surprisingly intimidating vibe. “There’s no point trying to pull a fast one on us. Got it?”

“G-got it...” he nods.

“Get going.”

Max and I retreat back into the shadows, and the only crack in her confident exterior is the way she grabs my hand when David reaches the door leading back into the house. She doesn’t have to say anything; her other hand is already raised, ready to turn back the clock if David tries something.

Glancing back at where we’d been standing, David opens the door and speaks loudly enough for us to hear. “Joyce? I’m going to go for another drive around town before it gets too dark and look for the girls.”

Mom’s response is muffled, along with two other voices that make Max squeeze my hand tightly. I know how much she loves her parents, and how hard it must be for her to lie to them like this.

“I know, but maybe I’ll get lucky,” David continues. “I’ll probably check in at the police station, too. I’ve got my phone on me if you hear anything, okay?”

Another muffled reply.

“Thanks. Love you, too.” Closing the door, he hesitates a half-second before getting into that rolling penis-replacement car of his and pulling out of the driveway. Beside me, Max silently unblocks his number on her phone and texts him a map link that’ll take him to the tree fort.

“So far, so good,” I mutter. “Here’s hoping he doesn’t just stab us in the back.”

“He won’t,” Max responds, softly. “C’mon. We have to hurry if we’re going to get back before him.”

 


 

[Unknown Number]: Tell me you’re not lying.

Max: Who is this?

[Unknown Number]: I need you to say you’re not lying, Max.

Max: Victoria?

[Unknown Number]: Who else would it be?

=CONTACT UPDATED=

Max: This isn’t your phone number.

Victoria: Yes, it is. I don’t give my number out to just anyone. The one you have is some app I use.

Max: And now I’m worthy of your real one?

Victoria: Tell me, Max.

Max: I’m not lying. This is real.

Victoria: Then I’m in.

Max: Just like that?

Victoria: Yes.

Max: What was in that letter?

Victoria: None of your business. What now?

Max: We need to talk. Where are you?

Victoria: Down by the beach. Near the diner.

Max: Go to the gas station down the road. I’ll send someone to pick you up.

 


 

Max: Stop at the gas station on the way out of town. Victoria Chase will be waiting for you there. Tell her I sent you, then drive her here.

David: Why would I do that?

Max: Because I’m a time traveler and I told you to.

David: Fine.

David: We'll be there in 20 min.

 

 

 

 

 

Future Imperfect

Rushing through the woods as fast as my out-of-shape (and apparently fucking cancerous) lungs can manage, we easily beat David – along with Victoria Chase, I guess - back to the tree fort with plenty of time to spare. Enough time, at least, that I won’t still be gasping for air when they arrive. Now, leaning against the trunk of the big tree our pirate hideaway has occupied for more than a decade, I watch Max as she nervously tries to braid her own hair.

And by watch, I mean heckle. “You’ve seen a braid before, right?”

“Shush.”

“I’m just asking. Because you look like you’re having some problems there.”

“Shush.”

“Is it supposed to be crooked like that?”

“It isn’t crooked.”

“It’s pretty crooked.”

“Maybe this is the style in the future,” she mutters, accidentally fumbling one of the strands and only catching about half of it. “You don’t know.”

“Is it?”

“...no.” She huffs, dropping her hands in defeat. “I suppose you think you can do better?”

“Oh, I know I can.” I lead her over to the truck and jump up into the bed. “Sit on the tailgate.”

She does, eyeing me uncertainly.

“Oh, relax, will you? I’m not going to pull all your hair out.” Repositioning the small flashlight that usually lives under the driver's seat, I take a closer look at the mess she’s made. “I’ll try not to, at least. It’s kinda tangled.” Without thinking, I add, “You must get the worst sex-hair ever.”

“Wouldn’t you like to know?” she murmurs, throwing a smoldering glance over her shoulder.

“I...uh...” Shaking my head, I begin slowly running my fingers through her still shockingly long locks, gently loosening each tangle I come across as she sighs contentedly. Eventually, after a few tangle-free sweeps, I start lightly scratching my fingernails over her head and she practically purrs.

“Like that, do you?”

“Hmmm...yes.” She tilts her head back and pushes into my hands, encouraging me to scratch a little harder.

“I thought you wanted me to braid your hair?” I ask, laughing at her blissful expression.

“No braid only scritches,” she mumbles.

“Uh-huh.” I move on to the back of her neck and she lets out a little Happy-Max noise that makes my heart do things. Pushing the feelings down (they’ll probably come back later, but that’s a later problem) I go back to running my fingers through Max’s stupidly soft hair. It’s amazing to watch the tension flow out of her, but while I’m pretty sure I could do this for hours, we’ve got company coming.

“Stupid David,” I murmur softly.

“Did you say something?”

“Eyes front, Mad Max.” I gently turn her head back around, crack my knuckles, then begin to separate her hair into parts. “Just me shouting at the rain.”

I don’t try anything fancy, so it’s only a minute or two before I’m finished and looping a hair tie over the end. I give in to the urge to give Max’s neck one last gentle scratch, smiling at her delighted shiver, before tossing her finished braid over her shoulder. “All done.”

“Wow, this looks really good.” She says, grinning over her shoulder. “Where’d you learn to do this?”

I hesitate, just for a half-second. I learned from Rachel (shehadsuchbeautifulhairbutdontthinkaboutit) but I really don’t want to talk about her right now. “Can’t remember. I guess I just picked it up somewhere.”

I think Max wants to needle me for more details, but the sound of an approaching engine reaches our ears first.  “Looks like they’re here.”

The headlights come into view as the car rolls up to the spot where Max and I have been waiting, and a moment later the douche-mobile’s engine goes quiet. David and Victoria climb out slowly, like they’re still suspicious that this is all some elaborate prank. David still looks kinda angry, but he usually looks kinda angry around me so who the fuck knows if that means anything. Victoria, on the other hand, looks like she can’t decide whether to be annoyed or uncomfortable getting out of step-douche’s car.

I know that feeling.

“Nice of you to stop by,” I say, raising a hand to shield my eyes. “Mind killing the headlights before you fucking blind us?”

Douche-vid actually does as he’s asked, for once. The small clearing goes dark, but the full moon is right overhead, and it only takes a minute for my eyes to adjust. Moving around to the front of the car, I can see him looking me over cautiously.

Yeah, asshole. I still have a gun, so you better play nice.

“Alright, you two,” he drawls, crossing his arms as if he’s the one in charge here. “Time to explain what all this is about.”

“This Friday, just after sunrise, the entire population of Arcadia Bay is going to be killed by a freak EF5 tornado,” Max says, once again showing exactly zero chill. “One thousand, four hundred, and seventy-three innocent people - all dead before breakfast.”  

The way she says it just fucking dominates, and David actually shuts the fuck up for once. It’s kind of cool. And badass. And sorta sexy. And I should probably be paying attention.

Victoria doesn’t look quite as shocked as David does, but I figure Max already told her some stuff. She’d have to if she were going to convince her royal highness to come out here in the first place.

“What makes you think...”

“I don’t think anything, David,” she interrupts. “This isn’t a theory or a prediction; it’s a fact. I saw it happen with my own eyes. The storm is coming, and I want to make it clear right now that it can’t be stopped or avoided. Arcadia Bay is doomed, plain and simple.”

“Very motivational,” Victoria mutters. I don’t know if Max heard her, but I still have to fight down the urge to slap her upside the head.

“Luckily, we aren’t trying to save the town,” Max continues. “We’re trying to save the people, and I’ve got a plan to do exactly that. I’m going to need all three of you to make it work.”

Victoria gives Max one of those fucking infuriating ‘I’m-so-superior’ looks. “And you just expect us to go along with that.”

“Yeah, we do.” I roll my eyes. “Unless you actually want everyone in town to die.”

“It was a question, Price.”

“It was a statement, Chase,” I snap back. “And it was a fucking stupid statement.”

“Will you two please knock it off?” Max groans. “I didn’t travel back in time to watch you snipe at each other.”

“She’s right,” David agrees, always happy to jump on the nearest Chloe-bashing bandwagon. “This isn’t the time.”

“Nobody asked for your fucking opinion, David.”

Victoria snorts. “Never stopped you from wasting everyone’s time with yours, Smurfette.”

“Smurfette was blonde, fuckwit!”

“So are you!”

“Eat me, you anorexic bitch!”

“As if, you dirty slag!”

“That’s enough!” David barks, like there’s any reason for any of us to give a shit. “You two need to start exercising some self-control!”

“Fuck you, too, Madsen!” Victoria snaps back at him. “This isn’t Blackwell, so you can shut your damn mout-”

ARGHH!!” Max’s frustrated scream scares all three of us into silence. She’s glaring at us, furious, a thin line of blood trickling from her nose and down to her chin. “Shut up! Just shut the fuck up, all of you! I swear, if I have to rewind you idiots away from each other’s throats one more fucking time...”

“Max, I...”

“Don’t,” she cuts me off. “I get that you all hate each other. Fine. Whatever. After Friday you’re more than welcome to hate each other for the rest of your hopefully long and healthy lives. But until then you’re going to put a lid on it and keep it there.”

She pauses, visibly forcing herself to calm down. “Alright. Background. I’ve shared some pieces already, but I’ve held off telling the whole thing because I only want to do it once. I’ve told this story too many times already, and I’d die happy if I never had to tell it again. And you’re all going to keep your mouths shut until I’m done, because the next person that interrupts me with their bullshit is going to get time-warped through a fucking tree.”

David blinks, startled. “Can...can you do that?”

For the rest of my life, anytime I hear the phrase ‘fuck around and find out’, I’m going to remember the look on Max’s face right now. “Anyway, there are going to be some parts you won’t believe, and other parts you won’t want to believe, but I swear on my life that everything I’m going to tell you is the truth. Okay?”

The three of us glance at one another, then we each give her a nod.

“Good.” She takes a deep breath, and then she lays it all out for us.

She describes the vision of a storm that led her to the bathroom, where she saved me from Nathan. The warm-weather snow, the eclipse, the beached whales, and the dying birds. (I can see one, lying in the dirt about fifteen feet away, and I’m trying not to think about it.)

She talks about Kate. How she was drugged and abducted by Nathan, just like I almost was. How Victoria filmed the whole thing. How she and her fucking cronies practically drove Kate up onto that roof. I probably would’ve torn into Victoria for it right there if there weren’t already tears in her eyes. I don’t think I’ve ever seen anyone look so guilty.

“Hey, now. Nathan Prescott’s a troubled kid, but I don’t think he’s capable of...”

“Don’t tell me what Nathan Prescott is capable of, David. I was forced to watch him kill Chloe four times before I was able to change things.” Max insists, coolly adding, “And she wouldn’t have been his first victim.”

That brings him up short. “What do you mean?”

“He killed Rachel Amber.”

“What?!” Victoria snaps, angrily wiping her tears away. “No! That’s bullshit! He’d never do that! Never!”

“He did,” Max responds evenly. “And trust me when I say you don’t want to get into it.”

“Fuck you, Caulfield. You don’t say shit like that and then clam up.”

Max hesitates, looks at me again, and sighs. “Fine.”

And so Max tells her. And from the way Victoria's face goes from disbelief to absolute horror, I think she's going to regret asking for a long, long time.

Max won’t look at me when she talks about finding Rachel’s body (ohgodmaxwhywontyoutellmewheresheis) but I don’t have any trouble believing her when she says I wanted to kill Nathan for what he’d done.

She talks about Victoria’s precious End Of The World party like she’s been there, because she actually has, and Victoria stiffens when Max apologizes for ‘trying’ to warn her. But then Max talks about our panicked rush back to Rachel’s grave, and what happened when we got there. I swear I feel a faint tingle, right above my left eye. I really hope it’s just my imagination.

“Mark Jefferson,” she spits, and I actually feel myself flinch. It’s still disturbing to hear so much hatred in Max’s voice.

“Motherfucker,” David growls. “I knew there was something off about that guy.”

The way she describes the Dark Room send shivers up my spine, and I’m pretty sure I’m not the only one. I glance at Victoria when Max talks about seeing her there; she looks like she’s about to be sick. I try to follow along when she describes travelling through photographs, bouncing from one timeline to another, searching for a happy ending until my phone call pulls her back into ours.

Seeing her journal burnt, how close Jefferson came to killing her, and how it was David who (eventually) rescued her...after being killed, and killed, and killed, and killed again. Now he’s the one looking queasy. For a second I think Max is going to say something more, but then she skips to her panicked drive to the Two Whales to retrieve a photo from Warren Graham, of all people.

Going back and telling me to tip off David, the two of us on the beach, and our walk to the lighthouse. I can tell there’s something right after, that she’s leaving something else out, but the haunted look in her eyes almost makes me glad she is.

The impossible choice she was forced to make and its consequences, both of which I’m having some trouble wrapping my head around.

Pointlessly searching for survivors before leaving the remains of Arcadia Bay behind. About how David and Victoria survived the storm, and how almost no one else did.

She actually smiles when she speaks about the months we spent trying to rebuild our lives in Seattle and I find myself smiling along with her, right until she tells us how it all came crashing down.

“Chloe...she d-died.” Max’s voice wavers when she says it. I think she’s trying not to cry. “She got sick, but by the time she was diagnosed, it was too late. We tried everything, but she only lived another six months.”

We’d decided not to go into the fine details there. There’s going to be plenty of time to tell everyone later, but for now it’s probably better for David and Victoria to assume that I’m still healthy.

The way Max talks about the months that followed my death, and the absolute misery she was going through, makes me want to pull her into my arms and never let go. And while I’m sure she wouldn’t exactly complain if I did, I think she’d rather get all of this out.

Victoria stares, slack-jawed, through Max’s entire retelling of their friendship. I’m not sure, but I think I might be doing the same thing. David looks like he’s floating somewhere between stunned and horrified when she talks about the weird desert commune he ends up on.

“Victoria and I realized that if we were going to change things, we’d need David’s help. And once we had that, we were able to develop the plan,” she says, going on to explain how the three of them spent months putting together their strategy to change the past.

Finally, she comes to the big rewind. There’s a strangely methodical quality to the way she tells David and Victoria about it, like she’s considering the details carefully before laying them out. They vary from incredibly detailed to annoyingly vague, and I’m pretty sure there’s still a part in the middle she’s leaving out. Then again, she also skips over the sexier details of her arrival in my bedroom this morning, so maybe it’s for the best.

I try not to flinch when she describes the seizure, and how much pain she was in before she blacked out. My own memories are bad enough, and even David looks a little pale.

“And that pretty much brings us to now,” Max finally says, sounding about as tired as I feel. “Any questions?”

Questions? Is she fucking kidding right now? I have about a billion questions, and David and Victoria look like they’re in the same boat. Unfortunately, I’ll be goddamned if I can find the right words to ask a single one of them. Everything Max just said seems to loom over me like some unclimbable wall, making every question seem pointless and making the idea that the four of us could change any of it seem impossible.

“Yeah.” Max nods, not looking very surprised. “That’s what I figured.”

A few more seconds of stunned silence pass, then David awkwardly holds up his phone. “I, uh, should probably check in with Joyce.”

It wasn’t a question, exactly, but he still waits until Max nods. “That’s fine. I think we could all use a minute.”

“I...” Victoria starts, looking down at a crumpled envelope in her hands. “I don’t...excuse me.”

Max doesn’t say anything when Victoria turns and walks away, calmly watching the self-proclaimed Queen of Blackwell follow the narrow trail off into the trees. She’s out of sight a moment later, and Max wearily turns to me. “Do you think you could go keep an eye on her? You know how overwhelming this stuff can be.”

Overwhelming doesn’t even begin to describe it, but at least I’ve got a little experience. Even so... “Do I have to?”

“No.” She takes my hand, squeezing it gently. “But I’d really appreciate it if you did.”

“Way to fight dirty, Caulfield.” I grumble, squeezing back before I let go. “Fine. I’ll go make sure queen bitch isn’t freaking out on us.”

“Thank you.” She lifts up on her toes to kiss my cheek.

“S’fine.” Like before, her small show of affection sends pleasant butterflies flitting around in my stomach. “How’re you doing?”

“I’m okay,” she murmurs, rubbing her forehead. “I’ve got a bit of a headache, but I’ve probably been pushing myself too hard.”

“Thought you had mad time powers now?”

“Coming back two years took a lot out of me.” She shrugs. “I just need to get some rest. I’ll bounce back.”

“You sure?”

“Mhm. I’ll see you in a bit.”

David’s leaning against his douchemobile’s trunk, where he once made me empty out my pockets (like a fucking criminal) about ten minutes after I’d been kicked out of school.

Fucking asshole.

He’s talking on his phone, and I hear him tell someone (Mom, probably) that he’s going to try driving down to Tillamook to look for my truck. It’s not a bad cover story, I guess. The round trip would take him about an hour. We briefly make eye contact as I pass by, headed for the same narrow trail Victoria took off down, but the phone call saves me from actually having to talk to him.

That’s probably a good thing, because for the first time ever, I actually want him to start a fight. I want him to start spouting all that shit he’s always throwing at me, so I can shove every single word of it back down his throat and watch him choke on it. Just like I’ve always wanted to, but never have.

I've been putting up with David for four years. In all that time, the highest he’s ever climbed on the likability scale was ‘barely tolerable’, and even that was a long time ago. Since he and Mom got hitched, it’s felt like a non-stop parade of contempt for everything about me. Whether it’s my attitude, or my music, or my fucking posture; he always seems to have some problem with who I am and what I’m doing.

But through all the yelling, accusations, chauvinism, and other bullshit, I never really defended myself. I usually just rolled my eyes, made some snarky remark, then headed for the nearest exit.

Even the handful of times he actually got pissed off enough to hit me, I never did anything to fight back. I always wanted to. I mean, I really fucking wanted to. I wanted to call the cops or tell Mom (not that I think she'd have believed me) or claw his beady fucking eyes out with my goddamn fingernails. But all I ever did was warn him not to do it again.

I probably should've just moved out. Swallowed my pride and gotten a job somewhere. I could’ve found some crappy apartment in Tillamook or something. I could've left this whole shit show behind once and for all. I'm over eighteen and except for Rachel (dumpedmecheatedonmebutshesdeaddontthinkaboutit) there wasn't anything keeping me here. But I never did anything. I just rolled over and took it.

Right up until the moment he lay a hand on Max.

I hadn’t thought. I hadn’t hesitated. By the time I'd actually decided to draw the gun, it was already aimed right between his eyes. I’d been 100% ready to blow his fucking brains out to protect her, and what's weird is that I’m not freaking out over that as much as I probably should be. It’s not like I’m totally okay with the idea of killing David, as tempting as it’s sometimes been. I just know - with absolute fucking certainty - that if it ever came down to Max or him, Max would win.

If it came down to Max or literally anyone, Max would still win. Max would win every single time, because she’s Max. Hell, even if it’d ever been a choice between Max and Rachel (stopredlightdefinitelydontthinkaboutTHAT)

I should hurry up and find Victoria.

 


 

I finally come across her about five minutes’ walk down the trail, sitting on a fallen log and staring off into the woods. Her light sweater makes her easy to spot in the moonlight, and as I come up behind her I lightly drag my feet on the ground for a few steps to let her know I’m there. The last thing I need is to get a face full of pepper spray because I accidentally snuck up on her. Coming to a slow stop about ten feet away, I wait for her to acknowledge me with some barbed remark. She doesn’t turn around, though, and I can’t tell whether or not she actually knows I’m here.

As annoying as it is that she might just be ignoring me, I wouldn’t be totally shocked if she were. I’ve known her for four years, since she started attending Blackwell a year behind me, and I can’t think of a single pleasant conversation we’ve had in all that time. She probably expects me to insult her (which, I admit, would usually be my first instinct) but contrary to popular belief, I’m not that much of an asshole.

Victoria might be a bitch, but she just got a whole lot of shit dumped on her, and she really doesn’t need me to start piling on.

Besides, Max already popped a literal blood vessel tonight trying to make us play nice. It’s so fucking stupid that, on top of everything else, she should have to hurt herself just to keep me and Victoria from clawing each other’s eyes out.

Y’know what? Fuck it. Victoria and I haven’t gone to school together in three years and don’t run in any of the same circles. We pretty much exist in different worlds, so why should either of us devote any more energy to hating the other one? Don’t we have better shit to do?

Maybe it’s time to (ugh) be an adult about this and bury the damn hatchet.

“Shove over, Chase.”

She jumps, startled, wiping at her eyes before turning to glare at me like I’m something she just scraped off her shoe. “What the fuck do you want?”

“Right now? I want you to shove over.” I step around the fallen log and she shimmies to one side just in time to avoid getting a lapful of yours truly.

“I’m really not in the mood for your bullshit right now, Price.”

“I’m not...” Don’t yell at her. “Victoria, I...” God damn it. This seemed like it'd easier in my head. “Alright, I know we’ve got some not-so-awesome history...”

“No shit we do,” she snaps.

I feel a powerful urge to call her a bitch again and walk away, but I clench my teeth and silently remind myself that she’s got plenty of good reasons to hate me. Honestly, the time Rachel (stopitchloeplease) and I literally drugged her over a part in some dumbass school play would be enough all on its own.

“Then I think you’ll appreciate how hard it is for me to say this.” Holy shit, this almost physically hurts. “This is some heavy shit and it would have been easy for you to blow Max off, but you didn’t. I really respect you for stepping up, and I want you to know I’ve got your back.”

“I...uh...”

“Max says you’re good people,” I continue, before she can say something irritating. “And I trust her. So as far as I’m concerned, you’re good people.”

“You’ve called be a bitch about fifty times since I got here,” she points out.

“Yeah, well, you are a bitch,” I remind her, because she is. “And you piss me off. And half the things you say make me want to slap the shit out of you. That doesn’t mean you’re not a good person.”

“Oh, is that right?”

“I really fucking hope so. If it’s not, we’re both in trouble.” It’s a shitty joke, but it’s enough to get a small laugh out of her. “Look, I’m not saying you have to be nice to me or anything. And fuck knows we don’t have to be friends. But until this whole thing is done, can we at least agree to stop shitting all over each other?”

She eyes me silently, like she’s trying to decide whether or not I’m messing with her. The longer the silence stretches out, the more I expect her to tell me to fuck off. Finally, she just sighs and looks away. “Alright.”

“Alright,” I echo. Hesitantly, I add, “And for what it's worth, I’m sorry about Nathan."

“The hell you are,” she growls. “He drugged you, Price. He tried to kill you.”

I’d probably have snapped back at her if not for the tremor in her voice. She’s angry, but for once she’s not angry at me. “I meant I’m sorry you had to find out about him like this. It sucks to learn something shitty about somebody you thought you knew.”

She seems to consider that, staring off into the trees while I try to think about literally anything other than the urge to light up a smoke. After about a minute, she glances at me uncertainly. “I already...I mean, Max already told me, earlier today. Sort of.”

“Doesn’t seem like something Max would ‘sort of’ tell you.”

“Not directly, I mean.” She holds up the crumpled envelope she’s been carrying this whole time. “She gave me this.”

“And what’s that?”

“It’s a letter from myself in the future.” She shakes her head, adding. “Which is something I never thought I’d say.”

“Seriously?”

Victoria nods. “I...future me, I mean...said that something’s really wrong with Nathan, but she wouldn’t say what. She said she didn’t want me to be alone when I found out, and that Max would tell me more if I really wanted to know. I mean, I knew he’d been struggling with something, but I never would have imagined...”

“Oh.” I have absolutely no idea what the right thing to say here is, so I decide to say something stupid instead. “Kinda lame that you get a letter from the future and I don’t.”

Victoria gives me the most incredulous look I’ve ever seen. “You got a girlfriend from the future, and you’re pissed you didn’t get mail, too?”

I almost tell her that Max isn’t my girlfriend, but my brain sort of stumbles over whether or not that’s actually true. “Right. Sorry.”

“Whatever. You should probably take it as a compliment, anyway.” She taps the letter against her knee. “I only got this because my future self thinks I’m a stubborn egotistical asshole who wouldn’t listen to anyone else.” She frowns. “She also spent six paragraphs calling me a spoiled, over-entitled bitch.”

I try not to laugh. I am not successful. “Sounds like future Victoria’s really got your number.”

“Shut up.”

“What? I’m agreeing with you.”

“No, you’re agreeing with... shut up,” she huffs, taps the letter against her knee a few more times, then says, “Can I ask...never mind.”

“Ask what?”

“Never mind,” she repeats. “I shouldn’t. It’s kinda inappropriate.”

“Well, shit. Now you pretty much have to ask.”

“It’s...” She hesitates, gesturing at me vaguely. “It’s cancer, right?”

“What?”

“The other me said that was why Max came back. Because you’re going to get cancer.”

“Future-Vic’s got a big mouth,” I grumble, giving her a flat look. She cringes, probably expecting me to lash out at her. “But yeah, I have cancer.”

“Shit. Tha-” she stops, her eyes snapping up to meet mine. “...have?”

God damn it. Now who’s got a big mouth? Sighing, I nod and raise my hand to lightly tap my breastbone.

“You...” She swallows, her eyes jumping between my hand and my face. “You mean now?”

“Now,” I confirm, nodding again. “Lung cancer.”

“Oh, fuck.”

“That’s what I said,” I comment, trying to sound casual about it and definitely failing. “Max doesn’t know exactly how far along it is at this point. Hopefully just stage two, but it could be stage three.”

“H-how many stages are there?”

“Four. Well, technically five, I guess. But Max says you don’t come back from the last one. I’m s-still...um...”

All at once, I forget what I was going to say. My mind goes blank as one fact utterly dominates my thoughts.

I’ve got cancer.

I already knew it, but all of a sudden I really actually know it.

I’ve got fucking cancer.

It’s inside me right now, eating me alive, already killing me, and I don’t want to die.

I take a deep breath, hoping it’ll help calm me down, but for a second I swear I feel something wet and heavy lurch inside my chest. A bolt of fear goes right through me and my hands start to shake, tears already blurring my vision.

Son of a bitch. I’m gonna cry. I already cried once today, and I’m gonna start crying again. And in front of Victoria fucking Chase, of all people. I risk a glance at her, ready for her to roll her eyes at me or get up and walk away herself, but instead she slides closer and starts gently rubbing my back.

That’s...unexpected.

“It’s okay, Chloe.” Her hand keeps moving in slow circles. For once in her life, she actually sounds sincere. “You’re okay."

“I...I...” My breath hitches everytime I try to speak.

"Just concentrate on your breathing,” she murmurs. “In and out. You’re safe. I’m right here.”

I’d be a lot more weirded out by this if she weren’t doing such a good job, and it only takes me a couple of minutes before the tears have dried up and I’ve gotten my little crying jag under control. Slowly drawing her hand back, Victoria slides a couple of feet away, looking about as uncomfortable as I feel.

“Are you, uh,” She clears her throat. “Are you feeling better?”

“Yeah. Thanks. I, uh...” I try for a laugh, but it just comes out as a chuff of air. I’m embarrassed as fuck and staring at the dirt between my boots like it owes me money. “I’m dealing with a lot.”

“It’s fine. I mean, of course.”

This is so fucking brutal. I swear to god it’d probably be less awkward if we’d just had a quick fuck in the bushes.

Aw, shit. Now I’ve got that image in my head. As if this couldn’t get any worse.

I glance up at her. “How did you...”

“I have this friend. She gets anxiety attacks sometimes. I just thought it might help.” She hesitantly gestures at my face. “I’ve, uh, got some concealer. If you want.”

“Do I look like I use concealer?”

“No. You look like you’ve been crying. I figured you wouldn’t want Max or Madsen asking why.”

I shrug. “I’ll just tell them you got mad and slapped me or something.”

The discomfort on her face bleeds away, replaced by a much more familiar look of annoyance. “Why the fuck would I do that?”

“Are you telling me you can’t think of at least one good reason, right now, for you to want to slap me?”

“...maybe,” she admits. “That doesn’t mean I’d do it.”

“Whatever you say.” Standing, I gesture back up the trail. “Ready to head back?”

“Not especially.”

“Hey, it’s that or stay here and talk about our feelings some more.”

Victoria snorts. “Like tonight isn’t fucked up enough.”

“Y’know, if we hadn’t agreed to try to get along and all, this would be where I’d tell you to woman up and get your bony ass in gear.”

“Oh, would you now?”

“Hypothetically.”

“You know how I said I wouldn’t slap you?” She narrows her eyes. “I’m warming up to the idea.”

“I have that effect on people,” I say, smirking. “Come on. We’ve got a town to save.”

 

Of Mice And Men

The two of us walk back in silence, which I’m just fine with considering I’ve already done way too much sharing tonight. Honestly, just the fact that Victoria is passing up the opportunity to make fun of me for my little breakdown is shockingly cool of her.

When we eventually step back into the clearing, Max immediately gives me a worried look. I don’t know whether it’s about Victoria or if she can tell I’ve been crying, but either way I give her a little thumbs up and what I hope is a reassuring smile.

“Alright, Caulfield,” Victoria says, as soon as we’re close enough. “Let’s hear this plan of yours.”

No beating around the bush, I guess.

“Okay,” Max nods. “It’s actually relatively simple. We decided early on that the more moving parts there were, the more places there were for things to go wrong. But as long as we all do our parts, twenty-four hours from now the residents of Arcadia Bay will be out of town, the people who deserve to be in handcuffs will be, and we’ll all be headed into a much brighter future.”

“Nice intro,” Victoria mutters.

Max shoots her an unimpressed look but doesn’t comment. “The first thing we’ll need is some spending money.” She turns to David. “Do you have a key for Principal Wells’ office?”

“Of course I do,” he says, side-eyeing me. “Since I keep that one in my desk, and not on my key ring.”

“Hey, I didn’t do anyth-”

“Do you really think no one recognized your truck peeling out of the Blackwell parking lot last night?”

“I...uh...”

“Relax. I covered for you.”

“...you did?” This shit is starting to freak me out a little. Is it actually possible that David has finally learned to be chill about some stuff? I feel like I should be watching out for flying pigs or something.

“What? You think I wanted to fill out a report saying my own stepdaughter stole my keys and snuck into the pool for a late-night swim?”

Oh. Yeah, that makes way more sense.

Anyway,” Max jumps back in. “I need you to go into his office tonight and get some things for us. There’s a lot of stuff on his computer about Nathan that we’ll want copies of, and there’s an envelope of cash in his desk drawer marked as the handicapped fund.”

Excuse me? You want me to steal the school’s handicapped fund for you?”

Max nods. “After Friday morning that entire building is going to be a pile of rubble anyway. That money will help a lot more people in our hands than it would buried along with whatever is left of Wells’ desk.”

“Uh-huh. How do you even know about that?”

I feel my heart jump into my throat. How the fuck is Max gonna talk her way out of this one?

“From. The. Future.” She reminds him, emphasizing each word. “Just drop it all off here first thing in the morning, okay?”

“Fine,” he grumbles. “What do you need it for, anyway?”

“Chloe and I need to drive up to Seaside to pick up some supplies.”

“Such as...?”

“Oh, you know. A few tools, some cable ties, bomb-making stuff, maybe some...”

I hope Max wasn’t actually trying to sneak that one past us. As soon as the word ‘bomb’ comes out of her mouth, we all react fairly predictably; David most of all. “What?!”

“I know how that sounds, but you don’t need to worry,” Max says. “We’re not going to hurt anyone, I promise.”

“That’s great and all,” Victoria cuts in. “But I want to be clear that when I agreed to help with this insanity, that didn’t include blowing things up.”

“You won’t have to. Chloe and I will take care of the ‘blowing stuff up’ part.”

Okay, that’s fucking dope.

David’s still not a fan. “The hell would you know about making a bomb, anyway?”

I will keep a straight face. I will keep a straight face.

“The internet is a scary place, David,” Max responds enigmatically. “You can learn all kinds of stuff, if you look hard enough.”

“And what, exactly, do you plan on needing a bomb for?”

“To cause a blackout, but we’ll get to that in a minute.” She turns away before he can say anything else. “Victoria, until tomorrow evening, your only job is to act as normal as possible. Don’t hide in your room. Don’t do or say anything that you normally wouldn’t. Definitely don’t confront Nathan or Jefferson. Avoid them altogether, if you can, until it’s time to go to the End of the World party. Think you can do that?”

“Spend all day doing exactly what I would have been doing anyway?” She rolls her eyes, only looking a little nervous. “Somehow, I think I’ll manage.”

“Knew I could count on you,” Max smiles, ignoring the sarcasm. “Be at the party before nine. The first time around, Jefferson announced that you’d won the Everyday Heroes contest at nine-thirty. You went up onto the stage, gave a short speech, and right after that Jefferson asked you to come with him to discuss trip details or something. He must have drugged you then and taken you right to his car, because that was the last thing you remembered before the Dark Room.”

Victoria shudders, skipping the snarky remark this time. I really can’t blame her. The idea of voluntarily letting someone do that to me makes my skin crawl.

“David, at nine thirty-five you’re going to check the Blackwell faculty parking lot. If Jefferson’s car is gone, call the ABPD. Tell them you saw what looked like Mark Jefferson forcing a drunk girl into his car, that you couldn’t get to him before he drove away, and that he was headed south.”

“There’s going to be a couple of officers at the party already,” he points out, not looking especially happy about it. “It’ll look strange if I don’t tell them directly.”

“Officers Seger and Griffin?”

“Yeah, how’d you...” He grimaces. “Oh. Right.”

Max shrugs, obviously suppressing a smirk. “That’s why you’re going to call an officer you can trust directly. Given Seger and Griffin’s reputations for being Prescott’s thugs, I doubt anyone will be surprised that you decided to go to someone else.”

“Hm,” he grunts, looking the way he always does when he’s hit with something he doesn’t like but can’t really argue with. “Why not take Jefferson down before he can abduct Ms. Chase?”

“That won’t work.” Victoria holds up her letter, looking like the words have left a bad taste in her mouth. “Believe me, I wish it would, but my pen pal here was pretty clear about that.”

“Pen pal?”

Ignoring David’s muttered question, Victoria continues. “There’s no reason for the cops to arrest him at the party, and if they catch up with him at any point before he gets to that pervert hole of his, he can just say he thought I had too much to drink and decided to give me a lift to my parent’s house.”

“Right,” I snort. “As if anyone would buy that bullshit story.”

She glances away, embarrassed. “It...uh...it wouldn’t be the first time.”

“Fucking what?” She can’t be serious.

“I thought he was being nice, okay? Or at least trying to suck up to my parents. I never thought he’d...ugh.”

David still doesn’t look very happy. “Then how about tipping the police off to this dark room of his right now?”

“That won’t work either,” Max says. “He’s got the place done up to make it look like it was Nathan acting on his own, just in case someone gets in. All he’d have to do is deny everything. I hate this as much as you do, believe me, but the only way to make sure he gets nailed to the wall is for the police to catch him in the act.”

“Or we could just waste him and call it a day.” The three of them stare at me like I’ve grown a new head. “Oh, don’t look at me like that. You've all thought about it.”

“No,” Max says, firmly. “We’re not going to kill him.”

“That’s rich, coming from you. Earlier today, you seemed all for the idea.”

“Earlier today, you stopped me,” she counters. “And I never said I don’t want him dead. Just that we’re not going to kill him.”

“Why not, exactly? Seems like the practical solution,” David points out, raising his hands a little. “Devil’s advocate. That’s all.”

Max stays silent for a long moment - long enough that I start to wonder if she’s even going to answer – then says, “Three reasons. First, I don’t want any of us to have to live the rest of our lives as murderers. Second, I want to provide some real closure to the families of all the girls he’s victimized in the past. That won’t happen if Nathan ends up taking the blame for everything.” She pauses, her eyes turning hard. “But mostly it’s because he doesn’t deserve to die. A pervert like him deserves to be in prison, getting the shit beaten out of him every single day. I want the rest of his worthless life to be a dress rehearsal for Hell.”

She looks and sounds completely ruthless, and I’m sure that’s the vibe that David is getting. I’m pretty sure I’m the only one that can see the tension in her shoulders or the way she’s clenching her fist. Who knows how hard this is for her to talk about? I really want to hold her hand and try to make her feel better, but step-douche is a stubborn hardass and right now she needs to look tough.

“Are we all on the same page?” she asks, waiting for David to nod before she looks to Victoria.

“I’m with you,” she says, shockingly little bite in her voice. “I’m not interested in killing anyone.”

Then she turns to me, and it’s pretty obvious that this is one of those things I’ll never be able to change her mind about. I miss the days when she was a pushover (except I really don’t), but I still nod. “Fine. The freak lives.”

“Glad we cleared that up.” She sighs, some of the tension leaving her as she turns back to David. “You’re going to wait a couple of minutes after your first call to the cops, then call them back and say you’ve got a hunch about where Jefferson might be headed. Tell them about the Prescott barn. If they ask any questions, you’ve got your whole investigation to back up your story.”

“That won’t be a problem,” he says. “I’ve been working with a couple of their officers on that already. They’ll listen.”

“That’s perfect. The patrol schedule has Bishop and McKay on tonight, and at that time of night they should be south of Blackwell.” At David’s surprised look, she adds, “That’s based on their usual routes. We also got a copy of their official dispatch transcripts from the Oregon State Police.”

“How the hell...”

“The Freedom of Information act is a beautiful thing,” she grins. “The point is that at nine thirty-five and nine forty, they were at the gas station near the turnoff to the old rail yard. It’s only a few minutes to the barn from there, so they should get there just before Jefferson. He’ll be driving right into a trap.”

“What if Jefferson spots them first?”

“Even if he does, the road there is too narrow for him to turn around and there’s no way he’ll escape them going in reverse. They’ll catch him, arrest him, and Victoria will be safe.” She looks down. “Hopefully.”

“Way to fill me with hope, Caulfield,” Victoria snipes. I’m not sure if she’s actually trying to sound like that, or if it’s just her default voice.

“You know, I actually tried to talk future you out of this. So did David. Repeatedly. You insisted that it was the only way.”

“Doesn’t mean I have to like it,” Victoria snaps back.

“Are you backing out?” Max asks, evenly.

“Of course not.”

“Then drop the fucking attitude and try not to do anything stupid in the next twenty-four hours.”

Oh, for a picture of Victoria’s face right now. I think she keeps forgetting that Max isn’t the shy hipster she knew at the start of the week. I know I have once or twice.

“Do I look like your blue-haired attack punk?” Okay, I’d be offended if that didn’t sound kinda cool. “I can control myself, Caulfield.”

David jumps in before Victoria can turn her bitch dial all the way up to eleven. “Where are you and Chloe going to be during all this?”

“We’ll be breaking into the NOAA Monitoring Station in Barview. There’s only one technician working there at night, and we’re going to force them to send a storm notice to the Tillamook Emergency Management Office. At roughly nine fifty, a storm warning SMS is going to go out to every mobile phone in the county, telling people to evacuate inland.”

“SMS warning,” David nods. “That’s not a bad idea.”

“You’re the one who came up with it, actually.”

“Oh.” David looks so fucking pleased with himself that I want to slap him, but even I have to admit it’s a pretty good idea.

“The next part was all Victoria.” Max turns to smile at her. “Before we head to Barview, Chloe and I are going to set up the bombs we made on the power lines running from Arcadia Bay’s electrical substation. After the SMS goes out, we’re going to wait for five minutes, then set off the bombs and cut power to the entire town.”

“That ought to freak some people out.” Victoria sounds way more amused than she probably should. “They won’t be able to get out of town fast enough.”

“That’s the idea. Unfortunately, it means the cell tower will go down, too. We won’t be able to contact each other or anyone else after that.

“David, after you’ve tipped off the police, you’ll need to start getting people off campus,” Max continues. “The students at Blackwell are going to need you and the rest of the school’s security staff to help them. A lot of them don’t have a way to get out of town, so you need to make sure the dorms are clear before doing anything else.”

“I’ll take care of it.” He nods, adding, “And if I see Nathan Prescott?”

I snort. “Leave him behind and let the storm eat him.”

“Chloe! I already said we’re n-”

“You can have it your way with Jefferson, Max, but I’m not going to give Nathan’s daddy the chance to buy his little freak out of trouble.” That little fuck murdered Rachel (andburiedherinthedirtbutdontthinkaboutthat). Did she think I was going to forget that? 

“He won’t. There’s more than enough evidence in the bunker to implicate Nathan. Not even his father could make that go away.”

“I don’t ca-”

“Nathan’s sick,” Victoria jumps in. “People like Jefferson and his father twisted him up inside. He should be in a hospital.” She takes a slow breath. “What happened to Rachel was fucking horrible, Chloe, but it was an accident. Even Max admitted that.”

“I’ll grab him, if I see him.” David doesn’t flinch under the glare Victoria sends his way. “If I see him, Ms. Chase. I’m not going to waste time looking for him. I have a feeling I’m going to have my hands full keeping people at Blackwell from panicking.”

“Oh, that reminds me,” Max says. “Taylor Christensen in room 224 is taking care of Kate’s pet rabbit, Alice. Make sure she doesn’t forget her.”

“She is?” There’s something kinda weird in Victoria’s voice. “Why?”

“She wanted to do something nice for Kate.”

David gives Max a bemused look but nods. “I’ll be sure to remind her.”

“You won’t have to,” Victoria smiles a very un-Victoria-like smile. “Tay loves animals. There’s no way in hell she’d leave that bunny behind.”

“You know, I actually got that impression from her,” Max grins. “Anyway, if everything goes right, Victoria will be safe and Jefferson will be in handcuffs before ten o’clock. The officers will probably want to get Victoria checked out at the hospital, just in case, and the rest of the ABPD is going to have its hands full with all the people leaving town. That’ll make it easy for Chloe and I to make our way out to the bunker.”

“What?” David blinks. “Why?”

“The two of us will be riding out the storm there.” She frowns. “Trust me, it’s not my first choice. I’d be happy if I never had to step foot in there again, but there’s still a possibility that the storm is directly connected to one or both of us. If there’s even the smallest chance that’s true, I don’t want to risk the storm showing up somewhere else just because we left Arcadia Bay. Chloe and I will be safest there.”

He gives her a scrutinizing look. “You’re really willing to risk your life to save Chloe?”

Wow. Thanks, you fucking dickbag.

He cringes. “Er...that came out wrong.”

“Yes, David, I am,” Max responds flatly, ignoring his lame non-apology. “I’m willing to do whatever it takes.”

“Seriously, she is.” Victoria holds up that letter of hers. “Future me made it pretty fucking clear that she’d tear down the sky to keep Chloe safe. And I kinda suspect she meant that literally.”

Hold on...what?

Okay, have you ever had one of those really stupid revelations? Like when something is super obvious and you already knew it, but suddenly you’re just super fucking aware of it? And there’s no sensible reason for you to be surprised, but you still are?

Because I just had one of those.

Max loves me. And I knew that (or at least really suspected it) except she actually, full-on, ride-or-die loves me.

When the week started, Max was just some girl I hadn’t heard from in a while (three years, ten months, and eight days since her last text message, but who’s fucking counting?) and who I didn’t expect to ever hear from again.

Yesterday she was an old friend that I was getting to know again. But even if we did fall into our old vibe pretty quickly, there was still a canyon-sized rift between us. At the time, I figured it would take a long while for us to fix that.

This morning, when the two of us woke up, I was almost ready to admit to myself that I still had a crush on her. Ten minutes later, she was kissing me like I’m her whole world.

And just a minute ago, I find out that she’d be ready to sacrifice her life...maybe the entire town...to save me. That’s pretty fucking intense coming from a girl who felt like the next best thing to a stranger just a couple of days ago.

I don’t know how I’m supposed to respond to something like that.

I’m not 100% sure I’m ready to.

Caesura

Chloe’s brooding.

She’s trying to hide it, but it’s pretty obvious that something’s bothering her. Maybe not obvious to everyone, but to me she might as well be wearing a sign around her neck that says, ‘I am not okay right now’. It’s not like I can blame her; she’s had a whole lot of really intense stuff dumped on her all at once. A lot of people would have fallen apart under a lot less. If she needs to be freaked out, then fair enough. She can be just as freaked out as she likes, and I’ll be here to support her.

For the moment, though, I try not to let my concern show. Whatever it is, I doubt she wants either David or Victoria to get involved. The two of us will have plenty of time to talk about it later.

“Anyway, I think that’s all we can do tonight,” I say, nodding to David’s car. “You two should get going. You’ve both got my phone number if anything happens, but otherwise just try to get some sleep. We’ve all got a big day tomorrow.”

As if on cue, Chloe gestures at the tree fort. “Uh...so I’m just gonna, y’know...”

“Go ahead.” I try to smile reassuringly. “I’ll be right up.”

“Right. Cool.”

David, who’s hung back while Victoria makes her way to the car, waits until Chloe’s out of sight before asking, “Is she going to be alright?”

I guess past-David is more perceptive than I gave him credit for. “I think so. She probably just needs to process everything. It’s a lot for anyone to take in.”

“I suppose.” He doesn’t sound convinced, but he doesn’t press the issue either. Looking up, he eyes our old pirate fort suspiciously. “Are you sure you two want to stay here tonight?”

“I’m sure. We should keep out of sight for as long as we can.” I have to chuckle at his dubious expression. “Seriously, David, we’ll be fine. We’ve got blankets and everything. Thanks for worrying, though.”

“Hm. Well, I’d best be getting Ms. Chase back to the dorms.” He snorts. “Or at least near enough to them. I hope she doesn’t mind walking a bit, because the last thing any of us need is someone seeing a female student in my car at this time of night.”

“You’re probably right. There’s one last thing, though.” I pull a folded sheet of paper from my pocket and hand it to him. Opening it, he eyes the crudely drawn map with confusion; I’m pretty sure that it wouldn’t mean a thing to him if I hadn’t written the words ‘American Rust’ at the top.

“What’s this?”

“Rachel Amber.”

“What about her?”

He doesn’t understand, but why would he? There aren’t a lot of people whose minds would jump to a conclusion like that. Raising my hand, I softly tap one finger on the paper. X marks the spot. “Rachel Amber.”

I watch the wheels in his head turn for a second, then his expression falls. Now he gets it. “This is where...?”

“Yeah.”

“Fuck.” I guess that’s a fair response. I mean, how else do you respond to something like this? “Does Chloe know?”

“No.” I glance back. “I’d like to keep it that way. She doesn’t need to see that.”

“Agreed.” He refolds the sheet, looking up at the tree fort again. “You really do care about her, don’t you?”

It’s a casual enough question, but I’m surprised to hear it from him. Even at his most relaxed, David was never very good at talking about feelings – his or anyone else’s. Still, he asked. “I’d ask her to marry me right now if I thought she’d say yes.”

“Oh.” His eyes widen a little; I don’t think he quite expected that. “You...uh...don’t think she would?”

“I should probably give her some time,” I admit. “After all, from her perspective, our first kiss was twelve hours ago.”

To my surprise, he lets out a faint chuff of laughter. “I knew guys in the service who didn’t even wait that long.”

“And how’d that work out for them?”

“Fair point.” He nods, gesturing to the folded map in his hand. “I’ll see that this gets to the right people.”

“I know you will. Good night, David.”

“Night.”

I watch his taillights until they’re out of sight before making my way up the ladder. A moment later, I’m closing the tree fort’s trap door and draping a thick blanket around myself. Chloe glances up from the small cooler she’s rooting through.

“So, what were you and step-douche talking about?”

“Tomorrow. And how much he hates light beer. But mostly tomorrow.”

She snorts, handing me a can of soda. Sitting down next to me, she pushes the cooler into the corner with one foot. “Y’know, I think that light beer might be one of, like, three things in the entire world he and I actually agree on.”

“What’re the other ones?”

“The sky is blue and water is wet, and I’m not totally sure about those ones.” Whatever changes in the world, some things stay constant. I really hope that the way Chloe’s eyes sparkle when she makes me laugh is one of those things. “Hey, do you remember the first time we spent the night up here? I felt so grown up and badass watching Dad drive away.”

“Yeah. I also remember the next morning when we found him asleep in the car behind those bushes.”

“Hey, he was cool. Not stupid,” she shrugs, popping the top of her own soda. “So, big day tomorrow, huh?”

“Pretty big,” I agree. “We’ll get through it.”

“Here’s hoping.” She pulls her own blanket out of the plastic bag they’d been hidden away in. “Probably gonna be chilly tonight.”

“Oh, I think we can find a way to keep warm.” I give her a wink. I’m surprised (and a little hurt) when she frowns and moves to lean against the wall. “Chloe?”

“I don’t...” She begins, not looking at me. “Look, I’m having some trouble wrapping my head around this.”

Damn it. The fact that she actually has cancer must’ve just hit home. I hate seeing her look so vulnerable and I really want to go give her a hug, but it’s pretty clear that’s not what she wants right now. “Hey, it’s going to be okay. We’re going to get you into treatment an-”

“It’s not that.” She frowns. “I mean, it’s not only that. It’s also this.” She gestures between us. “You and me.”

My heart clenches a little. Why does this feel like the start of one of those ‘we need to talk’ conversations? “What about us?”

“It’s...I dunno.” She rubs the back of her neck. “Okay, so the whole cancer thing is huge and scary and a little tough to accept, but the more I think about it, the more it lines up. Like, I can look back to before I started smoking and I can see how I got from there to here. Us, though?” She shrugs. “That kinda came out of nowhere.”

“Really?” I smile. “Haven’t you had a crush on me since you were thirteen?”

She looks up, startled. “What?! No!”

“That’s not what you told me,” I sing-song playfully, hoping to coax a smile out of her.

“No, I didn-” She stops, her eyes narrowing. “Stop that. It’s not fair.”

“Pretty sure all’s fair in love and war,” I tease, expecting her to laugh, or blush, or even just roll her eyes. Instead she gives me a look that borders on furious.

“I’m serious, Max! Cut it the fuck out!”

She’s upset. She’s actually, really upset with me, and the only thing more distressing is the fact that I didn’t notice. “I’m sorry. I was just teasing.”

“No, I’m sorry. It’s just...” Chloe takes a moment to rub her eyes. “Could you please try to look at this from my side? This time yesterday, I was sneaking into the pool at Blackwell with an old friend I haven’t seen in five years. Now I’m sitting in a treehouse with...who, exactly? My best friend? My girlfriend?”

It’s a good question. Am I her girlfriend? Is she mine? I want her to be, but she’s right. Whether I like it or not, the Chloe sitting across from me hasn’t seen me in years. “I don’t know.”

“Could’ve fooled me. Because the way you look at me? The way you talk to me? It’s like you think we’re already...” She looks away. “I care about you, Max. And whatever this thing happening between us is, it feels amazing, but...”

“But?”

“It was something Victoria said earlier, about what future her wrote.” She swallows, picking at the threadbare rug that covers most of the floor. “That you’d tear down the sky to save me.”

“I would, you know.” I meant it to be reassuring, but Chloe’s face practically goes white.

“Holy fuck, Max. Do you even hear yourself? Do you have the slightest idea how intense that sounds? Because I haven’t seen you in years, we’ve been back together for two days, and now you’re saying you’d break the world to protect me?” She laughs, a little hysterically. “What am I supposed to say to something like that?”

She’s right. I know she is, and the last thing I want to do is overwhelm her. But just the idea that Chloe doesn’t love me as much as I love her makes me want to cry.

“On top of that,” she continues. “Whenever you start saying shit like that I start to wonder who you see when you look at me. Do you see who I actually am, or are you seeing the girl that died? Because I feel like I’m being measured against all these shiny memories you’ve got of us being together and I don’t know how I’m supposed to compete with that.”

“They’re not...” My discomfort must be all over my face, because Chloe picks up on it in a heartbeat.

“What’s wrong?”

“It’s nothing.”

“Stop that. Talk to me.”

“It’s just...they aren’t all happy memories. A lot of them are things I wish I could forget. Like laying in bed and listening to you stifle your coughs at night. I had to pretend to be asleep because you’d get so upset if you thought you’d woken me up. Or how sick your chemotherapy could make you; you kept throwing up and lost so much weight that I could count your ribs.”

“I...oh.”

“I remember when your hair started falling out and you couldn’t stop crying.” I reach out to brush my fingertips over Chloe’s blue locks. She closes her eyes at the casual intimacy, just for a second. Then she remembers herself and flinches away, leaving me feeling a little cold.

“All I’m trying to say,” I continue, slowly. “Is that I’d much rather make new memories than hold on to the old ones.”

“See, that might sound reassuring to you, but what I hear is ‘hey Chloe, you get to try and make up for two years of memories with better ones! Don’t fuck it up!’, which is really fucking intimidating!

“This isn’t a competition, Chloe! Or...or a test you can fail!” I feel a flare of annoyance. “Why are you acting like this?”

"I dunno, Max! Maybe I don't feel like being a stand-in for your last girlfriend!"

"Well maybe I never wanted to feel like a stand-in for Rachel Amber!" The words are out before I have a chance to stop them, and I can already feel my hand twitching, ready to take them back. But I refuse to do it. I want Chloe to know she can trust me, and that means having to live with my screw-ups. "I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have said that."

Chloe’s staring at me like I slapped her, her mouth working silently as she tries to muster a response.

“Seriously, I'm so sorr-”

“Did I really make you feel that way? Like I was just replacing Rachel with you?”

“No,” I admit. “I mean, not on purpose. But she was Rachel Amber. You loved her so much and I guess I sometimes wondered if I really measured up.”

“Then you know how I’m feeling right now. Except I’m being held up against myself and I don’t know if that makes it better or worse.”

“I swear you’re not, Chloe. There’s only one you.” I raise a hand when she starts to interrupt. “I know it doesn’t look that way from where you’re standing, but that’s just because you don’t see all the minutes and days between now and then. There’re no different versions of you. Just one girl that I’m absolutely crazy about.”

She still looks hesitant, but she’s not arguing, and I’ll take what I can get.

“If you’re afraid of somehow doing things wrong, don’t be. Don’t even think it. There’s no wrong way for you to do this.” I pause, very reluctantly adding, “I mean, if you still want to do anything.”

“I do,” she says, a little hesitantly. “Cause, y’know...” She gestures at me (mostly below the neck) with a slightly lecherous smile. “...damn.”

“Wow.” I laugh as the tension in the air fades away. “Way to bust out the romance, Chloe Price.”

She rolls her eyes and flips me the bird. “Bite me.”

Smiling, I stretch my leg out and kick her foot. “Brat.”

The two of us lapse into a surprisingly comfortable silence. I can hear the sounds of crickets chirping outside, and it strikes me just how much I enjoy being with her. Not doing anything or running from one place to another; just sitting and being together, happily listening to her breathe and content just knowing she’s nearby.

I missed this.

Lost in my thoughts, I’m not sure how much time passes before I feel her nudge my foot back. “Hey, Max?”

“Yeah?”

“The thing is, I like you. I really do. I have since...well...you know. And I want to give whatever this is a chance to go somewhere.” She sighs. “All I’m asking is that we pump the brakes a little. Slow down and let find my balance. Is that cool?”

I can’t believe she thinks she needs my permission to take things at her own pace. “Of course it is, Clo. Whatever you need.”

“Thanks, Max. Seriously.” Shivering a little, she draws her blanket tight around her shoulders. “Okay, look, I meant everything I just said, and I’m not trying to send mixed messages or anything...”

“But?”

“But it is getting kinda cold.”

“Uh-huh.” Smirking, I hold my blanket open and try not to laugh when she scoots over and presses into my side. “Better?”

“Mhm.” She nods. “So...uh...what were we doing tonight? The first time around, I mean. More fun-filled breaking and entering? Or were we just chilling like the old days?”

Damn it. Of all the questions she could have asked, she hits right on one of the things I’d been hoping to avoid until all this was over and we could talk about it properly. I’ve already had to tell her she has cancer, that Rachel is dead, and the truth about Rachel and Frank.

When I came back to save Chloe’s life, I didn’t think I’d have to spend so much time breaking her heart.

“Sort of.” It’s a pretty shit attempt at avoiding the subject.

“What’s that mean?”

I sigh. “It means that I have to tell you something else, and I don’t know how you’re going to take it. But I already screwed up with Rachel and I don’t want to keep any more secrets than I have to.”

“What do y-”

“It’s about your dad,” I interrupt, feeling her stiffen against me. “And about just how fast good intentions can come back to bite you.”

 

 

-------------------

END PART VII

-------------------

Casual Terrorism


 

Chloe: im giving u one time permission to go into my room

Chloe: like u ever cared before

Chloe: but i need u to grab something for us

David: And what is that, exactly?

Chloe: loose floorboard in the closet

Chloe: we need whats under it

David: Fine. Hang on.

David: Are these firecrackers?!

Chloe: no theyre fucking candy canes

Chloe: just bring em

Chloe: and try not to bust my balls when u get here

 


 

Oct 10, 2013 - [9:30 am]
Highway 101
Just south of Seaside, Oregon

Generally speaking, Chloe’s not a quiet person. She’s always been animated by nature, and even being completely baked can’t keep her from being a chatterbox. So, on the rare occasions that she is still and quiet, it’s safe to assume that there’s a good reason for it.

The first time we sat down and really talked about her dad and the alternate timeline, about two weeks after Arcadia Bay was lost, her response had been to go out to the backyard and chain-smoke an entire pack of cigarettes in silence. I’d been terrified that I might’ve just driven her away, but when she’d finally come back inside, weary looking and stinking of smoke, the first thing she’d done was pull me into a hug and whisper ‘I understand’.

We spoke about it a couple more times over the next year, and a bunch more after she made her decision to die. She talked about understanding the other Chloe better at the end, and about how no one can really understand wanting to die like that until they’re faced with that choice for themselves.

She never told me that she forgave me for not choosing to save her dad. I don’t know whether that was because she hadn’t, or because she didn’t think there was anything to forgive. I was always too scared to ask.

Last night I’d been more than a little afraid of setting her off again. Her temper was on such a hair trigger in these early days, with layers upon layers of abandonment issues leaving her ready to lash out at the first sign of betrayal, and this Chloe doesn’t have the benefit of several months of trauma therapy. I’m ashamed to admit that I was tempted to keep the whole thing to myself. But trust is so important to her, and even when she begrudgingly accepts that I’m not telling her everything, that wouldn’t make it alright to lie to her.

She kept her cool, though. It hadn’t been easy, and we’d both cried more than once. She asked a lot more questions this time, and even laughed a little at the thought of Victoria practically begging to help me with my homework. And although I kept waiting for her to ask me to bring her dad back, whatever the consequences, she never did.

We’d eventually gone to sleep, and deep down I’d hoped that we’d gotten through it alright. Apparently not, though, because she’s been gazing silently out the truck's passenger window ever since we left Arcadia Bay and it’s not hard to guess why. And while I’d usually be more than willing to give her the time she needs to mull it over, time isn’t a luxury we have to spare right now.

The irony of that isn’t lost on me.

Taking my eyes off the road for a second, I glance at her. “How’s it going over there?”

“Hm?” She looks over and offers me a slight shrug. “Oh. I’m good.”

“I’m a pretty good driver, you know. I’m not going to crash your truck.”

“I know.”

“So what’s on your mind?”

She shrugs again. “I was just thinking about that other timeline.”

Color me shocked. “Want to share?”

“I just...I dunno,” she sighs. “I can’t believe I was so selfish.”

Well, that’s new. “Chloe, you weren’t...”

“Yeah, I was,” she interrupts. “I keep wondering if I...she even thought about the consequences. She didn’t know you could undo it all. Did she even care that you could’ve gone to prison? That you’d have been throwing your whole life away? And even if you could’ve gotten away with it, what kind of bitch would ask someone they care about to just sit there and watch them die?”

I try to suppress it, but some expression must flash across my face. Enough for her to notice, at least.

“What?”

“Red light.”

Her eyes widen. “Again?”

Red light. It’s something we came up with when we woke up this morning, just before David arrived with the money, the firecrackers, and a foul expression. I promised Chloe that I wouldn’t lie to her, even if I didn’t tell her everything, but that didn’t mean I wanted to go through the whole song and dance of explaining that everytime something came up that I wasn’t ready to discuss, or that she wasn’t ready to hear.

Things like medically-assisted suicide.

So instead, I’ll say ‘red light’. A quick, two-word way of telling her that the topic she just brushed up against is something that I don’t want to talk about and she’s happier not knowing, at least for now. It’s not a denial; just a deferral until after all this is over. We’ll have plenty of time to talk about all of it later on. Years and years, if I have anything to say about it.

But as much as it’s made things run smoother, I’m getting really tired of having to say it.

“Yeah,” I say. “Again. Sorry.”

“Jesus, how fucked-up was the future?”

“Enough that I risked everything to come back and change it,” I remind her, not unkindly, nodding to the ‘Welcome To Seaside’ sign as we pass it. “We’ll be there in about five minutes.”

Like that, the subject is dropped with an unspoken promise to come back to it later. Pulling her backpack out from under the bench seat, Chloe retrieves the envelope of cash that David reluctantly handed her earlier and starts flipping through it. “Y’know, I’m surprised you’re not just going to rewind the stuff we need right out of the store.”

“That’s exactly what I’m going to do, actually,” I laugh. I’ve been looking forward to this part.

“Then why’d you have David grab the cash?”

“Because it was going to get buried either way. I’m sure we’ll find a use for it after all this is over.”

She stares at me, wide eyed. “Seriously?”

“Yup.”

“Free money?”

“Basically.”

“Have I told you how awesome you are?”

I give her a quick wink. “You could stand to mention it more.”

 


 

Warren: Hey-o, Max-o!

Warren: Guess who went on a date last night?

Warren: THIS GUY RIGHT HERE!

Max: WHAAAAT! That’s awesome! Go Warren!

Warren: You were totally right about Brooke. We started talking yesterday afternoon and ended up getting dinner at the Two Whales.

Warren: We’re going to the drive-in tonight. Late night double-feature picture show!

Max: Second date already? Go you.

Warren: What can I say? The ladies love me.

Warren: Well, the ladies that don’t love other ladies, at least. :P

Max: Haha! Calm down, Casanova!

Warren: BTW, Brooke said something about how you talked to her, too. Thank you! You are truly Blackwell’s love guru and I bow to your wisdom.

Max: You learn well, grasshopper.

Max: Enjoy going ape.

Max: But not TOO ape. It’s just the second date. ;)

 


 

Oct 10, 2013 - [11:20 am]
Seaside, Oregon

I move through the hardware store quickly, basket in hand, grabbing the things we’ll need. The shopping list isn’t too long, but it's definitely unusual, and I want to limit the amount of time I have to rewind. Especially since it's going to take me more than one trip to get everything to the truck; I’ll never be able to carry everything in one go.

I decide to start with the heaviest stuff and work my way down, which means I do my first rewind with fifteen pounds of steel towing chain over my shoulder and a six-pound pair of bolt cutters in my hands. It’s closer to the maximum carrying limit Victoria and I tested than I’d like, but I still want to do this in as few trips as possible. The remaining loads should be easier, which is nice considering I already feel a little winded from the first. Twenty-one pounds doesn’t sound like a lot, until you have to drag it backward through time. 

“Miss? Miss, you need to pay for those!” Ignoring the cashier’s shouts as I walk right out the front doors, I wind the clock back to before I first went in, dump the items in the truck bed, and grin at Chloe’s surprised expression. From her perspective, I've only been gone for a few seconds.

Without going into the details, the next two trips contain a bunch of alarmingly common items and chemicals that (once they’ve been properly combined) should make for a decent explosive. I feel incredibly conspicuous carrying it all around, like I’ve got a sign around my neck that says ‘Look, everyone! I’m building a bomb!’.

Placing them in the truck with everything else, I take a moment to catch my breath. Even split into multiple trips, all the extra cargo is wearing on me. So much for my future career as a time travelling courier. That’s a shame, because ‘guaranteed delivery before you actually sent it’ is a pretty great slogan.

The second to last trip is kind of a grab bag of stuff; cable ties, work gloves, ski masks (which they sell here, for some reason), tape, soldering iron, a small spool of wire, a hot glue gun, a car power inverter...you get the idea. By the time I’ve got it all in the truck, I’ve actually broken a sweat. That hasn’t happened in a while, and it’s got nothing to do with the physical effort. The stuff isn’t that heavy.

Chloe’s giving me a suspicious look, but I walk away before she can say anything, and she knows there’s no point in following me.

I’ve saved the most questionable item for last, and I definitely get a funny look from the guy in the plumbing section when I ask him to cut me some short lengths of steel pipe. I play it off pretty well, though, telling him that I'm making some miniature tide buoys for a science project. He just accepts it, no questions asked. He even recommends some good endcaps and a fast-curing sealant.

I’m pretty sure he’d have called the cops if I were a guy, and I’m torn between being relieved and a little offended that he didn’t suspect I was up to something.

I’m feeling pretty tired when I get back to the truck. While this little shopping trip only took about twenty seconds to the rest of the world (Chloe included), I’ve been at it for nearly an hour. Chloe doesn’t even ask before snatching the truck keys out of my hand. “I’m driving. You chill.”

I’m in no mood to argue, setting into the passenger seat. The rumble of her old truck’s engine is surprisingly soothing, and I don’t even realize I’m dozing off until I’m suddenly woken by Chloe dropping a convenience store shopping bag in my lap. Inside are the last things we need; a pair of cheap cell phones, one of which is going to act as our remote detonator.

“It’s already set up,” she says, before I can ask. “The most common prepaid plan, paid for in cash. I felt kind of dumb paying for a hundred minutes of talk-time, since we’re only going to need half a second.”

“Better to be inconspicuous,” I remind her. This is the riskiest purchase, since it’s the only one I can’t rewind away. If I tried, we’d just end up with a couple of inactive SIM cards again. “They didn’t ask for ID, did they?”

“These guys don’t get paid enough to give a shit, so I slipped the dude an extra hundred and told him I ‘forgot’ it.” She grins, obviously pleased with herself. “Never thought I’d have enough free cash to straight up pay someone off. Felt kinda badass.”

Her smile is infectious. “Quite the criminal mastermind, aren’t you?”

“Damn straight.” She starts the truck, reaching into the bag to retrieve a candy bar and accidentally (I think?) brushing her hand against my thigh. “So, back to home base?”

“Yup,” I nod, dropping the bag to the floor. “It’s arts and crafts time.”

 


 

Victoria: The police came by Blackwell this morning asking questions about you. About Price, too.

Max: Crap. Did they talk to you? What did you tell them?

Victoria: Oh, everything. They’re on their way to your little tree fort right now with helicopters and swat teams.

Max: I’m serious.

Victoria: I told them we barely know each other and that I couldn’t care less about where you are and what you’re doing.

Victoria: Basically, the truth.

Max: Just be careful, okay?

Victoria: Gee, thanks for the tip.

 


 

“This is so messed up,” Chloe mutters, leaning over me as I solder a wire tip onto the cell phone’s electronic guts. “Remember when arts and crafts was all crayons and construction paper?”

“I mostly remember you going to town with the glitter.” I smile, glancing up at her. “I definitely remember washing sparkly bits out of my hair for a week.”

“Yeah,” she murmurs. “Still, I can’t believe someone can just buy the stuff to make a bomb.”

“Try not to overthink it.”

I’m trying to sound casual, but I know how she feels. I was a little unnerved myself when I learned how easy it was to build a remote-triggered bomb. When they say you can make one out of stuff laying around the house, they’re not kidding.

“I mean, I know this is all for a good cause, but holy shit,” she continues. “You’re not worried about the FBI coming after you or something?”

“Why would they? Even if anyone did go looking for evidence of a bomb, this thing is going to be blown into a zillion pieces and swept away by the storm.”

“I guess.” Chloe leans in a little closer, fascinated by the sight of me building a remote detonator out of a cheap cell phone and some spare electronic parts. I’m sure I make it look easy, but that’s just because I spent hours upon hours assembling, rewinding, then re-assembling the same device at Victoria’s kitchen table. It took me over a hundred tries before I made one that worked like it was supposed to, and almost as long before I could do it twice in a row. At this point, it’s practically muscle memory.

“Chloe?”

“Yeah?” she responds, her lips practically next to my ear. We made a point of stopping at Seaside’s community pool to get cleaned up, and she’s close enough that I can smell the shower soap on her skin. It’s a little distracting.

“I’m kinda building a bomb here.”

“I know.”

“Think you could give me a little space?”

“Huh?” She blinks, then skips back a couple of steps. “Shit! Sorry!”

“It’s okay,” I laugh. “I remember how much you love your explosions.”

It’s been a long time since we were blowing up Barbie dolls in her bedroom (five years for Chloe; seven for me) but she’s just as enthusiastic now as she was then.

For all her comments on how unsettlingly easy bomb-making is, she was practically bouncing with excitement watching me mix the chemicals together and add the powder from the firecrackers. She’d insisted on stirring the baking flour in herself, donning a pair of latex gloves and kneading the dirty grey slop into something more like raw cookie dough.

When the time came to test our mix, she’d practically begged to set it up herself. Putting a small spoonful in a sandwich bag and sticking a small firecracker into it, she’d placed it behind a large rock and gleefully lit the fuse, cackling with delight when the small explosion sent a spray of dirt and twigs into the air.

“There.” I hold up one of the lengths of pipe. Wires run into either end of it from the heavily modified cell phone glued to its side, and another set of longer wires run to the other two pipes. “All done.”

She nods slowly, opening her mouth to speak.

“And yes, Chloe,” I continue before she can say anything. “When the time comes, I’ll let you set them off.”

The smile on her face makes my heart do a little flip. “Sick.”

 


 

Max: You’re awesome, smart, brave, and beautiful. Just FYI.

Max: I think you’re a little closer than six feet away, actually. ;)

Max: Because I really, really missed being able to text you.

Max: And now I can again! :))))))))

Max: You can look at me like that all you want but this is making me really happy. :P

Max: Oh, yeah? Well, what about this?

Max: <sackedbyrunningdog.gif>

Max: I know, right? >_<

Max: Fine. Go ahead. (-_-)

Chloe: NO EMOJI!!!

 


 

Oct 10, 2013 - [4:52 pm]
Utility District Substation
Just outside Arcadia Bay, Oregon

“What the hell is taking so long?” Chloe groans quietly, for what has to be the fiftieth time.

“Relax. It’s almost five o’clock.” I nod toward the half-dozen men in orange vests. “See? They’re already packing up their tools.”

“And taking their sweet ass time doing it.”

Privately, I’m just as annoyed as she is. We’ve been here for hours, waiting for the county utilities crew we found working right next to our goal to finish up and leave. “Just be patient, okay?”

“Fine,” she huffs. A minute later, she asks, “Hey, you know what I keep wondering?”

“What’s that?”

“This might be weird, but I wonder what I was doing right now in the old timeline. Like, if I somehow ended up doing the same thing at the same time, would I feel some kind of weird déjà vu?”

“Huh. That’s actually a pretty good question,” I admit. “But not one I want to test. Today was stressful enough the first time around.”

She snorts. “We’re about to commit domestic terrorism, Maximus. What could possibly be more stressful than that?”

Watching her get stabbed by Frank. Watching her shoot Frank. Watching her get mauled by a dog. Watching her overdose on morphine. Watching her find the photos of Rachel. Watching her dig up her lost friend’s rotting corpse with her bare hands. Watching her with actual, real murder in her eyes. Watching her head snap backward, her body falling gracelessly over Rachel’s.

“Just stuff. Don’t worry about it.”

“Oh, come on.”

I sigh, glancing over at her. “Red lights.”

“Son of a...” she pauses. “Did you just say red lights? As in, more than one?”

“Way more than one.” I check my watch. “Though if I remember right, right now we were watching Nathan Prescott get the ever-loving shit kicked out of him by Warren.”

“Warren? As in Warren Graham?”

I shrug. “Turns out he packs a pretty mean punch.”

“Fucking unreal. First you, then Kate, and now Warren? Any other secret badasses around here you wanna tell me about?”

“If I did that, they wouldn’t be a secret anymore, would they?” Grinning, I point to the departing utilities truck. “Looks like we’re all clear.”

“Fucking finally! Time to go set up some bombs!” she pauses, blinking. “Which really isn’t something I ever thought I’d hear myself say."

“Oh, you love it.”

“Yes, I do, Max o’ Mine.” Grinning, she gently lifts the bag containing our homemade party favors. “Yes, I do.”

 


 

Max: Finished our errands.

David: Got it.

David: By the way, a friend at the ABPD just told me that they received an anonymous tip this morning. Rachel Amber’s body was discovered at the scrapyard.

David: She’s been taken to the Tillamook County Coroner’s office.

David: Just thought you’d want to know.

Max: Thank you, David.

David: I wish someone could have helped her.

Max: I know. I do, too.

 

 

 

Peaceful Solutions

Oct 10, 2013 - [6:03 pm]
Just outside Arcadia Bay, Oregon

Setting up the bombs was relatively easy, but not fast. We took our time, making sure they were all secure, properly placed, and well-hidden. We checked and re-checked all the details, and it was an hour until we were completely satisfied. Thankfully, we didn’t run into any trouble while we were there.

Our luck didn't last, though; it turns out trouble was waiting for us back to the truck.

“Are you fucking kidding me?” Chloe mutters, glowering at both the RV blocking her truck, and at the man leaning against it. “What do you want, Frank?”

“So here I am, driving along, and what should I see?” Frank Bowers drawls, pushing off the side of his rolling home. Dropping a cigarette in the dirt, he grinds it out with one heel and gestures to the pickup. “Chloe Price’s personal shitmobile.”

“I asked, what the fuck do you want?” Chloe growls.

“What the hell do you think I want, brat? I want my goddamn money.”

I’d love for Chloe to keep her cool right now, but I know better than to think she actually will. That’s why I’m not particularly surprised when she pulls the envelope of cash from her pocket and waves it at him. “It’s right here, motherfucker! And this is as close as you’re ever gonna get to it!”

Maybe Frank will actually be reasonable?

“You little bitch! You gimme that cash right fucking now!”

I guess not.

“Blow me, Francis!”

Maybe I should try to de-escalate this situation?

“Yeah? How about I just break your fucking arm and take it!”

Too late.

Chloe’s eyes flash angrily, and her gun is leveled on Frank before I can say a word. “Fucking try it, dickless.”

“Oh, we’re doing this again, are we?” He snorts. “How about we just skip to the part where you bitch out, drop the empty gun, and give me that mone-”

The gun barks and a bullet shatters the RV’s side-view mirror.

“Holy shit, you crazy bitch! What the fuck are y-”

The next bullet buries itself in the side of the RV. Inside, I can hear Pompidou start barking wildly. It sounds like he’s back in Frank’s bedroom, though, well away from where Chloe’s aiming.

“Call me a bitch again, Frank. I fucking dare you.”

“Alright! Fuck!” Raising his hands, Frank takes a deliberate step back. “I’m sorry!”

“You’re sorry,” she echoes.

“Yeah. I got pissed, but I’m cool now. Shit doesn’t have to go down like this. Just put the gun away so we can talk, okay?”

“Talk,” Chloe murmurs, staring at him over the sights. The silence stretches out for a long, tense minute. “You really want to talk?”

He looks relieved. He really shouldn’t be. “Yeah, I really want to talk.”

“Okay, let’s talk.” She slowly pulls the hammer back. “Tell me you didn’t take her from me.”

He blinks. “The fuck is that supposed to m-”

She fires again. The round hits less than a foot from Frank’s head and he drops to the ground, gawking up at Chloe in disbelief. “Let’s try that again, Frank. Tell me you didn’t take her from me.”

“I don’t kno-”

“Don’t you dare bullshit me,” she interrupts, “Tell me it wasn’t happening while me and Rachel were still together.”

Frank’s eyes go wide. “I...”

Tell me you weren’t fucking her while she was with me!” Chloe screams. The next shot punches a hole in the RV’s tire and digs a bloody furrow in Frank’s arm on its way.

“Fuck!” he howls, clutching the wound. “You fucking shot me!”

“Not yet, I haven’t.” She snarls. “Now fucking answer me.”

He opens his mouth to speak, but nothing comes out. He’s obviously terrified for his life (which is smart, because he probably should be) and thinking there’s no right answer (which is also smart, because there probably isn’t). After a second, he glances in my direction. “What the fuck?! Do something!”

“I’m pretty sure this one is on you, Frank,” I comment, raising my hand a little, ready to rewind if Chloe actually puts a bullet somewhere important. The motion must have caught her attention, because she turns to look at me.

“Hey, Max?”

“Yeah?”

“You’d just take it back, wouldn’t you?”

“...yeah,” I admit, adding, “Sorry.”

“S’fine,” she sighs, lowering the gun. “Didn’t really wanna kill him, anyway.”

“You sure? You could just shoot him in the leg or something.”

“What the fuck is wrong with you two?!”

“Shut it!” Chloe snaps, putting a round in the dirt between his legs. Frank wisely shuts it. “It’s kinda tempting, but I wouldn’t remember anyway. Just do your thing.”

“Okay.” I give her a sympathetic smile that she won’t remember either, then I wind the clock back to before things got out of hand.

“...fuck do you want?” Chloe growls.

“What the hell do you think I want, brat? I want my goddamn mon-”

“Back off, Frank,” I interrupt, stepping between them.

“Oh, it’s you.” He snorts. “What, no gun this time? I’m insulted.”

“I don’t need a gun to deal with you.”

“Whatever.” He moves to shove me aside. “Get the fuck outta my w-omph!”

It’s weird how no one ever sees a gut punch coming. People always expect someone to swing at their face, but why would I hurt my hand (again) punching Frank in the head when I can hit him in his nice, soft stomach instead? Gasping, as much from shock as from pain, he stumbles backward.

I skip back, keeping my fists up. “We’re not looking for trouble.”

“Yeah?” he growls. “Well, you fucking found it!” He comes at me swinging, for all the good it does him. A flick of my wrist halts his fist in midair. I rewind things a few seconds, back to when he was still moving backward, and try again.

“Back off,” I repeat. “It doesn’t have to go down like this.”

This time he doesn’t even answer before he swings; I stop it and roll things back to before I hit him.

“...no gun this time? I’m insulted.”

“Take it easy, Frank. Let’s all try and stay calm.”

“I’ll be plenty calm, so long as I get my fucking three grand!” He glares past me to Chloe. “I want what you fucking owe me, Price!”

“What I owe you?” she shouts from somewhere behind me. “Here’s what I fucking owe y-”

I start the rewind before she can draw her gun. As things reverse, I idly wonder how much shorter this conversation would be without all the swearing.

I wish there were a way we could avoid Frank altogether, but who knows how long he’s been waiting here for us? Any rewind longer than a few minutes will mean having to go back to get Chloe, and anything more than an hour will undo all the explosives we just placed. It’s easier to deal with this here.

“...no gun this time? I’m insulted.”

“Let’s just talk this out, okay?”

“Fuck off,” he growls, trying to shove me again. I shove back. He swings at me, I stop it, and the whole process repeats.

I try to talk him down a couple more times, but he’s not listening and I’m actually getting kind of winded. Grumbling, I go back to a second before he tried to shove me and let the rewind go.

Sorry, Frank, but we don’t have time for this.

Like before, he never sees the shot to the gut coming. I doubt I’d have gotten away with it if I were a grown man; he just doesn’t expect a teenage girl to go on the attack like that. But unlike the first time we did this, I’m not trying to give him a warning. I throw everything I’ve got into the punch, driving my fist right into the soft spot under his ribs and sending the air rushing from his lungs.

He clutches his stomach, doubling over at the waist. As he does, I step in and swing my fist in a tight, fast right hook.

There’s a sweet spot, right at corner of the jaw, that fighters call ‘the button’. There’s this whole myth about how there’s a nerve cluster there and hitting it will instantly knock someone unconscious.

It’s not actually true; people don’t have an off switch. Forget what you’ve seen in the movies; you can’t safely knock someone out. Getting knocked unconscious is really, really bad. If you hit someone over the head really hard and they fall motionless to the ground, it’s probably because you killed them.

But even if the nerve cluster thing is nonsense, the reason people still believe in it is because getting hit right on that spot hurts like a motherfucker. It feels like someone took out your brain, shook it really hard, and put it back in upside down. And that’s definitely how Frank looks as he staggers back with a low moan, stunned, waving his arm in front of him as he tries to regain his balance.

I don’t give him a chance to find it. Lunging forward, I grab his right arm and hold it tight across my chest. One of the other girls at the boxing gym showed me this; it’s probably one of the simplest throws in the world, but damn does it work.

Swinging my right leg around Frank’s, I stomp down between his feet and shove as hard as I can against his left shoulder. The stomping motion slams my leg into the back of his and his knee instantly gives out. Suddenly way off balance, he can’t push back against my shove and his upper body goes where I tell it to go. In this case, right into the dirt.

He hits the ground with a faint ‘oof’, as what little air he had left in his lungs makes a quick exit. Inside the RV, Pompidou starts barking up a storm again.

Before he can even think of catching his breath, I lever his arm around until Frank rolls onto his stomach with a wheeze. Making sure his face is turned away from Chloe, I ruthlessly jam his arm up behind his back, pin it with one knee and lean down to his ear. “If you wanna live, you’ll listen close.”

Frank Bowers is a lot of things, but he’s not suicidal. He’s gasping, probably seeing stars, and there’s no way in hell he’s got the leverage to get free. With a grunt, he gives me an almost imperceptible nod.

“I’m going to make this simple. Chloe has a loaded gun, and she knows about you and Rachel.” His eyes widen and I feel him tense up. “You’re definitely not her favorite person right now, so do you really think it’s a good idea to provoke her?”

He hesitates, then shakes his head slightly.

“Me either. That’s why you’re going to forgive that debt of hers so I can convince her to call it even.”

“The fu-”

“Write off three grand, and you won’t have to worry about getting shot in the back one day. Sounds like a pretty good deal to me.”

“...fine,” he mutters, eventually.

“Smart move. Now I’m going to let you up, and you’re going to keep your cool. You start talking shit or try to cause trouble? You’ll end up right back here. And if you even think about trying to hurt Chloe?” I reach into his pocket for his switchblade, snapping it open right in front of his face. “I swear to god I’ll make you wish she’d shot you.”

He turns his head as much as he can, peering me from the corner of his eye, like he’s trying to judge how serious I am. A few seconds later, he mutters, “Got it.”

I stand up, taking a few steps back as Frank climbs slowly to his feet. “We good here, Frank?”

He glowers at me for a second, then gives a curt nod. “Yeah. We’re good.”

“The debt?”

He turns to Chloe, who’s been watching slack-jawed the whole time, and I can practically hear his teeth grind. “Forget it.”

“W-what...the fuck...” Chloe stammers, her eyes jumping from me to Frank, then back. I have to remind myself that from her perspective, the entire ‘fight’ took less than a minute. Only about six seconds, actually, if you don’t include me and Frank’s little chat at the end.

“You okay?” I ask.

“Am I okay?! Are you kidding me?! Holy shit, Max! That was fucking epic! You fucking dropped him!” Cackling, she turns to Frank, who’s gingerly rubbing his jaw. “She fucking dropped you! Who’s the bitch now, Frank? Huh? Who’s the bitch now?”

He glares at her, then glances to me. I briefly consider making him say it, but there’s no need to be an asshole. He’s holding up his end of the deal and he knows what’ll happen if he pushes his luck. That’s enough for me.

“Come on, Chloe,” I say, pulling her toward the truck. “We’re done here.”

“Hear that, Frank?! We’re fucking done!”

“Chloe...”

“Alright, alright.” Pulling her door open, she gives him one last sickly-sweet smile. “Bye, Francis!”

She’s in the truck before I can say anything, the little smartass. Before I join her, I look back to the RV. “Hey Frank?”

“Fucking what?” he groans, his hand on the door handle.

“Catch.” I toss his switchblade back to him, and he snatches it out of the air. “A word of advice? Keep your phone close tonight. And be ready to get out of town in a hurry.”

“That a threat, kid?” I clench my fists and take a step toward him; he actually flinches. “Fuck, alright! Chill!”

“It’s a warning. When the time comes, get out of town.”

“When what time comes?” he asks, doubtfully.

“When it happens, you’ll know.”

“Oh, is that right?” He crosses his arms, some of his bluster returning.

“You better. Because by this time tomorrow, anyone who doesn’t will be long dead.” I snap my fingers, pointing to the RV. “Now get that thing out of our way.”

I climb into the truck before he can respond, buckle my seatbelt, and look up to find a much calmer Chloe than I expected to see. She doesn’t say anything; just looks at me quietly, an odd kind of thoughtfulness in her eyes.

“You okay?” I ask, and she nods. “...something on your mind?”

After a few more quiet seconds, she says, “You didn’t kill him.”

“What?!” I cry, shocked that she’d think I might. “Of course I didn’t!”

“You could’ve.” Before I can respond, she adds, “Don’t argue. We both know you could’ve. But you didn’t.”

The sound of Frank’s RV pulling away is all that breaks the silence as I try to figure out what she means.

“Did I shoot him?” she asks, eventually.

“No.”

“I wanted to. After what you told me. About h-him...” Her voice breaks a little. “...him and Rachel. I thought about it, while we were standing there.”

“You didn’t.” She looks unconvinced. “You shot his side mirror, put two bullets in the side of the RV, and shot out one of his tires.” I hesitate. “Though that last one did graze his arm, so I guess you shot him a little.”

“Oh.”

“I made sure Pompidou was okay, though,” I add. “He was in the back, barking like crazy.”

The tiniest hint of a smile tugs at the corner of her lips before she turns serious again. “Would you have let me kill him?”

“No, never!” I insist, taking her hand. “I was ready to rewind the whole time.”

“You’re still watching out for me, aren’t you?”

“Alwa-” She doesn’t let me finish before she leans in to wrap her arms around me.

“Thank you,” she whispers, squeezing me tightly.

“You don’t need to thank me. I’d never let anything happen to you.”

“No. Thank you for being you.” She leans back a little, her eyes shining. “It’s been years and you’re so different and I was afraid you’d be completely different but you’re still you.”

“I...am?”

“Mhm.” She nods, just slightly. “You’re Max. You’re my Max, who rolls her eyes at my crappy jokes, and tries to keep me from doing stupid shit, and watches me shoot at a drug dealer without letting me kill him and somehow still finds time to make sure his dumb dog is safe.” She laughs and pulls me close again. “I really, really missed you, Max. I didn’t know how much until I saw you again.”

Since I got here, it’s the first time she’s said that without sounding a little upset. It’s like she’s finally happy that I’m back instead of angry that I was gone. “I’m sor-”

“No more apologizing.” She lightly jabs my shoulder with one finger. “You traveled two years back in time to save my chain-smoking ass. We’re square, okay?”

“I guess...”

“We are,” she insists. “No arguing.”

“Fine,” I say, reluctantly.

“Good.” She pauses thoughtfully. “Hey, Max?”

“Yeah?”

“Are you doing okay?”

“I’m fine.” It seems like a weird question, and I look down at myself to see why she might think I wasn’t.

“No, I mean how are you holding up?” She sighs. “I keep thinking of all the things you told us last night. You’ve had a really rough year, and I want to know if you’re okay. Because I’m not okay. I feel like I’m right on the edge of freaking the fuck out.”

“Chloe...”

“But this isn’t about me, cause I can hold on until all this is over. I want to know how you’re doing.”

I swallow heavily. She’s looking at me with so much warmth and concern that it makes my heart swell. “I’m...dealing. It’s like you said. I can hold on until this is over.”

“You sure?”

“Yeah.”

“You know I’m here for you, right? I mean, just cause we’re all Mission: Impossible right now doesn’t mean you need to carry it all on your own.”

“I know, but I can make it another twenty-four hours.” I laugh humorlessly. “Then I’m probably gonna get completely wasted, crawl into bed, and cry for a week.”

“Sounds good. Mind if I join you?”

As heavy as this has been, I can’t help giving her a little smile. “For the drinking part or the bed part?”

“Well, one usually leads to the other.” She chuckles, leaning over to lightly bump our shoulders together. “Seriously, though. Tomorrow we’ll find a bottle of tequila or something, go someplace quiet, and just...get everything out. Like all those red lights, for a start. Sound good?”

I wince a bit. “Better make it two bottles.”

“You got it.” She regards me quietly for a second. “Hey, would you do something else for me?”

“Anything.”

“Say you’re amazing.”

“You’re amazing.”

“No, smartass. I want to hear you say that you’re amazing.”

I cringe. Self-affirmations are like my kryptonite. “Why?”

“Because believe it or not, you are.” She gives me a playfully stern look. “But you’re also a dumbass who’d never admit it on her own.”

“Chloe...” I squirm awkwardly. “Do I have to?”

“You can stall as much as you want, cutie.” She crosses her arms, smirking. “But I can wait as long as you can.”

My breath catches in my throat. Cutie. She called me cutie. She did it without knowing that’s what she used to call me all the time and I’m pretty sure my heart’s about to burst and I am not blushing shut up.

“I’m amazing,” I whisper.

“Was that so hard?”

“Yes,” I say, the tiniest bit petulantly.

“Well, you did it.” She leans in. “Because you’re amazing.”

“Seriously?” Chloe’s ability to go from heartwarming to obnoxious in the blink of an eye never ceases to amaze me. “You suck.”

“You’d know,” she fires back, waggling her eyebrows.

“You shush!” I laugh, playfully shoving her away. “Let’s just get going!”

“Okay, okay. No need to get bossy.”

I could bask all day in that bright smile of hers, which is a totally romantic and not at all weird thing to think. “Do you want to go break into a government building or not?”

“If I had a bucket list, Maximus, that’d probably be at the top.”

“If you think that’s good, just wait until I tell you how we’re breaking in.”

“Oh yeah?”

“Oh yeah.” I grin, and when I explain the details, she positively beams.

“Max, you are the fucking best!

Heartbound

Dear Past Victoria,

It took me a long time to figure out what to write. As far as I know, I’m the first person in history to send a letter to their past self. At least, the first who actually expects it to be delivered.

Before anything else, you need to know that Max is 100% on the level. You can trust her, because I trust her. She’ll do anything for the people she cares about, and it turns out that one of the people she cares about is us. She’s actually pretty awesome.

THAT'S PROBABLY WHY SHE'S MY BEST FRIEND, SO PLEASE DON’T BE A BITCH AND DRIVE HER AWAY!

 


 

Oct 10, 2013 - [7:42 pm]
Blackwell Academy
Arcadia Bay, Oregon

“Please, Aunt Jess,” I say, a little impressed by my own ability to sound normal. My hands are shaking so badly I had to put the phone on speaker. “I’d owe you big time.”

“You’re going to haveto do better than that, Victoria. If I tell your parents they need to fly up to Seattle tonight, you’d best believe they’re going to want to know why.”

“I can’t give you anything else right now. I swear, I’ll answer all your questions in the morning.” 

“You do realize how suspicious that sounds, don’t you?” she responds, in that same level tone she uses to dominate corporate boardrooms. “I wasn’t born yesterday, and I hope you don’t think I’m unaware of the Vortex Club party that’s happening tonight.”

“This doesn’t have anything to do with the party.”

“Hm.”

I don’t think she’s buying it. “It’s true. I’m asking you to trust me.”

“I want to, because when all is said and done, you’ve never given me a reason not to. However, you’re also asking me to violate your parents’ trust in me.”

“I understand that. And I know how important that is to you.” Time to go all in. “I’m playing the goddaughter card here, Aunt Jess. I need your help. Please.”

I love my godmother, but she’s not an overly sentimental woman. Asking her to trust me, blindly, just because I’m her goddaughter is the kind of thing I'll probably only get to do once or twice in my life. But if there was ever a moment for it, this is it.

“Are you in danger?” she asks, sharply. “Or involved in something illegal?”

“Nothing like that,” I lie, hoping that she’ll forgive me when all this is over.

The line is silent for what feels like a really long time. “...I expect a full explanation, first thing tomorrow morning.”

I softly let out the breath I’d been holding. “Thank you so mu-”

“Tomorrow morning, Victoria,” she repeats. “Absolutely no later than nine AM. And it’d better be good.”

“It will be,” I say, confident that the utter destruction of Arcadia Bay will buy me some extra credibility. “You have my word.”

“And I’m going to hold you to it.” She hesitates, her voice softening. “Victoria, if there’s anything you want to tell me, something you might think you can’t tell your parents, you know that I’ll always be here for you, don’t you?”

“I know. Thanks. Really.” I swallow heavily. I hate lying to her so much. “I have to go. I love you, Aunt Jess.”

“I love you, too, Victoria. Be safe.”

“Always.”

I hang up, relieved beyond belief that Mom and Dad are going to be safe from the storm. Aunt Jess can move mountains if she has to; I know she’ll be able to talk my parents into traveling to Seattle at the last minute. It’s a testament to her persuasiveness when I get a call from Mom only ten minutes later, letting me know she and Dad will be doing just that.

Ignoring the dozen or so unread messages that demand my attention, I put my phone on my desk and move to sit heavily on my couch.

I’m supposed to be in the pool building right now.

The sun set a while ago, and the party’s doors open in less than an hour. I should be overseeing all the last-minute details, confirming that the DJ has the right playlists, getting the VIP section’s bar stocked, and making sure no one asks too many questions about what it’s stocked with. Not that the last one is much of a challenge. It’s anyone’s guess as to whose family owns more of Blackwell, mine or Nathan’s, but either way Wells knows better than to rock the boat.

I’m supposed be doing all that. I should be acting like there’s nothing wrong and life is normal. Except it turns out that my favorite teacher gets off on drugging and photographing teenage girls, one of my oldest and closest friends is a murderer, and in a little less than two hours I’m supposed to let one or both of them kidnap me.

So I’m not in the pool building. I’m sitting in my dorm room, door locked and blinds drawn, clutching a crumpled letter in my hands and trying not to cry.

This isn’t fair. I’m a senior at Blackwell Academy and I’m practically the head of the Vortex Club. This should be my time, right? I should be having a year that I’ll look back on fondly for the rest of my life, shouldn’t I?

My phone buzzes, creeping toward the edge of the desk. I don’t care who the message is from but looking at my phone makes me want to call Mom back. They probably haven’t left yet. I could tell them how I lied to Aunt Jess and ask them to stay. I could just walk to my car right now and drive over to tell them in person. It’s only five minutes away. I could probably be there before I’ve had a chance to talk myself out of it. I could confess everything and hug them both, then run up to my bedroom and hide until all this shit goes away.

But I won’t.

Looking down, I loosen my grip on the letter in my hand and try to smooth out the wrinkles. I might’ve doubted it if it weren’t handwritten, but it is. It’s from me; I can’t deny it. It’s written by me, to me, and I can’t think of any reason for me to lie to myself. But some of the things it says are tough to believe.

All the family accounts frozen? Working a day job to make ends meet? Living in the Montlake house with Max Caulfield, roommate & best friend?

Fucking Max Caulfield. Once again she comes stomping into my life like the drama queen she is. She’s always been an attention whore, and what better way to get everybody’s attention than coming back in time to save the whole tow-

No. Stop it.

I’m turning into that same jealous bitch I always do. The one who gets scared and starts tearing people down. This is why people hate me. Not that I care about the opinions of a bunch of los-

Stop it.

For the first time, I’m sorry I begged my parents to let me stay in the Blackwell dorms. What good is independence if it means having to be scared and alone? I want to talk to someone, but the only people at Blackwell I’d talk to at a time like this would be either Nathan or Taylor.

Nathan or Taylor.

Nathan the murderer.

Taylor, the girl I’m in lo-

God fucking damn it, this is not the time!

It’ll be fine. I’ll be fine. I just need to stay calm, focus on the situation at hand, and definitely not let my mind keep going back to how much future-me insists I need to...

 


 

...tell Taylor how you feel about her. However she might feel in return, it’s better to know than wonder. Right now you’re telling yourself that your feelings are going to go away, but they won’t. And the longer you keep them in, the worse it’s going to get. You have an opportunity that was stolen from me and believe me when I tell you that regret is a horrible thing to live with.

You can do it. Just take it slow and easy, instead of getting yourself all wound up about it. You know that if you start freaking, she’ll start freaking, and I’m pretty sure that declarations of love aren’t supposed to trigger an...

 


 

Oct 10, 2013 - [7:47 pm]

...anxiety attack. That’s all this is. Just an anxiety attack. It’s happened before, and there’s nothing to be afraid of. The world isn’t ending. I’m safe. I’m in control.

Breathe.

I’m okay. Everyone is okay. Mom’s surgery went fine. Kate’s alive and safe. Max said so, and Max wouldn’t lie...would she?

Breathe.

There’s solid ground under my feet and a cute bunny in my lap. Her name is Alice and she’s very soft. Victoria and I have been best friends since middle school. That wouldn’t change if I told her that I’m in love with her.

Breathe.

Except she’s straight, so probably a lot of things are going to change. Is she still going to be comfortable around me? What if she doesn’t want to spend time together anymore? What if she’s actually super homophobic and it just never came up because she thinks I’m straight, too?

Breathe.

Breathe!

I’m being stupid! Victoria’s not like that, and it’s not like she’s got any reason to be uncomfortable around me. It’s not like I’m just going to suddenly pounce on her and rip all her clothes off!

Unless she wants me to. Because if she does I’ll definitely do it. If she wants me to, I’ll rock her fucking world. I mean, I assume. It’s not like I’ve got a lot of experience with girls. Or any. Because I’ve only ever liked one.

But I’m sure I can make up for that with enthusiasm...except she’s straight, so I probably won’t.

She’d probably be disgusted by the idea.

Or just disgusted by me.

Breathe!

Fucking breathe!

Why does this have to be so hard?! Why can’t I be brave enough to just tell her how I feel? Why can’t she be clever enough to pick up on it? It’s not as though I haven’t been dropping hints. I mean, just last Christmas alone; I dropped so many hints that week that I might as well have given her a lap dance.

No one is home? Hey, let’s hang out in our pajamas and cuddle on the couch all week watching movies.

Gosh, it’s so warm in here with the fireplace lit. Do you mind if I just wear a tank top and these cute sleep shorts?

Ooh, those cookies are so good. Let me practically crawl into your lap reaching for another one.

Uh-oh. Looks like we’re under the mistletoe. Whatever shall we do?

And what do I get? Nothing. Zero reaction, one way or the other. Vicky’s either the greatest actress in history or the dumbest girl on the fucking planet!

Okay, cut it out. Remember what your therapist said. Blaming your frustration on other people doesn’t make it go away. And it’s not as though that was the reason I was there. My other feelings aside, she’s my best friend. How could I have left her alone at Christmas? Before anything else, I was there for her.

...but I tried so hard.

I hung out near that damned mistletoe as much as I could without it being too suspicious, just waiting for the perfect opportunity to ‘accidentally’ bump into her. And when I finally made it happen (on what had to be the twentieth try) I kissed her right on the corner of her lips. As close as I could get to the real thing while still holding on to my precious deniability.

And I guess that’s my problem, isn’t it? I’m never willing to put myself all the way out there. To risk everything. And as long as I keep playing with a safety net...

I can’t do this anymore. Max was right. I have to tell Victoria how I feel about her before I drive myself insane. It’ll be easy. I’m just going to casually ask Vicky to come over and chat. I could even try to set the mood a little. Dim the lights a bit, light that cinnamon-scented candle she told me she liked, even put on some music. Maybe wear that one t-shirt that shrunk the first time I washed it and makes my tits look fucking amazing...

...or maybe I should go to her room, so she feels more comfortable. Yeah, that’s a better idea. This needs to be friend to friend, not straight girl to thirsty bitch. I’m pretty sure she’s been holed up in there all day, so she’ll probably be happy for the company.

Gently placing Alice back in her cage, I grab my phone off the desk and start writing up a text message. It needs to be just right.

Taylor: Hi, Victoria. How are you doing this eveni-

Seriously? What am I, a fucking telemarketer?

Delete.

Taylor: Hey hey V! Wassup gir-

Whoa. Way too much. Dial it back.

Delete.

Taylor: Can I come over, Victoria? I think there’s something we need to talk abo-

For fuck’s sake, that sounds like I’m breaking up with her.

Delete.

Taylor: Vicky, I am so desperately in love with you that I can barely thi-

Holy crap. Calm the fuck down.

Delete.

Taylor: So, here’s a crazy idea. What do you say you and me skip the party tonight?

Okay, that’s promising.

Taylor: So, here’s a crazy idea. What do you say you and me skip the party tonight? I was thinking we could binge some cartoons or just hang out and talk like we used to.

Not bad. Not bad at all.

Taylor: So, here’s a crazy idea. What do you say you and me skip the party tonight? I was thinking we could binge some cartoons in your room or just hang out and talk like we used to. Or maybe we could just rip each other’s clothes off and have a whole lot of hot, wild se-

Delete. Delete. Delete. Delete. Delete. Damn it! That should NOT have been so tempting to send.

Fuck this. I’ll just go see her right now and ask it she wants to hang out tonight. Open and honest. That’s the best way to do this.

...no harm in hedging my bets, though. Where did I put that t-shirt?

 


 

Oct 10, 2013 - [8:07 pm]

Even though I manage not to scream, the knock on my door still scares the crap out of me. For a second, I’m certain that it’s Mr. Jefferson. That he’s figured it all out and come to silence me, once and for a-

“Victoria? You in there?” Taylor asks, her muffled voice making me feel like paranoid idiot. “There’s something I want to ask you.”

And now I’m back to scared. She has something she wants to ask me. What the hell is that supposed to mean? Why is she even here? She should be helping with the party setup! Is something wrong? Did someone screw something up because I wasn’t there when I should have been? Did I seriously just fuck up the future by hiding in my room?!

Fuck. I need to calm down. Someone at the party probably had a stupid question for me and they figured I wouldn’t yell at Taylor for asking it. “Uh...one second!”

Taking a quick, calming breath, I open the door and...oh, shit. She’s wearing that super tight t-shirt from the carnival last summer. It’s not fair how sexy she looks in that shirt. I should really stop staring at it. Eyes up, Victoria!

“Hey, Sweet T.” I’m a little proud of how chill I sound, considering how close ‘Sweet T’ sounds to ‘sweetie’. I’m really playing with fire with that nickname. “What’s up?”

“Not much,” she leans forward a bit, glancing into the room. “I would’ve thought you’d be neck deep in last minute party prep right now.”

“I...uh...” Fuck’s sake, say something! “I’ve got people handling it.”

“Cool, cool,” she says, nodding. “It’s been kind of a messed-up week, hasn’t it?”

Understatement of the fucking century. “Uh...yeah.”

“Yeah,” she echoes. “Honestly, I don’t really feel like partying.”

“Oh.” Really? That’s the best I could come up with?

“So I had kind of a crazy idea,” she continues, sounding a little nervous. Like she thinks I’m going to get mad at her or something. “What do you think about us skipping the whole thing and just hanging out instead?”

What?

“I figured we could binge watch some cartoons in our pajamas like we used to, just the two of us,” she suggests, adding, “We could even steal some snacks from the pool first before the party actually starts.”

What?

“You want to just...skip it?” I murmur. Why now? Why tonight? Why? Any other night I’d have said yes in a heartbeat. I’d have blown off literally any other party without a second thought. Why did she have to pick tonight?!

“Yeah, pretty much.” She glances away. “There’s...um...there’s something I wanted to talk to you about. Something kind of important to me.”

What the fuck is that supposed to mean? Does she know something’s up? I mean, how could she...unless Max said something to her. I bet she did, too. Little Miss Future Girl just has to get into everyone else’s business. Shit! What if she outed me, too? What if she told Taylor about me and about how I feel? That little bitch! She swore she wouldn’t! How dare she...

No. Stop. Calm down. Max wouldn’t do that. She might be an attention-seeking, holier-than-thou, generally irritating hipster, but no one in their right mind could call Maxine Caulfield cruel.

What the hell is wrong with me! I’m usually totally in control of my shit. Why am I falling apart now? I mean, other than the fact that I could be dead and buried in a shallow grave before sunrise.

I know I should say something, but I’m afraid that if I let myself speak I’ll say yes, because I want to say yes so badly. I want to say to hell with the fucking plan, then go spend the night with the girl I’m head over heels in love with. But I can’t.

If Jefferson can’t get me, he might just decide to grab some other innocent girl. I can’t let that happen. I’d never, ever be able to live with myself.

“I...” I begin, forcing the words out. “I can’t. I have to be there tonight.”

“You do?”

“They’re announcing the contest winner and I’ve got a pretty good feeling it’ll be me.” At least that part is true.

“Oh, right.” She looks disappointed. “Well, is it cool if I come in and chill for a bit? Before you go?”

Why is this happening to me? Am I being punished? I’m probably being punished. I feel like I’m coming unspooled, and I’m scared that if she takes one step into this room, I won’t be able to stop myself from kissing her. “I’m sorry, Tay. I don’t have time right now.”

Her expression falls. She actually looks kind of upset, but why? Just because I won’t hang out with her?

“I have to go, I mean,” I add, hoping to smooth things over.

“Where?” She winces a little; I don’t think she meant for that to come out so sharply. She reaches out to gently squeeze my hand. “I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay.” Her touch leaves my skin tingling and I tug my hand out of hers before I say or do something stupid. She holds on a little tighter for a second before letting me go. “I’m going...” I’ve got no idea where I’m going. I just can’t be here. Scrambling, I go with the first thing that comes to mind. “...to go check on the party setup.”

“I thought you said you had people handling it,” she reminds me, briefly looking down at her hand.

“Right. And I have to make sure none of them screwed up.” Blindly grabbing for my purse, I give her what I really hope looks like a genuine smile. “If you want something done right, you gotta do it yourself, you know?”

“Sure,” she murmurs. The sudden shift in her mood is a little jarring. “Guess I’ll see you later, then.”

“You sure you don’t want to go tonight? You’ll have fun.” While I’m getting drugged by a psychopath and dragged down to his secret bunker, but I really don’t want to think about that part right now.

“I’m good.”

“I know you can’t resist a little dancing.”

“Not tonight.”

“C’mon,” I press, wanting to see her smile again before I run away and hide. “There’ll be plenty of cute guys to flirt with.”

“I said no, Victoria!” she snaps, spinning around to glare at me. “I’m not interested in partying, I’m not interested in dancing, and I’m not fucking interested in guys!”

“I...you’re...” I don’t think she meant that the way it sounded, as much as I wish she did.

“Shit.” She looks down, her voice thick as she begins to back away. She looks like she’s trying not to cry. “Whatever. I just want to go back to my room.”

I gently grab her wrist. “Taylor, wait. What’s going on? Is it your mom?”

“Mom’s fine,” she answers shortly, not looking up. “You should go...do whatever you need to do. I’m fine.”

“You’re not fine, Tay,” I insist. “Did I say something?”

“Yes. I mean, no, but...” She still won’t look at me, wiping at her eyes with the heel of her hand. “I’m just being stupid. Forget it.”

She’s so obviously crying, but why? She was smiling when she came to the door. She seemed happy, even excited about spending some time together instead of going to the party. Maybe a little nervous about whatever she wanted us to talk about, but...

But then I told her I didn’t have time for her. And I wouldn’t hold her hand. And I know why those things would upset me, but why would they bother her this much? I’m the hopelessly smitten one, not her. Right? There’s no way she feels the same way. I’d have noticed, wouldn’t I? But what if she...no, that’s crazy. She doesn’t. She’s straight.

Right?

While I’m running myself in circles, Taylor pulls her wrist free and starts heading for her room again, forcing me to hurry after her. “Taylor, wait!” She doesn’t respond, except to quicken her pace a little. “Please, just hold on a second.”

She’s at her door when I catch up, her hand resting on the doorknob like she’s trying to decide whether or not to ignore me. Finally, she sighs and turns around. “What is it?”

“I...” My mind goes blank. What the hell am I supposed to say? Hey, I love you and unless I’m reading way too much into some things I think you might feel the same way? What if I’m wrong? What if I’m just projecting, because I’m a lovesick idiot who’s just seeing what she wants to see?

There isn’t nearly enough time for the kind of conversation this needs to be. The party starts in half an hour, and I need to be there. I wouldn’t be very good bait if I weren’t. But I won’t leave her like this. It doesn’t matter whether or not she feels the same way I do; I won’t let her think for one second that I don’t care about her.

She crosses her arms impatiently. “Vict-”

“You’re right,” I interrupt, not quite sure where I’m going with this.

“I am?”

“Usually.” I shrug, and a tiny smile tugs at the corner of her lips. She’s probably the only person on Earth I’d say something like that to, and she knows it.

“And what am I right about?”

“That...that we...” Unable to bring the words together, I just close the distance between us and press a soft kiss to her cheek. Her whole body seems to go rigid and even though I don’t hear her startled gasp over the thundering of my own heart, I do feel her warm breath tickle my ear. My hand trembles a little as I take hers, letting the kiss linger for a little longer than a ‘friend’ would. It’s not the kiss I want to give her. Not by a long shot. But for now, it’s all I’m brave enough to offer.

A few wonderfully slow seconds pass before finally I step back. She’s staring at me, stunned and silent.

Please don’t let this have been a mistake.

Please don’t let this be the beginning of our end.

“You’re right,” I say again, before I can lose my nerve. “There is something we need to talk about.”

Her eyes are wide and searching. “T-there is?”

“Yeah. There really is.” I notice the way her eyes flick downward. I think she’s thinking about kissing me. “But we can’t right now.”

“What? Why not?”

I lick my lips nervously and she glances down again. She’s definitely thinking about kissing me. That’s...wow.

Forcing myself to focus, I ask, “Do you trust me?”

“Of course.” She doesn’t even hesitate, and I feel my heart swell.

“Then I need you to trust me now, without asking any questions. Just for tonight. Can you do that?”

She nods, turning her hand a bit to lace our fingers together, and I feel a little flutter in my stomach. This is not how friends hold hands. “If that’s what you need.”

I don’t care what Max says about not doing anything I wouldn’t have done before. I have to tell Taylor something. I have to keep her safe.

“Tonight is going to be crazy, and not the good kind of crazy. There’re some things I have to do that I can’t ignore. People are counting on me, but I want...” I shake my head. “No, I need you to stay away from the party. Go into your room and pack a bag. Keep it small. Something you can carry easily. Just the things you need and anything you can’t leave behind. Make sure you have a rain jacket and a flashlight. You’ll definitely need a flashlight.”

“Victoria, what are y-”

“No questions, Sweet T,” I remind her, giving her hand a quick squeeze. “Keep your phone on you and don’t leave your room until nine-fifty, at least. Stay safe and come find me in the morning. I’ll tell you everything then, I promise.”

She’s full of questions - overflowing with them, probably – but she keeps them to herself for now. “It had better be a damn good explanation.”

“It will be. Now go.” I gradually let her hand slip from mine. She steps into her room and reluctantly starts to close her door. “Oh, one last thing.”

“Yeah.”

Should I say it? If I do, it’s pretty much going to wipe out any ambiguity left. There are some things that are pretty hard to walk back, but I’ve wanted to tell her this for so long that it feels like I’m going to burst.

“I just wanted to say,” I pause. “That shirt looks insanely sexy on you.”

She blinks, surprised. “It does?”

“I’ve always thought so.”

“Really?” she asks, a ridiculously cute blush coloring her cheeks.

“Oh yeah.” I nod. “I have to go. Stay safe and I’ll see you tomorrow.”

“You, too.”

I have to wait until her door is shut before I can make myself walk away. The party starts at 8:30, so I’ve got about twenty minutes to kill. Thirty, if I want to be fashionably late, which I don’t. I want to be around people. I want to be seen, not for the attention but to know that no one can grab me. Which doesn’t make much sense, I guess, considering that’s exactly what’s supposed to happen.

I take the stairs slowly, not looking forward to the walk between the dorms and the pool. As short as it is – only a couple of minutes – there’s no one to walk with me. The dorm building is already empty.

I wonder if this is how Kate felt? Alone and exposed, with threats hiding around every corner? Terrified of something she barely understood? It’s no wonder she ended up on that rooftop, and I didn’t even think about how to get her back down. I was too busy filming the whole fucking thing on my phone.

I don’t really remember why. What was I planning to do with that video? Put it online with the other one? What was I thinking?

God, I’m such a piece of shit. But if there’s any reason for me to go through with this, it’s so I can maybe redeem myself a litt-

“Victoria?”

Oh fuck.

“Vic? Are you okay?

This isn’t happening. This can’t be happening.

“Hey, you don’t look great. Maybe you should sit down?”

I need to run. I need to be somewhere else. With someone else. Why didn’t I stay with Taylor? I could be up there right now, safe and sound and confessing that I’m head over heels in love with her. Even that would be less frightening than standing here, with him.

The letter from my future self was annoyingly vague on a couple of points, but if there was one thing it had made scarily clear, it was that...

 


 

...there’s something wrong with Nathan. Something you can’t fix. I know how much you care about him, but the sweet kid you knew is gone. All that’s left is something twisted and sick. Please stay away from him until you’ve talked to Max, and if you can’t do that then always make sure there are other people around.

I’m deadly serious about this, Victoria. No matter what, NEVER be alone with him.

 

 

 

Judas

Chapter Notes

Oct 10, 2013 - [8:22 pm]
Blackwell Academy
Arcadia Bay, Oregon

“H-hey, Nathan.”

“Hey,” he responds, standing barely ten feet away, directly between me and the door. “Seriously, you’re really pale. You haven’t been smoking Bowers’ cheap weed again, have you?”

“No,” I answer, too quickly. “Never gonna touch that crap again.”

“Cool.” He’s eyeing me like he should be the nervous one. Pointing to the vending machine that had kept me from seeing him, he asks, “You want something?”

Shit. What do I say? If I say no, will that set him off? I’m not about to get murdered over a soft drink. “Uh...root beer?”

“You got it.” He feeds another dollar into the machine, and a few seconds later he’s holding the can out. I take it gingerly from his hand.

“Thanks.”

I open the can and take a slow sip, then another, and my fear starts to fade. Nathan doesn’t look dangerous or unhinged. He just looks like Nathan, obviously concerned for me but otherwise normal. And as I watch him, a thought very slowly bubbles to the surface.

What if they’re wrong about him?

He can’t be the monster Max says he is. She doesn’t know what he's actually going through. How his family (if the word even applies) treats him. I know him, and I know Max has got it wrong. Even Future-Me has it wrong. Losing everyone must’ve messed with her head. She was just looking for someone to blame and poor Nathan wasn’t there to defend himself.

What if the entire image they have of him is based off his worst few days? Sure, he’s been freaking everyone out a little lately, but that’s probably his father’s fault. He told me about how his father sat him down over the summer and explained how important it was that he distinguish himself in his senior year. The old bastard puts so much pressure on his son. Nathan’s accomplishments are never met with ‘good job’. It’s always ‘good, but you could do better’.

And he always does try to do better.

I mean, didn’t he call Max? Leave a message apologizing for the things he’d done? What if it’s not too late to get through to him? He’s trusted and confided in me countless times; I know he’ll trust me now. If I could get him to turn himself in, he could get the help he needs. Then he can tell the police all about Jefferson.

I wouldn’t have to get drugged and kidnapped. I’d be safe, because I know Nathan better than anyone. I’m the closest friend he has, especially since Samantha’s family moved to Sacramento.

I know Nathan isn’t beyond redemption.

“It’s me, isn’t it?” Nathan’s voice cuts into my thoughts.

“Huh?”

“I said it’s me. I’m the reason you’re freaking.” He sighs, gazing down at his own drink. “It’s fine. I get it. I’m such a stress case these days. I keep losing it on people for no reason, and I always feel like such an asshole after.”

“It’s not...” I hesitate. I really shouldn’t lie to him. “A little bit, yeah.”

“Yeah,” he echoes. “I’m so sorry, Vic. I...I’ve been having kind of a rough time lately. I know I shouldn’t be taking it out on everyone else.”

“I could tell.” I hesitate. “Nathan, you know you can tell me if you need help, right?”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean if you’d gotten involved in something bad and were in over your head? Or if you’d, you know, done something really bad to somebody? Maybe without meaning to?”

“I...uh...I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

He looks really cagey all of a sudden. I should back off a little. “I’m not talking about anything in particular. Just in general, you know? I’d be there to help you. And you can trust me, no matter what.”

“I know,” he relaxes a little. “We go way back, right?”

“Right. Way back.” Far enough back that I can tell his walls are up now. Damn it. I rushed into it. I need a way to calm him down, and I don’t think the usual methods – vodka and weed – are the best idea right now. Guess we’ll have to do things the old-fashioned way.

As casually as I can, I ask, “So, are you headed to the party soon?”

“No.” If anything, I just made his mood worse. “That Caulfield bitch got me suspended, remember?”

Stupid! Suspended means no school events, which means no party. I think for a second, then point to one of the common room couches nearby. “I’ve got some time before I’m expected to be fashionably late. Think you’ve got time to talk? I mean, if you can fit me into your schedule.”

He smiles a little. Success! “I think I can find some room.”

Okay, reality check. What I’m doing right now is incredibly, stupidly dangerous. It flies right in the face of everything Max and Future me told me to do...but it’s Nathan. He’s the next best thing I have to a brother, and if there’s even the slightest chance he can still be saved, I have to try. I can’t just abandon him when he needs my help the most.

I’m not a complete idiot, though. It’s not like we’re going to go back to his room or anything. We’re in the common area. Taylor is, like, twenty feet away. If anything happens I’ll just scream as loud as I can. Even so, I still pick the couch that faces the exit, I don’t settle completely into it, and once we’re sitting down I slowly and subtly take my shoes off.

The moment I do, he seems to relax even more. Typical. Boys never consider that a girl might be faster without her shoes than with them. Running in stocking feet won’t be fun, if it comes to that, but it’ll be a hell of a lot better than trying to run in heels.

“So,” he begins, relaxing back into the couch. At least, as much as Nathan ever relaxes into anything. Even at his most chill, he always has kind of a twitchy energy around him. “What did you want to talk about?”

Good fucking question. I hadn’t really thought this far ahead. I need to think of a way to take his mind away from Jefferson and Rachel and all the shit he’s been through. Something that’ll get him to loosen up and show him that he can trust me. And if I expect Nathan to trust me, he needs to think that I trust him - even if I absolutely don’t.

There’s really only one way I can think of to make that happen.

“It’s...I...can I tell you something?”

“Of course,” he says, without hesitation. “You can tell me anything.”

“It’s private, though. You can’t tell anyone else.”

“I get it. Come on, Vic. Who do you think you’re talking to?”

I really wish I knew.

“Okay. So, here’s the thing...” I trail off.

“Is the thing awkward silence? ‘Cause that’s what I’m getting.”

“No. It’s...uh...I’m...”

“You’re...?”

“Just gimme a fucking second, will you?”

“Okay, okay,” he leans back, raising his hands. “Take your time. Not like I’ve got anywhere to be.”

“The thing is that I...I’m...” This is stupidly hard, but I need to do it. “I’m...gay.”

“...you are?”

I nod slowly, my mouth suddenly bone dry. “Yes, I am.”

“Huh.”

I wait for him to say more, but he just looks calmly back at me. “That’s it? That’s all you’ve got to say?”

“Yeah?” He shrugs. “I mean, I was already, like, sixty percent sure you were gay, anyway. Well, I actually thought you were bi, but that’s basically the same thing.”

It’s nowhere fucking near the same thing, but this isn’t the time to smack some wokeness into him. “The fuck you did.”

“Come on, Vic.” He gives me a serious look. “No one goes that stiff-necked around Dana Ward if they aren’t into girls.”

“I am not into Dana Ward!”

He rolls his eyes. “Everyone is into Dana Ward, Vic. I mean, I bet even Harris has thought about it at least once. Taylor’s definitely slowed down a few times to follow her up the stairs.”

“And just what the fuck is that supposed to mean?”

“Uh...” He blinks, surprised. “So she could stare at Dana’s ass on the way up? I kinda figured that was obv-”

“Not that, dumbass.” I growl, reaching out to smack his shoulder. “Why would Taylor do that?”

“Because...” he stops, eyeing me for a long moment. “Wait, are you into Taylor?”

“What? No!” The answer is basically a reflex.

“You are! Holy fuck!” he cackles. “Seriously? You like Taylor?”

“I...so what if I do?” I ask, sharply. “Is there something wrong with that?”

“No, it’s not...” He glances up the stairs. “I probably shouldn’t say anything.”

“But we both know you’re going to anyway, so...”

“You know me so well.” He glances up the stairs again and I turn to follow his gaze. What the hell is he looking at? I’m about to ask when he leans close to whisper, “Taylor’s into you, too. Like, way into you.”

“What?” I almost shout, glancing up once more. It’s too far for Taylor to have heard, right? Lowering my voice, I turn to ask, “Since when? How do you know? Did she say something? What did she say?”

“Chill, Vic,” he laughs. “She didn’t say anything. I just noticed her looking at you funny one day and kept an eye out for it after that. Pretty sure she’s had a huge fucking chick-boner for you since, like, last spring at least.”

“Really? Are you...” I peer at him. “You better not be messing with me on this, Nathan.”

“I’m not.” He lifts his free hand. “Scout’s honor.”

“You were never a Scout.”

“You know what I mean.” He raises his drink. “Anyway, to Victoria, the gayest gay at Blackwell.”

I give him a flat look. “I’m not that gay, asshole.”

“Not with that attitude.” He says, mirroring my expression. “And since when are you satisfied with second place?”

“I...” Okay, so he’s not exactly wrong about that. “Whatever.”

“There you go.” Laughing, he very slowly reaches over to lightly tap his soda can against mine. It’s like he knows I’m nervous and he’s trying to show me that I’m safe with him. I knew it. I knew my Nathan was still in there.

“Fine. I will accept the title of gayest gay,” I reach to tap his can in return, and he grins, taking a long sip. I hesitate for a half-second, then silently berate myself for being paranoid. The can was still sealed when he gave it to me, and it’s been in my hand and held close this whole time. Before he can notice, I raise the can to my lips. I only meant to take another small sip, but the second the root beer hits my still-dry tongue I start drinking like a dying woman in a desert. I’ve finished most of the can before I notice him quietly laughing at me.

Embarrassed, I lower the mostly empty soda can back to my lap.

“Thirsty?”

“Shut up.”

“Because you seem pretty thirsty.”

“Shut up!”

“You should go find Taylor,” he suggests, smirking. “See if she’s as thirsty as you are.”

“Cut it the fuck out!” I laugh. I can’t help it. Nathan’s always been able to make me laugh, no matter how down I am.

He laughs right along with me. “So, you feel better with all that out in the open?”

This is the Nathan I wish more people could see. A good, sweet, supportive friend with an asshole for a father, a drunk for a mother, and a sister who fucked off and left him behind the second she turned 18.

“Yeah.” I nod, as a knot in my stomach I’d been barely aware of starts to loosen. It’s one thing to suspect someone likes you, but another thing entirely to hear someone say that it’s a fact. “I really do.”

“I’m glad to hear it.” He looks down for a few seconds. “Hey...what did you mean before? About being there for me if I did something bad?”

“Oh...uh...I just meant...” Shit. Who knows what he’ll do if I mention Rachel Amber? There’s got to be a way to ease into this. “You know what happened to Kate Marsh at that party?”

“What about it?”

Okay. I need to tread lightly here. “Don’t you think it was kinda weird that she got so hammered so fast?”

He shrugs. “I guess. I just figured she’d never partied before and had a shitty tolerance for booze.”

“Yeah, but I only saw her have one drink.”

“Watching her that close, were you?” He smirks. “Should Taylor be jealous?”

Part of me wants to slap him for that, but I can tell when he’s trying to deflect. “I’m just saying, I...”

I know you drugged her and dragged her down to some bunker!

“...think someone might’ve slipped something into it.”

His eyes narrow. “Are you sayi-”

“I’m not accusing you!” I say, quickly. “I just think someone might have.”

“Someone,” he echoes, dubiously.

I’m trying to think of a way to recover, but I’m having trouble collecting my thoughts. I guess sitting across from a murderer will do that to you. “It’s...it’s like what you were saying about her having a low tolerance. Maybe someone just wanted to help her loosen up and dropped some E in her drink, but it hit her super hard because she’s never done it before.”

He relaxes, just the tiniest bit. “Yeah?”

“Totally! Maybe they didn’t even mean to give her as much as they did. Or they tried to guess the right amount but used too much. That can happen, right? Accidentally giving someone too much of something?”

“I guess.”

I think it’s working. He’s opening up. “Like, it’d probably be hard to guess the right amount. Doctors go to school for that kind of stuff, so you couldn’t really blame a regular person for a simple mistake, could you? Even if things go bad, it’s not like they did it on purpose. Accidentally killing someone wouldn’t make you a murderer, would it?”

Holy fuck, what in the fuck did I just say?! Did I seriously just call Nathan a murderer to his face?!

“I mean, not you.” I try to recover, pathetically. “Just a person.”

He doesn’t respond. He doesn’t move or say a word for a long, tense moment. I feel like I should be scared right now. I feel like I should probably be making a break for the door, but I’m not going to. I’m cool. I’m calm. I’ve got this.

Then, finally, he sighs. “Do you really believe that?”

Oh my god, I did it. I got through to him. “Yeah, I really do.”

“What if...” he hesitates. “What if it had been me? What if I’d done that? Or...y’know...something like it? Accidentally done something terrible, even though it was for a good reason?”

“I’d understand. And I’d forgive you,” I lie, because I don’t think ‘And then I’d get you locked up in a mental hospital’ would really play right now.

“Really?”

I nod. I’m so relieved that I’m practically giddy, and I don’t want to open my mouth and accidentally laugh. That’d really ruin the moment.

“Wow. That’s...wow. Hearing you say that is such a relief. I...I wasn’t sure if I was going to be able to...” He gestures to me. “But hearing you say that you’d understand? And that you’d forgive me? That changes everything.”

I can see the relief in his entire body. It’s like this huge burden has been lifted off his shoulders, and he looks lighter and happier than he’s been in months. I did that. I’m helping him, and it feels amazing.

“You’re a good friend, Vic,” he continues, smiling as he tilts his head toward the steps. “Taylor’s a lucky girl.”

“You really think so?” I glance upstairs again. I kinda want to go talk to her right now. I kinda want to kiss her.

“Definitely. You’re one-of-a-kind.”

No, I really want to kiss her.

I really want her.

Maybe I could just go up for a minute...or two...or ten. I could do that and still make it to the party in time, right?

I wonder if she’s still wearing that t-shirt? She probably is.

Ooh...maybe she’s not. Maybe she’s not wearing a shirt at all. Maybe she’s not wearing anything at all. I wonder what she’d put on to answer the door? Her PJs? A towel? A short little silk bathrobe that’s barely tied up?

Does Taylor even own a short silk bathrobe? If she doesn’t I’m totally getting her one.

I bet she’d be willing to model a few for me.

Should I go find out? I should go find out.

I go to stand up, my mind whirling with images of my sexy Sweet-T in (and out of) a cute little silk kimono, and find my legs feel kind of wobbly. Dropping back down to the couch, I glare at them and try to figure out why they’re being such a pair of fucking cockblocks. I go to slap some sense into one of them, and that’s when I notice the tingling numbness that’s been creeping into my limbs.

That’s (really, really bad) kinda weird.

Confused, I turn to Nathan and the sudden head motion sends the room tilting lazily to the side. Am I falling? I think I’m falling. He lunges forward, not to catch me but to grab the near empty can before it can slip from my fingers. Standing as I slump backward; he carefully lifts my feet up onto the couch.

What is this? Am I drunk? Was I drinking? I don’t think I was, but it’s hard to focus. I’m so dizzy.

As my vision starts to get blurry, I see him pull a small orange prescription bottle from his pocket, briefly glance at the label, then stuff it back out of sight. That’s important. I should be concerned about that.

“It’s alright, Victoria,” he says, softly, leaning over me. “Just relax.”

I try to ask him what’s happening, but it feels like the words get lost somewhere between my brain and mouth. My whole body feels too heavy.

“You don’t need to be afraid. I won’t let you get hurt. You’ll understand afterward, I promise. Just like you said you would.” I can barely feel his fingers brush through my hair as my eyelids start to get heavy. “You’re going to be so beautiful.”

It’s getting really hard to keep my eyes open, and I’m starting to think that a quick nap wouldn’t be the worst thing in the world night now. Nathan seems to agree, gently laying a blanket over me.

He looks really happy, and his smile is the last thing I see before he lifts the blanket to cover my face.

 


 

...I understand if you’re scared, Victoria. I was scared, too. Life never prepared us for anything like this. But you’re strong, too. You have no idea how strong you are. I know you’re going to get through this, because I know you’re tougher than anything the world can throw at you.

I believe in you. Good luck.

You(rs) Truly,
Victoria Maribeth Chase
October 2015

Chapter End Notes

A Brief PSA From Your Friendly Neighborhood Crow

Rule Number One: Always Watch The Hands

I used to work in a bar, and it's genuinely terrifying how fast someone's drink can be spiked. I've seen it happen; a quick distraction, a flicker of hand movement, and that's the game. It's sleight of hand at its worst, and the kind of people who do this only need you to look away for a second. Bartenders and bouncers will try to be on the lookout for it but they can't be everywhere, so stay sharp, stay safe, and watch out for each other.

-CC

This Is Not A Test

Chapter Notes

Oct 10, 2013 - [9:30 pm]
NOAA Coastal Monitoring Station
15 minutes north of Arcadia Bay, Oregon

“You’re so full of shit.”

“Excuse me?” Max takes her eyes off the single-story concrete building to gawk at me.

We’ve been parked here for almost an hour, tucked between an old shed and a camper that I’m pretty sure has been abandoned, right across the road from the small NOAA station. The sun went down hours ago, making it pretty easy for us to hide until it’s time to make our move. Unfortunately, hiding is boring as fuck.

“You heard me. You might’ve taken me by surprise a few times, Caulfield, but I’m pretty sure that you haven’t turned into some red-hot seductress.”

“What? I never said that!”

I’m not totally sure how the conversation got here. One minute I was asking some perfectly innocent questions about the future (because seriously, who wouldn’t?). One thing led to another and suddenly we were talking about some much more personal stuff. It wasn’t long before Max started blushing, which is basically blood in the water when it comes to my ‘tease Max’ reflex.

“No, what you said was that you ‘can get my motor running pretty much anytime you want’.”

“I was just repeating something that you told me! And I want to point out right now that you started this conversation.”

“What’s that got to do with anything?”

“Weren’t you the one who wanted to ‘pump the brakes’?”

“Yeah. So?”

“So, what does our...my sex life have to do with pumping anything?” She holds up a hand before I can respond. “Don’t. I know. I heard it as soon as I said it.”

“This is different,” I say, very generously letting Max off the hook.

“How?”

“This is super embarrassing for you.”

“It really isn’t.”

“Then why are you blushing so much?”

“Because I’m...” she stops. “Never mind.”

“Because you’re what?”

“I said never mind.”

“Because you’re what, Max?” I reach over to lightly poke her shoulder. “Huh? Because you’re wha-”

“Because I’m turned on, okay?!” She cringes at her own volume. “I blush a lot when I get turned on. Are you satisfied?”

“I...oh.” I swallow heavily, pulling my hand back, my brain now stuck on ‘Max is turned on and it’s dark out and we’re alone in my truck’. “Um...”

“Relax,” she grumbles, glaring out the windshield. “I’m not going to pounce on you or anything.”

I almost tell her I wouldn’t mind if she did, but I’m pretty sure that isn’t my brain talking. The air in my truck’s cab suddenly feels hot and heavy and for a minute all I can think about is Max’s lips and all the places I want them to be right now. And while I don’t know whether or not I’d end up regretting it later, I don’t want to risk it, either.

I need to break this tension between us, though, and luckily I know just how to do it. There’s one tactic that’s never failed me. That’s always been able to get through to her, no matter how serious or withdrawn she’s trying to be.

Clearing my throat, I turn to face her. “Hey, Max?”

She turns to me, a flash of surprise on her face as I slide closer. Her cheeks are still bright red, and I force myself not to think about the way her eyes briefly roam over my body. “Y-yeah?”

Careful not to let my expression change, I lift my hand to her face...and gently press one finger to the tip of her nose. “Boop.”

The result is instantaneous as Max’s eyes go wide as saucers. She jerks back, sputtering, flailing wildly as she slaps my hand away. “Oh my god don’t do that!”

“Ha! I can’t believe it!” I laugh as she playfully tries to smack me. “The Max Reset Button still works!”

“You’re such a...a...argh!”

“Oh, whatever.” I roll my eyes. “You know you love me.”

The words come out so easily that I barely realize I said them, and even though Max doesn’t respond out loud, the little smile she gives me says it clearly; of course she loves me. And sitting here in my crappy old truck, pressed shoulder to shoulder and laughing softly, that suddenly doesn’t feel as scarily intense.

It actually gives me a sort of warm-all-over feeling that I definitely think I could get used to.

“Anyway, if you’re done making fun of me...”

“Never,” I interrupt.

Sighing, she continues. “...it’s time for us to go. You ready?”

“To meet this guy? Hell yeah.” I nod to the only car parked outside the building; an Oldsmobile station wagon that’s seen way better days. Except for the centre of the rear window, the back is practically covered in a mess of bumper stickers that don’t seem to follow a single theme. As far as I can tell, whoever owns the car holds some very strong opinions regarding republicans, democrats, independents, capitalists, communists, and left-handed people.

Man, Rachel (holyshitthisisnotthetimeburyitburyitrightnow) would’ve gotten a laugh out of this.

The only one I can’t argue with is the big sticker in the middle that reads, ‘GET PRESCOTT OUT OF THE BAY’.

Goddamn right, buddy.

“You have the burner phone?”

“Right here.” I pat my pocket. Just to be safe, we’re leaving our personal phones turned off. Just in case someone can use them to track where we were the last couple of days after this whole thing is over. Anytime some part of the plan comes up that’s so excessively paranoid, I just assume it came from David. Max hasn’t confirmed that, but she hasn’t denied it, either.

“And your gun is unloaded, right?”

“Yes, it’s unloaded,” I groan. “Just like the last six times you asked.”

“I just wanted to be sure, okay? The guy working in there is innocent.” She glances at the car. “Even if he probably is kinda weird.”

“I hear you, Maximus. The bullets are all in the glove compartment. Let’s do this thing.”

Max nods, then vanishes into thin air. A second later, the station’s side door opens and she’s waving me over. Looks like the first part went smoothly. I’m just a little disappointed that I don’t get to remember driving right up to the building, wrapping a chain around the side door handle, hooking it to the truck, and ripping the thing right off its hinges.

Pulling the cheap ski mask over my head, I tug back and forth on the sides as I try to get it to sit at least semi-comfortably. I hate having my hair pinned up like this, but the last thing I want is to have any of it visible. Arcadia Bay is a small-as-fuck town, and it wouldn’t take the cops too long to figure out who the blue haired girl in a mask was.

Dashing across the street, I’m careful to skirt around the lone streetlight on my way to where Max is waiting for me.

“You’re a doofus, you know that?” she whispers when I get close enough. She’s breathing kinda hard, but I can tell she’s grinning under her mask.

“What did I do this time?”

She eases the door shut behind me, glancing up and down the hallway. “After the door came off, you started doing donuts in the parking lot. You didn’t stop until the chain came loose and the door got thrown into the trees over there.”

I laugh softly. “That’s fucking sick.”

“Yeah,” she chuckles softly, leaning against the wall. “You looked like you were having fun.”

“Hey, you doing alright?”

“I’m fine.”

“Yeah? Because you don’t look fine. You look like me in gym class.”

“Seriously, I’m okay. I just need a second to catch my breath.”

Max might not want to admit it, but I can tell that rewinding had been taking more and more of a toll on her. Every time she does it, she comes out looking a little more wiped out than the time before. “Are you really gonna stand there and bullshit me?”

“I’m fi-” she stops, sighing. “It’s just been getting hard to rewind. I don’t know why.”

I lean in, looking for the slightest sign of a bloody nose through her mask. “Does it hurt?”

“No. It’s just really draining.”

Well, that’s fucking inconvenient. “You think it’s the storm? Like, the closer it gets, the more it screws your powers up?”

“I don’t know. Maybe?” She shakes her head and pushes off the wall. “We can think about it later. We’re on the clock.”

This place really has the whole ‘government office’ thing going on. Bland carpets, off-white walls, generic posters on the walls. It’s not even interesting enough to be depressing. It’s also not very big and it only takes a minute to find a set of double doors with a sign that says ‘MONITORING ROOM’ in big block letters.

“I could be wrong,” I whisper, right next to Max’s ear. “But I think that might be the monitoring room.”

I don’t have to look. I can feel her rolling her eyes.

Moving quietly, we make our way over. One of the doors is propped open a little, and from inside comes the sound of at least three people talking. I can’t make out what they’re saying, but it doesn’t really matter because we only planned on having to deal with one person. All the research Max did before coming back in time said that while it was still in use, this station only had one person working overnight.

I glance at Max; she looks just as worried as me. It’s too late to change the plan now, though. We just have to roll in there like we own the place and hope that no one feels like being a hero. Taking hold of the door, my (completely useless) gun at the ready, I carefully ease it open to peek inside. I just about laugh when, instead of several staff members, all I find is one hippie-ish looking dude with his feet up on the desk, watching a movie on his laptop. And, lucky for us, he’s facing away from the door.

I take a second to relay all this to Max - who allows herself a soft, relieved sigh – and I creep into the room until I’m right behind him. Swallowing my nerves, I raise my gun, press it to the back of his head, and say, “Don’t move a muscle.”

He instantly goes as still as a statue.

“Put the laptop on the desk, nice and slow,” I tell him, hearing Max coming in behind me. When he doesn’t do as he’s told, I pull the gun’s hammer back. The distinctive click sends a tremor through his entire body. “Now.

Shaking a little, he closes the computer’s lid and lowers his feet to the floor. Moving it from his lap to the nearby desk, he makes sure to keep both hands visible the whole time. Smart guy.

“Good,” I say. “What’s your name, man?”

“C-C-Cliff,” he stammers, sounding really scared and actually making me feel like a bit of an asshole. “T-this is j-just a weather station. There’s n-nothing here worth stealing.”

“We’re not here to steal anything, Cliff.”

If anything, that just scares him more. “Oh god! Whoever you’re looking for, you’ve got the wrong guy! Please don’t kill me!”

I give the back of his head a sharp jab with the gun’s barrel. “We’re not here to kill you either, jackass. Calm the fuck down.”

“T-then why...?”

“Because we need you to help us send out a message.”

His face hardens a little. “L-look, if you think I’m going to help send out some kind of t-terrorist manifesto, you’ve got ano-”

“What the fuck are you...it isn’t a terrorist manifesto, asshole!” I take a breath. “It’s a warning, and it’s going to save a lot of lives.”

“We need you to send an alert message to the county Emergency Management Office,” Max jumps in, startling him. I don’t think he’d realized she was there. “You’re going to say that there’s a storm forming off the coast, and that it’s going to hit Arcadia Bay. Tell them they need to send a weather warning to every single cell phone in the town, telling everyone to get out as fast as they can.”

“B-but there’s....” He shakily gestures to the bank of monitors on the wall. I’ve got no idea what most of them are saying but judging by how much green there is I can probably guess. “I mean, there’s nothing out there.”

“There is,” Max insists. “And it’s going to wipe Arcadia Bay off the map around eight o’clock tomorrow morning.”

“There’s no storm out there,” he pushes back. “It’s gonna be clear skies all night.”

“Clear enough to see two moons?” I mutter, trying to keep my cool.

“...what?”

“Never mind. I’m telling you right now, Cliff, those skies definitely aren’t gonna to be clear. There’s a...” I look to Max.

“An EF5 tornadic waterspout.”

“Yeah, that. It’s on its way. And we’ll see how real you think it is when it gets here.”

“What?” He laughs, apparently forgetting that he’s got a fucking gun to his head. “Are you out of your minds?”

I jab the back of his head again. “Watch the attitude!”

“S-sorry,” he stutters, shrinking into his chair a little. “B-but, it’s just...an EF5? That’s impossible. Can’t happen.”

“It can. And it will.”

“The worst tornado ever to hit Oregon was an EF3! And that was in the seventies!” If he keeps shaking his head like that he’s gonna make himself sick. “An EF5 is like...like...the fucking hand of god!”

“Yeah,” Max agrees. “It is.”

“Look, I don’t know what you two have been smoking, but I’m not going to help you make up a pretend superstorm!”

We’re running out of time, and I can see him getting ready to dig his heels in. I’m just debating whether or not to try pistol-whipping a little sense into him when I remember the ridiculous collection of bumper stickers on his car and a crazy idea pops into my head. “We’re not making it up, man. We’re exposing it.”

He hesitates, just long enough that I know I’ve got his attention. “The hell does that mean?”

“It means that the storm is coming. You just can’t see it.” I’m pretty proud of how steady my voice is. If I didn’t know any better, I’d think I was telling the truth.

“You can’t just hide a storm from the NOAA. We’ve got about a hundred satellites pointed at the US.”

“Maybe not the NOAA, but from you? Personally?” I fake a slow laugh, stalling for time. This guy is really putting my bullshitting skills to the test. “C’mon, man. You know how shit like this goes. The NOAA is a government agency, right?”

“Er, yeah.”

“Yeah. And all those elected fuckers who decide how it gets run? They have a bunch of big fish campaign donors just itching to call in a favor. Donors who’d be happy to see this town erased if they thought it’d be good for them. Enough that they’d lean on their bought-and-paid-for pocket politician to have all the warning signs covered up.”

He definitely looks interested now. I just wish I had the slightest fucking idea where I’m going with this.

“Hold on.” He frowns. “If something is getting covered up, how did you find out?”

Fuck me. That’s a really good question.

“From me,” Max pipes up. “I...I work for John Kitzhaber’s office.”

Who the fuck is John Kitzhaber?

“The governor?”

Oh.

“Mhm.” She nods. “I’m just an intern but I...” She swallows loudly, glancing away. She’s either an amazing actor or stalling, but either way she’s got his complete attention. “I saw some emails...emails I wasn’t supposed to read...about how they were waiting for the right opportunity...a-about how the people in Arcadia Bay are...are expendable.”

Goddamn! And the Oscar goes to Mad Max Caulfield!

“Expendable?” he echoes. “What does that...?”

“Uh...hang on.” She reaches into her pocket, pulls out a folded sheet of paper, and hands it to me. Her hand is trembling like crazy, though, and I don’t think that’s part of the act. I pass the sheet on, and while his attention is on whatever the hell he’s reading, I take a closer look at Max.

She’s trying to hide it, but she’s shaking from head to toe and the small part of her t-shirt I can see under her hoodie looks like it’s soaked in sweat. Behind her ski mask it looks like she’s struggling to keep her eyes open. She’s been rewinding. A lot. Enough to figure out how to talk to this guy. Enough to type up whatever is on that piece of paper, print it, then go back and hand it over like she had it on her the whole time.

“Holy shit,” he whispers, pulling my attention off Max. “Is this for real?”

“Printed it myself,” Max replies. “Probably won’t have a job tomorrow.”

“But it doesn’t say...” He flips the sheet over, like he’s looking for something he might’ve missed. “I mean, who’s leaning on him? Who the hell would want to do something like this?”

I look at Max, and she briefly holds up a sticky note with a name on it. I’m pretty sure the desk she’s leaning on is the only reason she’s still upright, so I guess it’s up to me to bring this one home.

“It’s Prescott, man,” I say, like it’s obvious.

“Prescott? Seriously?”

I nod, praying with all my might for the god of bullshit to smile on me. “Y’know that whole Pan Estates project he’s got out there? It’s losing money by the fucking boatload.”

“...no shit?”

“No shit. Far as he’s concerned, a storm like this is a golden opportunity. It wipes out everything, then he collects his insurance money and walks away. Fuck all the rest of us.”

He gives me a confused look. “But why cover it up? I mean, wouldn’t his insurance pay out either way?”

Fuck! Shit! God damn fucking hell!

“Yeah, but this is Prescott.” I glance at Max, and she holds up another sticky note. The writing is kinda messy. I can still read it, but what the fuck is ‘surprise=more$$$’ supposed to mean? “You know what he’s all about. The greedy fucker wants to squeeze them for every penny he can get.”

“I...guess?”

Fuck, I’m losing him! Think, Chloe! Think! Surprise equals more money! What does that...got it!

“It’s not just about the houses, man. Think about it. He’s got all that construction stuff up there, too. Tools, and trucks, and all that shit. But if people knew the storm was coming, the insurance company could get out of paying for all that stuff by saying Prescott should’ve moved it when the warning went out.”

Oh my fucking god. That doesn’t even make any sense. This is the stupidest lie I’ve ever told. Like, daytime TV stupid. There’s no way in hell he’s going to...

“That motherfucker,” Cliff mutters. “That son of a bitch would sell out a whole town just to squeeze a few more fucking dollars out of an insurance company?”

Holy fucking shit, I can’t believe this is actually working. “Are you really surprised?”

“Honestly?” He snorts. “Not really.”

“Look, the storm’s coming one way or another. They know it, and they’re trying to make sure you don’t.” Time for the big finish. Taking the gun away from his head, I carefully let the hammer forward and step around where I can look him in the eye. “So what’s it gonna be, man? Prescott, or the Bay?”

He stares at me, I stare back, and I can see him working it over in his head. Then, finally, he says, “Just gimme a minute to set up the report.”

Nodding, I let him roll his chair over to one of the computers and, because I’m not an idiot, watch over his shoulder as he types. Everything looks good (as far as I can tell) but just before he can hit the send button I drop my free hand on his shoulder. “Hang on a sec.”

“Why?”

“You’re a good guy, Cliff, and you’re doing the right thing. But just so we’re totally clear, if there’s some kind of hidden message in there that alerts the cops?” I pull back the hammer again, keeping my voice calm and even. “That doesn’t end well for you.”

“G-got it. Loud and clear,” he says, nodding a little jerkily. “It’s clean. I swear.”

“Alright then. Once you send it, how long until it hits people’s phones?”

“Depends.” He glances up at me. “Hopefully just a few minutes. I...uh...I marked it priority and added a note about a satellite downlink failure. If we’re lucky the Emergency Management Office will send the warning out right away without verifying it with the NOAA office in Portland.”

“How lucky, exactly?”

“I dunno.” He shrugs. “Sixty-forty against?”

“Those aren’t great odds, Cliff.”

“Best I've got.”

I look up at the clock on the wall, waiting until it reaches 9:48. “Okay, hit it.”

“Rock and roll,” he mutters, clicking send.

“Thank you, Cliff. Seriously,” Max says, sounding a lot better than she did a few minutes ago. “You just saved a lot of lives.”

“I hope so. We’ll know soon enough if it worked.”

The wait is short, but tense. Unable to sit still, I start pacing the room. With each passing second, Cliff seems to get a little more anxious. He practically melts into his chair when, a couple of minutes later, both his phone and the burner in my pocket go off. I find the storm warning displayed boldly on the lock screen. I toss the phone to Max; the relief in her eyes when she reads the message is clear.

“Attaboy, Cliff.” Clapping him on the shoulder, I look back to the clock on the wall and start counting off five minutes. David is supposed to be talking to Mom right now. And if there’s one thing I can count on the step-douche for, it’s being annoyingly on time. Thinking about that and hoping that the rest of the plan is going as smoothly as our part, the five minutes seems to pass by in a flash.

“Alright then,” I mutter. “Time to kill the lights.”

Pulling out a scrap of paper with the other burner’s number, I pick up the nearest desk phone and dial. A small part of me expects to hear something, which is dumb considering the bombs are almost five miles away. The line just rings once, cuts out, and a second later the room goes dark.

“Well, that was easy.” All I can see of Max is a faint outline, but I can hear the smile in her voice.

“You did that?” Cliff asks, kinda nervously.

“Yup. We figure it’ll encourage people to get out of town. I was actually a little worried it wasn’t going to wor-” Before I can finish, the lights flicker back on. “Oh, fuck right off!”

“We’ve...uh...we’ve got a generator. It kicks in automatically.” Cliff shrugs. “I mean, this is a storm monitoring station.”

“He’s right. Look.” Max holds up the phone I tossed her. “No signal.”

“Fucking sweet,” I laugh, relieved. “Well, Cliff, it’s been a treat, but we’ve got to hit the road. I strongly suggest you do the same.”

“No can do.” He points to the monitors on the wall. “I’ve got work to do here.”

Max and I share a look, and she takes a step forward. “Cliff, you really don’t want to be here when that storm hits.”

“I’ve gotta be,” he insists. “Even if someone can fuck with the satellite data, this station has its own doppler radar. Once the storm is close enough, I’ll be able to collect data directly and send out live updates.”

“But the phones are down.”

“We’ve got a broadcast antenna. Five-thirty on the AM band.” He points to a microphone and small soundboard against the far wall, grinning. “Bottom of the dial; you can’t miss it.”

“But...”

“Seriously, I’ll be fine. There’s a hardened shelter under the building that’s literally designed for things like this.”

Shaking my head, I lean forward to punch him on the shoulder. “You’re a fucking badass, Cliff. Never let anyone tell you different.”

“I try.” He shrugs, heading over to the soundboard. “Now get out of here. And be careful. I wasn’t kidding about EF5’s.”

“Are you sure?” Max asks as I lead her to the door.

“You kidding? I’ve always wanted to do this.” Grinning, he puts on a pair of headphones, leans into the mic, and flips a switch on the soundboard. “Good evening, Tillamook County. This is Cliff, meteorologist at large, and you’re listening to Radio Free NOAA, coming to you live from five-thirty on the AM band. I’m sure you’ve all seen the weather warning, and I’m gonna be here all night with any updates. I’ve got an iPod full of tunes, though, so while I’m processing that data for you, here’s the latest from Arcadia Bay’s very own PissHead.”

 


 

The drive back to Arcadia Bay has been pretty quiet so far, and at first I’d assumed that it was because Max was tired. She already spent most of last night tossing and turning, and whatever’s going on with her powers sure isn’t doing her any favors. I kept expecting her to doze off against the window like she always used to do on long car rides, but after we’d been driving a few minutes she started giving me these weird looks. Just quick, furtive glances, like she’s trying not to get caught doing it. Too bad for her, she’s not nearly as sneaky as she thinks she is.

We’re just coming up on the edge of town when I finally decide to call her out. “Okay, seriously. What is it?”

“What?” Max jumps a little. Looking away, she pretends to be very interested in one of my many drawings littering the dashboard. “Oh, nothing.”

“Uh-huh. Try again, because you’ve been eyeballing me like nobody’s business.”

“No, I...”

“Max.”

She sighs. “It’s...honestly, it’s kinda dumb.”

“I’ll be the judge of that. Spill.”

“It’s just, earlier...”

“Gonna need a little more, Maximus.”

She huffs a little. “Well, when you were all...uh...”

“I was all what?”

“When you were all ‘That doesn’t end well for you’ and stuff? Being all intense like that?” She coughs, shrugging. “It was maybe, I dunno...kinda hot?”

“Excuse me?”

“Is that weird?” Max glances over and winces. “That’s weird, isn’t it? Just forget I said anything, okay?”

“Now, hold on just one second, Miss Caulfield. Do you mean to tell me that you think confidence and assertiveness are sexy?” I grin as a blush creeps up her neck. “Maxine, you deviant!

“You shush.”

“Next you’ll be telling me you’re into low-cut tops.”

“You shush.”

“Right. So if I were to do this?” I hook the neck of my t-shirt and pull it down. It’s pretty cute how she pretends not to stare, and the look on her face sends an excited buzz through me. “I guess that wouldn’t do a thing for you, would it?”

Her eyes come up to meet mine, a smoldering warmth in them that promises a very interesting answer, when a loud snap shatters the moment.

“What the fu-”

Before I can finish, the sound of something exploding roars up from under the truck, followed a half second later by the steering wheel bucking wildly from side to side. Panicked, I slam my foot down on the brake. I’m barely aware of Max’s frightened scream as I try to keep the swerving vehicle under control, but I only manage a few seconds.

Jerking free of my grip, the wheel cuts hard to the left and before I can do anything, we’re flying off the road entirely.

Chapter End Notes

Guess what, everybody? It’s pedantic author time!

Although in the game it says the storm is an ‘E6’, technically there’s no such thing. Tornadoes are graded on the Enhanced Fujita scale, which goes from EF0 to EF5. An EF0 tornado is barely worth the name, causing damage like broken branches and peeled-off roof shingles. An EF5 tornado, however? Ol’ Cliff’s not exaggerating when he calls it the hand of god. A tornado like that is absolutely capable of wiping a town like Arcadia Bay out of existence.

If you want some real-world examples of the kind of terrifying carnage an EF5 tornado can leave in its wake, take a look at the aftermath of the ones that hit Joplin, Missouri in 2011 or Moore, Oklahoma in 2013.

It’s also worth noting that Joplin and Moore are both in the middle of huge, flat areas. Arcadia Bay, however, is surrounded by higher ground. Terrain like that and a tornado that powerful is the kind of nightmarish combo that turns this into this.

And that second shot is what Arcadia Bay still looks like three years after the storm.

Bad Moon Rising

Chapter Notes

Oct 10, 2013 - [9:26 pm]
Blackwell Academy – Pool Building
Arcadia Bay, Oregon

“Mr. Madsen? Sir?”

Startled, I take my eyes off the crowd of teenage partygoers and turn to face Tom, one of the half-dozen Blackwell security guards I’ve tasked with keeping this party under some semblance of control. Leaning in, I have to shout over the music. “What is it?”

“I just checked the entry count at the door, and I thought you should know that we’re getting close to capacity.”

“Noted.” I nod. When he doesn’t walk away, I add, “Was there something else?”

“I...” he starts, then seems to think better of it. “No, sir.”

I gesture at the crowd. “Get back to it, then.”

I suppose I can’t blame him for being nervous. They probably think they’re being evaluated or something, and nobody likes having to do their jobs with their boss looking over their shoulder. I’m not even supposed to be here tonight. I'd delegated security duties for the party to the other guards weeks ago. As far as they’d been concerned, I’d been looking forward to a quiet evening at home.

Until about 48 hours ago, I had been.

It hadn't been easy convincing Joyce at the last minute that I needed to be here after all. In the end, I managed to sell the idea that if there was anywhere a pair of wayward teenage girls might be likely to turn up, it was at one of the Vortex Club's parties.

As Tom moves away, I glance down at my watch. Less than five minutes to go before that freak Jefferson goes up on stage to make his big announcement. Leaning against the wall, I consider the one bright side to what’s coming; for a few glorious minutes, I’ll actually be able to hear myself think.

It’s not that this is terrible music. I’ve definitely heard worse. I grew up during the days of disco, god help me. Granted, I was only about eight years old when disco peaked, but that kind of thing scars a kid. And while whatever this DJ is playing might not be my thing, it beats the hell out of the Bee Gees. I just wish it weren’t being played at the same volume as a damned jet engine.

Does thinking that make me old? Probably.

I can live with that.

Looking around the room, I’m kind of underwhelmed at how generic this whole thing is. Before I took this job, I’d always imagined Vortex Club parties as being more interesting. They’d always seemed that way when I was growing up. I might’ve been a public-school kid, but even I’d heard of Blackwell’s Vortex Club. Of course, back then it was a completely different animal. A bunch of freaks, commies and counter-culture weirdos, all colored hair, pierced ears, and disrespectful attitudes. Chloe would’ve fit right in. But as much as they annoyed the hell out of me, there was no denying that they were tough as nails. They stood shoulder to shoulder against bullies, protecting those who couldn’t protect themselves.

I respected them for that, at least.

The Vortex Club kids today? They’d probably fall to pieces without their mommy and daddy’s money. Except for Ms. Chase, I think. That girl’s got steel in her spine, just like Chloe. I haven’t seen her tonight, but I don’t really expect to. I assume she’s in the curtained off VIP area, waiting for her win to be announced. Damn shame that her accomplishment has to be tarnished like this.

It makes me sick to my stomach that I’m going to just let him do what he’s planning to do, but I keep reminding myself that Ms. Chase is going to be safe. As safe as she can be, at any rate. The police will be there to rescue her. I’ll make sure of that. 

“Alright, alright. Settle down, everyone.” Principal Wells’ voice breaks into my thoughts, and I look up to see him on stage, gesturing for the DJ to turn the music down. What the hell is he doing? Isn’t it supposed to be Jefferson up there? “It’s time for tonight’s big announcement, the winner of the Everyday Heroes contest!”

Producing an envelope from his coat pocket with an affected flourish, he opens it and looks out at the crowd. “And the winner is...Victoria Chase!”

The applause is a little subdued, which isn’t surprising. Even I know that Ms. Chase isn’t especially popular among her fellow students right now. It doesn’t last long either. After about ten seconds, it begins to taper off as people start looking around in confusion. Ms. Chase was supposed to have been waiting for the announcement, ready to go up on stage and accept her victory. Instead she’s nowhere to be seen.

“Ms. Chase?” Wells asks, peering out over the crowd.

Did she get cold feet? What she’d volunteered for – to be willingly drugged and kidnapped by a whack-job like Jefferson – would take a lot of guts. It’d be a lot to ask of almost anyone, let alone an eighteen-year-old kid. Still, she didn’t strike me as the type to back out.

“Paging Victoria Chase to the main stage!” Another moment passes, and a cold, anxious feeling begins to form in my gut. Eventually Wells just shrugs. “I suppose someone will have to fill her in later. In the meantime, enjoy the rest of your evening!”

The crowd cheers as he leaves the stage, and the DJ fires up the music again. Trying not to look too obvious, I make a beeline for the VIP area. I’m about halfway there when I hear Wells shouting my name over the noise. I want to ignore him, but he moves right in between me and my goal.

“Madsen!” He waves at me, as if I weren’t looking directly at him already. There’s a slight sway in his step, and I briefly consider shoving him in the pool. It might sober him up a little.

“Sir, now isn-”

“I want everyone out of here by one AM.” he tells me, leaning a bit closer than I’d prefer. I manage not to flinch at the stink of rum on his breath. “Is that clear?”

“Got it,” I respond, shortly, looking over his shoulder and hoping to end the conversation as quickly as possible.

“I’m going home. If you see Jefferson, tell him to be in my office first thing tomorrow morning.” He scowls. “He and I need to have a little chat about him ignoring his commitments.”

“No prob...” The cold weight in my gut gets a lot heavier. “What?”

“You think I wanted to be up on that stage? He spent all that time pushing for Blackwell to enter a student into that stupid contest, then he skips out on announcing the winner.” He snorts. “Of course, it seems the winner skipped out on it, too, so I suppose it all works out.”

Shit. Shit. “I have to go.”

“Where the hell ar-”

Wells’ voice is lost in the noise of the crowd and music as I rush for the VIP area. The girl sitting at the entrance actually moves to get in my way, holding a clipboard in front of her like a shield. I don’t know if she’s planning to help or if she actually thinks she’ll stop me, but I don’t have time for either. I push past her before she can say a word, sweeping the curtain aside and scanning the area behind it for Ms. Chase.

She’s not here. Of course she’s not. Ignoring the startled looks on several students’ faces as they try to hide whatever illicit bullshit they’re holding; I rush to the nearest door and shove it open. I break into a sprint, heading straight to the faculty parking lot to check for Jefferson’s car...and find nothing there but an empty parking space.

Oh no.

Scrambling to pull out my phone, I bring up Glen Casperson’s info. It doesn’t matter if the plan was for me to make two calls; this is no time to be subtle. Glen should be at the station right now, so he’ll be able to go straight to dispatch.

He picks up on the first ring. “Hel-”

“Glen. It’s David.”

“Oh, hey buddy,” he says. “What can I do for you?”

“I’ve got a problem at the Blackwell party. Someone just told me they saw Mark Jefferson force a student into his car and leave campus, headed south. He’s supposed to be here chaperoning the party, but I just checked the faculty parking lot, and his car is gone.”

“Did you tell the officers on site?” Glen’s a good cop. Makes sense that’d be his first question.

“You mean Seger and Griffin? Seriously?” If there were ever two ABPD cops that Sean Prescott could consider bought and paid for, it’s those idiots. Officially, they’re here to ‘monitor’ the party, but those Vortex Club punks could probably start snorting blow off the hood of their cruiser and they wouldn’t do a damn thing about it.

“Yeah, fair enough. You said he was headed south?”

“That’s right,” I pause. “Glen, I have a bad feeling. I think this is related to that project I’ve been working on.”

“...you sure about that?”

“Ninety-five percent. And the only place to the south that’d make sense is the old Prescott barn.”

“Alright. Hang on,” I hear the sound of papers shuffling. “Bishop and McKay are on patrol near there. I’ll get dispatch to send them to the barn and put out an APB on Jefferson’s car. Grey Bentley, right?”

“That’s right. Pretty sure the plate reads T-P-F-T-H-L-K.”

“Got it. I’ll let you know if anything comes of it.”

“Thanks, Glen.” I don’t even wait for him to say goodbye before hanging up, quickly navigating through my contacts until I reach Chloe’s. Hitting the call button, I anxiously press the phone to my ear. “Come on, come on...”

“It’s Chloe. I’m busy. You know what to do.”

It didn’t even ring before going to voicemail. Her phone must be turned off already. Hanging up, I try calling Max instead.

“Hey, this is Max Caulfield’s phone. Max probably left me on silent again, so please leave her a mess-” I hang up before it finishes and try Chloe again.

“It’s Chlo-”

“Damn it!” How could I let this happen? How could I be so fucking negligent?! Fucking idiot!

Okay, I need to stop and think. I’ve still got fifteen minutes before the emergency SMS goes out. That’s enough time to check the dorms, at least. It’s possible that Ms. Chase was never at the party at all (unlikely, but possible) so I turn away from the parking lot and take off at a run.

Blackwell’s campus isn’t very large, and it only takes me a couple of minutes to get there, distractedly noting the slightly muddy tire tracks in the walkway between the main building and the dorms as I pass through. Despite my best efforts, students keep on using it as their own personal drivew-

Damnit, this is not the time.

The front door to Principal Wells’ adjoined house is ajar, and if it were anyone else that might be cause for concern. As it is, my guards find it like this at least once a week, to say nothing of the times he’s been found passed out on his own porch.

Honestly, that man needs help.

Pulling my recently recovered keyring from my belt, I let myself into the building and upstairs, taking the steps two at a time. For the most part, the dorm is silent; not surprising considering almost everyone is at the party. There’s light coming from under the door of room 224, a quick glance at the floor map tells me that’s Taylor Christensen’s room, and I absently recall something about her and a rabbit.

I jog down the hall toward Ms. Chase’s room and avoid looking at Ms. Marsh’s door altogether. I’m happy I ran into her at the hospital yesterday, but although seeing her up and on her feet was a real weight off my mind, I can’t help but feel a stab of guilt over failing to protect her. It’s my duty to keep this campus safe. Not only did I fail to do so, but I had that pervert walking around right under my nose the whole time.

“Ms. Chase?” I say, knocking softly on her room’s door. There’s no answer, and even though I didn’t honestly expect one, I’d hoped to be wrong. I try again, knocking more firmly. “Ms. Chase? Are you in there?”

Still nothing. Trying the handle reveals the door to be unlocked and the room to be empty, just like I knew it would be. “Shit.”

A glance down at my wristwatch tells me it’s already 21:46. Four minutes until the SMS is due to go out; I need to get back to the gym. As I retrace my steps, I take a second to pray to a God I long since stopped believing in that Bishop and McKay made it to the bunker in time.

I glance up at the twin moons as I cross the campus again and feel an uncomfortable lurch in my stomach. It’s just like Max had said, and if I’d been harboring any doubts about her story, they’re long gone now.

It’s almost time. Leaving a voicemail is better than nothing, so I pull out my phone again and open Chloe’s contact. My thumb is hovering over the call button again when the device buzzes and an incoming alert fills the screen.

 


 

[69310]: ATTENTION! EMERGENCY WEATHER NOTIFICATION! THIS IS NOT A TEST!

[69310]: A EF5 Tornado warning has been issued for central Tillamook County. All residents in the following towns are advised to immediately evacuate inland: Rockaway Beach – Barview – Arcadia Bay – Garibaldi – Bay City – Cape Meares

[69310]: DO NOT ATTEMPT TO SHELTER IN PLACE. TRAVEL NORTH AND HEAD INLAND. REMAIN THERE UNTIL FURTHER INSTRUCTIONS ARE RECEIVED.

 


 

I never thought I’d be so happy to see a storm warning. Even if the girls aren’t answering their phones, at least I know that they’re alright.

Unfortunately, that means that I’ve only got five minutes until the lights go out. Maybe less. Reluctantly closing Chloe’s contact information, I bring up Joyce’s. I hate that I’m going to be lying to her, but I’d rather have her safe and angry later than risk the alternative. I’m not surprised when she answers on the first ring; it seems like she hasn’t put her phone down in two days.

“David? Are you alright?”

“I’m fine, Joyce.” Of course that’d be the first thing she asks. She’s been all tied up in knots since Chloe left. “Are Ryan and Vanessa still there?”

“They’re right here. David, we all just got a storm warning message on our phones.”

“I got one, too. I think everyone did.”

“The girls are still out there.”

“I know. I’ve got the police looking for them. I’m going to be out doing the same, but I want the three of you to do what the message says and evacuate.”

“What?! We can’t just leave!”

“You can, sweetheart, and you should. Wherever you can get to, so long as it’s far away. There’s nothing else for you to do, and these warnings are no joke. I promise I won’t give up until I find them.”

“But what if they come back here?”

“Leave a message for them on the door, and a few more inside the house. Tell them where you’ve gone, so they’ll know to follow.

“I...I can’t...”

The clock is ticking. Not much longer now. “Joyce, please.”

“...alright.”

“Thank you. I’ll find them, I swear. We’ll all see you soon. I love you.”

“I love you, t-”

Then all the lights go out, and the call drops almost as soon as they do.

21:55, right on the nose.

It figures that Chloe would pick this one time to stick to a schedule.

 


 

Oct 10, 2013 - [9:53 pm]
Blackwell Academy Dorms – Room 224
Arcadia Bay, Oregon

I stare at the message on my phone, trying to decide whether or not someone is screwing with me.

Victoria knew this was going to happen. She practically said it was going to. Is this some Vortex Club prank no one told me about?

But if this is a prank, why did she tell me to pack a bag and stay safe?

A storm warning, though? Seriously? The weather outside is fine. Looking out my window, I can see the stars clearly. There isn’t a cloud in the sky. Just that fucking double-moon optical illusion thing, but that’s not a storm. It looks freaky as fuck, but it’s not a storm.

Stuff like this is why I’m so tired of the Vortex Club and all its bullshit. That, and the fact that even after what happened to Kate, half of those assholes are still insisting none of it was our fault.

Okay, I just need to stay calm. There’s no sense freaking myself out if there’s nothing to freak out about. Of course, almost as soon as that thought passes through my head, everything goes dark.

“Okay, what the fuck?” I mutter.

My laptop gives off just enough light for me to find my way to the bag I put together. Victoria said to pack a flashlight, so I packed a flashlight. I carefully make my way to the door (I really should do a better job of keeping my floor tidy) and out into the hall. Looks like all the lights are out, except for a couple of emergency lamps mounted on the walls. With everyone else at the party, the dorms are dead silent. So much so that even the sound of my socks on the carpet seems weirdly loud.

Walking to the end of the hall, I peer out the window that overlooks the rest of Blackwell and beyond. The lights aren’t just out for the school; all of Arcadia Bay has gone dark. Everyone at the party must be freaking out. I can totally picture Principal Wells standing right in the middle of all that chaos, shouting orders while everyone ignores him. It’ll probably be that security goon, Mr. Madsen, who ends up taking over.

I wonder if Victoria is okay? I should probably go check on...no. She told me to stay away. She asked me to trust her, so that’s what I’m going to do. And I’m going to keep my cool until she and I see each other tomorrow.

...even though she’s totally into me and it took me an hour to stop making happy little squeaks every time I thought about the way she kissed my cheek. How the hell can a kiss on the cheek be so goddamn intense? And the way she was totally staring at my lips afterward? I’m pretty sure that if I’d had the guts to go for it, she totally would have kissed me for real.

What the hell is this feeling? It’s like anti-anxiety and it is the fucking best! I’m so full of energy and there are butterflies in my stomach, and everything is all bright and shiny and awesome.

It’s because you’re in love, dumbass, I tell myself, then I shy away from the thought. I know Victoria likes me, but the absolute last thing I want is chase her away with a big scary word like ‘love’.

I can’t just sit here, though. She told me to stay in the dorms until 9:50, but that was ten minutes ago so I guess that means it’s safe to leave now? Because whether or not this whole thing is some elaborate prank, there’s someone who could use a little reassurance right now. Mom is still confined to bed for another week. She’s probably worried about me, and since the phones are down, too, this seems like a great time to go visit.

Heading back to my room, I grab my bag, pick up the keys to my nine-year-old crapmobile off my desk, and snatch the rain jacket hanging on the back of my door. Pausing before I leave, I shine my flashlight back into the room to make sure I haven’t forgotten anything important, and the first thing I see is Alice looking up at me from her cage.

I try to ignore the sudden and intense unease I feel. Alice is fine now, and she’ll be fine while I’m out...but what if she isn’t? What if that storm warning was the real thing? The look on Victoria’s face when she told me to stay safe makes me feel like it might be. Would Alice still be okay here? Animals can feel disasters coming, right? Or is that just earthquakes? Eyeing her closely, I try to get a vibe on whether she’s worried.

“You’ll be alright till I get back, right?”

She doesn’t respond, because she’s a rabbit. But now my anxiety is threatening to go full throttle on me again, so when her ear twitches a little that’s pretty much all the convincing I need.

“Okay, fine. Gimme a minute.”

 


 

Oct 10, 2013 - [9:57 pm]
Blackwell Academy – Pool Building
Arcadia Bay, Oregon

The pool building’s emergency lights are just enough to reveal a crowd getting ready to panic. If that happens and people start shoving each other, it’ll only be a matter of time before someone gets knocked into the pool. If their clothes are heavy or they’ve been drinking? If they slip beneath the surface before we spot them? The water is pitch black, so who knows if we’d be able to get to them before they drown.

I need to get on top of this right now. Guided by the small circle of light my flashlight puts out, I rush up onto the stage overlooking the pool, pull a whistle from my belt and blow it as hard as I can. The shrill sound cuts through the noise, echoing off the walls and leaving my ears ringing a little.

“EVERYBODY, LISTEN UP!” I bellow at the top of my lungs. Say what you will about the infantry, they’ll definitely teach you how to yell. “Stay clear of the pool edge! Now, I want everyone to turn to the person on their right and grab hold of their wrist to form a line. The other security guards are going to guide you to the exits! Once you’re outside, gather on the lawn in front of the main school building!”

After a moment of uncertain hesitation, I’m relieved when everyone does as their told. Guided by several of the school’s security guards (who I’ve trained pretty darned well, if I do say so myself), the crowd makes its way out of the building in several long, connected lines. Clearing the building takes time, and nearly fifteen minutes has passed by the time the last two stragglers are herded outside. The half-dressed teens had been found screwing in a bathroom stall in the boy’s locker room, surprisingly resistant to coming out.

And they say romance is dead.

I’m the last person out, and I’m pleased to see my guards have the crowd calm and safely clustered right where I told them to be. Wherever those guys end up looking for work after this storm, they can count on an absolutely glowing reference from me.

I’m headed toward them when the sound of an engine catches my attention, and I look over my shoulder in time to see a grey subcompact car leaving the student parking lot. It’s too far away to see who’s driving it, but it does bring to light a problem that we need to get on top of right away. Carefully shouldering my way through the crowd, I murmur a quick order to one of the guards before stepping up onto the rim of the school’s fountain. Taking a deep breath, I shout over the clamor. “Alright, everyone! I need your attention right here!”

Like before, everyone clams up. People might make fun of security guards, but when the shit hits the fan, one uniform is as good as another.

“For anyone who may not have seen the emergency SMS, the government has issued a tornado warning for several towns in central Tillamook County, including Arcadia Bay! I don’t know any more than that, but for the moment the safest course of action is to follow the instructions they’ve provided.”

“Oh, come on!” someone shouts. “It’s just a blackout!”

It’s too dark to see who it was, but that’s probably for the best. If I could see them, I’d probably launch into one of my ‘complacency can get you killed’ speeches. That kind of thing is pretty standard in the military, but they tend not to go over as well with civilians. They always seem like the right thing to say at the time, but an hour later I’m looking back in embarrassment.

“Maybe it is, and maybe it isn’t,” I respond, as neutrally as I can manage. I don’t want anyone to panic, but I still need them to take the danger seriously. “Hopefully, we’ll all be back tomorrow. In the meantime, it’s better to be safe than sorry.”

Some grumbling follows, but no more argument.

“Anyone with their own vehicle, students included, will be allowed to leave campus. However, Officers Seger and Griffin will be waiting at the parking lot exit to administer breathalyzer tests.” I gesture to the pair of surprised-looking ABPD officers standing nearby. “They’ve assured me that no one will be getting in any trouble for underage drinking, so long as they’ve got someone sober driving.”

Under any other circumstances, putting any of these kids behind the wheel at all would be the last thing I’d want to do. But they’re going to scatter the second I let them go, anyway. I might as well try to keep any of them from getting into a pointless accident in the process.

For their part, Seger and Griffin recover quickly. Crossing their arms and eying the crowd sternly, they’re clearly trying to look like they’re worth jack shit as police officers.

“After leaving the campus,” I continue, “follow the tsunami evacuation route signs north to the muster point in Barnesdale. There should be other ABPD officers there, ready to provide instruction or direct you further inland, if necessary. Any questions?”

There aren’t any. People mostly seem anxious to be on their way.

“Good.” I nod, giving Seger and Griffin time to get into position. “Anyone who doesn’t have a ride, stay where you are. I’m arranging for the school bus to come around to drive everyone to the muster point. It’ll be here soon, so students that live in the dorms should take this opportunity to go back to their rooms and pack an overnight bag. Don’t dawdle, though. Once you’re ready, come right back here.”

I pause again, my eyes sweeping the crowd. There are plenty of nervous faces, but no one is panicking. “Alright, then. Get going, everyone. And be safe.”

Like I predicted, as soon as I give the all clear the crowd practically scatters. Bill, the runner I sent to fetch the bus driver, should make it to the man’s house in about fifteen minutes and be back with the bus in another ten. Bill’s a good soldi...man. Bill’s a good man. I know I can count on him.

Sending another guard to go kick Wells’ drunk ass out of bed, I glance down at my phone to see exactly the same thing as the last dozen times I checked it. No reception, so no word from Chloe. Forcing myself to put it away, I take a slow breath. I’d give anything to know she was okay, but so far her side of the plan has gone perfectly. All I can do now is keep up my end and hope that we see each other tomorrow.

“Be safe, Chloe,” I mutter, watching the few pairs of headlights I can see moving along Bay Avenue and allowing myself a few seconds to wonder if any of them belong to that godawful junkheap she calls a truck. “Please be safe.”

Chapter End Notes

Have you ever read the lyrics to Bad Moon Rising? Definitely an appropriate song, given the situation.

Quick side note: For various reasons, y'all are going to have to wait until August for the next chapter.

Shutter

Oct 10, 2013 - [9:30 pm]
Prescott Barn
South of Arcadia Bay, Oregon

I’m not supposed to be here.

I have an utterly asinine award that I should be presenting right now. Instead, I’m forced to ensure that my increasingly unstable apprentice hasn’t committed some catastrophically stupid act, even though I’m very much afraid that he has.

Glancing down at my phone, I re-read the trio of rapid-fire texts I received about twenty minutes ago.


Nathan: Something happened.

Nathan: I handled it, but I need help.

Nathan: Please come.


To say I’m concerned by the short, vague string of messages is a massive understatement. In fact, they’re unsettlingly reminiscent of the night he accidentally killed Rachel Amber. A situation I’d managed to salvage and had made clear I was not interested in repeating. Ever.

By the time I noticed his messages, his phone was already turned off. And as irritating as that is, it’s probably the one thing I can’t fault him for. It’s one of the absolute rules we observe when we go to the Dark Room; phones get turned off. As I exit the highway, I shut my phone off, as well. Not that I actually believe anyone would be tracking it, but a little paranoia never hurt anyone.

My headlights fall on Nathan’s bright red pickup truck as I pull up to the dilapidated barn, and I can clearly discern the obvious drag marks in the dirt. They run from the truck’s passenger side to the barn entrance and do absolutely nothing to put my mind at ease.  

Nathan has a way of responding aggressively when challenged, and this wouldn’t be the first time he mistook impulsivity for decisiveness. He might not have been the most stable individual to begin with, but since Rachel’s death this kind of erratic behavior has become increasingly common.

God knows I’ve tried to set him straight. Any photographer worth the title should know that it doesn’t matter whether you’re fast or slow, shooting action or still, in a studio or out in the world. Above all else, you take every shot with forethought. You need to know what you’re looking at before you can capture it.

Impulsivity is the antithesis of forethought. It’s born out of stupidity. It not only welcomes failure, but practically invites it. It leads to disappointment. Above all, it creates complications, and complications are unacceptable; particularly from someone who’d call themselves my protégé.

Stepping inside the barn, I immediately spot Nathan sitting on a bale of hay, fidgeting nervously. He jumps to his feet. “Okay, so don’t be angry.”

Those are the first words he chooses? If there are any words in the English language more fundamentally opposed to keeping someone calm, I’ve never heard them. “Then don’t give me a reason to be.”

“I just...I didn’t have a choice,” he stresses, leading the way down the steps and through the open bunker door. “We were talking and she was saying all this stuff and it was like she knew. About everything. But it’s okay, because she said she understood.”

Before I can muster a response to his asinine rambling, I step around the corner to discover the full scope of the problem. Victoria Chase is laying on the floor, bound and gagged. And although she’s clearly been drugged, that isn’t stopping her from looking me directly in the eye. From recognizing me.

“What have you done?”

“M-Mr. Jefferson?” Nathan stammers.

“What is wrong with you?”

“I...”

“Why is she here?”

“I told you, she...”

“Seemed like she knew something, yes. That’s not what I asked, though. I want you to explain why she’s here. I want to know what the hell you were thinking when you brought her here.”

“But...you were going to bring her here anyway.” He seems genuinely baffled. “And she said she’d...”

“I was going to bring her after she accepted her award, Nathan. After. So that whatever happened to her tonight could be blamed on her celebrating too hard. So that she’d be too afraid of missing her trip to San Francisco to go to the police. So that I’d have three days to make sure she decides to forget about it.” It pains me that I have to explain all of this to him, of all people. “She’s not supposed to be here right now. She was supposed to be present when her win was announced five fucking minutes ago.”

“I-I’m sorry, Mr. Jefferson. I just...”

“Was anyone else around when you took her?”

“No, no one.” He hesitates because he’s lying to me. And he knows I know that. “I mean, basically no one.”

“They have a word for ‘basically no one’, Nathan, and that word is someone.”

“I think I heard her talking to Taylor Christensen before she ran into me, but Taylor never saw us together, I swear!”

“She wouldn’t have to, Nathan. When someone notices Victoria is gone, she just has to tell them Victoria was in the dorms.”

“So?”

“The same dorms you’re supposed to be confined to, following your suspension. And that you’re currently missing from.”

“If anyone asks, I’ll say I went home. My dad owns this town, so no one will say shit.”

“And what about the other witness?”

“I...what other witness?”

I wordlessly point to the bound girl on the floor.

“She’s drugged.”

“And yet she’s awake,” I point out.

“No! I...I mean, barely. She won’t get loose or anything.”

I honestly believed that Nathan was smarter than this. “Do you really think that’s what I care about?

“But she...she said she’d forgive me afterward,” he insists. “She said she understood.”

“What in the hell are you on about?”

“We were talking about Rachel...” he hesitates. “I mean, not about her exactly, and I asked Victoria what she’d do if I’d been the one who did it and she said that she’d understand and forgive me.”

That’s absurd. “And you believed her.”

“Of course,” he responds, immediately, like the ignorant child he is. “We’ve known each other forever.”

“She won’t understand, Nathan. And she most certainly won’t forgive you.”

“But she’s an artist, too! She’d recognize what we’re doing here! She’d understand!”

The way he keeps repeating that word is wearing on my already thin patience.

“First of all, Victoria Chase is not an artist. Victoria Chase exemplifies the fact that taking photos doesn’t make someone a photographer, and that money can’t buy talent.” Having to choose Victoria’s entry as the contest winner had legitimately pained me. Of all the entries, hers was simply the least disappointing. “Second of all, even if she were, she’d never be able to grasp the truth of what we’re trying to find here. Her kind isn’t capable of it. Understood?”

“...yes,” he murmurs, staring at his shoes and looking properly chastised.

“Good. Unfortunately, the fact that you’ve once again failed to properly measure a dosage means that she’s going to remember this.”

“I...I didn’t want to...” He swallows. “A-after Rachel...I didn’t want to use too much.”

“She’s going to talk, Nathan,” I say, ignoring his sniveling tone. “You know what that means.”

“B-but I...I promised her.” He swallows. “She’s my friend. I don’t want to...”

“What you want doesn’t matter anymore.” I step forward, looming over him. “Or do we have a problem?”

His mouth works silently for a moment. “N-no. No problem.”

“Good. In the meantime, there’s no sense being wasteful. We should try and get the most out of our time with Ms. Chase, don’t you think?”

He nods, cautiously.

“I’d have thought you’d show a little more enthusiasm, Nathan. This could be an opportunity for you to redeem yourself.”

“It could?” he asks, hopefully. It’s pitiful, like a dog perking up at the promise of a scrap.

“If you’re willing to take advantage of it.” I glance at Victoria. “And if you’re ready to do what’s necessary.”

He glances between Victoria and I for a moment, then nods eagerly. “Whatever it takes.”

However much the drugs may be affecting her, Victoria is sober enough to understand that. The betrayal in her eyes is beautiful.

“Glad to hear it. Now, go set up the H4D.”

“R-really?”

I suppose I can’t blame him for his surprise. The Hasselblad H4D-200MS is a $45,000 camera. Before now, I’ve barely even allowed him to touch it, let alone actually use it. “Yes, Nathan. Really.”

I don’t bother watching him go through his preparations. If Nathan can’t set up a photoshoot unsupervised after this long, then I don’t feel like watching him fail.

Moving to the shining steel medical cart I keep to one side; I begin to prepare a syringe. I’ve always enjoyed the proper application of drugs. It’s such an elegant technique of controlling others, because although I’m not particularly repulsed by the sight of blood, I prefer to leave it where it is.

My early work relied on much cruder methods, particularly since I lacked the means to ensure my subjects had no memory of our time together. Thankfully, New York is a dangerous city. There are a hundred possible explanations for a missing girl.

Drugs are so much cleaner, though.

After so many years, I’ve developed a knack for guessing dosages. How much it takes to leave someone in a half-conscious, unremembered stupor. How much is needed to put them out cold. How much is necessary to ensure they never wake up.

To be fair, that last one isn’t much of a challenge; a full syringe, injected directly into the external jugular, never fails to bring someone to a swift and silent end. Something Nathan likely won’t have time to reflect on as I step up behind him.

His only response to the needle piercing his neck is a small, sharp gasp. His knees buckle almost immediately, and I wonder about the look on his face right now. Shock? Betrayal? I’ll never know, because his features have gone slack by the time he falls backward, his glassy eyes staring up at the ceiling. In truth, his heart had probably stopped before he hit the floor, and I’m a little disappointed at not having the opportunity to capture that.

There’s something elegant about the way a lifeless body falls, crumpling to the ground with no effort to stop itself. Nathan himself had once called it ‘ragdoll physics’. Such a brilliant way to phrase it. The marriage of two ideas, one so innocent and childish, the other so inherently complex. He’d always had a keen mind for that kind of thing, but in that moment I was genuinely impressed.

If only he’d possessed a little more self-control. Very disappointing.

I usually go to great lengths to avoid unnecessary deaths, if only so I don’t have to deal with the nuisance of hiding the evidence. Disposing of Arcadia Bay’s prodigal son will prove especially challenging. I can’t imagine that Sean Prescott will simply accept the disappearance of his sole heir.

Between this and Rachel Amber, I think it may be time for me to move on. Arcadia Bay has gotten boring, anyway. I think it’s time to go back to San Francisco or New York. Perhaps I could spend some time working abroad.

A soft keening sound distracts me from my thoughts, pulling my attention back to Victoria. She’s on her knees, tears streaming down her face, gazing at Nathan’s body with a profound blend of grief and misery. Now that’s really something. He betrayed her, brought her here, even agreed to kill her, and she’s still mourning him.

I should kill her, too. Sedate her, at the very least. But her eyes are utterly captivating. I’ve never seen eyes filled with so much anguish. It’s beautiful. Such purity of loss. I’m barely aware of anything else as I pick up the Hasselblad, lean forward, and caress the shutter release to capture that all-important first shot. I’ve always found the smooth click of the shutter to be soothing, but Victoria seems to feel otherwise. She lurches to her feet, still unsteady from the drugs in her system, and manages to stagger a full step toward the door. I’d have been impressed if she hadn’t ruined my framing in the process, but a sharp backhand quickly gets her back under control.

She falls backward, her eyebrow split, a thin trickle of blood standing out boldly against her pale skin, eyes downcast as she tries to make herself as small as possible. Pitiful. I can’t believe I was forced to settle for her. I’d set my sights so much higher than another self-important teenage slut willing to fuck a teacher to win a contest.

But even with a damaged face, the hit did nothing to dampen the despair in those eyes of hers. Grief is enduring that way. We’ve got time, though, there will be plenty of opportunities to discover who she really is. Peel back the layers of anger and self-importance to expose the fragile thing beneath. And I imagine that Victoria Chase has no shortage of layers.

Not like dear, sweet Kate. She wore her heart on her sleeve, making it easy to find and pierce. She’d been superb to work with; so fundamentally naïve that even when the drugs faded enough for her to flirt with lucidity, she still hadn’t been able to find comprehension. But while photographing her had been satisfying enough, the real art had been in what came after.

Her own refusal to acknowledge that she’d been asking for it, that being so pure is akin to begging the world to strike you down, left her so traumatized that it took nothing more than a few harsh words and a blurry online video to push her over the edge. I got to enjoy a front row seat to her entire breakdown. It was breathtaking to watch her come apart at the seams as her friends and family turned on her.

I’d even had the opportunity to give her that final push, so to speak. I’d have been disappointed that I hadn’t been able to see her come to an end, but for the poetry of Max Caulfield’s timely intervention.

Ah, Maxine. That face. Those eyes. All I’ve wanted, from the moment I first saw her, was to immortalize the instant the light of hope in them died.

But in her absence, I suppose I’ll have to make do with what’s available.

I capture a few more shots of Victoria, then a couple more. I’ve always loved this part, no matter the subject, and I can’t help but feel my excitement mounting. She moves again, but rather than correct her I decide to see where the action leads. I move with her, stepping to the left as her shadow melts from one shape to another, until my foot lands on something uneven and I nearly trip.

“What the...?”

Oh, yes. Nathan. I suppose I ought to deal with that.

For better or worse, my work has given me plenty of experience with heavy lifting. After taking a moment to make sure Victoria doesn’t get up to anything while I’m outside, I lift Nathan’s body (which is hardly a challenge, considering he’s supposed to be an athlete) and carry it up to the barn. I’ll need to dispose of it somewhere, and I’m not going to risk burying another body at the junk yard. Repetition like that is an excellent way to get caught.

I could simply take it up to the lighthouse and throw it off the edge. Given Nathan’s reputation, I don’t imagine anyone would have trouble believing he’d commit suicide. And that’s assuming the body was ever found. Thinking it over as I reach the barn’s door and step outside, I find that it’s probably the easiest solu-

“Police! Freeze!”

A police cruiser parked right next to my car.

Two officers, guns drawn, slowly advancing on me.

“Oh, fuck,” one of them mutters. “Is that the Prescott kid?”

“Put him down, Jefferson,” the other says, his eyes fixed on me. “Nice and gentle. And keep those hands where I can see them.”

A lifetime of carefully honed reflexes drives my next action. I’ve already let go of the body by the time he finishes his sentence and, predictably, both officers look down to watch it fall. Their distraction only offers me a narrow sliver of time in which to act, but I’ve built my career in fractions of a second. I’ve got a hand on my gun before Nathan even hits the dirt.

Drawing as quickly as I can, I manage to fire off a few wild shots as I duck back into the open door. They respond - too slowly - with shots of their own, missing me entirely as I sprint back to the bunker entrance. Although they aren’t stupid enough to immediately follow me inside, I waste no time scrambling down the stairs and locking the heavy steel door behind me.

Damn it.

Damn it!

How could this happen? I’ve always been careful. Precise. All photography is a matter of precision and timing. What had I done wrong? As much as I’d love to blame Nathan for this, he wasn’t so stupid as to lead the police here. And even if someone had seen him take Victoria, they couldn’t have known about the bunker. No one does.

No one did.

“Shit!” I hiss, my mind whirling as I try to think of a way to escape, even though I know there isn’t any. There’s only one way in or out of my Dark Room, and right now it’s all that stands between me and the Arcadia Bay Police Department. I can already hear them thumping on the other side, yelling something angry and indistinct.

Taking a step back from the door, I force myself to calm down and think rationally.

That’s five inches of solid steel. They can’t get through.

I have time.

I have all the time in the world.

Calmer now, I return to the bunker’s main room to find Victoria struggling against her bonds. She’s even trying to shout through the tape covering her filthy mouth, as though anyone outside could possibly hear her. It’s pathetic, and for a second I’m tempted to just empty an entire syringe into that smooth little neck of hers and be done with it.

Still, I can’t bear to let a good opportunity go to waste. She’s here and I’m here and I suspect this is going to be my last shoot, at least for some time. I may as well make the most of it. Strolling over to my cabinets, I take a moment to queue up some music. There’s no way in hell I’m going to stand here and listen to those idiots pounding on the door.

Finding an album that suits my mood, I retrieve my camera from the coffee table and walk over to Victoria. She’s crying again, and I find myself struggling to find the same sense of inspiration at the sight as I felt before. No matter - I’m sure it’ll return soon enough.

“Now then, Victoria.” I can’t help but smile as she lets out another muted wail. “Where were we?”

 

-------------------

END PART VIII

-------------------

 

Murphy’s Law


Oct 10, 2013 - [10:14 pm]
Arcadia Bay, Oregon

“God fucking damn it!”

This is just typical.  Everything had been going so well, exactly according to plan, so it fucking figures that when the universe finally did decide to reach out and bitch slap us, it really made it count.

“So I guess it’s bad?” Max asks, leaning on the truck’s fender.

“No, a flat tire would be bad,” I answer, fighting the urge to kick the bumper. “Two shredded tires and only one spare? That’s next-level bullshit.”

This is totally my fault, too. I was the one who freaked when a damned tree branch on the road took out one of our front tires, and I was the gigantic idiot who slammed on the brakes, even though I know better than to do that. If I hadn’t, I never would’ve lost control of the truck and we wouldn’t have lost the other front tire rolling over some poor bastard’s mailbox.

And as if that wasn’t bad enough, it just had to happen right on the edge of town, just a couple blocks away from the Two Whales. I really hate how exposed we are, just sitting here in the open. For some reason I keep expecting Mom or Max’s parents or the cops or fucking someone to just appear out of nowhere. Taking a breath, I glance up and down the road again. Above us, the freaky double moons (that is so fucking weird) are bright enough that even with the streetlights out, I can easily see how empty the road still is.

Even so...not fucking ideal.

“God fucking damn it,” I mutter again, eyeing the old Honda in the former-mailbox owner’s driveway and trying to remember a YouTube video I once watched about how to hotwire a car.

“It’s fine, Chloe,” Max says, sounding a little too casual for the situation. Leaning into the cab, she pulls a flashlight out from under the seat. “I’ll just take this, rewind to before you ran over the branch, and signal you to stop.”

Not so long ago, I’d have been all about that plan...but that was before Max’s powers started beating the hell out of her. “Maybe that’s not the best idea.”

“Do you have a better one?”

“No, but you said rewinding was getting harder, right?”

“So?”

“So, if you’re running out of time mojo or something, shouldn’t we save whatever’s left in case we need it?”

“Pretty sure we need it now. Unless you feel like walking the rest of the way?”

Yeah, not so much.

“Fine. But don’t go back any further than you hav-” Before I can finish, Max’s whole body flickers, like I’m watching her on some shitty old TV. Then her knees buckle, and she starts to fall over. I grab hold of her, lowering her to the ground as she lets out a low groan. “The fuck was that?!”

“I... I tried, but I...” she trails off, sweat beading on her forehead. “I only made it a few seconds. I couldn’t hold on.” She climbs back to her feet, a little unsteadily. “I can...just give me a second and I’ll try again.”

“Like hell you will.” I refuse to flinch under the glare she shoots me.

“I have to.” She’s got her hand out before I can stop her, eyes squeezed shut, straining hard against something I can’t see. I keep waiting for something to happen, even though I know I’d never see it if it did. Finally, after nearly a minute, she drops her arm again. “Damn it! It’s not working!”

“So, what? Your powers are just gone?””

“No, they’re still there, but...” She scowls, searching for the right words. “It’s like they’re jammed. I can feel them, but I can’t make them work.”

Well, son of a bitch. No more time power leaves us with some seriously limited options, and none of them are especially appealing.

There’s absolutely no way I’ll be able to find a second spare tire for this thing tonight. Not here in town, anyway. Maybe if we were at American Rust, but that’s as far away from here as the bunker is, and in the wrong direction. Even if there was a perfectly usable tire just waiting for us, right out in the open, it’d be well past midnight by the time we got back here with it. Throw at least another half hour on top of that to actually change both tires.

And all of that is assuming the cops don’t show up while we’re gone and tow it away.

“Uh, Chloe?”

“What?” It comes out sharper than I meant it to. “Sorry. What’s up?”

“The truck is...well, it’s kinda leaking.”

“Leaking what?” Please don’t be the gas tank. Please don’t be the gas tank. Please don’t be the gas tank.

“I’m not sure what it is. It’s kinda red?”

Oh, you’ve got to be shitting me.

Walking around the truck, I grab the flashlight out of Max’s hand and drop to the ground. Aiming the light up into the undercarriage, it takes me about two seconds to spot my worst nightmare. The splintered remains of that mailbox post really went the extra mile in taking its revenge, because it looks like right after it chewed up the front tire, it decided to punch my transmission case right off its fucking mounts. The whole thing is bent at an angle, the ground is soaked with transmission fluid, and there’s no way in hell this truck is going anywhere without at least a week in the shop and about four grand in parts and labor.

Fuck.

Fucking fuck.

God damned fucking motherfucking fuck!

“Alright,” I grind out, climbing back to my feet. “Grab your stuff. We’re leaving.”

“What?”

“If we move fast, we can still make it to the barn on foot with plenty of time to spare.”

“But if we do that...”

She doesn’t have to tell me. Bay Avenue is pretty much going to be ground zero when the storm hits. If my truck is here when it does (and short of a miracle, it definitely will be) then I’ll never see it again.

“I know, but what other choice have we got?”

“I don’t want you to lose it,” she murmurs. I can see it in her eyes; she knows exactly how much this stupid truck means to me. When it came into my life, it was the first real taste of freedom I had since I lost Dad. And even if it was a rolling shitbox ready to fall apart at any minute, it was still my rolling shitbox.

“Neither do I,” I say, ignoring the heartache filling my chest. “But it’s completely fucked. An actual mechanic with a full shop couldn’t fix it in time, and the clock is ticking. We need to go.”

I’m right (as much as I wish I wasn’t) and she knows it. “If you’re sure...”

“I’m sure. Just lemme grab some things.” Pulling a ratty old backpack out from under the seat, I take down the handful of knick-knacks I have hanging from the rearview mirror and grab a couple mementos out of the glove compartment; a nineteenth birthday card from Rachel and a kitschy three-dollar snow globe Frank found in Portland and gave to me last Christmas, back when we were still friends.

Finally, I grab my trusty Elvis bobblehead off the dashboard and drop it in my bag with everything else. “Okay, let’s roll.”

“I’m sorry, Chloe.”

“Not your fault, Maximus. Besides, you said it survived the storm before, right?” I ask, and she nods. “Well, maybe it’ll survive this time, too. I can fix it up all over again.”

“Maybe,” she says, but it’s pretty clear she doesn’t believe it.

“Let’s just go.” Throwing my backpack over one shoulder, I turn and walk away. Max falls into step beside me a second later, and neither one of us looks back.

 


 

Oct 10, 2013 - [10:43 pm]
Arcadia Bay, Oregon

It’s not as easy to sneak through town as I thought it’d be. Even with the power out, the full moons (seriously, so fucking creepy to look at) are giving off plenty of light for someone to spot us by. There are the headlights of passing cars, too, but there aren’t many of those. I’m trying not to be worried about that. It’s not as though I expected a steady stream of people honking at each other as they scrambled to get out of town, but it’d be nice to see a little hustle, at least.

Of course, Max picks up on my concern. And, in that really unnerving way of hers, guesses exactly what I’m thinking. “It hasn’t even been an hour yet, and the sky is still clear. People will start moving when the weather starts to turn bad.”

I glance over at the beach. The moonlight (moonlights?) reflecting off the water makes it easy to see where the ocean meets the sand. The waves are slow and gentle, and there’s only a light breeze coming off the water. It’s no wonder the storm took everyone off guard the first time. If Max hadn’t told me about it, I’d never have suspected a thing.

“I guess.” Peeking around the corner, I make sure that there isn’t anyone looking our way before waving Max forward. We don’t want to attract anyone’s attention on our way through or have to explain to some good Samaritan why we don’t want a lift to safety. We’ve avoided using our flashlights and kept to the shadows as much as possible, but it’s slowed us way down. Following Bay Avenue through town on foot should only have taken about twenty-five minutes, but that much time has come and gone, and we were only just passing the Two Whales.

Despite everything, I can’t help but stop and stare at it. It’s only now occurring to me that I’m never going to see it again. Like everything else in town, including my truck, the storm is going to tear this stupid diner to pieces. Suddenly, I have an urge to go break in and take something to remember it by. Maybe one of those dumbass Two Whales bottle openers. Something I can stick in my pocket and keep safe from whatever’s coming. I’m pretty sure I would have done it, too, if Max hadn’t picked that second to tug on my sleeve.

“Chloe, look.”

Shaking my head, I turn to see her pointing across the street at the small, darkened alleyway beside the Two Whales. The moonlight (moonslight, maybe?) is just enough for me to make out that homeless lady who’s always hanging out behind the diner. I’ve talked to her a few times, even let her bum the occasional smoke.

“She doesn’t know the storm is coming. She died last time, because I didn’t warn her.”

“Shit.” And I wouldn’t put money on her having a phone, so she probably hasn’t seen the SMS either. “Alright. Stay here and I’ll be right back.”

Glancing around, I dash across the street. I doubt anyone is watching, but I still keep my head down until I’m almost behind the diner; what’s-her-name looks up as I get close.

“Well, hello there, Chloe,” she says, smiling like it’s just another evening for her. Aside from the blackout, it probably is. “Haven’t seen you in a while. How’s life?”

“Pretty fucked up, actually.”

“Same as it ever was,” she chuckles. “Far as I’ve seen, that’s life’s usual setting.”

“Yeah, cool.” I really don’t have time for hobo philosophy right now. “Look, you’ve got to get out of town. Like, tonight. Now.

“Way ahead of you, kid.” She pats the old, worn-out duffle bag next to her. “I’ve been around long enough to know which way the winds are blowing.”

“Yeah, well, these winds are gonna be blowing a lot harder than usual.”

“Second verse, same as the first,” she says, waving dismissively. “Don’t you worry about me. I’m not going to get caught out in the storm.”

“You know about the storm?” I glance around, as if I’ll see the person who clued her in. “Who told you?”

“No one had to tell me, Chloe. The storm always comes, sooner or later.”

I’m not sure what to say to that. “Do you mean, like, literally? Or metaphorically?

“Whichever suits you.” She shrugs. “Hey, I don’t suppose I could bum a smoke for the road?”

“I...uh...I quit, actually.”

She studies me for a second, then nods. “Smart girl. Those things’ll kill you, you know.”

“So I’ve been told.”

“Well, I’d best be on my way. Good luck tonight.” Climbing to her feet, she peers over my shoulder to where Max is standing. “You two are probably gonna need it.”

“Uh, okay?”

“Just watch out for each other and you’ll be fine.” She seems to find my confused expression funny. “See ya ‘round, kid.”

With that, she tosses her bag over her shoulder, turns around, and just walks away. I watch her go for a few seconds before hurrying to rejoin Max.

“Is she okay?” she asks, as soon as I’m close enough to hear.

“More or less.” I shrug, gesturing in the direction the woman had walked. “She’s weird as fuck, but at least she’s getting out of town.”

“I’m glad,” she sighs.

“Yeah, you can feel good about it later. We need to get going.”

 


 

Oct 11, 2013 - [12:06 am]
South of Arcadia Bay, Oregon

“This is it,” Max finally says, nodding at the old, cracked road that branches off from the highway. And let me just say, it’s about damned time.

Although we were able to move faster once we were out of town, it’s still taken us nearly an hour to get here and my feet are killing me. This is probably the furthest I’ve walked in one stretch since I got my truck (rest in peace, my magnificent rusty chariot) up and running. And lemme tell you, as hella cool-looking as they are, these boots sure as shit weren’t made for walking.

“Getting pretty cloudy,” I comment, pointing up at the sky. “Can’t even see the moonlight anymore. Or would it be moonlights? Moonslight?”

“Let’s stick with moonlight,” Max laughs, softly. I don’t know how she’s not dead on her feet. Back that the weather station she looked like she was about to pass out, but since we left the town behind us she’s been setting a pace fast enough that I’m actually starting to feel a little bit out of breath.

With the moonlight (y’know, I actually kinda like moonslight better) gone, the tall trees on either side of the road have reduced our world to whatever is inside our flashlight’s small circle of light. And while I’m not afraid of the dark or anything, my imagination has been screwing with me ever since the woods closed in around us. I keep thinking I can hear wolves howling in the distance or something moving in the bushes. I’m sure (I mean, pretty sure) that there’s nothing there, but without Max’s magical do-over powers I can’t help but feel like we’re kinda vulnerable.

It’s unnerving as hell, and it makes me glad I’ve still got my trusty... “Fuck!”

Max jumps, looking around wildly. “What is it?!”

“I just realized I left all the bullets in the fucking glove compartment!” I look back at the long stretch of dark pavement. Part of me wants to run back (for the bullets, not because I’m scared) but it’d take for-fucking-ever to get back to the truck, even if we hurry, and we’re already way behind schedule.

“We can’t go back,” Max says, echoing my thought. “And I seriously doubt we’ll need them.”

I almost give her the old ‘better to have them and not need them...’ bit, but she’s right. The only thing left for us to do is get to the bunker and hide until the storm passes. I doubt we’ll be getting into any gunfights between now and then.

“Yeah,” I mutter. “Probably not.”

“Let’s get moving.” She gives my sleeve a gentle tug. “We’ll be safe and sound before you know it.”

 


 

Oct 11, 2013 - [12:42 am]
Prescott Barn
Southeast of Arcadia Bay, Oregon

This isn’t good.

This is the exact fucking opposite of good.

For the last ten minutes, Max and I have been crouched in the bushes (which we seem to be doing a lot of lately) near the old barn that supposedly hides Mark Jefferson’s Magnificent Pervert Hole (whererachelprobablydiedbutdontdontdontdontthinkaboutit), trying to decide what to do next.

We’d spotted the headlights through the trees way before we actually got here, and snuck up to find a police cruiser outside, parked right next to a Bentley that has to belong to El Jeffer-shit himself and a red pickup truck I know I’ve seen somewhere before. None of these are supposed to be here. No one is supposed to be here. It’s supposed to be empty, the perfect place for us to hide from Arcadia Bay’s private apocalypse.

“You know,” I grumble. “It sure would be nice to have some bullets right about now.”

“Really, Chloe?” Max hisses back, a little sharply. “Really?”

“I’m just sayin’.” I shrug, leaning to the side as I try to get a look into the barn. We’re pretty sure we can hear someone in there, but we can’t tell who it is. Obviously, we’d prefer it to be the cops, but on the off chance that it’s the freakshow himself I’d rather not take the risk of going in. “What do you think is going on in there?”

“No idea, but we’re not going to find out skulking in the bushes.” Rising, she keeps low and gestures for me to follow her. “C’mon.”

“This is so fucked,” I mutter as we move through the shadows toward the parked cars. “Why is everything this week so totally fucked?”

She doesn’t say anything, giving me a sympathetic look over her shoulder. That’s probably why I spot the lumpy blanket on the ground next to the cruiser before she does and have to grab the back of her jacket to keep her from tripping over it. It’s laying on slightly uneven dirt, and I blame the lack of light for the fact that I don’t immediately see it for what it is. It takes my eyes a few seconds to make out the shape; a shape anyone who’s ever watched TV would probably recognize.

It’s a dead body. A dead body under a dark grey blanket that’s definitely too small to belong to a grown man.

“Oh no...” I hear myself whisper. I never meant it when I said I hated Victoria. I didn’t like her, but I barely like anybody. I sure as fuck didn’t want her to die.

I feel glued to the spot. It’s Max who has the guts to kneel down and take a look. Hesitantly lifting one corner of the blanket, she gasps.

“I-is it...?”

“It’s Nathan Prescott,” she murmurs, lifting the blanket a little higher to reveal Nathan’s weirdly slack features.

“Oh fuck...” Glancing toward the red truck that must belong to him, I kneel down beside Max. “You think it was the cops?”

She shakes her head. “Jefferson.”

“How do you know?”

She points to a little red spot on the side of Nathan’s neck, like a zit that hasn’t quite surfaced yet. “He likes his needles.”

“Sick fucker...” I mutter, staring at the corpse. He’s dead. Nathan Prescott is dead. The guy who killed Rachel (dontthinkaboutitdontthinkaboutitdontthinkaboutitdontthinkaboutit) is dead. Murdered by the same twisted fuck who betrayed her in the first place.

I’ve never seen a body before. Fuck knows I’ve seen some people come close becoming one, but I’ve never actually seen one with my own eyes.

There was the casket at Dad’s funeral, but I was never able to make that connection. It wasn’t my dad; it was just a box. I never saw him after the accident, and from what little Max told me about what finding Rachel’s (stopchloepleasestop) body was like, I’m probably better off.

But for some reason, this doesn’t feel like Nathan. Nathan Prescott was twitchy, all energy and motion. This body is like a mannequin you see in a store, dressed up to look like Nathan, but it’s not him. Just something he left behind.

And if Nathan isn’t here, laying under this blanket, then maybe Rachel (dontthinkaboutit...dontthink...about...it...fuck...im so tired) isn’t really buried in the ground somewhere.

Maybe my dad isn’t, either.

Man, this is a fucked-up time to have a spiritual epiphany.

“Hide!” Max hisses, breaking into my inconveniently deep thoughts, grabbing me by the wrist and pulling me toward the red pickup. We duck behind it and drop to the ground a half-second before someone emerges from the barn. I take a look under the truck, and I’m actually relieved to see a pair of black boots that could only belong to one of Arcadia Bay’s ‘finest’. Heading straight to the cruiser, the officer pulls the door open, and we hear the faint hiss of a radio.

“Dispatch, this is One-Three-Charlie, come in,” he says. No one responds. “Dispatch, this is patrol cruiser One-Three-Charlie, are you reading me?

Someone on the other end responds this time, but it’s more static than words.

“Damn it.” We hear a soft thump. I bet he just hit the radio. That was a very ‘hitting-something-to-make-it-work’ kind of thump. “Dispatch, we’re still waiting on backup at the old Prescott barn! We’re not screwing around out here!”

The hissing gets louder as he turns the volume up. A second later, we hear, “......ne-Three-Char......is dispat......ower is out all ov......lace. Storm w......has hal......own in a pani......e just can’t spar......units right n...”

“Say again, Dispatch? You’re coming through broken as hell.”

“......o backup com......ay agai......ackup coming...”

“Well, shit,” we hear the cop mutter. “Copy, Dispatch. One-Three-Charlie out.”

Then he’s on his feet again, slamming the cruiser door and heading back inside. I wait a couple of seconds before standing peering over the edge of the truck bed. “Looks like the coast is clear.”

When Max doesn’t respond, I turn to find her staring into the truck’s cab. Wordlessly, she points to something on the floor, and I lean over to take a look. It’s a shoe. A very out of place looking shoe, considering it’s Nathan’s truck. Honestly, the first person I think of when I see it is... “Victoria.”

Max nods, silently gesturing for me to follow her. Leading me around the side of the barn, she points to a slightly rusty sheet of metal leaning against the wall and mimes moving it away. I nod, hoping I understood her correctly, and together we very carefully lift the sheet to one side. Just enough for the two of us to sneak in through the hole behind it.

It’s pitch-black inside. Because we can’t risk using our flashlight, I have to hold my hands out in front of me to keep from walking into something. The only hint of light is the soft glow coming from what looks like a trap door in the ground. As Max and I creep nearer and my eyes adjust, I realize that there’s a concrete set of stairs leading down under the barn.

The infamous Dark Room, I’m guessing.

We don’t get too close; just enough to make out the voices coming from down below.

“Any luck on the car’s radio?”

“I got through to Dispatch. Barely. The signal was rough as hell, but it sounds like they’ve really got their hands full. The power is still out and most of the town is shitting bricks over that storm warning. Looks like no one’s gonna be responding to our backup request.”

“What do they expect us to do; just sit here until he decides to come out?”

“They didn’t say, but what else can we do? We’re not going to get this thing open, man. Unless you’ve got a blowtorch in the cruiser?”

“Son of a bitch. Alright, here’s what we’re going to do. We’re gonna brace the door so he can’t get it open, then we’re going to head back to town, where we’re actually needed.”

“You just want to leave him down there?! He murdered the Prescott kid.”

“If he can’t get out, it’s just as good as any jail cell we could put him in.”

“What if he’s got another exit?”

“Then he’s probably already used it and we’re just standing outside an empty root cellar like a couple of assholes. And at least we can get Prescott out of here. His dad might be a piece of shit, but the poor kid deserves better than to lay outside all night.”

“Yeah, but...”

“I don’t like it either, man. And under normal circumstances I’d want to sit out here until that bastard either surrendered or starved to death. But these aren’t normal circumstances, and we have an entire town to think about.”

“Alright, fine. But we’re coming right back tomorrow after the weather clears up.”

“No shit, we are. Now let’s go grab one of those wooden beams from outside.”

Max and I duck back into the shadows as the two officers emerge. Neither of us move as they head outside. They return a minute later with a long wood beam and awkwardly carry it down the stairs. We only have to listen to them fumbling around with it for a minute or two before they’re headed outside again. Not long after, the cruiser’s engine starts up and they drive away.

We spend the next few minutes in silence, sitting motionless in the pitch darkness, before I whisper, “I think they’re gone.”

“Yeah, let’s go.” I can’t see her nod, but I’m pretty sure I recognize the sound of it. “Gloves on.”

One of the things Max had repeatedly emphasized was the need to wear gloves in and around the bunker. Since it and everything inside it were guaranteed to survive the storm, the absolute last thing either of us wanted was the police finding our fingerprints down there.

Holding the flashlight low to the ground, we make our way over to the stairs and down into the concrete hallway below. It’s even darker down here, if that’s possible. The flashlight makes the short hallway look like something out of a horror movie, and at the far end is a big steel door that pretty much screams ‘bunker’. The wood beam is braced across it, effectively blocking it from swinging open.

What’s much more interesting is the blinking red light on the keypad next to the door. “It’s still got power.”

“The bunker has its own generator,” Max murmurs, staring at the keypad. “And enough fuel for days.”

“Fancy. Doesn’t really help us with the code, does it?”

“I already know the door code.”

Right. Of course she does. “So, are we going in?”

“I am. You’re not.”

“What?! Are you out of your fucking mind?!” She’s lost it. Max has officially gone nuts.

“It’s the right move.”

“It’s the fucking insane move.”

“Chloe, he’ll kill her.”

“He’ll kill you, dumbass.” Keep ‘em coming, Maximus. I can do this all night.

“No, he won’t. He...” She shudders, looking away. “Jefferson wants me in there. That’s why he wanted me to enter the competition. If I had, I would’ve won, and it’d be me in there instead of Victoria.”

She can’t possibly think that’s a convincing argument. “Yeah, because that really makes me want to go along with this.”

“If I go in the bunker, he’ll listen to me. Maybe I can talk him into letting Victoria go.”

“And if he doesn’t? If he just decides to shoot you?” Why is she being so stupid about this? “You can’t rewind, remember?”

“We can’t abandon her.”

“I’m not saying we do, but there has to be a better way than this.” Doesn’t she realize she’d be defenseless in there?

“This is the only way, Chloe. He’ll never listen if you go in there. I need you to trust me.”

“I do, but-”

She darts forward, pressing her lips to mine before I can finish. It’s a short, desperate kiss. Not nearly as epic as the moment deserves, but I think we’re both a little afraid it’ll be our last. She pulls back, too soon, and looks up at me. “I lo-”

“Don’t.” I interrupt, because if she says those words, I’m pretty sure I’ll say them back. And if I do that, I’ll never be able to let her go in there alone. “Just...tell me after, okay? I want to hear you tell me after.”

She nods, slowly. “I will.”

“Promise me.”

“I promise.”

“Alright. Go be a hero.” I take a hesitant step backward, then another. “But you better come back to me, Max Caulfield.”

“I’ll always come back, Chloe,” she says, softly, as I reach the steps. “Always.”

Six Seconds And Eleven Feet

It wasn’t supposed to happen like this.

Jefferson was supposed to be long gone and Chloe was supposed to be here with me. She was going to keep me safe while the storm passed overhead.

Two years hasn’t done anything to soften my memories of this place, and the heavy steel door in front of me is only the first of them. A part of me (a pretty big part, too) wants to turn back, but if there’s anyone who can talk Mark Jefferson down and hopefully get him to let Victoria go, it’s me.

I can’t remember how many tries we needed to get past it the first time, going through number after number and rewinding as many times as it took. But even if my powers are acting up, I wouldn’t need them for this. Like everything else about this godforsaken place, the door code is permanently seared into my brain.

5-4-2

The locks release with a dull thump that seems to echo in my ears. The door swings almost silently on well-oiled hinges as I gently pull it open...and the instant I do, I’m assaulted by the horrifyingly familiar notes of ‘Crazy Like Me’.

I feel the bile rising in my throat as the unwanted memories come rushing at me. The feel of the duct tape binding my wrists to the chair as I watch David die over and over. The sting of the needle in that last second before the world would freeze. Of all the songs that could have been playing. Of all the fucking songs!

Gripping the edge of the doorframe, I force myself to breathe evenly. This is a good thing. It means he won’t hear me come in, and right now I need every advantage I can get. I force myself to take a step forward, and then another, tiptoeing lightly toward the plastic curtain that separates the two halves of the bunker.

The lights are all dark on this side, though, which is good for me. The shadows offer plenty of cover as I move nearer. The music isn’t as loud as it is in my memories. At least, not enough to conceal the steady clicks of a camera’s shutter. Peering around the curtain’s edge, I see exactly what I was afraid to see. Victoria is kneeling on the ground, her hands bound behind her and a strip of tape over her mouth. That twisted bastard is looming over her, taking pictures.

He’s trapped down here, probably doesn’t know the police have left, and he’s not freaking out. He’s taking pictures.

I feel a wave of revulsion wash over me, my stomach rolling as my last meal threatens to come back up. Each click brings up another memory, another reminder of what happened here.

I peek around the edge again. I can see that gun of his. The gun that he used to shoot David over and over in this same room. The same fucking gun that ended Chloe’s life at American Rust. It’s tucked into his belt, right at the small of his back, and I briefly consider whether or not I’d be able to sneak up on him.

Maybe I don’t need to talk to him at all. Maybe I can bash him over the head with a tripod like he did to David all those times (and me, once or twice, when I'd tried to warn David) before he can get to it. One good swing would be enough to put him down, right? Ten good swings would probably be enough to splatter his brains all over the floor. How’s that for art, you fucking psycho?

I shudder, drawing back into the shadows. I don’t know what disturbs me more; what Jefferson did to me, or the wrathful, hate-filled person he turns me into. When all this is over, assuming I can think of a way out of this, I’ll be happy to never think about him again. In the meantime, I wish I had a better idea than trying to talk to him. If I fuck this up, Victoria is done for.

Stepping out of the darkness, I slowly move forward, my hands held out and clearly empty. For a second, I can’t help but stare at the folded spare tripod laying atop a large equipment chest. From there it’s only four long steps and one good swing before all this could be over. It’s definitely tempting, but then I glance back in his direction just in time to meet Victoria’s eyes.

I’m sure she doesn’t mean to do it. She’s probably barely even aware of her reaction. She’s scared, though, and the thin trickle of blood coming from her split eyebrow tells me she’s already taken at least one hit. I can’t blame her for the look of stunned relief that takes over her face the second she sees me.

Jefferson notices instantly, of course. He’s so focused on Victoria that he couldn’t possibly have missed her expression. He spins around a heartbeat later, his eyes meeting mine. He’s startled; that much is obvious. But not so startled that he doesn’t react instantly. Tossing his camera toward the couch, he seizes Victoria by the arm and hauls her to her feet. I can hear her scream, even through the duct tape, as her shoulder comes within a hair of being wrenched from its socket.

Wrapping his arm around her, he snatches one of those fucking syringes from the rolling cart next to him and jams it into her neck. She lets out another muffled cry, but he doesn’t empty it. Not yet.

“How did you get in here?!” he snarls, and I freeze in place. “Answer me, Max!”

“The door,” I respond, stupidly. My mind feels completely stalled. All I can think about is the needle clutched in his hand. “Please, don’t hurt her.”

His eyes dart between me and the curtain. “Where did you get the code?!”

“Please let Victoria go, Mr. Jefferson,” I plead, ignoring the question. Victoria is staring at me, her eyes wide and frightened, tears streaming down her cheeks, silently begging me to save her. “The police are gone. Just let her walk out of here.”

“And why would I do that?”

“Because I’ll stay behind in her place.”

Some of the anger clears from his face, his eyes raking over me slowly as he seems to consider it. I feel like I’m going to be sick. I want to take back the offer, but I don’t. Every second he spends making me feel disgustingly exposed is a second Victoria stays safe.

“Would you, now?” he rumbles, finally.

“Yes.”

“That’s tempting, Maxine,” he admits with a smile that makes me want to knock his teeth in. “Very tempting.”

“But you have to let her go first. One for one.”

It was going to work. I could see his grip on Victoria loosening, but before he can release her, we both hear something move outside. I don’t know what it is, maybe just a racoon, but it doesn’t matter. Jefferson’s eyes turn hard, his arm tightening again.

“Oh, Max.” Jefferson says, with just a hint of reproach, the same way he might if I hadn’t turned in my homework. “It didn’t have to come to this.”

“Please don’t!”

“All you had to do was turn in a fucking photo.”

“No!”

He presses the plunger down before I can say anything more, dumping the syringe’s contents into Victoria’s blood. There’s the briefest spark of panic in her eyes before they turn dull, then she goes limp in his arms as though he’d just switched her off. He looks mostly apathetic toward her now, like she’s a thing he found briefly interesting, that’s since lost its novelty. With a tiny huff of annoyance, he drops her.

What happens next isn’t bold or dramatic. There are no cries of despair or screamed threats. I watch my friend’s body crumple bonelessly to the floor, and I just...react.

People who think about time travel tend to paint it in grand and abstract concepts - things like fate, chaos, and destiny. But as the world’s only time traveler (as far as I know), I’m not driven by the abstract at all. When making a decision in the moment I don’t care about the future, or the past, or whether any higher powers (some of whom I’m back to cursing out) are judging me for my actions.

It’s like that day in the girl’s bathroom when I saw a friend I didn’t yet recognize get gunned down and reached out to help, or when I looked up to see Kate standing on the roof’s edge and knew I was the only one who could get to her in time. It’s an instinct. To think in the immediate. To act in the immediate.

And right now, the immediate is the six seconds and eleven feet that stand between me and Victoria’s life.

Reaching out, I plunge my hand into the ebb and flow of time, grab hold for all I’m worth, and feel like I’m going to die from the shock of it. It’s excruciating, like holding on to electrified razor wire and feeling it ripping through my palm. The universe slams to a halt around me, holds there for a second, then begins to crawl backwards. There’s no technique here. No precision or elegance. Only strength and flat-out willpower. Forget holding on to a steady point. I’m moving against the current now, pushing myself along one agonizingly slow step at a time.

The indescribable thing that lets me do what I do feels unstable. Like some old machine being compelled into action, every moving part rusted and grinding. Everything is forced as it groans its way through each motion. And even if it seems to be working, there’s still the undeniable understanding that every second it’s made to run brings it another second closer to breaking down once and for all.

I don’t need this to work smoothly, though, or even quickly; I need this to work now. That means that all I can do is fight through the pain and hope I can still take my next step.

There’s still ten feet to go when a pressure worse than anything I’ve ever felt starts building behind my eyes. A memory bubbles up in my mind and takes me back to when I was fourteen years old and suffering from a head cold, but even that throbbing pain pales in comparison to what’s happening to me now.

I’m just past nine feet now and arguing with my own brain. It keeps telling me that I’m on fire, and I keep pointing out that I’m actually not. Then it starts telling me that it’s too big to fit inside my skull, which I’m finding a lot tougher to argue with. I try to ignore it, focusing on Victoria as her body rises up from the ground.

I’m close to seven feet. It’s never been this slow, not even in the beginning. Rewinding might have been bumpy back then, but at least it was fast; it only took a few relative seconds to buy back a minute. Everything around me is moving backward, but at a maddeningly sluggish pace. I feel like I’m wading through cement. It’s getting hard to breathe and a deep ache is settling into my muscles, but I force myself to keep moving.

Five feet. Very slowly, the plunger rises again underneath Jefferson’s thumb, the clear liquid being pulled back into the syringe. Little by little, Victoria’s whole body seems to come back to life as the drugs are drawn out of her. The light comes back into her eyes, sharper and more focused than it’d looked from across the room, her gaze fixed on the spot where I’d been when she’d last seen me.

Hold on, Victoria. I’m almost there.

Four feet. Like Victoria, Jefferson’s eyes are still fixed on where I’d been rather than where I am. He has no way of seeing me in the rewind, but for a second I wish he could. I’d love to see the look on his face when he saw me closing in, right when he realizes that it’s physically impossible for him to escape.

Three feet left and there’s no time for complexity. I can feel the machinery coming apart and I already know that this is my last rewind. Once I drop back into the world, that’ll be it. I won’t be able to try again. I’m not going to get another chance, so I absolutely need to make this one count.

Two feet. Two goals. Two targets. The needle in Victoria’s neck, and the throat of the man that holds it. Use one hand to knock the syringe away and hope I’m fast enough to keep him from emptying it first. Send the other fist right into his windpipe with all the strength I’ve got left and hope I manage to break something important.

A little more than a foot now, and it’s time to make my move. As slowly as everything seemed to be moving, letting go of the rewind feels like slamming on the brakes at a hundred miles per hour. The whole world lurches, and I use that motion to slap Jefferson’s hand away from Victoria’s neck. The hit sends the syringe clattering across the concrete floor and under his pretentious-as-fuck couch.

My eyes are fixed on his throat when I take my second shot, and I almost make it. But he reacts quickly, just like any snake, ducking his head enough that I hit his chin instead. The angle is all wrong and my fist just skips off. Unbalanced and overextended, I don’t have a chance to throw up a defense before his return punch connects and the entire side of my face explodes in pain. Reeling back, I stagger for a few steps before tripping over my own feet and suddenly I’m on my back, fighting to catch my breath and trying to figure out what the hell just happened.

He’s glaring down at me, his right hand still curled in a fist and pure hatred burning in his eyes. He moves deliberately, stepping backward and dragging Victoria along for the ride. Reaching around, he draws that fucking gun of his and levels it on me with an almost maniacal glint in his eye. He starts to squeeze the trigger, and I think that this is it. This is what it’s all come to. After everything, I'm going to die on the wrong end of Mark Jefferson’s gun.

He’s so focused on killing me, and I’m so focused on being killed, that we’re both taken by surprise when Victoria suddenly and violently whips her head backward. Her skull smashes into his face with a nauseating crunch and Jefferson howls in pain, blood pouring from his flattened nose and staining his formerly pristine white shirt. The gun in his hand goes off, thunderously loud in the small space, but the shot goes wild and buries itself harmlessly into the far wall.

It’s the second time I’ve seen Mark Jefferson with a ruined face, and I don’t think it’ll ever get old.

“Fucking bitch!” he shouts, shoving Victoria away with the same careless hatred someone would put into slamming a door. She takes a few erratic steps, trips over a loose wire, and begins to stumble forward. She’s going to fall, but she’s moving more or less in my direction. I’d be able to catch her, except I’m not even back on my feet before Jefferson aims at me again.

I’m a little surprised by how little fear I feel. Maybe I’m just too tired for it to fully register. My lungs are burning like I just ran up a mountain and my legs feel like they’re made of jelly. If nothing else, I’m grateful to Victoria for letting me see this bastard bleed one last time before the end.

And as I'm glaring at Jefferson over the pistol’s sights, I can see the exact second he notices the fourth person in the room.

Everything seems to drop into slow motion again, but this time it’s got nothing to do with time travel. Jefferson responds instantly, shifting his aim to the right. I can still see Victoria falling from the corner of my eye as I turn my head, tracking the gun’s seemingly sluggish movement until I spot his new target.

Oh, no.

Oh, god no.

I told her not to follow me inside. I wanted her to be safe, but now Chloe is sprinting at Jefferson, a bare axe handle raised in her hands and murder in her eyes. She could’ve dropped him with one good swing if he hadn’t noticed her so quickly, but she’s too far away now. She’ll never reach him before he can finish bringing his gun around.

Just behind me, I hear Victoria’s muted scream through the duct tape that covers her mouth. She’s moving fast, falling headfirst toward the edge of Jefferson’s glass and steel desk, helpless to stop herself with her hands still bound behind her back. It doesn’t take a lot of imagination to picture what hitting it would do to her skull. All I have to do to save Victoria is catch her. All I have to do to catch her is let Chloe die.

No rewinds. No second chances. No time.

I have to try and save Chloe. That’s what all of this has been about...but she’s so far away.

Victoria is right there. Catching her would be easy, but I can’t take my eyes off Chloe.

The girl I can save, and the girl I can’t let go. It’s an impossible choice. That’s why I’m still kneeling there when time runs out and the universe makes the decision for me.

Jefferson fires again, the shot so deafening that it easily drowns out my scream, and this time there’s nothing to ruin his aim. The bullet strikes Chloe just above the nose and her head snaps backward, knocking her beanie off and sending the top of her skull along with it.

At the same time, something hits the side of the desk with a loud thump and a sickening crack.

Chloe is still in motion, blood pouring over her slack features as her momentum carries her forward. The love of my life crumples to the ground in front of me, the remains of the most beautiful face I’ve ever seen hitting the concrete floor with a wet smack.

There’s only silence behind me, and I look back to find the girl who’d once become one of my closest friends - and maybe could’ve been again - laying motionless on the floor, eyes wide with terror, her neck bent unnaturally to one side.

“No, no, no, no...” I keep whispering it, like it might change what just happened. In a panic, I scramble to my feet and thrust my right hand out in a desperate attempt to rewind, but it’s useless.

I’m useless.

I just got two of the people I love killed, and I’m standing here slack-jawed and grasping at empty air.

Some fucking hero.

I halfway expect some disgusting gloating monologue from Jefferson, but by the time I look back, he’s got the gun pointed at me again. And by my count, I’m fresh out of people to die in my place. He doesn’t fire right away, though. Maybe he’s wondering if I’ll have some profound last words, or maybe he wants to hear me beg for my life. Either way, he’s going to be disappointed.

“Just do it,” I murmur. So he does. I shut my eyes as the gun roars one last time.

I feel a sharp stabbing sensation in my chest and then...nothing. No pain, or cold, or burning, or anything else. I’m frozen in place, motionless and numb. Then I open my eyes and discover a world drained of color. I’m still in the Dark Room. Chloe and Victoria are still dead. Jefferson is still standing there, a bright flash erupting from the gun in his hand. But all of them, and everything else I can see, has been rendered into distorted shades of grey.

And I’m still alive.

Alive and thanking every deity I can think of (even the ones I’ve cursed out a few times lately) that this particular faucet of my powers remains intact. My failsafe. My whatever-the-hell-it-is that freezes the world instead of letting me get killed.

It doesn’t feel like a rewind, exactly. It’s more like some unknowable force just paused the universe to say ‘hey, dude...you almost died!’ and now it’s just giving me a second before chucking me right back into things. It was never as powerful as a rewind, either. It never gave me more than a minute.

But I don’t care. Whatever it is, I’ll fucking take it.

Responding to the freeze in a way I’ve never really been able to put into words, I feel myself being thrown backwards. In a flash, everything is moving again. The gun is swinging toward Chloe, Victoria is falling toward the desk, and I’m right back where I was, trapped in-between. I’ve only gone back a handful of seconds, but this time I’m ready. This time, I’ve made my decision.

I’m sorry, Victoria.

Summoning up all the strength I have left, I lunge toward Jefferson, knowing I’ll never make it. But that doesn’t matter because I don’t need to make it. I just need to get a little closer so that when he shoots me (which he’s about to do) and the failsafe triggers again (which I really, really hope it does), I won’t have as much distance to cover on my next try. He isn’t far; a little over ten feet, I think. Depending on how fast I move and how quick he is with that gun, I can probably make it to him in three loops.

He is quick, too. I’ve barely even moved before his gun stops halfway to Chloe and swings back to me. I still make good progress, though. Almost two full steps before his gun goes off. It’s loud enough that I almost don’t hear the thump-crack behind me. I’m actually relieved when the bullet sends me back into the grey blur.

I take a second to collect myself, then it’s time for round two. I feel that same push and get ready to earn a little more distance, but when the room comes back into focus Jefferson is further away. Almost two full steps away. I’m back where I was. Exactly where I was, standing right where I’d been the first time the failsafe protected me. The gun is still turning toward Chloe and Victoria is still falling toward the desk and I haven’t gained so much as an inch.

I rush at Jefferson again, hoping it was a fluke. I’m a little later off the start this time, which means Jefferson needs a little longer to bring his gun back around, which means I have a whole extra half-second to listen to Victoria’s neck snap before he fires and it’s back into the grey. I let it carry me back in time, opening my eyes to find myself once again right back where I started.

I rush at Jefferson again. Victoria breaks her neck again. He shoots me again. I go back to square one.

I rush Jefferson one more time, just to be stubborn. Victoria dies, just like all the other times. I still take a bullet, and I’m forced to admit the truth. This isn’t a rewind. It’s a reset. I’ll only ever be able to get back a few seconds, and never be any closer to him.

Alright, universe. That’s how you wanna play? Let’s fucking play.

Reset.

Yell for Chloe to get down, then dive for Victoria. Took too long to yell a warning. Victoria dies, then Chloe dies anyway. Then Jefferson shoots me.

Reset.

Yell for Chloe to get down while I dive for Victoria. Save Victoria. Confused by my mid-air yelling, Chloe turns to look. Bullet to the chest. I get up to help her. I think I take a bullet to the head. It feels really weird. Victoria probably would’ve died right after.

Reset.

Dive for Chloe. Victoria dies. Knock Chloe over too late. Jefferson shoots us both.

Reset.

Dive for Chloe. Knock her behind the couch. Victoria dies. Jefferson shoots me in the leg. Chloe gets up to attack him. He shoots her. Then he shoots me again. Prick.

Reset.

Run between Chloe and Jefferson. Victoria dies. I feel the bullet meant for Chloe go right through my heart, then nothing. I don’t even make it to the ground.

Reset.

Run between Chloe and Jefferson. Twist so the bullet doesn’t hit my heart. Bullet hits my sternum. I feel it shatter. It’s more painful than I ever could’ve imagined. Surprised, Jefferson hesitates. Chloe smashes him across the face with the axe handle. He drops to the floor and doesn’t move. I bleed out in Chloe’s arms.

Reset.

Kick backward to try knocking Victoria away from the desk. End up throwing myself off-balance and fall forward. I don’t know whether Victoria dies, but I smash my face into an aluminum box and feel my jaw break. My ears are already ringing when I hear the shot that probably kills Chloe. Then I hear another shot, sorta.

Reset.

Try kicking backward harder. Rush toward Chloe. Get close enough to see the flakes of green in the blue of her eyes before the bullet obliterates one of them. Crash into her collapsing body. Fall. Look back to see Victoria dead, her neck and nose both broken. I didn’t save her. I just kicked her in the face before she died. Look up. Gun. Bang.

Reset.

Scream at the top of my lungs. Startle Jefferson. Victoria dies. He turns and puts two bullets in my stomach. I fall to the ground, blood already soaking my shirt. Chloe swings the axe handle into his throat, and I feel a glimmer of hope. Choking, he still gets a shot off, right through her chest. Chloe collapses, her lungs filling with blood. Jefferson falls, too, his windpipe crushed. Victoria lies next to me, silent and still.

All four of us die alone in the Dark Room.

I’m the last one to go.

Reset.

Drop to my knees and start to cry. Chloe dies. Victoria dies. Jefferson shoots me.

Reset.

Drop to my knees and start to cry. Chloe dies. Victoria dies. Jefferson shoots me.

Reset.

Drop to my knees and start to cry. Chloe dies. Victoria dies. Jefferson shoots me.

Reset.

Drop to my knees and start to cry. Chloe dies. Victoria dies. Jefferson shoots me.

Reset.

Drop to my knees and start to cry. Chloe dies. Victoria dies. Jefferson shoots me.

Reset.

Drop to my knees and start to cry. Chloe dies. Victoria dies. Jefferson shoots me.

Reset.

Drop to my knees and start to cry. Chloe dies. Victoria dies. Jefferson shoots me.

Reset.

Stop.

This...this won’t work.

Whatever saved me has put me in the absolute worst possible position, where I’ve got no choice but to either watch Chloe die, or to just die myself. And I’d be okay with the second option, dying so she could survive, if I thought it’d actually take. But as soon as the lights go out, I feel that pull and suddenly I’m back standing next to that fucking desk.

I can’t do it.

After everything I’ve done. The months of preparation and careful planning. The hours upon hours spent going over every detail with a fine-tooth comb. The devotion and determination and love that have brought me to this point. All of it, just to be trapped in exactly the wrong place at exactly the wrong time.

I can’t save her. I defied fate to come back, and I can’t fucking save her...

...no.

I can save her.

I just can’t save her today.

Screw fate. Screw the consequences. Fuck every being higher than me and fuck every single one of their fucking rules. Do they think they’ve stopped me? That they’ve won? No fucking way. Because if there’s one thing I’ve still got going for me, it’s the grey space holding me now. I can’t die, and as long as that’s true I’ll never, ever stop trying.

I’ll save Chloe’s life if I have to tear down the sky to do it.

“I’m sorry, Chloe,” I whisper. “I’m so sorry. I tried. I...I have to let you die today, but I swear I’ll come back. I swear I’ll find a way to save you, no matter what it takes.”

Even though I know she can’t hear me, I hope that on some level the message gets through. That wherever we go after the end (if there even is a place), she’ll get there knowing it’s only temporary.

Closing my eyes, I let go of the reset and the world leaps into motion. I lunge for Victoria, throwing my weight into her just in time to keep her from hitting the desk, then twisting so that the two of us will roll behind it. I’m ready to call it a victory, but fate has never been that kind to me.

The roll carries us out of harm’s way but goes on just long enough for Victoria to land squarely on top of me. Her shoulder slams into my chest and knocks the breath from my lungs. I shove her away, rolling to one side as spots dance across my vision. I’m still gasping for air when I hear the gunshot that steals away the love of my li-

 


 

I can’t do this anymore.

I can’t go through it all again.

She was given everything she needed to make this plan of hers work, and her precious blue-haired booty-call still got killed. It’s such a colossal clusterfuck that if I thought she’d done it on purpose, I might actually be impressed.

Honestly, I’m sorely tempted to leave her in her misery, but even I can’t deny what a terrible idea that’d be. Even having burnt out her oh-so-quaintly named ‘rewind’, Max Caulfield is still a fucking catastrophe waiting to happen. She’ll keep going, even if she has to invent her own time machine to do it. As long as she’s alive and her infuriatingly survival-impaired girlfriend isn’t, she’ll be a constant fucking thorn in my side.

I glare at the stupid, reckless, so-called-punk idiot who for some reason just can’t stop getting killed, then let my gaze drift to the bullet suspended in the air right in front of her dumb pretty face.

Y’know what?

Fuck it.

If you want something done right, you just need to do it yourself.

Turning to the perverted asshole who just had to throw a wrench into an otherwise admittedly good plan, I snatch him out of the freeze with a snap of my fingers. He stumbles for a second, looking around in confusion before he spots me. His eyes start jumping back and forth between me and the hard-headed moron laying just behind his desk.

Then, like the fuckwit he is, he stammers. “M-Max?”

“Heya, Mark,” I respond with the affected cheeriness I know people hate. “How’s it going?”

 

Darker Rooms Than These

Chapter Notes

This is impossible.

This is impossible...but it’s happening.

Max Caulfield is laying on the ground next to my desk.

Max Caulfield is standing across the room.

Max Caulfield looks like she’s struggling to catch her breath.

Max Caulfield just stepped out of a shadow too small to have possibly hidden her.

Max Caulfield is frozen, as still as a statue.

Max Caulfield is strolling across the room, a smile on her face. Coming up to the bullet that hovers between myself and that friend of hers (Claire? Kelly?), she leans forward to peer at it curiously.

My face throbs painfully and I’m unable to draw any breath through my nose, but I manage to ask, “What is this?”

Ignoring me, she reaches up to casually pluck the bullet out of the air, slipping it into her pocket.

“Answer me!” The nasal pitch of my own voice just makes me angrier.

“Why?”

The question brings me up short; as does the mildly amused tone she asks it in. Why would she feel compelled to answer me? It’s not as though she’d consider me an authority figure anymore, and I imagine that my attempts to kill her and her friends have effectively wiped-out whatever esteem she’d held me in.

I’m embarrassed to admit that it takes me a second to remember the gun in my hand. Bringing it up, I glare at her over the sights. “Because you’re useless to me if you don’t.”

“Ooh. Scary.”

“I don’t know what this is, but I’ll kill you if you come one step closer.”

“Uh-huh.” She starts to wander around the room, pausing to casually inspect a lens set that’s worth more than her education.

“You think I wouldn’t?”

“I think you’d try.” She picks up the Hasselblad from the couch, curiously turning it over in her hands. “I know you’d fail.”

“Put that down.”

“Okay.” She carelessly tosses it over her shoulder. I watch in stunned disbelief as it sails gracefully through the air, my stomach lurching when it strikes the floor and the lens audibly shatters.

“Don’t worry. I saved this.” I look up to see her holding the camera’s memory card. When did she have time to remove that? She barely held the camera for a second. Then, grinning widely, she snaps it in half. A wave of blistering rage rushes through me. Not for the camera’s sake - as expensive as it was, it’s ultimately replaceable - but the memory card. Every single photo I’ve captured tonight...

“Oops.”

“You...you...” A red haze coats my vision. Hundreds of unique, breathtaking moments, lost forever. “You fucking bitch!

She doesn’t even move when I raise the gun again. I squeeze the trigger...and nothing happens. I try again, and again, but it refuses to budge. The slide is the same. It’s like the entire gun has been fused into a solid object.

“Tried,” she notes. “And failed.”

“How...” I turn the gun over on my hands, confusion briefly overpowering my anger. Even the pain of my undoubtedly broken nose seems to fade. Nothing appears to be wrong with it. All the pieces look like they should move normally. “Did...did you do this?”

“That’s a stupid question,” she laughs. “I mean, it sure as fuck wasn’t you.”

“How?”

She rolls her eyes, tossing the remains of the memory card to the side. "Don’t waste my time asking stupid questions about things you couldn’t possibly comprehend."

Dropping the useless weapon, I surge forward to deliver another punch, aiming to destroy the smirk she has the nerve to point at me. I put her on the ground before, and this time I’m going to make sure she stays there. I wind up, swing...and it’s like hitting a brick wall. A blinding flash of pain rockets up my arm as at least one of the bones in my hand splinters.

She doesn’t move so much as an inch.

“Feel better?” She asks, unimpressed, ambling past me and over to my desk.

I clutch my injured hand to my chest, retreating a few steps. “How did y-”

“What did I just say about stupid questions?” She interrupts, and for some reason I just let her.

This...this isn’t Max Caulfield. It looks like Max, but it isn’t. The girl I’ve coveted since the first moment she walked into my classroom is gentle and timid, like a fawn emerging from the forest into a frightening world. But this girl...there’s something wrong about her. The way she moves unsettles in a way Max never could, like everything soft about her has been ground down to razor sharp edges.

“What do you want from me?” I don’t want to ask, but something deep inside me wants to try and appease her. Hopes that I can convince her to leave me alone.

She doesn’t look back, staring at the frozen form of what I'm increasingly certain is the real Max Caulfield. “You don’t have anything I want.” 

“Then wh-”

“I don’t want to be here at all,” she says, cutting me off. “But she just won’t stop. She won’t ever stop, and I can’t force her to. Max has to choose to move on.”

I’ve got no idea what she’s talking about. For some reason, I’m not sure I want to.

“And it’s not as though I didn’t try to get her to,” she continues. “I tried to reason with her. I tried threatening her. I screwed with her senses, her memories, and even her sense of self - no idea how she pulled herself out of that one. I left her to do her 3-month-jumps idea, hoping she’d get exhausted or scared or run out of food and give up along the way. I tried bribing her with a life of wealth and contentment. I even lowered myself to begging her.”

Why am I listening to this nonsense? Why don’t I just make her stop talking?

“But despite my best fucking efforts, she’ll never give up. She’ll never stop chasing her happy ending, and it always ends in disaster. Countless broken, aborted timelines layered on top of one another until the whole fucking thing collapses and the clock has to be rolled back. Then it just starts again.” She laughs humorlessly, gesturing to the real Max. “There’s a word for that, you know. For a problem that causes itself.”

I should try to do something. I could pick up the nearby tripod and bludgeon her or I could try to make an escape. But something keeps me rooted on the spot. A kind of perverse desire to understand what this is. I look down at the spare DSLR on the table beside me, briefly wondering what she’d do if I tried to capture her image, then look back up to find her glaring at me.

“Am I boring you?”

“N-no?”

“I’ve seen how this all plays out, Mark. The same processes applied successively under the same rules. The same repeating events nested within the same repeating events echoing again and again and again like a fucking song stuck in my head and always ending the same fucking way! Do you have any idea how frustrating it is to try and stop a living, breathing recursive event?!” Her rage feels like a physical shove but vanishes as quickly as it appeared. “Tell me something, Mark. Do you know what happens at 8:01 am on October 9th, 2015?”

Bizarre as the question is, she actually seems to expect an answer. “No?”

“Of course you don’t.” She nods. “The problem is that I don’t either. No one does. No one can. There’s never been an 8:01 am on October 9th, 2015, because the minute before that is when Max Caulfield decided she knew what was best for the universe. That’s how this whole thing starts, again and again, no matter what I do to prevent it.”

Enough of this. My interest is giving way to self-preservation. Whatever the hell this is, I don’t want any part of it. The instant she’s not looking I make a break for the exit. The door is shut and I’m certain I get it open before she catches up, but when I try the mechanism won’t budge. Like my gun, it looks normal but might as well be a single piece of solid steel.

“It’s rude to leave without saying goodbye, you know.” I turn to find her leaning against the wall, an unamused look on her face.

“I don’t care who you are or what you have to say,” I growl. “Let me out.”

She doesn’t respond, staring back at me silently.

“Let me out of here right now!”

Still nothing. For a second I’m tempted to attack her again out of sheer frustration, but a fresh wave of pain from my wounded hand convinces me otherwise.

“I actually tried helping her this time,” she finally says, turning to walk away. “Fuck knows I’d tried everything else, and I figured that whatever damage it caused had to be better than this.”

As badly as I want to get out, it’s clear that I can’t. So, like before, a twisted kind of curiosity urges me to follow her back into the bunker’s main room. “What are yo-”

“And you know what really pisses me off?” she asks, interrupting me again. “It almost worked. After everything, she actually almost had it.”

Why am I allowing her to talk over me like this? Even if I can’t hurt her, there’s no reason for me to be so fucking submissive. “I don’t ca-“

“She was right fucking there, just inches away from having everything she needed to move on. This endless fucking cycle could’ve finally come to an end.” She spins around and glares at me so hatefully that I feel my stomach lurch. For a moment, I’m afraid I might throw up. “And then you had to go and kill Victoria.”

Confused, I glance at Chase. Though she’s as still as a statue, she’s clearly alive. “But she’s...she’s not dead.”

“No, you definitely killed her. Over and over and over.” She kneels down next to Victoria, reaching out to softly brush a hand over the motionless girl’s hair. “You didn’t kill her, though. She’s a fighter. But then, you already know that don’t you?”

I feel my face throb again, as if it’s trying to remind me, but I refuse to flinch. “You’re not making any sense.”

“Sure I am.” She shrugs. “But while the rest of the storm’s survivors could be compensated for, this was different. This was a death Max both directly caused and directly prevented. Her very own pocket paradox, and that made things more complicated. It’s just lucky that there was an alternative, or we’d have really been in trouble.”

We stare at one another silently for a long moment, until I feel compelled to ask, “Alternative to w-”

“To Victoria not dying.” She cocks her head to one side. “You remember Victoria, right? The girl you killed?”

She keeps interrupting me! Why do I keep letting her interrupt me?!

“But she’s...” I hesitate, struck by the galling sense that some critical detail is being intentionally withheld from me. “She’s not dead.”

“No shit,” she mutters, rolling her eyes.

This is absurd. “Then what in the hell are you talking about?!”

“It’s really not that complicated, but fine; I’ll explain it to you.” She gives me an infuriatingly condescending smile. “Victoria died, because you killed her, which prompted Max to start screwing around with other people’s fate, as fucking usual. But that meant you didn’t kill someone you killed, which – believe me – leads to all kinds of nasty shit. You with me so far?”

“I...”

“Anyway, it turns out that there was an alternative to be taken advantage of because, for once, Max Caulfield actually offered up a solution to a problem she created. Go figure. Her last-second reality-bending Hail Mary meant Victoria could live, even though you killed her, without Max having to save her life. So, Max’s do-gooder bullshit notwithstanding, you actually didn’t not kill her because, as you can see,” she points to Victoria. “She isn’t dead, because she never was.”

The more I try to follow along, the more jumbled my thoughts feel. “But...you said I killed Victoria.”

“You did.”

I glance at Max, still lying utterly motionless on the floor. “A-and she stopped that?”

“Almost.”

“But Victoria’s not dead.”

“Also correct.”

“I...I don’t underst-”

“For fuck’s sake!” she shouts, bursting to her feet...except she doesn’t. It’s Victoria that stands up, even though Victoria is still laying prone and frozen on the floor. “And I thought Max was slow!”

“H-h-how are you...?”

“Oh, you like?” Victoria smiles, striking a pose. “You know, for all the noise you make about innocence, you can’t deny you were always a little curious about what was going on under these oh-so-fashionable sweaters.”

“N-no,” I stammer the lie, repulsed by how badly I’d been tempted to claim what Victoria had offered me the other night.

“If it helps, you’ll never find out.” She leans back against the desk, smiling coquettishly. “I’ve got other plans for you.”

I don’t even want to imagine what she means by that, and the notion of trying to run again flashes through my mind as I quickly glance toward the door.

“Go ahead,” she says, as if I’d voiced the idea aloud. “You still won’t make it, but it’ll be funny to watch you try.”

I don’t move, telling myself it’s because I refuse to give her the satisfaction of seeing me try to run away, and not because I’m scared.

“No? Too bad.” She shrugs. “Anyway, that whole thing with Victoria is really just a symptom of the way bigger issue. That issue being Max Caulfield’s unrelenting willingness to fuck around with the fabric of reality trying to rescue her annoyingly death-prone girlfriend.” She sighs, looking down at Max again. “Even she doesn’t truly understand how far she’s prepared to go.”

“What are you...” A sudden and intense wave of exhaustion rolls over me, like I’ve been awake for days. It’s so hard to focus; I can barely hold a clear thought in my head. “Wait...what were you saying...?”

“What I’m saying, Mark, is that Max can and absolutely would tear the universe to shreds to save her love. And that by the time it came to that, she’d do it without a second’s hesitation.” She laughs, shaking her head. “I’d never ever say it to her face, but I kind of admire her for that. That kind of absolute, unyielding devotion isn’t something you see every day.”

Pushing off the desk, Victoria (but she’s not Victoria, is she?) strolls over to the blue-haired bitch who very nearly got the drop on me. What was her name? So hard to remember...

“What’s really infuriating is that it goes both ways. If their positions were reversed, Chloe would do the same in a heartbeat. If someone hurt Max, she’d burn the world to a cinder if she thought she could catch them in the flames.” She reaches out to tuck a lock of blue hair behind the girl’s ear. “It drives me insane when people talk about true love like it’s a good thing. True love – not that Hallmark card horseshit but actual, true love - is just about the most terrifying thing I can imagine.”

“I...uh...”

What was I saying?

“Max Caulfield and Chloe Price,” she sighs. “They’ll never, ever stop trying to find each other. And as long as they’re separate, they’re chaos fucking incarnate.”

I blink. I don’t turn my head or look away. The lights don’t flicker, and I don’t hear the sound of movement. I just shut my eyes for a fraction of a second. But when I open them again, Victoria is gone and Kate Marsh is standing right in front of me.

I jump back, startled, and my heel catches on a light cable I should have known was there. I try to keep my balance, fail, and end up falling in an undignified heap on the floor. Before I can recover, Kate leans down until her face is only a few inches from my own, and the malicious glee in her eyes freezes me where I sit.

“Oops,” she says, nothing but sweetness in her voice. “Looks like you took a tumble.”

Then she smiles, and I swear I’ll die happy if I never have to see a person smile like that again.

“S-stop that.”

“Stop what?” she asks, innocently.

“That.” Her smile is wrong. It’s bent and twisted and folds in on itself in countless places and it’s completely normal and I think that looking at it is driving me insane. “Stop smiling like that. I...I hate it.”

“Careful. You could hurt a girl’s feelings, talking like that.” The way she laughs makes it feel like there’s something scratching my bones. “Anyway, where was I? Oh, right; chaos. See, I’m not a fan of chaos. I don’t ascribe to the idea that something good could come out of making a mess of the universe, which is why I really don’t care for people who insist on rocking the boat.”

She crouches down to my level, never breaking eye contact.

“But just this once, I’m going to make an exception. Just this once, I’m going to give Max what she wants - as much as it kills me to do it – if only to keep her from causing me any more grief. I’m going to save her precious Chloe and punish you for all the things you’ve done to hurt her and the people she cares about, because apparently that’s what it’ll take to keep her from breaking reality again.”

None of this makes any sense. “P-punish...?”

“Mhm.” She nods.

“...b-but I...”

“Don’t take it personally, Mark.” She’s close enough now that I feel blinded by the endless rows of gleaming, perfectly white teeth that line her mouth. “This is one of those ‘for the greater good’ kind of things.”

“...w-what are you?”

“Remember what I said about things you couldn’t possibly comprehend?”

“Please...please d-don’t do this.”

She actually looks offended. “Can you even remember how many helpless girls have asked the same of you? Did it ever save them? Did it help me?” The space around her seems to roll in on itself, and suddenly I’m eye to eye with Nathan. “Or me?”

How did he survive? Did I underdose him? I was so sure... “N-Nath-”

“But then, you never really gave me a chance to ask, did you?” Nathan comments, as though I didn’t end his life a few hours ago, then his face distorts again into the utterly impossible. “Did it save me, Mr. Jefferson?”

It’s impossible. Nathan could have survived somehow, but not her. Never her. It’s utterly impossible for Rachel Amber, looking just as vibrant and alive as she ever did, to be crouched in front of at me.

“Cat got your tongue?” she asks, smiling.

“Y-you...but you’re...” I stammer, the words feeling dull and pointless as they fall from my lips. “You’re d-dead...”

“Rude.”

“You’re dead!” I repeat, louder, scrambling away from her until my back hits the wall. “Nathan killed Rachel Amber. We buried her!”

“Yes, you did.”

I try to get up, but I can’t move. My legs don’t even twitch; my arms suddenly lay useless at my sides. “Y-you can’t be her! You can’t be!”

“Are you sure?” she asks, winking. “I could be.”

“But...no.” Pitiful. As if whispering a word aloud could make it true. I’m not a religious man, and I’ve never had much respect for the kind of people who let absurd and outdated beliefs dictate their lives, but in that moment a truly horrifying thought occurs to me. “Are...are you the devil?”

“Oh, Mark.” She reaches out, tracing one fingertip along my jaw. “You’re not that lucky.”

“Don’t hurt me,” I whimper. It’s all I can think to do, and I’m past the point of feeling shame for it.

“Aw, don’t worry.” She laughs a perfectly normal laugh that somehow makes me want to scream for the rest of my wretched existence. “I’m not going to.”

“R-really?”

“No, not really, you fucking idiot,” she hisses, her features twisting into a snarl. Her hand lashes across my face a heartbeat later, white hot and blindingly painful. My glasses fly off my face, clattering across the floor as I pitch sideways. My head is spinning, and I can already feel the blood seeping down my forehead.

Her other hand, colder and stronger than it has any right to be, clamps down on my throat and she lifts me like I weigh nothing at all. Her grip is too tight. It should have snapped my neck. It should have killed me. Why hasn’t it killed me? I’d give anything for it to kill me as she pulls me closer, pressing a soft kiss to my cheek (the touch of her lips makes me wish I could claw the skin off my own face) before she lets go. I crumple to the floor (ragdoll physics; beauty in gracelessness), where I lay in a heap at her feet.

“Oh, don’t look so gloomy.” Reaching down again, the Not-Rachel takes hold of my ankle. “This is going to be fun.”

I can’t respond as she starts dragging me toward the growing shadows. I might as well be a corpse. Maybe that’s it. Maybe I’m already dead. I must be because I can feel the worms crawling underneath my skin. It hurts. Why can I feel pain if I’m already dead?

“We’re going to come up with so many creative ways to make you suffer,” she laughs. “Your mind will have to invent new ways to perceive reality just to feel them all! Won’t that be an adventure?”

“P-p-please...” It takes the very last of my strength to force the word out.

“Hush now. There’s going to be plenty of time for that later, because you and me?” 

She looks down, smiling again. It’s an impossible smile. A wrong smile. It’s too big for her face. The corners of her lips curl upward, seeming to stretch out past the edges of her cheeks.

“We’ve got all the time in the world.”

 

 

 

Chapter End Notes

E is for Eldritch, and that’s good enough for me.

Living Dead Girls

Oct 11, 2013 - [12:58 am]
Prescott Barn
Southeast of Arcadia Bay, Oregon

I should be dead.

The gun went off. I heard it go off. I saw it go off. He had it aimed right at my head when he pulled the trigger. I shouldn’t even be alive and thinking about this...but I am. I’m alive, and Jeffershit just vanished right in front of me. The axe handle I found upstairs had sailed harmlessly through the air where his head had been, like he’d never been there at all.

Nervous, I keep it raised and ready to swing while I turn in a slow circle, as if he’s waiting to leap out at me from somewhere. But he can’t be. There’s nowhere for him to hide. The whole room is lit up by those photography lamps of his. Unless he’s squeezed into the three-inch space between the couch and the floor, he’s not here.

Cautiously lowering my makeshift weapon, I take a step backward and feel something crunch under my boot. It’s the asshole’s glasses, badly mangled and spattered with what looks a hell of a lot like blood. “What the...?”

“C-Chloe?”

Spinning around, I find Max gazing at me the same way she did in my bedroom on Wednesday morning – like she can’t believe I’m alive. A few steps behind her Victoria looks just as stunned. I drop the handle and it clatters to the floor. “Hey, Maximus. You okay?”

She glances nervously around the room. “Where did he go?”

“You don’t know?”

She shakes her head silently.

Well...fuck. If I wasn’t weirded out before, I sure as hell am now. “He vanished. Like, right into thin air. I figured you’d done something.”

“I didn’t,” she says, her voice rough. She takes another slow step forward, like I’ll vanish too if she makes any sudden moves.  “I...I couldn’t. He shot you.”

“Nope.” I try for a smile, but if it looks as half as fake as it feels then I’m not fooling anyone. “Looks like I managed to avoid getting shot all on my own this time.”

“No,” Max says again, shaking her head. “He shot you. I saw him shoot you.”

“I don’t know what to tell you. I guess he missed?” He didn’t miss, though. I was looking right down the barrel when he pulled the trigger. He couldn’t have missed. “Guess it’s my lucky day.”

“Lucky? Lucky?!” Her eyes darken and she closes the rest of the distance in a couple of steps. “I told you to stay outside! What the hell were you thinking?!

I can’t help but feel a flare of indignance. “Well, fuck me for thinking you might need some help!”

“I didn’t need your help!” Tears start welling up in her eyes. “I needed you to be safe!”

“I heard gunshots, Max! When I came in here, he had you at fucking gunpoint!”

“I had things under control!”

“Under control?! What the fuck are you talking ab-”

He killed you!” she screams, cutting me off. “He killed you right in front of me! You died again and again and again and I couldn’t save you!”

It takes me a second to catch on. I guess he didn’t miss, after all. Just like every other time Max has told me about a death I narrowly avoided, I feel my stomach lurch a little. No one should be this aware of their own mortality.

“Shit,” I pull her into my arms and she starts crying into my shoulder. “It’s okay, Max. I’m okay. I’m right here.”

“I...I’m s-sorry...,” she stammers out between sobs. “I’m s-so sorry... I...I gave up! I tried and I tried but I couldn’t save you!”

“You did save me, Max. You must have, because I’m right here. I’m right here, okay?” The idea seems to get through to her, and I keep repeating it as her sobbing tapers off. After a minute, she pulls away to look at me. Her cheeks are still wet, and her eyes are all puffy, but there’s the tiniest hint of a smile on her face. “Hey, there, cutie.”

“H-hey,”

“Feeling bett-”

“I love you, Chloe,” she says, gently interrupting me. “I promised I’d tell you when I saw you again, and I love you.”

It’s not a surprise. Even if she’s never said it outright, it’s been pretty obvious how she felt. But actually hearing the words out loud is like a bolt of lightning right to the heart. “I...”

“And you don’t have to say it back...no, you really don’t. Not if you aren’t ready. There’s no rush. I don’t mind if we’re on different pages, as long as we’re still reading the same book.” She hesitates. “We...are, right?”

I nod fervently because we definitely are.

“T-that’s good.”

“Hella good,” I whisper, still holding her hand.

“Hella good,” she echoes, then hiccups a little. Despite everything, it’s fucking adorable. “You’re really okay?”

“I’m really okay, Max.” She looks a lot better now, but her cheeks are still a little wet. I must have a tissue or something. I start digging around in my pockets, but all I find is a small, sealed envelope I’ve never seen before. It feels like there’s something about the size of a jellybean inside it and when I flip it over, I see Max’s name messily scrawled on the front. “The hell...?”

“What?”

“This was in my pocket.” I hold it up for her to see. “Yours?”

Confused, she wipes her nose on her sleeve and takes it from me. She inspects it carefully, turning it over a few times before tearing it open. Tilting it over her palm, the first thing to fall out is a single bullet. It’s already been fired, and even though I’m no gun expert (you’d have to talk to step-douche for that) I’m pretty sure it’s the kind of bullet that would’ve gone in Jefferson’s gun.

“Is that...?” I whisper, a million questions whirling around in my head.

“I don’t know,” she admits, looking about as unnerved as I feel, then pulls out a small card. It’s actually pretty cool looking; matte black except for a shining silver and blue butterfly embossed on the front. Brow furrowed, she opens it, reads whatever’s inside, then lets out a choked gasp and drops it like it’s on fire.

Curious, I kneel to pick the card up, opening it to read.

 

~

Dearest Max,

The blue-haired idiot lives. You got your bestie back.

Here’s your precious happy ending, you arrogant bitch.

Don’t fuck it up.

~

 

“The hell?” When Max doesn’t respond, I look up to see that she’s gone white as a sheet. “Max? What is it?”

She staring at me like I’m the scariest thing she’s ever seen...except she’s not staring at me. She’s staring at the back of the card, and I flip it over to find another message.

 

~

P.S. – And don’t you worry about him. He’s with me. ;)

~

 

“The fuck is that supposed to mean?”

“R-red light,” Max stammers, her eyes fixed on the card.

“Is this about Jeffer-”

“Red light.”

“C’mon, Max...”

“I’m sorry, Chloe.” She shakes her head. “Red light forever.”

I want to argue (I mean, forever? What kind of bullshit is that?) but there’s something in her eyes that stops me. I suddenly get the impression that of all the frightening, bizarre, or just plain tragic things that she’s been keeping from me, this might just be the one I really don’t want to know about. “...okay, Max. If you say so.”

“I’m sorry,” she repeats, swaying a little on her feet. “I just...”

“No, it’s fine.” Stuffing the card back in my pocket, I gently take her by the arm and guide her around the couch. “Hey, what do you say you lay down for a minute?”

“I...uh...yeah. Yeah, I think that’d be good.” She looks so tired as she practically collapses onto the couch.

“You’re gonna stay right here, okay?”

“Kay,” she murmurs, rubbing her eyes as she lays back. “Just for a minute, though.”

“Just for a minute,” I echo. Sitting back on my heels, I’m trying not to worry about her when a sudden (and fucking loud) noise just about scares the crap out of us both.

“Mmmmmmm!!”

“What the...” Leaping to my feet, I immediately see Victoria sitting on the floor across the room, leaning against a metal cabinet, still tied up and glaring at me. “Oh, crap!”

“What is it?!” Max starts to sit upright.

“Nothing!” I gently push her back down, and she doesn’t offer much resistance. “Everything’s fine. You stay here and I’ll be right back.”

She barely has a chance to nod before I run around the couch, grabbing a pair of scissors off the desk on my way. “Fuck! Sorry!”

Kneeling down beside Victoria, I realize she’s not actually glaring at me. She actually looks freaked as fuck, not that I can blame her. This whole fucking thing would rattle anyone. I’m pretty sure that as soon as the adrenaline wears off I’m gonna fucking lose it, so why should she be any different?

“Seriously, I’m really sorry. We were...and then...forget it. Sorry. This is probably gonna suck,” I add, pinching the corner of the tape over her mouth, I silently count to three and rip it off in one quick motion. I cringe, expecting her to curse me out or something, but she doesn’t. She just sits there, still looking freaked as fuck, staring at me like I’m a fucking ghost. “Vic? You still in there?”

“Holy fuck,” she finally whispers. “You’re here.”

“Course I am,” I say, taking her shoulder and leaning her forward. Reaching behind her with the scissors, I clip the cable ties holding her hands behind her. “Didn’t I say I’d have your back?”

Gingerly rubbing her wrists, she leans back and keeps on staring at me. “But...you’re alive.”

“No shit, Sherlock.” I lean back, a little nervously. The last time I heard those words in that tone, I ended up getting kissed. “Just a heads up, if you don’t keep those lips to yourself, this tape is going right back where I found it.”

She blinks. “...what?”

“You heard me.”

“Why the hell would I-agh!” She flinches halfway through shaking her head. “What the shit-fucking fuck?!”

That startles me; Victoria’s no stranger to cursing, but that was a little more intense than I’ve heard from her before. “What’s wrong?”

“The side of my neck hurts! What the hell?!”

“Okay, hold still. Lemme take a look.” Leaning in, I quickly spot the angry red mark on the side of her throat. Well, that fucking figures. That bastard really does (did?) love his needles. But the real problem is right in the center, where I spot a tiny glimmer of something metallic. “Motherfucker.”

“What?!”

“I think there’s a broken needle in your neck.” I grab her wrist when she tries reaching for it. “Don’t do that.”

“I want it the fuck out!” She snaps, trying to get up. I never thought I’d be so grateful for Frank Bowers and his fucked-up junkie stories, or I’d have no idea how serious this was. Grabbing Victoria by the shoulders, I slam her against the cabinet.

Do. Not. Move.

She stares back at me, wide-eyed and speechless, but does what she’s told.

“I can still see the end of the needle, but if you keep moving around you could push it deeper. That’d be really fucking bad.” I look down at her neck. “Right now, you need to hold still so I can pull it out, okay?”

“K-kay,” she says, shakily.

“Alright. Stay here. I gotta go find some tweezers or something.”

“Handbag.”

“Huh?”

“Over there,” she says, her voice tight as she points to a purse tossed haphazardly in the corner. “Side pocket.”

Retrieving it, I root around inside and find one of those little keychain size swiss army knives: the ones with the mini tweezers that come out of the end. Fucking perfect.

“Okay, we’re gonna do this nice and steady,” I murmur. Trying to act like I know what I’m doing, I rest my wrist on her shoulder and very slowly move the tweezers in to pinch the broken needle end. Taking a deep breath, I begin to pull gently; Victoria hisses as an inch of thin, slightly bent steel slides out of her neck. Once it’s clear, I flick it under the asshole’s desk.

“You’re all set,” I say, putting the tweezers back and dropping the small pocketknife in her lap. “Way to be prepared and shit.”

She sags back against the cabinet with a sigh, gingerly rubbing the small wound and staring at me like...I don’t even know. I’ve never seen anyone look like that who wasn’t tripping. It’s the look a person gets when they’re looking at something they aren’t quite sure is real.

Except I’m pretty sure I am real, so what the fuck?

“Am I dead?” she asks, suddenly.

“...are you what?

“Am I dead?” she repeats, swallowing heavily.

Sitting back on my heels, I try to look chill. “Nope. We officially saved your ass. You’re welcome.”

“No, that’s impossible,” she argues, for some fucking reason. “You couldn’t have.”

I’m not sure if I should be insulted or concerned about that. Did she hit her head on something? I don’t see any bumps, but we’re definitely rolling up on concussion-level crazy talk. This is exactly how Justin sounded that time he bailed off his board and went headfirst into a tree. Poor guy was talking even more nonsense than usual.

Sitting down on the floor next to her, I lean against the cabinet. “Hey...you feeling okay?”

“I...I think I...” Confused, she looks down again and I spot a small patch of blood standing out against her blonde hair. Fuck, I hate being right sometimes.

“Aw, shit,” I mutter. “Looks you cranked your head on something.”

“What?” She reaches up to gingerly prod at the back of her head, hissing when she reaches the spot and bringing her hand around to peer at the blood on her fingertips. “Oh. Yeah. I don’t think the blood is mine, though.”

“Who the hell else’s would it be?”

She doesn’t answer right away, her eye twitching a little as her hand slowly tightens into a fist. “...his.”

Jesus fucking Christ. I thought Max had filled that psycho’s name with hatred, but the way Victoria spits that one word is fucking unreal. If there were any paint on the walls down here, I’m pretty sure it’d be peeling. “How the hell did you get the freak’s blood in your hair?”

“By headbutting him,” she answers, some of her usual fire returning to her eyes. “Pretty sure I broke his nose, too.”

“Seriously?” Victoria Chase broke the Jeffershit’s nose...with a headbutt? That’d definitely explain why his face had looked so messed up when I came in. “That’s fucking badass.”

“I guess.” Her eyes slowly scan the room. “What happened to him? I...I thought I saw...” She hesitates. “Am I insane, or did he just...disappear?”

“You saw that, too?” I’m surprised at how relieved I am. “Yeah, he did. Vanished into thin air.”

“How...?”

“I think Max knows. She’s not talking, but...”

“But what?”

“I dunno. It was just something about the way she reacted.” I look over at the couch. “Wherever he went, I don’t think it’s good, and I don’t think he’s coming back.”

“Good,” Victoria murmurs, following my gaze. “Is she doing alright?”

“I think so.”

“She looked upset.”

“Yeah,” I draw the word out, awkwardly rubbing the back of my neck. “She’s kinda pissed at me. Turns out my heroic rescue attempt didn’t work out too well for me the first time. Or the second time. Or a bunch of times after that.”

“Shit. How many?” she asks, hesitantly.

“I dunno. A lot, I think.”

“Oh, Max,” Victoria actually sounds concerned. Like, legit concerned, which is a fucking weird thing to hear coming from the Bitch Queen of Blackwell. “Is she asleep?”

“Maybe. That, or she’s eavesdropping on us.” I raise my voice at the end, waiting. A second later, Max peeks cautiously over the back of the couch. “Thought so.”

“Sorry,” she says, standing up and moving around to our side of the couch. “I was just...”

“Being a great big snoop?” I finish.

“...yeah.”

Climbing to my feet, I walk over to wrap her up in a hug. “How’re you feeling?”

“Better now,” she murmurs, happily snuggling into my shoulder. “You always make things better.”

Before I can respond, I hear Victoria mutter something that sounds a hell of a lot like ‘thirsty bitch’. But when I turn around to tell her to fuck off, I’m a little startled to find her smiling at us. Actually smiling, like she would if we were friends, instead of sneering, like she would if there was any sanity left in the world.

“Okay, what the hell is up with you?”

“Good question.” Absently rubbing her neck, Victoria gives Max a weird look. “So, Max....pretty crazy running into you like this.”

Concerned, Max pulls away from me. “Victoria? Are you alright?”

“Oh, I’m good.” She shakes her head, laughing. “I’m actually fucking great.”

“You’re not hurt?”

“I’m fine.” Standing, she pushes off the cabinet. “But there’s something I need to tell you.” She takes a step closer, an earnest expression on her face. “Something really important. Something I never thought I’d have the chance to say to you.”

Max glances back at me, a little nervously. “Okay?”

“The thing is, Max...” Victoria leans in a little, lowering her voice. “...I let you win.”

Max blinks, confused, then cocks her head to the side. “You let me win what?”

“Our last checkers game. I let you win.”

That doesn’t mean a thing to me, but it sure as hell must mean something to Max. Never in my entire life have I seen a person short-circuit so badly. Her jaw drops like a rock and her eyes might as well be flashing an error message. “W-w-what...?”

Victoria crosses her arms, smirking. “You heard me.”

“B-but you can’t...that’s not...I don’t...how could...why are...when did...” She stops for a second, brow furrowed, then settles on, “How?”

“I’ve got absolutely no fucking idea.”

“Oh my god,” Max murmurs, moving closer. “This can’t be real.”

“Feels pretty real to me.”

It happens so fast, I’m pretty sure that I’d have missed it by blinking. One second the two of them are just standing there gawking at each other; the next they’re hugging and jumping around and laughing like that whole checkers thing is just the greatest fucking news ever.

“You’re here!” Max shouts happily. “You’re alive and you’re here!”

“I know!” Victoria crows. “I’m not fucking gone! Fuck you, universe! I’m still here!”

Okay, what the hell is going on? I know shit got pretty intense for a minute there, but this seems like a bit much. I mean, one little life or death situation and suddenly Max and Victoria are acting like they’re best...

...friends.

Holy shit.

No, it can’t be, right?

Can it?

Holy shit.

“She...” The word comes out as a faint rasp, my mouth and throat suddenly bone-dry. Swallowing, I try again. “She’s...”

“Chloe?” Max turns my way.

I point at Victoria, my hand shaking a little. “Is...is she...?”

It takes a second for Max to realize what I’m trying to ask, and I doubt anyone else but her could have. Glancing briefly at Victoria, she gives me a slow nod and I feel the world tilt on its side a little bit. Even after these last few days, this is some next-level shit.

“She’s...” I finally turn to Victoria. “You’re Future Vic.”

“Future Vic?” She blinks, then lets out a soft laugh. “Yeah, I guess I am.”

I don’t even know what I’m supposed to say to that, and I barely notice Max sidle up next to me until she takes my hand. “Come on. Let’s go get some fresh air.”

“Yeah,” I nod. “Yeah, that’d probably be good.”

With that, I follow my time-travelling sorta-girlfriend and her best friend from the future out of the vanishing serial killer’s secret bunker, because apparently my entire life has gone batshit insane.

 

Breathe

Oct 11, 2013 - [12:51 am]
Prescott Barn
Southeast of Arcadia Bay, Oregon

It’d happened instantly.

There hadn’t been any kind of gap or transition. One second I’d been standing in the ruins of Arcadia Bay during what were supposed to have been the last moments of my life. The next second I’d been back indoors, someone’s arm wrapped around my neck, and Max’s face had been barely a foot away. I hadn’t even had time to process that before she’d thrown her hand out, hitting something next to my head. That must’ve been the needle that broke off, because it’d sent a shock of stinging pain into my neck.

I’d felt the arm around my neck jerk backward, it’s owner probably as startled as me, as Max had taken another swing. She’d obviously been aiming at the asshole who’d been holding me, and I’d thought she’d hit them, but then another fist had connected with her face and sent her sprawling to the floor.

All of this had taken about three seconds, and as my mind had started to catch up with current events I’d become aware of several terrifying things; I was back in the Dark Room, I was bound and gagged, and I was being held by Mark Jefferson.

I hadn’t needed to see his face. I’d known it was him. I hadn’t realized how much his disgusting fucking cologne had imprinted on my memories until I’d suddenly found myself choking on it.

He’d started moving backward before I’d even thought of trying to get away, practically dragging me along by the neck. Max had still been on the ground when he’d raised his free arm, levelling a gun on her. And although I still hadn’t known what was happening – whether I’d been dreaming, or hallucinating, or if I’d just ended up in Hell – I’d still known that there was no fucking way I’d let him shoot her.

Bracing myself, I’d swung my head backward as hard as I could manage, crashing it into his and sending a wave of blinding pain through my entire skull. I’d heard the wet crunch a split second before his gun had gone off, putting a bullet into the wall across from us.

“Fucking bitch!” he’d shouted, like the pathetic piece of shit he was, shoving me more or less in Max’s direction. I’d tried to keep my footing, even though I’d expected a bullet in the back the entire time, but I’d still had spots dancing across my vision and my legs had felt like they’d fallen asleep. I might have been alright if my toe hadn’t gotten caught on a lighting wire, but that’d been enough to put me off-balance and send me falling headlong into the side of the desk.

I’d been bracing up for another hit on the head when Max had thrown herself against me, pushing me away from the desk and sending us both tumbling to the floor behind it. Somehow, I’d ended up falling on top of her and the impact had sent all the air out of her lungs in a wheezing rush. Gasping, she’d pushed off of her and I’d rolled away, the back of my head connecting sharply with the floor. I’d looked up to see that Jefferson had still been there with that fucking gun of his, but he hadn’t been aiming it at us anymore. He’d pulled the trigger, and another thunderous shot had filled the space...

...and then he’d been gone.

Just like that, he’d vanished, like some editor had come along and cut him out of the world between frames.

And if that hadn’t been enough to utterly rock my worldview, a split-second later the last person in the world I would’ve expected to see had appeared, swinging a piece of wood through the space where Jefferson had just been standing; Chloe Price, looking exactly like I remembered.

That had been the point when I’d realized that I probably had way bigger concerns than a bump on the head.

 


 

“Holy shit,” Max breathes, as I finish telling my version of events. “Victoria, that’s...”

“Fucking nuts,” Chloe finishes.

I nod, still trying to come to terms with the fact that I’m talking to Max, that she’s standing right next to Chloe, that I’m alive, that I’m somehow back in the year 2013, and that the person I hate more than I ever thought I’d be able to hate anything is... “Hey, Max?”

“Yeah?”

“Is he really...? I mean, he’s not going to...”

“No. He’s gone.”

“Where?”

She hesitates. “...exactly where he deserves to be.”

“Good fucking riddance,” I mutter. The weather hasn’t gotten bad yet; just a light rain that doesn’t even come close to hinting at what’s to come. And although the temperature has dropped a little, it’s the look in Max’s eyes that has me feeling a little chilled. Talking about Mark Jefferson has always brought out something dark in her. It’s not scary, exactly, but until I saw it for the first time, I never would’ve imagined calling Max Caulfield ruthless. It’s not something I like to see in her, and the only time her eyes ever looked colder was...oh.

I barely suppress a shudder when the memory of Chloe’s funeral jumps unbidden to the front of my mind. The small church had seemed pretty full when I’d arrived, which had been fine by me. It meant I could grab a seat at the back and do my best not to be noticed. I hadn’t been totally surprised that Max’s mother had reached out to me; Max, Chloe, and I were the only Arcadia Bay survivors our age. But even if most people hadn’t recognized me (except for Steph Gingrich, who gave me kind of a weird look when she spotted me), I’d still felt kind of unwelcome.

That was another impression that had stuck with me, and even after we started hanging out it took a long time for me to stop feeling like an outsider in Max’s life. Now that I’m standing here with her and Chloe, I’m not really sure where I fit in that dynamic.

“Hey, you good?” Chloe asks, looking surprisingly concerned.

“Yeah, sorry,” I say, honestly meaning to follow it with something like, ‘it’s just really strange to see you’. You know; the kind of thing a normal person would say. Instead, my brain spits out, “I was just thinking about your funeral.”

Chloe blinks. “...my what now?”

“Victoria!” Max gasps. “What the hell?!”

“Damn it.” I cringe, pressing a hand to my forehead. “I didn’t mean to say that. It just came out.”

“You were at my funeral?” Chloe murmurs.

“We both were,” I say, because I’m a lunatic. “I mean, obviously.” That isn’t better. Then, for some fucking reason, I add, “It was a really nice service, though.”

“Victoria!” Max looks ready to smack me, and her girlfriend (maybe?) looks like she’s having a slight existential crisis. I really wish I didn’t know exactly what that feels like.

“...it was?” Chloe asks, eventually.

“I mean...I guess? It was a funeral. But it seemed like there were a lot of people there. And everyone seemed...y’know...sad?” Oh my fucking god, kill me now. “I think I should stop saying things for a while.”

“I don’t...I can’t even...” Max squeezes her eyes shut, rubbing her forehead. “Can we talk about something else? Literally anything else?”

“Oh god, please!” I agree, nodding vehemently.

Chloe actually looks weirdly disappointed, but she doesn’t argue. “So, Victoria.” She scratches the back of her neck. “Here you are, huh? In the past.”

Well, that’s about as neutral an observation as it gets. “Here I am.”

She shakes her head. “Time travel is pretty messed up, isn’t it?”

“No kidding.” Understatement of the fucking century. “And here I thought I was done with it.”

“Yeah, I guess you just expected to be...wiped out...of...” Chloe trails off, cringing. “Fuck.”

“It’s fine.” I sigh. “Do-over?”

“Why not?” she groans. “Let’s see which one of us steps in it this time.”

“I think it’s Max’s turn.”

We both turn to Max, who stares back at us like a cornered animal. “...what?”

“You’re up, Max.”

“Yeah.” Chloe nods. “Make this not weird.”

“I...er...” She stops, thinks for a second, then goes with, “...Victoria likes Blade Runner?”

Okay. Interesting segue, but I can work with this. “That’s true. I do like Blade Runner.”

Chloe actually looks surprised. “Really?”

“Well, yeah.” I shrug. “I mean, it’s a classic.”

“You’re talking about the Director’s Cut, right?”

“What? Of course I’m talking about the Director’s Cut!” I can’t believe she’d ask me that. Why doesn’t she just spit on me while she’s at it? “What the fuck kind of basic bitch do you take me for?”

“Oh, come on. Like you’ve never met any of those ‘it’s not so great I didn’t like the narration’ assholes who haven’t.”

“Like I’d waste my time listening to anyone who doesn’t think that entire film was a masterpiece. I mean, it basically redefined science fiction cinema.”

“Thank you! I keep telling Max that, but she’s all hung up on The Spirits Within.”

“Hey!”

“Ugh!” I groan, ignoring Max’s indignant expression. “Don’t even get me started on that fucking movie.”

“Seen it a few times, I guess?”

“Six times before I broke down and hid the DVD. Six! Thank god she’s too scared to pirate her own movies.”

“She is?” Chloe laughs.

“I’m not scared!” Max insists.

“Oh, please. It was like you thought the FBI was gonna kick the front door in or something.” I shake my head. “Remember the time you got all jumpy just because I downloaded the new Avengers movie?”

“I wasn’t that bad!”

“You screamed when the pizza guy rang the doorbell.”

“I wasn’t expecting it!”

“Sure.” Smirking, I turn back to Chloe. “You know, I actually met Ridley Scott once.”

“What?” Her eyes go wide. “When? How?”

“My family donates a lot to the USC School of Cinematic Arts, so my father knows a lot of people in the industry, and we get invited to things. Things like a party celebrating the thirtieth anniversary of the release of Blade Runner. Most of the original cast was there.”

“Okay, that’s fucking awesome! What were they like?”

I pause, trying to remember. For me, it was almost three and a half years ago. “Harrison Ford actually made the salty old man thing charming. And Rutger Hauer is huge. I swear it felt like he had a solid foot of height on me.”

“What about Daryl Hannah?”

“Really funny, really smart, and taller than either of us.”

“Awesome,” Chloe breathes, adding, “You know, Daryl Hannah was actually the first chick I was into.”

“No kidding?” I have to laugh at that; say what you will about her, Chloe’s never been particularly subtle about her sexuality. Though looking back now, I definitely remember Daryl Hannah’ character in Kill Bill giving me some confusing feelings.

“Kinda took me off guard, too.” She nods. “I was just taking a little me-time with imaginary Decker, then Pris just popped into my head and stole the show. I think it was the bangs...” She trails off, peering thoughtfully into the distance.

“Hey! Quit fantasizing about Daryl Hannah!” Max laughs after a few seconds, poking Chloe’s shoulder. Then she turns to me. “And you, stop enabling her!”

I raise an eyebrow.

Max’s eyes narrow. “Don’t you dar-”

“Hey, Chloe?” I interrupt, keeping my eyes on Max. “You know what’d be fun right now?”

She glances back and forth between Max and me. “No?”

“A detailed discussion about every single nude scene Daryl Hannah has in Splash.”

“...you know what, Victoria?” I can actually hear the shit-eating grin in Chloe’s voice. “I think you’re right.”

“Oh my god,” Max groans, squeezing her eyes shut. “I should’ve known you two would be as bad as each other.” 

“Yeah, you really should have,” I agree.

“Whatever. I’m going to go down and find some flashlights. You two stay here and keep being smartasses.”

Max heads down the stairs, and as soon as she’s out of sight, Chloe sits down on a nearby crate with a heavy sigh. She doesn’t say anything for a few seconds, then looks up at me. “So...Max loves me.”

Not exactly what I expected. “...yeah? I mean, of course she does.”

She scowls a little. “I get how that’s not news for you, but I’m still kind of getting used to the idea.”

“Oh.” I hesitate. “Is that...bad?”

“What? No!”

“Then what?” I ask, trying to step lightly. ‘Chloe Price’s therapist’ isn’t really a role I feel equipped for.

She falters a bit, jamming her hands in her pockets and toeing the dirt-covered floor with one boot. “I’m just...well... I dunno...”

Oh, I think I see what this is. “I guess you’re trying to figure out how you feel about her?” I chuckle at her surprised look. “It’s kinda written all over your face.”

“Course it is.” She snorts. “Thing is, I know I loved Rachel, and this doesn’t feel the same as that.”

Once upon a time, I’d have flat-out said she wasn’t in love with Rachel. She cared about her, for sure, and she was definitely infatuated. But Chloe mostly gave, and Rachel mostly took, and maybe I’m naïve but I don’t think something like that could be called love.

It sounds like a stupid cliché but seeing Chloe with Rachel was like watching a moth dancing around a flame. No matter what was going on, she always seemed to act like Rachel was the brightest and most important thing in her life. But while she sure as hell wasn’t the only one caught in Rachel Amber’s orbit, she was the one Rachel allowed to fly the closest. For a while, at least.

“It wouldn’t, would it?” I suggest instead. “Max and Rachel are completely different people. Makes sense that loving them would feel different, too.”

“I guess.” Chloe shrugs, then gives me a thoughtful look. “You ever been in love, Vic?”

I hesitate for a second, debating whether or not to answer. “Yeah, I’ve been in love.”

“Huh.” She looks down at the floor, ruminating on that from a minute. “Okay, this is probably going to sound dumb, but what does it feel like?”

“Being in love?”

“Yeah. To you, I mean.” She cringes a little. “Is that a weird thing to ask?”

“I’ve heard weirder,” I laugh. “I sure as hell remember falling in love. It was like I’d been hit by a freight train. All this shit I thought I knew didn’t make sense, and suddenly the spot they’d always filled in my life didn’t fit them anymore.”

Chloe snorts. “Yeah, that sounds familiar.”

Being in love, though? That’s a little harder to put into words.” I frown, thinking about it, then offer the first thing that comes to mind. “It’s kinda like sitting in the sunshine. Everything feels warmer and brighter and happier. It makes me feel safe and hopeful. And even if I was able to live without her, that didn’t make the dark any less lonely. Does that make sense?”

“I...” she nods, staring at the floor pensively. “Yeah, it kinda does.”

I kind of feel bad for Chloe. She’s so obviously head-over-heels in love with Max, and the sooner she stops deluding herself about that, the happier she’ll be. But at the same time, I can see why it wouldn’t be easy for her. I’d watched the whole thing happen from the outside, but even I could tell that getting dumped by Rachel Amber really messed her up.

A lot of people thought Rachel and I were frenemies or some shit, but the truth was a lot simpler; I absolutely fucking loathed her. Rachel was selfish, manipulative, hypocritical, and infuriatingly entitled on a level that made me look like Kate Marsh by comparison. She thought she was a lot smarter than she really was and she had no issues about using other people to get her way. Yet all the while, everyone acted like she was this perfect shining angel.

She also fucking poisoned me and I’m pretty sure she started that forest fire back in 2010.

But while Chloe definitely hadn’t been my favorite person, even I thought she deserved better than to be Rachel’s pet girlfriend. I swear to god, if that self-absorbed bitch were here right now I’d slap the shit out of her.

“Wait a second,” Chloe murmurs, her brow furrowing. “You said her just then.”

“What?”

“When you were talking about being in love. You said you were able to live without her.”

I silently go back over my words. “Huh. I guess I did.”

Chloe stares at me for a long moment. “So, does that mean you’re...”

“Yes, Chloe. I’m gay,” I say, casually, as if admitting that wouldn’t have sent me into a panic spiral back in 2013. “Surprise.”

“Ha!” Chloe’s pensive attitude vanishes. Laughing, she jumps to her feet and stabs a finger in my direction. “I knew it!”

“Oh, like hell you did,” I scoff. “Eighteen-year-old me was so deep in the closet she could see Narnia.”

“Whatever you say, ya great big lesbian!” Now that I’m not putting so much effort into hating her, I’m amazed at how infectious Chloe’s laughter is. “So who’s the lucky lady?”

I almost tell her to mind her own business, but then it occurs to me that Max already knows, and she wouldn’t be too happy with me if I asked her to keep secrets from Chloe. Besides, what’s the point of keeping it a secret? I know Max will have done whatever was necessary to make sure Taylor got to safety, and I’m going to tell her how I feel the minute I see her anyway.

At least, I’m planning to, and hoping I don’t chicken out at the last second. Living in a world without her was hard enough. I don’t think I could bear having her alive and not talking to me.

For now, though, she’s safe. She’s probably with a bunch of other Blackwell students right now, safe and sound and well out of the storm’s path. I wonder, does she know I’m missing? I hope she doesn’t. I don’t want her to be worried about me. Hopefully she just thinks I’m with another group somewhere and that we’ll see each other soon.

Wow...we really will see each other soon. Taylor’s alive and safe and I’m going to see h-

“Vic?”

“Huh?” I blink. “What?”

“You kinda spaced out there,” Chloe says, smirking. “Thinking happy thoughts about a certain someone?”

“Yes, actually,” I say. “I was thinking about Taylor.”

A genuine sense of relief washes over me as the name passes my lips, then again when Chloe doesn’t make some cutting remark. It’s not like I expected her to, but old fears die hard.

“Taylor Christensen?” She waits for me to nod. “Yeah, that makes sense.”

Okay, not quite what I was expecting. “The fuck is that supposed to mean?”

“Rachel always figured you two were gettin’ frisky on the down low.” Chloe shrugs casually, as though she hadn’t just started spouting crazy shit. “I was never really convinced.”

“But that’s...we never...she...”

“So you guys weren’t hooking up?”

“No! She was straight.” I pause. “I mean she is straight.”

“If you say so.”

“She dated guys.”

“So did you,” Chloe points out, because apparently, she’s going to start using the truth against me. “Hell, so did I.”

“But she actually liked the guys she dated.” At least, I think she did. I was usually too busy seething with jealousy to pay much attention to the actual relationships.

“I dunno what to tell you.” Chloe shrugs again. “Maybe she’s bi?”

“Bi?” For a second, I really want that to be true. But I can’t think of a single time she seemed to show the slightest interest in girls...I don’t think. I’m pretty sure she never did.

Did she?

No, I definitely would’ve noticed Taylor checking out other girls. I wouldn’t have been happy about it, but I would’ve noticed.

If I had, I could have found the courage to act on my feelings. I mean, I probably wouldn’t because I was a total coward back then, but...where was I going with this?

“Yeah. It’s short for bisexu-”

“I know what it fucking means, Chloe,” I snap.

“Alright, take it easy.” She holds her hands up. “Look, I’m not telling you what she is, one way or the other. All I know is tha-holyfuckingshit!”

I feel it happen a heartbeat before Chloe cries out. A small but jarringly sudden shift in how my body is balanced, as though my brain has been forced to suddenly recalibrate. It reminds me of how it feels to be walking up a flight of stairs and expecting there to be one more step than there really is. The way you lift your foot thinking there’ll be something to support it, find nothing but empty air, start to fall a little, and for a fraction of a second nothing in the world makes any sense...then your foot hits the ground, you briefly feel dumb, then you go on with your day like nothing ever happened.

“Oh, shit!” Chloe laughs, maybe a little louder than necessary. “You did the thing! You did the whatchamacallit thing that Max did!”

Still a little disoriented, I look down at my hands (my fingernails now a much more familiar color), then at my sleeves (which suddenly look a lot less like cashmere and a lot more like brushed fleece), then down at my skirt (which is actually a pair of leggings) and let out a soft laugh of my own. “Holy shit, I actually did.”

“Max!” Chloe shouts back over her shoulder. “Vic did the thing! She’s old now!”

“Oh, you just had to ruin it, didn’t you?” I laugh, reaching over to shove Chloe’s shoulder. “Respect your elders, asshole.”

“Oh, whatev-” Chloe stops, then throws her arms in the air. “God damn it! Now you’re older than me, too! Just Max was bad enough!”

“Seriously?” I laugh, because I feel like myself again and it feels awesome. “You’re upset that Max went from a year and a half younger than you to a year and a half older than you?”

“It’s weird!”

“She said to the time traveler.”

“Seriously, shut up!” Chloe shouts, trying to look mad and totally failing.

“So I guess you’re not okay with having a hot twenty-one-year-old girlfriend who’s completely crazy about you?”

“I...” she pauses, looking away. “...didn’t say that.”

“What the hell are you two yelling about?” Max rushes up the stairs, blinks, then grins. “Oh my god! You look like you again!”

“Right?!” I look down at myself. “Am I taller? I feel taller.”

Chloe looks me over for a second. “Y’know, I think you actually are. Like, by an inch.”

“I can’t believe I missed it.” I look back up to see Max frowning a little. “I always wondered what it looked like from the outside.”

“It was so freaky, Maximus,” Chloe comments, looking me up and down. “She was just standing there, not doing anything. Then it was like, blink! New Victoria!”

That brings me up short. “Wait, you’ve never seen that before?”

“No, I...” Chloe hesitates. “Max wasn’t with me when she did it.”

I peer at Max, and she winces a little. “I was kinda in an ambulance?”

“You were in an ambulance,” I repeat, slowly. “Why the hell were you in an ambulance?”

“She...uh...she kinda had a seizure when she got here,” Chloe says, which brings up about a million more questions than it answers.

“She had a fucking sei-”

“But I’m totally fine now!” Max interrupts. “No problems here!”

“Right.” I pause, then take a seat on a nearby crate. “Okay. I think you’d better start from the beginning.”

 

Roar

Oct 11, 2013 - [7:06 am]
Prescott Barn
Southeast of Arcadia Bay, Oregon

This has to be the weirdest fucking night of my life, and I’ve had some pretty weird fucking nights.

Victoria appeared here right from 2015. No interruption, no delay, and apparently not much sleep the night before. Meanwhile, Max and I have been on the go for almost thirty-six hours. Sure, we got some sleep last night, but not a ton of it. And unlike me, Max has been running herself ragged by fucking around with time. To the point that she’s pretty sure she’s broken whatever it is that let her do it in the first place; maybe even permanently. And while adrenaline (or maybe epinephrine, because these two got surprisingly intense over the difference) kept them on their feet for a while, it didn’t last forever.

Long story short, Max and Victoria got very tired, very fast. But since neither of them are willing to go down to the bunker until it's ‘absolutely necessary’, the three of us ended up sitting above it, backs against the barn wall, talking about pretty much anything that came to mind.

We got Victoria caught up on the last couple of days, and while she’d particularly enjoyed hearing about how Max kicked Frank’s ass, she’d sobered up pretty quick when we broke the news about Nathan. She didn’t break down in tears or anything, which was a little surprising considering how much her younger self had been all about helping and protecting the little psycho. New & improved Victoria was disappointed, but admitted that she’d accepted Nathan was beyond help a long time ago.

After that, most of the conversation was her and Max telling me about stuff that happens in the future. Nothing big or important; mostly just everyday things like funny work stories (Victoria gave me about a dozen good examples of why you should never take your eyes off an idiot in an art gallery), dumb roommate stuff (I need to see this super-caffeinated version of Max for myself), and even some movies that are going to come out. I’m already looking forward to some of them, actually. John Wick and Fury Road both sound fucking badass, and I’m pretty sure Victoria is hot for whoever this Furiosa chick is.

The conversation kinda tapered off after a while. Eventually Max got cold (or so she claimed) and cuddled up next to me (not that I was complaining). A minute later her breathing evened out and I looked down to find her fast asleep on my shoulder. It was fucking adorable, and everything would be awesome if that were all that’d happened.

I was so busy watching Max sleep that I didn’t notice the sound of fleece sliding against wood. If I had, it would have given me a second or two of warning before Victoria’s head landed on my other shoulder. She’d fallen asleep as well, then keeled over like some obnoxious asshole on the bus and landed on my other goddamned shoulder. I’d tried to wake her up, hissing her name and bucking my shoulder a little, but she was out like a light, and I didn’t want to accidentally wake Max up, too.

That was about an hour ago, and the two of them are still asleep. Meanwhile, here I am in the middle, playing headrest to a pair of tuckered-out time travelers. On my right shoulder, Max breathes softly, looking cute as fuck. On my left, Victoria is actually drooling a little. If I could get to my phone without maybe waking Max up, I’d totally want a picture of her. That kind of primo blackmail material doesn’t come along every day.

The weather outside started getting nasty a little while ago. I can already hear the wind howling through the trees and the heavy rain pounding the barn’s roof. I guess we’re lucky it’s still in decent-ish condition. The part we’re sitting under is, at least; there’s definitely water dripping down in a few places. Every now and then I hear the rumble of thunder and see a flicker of lightening outside. Both of them have been getting steadily closer, and I figure I’m going to have to wake these two up pretty soon.

Shifting in place a little, I briefly think that if I’d ever had a dream just one time after getting way too high about being the meat in a Max and Victoria sandwich (which I never ever have and fuck you sideways for suggesting otherwise), it sure didn’t look anything like this.

Wouldn’t have looked anything like this, I mean.

If it had ever happened.

Which it fucking didn’t.

...seriously, way too high.

Suddenly I feel a buzz in my pocket, followed a half-second later by a loud chirp. Then another buzz/chirp combo. Then another. Beside me, Max stirs and makes an unhappy sound, so I take a risk and pull my phone out to silence it. At the top of the screen I’m surprised to see I’ve got full bars. I guess the cell tower is up and running again. Someone’s sure as hell earning their overtime tonight.

I only turned my phone on a couple of hours ago to use the flashlight, but now that it’s got a signal again it won’t shut up about all the messages and voicemails I’ve got waiting for me. It looks like about three-quarters of them are from my mom, and a few are from David. The rest are from a couple of numbers with 206 area codes. I don’t recognize them, but I bet they belong to Max’s parents.

Fuck, we’re going to have a lot of explaining to do. And that’s going to be a whole lot harder without Max’s powers to back up the story. As much as I want to make sure my mom is okay, I’m really not looking forward to our next conversation.

Naturally, my screen lights up almost as soon as I think that. Incoming call, from Mom, because of course. I hesitate before rejecting it, but only for a second. I doubt that’ll stop her, but it’s worth a...nope. Text message. Gotta hand it to her; the woman has fast thumbs.

Mom: Chloe I know we fight sometimes but I love you! Please come home!

Ugh. Way to lay on the guilt, Mom. Now I just feel like a...wait.

Did she just...

I re-read the message. Then I re-read it again, a sinking feeling settling in my stomach. She can’t have meant it like that. She can’t have. I stare at the small screen, my thumb hovering over the keyboard.

I have to know for sure.

Chloe: where r u?

The call is practically instant, but I reject it. I do the same with the two calls that follow immediately after. I want an answer, not an argument. After the fourth rejected call, she takes the hint.

Mom: Chloe Price you pick up the phone right this minute!

Chloe: where r u?

Mom: I’m not kidding! Answer the phone!

Chloe: where r u?

Mom: Please I need to know you’re alright!

Chloe: WHERE THE FUCK R U RIGHT NOW?

Mom: At home Chloe! I’m here with Max’s parents. Please come back!

”Fuck!” I shout, scrambling to my feet so fast that Max and Victoria don’t even have time to wake up; the two of them fall against one another and I turn to find them in a confused, barely-awake tangle.

Victoria jerks herself upright first, glaring up at me with a mix of annoyance and confusion. “What the hell, Price?!”

Max is a half-second behind her, but only half as aware. “Huh? Whazzit?”

“She’s still here! She didn’t leave!” I shout, too loud and too fast for Max’s struggling brain to catch.

Victoria, on the other hand, is already firing on all cylinders. If I weren’t so fucking scared, I’d probably be impressed. “Do you mean your mother?” she asks, sharply, and I nod. “She’s still at your house?” I nod again. “But the plan was for David to tell her to get out!”

“I know what the fucking plan was, Victoria!” I snap back. Either David didn’t tell her, or she didn’t listen. Probably the second one. Fuck knows I don’t get my stubbornness from my dad. “She probably lied and said she was leaving. He would’ve dragged her kicking and screaming if she’d said no.”

Forcing my hands to stay steady, I call David’s number. It doesn’t even ring, going straight to voicemail. “You’ve reached David Madsen. Please leave a message.”

Hanging up, I try again.

“You’ve reached David Madsen. Pleas-”

I can feel the panic starting to claw at me as I end the call and try one last time.

“You’ve reached Da-”

“Fuck!” I scream, barely able to keep myself from hurling my phone across the barn. “God fucking damn it, David!”

“What about my parents?” Max asks. She looks a lot more awake now, but I guess watching someone freak the fuck out will do that to you. “Are they still...”

I nod, and her face goes white.

“Alright,” Victoria says, putting a hand on Max’s shoulder. She sounds calm, but she can’t hide the fear in her eyes. “We can’t freak out. The phones are back up, so you just need to call your mom and tell her to get out of town. I’m going to make sure m-”

A flash of lightning briefly lights up the world outside the barn, a roar of thunder right on top of it. Through the half-broken windows, I catch a glimpse of driving rain over the surrounding fields. The trees are already bending heavily in the wind.

“When is the storm supposed to get here?” I ask, dragging my eyes back to Max and Victoria. “How long do they have?”

“It was about seven-thirty when I drove back to town,” Max says, her gaze distant. “And the weather was already pretty scary.”

“The NOAA report we dug up said the tornado itself didn’t make landfall until a few minutes after eight, but the winds are going to get really high before then.” Victoria glances at the clock on her past-self’s iPhone. “They’ve probably got about half an hour to safely get out. Maybe forty minutes. After that...”

I feel a wave of nausea wash over me. Forty minutes? It takes me longer than that to get Mom to quit badgering me about cleaning my room.

“Chloe,” Max says, laying her hand on my arm.

“Max, I...how the fuck am I supposed to convince her to leave town without me?”

“I don’t know, but we’ve got to try.”

I barely notice Victoria move away; her phone pressed to her ear. Sharing a final anxious look with Max, I take a deep breath and call Mom. The line barely has time to ring before she picks up. “Chloe?! Chloe, is that you?!

“Hey, Mo-”

“Where in god’s name have you been?! I’ve been scared sick! Are you alright?!”

That’s cool, Mom. It’s not like I needed that eardrum for anything. “I’m okay. We’re both okay, but you need to-”

“Where are you?!”

“Mom, seriously, you guys all need t-”

“I don’t need to do anything, Chloe! You need to tell me where the two of you are rig-”

“Holy fuck, Mom! Just shut the fuck up and listen!” I love my mom (as crap as I am at showing it sometimes), but when she gets going the only thing to do is yell right over her. “You can be pissed at me all you want later, but right now you all have to-”

There’s a loud fumbling sound, then a very different voice comes through. “Chloe?! Is Max there?! Is she alright?!”

“I...uh...hold please.” I lower the phone, slapping my free hand over it. It might be my imagination, but I swear I can feel it buzzing under my palm as I turn to Max. “It’s your dad.”

She winces, letting out a noise that doesn’t quite sound nervous, but doesn’t offer any helpful suggestions.

“I’m gonna put it on speaker, okay?”

She looks about as happy with the idea as I feel, but our collection of parents need to get out of town, and they’ll never go unless they know we’re safe. She eventually nods, so I lift my hand and hit the speaker button.

“-ill there?! Chloe?! Answer m-”

“Hey, Dad,” Max interrupts, and a solid second of dead silence follows.

“MAX?!” I’m surprised Mr. C’s shout doesn’t knock the phone right out of my hand. That dude has some lungs. “OH MY GOD ARE YOU ALRIGHT?!”

“I’m okay, Dad. I’m with Chloe.”

“WHERE THE HELL HAVE YOU BEEN?! WE’VE BEEN LOSING OUR MINDS OVER H-” There’s some more scuffling on the other end, a brief conversation I can’t quite make out, then someone else comes on.

“Maxine.”

Aw, shit. I remember that voice.

When Max and I were kids, Mrs. C’s dreaded ‘you girls are in deep, deep trouble’ voice was one of the few things we were both legit scared of; probably because it was so rare. The last time I heard that voice was about six months before Max left for Seattle, after the two of us decided we wanted to go into town for ice cream. Then, reasoning that driving couldn’t be that hard, we went and accidentally ran her parents’ car halfway through their garage door.

The only thing more worrying than that voice is the fact that she used it to say Max’s full name. Suddenly, the coming storm doesn’t seem like our biggest problem.

“H-hey, Mom.”

“Where have you been?”

Max opens her mouth to answer, shuts it, and gives me a panicked look. Apparently little miss ‘I’m-from-the-future-and-I-have-a-plan’ has no idea what to say.

“I’m waiting.”

“I...uh...”

“She was with me!” I have no idea what I’m doing, I’m totally unprepared for literally any follow-up question, and I know there’s a distinct possibility that I just made things worse. But it was either let Max get run over by a bus or jump in front of it myself.

Easy choice when we were kids.

Easy choice now.

“Hello, Chloe.” Holy fuck. She’s just a voice coming out of a little speaker, but it still feels like she just turned to glare at me. “Care to explain why Max was with you, instead of in her hospital bed?”

“Because, uh...” I look up at Max, who is now officially freaking. If I know anything about her at all, that means she’s about to say something stupid. Like when she tried to explain the garage door incident by suggesting the parking brake had failed, somehow forgetting that the car would’ve had to roll uphill to hit the garage. I start moving to cover her mouth, but my hand isn’t even above my waist before I know it’s too late.

“It’s all my fault!”

What the hell?! Is she seriously going to try to take the heat for me while I’m trying to take the heat for her? For fuck’s sake, the whole ‘heroically jumping on the grenade’ thing doesn’t work if we both do it.

“She can speak for herself, Maxine.” Okay, am I crazy or did Mrs. C somehow just get scarier? I feel like if I’d ever met an old gypsy woman, now would be a perfect moment to gasp and say ‘just like the old gypsy woman said!’.

I think I might be panicking a little, too.

“I’m serious. Chloe kept trying to get me to come back!”

“That is ENOUGH! I want to know where Chloe Price gets off kidnapping my little girl!”

I see it happen the moment the words come out of Mrs. C’s mouth, because I’m looking right at Max when they do. All the guilt and uncertainty vanishes from her face, and she glares at the phone like it just insulted her personally. I think her mom just fucked up.

“Hey, Mom? What’s the date today?” Max asks, her tone unnervingly close to the way she sounded on Wednesday, when I was certain she was about to blow Jefferson’s head off outside the Blackwell dorms. (In hindsight, I almost wish I’d let her do it.)

It seems to catch her mom by surprise, too, because it takes her a second to respond. “I beg your pardon?”

“The date today,” Max repeats, her voice slow and a little patronizing. This is all wrong. She’s the level-headed peacemaker. Unnecessary sarcasm is supposed to be my thing. “What is it?”

“Wha...”

“Let me help you out. It’s October eleventh. Twenty days after my eighteenth birthday.”

“That doesn’t matt-”

“Which makes me a legal adult,” she continues, steamrolling right over her mom’s argument. “Who doesn’t have to justify herself to you or anyone else.”

Somehow the long silence that comes from the phone feels really, scarily loud. “Maxine Ange-”

“Stop it!” Max interrupts. “You can say my full name or use the scary parent voice all you want, but whether you like it or not, I don’t answer to you anymore.”

“I...that’s...don’t you forget who’s paying your tuition to Blackwell!” Her mom is grasping at straws, but I guess I can’t blame her. She’s scared for Max, and she’s got no way of knowing that the person she’s talking to is two years older than the one she’s expecting.

“Blackwell is about to be a pile of rubble, Mom! The whole town is! This storm is going to wipe Arcadia Bay off the map, and you need to get out before it takes you with it!”

“That’s enough! There is no way we’re leaving without you! Get back to the Price’s house right now, young lady, or else!”

I don’t have time to worry about Max’s sudden eye twitch before she snatches the phone out of my hand. Taking it off speaker, she lifts it to her mouth and screams, “SHUT THE FUCK UP!!”

Oh shit.

I think Angry Max just reached her final form.

“I’m going to talk and you’re going to listen, or I swear to fucking god I’ll hang up right now! We are in a reinforced shelter where the storm can’t touch us. I can absolutely guarantee we’ll be safe here. You are in a regular house that will get torn to shreds. If you stay there, you’ll die. If you try to come here, you’ll die. And guess what, Mom?” She holds the phone out again. “I DON’T WANT YOU TO FUCKING DIE!!”

She pauses to take a breath, and I don’t think her mom even tries to get a word in.

“You, Dad, and Joyce are going to get in the car right now. The storm is coming in from the southwest, so you’re going to drive north and you’re not going to stop until you reach Neahkahnie Beach, at least. That is literally the only way you’ll survive. Get in the car and drive north to Neahkahnie Beach. Say those words back, so I know you heard me.”

She goes quiet, waiting for an answer, then her entire body seems to sag with relief. “Thank you. I love you, too. I’m going to put the phone back on speaker so Chloe can hear, then you’ll have thirty seconds before I hang up. Just thirty seconds.”

Holding the phone out, she taps the speakerphone icon.

“Okay, you’re on speaker.”

“Chloe, honey? Are you there?”

“H-hey, Mom.” Damn it, she sounds like she’s trying not to cry. Why am I always making her sound like that? “Yeah, I’m here.”

“Are you...are you really safe where you are?”

“We’re safe, Mom. I promise. We’ll see you after the storm is over, okay?”

“Okay. I...” She hesitates, and I can feel our time ticking away. There isn’t a doubt in my mind that when Max said thirty seconds, she meant thirty seconds. “I love you, sweetie. So much.”

“I love you, too.” My voice cracks a little at the end.

There’s only a little time left when one last voice comes through. “Max?”

Despite her whole hardcore act, for a second it looks like Max might start crying, too. “Hey, Dad.”

“I’m sorry I yelled before.”

“It’s fine, Dad. It’s okay.”

“We love you, Max. Please be safe.”

“Please come back to us,” her mom adds.

“I will. I love you guys so, so much. Time’s up now. Get moving.” She taps the end call button before they can reply, then turns the phone off and hands it back to me.

“That’s all we can do,” she says; more to herself than to me, I think. I can barely hear the dull note in her voice over the storm outside.

“They’ll make it, Max.” I have no idea if that’s true, but like Max said, we’ve done all we can. Pulling her into my arms, I gently rub her back and look over to where Victoria is pacing back and forth. She still has her phone pressed to her ear, but when she notices me watching she gives me a small thumbs-up.

She doesn’t say much - just the occasional ‘okay’ or ‘I know’ – but despite the tears in her eyes she's smiling like all her birthdays have come at once. Finally, with a murmured ‘I love you, too’, she hangs up and walks over to us.

“Mom and Pop Chase got out okay?”

She nods, wiping at her eyes. “They left town hours before the storm warning went out. The younger version of me got my Aunt Jessica to call them up to Seattle. I’ve got no idea how she pulled that off, but apparently I owe them a full explanation by nine AM.” She turns to Max. “What about your parents?”

Max doesn’t say anything, so I answer for her. “They’re on their way out of town now, hopefully. Max kinda tore into them.”

“I heard that.” Victoria’s lips curl into a watery smile. “My mom wanted to know who was yelling and swearing on my end.”

“I was worried about them, okay?” Max murmurs, embarrassed. “Are you okay?”

“Y-yeah. I just...uh...” Victoria tries for what I think is supposed to be a laugh, but it comes out a little like a sob. “I kinda forgot what their voices sounded like.”

Max glances up at me, and she doesn’t even have to ask the question out loud; it’s practically shining from her eyes and (as much as I want to) I can’t say no. “Ugh. C’mere, you big crybaby.”

“Wha-” Before Victoria can react, Max and I reach out and pull her into an awkward, three-sided hug. Her whole body stiffens, like the feeling of actual human contact is new to her.

“Lemme go,” she grumbles, making absolutely no effort to actually get away.

“Nope,” Max replies, her hand rubbing circles on Victoria’s back. “We’re friends. Accept our comfort.”

“It’s okay, Vic,” I murmur as I gently squeeze her shoulders. “This is super fucking weird for me, too.”

She lets out an amused snort, slowly relaxes, and a few seconds later the three of us separate. “Uh...thanks.”

“Don’t mention it.” Laughing softly, I tilt my head toward the bunker’s entrance. “It’s probably about time we head inside.”

“I guess so,” Victoria agrees, and Max just sighs.

“We’re sure that thing is going to hold up, right?”

“It’ll hold,” Victoria murmurs absently.

“You sure?”

She nods, rubbing her arms like she’s fighting off a chill. “Yeah. I’m sure.”

“Right.” Once again, I’ve managed to swallow my own foot. Go me. “Well, no sense hanging around th-”

The roll of thunder that cuts me off feels like it’s right overhead and seems to shake the whole barn. Another roll of thunder follows right after, the lightning casting wild shadows through the windows, and Victoria slowly comes to a stop.

“Fuck you,” she murmurs, glaring upward. The wind is clawing at the roof, and I actually see a couple of shingles rip loose.

“Vic, now isn’t the time t-”

“Fuck you!” Victoria screams, startling me into silence.

Turning around, she runs out the half-open barn door and into the driving rain. She’s pretty much soaked to the bone before she’s gone more than a few steps, but she doesn’t even seem to notice.

“Fuck you!” she roars upward, her voice battling against the wind. “You took everything from me! I hate you!”

I move to drag Victoria back inside (kicking and screaming, if necessary), but Max stops me with a light hand on my arm. “Just give her a second.”

“Not this time, you bastard! This time you lose!” Victoria shouts, her voice carrying into the sky. “Do you hear me?! You fucking lose!!”

A bolt of lightning slams into a nearby tree, splitting its trunk right down the middle. Another bolt strikes Nathan Prescott’s truck, barely ten feet away from her, shattering the windshield and leaving a smoldering hole in the hood. The thunder is so loud I can feel it in my bones, but Victoria doesn’t even flinch.

She glares upward, utterly unintimidated by the raging storm. “That’s nothing! You’re nothing! This is my life now!” She stabs an angry finger at the sky. “I’m not scared of you anymore!”

With that, she goes quiet. She’s still staring upward, panting like she just ran a marathon and eyes blazing with a fury like I’ve never even seen. I don’t know if she’s waiting for a response or something, but I’m not about to let her get hit by lightning just because she felt the need to literally shout at the rain.

“Yeah, her second’s up.” Pulling away from Max, I rush outside, grab Victoria by the wrist, and drag her back into the barn. Practically shoving her toward the stairs and through the bunker entrance, Max following close behind, I growl, “Feel better, you fucking idiot?”

“Yeah,” Victoria murmurs along the way, smiling weakly. She’s already shivering in her soaked clothes. “I kinda do.”

“Super.” Shaking my head, I wave toward the shelves of survive-the-apocalypse crap. “There’s gotta be some blankets or something in with all that junk. Go dry off before you freeze to death.”

Making sure the heavy steel door is closed and locked, I take a couple of minutes helping Victoria find something to dry off with, then I head to the other side of the plastic curtain that divides this weird fucking place to find Max hard at work. Jeffershit’s desk has been pushed against the cabinets, and she’s already started stacking boxes on top of it.

“Uh...whatcha doing?”

“Stacking stuff,” Max answers shortly.

“I noticed that.” I move closer. “But what if there’s something in those cabinets we need?”

“There isn’t.”

“Are you sur-”

“There isn’t,” she practically snarls, not looking at me.

“Oh.”

Whatever people might say about me, I’m a pretty clever girl. And the fierce determination in Max’s every move makes it fairly easy to connect the dots. All the photos Jefferson took of the girls he kidnapped have to be somewhere, and those cabinets seem like the most likely spot. There’s probably photos of Kate in there, depicting a sweet girl in a way no one should ever see. Photos of Rachel (dontthinkaboutitbutdontbescareditsokaymaxishere), too, just waiting to burn themselves into my mind.

But that’s not going to happen. Max isn’t going to let it. She’s here for me, and she’ll always be here for me. Just like I’ll always be there for her. After a second, I walk over to grab one end of a big storage box she’s struggling with. She hesitates, eyeing me curiously before nodding. Between the two of us it’s easy to lift it up and onto the desk.

“Thanks,” she murmurs. “That one was pretty heav-”

I raise my hand, lightly pressing my fingertips to her mouth, silencing her. Cupping her cheek, I gently tilt her head up and bring her lips to mine. I pour everything I’m feeling into the kiss, the storm of emotion whirling inside me that makes the wind outside look like a light breeze.

Very slowly, the aching tension that’s been inside me since I first saw her in the Blackwell parking lot begins to fade away. I’ve been wasting my time being scared of how I may or may not feel about Max, because the only thing that really scares me is the idea of going back to being without her. She’s my Max, and I’m her Chloe. We’ve always been Max and Chloe, even if we forgot how to be for a while, and my world has only ever felt steady when she’s in it.

“W-wow...” she giggles as we part, her eyes still half-lidded. “What was that for?”

“I love you, Max,” I murmur. For a second, I’m afraid I’ll feel a twinge of anxiety or even regret, but the words fell so naturally from my lips that I kinda wonder why I ever doubted them in the first place. I can’t help but grin at her shocked expression and, a little shyly, I lean in to give her another kiss. “Sorry it took me a while to figure that out.”

“I would’ve waited,” she murmurs, wide-eyed.

“I know.”

“I’d have given you all the time you needed,” she insists.

“Hey, I can take it back if you want.”

“No!” Wrapping her arms around my neck, she draws me into another deep kiss. I let my lips crash into hers as my hands roam from her waist to her back. We pull each other closer, our bodies pressing together as though we never want to be separate again. We eventually come up for air, but she still holds me close. “I love you, too, Chloe. With everything I have.”

“You know, I had a feeling you might.”

“I’m being romantic!” Her beaming smile kinda ruins the scolding tone in her voice. “Quit being a smartass!”

“Oh, you love it.”

“I love you.

“I love you, too.” Wow. Just saying that feels awesome.

“You know what I’d love?” Startled out of our little bubble, we both look over to find Victoria standing nearby. She’s wrapped in a blanket, her hair still damp, and giving us a very unimpressed look. “To not be forced to watch the two of you make out the whole time we’re stuck in here.”

“Yeah? Well maybe you should go f-" Before I can finish, Max pulls me into another fiery kiss, running her fingers through my hair. It feels so good that I’m not even thinking about her other hand until it’s squeezing my butt, and I let out a surprised squeak that I’m absolutely going to deny later. I’m barely aware of Victoria’s annoyed groan before I give in and surrender to the girl in my arms.

 

-------------------

END PART IX

-------------------

 

 

Hope

 


 

As a shepherd looks after his flock when he is with them,
so will I look after my sheep.
I will rescue them from all the places where they were scattered
on a day of clouds and darkness.

Ezekiel 34:12

 


 

There isn't a way that things should be.
There's just what happens, and what we do.

Sir Terry Pratchett (A Hat Full of Sky)

 


 

 

Oct 11, 2013 – [6:42 am]
Arcadia Bay Medical Center
Arcadia Bay, Oregon

“Sweetheart, you need to leave.”

“Sorry.” I shrug, keeping my eyes on the half-finished book of crossword puzzles sitting in my lap. “Can’t hear you.”

“The storm is getting worse.”

“I bet that’s why I can’t hear you.” I hold up the book. I found it in the reception area a couple of hours ago, and it’s been my only real source of entertainment since. I can’t believe what not having cell reception has reduced me to. I wish I’d gotten around to downloading some games on my phone. “Help me out. Six letters. Tinker something Soldier Spy. I really feel like I should know this.”

“Taylor!”

“Oh, right. Duh.” I laugh, giving my mom a little wink. “That’s with an ‘i’ though, right?”

She huffs. “Would you please be serious?”

“Guess what? I am being serious.” I give her a pointed look. She looks a little like she wants to kick me.  “I’m not going to leave you here on your own. End of story.”

“I don’t want to see you get hurt.”

I definitely don’t roll my eyes at her because I'm a respectful and loving daughter who’d never do that. “Says the woman in the hospital bed.”

“But...”

“The ambulances are going to be back any minute, then we’ll both be getting out of here.” Sighing, I drop the crossword book on the chair beside me. Standing up and stretching, I quickly check my backpack on the table next Mom’s bed before moving toward the door. “Look, I’m gonna go find some staff and ask what’s up, okay? They’re probably going to tell me exactly what I just told you, and then I’ll come back here and say I told you so.”

“You get that sass from your father, you know.”

“Sure,” I quickly agree, heading off whatever anti-dad commentary is waiting on the tip of her tongue. “I’ll be right back.”

The hallway is a lot quieter than I expect; totally different than it was just a couple of hours ago. The hospital has been running on its emergency generators since the power went out, and with almost everybody gone the dim lighting gives the whole place a creepily abandoned vibe.

Even though the hospital staff had already been evacuating patients when I got here last night, about half an hour after the storm warning went out, they hadn’t been in any hurry. The skies were still clear then, and most people thought it was all a mistake. Still, anyone who wasn’t in serious condition but still couldn’t drive themselves got loaded into ambulances a few at a time, bound for the hospital in Tillamook.

It wasn’t until about four in the morning, when the weather turned nasty, that people started to get nervous. Suddenly they were loading as many patients as they could into the ambulances. If I’d had my way, Mom would have been out of here hours ago, but the doctors said she needed to stay laying down, and that would’ve limited the number of other people they could fit in.

I’d kept asking the staff when she’d be getting out of here, I’d kept getting the brush off, and eventually I’d just given up and settled in to wait. That was a couple of hours ago, and even though I’ve been putting up a brave face, Mom’s not wrong about the storm. It’s getting pretty scary out there. Even in the hallway, I can hear the wind howling and the rain pounding against the windows.

We’ll definitely be on the next ambulance, though. I don’t think there’s anyone else left.

For about the ten-millionth time tonight, I feel my thoughts drift toward Victoria. She must have known the storm was coming. It’d be one thing to know that a storm warning was going out, but she specifically told me to have a raincoat with me when the skies were still clear. How could she have known that before anyone else?

God, I hope she’s okay. I know she probably is; if she already knew about the storm, then she probably got out of town hours ago. That doesn’t keep me from worrying, though, and a small, selfish part of me wishes she was here right now.

She’d better have some damn good answers when I see her again.

Wandering into the reception area, I’m kind of alarmed to find it deserted. “Hello? Anyone home?”

There’s no one behind the admissions desk, and the cops who’ve been present all night are gone. I can’t even hear anyone. Walking around the counter, I pull open the door labelled ‘STAFF ONLY’ and stick my head inside. It’s empty, just like the halls, and I’m starting to get a bad feeling. Heading back toward Mom’s room, I check every other room along the way. Nobody’s home, and that bad feeling is getting worse.

“Where the fuck is everyone?”

I don’t expect a response, but I still get one.

“They aren’t here.”

I freeze mid-step, like all of my muscles have locked up at once. I know that voice. I’d know it anywhere and turning around just confirms it. Kate Marsh, dressed in t-shirt and sweatpants, just standing there in the hallway not ten feet from the door of my mother’s hospital room.

“Hi, Taylor,” she says, quietly.

“H-hey, Kate.”

“I heard you from down the hall.” She gives me a tight, nervous smile and glances over my shoulder. “You must be here with your mother?”

“That’s...yeah.” I swallow, wishing my mouth weren’t so suddenly dry. I told Mom about what happened to Kate (I had to, or she’d just have found out from someone else) but the version I gave her downplayed my own involvement a little. And by a little, I mean a lot. She’d be so ashamed of me if she knew what I’d done.

How couldn’t she be? I’m ashamed of me.

And now all Kate has to do is walk in and tell the truth and my mom will never look at me the same way again. I’m trying to think of the best way to quietly beg her not to when her first words catch up to me. “Wait, what do you mean they aren’t here?”

“The hospital staff,” she hesitantly explains. “They left about twenty minutes ago.”

“That’s...” I struggle to grasp the idea. “That’s impossible. They can’t just leave.”

“They did. The ambulances hadn’t come back and the phones still weren’t working, so the last two nurses left.”

“You’re wrong,” She’s got to be wrong. This can’t be happening. “They can’t just fuck off and leave people here.”

“I know. I...I tried to tell one of them that there were still patients here, but she kept saying I was wrong. That everyone was evacuated. I said I could show her, but she wouldn’t come with me. She kept saying everyone was gone, over and over. She wouldn’t listen.”   

Attentional fixation. When you’re freaking so badly that your brain goes full-on broken record. You lock on to one idea and hold on like it’s a life preserver.

Been there. It sucks.

“The other one...she offered to take me with her.” Kate continues, looking embarrassed even admitting it. “But I couldn’t just...there were other patients still here.”

They’re gone. The staff is gone. They ran for the hills and left us here to die. Like we aren’t even people.

“Taylor?” Kate’s reaching out to me. She looks worried. “What’s wrong?”

I try to answer, but there’s a squeezing pain in the centre of my chest that’s making it hard to form the words. My hands are already shaking, and I can feel myself breaking out in a sweat as I fight to breathe. “I...I c-can’t...”

A sudden crash of thunder echoes down the empty hallway, startling me. I try to turn around, get back to Mom’s room (Mom can always calm me down when I’m like this) but my feet get tangled up somehow. I fall against the wall with a loud thump, gasping as I slide down to the floor.

I can’t focus. I can’t think. I can’t fucking breathe.

I’m gonna die here.

We’re all gonna die here.

“Taylor?” Mom calls from her room. “Is that you? Are you alright?”

Before I can even try to respond, Kate’s rushing past me and into the room. She’s talking to Mom. Oh, god, Kate Marsh is talking to my mother and she’s going to talk about what I did and then Mom will hate me. I try to stand up, but my legs won’t cooperate. I don’t know what Kate’s saying, but I can still hear snips of Mom’s voice over the rushing in my ears. “......xiety atta......elp her calm do......ll her to brea......e’ll be alri...”

Suddenly, Kate’s back. She’s sitting on the floor next to me, grasping both my hands in hers and speaking softly. "I’m right here, Taylor. You can get through this. Just concentrate on your breathing."

Breathing. Just breathe. Right. I can do that.

“That’s it. In and out. Nice and slow.” She looks back through the door and nods. “You’re doing great.”

Breathe in. Breathe out. Repeat. Feel the solid ground under me. Repeat.

"Stay right here. I know it’s scary, but you’re safe.” Kate’s voice is gentle and even, like she’s done this a thousand times, and slowly I feel the clenched knot in my chest start to loosen. The rushing in my ears fades away. The tingling in my arms and legs gives way to the dull ache of muscles clenched too hard for too long.

Finally, finally, I can breathe easy again.

Holy fuck...I haven’t had an attack that bad in a long time.

“Are you feeling better?” she asks. “Is there anything you need?”

“I...uh...” I force myself to focus. “Just...just some water.”

She rushes off, returning a minute later with a cup in one hand. “Here you go.”

Parched, I down the whole thing in one go. “Thanks.”

“You’re welcome.”

“No, seriously. Thank you.”

“It was nothing. Your mom told me what to do.” She shrugs, looking down. “She’s probably worried about you.”

“Yeah. Okay.” I climb to my feet, a little shakily, and follow Kate back into Mom’s room.

“Taylor, sweetheart, are you alright?” As soon as I’m close enough, she reaches out to grab my hand.

“I’m fine, mom. I just got a little overwhelmed for a minute.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yeah. I’m okay now.”

She doesn’t look like she believes that for a second, but she doesn’t push back. Turning to Kate, she says, “Thank you so much for helping her...er...I’m sorry, I didn’t catch your name.”

“It’s Kate. Kate Marsh. Nice to meet you.”

“Helen Christensen.” Mom looks my way from the corner of her eye as if to ask, is she that Kate Marsh? I give her a quick nod. “Nice to meet you as well, Kate. I suppose you’re waiting for one of the ambulances, too?”

Kate looks at me, then slowly shakes her head. “The ambulances were supposed to be back almost an hour ago.”

“Well, they must be on their way, right?” Mom frowns, turning to look out the window as if one will appear on command. “What did the staff say when you asked them?”

“The staff are all gone, Mom.”

For a second, Mom just stares at me like I’ve started speaking in another language. “I beg your pardon?”

“They left.” I feel my hands tremble a little and force them to stop. “They left us behind and...and they aren’t coming back.”

“Oh,” she says, taking a slow breath. “I see.”

I’ve wanted to be just like my mom since I was a little girl, because if there’s one word that describes her perfectly, it’s fearless. I’ve never once seen her get overwhelmed or knocked off balance. Even now, it’s like I can see her clamping down on her anxiety and figuring out what to do next. She’s been my rock for as long as I can remember.

How she ended up with a anxious mess like me for a daughter, I’ll never know.

“Alright then.” She nods. “Kate, do you know how many other patients are still here? Aside from us, I mean.”

“Just three others.” She hesitates, fidgeting a little. “But one of them is...er...”

“Is what?” I press.

“...maybe you should come see.”

 


 

“Frank Bowers?!” I don’t know what I expected Kate to show me, but the sight of Arcadia Bay’s resident drug-dealer handcuffed to a railing hadn’t been it. “What are you doing here?”

“What the fuck do you think I’m doing here?” he growls, pointing to the white bandage that’s wrapped around his head, obscuring one eye. “I was trying to get out of town when the wind just about slapped my RV off the damn road. Ran into a tree, cranked my head on the wheel. Couple of cops found me and drove me here.”

“You know him?” Kate asks, only a little distracted by Bowers’ dog, who’s practically begging for her attention.

“We’re...acquainted,” I say, glancing at Kate. “I meant, how’d you end up handcuffed to the wall?”

He snorts. “Forgot I was holding. It was just some grass, but the cops spotted it stickin’ outta my pocket. Cuffed me on the spot then forgot all about me. Can you believe that? Haven’t seen the pricks in an hour.”

“They probably took off with everyone else.” Completely against my will, I feel a twinge of sympathy for him. He may be a dirtbag, but he doesn’t deserve to be left like this.

“Whaddaya mean, everyone else?”

“The hospital staff left, too. Except for my mom and a couple of other patients, we’re the only ones here.”

“Are you fucking kidding me?!”

“Sure, Bowers. I’m just kidding. This is all one big goddamn joke.” I lean in, eyeing the cuffs. “We gotta get you out of these things.”

I swear I saw a video once about how to lockpick a pair of handcuffs, but all I can remember is how obnoxious the ‘like, comment, and subscribe’ bit at the start was. I also remember reading about people who broke their own thumbs to escape handcuffs, but I don’t think he’d like that idea too much.

Kate clears her throat softly, catching my attention. “The hospital maintenance room is just down the hall from mine. They’ll probably have a screwdriver.” She points to where the end of the railing meets the wall. “If we unscrewed it, couldn’t the handcuffs just slide off?”

“Yeah,” I nod. “Yeah, that’d probably work.”

“Okay,” she smiles. “I’ll be right back.”

She heads off at a jog, Bowers’ dog trotting happily beside her.

“Looks like your dog found a new friend.”

“Happens all the time,” he snorts. “Pompidou’s the biggest suck-up on Earth.”

“Pompidou?”

“That’s his name. Problem?”

“No.”

It suddenly occurs to me that I’ve never actually been alone with Frank Bowers. We aren’t exactly on conversational terms. Before now, I’m pretty sure I’ve only said a dozen words to him, and ten of those were ‘I’m here to get a dime bag. No cheap shit.’

“So...uh...what’s new?” I ask, kinda awkwardly. “I mean, besides all of...this.”

He gives me a look but doesn’t answer.

“Right.” Clearing my throat, I gesture to the purplish bruise on the side of his face. “That looks pretty painful.”

“I don’t wanna talk about it,” he snaps.

“Okay. Sorry.”

Kate’s back a minute later (thank fucking god) with a flat-head screwdriver in one hand.

“Is this the right kind?”

“Yeah, that’s perfect.” I nod. There’s a cover over the end of the railing, but the screwdriver makes it pretty easy to pry off. Removing the three screws holding the railing to the wall is even easier, and Bowers’ handcuffs slip right off.

“Damn,” he mutters, eyeing the cuff still attached to his wrist. “And here I was starting to consider breaking my own thumb.”

“I thought of that too. Didn’t think you’d be into it.” I turn to Kate. “You said there were two other patients?”

“Mhm.” She nods. “Come on. They’re in the library.”

“...the library?”

 


 

So it turns out that the Arcadia Bay Medical Centre actually does have a library, even if it is just a smallish room with a few bookshelves and a couple of couches.

Most of the books are pretty obviously donations. Lots of Danielle Steele and John Grisham, at least three copies of The DaVinci Code, Chicken Soup for pretty much every kind of soul, a few For Dummies books and...holy crap! They have the entire Babysitter’s Club collection, including the Super-Specials! There’s even a couple I haven’t read!

...don’t you fucking dare judge me.

“Kate?! We were getting worried!” The relieved voice pulls my attention away from the shelves (gotta remember to come back and grab some of those BSC books later) and over to a woman sitting on one of the couches.

She’s bundled up warmly, wrapped in a blanket over top of a sweater, and she’s got one of those clear plastic oxygen masks hanging around her neck. She’s older than Mom, but not way older. In her fifties? Maybe even her sixties? Her hair is mostly gray with a few streaks of dark brown, but what really stands out about her is her eyes; they both have a cloudy white sheen over them.

Kate’s kneeling in front of her, and from the way the woman doesn’t quite look at her while they speak softly, it’s a safe bet that she’s either blind or close to it.

Next to the couch, sitting in a wheelchair and eyeing me and Bowers curiously, is a guy who’s got to be pushing eighty, at least. He’s missing an ear, both of his legs end just above the knee, and the beat up old ballcap that reads ‘USMC 1 Div’ make it pretty easy to guess why.

“Taylor, this is Jillian,” Kate says, gesturing to the woman, who looks more or less in my direction and gives me a little wave. I guess she can see a little, after all. “And that’s Douglas. Douglas, Jillian, this is Taylor and...er...do you prefer Frank or Bowers?”

“Either works.” Bowers shrugs.

What the hell? When Kate said there were two other patients left behind, I figured she meant people in comas or full-body casts or something. I mean, I can understand why Mom kept getting passed over for a ride out of here, and I can definitely see how no one would be too excited to deal with Bowers, but Jillian and Douglas look like they could’ve left anytime. What are these two still doing here?

“Jillian kept letting other patients leave ahead of her,” Kate explains, like she’d read my mind. I guess I don’t have much of a poker face.

“Seemed like the Christian thing to do.” Jillian shrugs. “Victim of my own good nature, I suppose.”

“My daughter was coming to pick me up in the morning.” Douglas gestures to the far couch. “I was taking a nap in here when Miss Marsh found me.”

“Wait...you fell asleep, and they just left you here?”

“Seems like.”

This is unbelievable. Who could do that? If I ever see those nurses again, I’m gonna kick the shit out of them. “That’s fucked up.”

“No argument from me.” Douglas snorts. “So, Miss Marsh, did you come across anyone else, or just these two?”

“Taylor’s mother is here, as well.” She looks to me. “She just had back surgery, didn’t she?”

“Yeah.” I glance over my shoulder. “She’s still in her room.”

“Suppose that’s where we should be, then.” Douglas nods, releasing the brakes on his wheelchair. “Lead the way, young lady.”

 


 

I hold back when we get to Mom’s room, letting the others go ahead of me. Bowers is in the rear, and I reach out to grab his sleeve before he can go in. “Hey. Hold on a sec.”

“What?”

“Can I...I wanted to ask you something. I mean, I wanted to ask if you could do something for me.” I look away, rubbing the back of my neck. I can’t believe I’m worried about offending a drug dealer. “The thing is, that’s my mom in there, and I...uh...”

“Relax, kid,” he interrupts. “I don’t know you. Never met you before in my life.”

I relax a little. “Thanks.”

Following him into the room, I notice two things right away. The first is that Pompidou has already jumped up onto Mom’s bed and wriggled his head under her hand, and the other is just how pale she looks. She’s putting up a brave face, politely introducing herself to Douglas and Jillian, but I’m pretty sure she’s not doing as well as she wants everyone to think.

“Hey, Mom.” Moving to her bedside, I lower my voice. “How’re you doing?”

“I’m alright, sweetheart.” She turns toward me a little and winces. “I...I just need a minute.”

I’ve never seen Mom look so shaky; it’s a little unnerving. Leaning over, I murmur, “Seriously, are you okay?”

“I’ll be fine,” she insists. “I really just need a moment.”

Even I can tell that’s bullshit, but it’s not like there’s anything I can do to change it. So, if she says she needs a minute, I’ll get her a minute. “Well, how about I just, y’know, handle stuff. While you’re gathering your thoughts, I mean?”

She gives my hand a little squeeze, relieved. “That’d be wonderful, Taylor. Thank you.”

Alright, no big deal. I just need to keep anyone from doing anything stupid until Mom can think of something. Wandering over to where the others are talking, I try to figure out how to do that.

“We could just hunker down here,” Bowers suggests. “Find a solid room at the centre of the building? Or down in the basement?”

Crap, they’re already making plans. Well, I might as well see where this goes.

“No way,” Jillian shakes her head. “You said that warning was for an F5. Nothing holds up to that. They can tear a house right off its foundations.”

Okay, that sounds pretty scary.

“Come on,” Bowers scoffs. “It can’t be that bad.”

“No. It’s worse.” Douglas said. “I grew up in Kansas, son. Smack dab in the middle of Tornado Alley. I actually saw an F5 up close when I was a kid. I’m not bullshitting when I say that those things are like the wrath of God himself.”

...the fuck?!

“Believe me when I tell you,” Douglas continues. “If one of those hits Arcadia Bay, it’ll wipe us off the map.”

Okay, fuck that noise. There’s no way in hell I’m going to let my mom die here because of some fucking nightmare superstorm.

“So basically,” I cut in, loudly enough to get everyone’s attention. “If we stay here, we’re toast?”

“If it’s as bad as they say?” Jillian nods. “Definitely.”

Well, this one is a no brainer. “So I guess if no one is coming to get us, we just need to find a way to get to safety ourselves.”

“Yeah?” Bowers snorts. “And how do you expect us t-”

“You got a better idea?!” I snap, surprising myself.

“Look, I’m just sayi-”

All I do is take a step forward. It’s not like I was going to take a swing at him or anything; I’m not that crazy or that stupid. I just wanted to get in his space a little. But as soon as I do, he actually falls back and raises his hands.

“Jesus Christ! Calm your tits, will ya?”

What the hell? Did Frank Bowers, Arcadia Bay’s infamous drug dealer, just flinch away from a teenage girl like he thought I was gonna kick the shit out of him? I share a quick look with Kate; she seems a little surprised, too.

“Fine. Whatever.” I take a second to think. “Alright. We obviously can’t go anywhere on foot. I’ve got my car, but there’s no way we’ll all fit in it.” Understatement of the year, considering my little two-door barely has a back seat. “And your RV isn’t here, is it?”

“Even if it was, it wouldn’t do us any good,” Bowers mutters. “Half the engine is jammed in a tree trunk.”

“So, anyone have any other ideas?”

“I’ve got one, maybe,” Douglas says, scratching his chin. “The medical center’s got a shuttle bus they use to run people over to Tillamook. It oughta be parked around back. So long as those cowardly pricks didn’t take it, that is.”

A shuttle bus. Okay. That’s something we can work with. “How big is it?”

“Big enough for us.” He slaps his wheelchair’s armrest. “And it’s got a chair lift.”

Bowers grunts, nodding slowly. “Don’t suppose you know where the keys are, do you?”

“If they’re anywhere, they’ll probably be at the nurse’s station.”

“We just need someone to do the driving part.” I turn to Bowers again. “You up for it?”

“Oh no,” He shakes his head, wincing a little when he does, and gestures to his bandage. “Bad idea. Even if my head hadn’t gotten knocked around, this is the kind of night you’d want a driver with depth perception.” Reaching over, he scratches Pompidou between the ears and the dog’s tail thumps happily on the bed. “And this blockhead’s a shitty driver.”

I look to Kate, who shakes her head. “I’ve never driven anything. I don’t even have a license.”

“And mine’s expired.” Douglas says, like that’s the only issue. Jillian shrugs and gestures helplessly to her eyes.

And 36 hours ago, Mom was in the middle of back surgery.

Fuck.

Fuck.

“I guess I’m driving, then,” I say.

“What?!”

Startled, I spin around to see Mom staring at me like I’m insane. And to be honest, I kinda know how she feels. I feel like I should be freaking the hell out right now. I should be shaking and hyperventilating again, curled up on the floor and chewing my fingernails down until they bleed, because apparently I’m going to be driving a shuttle bus of abandoned hospital patients through the middle of a fucking tornado.

“Sweetie, I don’t know if...”

“I’m the only option we’ve got,” I interrupt, clamping down on my nerves. She can’t argue with that, and she doesn’t try.

“Have you ever driven something that big?” Jillian asks.

“Does it matter?”

“I suppose not,” she admits.

“Ain’t too hard,” Bowers says. “Just go easy on the corners and don’t let the wind shove you off the road.”

“Oh, is that all?”

“Pretty much,” he smirks. “Let’s go see if we can find those keys.”

Which, it turns out, actually doesn’t take a lot of time.

Following Douglas’s suggestion to go check the nurse’s station, I instantly spot the grey metal key holder mounted on the wall behind it. Unfortunately, it’s locked and the key to open it isn’t just laying around. I briefly consider searching the dozens of drawers, cabinets, and shelves behind the desk, then a much better solution catches my eye.

“Y’know, I actually might be able to pick that lock,” Bowers says, eying the key holder. “Just need a couple of paperclips or someth-”

“Or,” I interrupt, lifting the nearby fire extinguisher off its wall hook. “I can just hit it really hard till it breaks open.”

“Shit, that’ll work too,” he laughs, taking a couple steps back. “Go for it, killer.”

So I do, and it turns out that a hardware store key holder doesn’t offer a ton of protection against a desperate 18-year-old girl with a fire extinguisher and a lot of misplaced anxiety to work out. It only takes a couple of solid hits to knock the thing off the wall, then one more to break the holder’s cheap lock. There’re a bunch of keyrings inside, but I have a pretty good feeling about the one with a tag marked ‘shuttle bus’.

“Sweet,” I say, dropping it in my pocket. If everything else is this easy, I’ll have Mom to safety in no time. “C’mon, Bowers. Let’s go.”

“Alright, I’m com...whoa...” Stumbling a little, he stops to lean against the wall. His visible eye squeezes shut as he presses a hand to his head. “Son of a...”

“What’s wrong?”

“Headache,” he mutters, looking pale. “Fuckin’ nasty one.”

I hesitate, then reach out to take his arm. “You don’t look so good. You should probably sit down.”

He briefly resists before letting me lead him to a chair. “Yeah. I just need a second.”

“I don’t think so.” This is exactly what I get for thinking things were going well. “You’ve probably got a concussion or something. Just stay here and...I don’t know...don’t pass out. I’ll go get the bus by myself.”

“I could go with you.”

I spin around to find Kate standing there (I swear, someone needs to put a bell on her or something) with a hesitant smile, because of course she’d volunteer. That’s exactly what I need right now - more time alone with Kate Marsh. A couple of days ago I was in my dorm room, getting wasted and trying to forget she existed, and now she wants us to go for a walk through an abandoned hospital together. I can’t think of anything less appealing...except for the idea of going alone.

And let’s face it; I haven’t got any other options.

“Sure,” I hear myself say. “Why not?”

“Alright,” she nods. “Just give me a minute. I’ll be right back.”

 

 

Faith

Chapter Notes

“There it is,” Kate says, leaning close to the glass.

Stepping up beside her and squinting through the heavy rain, I can make out the white shuttle bus on the far side of the parking lot. It’s pretty much what I expected to see; the kind of miniature bus that runs between hotels and airports, and just like the one Arcadia Bay elementary had. If I remember right, that’s at least three rows of seats. Maybe four. More than enough for us. And like Douglas said, it’s even got a wheelchair lift.

“I don’t think it’ll be much fun getting to it, though,” she adds.

“Probably not,” I agree. It’s only a couple hundred feet away, but the rain is coming down so hard that we might as well have to swim it. I already feel damp, and we haven’t even stepped outside yet. I glance at Kate, suddenly jealous of the bright yellow raincoat and rubber boots she found in the hospital’s maintenance room. They’re both too big for her and she still looks a little goofy, but she’s definitely going to be dry.

“I hope we have the right key. I don’t want to make that trip twice.”

“Me either.” I agree. “If we don’t, I might just try to hotwire it instead.”

Kate blinks. “You know how to do that?”

“Sure.” I hesitate. “I mean, maybe? My dad explained how it works once. I’m pretty sure I could figure it out if I had to.”

“Oh.” She fidgets awkwardly. “Did he...uh...is he a...?”

It takes me a second to realize what she’s trying to ask. “What?! No! He’s an engineer, for fuck’s sake.”

“Oh. Sorry.”

I’m tempted to snap at her again, but me taking shots at Kate isn’t a road I want to go back down. It was an honest mistake. “Forget it. Let’s just go.”

The run to the bus isn’t as bad as I thought it’d be - it’s actually worse. The rain is absolutely freezing, and I don’t even make it ten feet from the door before I step in a huge puddle and one of my running shoes gets completely soaked. I hop along on one foot for a second, then rush to catch up with Kate. I jam the key into the lock next to the folding side door, and we both breathe a sigh of relief when it turns easily and the door pops open.

Scrambling inside, I drop into the driver’s seat and put the key in the ignition. “What do you say we fire up the heaters?”

Kate nods fervently. “Yes, please.”

Grinning, I give the key a sharp turn...and get nothing but a half-hearted wheeze from the engine as the headlights flicker dimly. “Oh, seriously?”

“What’s wrong?”

I try again and get the same result, then again. Frustrated, I slam my hand down on the steering wheel, startling us both when the horn goes off. “I think the battery is dead.”

“Oh,” she murmurs, a note of worry in her voice. “What do we do?”

“Only one thing we can do. I’ve got jumper cables in my car.” Reaching down by the pedals, I fumble blindly for a second before finding the lever that releases the bus’s hood. “Wait here. I’ll be right back.”

Ugh. This is going to suck so much.

Stepping into the open side door, I flip my hood up and take a deep breath before rushing back out into the rain. I try not to think about the squishing feeling in my shoes as I run across the parking lot, because of course I’m parked as far away as I possibly could be. I have the key fob out of my pocket the second my car comes into sight, mashing the unlock button until the headlights flash.

Dropping into the driver’s seat, I slam the door shut and take a minute to catch my breath. I really should try harder in gym class.

Unlike certain stupid buses, my car starts on the first try. The trip back is a lot shorter, and a whole lot dryer. Pulling up so the two vehicles are nose-to-nose, I pop both the hood and the trunk, kill the engine, then it’s back out into the rain. Grabbing the jumper cables out of the trunk as quickly as I can, I slam it shut and run around to the front. I know where my battery is, and finding the bus’s only takes a second.

I’ve never understood people who act so overwhelmed by stuff like this. It’s not like you have to be a mechanic to change a tire or jump a dead battery. And while Mom and Dad don’t agree on a lot (or anything, it sometimes feels like) they wouldn’t even let me take the test for my learner’s permit until I could do both of those blindfolded.

Clamp the positive terminal on my car’s battery, then positive terminal on the bus battery. The bus’s negative terminal is next, then I attach the last clamp to a metal strut next to the engine. I’m admittedly a little nervous making the last connection, as though all the rain will somehow lead to me getting electrocuted.

Hesitating for a second, then feeling kind of guilty about it, I go back to the bus’s open door. “C’mon. We have to wait a few minutes, and my car is a lot warmer.”

She follows me wordlessly, hurrying around to the far side and practically leaping in. Starting the car, I lean back in my seat. “This shouldn’t take too long.”

“Okay.”

Yep, this was a terrible idea. It’s been about two seconds, and the crushing silence is already killing me.

“So, your mom seems really nice,” Kate finally says, a little carefully. “I’m glad she’s doing well.”

My first thought is to wonder what she means by that, and I’m immediately embarrassed for thinking she means anything more than exactly what she said. This is Kate Marsh, for fuck’s sake. I don’t think she knows how to take a backhanded shot at someone. “Yeah. Me, too.”

“May I ask what happened?”

Again, I have to push down the suspicion that she’s asking with some ulterior motive. Is this really the kind of person I’ve turned into? “She was in a car accident. Some asshole burned a stop sign and t-boned her.”

“I’m sorry. That must’ve been difficult.”

I’m sure my smile looks convincing; I’ve had plenty of practice with it. The last six months have been really, really hard. “We’re getting through it. Mom’s the strongest person I know.”

“That’s great,” she smiles. “What’s your dad like? You said he was an engineer?”

“Yup. He’s awesome. Total mad scientist type. I only see him in person a few times a year, but he’s always ready to drop everything to jump on Skype and help me with my homework, or talk about one of his projects, or just listen about my day.” She’s giving me a funny look I’ve seen before, and I realize I forgot to mention something. “Oh, right. He lives in Maryland. He and Mom split up when I was little.”

“Oh. I’m sorry.”

“It is what it is.” She looks kind of uncomfortable, so I try to change the topic. “So, what’s your mom like? I’m picturing someone very into church bake sales.”

“My mother is...” Kate looks away. “...it’s complicated.”

Ouch. “That bad, huh?”

“I didn’t say that.”

“Pretty sure no one’s ever called a healthy relationship ‘complicated’.”

“I guess,” she sighs. “It’s better, though. Better than it was before I...uh...you know. She came to visit yesterday and told me that she was sorry for being so judgmental. I really appreciated her saying so.”

I’d actually been wondering about that. “You know, I’m surprised you’re still here at all. Would’ve thought you’d have gone home with your family.”

She looks away, pursing her lips. “I wasn’t allowed to. I had to stay at the hospital for seventy-two hours. In case I tried to hurt myself again.”

“...oh.”

“I wouldn’t,” she insists. “I’m doing much bett-”

“I’m sorry,” I say, suddenly. It feels like a ridiculously weak thing to say at this point. I should’ve apologized the moment I saw her and kept apologizing until I ran out of breath. It’s literally the least I can do, and so much less than she deserves. A few days ago I was chucking balls of paper at her in class. Writing notes about how we all ‘enjoyed her porno’ like the absolute bitch I’ve turned into.

I don’t want to be that person anymore.

“I’m so, so sorry, Kate. I’ve been acting like such an asshole for no good reason.” I can already feel the tears making paths down my cheeks. A week ago I’d have been mortified by the idea of crying in front of Kate Marsh, and just thinking that makes me feel worse. “Everyone else was doing it and I wanted to be like them so I did it too, but it was so shitty and so pointless and you’ve got every reason in the world to hate me.”

She doesn’t say anything for a long, painful moment. Then she sighs and turns to look out the window. “I don’t hate you, Taylor.”

“...you don’t?”

“No.” Reaching up, she traces a few indistinct lines on the fogged glass. “I don’t want to hate anyone.”

Wow. I just...wow. “That’s kind of surprising.”

She glances over. “It is?”

“Pretty sure I’d hate me, if I were in your place.”

She shrugs, turning back to the window. “I once read that hating someone is like drinking poison and expecting the other person to die. Or something like that.”

Damn. I’m getting all the wisdom bombs dropped on me this week. But if Kate doesn’t hate me, than maybe...

“So, I...uh...I know you’ve got no reason to believe this, or even care, but Victoria is really broken up about how things went.”

“I know,” she says, not very convincingly. “She sent me a very nice get-well card.”

“She used to be different, you know,” I insist. “Than the way she acts now, I mean. Back when we were in middle school and junior high.”

“Really?”

“Really.” I find myself smiling at the memories. “She was this sweet, funny girl who never tore people down.”

“That’s...difficult to imagine.” She hesitates, then nervously asks, “Can I ask what changed?”

“I don’t know. It’s like after she came to Blackwell, something inside her turned mean. Probably all the time she spent with Nathan. She was here with that asshole for a whole year before I got my scholarship, and by then...” I shake my head. “I’d missed her so much, and suddenly I felt like I barely recognized her.”

“Oh.”

“Hold on.” Pulling out my phone, I flip through the photo gallery until I find a photo of Victoria and me from the summer before she started at Blackwell. “See?”

“She looks happy,” Kate comments. She doesn’t say it outright, but I know what she means. Except when she and I are alone, Vicky doesn’t smile like that very much anymore.

“She was.” I look down at the picture fondly. “I was, too.”

Kate doesn’t respond right away, and I glance over to find her peering at me thoughtfully. “You really care about her, don’t you?”

I’ve never heard a more loaded question in my life. The subtext might as well be displayed in big, flashing letters. Am I seriously that fucking obvious? Should I just start wearing a sign that says ‘Taylor Christensen: Hopeless Bisexual’?

It isn't something I've ever lied about. If someone asks, I usually deflect or give an ambiguous answer until I figure out why they're asking. And if I think they might go full-Westboro on me, I'll just dodge the question altogether. But for some reason, the idea of being anything less than honest with Kate right now feels really wrong. “Yeah, I do.”

“Oh. Does she..." Kate's eyes go wide, like she just realized how personal a question she’s asking. “I’m sorry. This is none of my business.”

“She does, actually,” I murmur, surprising her. “At least, we talked earlier, and I think she does.”

“I’m glad.”

“You are?”

“Mhm.” She nods. “If someone can be loved, then they can’t be all bad, can they?”

“Oh.” That makes me feel unexpectedly good about myself. “So you’re...okay? That I’m...y’know...”

She gives me a flat look and I cringe a little. I know it’s a shitty question to ask. Given the circumstances, though, I’d like to know exactly where Kate and I stand.

“Of course I am,” she says, frowning a little.

“Really?”

“Yes, really,” she huffs. “Honestly, it’s so frustrating that everyone seems to think being Christian automatically makes me homophobic. I mean, it’s not as though you’d be my only gay friend.”

“Sorry,” I say, cringing again. I’m silently considering correcting her that I’m bi when the second part of what she said hits me. “Wait, did you just call me your friend?”

“You don’t want to be friends?”

“I...I didn’t say that. I mean, it’s just...”

“We might have gotten off to a bad start, but I don’t like having enemies. Do you?”

“No,” I admit.

“And I don’t think driving into a tornado together is the kind of thing casual acquaintances do,” she continues. “So...”

“You could probably find a better person than me to be friends with,” I mutter. Up until now, I figured that just getting Kate to forgive me was a longshot. Now she wants to be friends?

“I don’t think you’re a bad person, Taylor.”

“Come on, Kate. I tormented you. I threw things at you in class. I think I’m a bad person, so why shouldn’t you?”

“Because you could have left, and you didn’t.”

“I...huh?”

“You and your mom could’ve gotten into this car and driven away. You could’ve abandoned the rest of us, just like those nurses did, but you didn’t. You stayed. You’re here when we need you.”

“Kate, I could never...”

“Yes, you could have.” Somehow, she steamrolls right over me without even raising her voice. “And I think you’re a good person because you didn’t. You didn’t even consider it. And I think that’s kind of amazing.”

“Oh...uh...that’s...” I will not cry again. I refuse to cry again. “Hey, I bet the bus battery is ready. We should go try it.”

Practically throwing the car door open, I jump out into the awful, shitty, piss-pouring rain and rush to get into the bus. Kate’s right on my heels, taking a seat in the front row as I drop into the driver’s seat.

“Alright.” I swallow, taking hold of the key. “Fingers crossed?”

Kate nods dutifully, holding her crossed fingers up.

“Here we go.” Taking a deep breath, I silently count to three and give the key a sharp turn. The engine instantly comes to life, the bus’s headlights lighting up our corner of the parking lot.

“Yes!” I shout, throwing my arms up. “It lives!”

“You did it!” Kate laughs, jumping forward and wrapping her arms around my shoulders. She’s hugging me. Kate Marsh is hugging me.

“I...uh...hey, could you see if you can find us a weather report or something?”

“Sure.” Pulling away, Kate begins fiddling with the radio, scanning from one end of the dial to the other. Most of the FM stations are all static, and the rest are pretty much impossible to understand. It’s even worse when she switches over to the AM side, and it’s not until she gets right to the bottom on the AM band that we finally get something.

 


 

“...istening to Radio Free NOAA, five-thirty on the AM band. That was The Who with Baba O’Riley, and I’m your host Weatherman Cliff, meteorologist at large, coming at you live with the latest real-time weather updates and the very best of whatever I loaded onto my iPod last weekend.

“Well, if there were still any doubters and skeptics out there, I’m afraid it’s time to face facts. About seven minutes ago, the ol’ Doppler picked up the leading edge of one granddaddy of a mesocyclone. For the non-meteorologists among us, that’s a great big rotating updraft that forms inside a supercell thunderstorm and usually leads to, you guessed it, a tornado.

“Based on the data I’m getting, I’m estimating landfall in about an hour, tops. That means it’s time to saddle up and hit the road, folks. I’ve got some more data begging for analysis, but in the meantime here’s some piping hot irony from the great Bob Dylan. The time is 7:04, and this is Shelter from the Storm.”

 


 

“We got the bus!” I shout as Kate and I rush into Mom’s room. “It’s backed up to the main entrance.”

“I knew you could do it, sweetie,” Mom says, grinning.

“That made one of us,” I mutter. “Alright. Everybody grab whatever you think you’ll need and find a seat. The sooner we get everyone in the bus, the sooner we can get the hell out of here.” I turn to Bowers. “Could you help get Douglas in? There’s a lift thing that comes out a door near the back.”

“Sure, no problem.” He nods, taking Douglas’s wheelchair by the handles. “C’mon, old timer.”

“Whatever you say, you little punk,” Douglas cackles as Bowers slowly rolls him out of the room, Jillian following with a hand on his shoulder.

“Okay,” I breathe. “This is good. We’re good. We’ll be out of town in no time.”

“Taylor, can we...” Kate begins, hesitantly. “We need to stop at Blackwell before we leave town.”

“Kate, I...”

“I know that’s going to take extra time, but it’s important. I have to pick up...”

“...Alice?” I finish for her, laughing a little at her shocked expression. Gesturing for her to follow me, I gently lift my backpack from its place on Mom’s side table and place it on the bed. Tilting it toward Kate, I carefully open it to reveal a black and white bunny happily snuggled up in a soft fleece blanket.

“Alice!” Kate gasps.  

“Max asked me to look after her.” I shrug, zipping the bag most of the way shut again and carefully putting it back. “I didn’t know how late I’d be at the hospital, and I didn’t want anything to happen to her, so I brought her along for the rid-oof!

And now Kate’s hugging me again.

“Thank you, Taylor!” she laughs. “Thank you so, so much! You’re my hero!”

Awkwardly patting her on the back, I stare at the far wall and pointedly ignore the look Mom is giving me.

“Oh, aren’t you two sweet?”

“Really, Mom?” I hiss. “Really?”

One of these days I’m going to have to sit her down and explain that being a supportive parent to a bi daughter does not include trying to set me up with every other girl who smiles at me. She used to be pretty subtle about it, but lately she’s been fucking insufferable.

I know she’s only trying to help. She knows I got my heart a little broken at Christmas (though not by who) and I’m pretty sure she thinks the best solution is finding me a girlfriend.

“I’m just saying!”

“Please, don’t.”

“What? The two of you...”

“Mom, stop!” I try, but it’s too late.

“...look really cute together.”

“Come on!” This is the absolute worst. I hate it when Mom makes things awkwar-

“Oh, I’m not gay, Mrs. Christensen,” Kate responds politely, giving me another grateful squeeze before she steps back. “Taylor and I are just friends.”

“Ah,” Mom nods. “My mistake. Thank you, Kate.”

“You’re welcome.”

There’s no awkwardness. None at all. Kate made the awkwardness go away. “Okay, what the fuck was that?”

“Taylor! Language!”

I cringe, looking down. Mom is pretty much the only person on Earth I’ve never been comfortable swearing around. “Sorry.”

“I should hope so. And that was Kate behaving like a mature young woman.”

“Taylor’s under a lot of stress, Mrs. Christensen,” Kate points out, and she’s not wrong. “I’m sure that’s the only reason she lost her temper.”

“Hm. Yes, I suppose that’s fair.”

What the flying fuck is happening right now?

Did Kate Marsh seriously just defend me to my mom?

I’ve gone insane. It’s the only explanation.

“Kate, dear, I’d like a moment with Taylor. Would you mind collecting up some blankets to put in the bus?”

“Of course,” she nods, glancing at the backpack and giving me another bright smile before running out the door.

“She really is very sweet,” Mom says. “Pretty, too.”

She’s just teasing now; her way of apologizing for embarrassing me. And if I’m being honest, her attempts at matchmaking don’t bother me as much as I pretend they do. I mean, they definitely bother me, but knowing that she’s just trying to make me happy kinda takes the edge off. “I’m not her type.”

“Too bad for her,” Mom chuckles. Glancing at the door, she lowers her voice and asks, “How’re you doing?”

“Shitty.” I mutter, cringing. “Sorry.”

“No, in this case I think you’re entitled. And besides, Kate’s right. You’ve got enough on your plate without your mother scolding you about your language.”

“I guess.” I lean closer, lowering my voice. “I...I don’t know if I can do this, Mom.”

“Yes you can, Taylor. I know you can. You’re as tough as they come.”

“I’m really n-”

“Yes, you are,” she insists. “And I’m so proud of you, sweetheart.”

“Thanks, Mom.”

“Of course.” She reaches out to take my hand and lets out a faint, pained hiss.

“Hey, are you okay?”

“Mhm,” she responds, but I’ve seen more convincing acting in soap operas.

“Come on, Mom.”

“It’s just, well, one of the nurses was supposed to come in at six am to reset this thing.” She nods to one of the machines she’s hooked into; the one that automatically delivers her morphine. “Except they didn’t, of course. My last pain management dose was at four am, and the next one was supposed to be half an hour ago, so...”

Oh no. Oh, fuck. “How bad is it?”

“It’s...not great,” she admits. “But I’ll manage.”

This was already going to be a rough trip for her. There’s no room in the bus for a stretcher; just two places for wheelchairs. Douglas was going to be in one, and Mom was going to take the other, but that was when I thought she’d have her painkillers. “You’ll have to be sitting up the whole time. Is that still going to be okay?”

“I’ll manage,” she says again. “I’ve got the pills the doctor prescribed in my bag. They’ll be enough.”

That’s bullshit, and we both know it. The tylenol-3 pills she’s got are the same kind I got after I had my wisdom teeth taken out, and they barely took the edge off. I briefly consider looking for wherever the hospital keeps all its drugs, but they probably have all the serious stuff locked up in something I can’t just bash open with a fire extinguisher. And even if I could, I’d have no idea how much to give her. The only person here who knows anything about drugs is Bowers, and I sure as shit wouldn’t trust his opinion on this.

God damn it.

I take a slow breath, squeezing her hand. “Okay. If you say so.”

She smiles, a little tightly, and squeezes back. “I’ll be fine, Taylor.”

After a second, I decide to believe her. What else am I supposed to do?

 


 

Finding a wheelchair for Mom is easy. Moving her into it? Not so much. It takes me and Kate together to help her out of bed, and the look of pain on her face as we do makes me want to cry a little. Kate is really chill about helping her get dressed, too, since there’s no way she can go out there in just a hospital gown.

Honestly, I wouldn’t be surprised if Kate volunteered as a candy striper or whatever they’re called. Do they still have those?

Once Mom’s bundled up and in the chair, it’s pretty easy getting her into the bus. Douglas is already inside when we get there, and Bowers is making sure his wheelchair is locked in place.

“So, that looks like it hurt,” Douglas comments as we slowly raise Mom’s chair up.

Bowers glances up. “What does?”

“The bruise on your face. Looks like you took a hell of a punch.”

“Oh...er, yeah.” He absently rubs his jaw. “Real big guy, too. Fuckin’ huge.”

“Damn.” Douglas leans in a bit. “He really popped you one, didn’t he? You must’ve dropped like a-”

“Y’know, I really don’t wanna talk about it.”

“Alright, alright. I hear ya,” Douglas chuckles. “No one wants to talk about getting their ass kicked.”

“Hey! I didn’t get my ass kicked!”

“Is that right? Didja win?”

“I...no.”

“You get any good hits in?” Bowers doesn’t answer, but the look on his face says enough. “God’s sake, son. Did you get any hits i-”

“Just piss off about it, will ya!”

Douglas laughs again. “I’ll take that as a no.”

“How’d you like it if someone started bugging you about your ear, huh?”

Mom and I share a brief smile. I think he’s trying to make Douglas uncomfortable or something, but even I know that’s not going to work. My grandpa is a veteran, too. They’re pretty tough to embarrass. “Which one?”

“The...” Surprised, he points to the left side of Douglas’s head.

“Oh, that ear. Pretty sure I dropped it somewhere on the thirty-eighth parallel back in fifty-two.”

“Oh.” Say what you will about Bowers; he recovers fast. “Legs, too?”

“Naw. Left those in Da Nang in sixty-seven.” Douglas chuckles. “On the bright side, I haven’t had to buy a new pair of shoes in almost fifty years.”

Bowers blinks, then lets out an amused snort and starts locking Mom’s chair into place, too.

Shutting the side door, I go around to the driver’s side and get in, going over my mental checklist. Everyone’s on the bus now. We’ve got plenty of blankets, some bottled water and granola bars Kate grabbed from the cafeteria, and when no one was looking I stuck all those BSC books behind the bus’s driver’s seat, packed safely in a duffle bag from my car.

I look out the window to take one last look at the grey Honda sitting nearby. I’ve already pulled out everything important to me, but it’s only just hitting me that I’m probably never going to see it again.

I feel so dumb getting all misty about a car, but it’s my car. A lot of people figure my parents bought it for me. They’re usually the same people that think just because I hang out with Victoria, my family must be just as rich as hers is. They’re wrong on both counts. My family is solid middle-class, and I found my car on Craigslist. It cost me all the money I’d saved since I was thirteen years old.

Sighing, I go back to trying to think of anything we might’ve forgotten, but nothing comes to mind. Then again, if it’s something we forgot then it probably wouldn’t come to mind, would it? I give my head a shake; the last thing I need is to start obsessing over stuff like that.

“How’re you doing, Taylor?” Jillian asks, startling me.

“I’m fine,” I respond, glancing over my shoulder. “All good.”

She nods, taking a seat in the front row and regarding me with those weirdly foggy eyes of hers. “How long have you had your license for?”

“Uh...a little over six months?”

“Ever driven in weather this bad?”

“Sure, all the time,” I snark, and she gives me an unimpressed look. “Sorry. No.”

“Alright. The wind’s going to be coming off that water something fierce, so when we hit Bay Ave you might have to steer into it a little. And if we blow a tire, don’t hit the brakes or you’ll lose control. Just take your foot off the gas. Don’t use your high beams in this weather, either. It’ll be tempting, but you’ll actually see less.”

“How do you...”

“I wasn’t always blind as a bat,” she laughs, adding, “and I used to drive a delivery truck. I know a thing or two.”

“Well, shit. Wish you were behind the wheel.”

“Don’t worry.” She smiles. “You’ll do just fine.”

“Right. Okay.” Releasing the parking brake, I shift into drive and the bus starts rolling. I’m good. I can do this. It’s just like driving a regular car, except a little bigger. All the important stuff is basically the same. I’ve got this.

I feel the wind rock the bus as soon as we’re away from the hospital building, but it isn’t too bad. Nothing I can’t handle. Pulling out of the parking lot and onto the road, I turn us north and start following the tsunami evacuation signs.

Over the faint rumble of the engine and the steady drum of the rain on the windshield, I can hear Kate praying softly from the seat behind me. Turning my head, I speak quietly enough that (hopefully) only she can hear me. “Hey, Kate? Can I ask you something?”

The murmured prayers stop. “Yes?”

“How are you so calm right now?”

“I’m not sure.” Kate pauses thoughtfully. “Faith, I suppose.”

I probably should have expected that. “Faith, huh?”

“Mhm.” I picture her nodding in that matter-of-fact way of hers. “I think God wanted us both to be here, where we’d be needed, and that he’s putting his trust in us tonight. All I can do is have faith that he’ll see us through till morning.”

“Shit, is that all?” I wince. “Sorry.”

“That’s okay. Faith makes things possible, not easy.”

“Oh.” I hesitate. I really don’t want her to think I’m making fun of her, but I’ll take all the help I can get right now. “Hey, would you...uh...would you mind sending one up for me, too? See if Jesus feels like playing copilot or whatever?”

“Way ahead of you.” She reaches forward, gently squeezing my shoulder. “He’s got your back, and you’ve got ours, right?”

“Yeah,” I echo, shaking my head. “Right.”

I swear I can hear the smirk in her voice when she adds, “He’d probably appreciate a little less cursing, though.”

 


 

“And that’s the latest, folks. As ever, your best bet is to get out of town. Luckily, it looks like the power’s back up for now, which is good for me since the ol’ generator was probably running on fumes.

“But with power comes phones, and during the last song my data analysis was interrupted by a call from none other than the NOAA Regional Director. Turns out word of my impromptu radio show made it out into the wide world, and there’s a lot of people throwing around words like irreverent and unprofessional. That wasn’t why the Director called, though. No, the boss wanted to point out an opportunity I’ve so far failed to take advantage of in my little broadcast, and that’s something I intend to see resolved right this minute.

“You’re listening to Radio Free NOAA, five-thirty on the AM dial with Weatherman Cliff, meteorologist and emergency radio host. I’m headed back to the Doppler terminal but in the meantime, by special request, this is Ridin’ the Storm Out from REO Speedwagon.”

 

 

Chapter End Notes

If you're interested, I put together a Radio Free NOAA playlist. You can find it on Spotify and on YouTube.

Don't read into the song choices too much, though. They aren't spoilers. ;)

Resolve

Chapter Notes

“The time is 7:33, that was Led Zeppelin with When the Levee Breaks, and this is Weatherman Cliff on Radio Free NOAA, live and still alive at five-thirty on the AM band.

“I gotta say, things are getting pretty gnarly out there. The latest Doppler data has the storm cell coming in fast from the southwest, headed straight for Arcadia Bay, and showing all the signs of becoming a multiple-vortex EF5 event. We’re gonna be looking at windspeeds north of two-hundred miles-per-hour and believe me when I say that’ll relocate your house in a hurry.

“Projected landfall is between twenty and thirty minutes away, but these suckers can be unpredictable. I’m gonna try and get a tighter estimate, folks. While I’m doing that, let me leave you with Lynyrd Skynyrd’s classic, Free Bird.”

 


 

“Yeah, this was a great fucking idea,” Bowers mutters unhelpfully from just behind me, and I jab one finger toward the sign that reads Please Remain Seated While Vehicle In Motion.

“But we’re not even mov-”

“Siddown, Bowers!”

“Christ, alright,” he grumbles, dropping back into his seat. “I’m just saying we shoulda gone south.”

Part of me wants to tell him to fuck off, but staring at the road ahead, I have to agree with him. There’s a scary amount of debris blocking our way; torn chucks of boats, shattered pieces of furniture, and even a semi-truck laying on its side in the middle of the street. There’s no way we can drive through it. Even if I could maneuver the bus through the gaps, I’m pretty sure that all the crap on the ground would shred our tires.

This is a problem.

“Alright,” I say, trying to sound confident. “It’s okay. We’re good. We’ll just back up and take a side street.”

I’ve barely shifted the bus into reverse when an ear-splitting crack scares the hell out of me. It’s the only warning we get before one of the power poles behind us comes crashing down, its electrical wires jumping and sparking on the ground. I instantly put us back in drive and bring my foot down on the gas. I vaguely recall seeing some PSA about downed power lines, and even though I can’t remember exactly what it said to do, I figure that getting some distance is a good start.

“God damn it!” I shout, slamming a fist into the steering wheel and actually startling myself a little with the horn. We’re completely boxed in; high voltage behind us (because of course the power is back on now) and a fucking junkyard ahead of us. Leaning forward, I reconsider the idea of trying to drive through; it looks just as stupid now as it did a few minutes ago.

What the fuck are we supposed to do now? It’s not like we can get out and walk. I mean, me, Kate, and Bowers could. I guess Jillian could too, as long as one of us led her. But Mom and Douglas? No way. Even from here I can see that there’s no way to maneuver a wheelchair through all that junk.

Neither me or Kate are strong enough to carry someone, and even if Bowers is strong enough – assuming he’d be willing to do it – he could only carry one. Of course I’d want that to be Mom, but even admitting that makes me feel like a piece of shit. How could I possibly look Douglas in the eye and sa-

“There’s someone out there!” Kate’s voice cuts into my thoughts as she points out the windshield. “Over there! Next to the red truck!”

Peering through the glass, I realize she’s right. There’s a guy on the ground next to a tipped-over semi, just past the edge of our headlights and pinned under a chunk of wood. He’s struggling to lift it off his leg but it doesn’t look like he’ll be able to do it on his own. “Shit.”

“We’ve got to help him,” Kate says, and I turn to see her gently pass Alice’s backpack over to Jillian and start pulling on her too-big raincoat. I doubt I’d be able to stop her, even if I wanted to, and I’m not about to let her go alone either.

“Alright,” I say, unbuckling my seatbelt. And to think, I’d almost started feeling dry. “Let’s do this.”

The rain shocks me the second I’m outside, pelting my head like icy little darts, but at least I’m sorta dressed for the weather. Kate’s basically wearing her pajamas under that raincoat of hers, so I’m about to start bitching.

I can see the relief in the guy’s eyes as soon as he spots us running toward him, and a second later Kate and I take hold of either end of the pole. Between the two of us, we’re able to shift it enough for the guy to get out and scramble to his feet. “Holy hell! Where’d you two come from?”

“The hospital!” I shout over the wind, gesturing back at the bus. “We’re the last ones out!”

“Well you two definitely got some balls on you, drivin’ around in this shit!”

“Uh...thanks?”

“Aw hell, you girls know what I mean!” He looks past me to the bus, then back up the road. “Looks like you’re in a jam, too! Need some help?”

“Unless you can magically clear the roads, I don’t know what you’re gonna do!”

“Well, I dunno about magic, but my wrecker’s got a heavy winch and torque for days. Even got a dozer blade mounted after that snow on Monday!”

I glance at Kate, who looks just as bewildered as I feel. “I don’t know what any of that meant!”

He laughs, despite the chaos around us. “Means that as long as she’s still on her wheels, I can probably clear most of this shit outta your way! Sound like a plan?”

“Seriously?!” He nods, and I throw my arms around him, laughing. “You’re my fucking hero!”

“Least I can do after you saved my ass!” He grins crookedly. “Gimme ten minutes! And if you got anyone willin’ and able to help, it’d sure be appreciated.”

I wave Kate back to the bus, then follow the guy as far as the end of the tipped-over semi. Watching him take off down the road, I hope like hell that his truck is still working. If it is, we might’ve just gone from totally screwed to slightly less screwed, which isn’t a lot, but I’ll take it.

He’s out of sight a second later, but just before I turn back I spot Evan Harris, of all people. He standing in the middle of the street, wearing his usual scarf and t-shirt combo for some fucking reason, taking photos of a giant fucking tornado with a big idiot grin on his face.

“Hey, Evan!” I shout, surprising him.

“Taylor?” He lowers his camera, confused, taking a step toward me just as a chunk of metal siding whips through the space he’d just been standing in. Letting out a slightly shrill scream, he leaps away and just about stumbles into me. “Holy shit!”

I grab him by the arm before he can fall over. “What the hell are you doing out here, you idiot?!”

“I...uh...” Evan gestures lamely between his camera and the approaching storm. “I was...”

“Forget it! Come on.” I try to pull him with me, but he resists. “Quit screwing around!”

“But I...”

“God fucking damn it, Evan!” I grab his scarf and yank him close. Evan’s a little taller than me and definitely bigger, but I’m hoping it still comes off as intimidating. “I swear I’ll drag you kicking and screaming if you make me!”

I’m a little surprised when it actually works. His eyes go wide, and he lets himself be pulled along. He hesitates when we get to the bus, eyeing the hospital logo on the side. “Hang on...is this thing stolen?”

Oh, for fuck’s sake. “Do you wanna live or not?”

He blinks. “I...yeah?”

“Then get in there.” Pushing him inside, I practically shove him into a seat. He looks kinda put out, but that’s all. Eyeing his soaked clothes, I realize that he doesn’t even look cold. “How the hell are you not freezing right now?”

“Oh, please.” He snorts, and for the first time I see a little of his unique Evan-swagger come back. “I grew up in Alaska, Taylor. Call me when the rain actually starts freezing.”

“Ugh.” I immediately turn away, refusing to let the lucky asshole see how jealous I am, and I immediately realize that there’s one less person in here than there should be. “Hang on, where the hell is Bowers?”

“It’s my fault,” Kate answers meekly. “I let Pompidou out when I opened the bus door. Mr. Bowers went to get him. He said he’d be right back.”

For a second, I consider going after him, but I don’t even know what direction he went. I just have to trust that he’ll find his way back.

I move over to kneel next to Kate and lower my voice. “It’s not your fault. Could’ve happened to anyone.”

“I know, but...”

“Not your fault,” I repeat, interrupting her. “How’s everyone else doing?”

She hesitates, then offers a slight nod. “Okay, mostly.”

“Mostly?”

She glances to Mom and leans closer. “I’m a little worried about your mother. I think her pain medication might be wearing off. She hasn’t said anything, but...”

Looking over, I can see Mom sitting stiffly, her face drawn tight as she stares out the bus’s window. I’d been hoping no one would notice. “The nurses left before she was supposed to get her last dose,” I tell her. “The one before that has probably worn off by now. I didn’t think we’d get held up like this.”

“Oh.” Kate reaches out to give my arm a comforting squeeze. “I’m sure she’ll be okay. She’s strong, right?”

“Yeah. Right. Thanks, Kate.” Standing up, I head to the front. “Alright, listen up. We’re going to get out of here. There’s a truck coming to clear a path for us. It won’t be long, so we just need to stay here and stay cal-”

“Hey kid!” Bowers cuts me off, sticking his head in the door and scaring the crap out of me. “We got a problem!”

“Holy fuck, what now?!”

“There’s some chick trapped up in a building.” He jerks his thumb over his shoulder as his dog runs inside; Kate throws a blanket over him before he can shake all the rainwater out of his fur. “I tried to help her out but she ain’t listening.”

“Probably because you look like you’d stab her,” I mutter without thinking, and he actually looks a little offended. “Shit. Sorry.”

“Whatever,” he grunts. “What do you wanna do?”

“You’re asking me?”  

“Who the hell else would I ask?”

“How about literally anybody?” Turning around, I expect to find everyone looking as shocked as I am, but they’ve all got the same expression as Bowers. Like they’re just waiting for me to tell them what to do. “I...”

“Well?” Douglas says. “We’re not getting any younger.”

This is nuts. I’m not in charge. I can’t be in charge. Who in their right mind would put me in charge? I have no fucking idea what I’m doing. I don’t even know how we’ve made it this far. If I were in charge I’d have some kind of plan, wouldn’t I? All I’ve been doing is dealing with one shitty situation after another and trying to keep everyone moving in the same direction.

“Hey. You’ve got this, Taylor,” Kate says quietly, like she can read my thoughts. “We trust you.”

Un-fucking-believable.

Alright. Okay. Just reacting has worked pretty well so far, so why mess with a good thing? “Bowers, that guy me and Kate helped out is a truck driver. He went to get his truck and he’s gonna be back soon to try and clear the road. Think you can help him out when he does?”

“Fucking right, I can.” He looks down at his dog. “Pompidou? Stay. I fucking mean it, dummy.”

Pompidou obediently sits, his tail wagging like he’s waiting for a treat. He lets out a soft whine when Bowers steps outside without him.

“Evan, you go with him.”

“I...” Evan blinks, looking a little surprised that I’m already kicking him out of the bus. “What?”

“You’re the one who’s from Anchorage, right?”

“Fairbanks, but...yeah.”

“So are you just going to sit there?” I step aside, clearing a path between him and the door. “Or are you gonna go show us how they do things up north?”

He hesitates, just for a second, then grins. “Damn right I will.”

He’s on his feet a second later, running to catch up with Bowers, and I turn back to Kate. “You think you’re up for another walk?”

“Of course. Didn’t you hear Evan?” she asks. “It’s not even cold out.”

The sly smile she’s giving me seems very un-Kate-like, but the more time I spend with her, the more I wonder how much I really knew her at all.

Rolling my eyes a little, I look over to Doug. “Think you can keep an eye on Jill and my mom?”

Grinning, he taps the brim of his hat. “Yes, ma’am.”

“Awesome. C’mon, Kate.”

Running out into the rain this time sucks slightly less than the last time, but that’s only because I already feel half frozen. Just gotta push through it, though. That’s what they always say in the movies, isn’t it? Of course, those jerks have stunt doubles for this stuff. I wish I had a stunt double right about now. I could go have a margarita in my trailer and let them handle this shit.

Cutting around a battered yellow pickup, I instantly see who Bowers was talking about. The siding has been ripped off a building up the road and standing in a gaping hole on the second floor is Alyssa Anderson, the closest thing Blackwell has to a goth chick. I bet this is going to go super well; I’m pretty sure she fucking hates me.

“I’m stuck up here!” she yells as if that weren’t stupidly obvious. “Somebody help me!”

“Alyssa! We’re right here! We’re coming!”

“Kate?” She squints at us through the rain. “Taylor?!”

Oh, come on. She doesn’t have to sound that shocked about it.

“We’re here to help you!” Kate shouts. “We’ll get you down!”

At least getting close to her won’t be too hard. A bunch of junk has piled up right under the hole, making it pretty easy for me and Kate to climb up. From on top of it, I can clearly see the whirling storm approaching the bay.

“Holy shit,” I say, almost transfixed by the sight. “Would you look at that fucking thing...”

It’s huge. Like, mountain huge. It’s weird that it looks like it’s spinning so slowly, but even from here I can see how much water it’s churning up. I really hope no one was out there. Then again, looking at the number of boats that’ve been straight-up thrown onto land, it anyone had been out on the water they sure as hell weren’t anymore.

Shaking my head, I follow Kate to the edge. Alyssa’s only about five feet higher than us now, but the real problem is the ten feet of distance between her edge and ours. There’s no way she can jump it. We need a way to bridge the gap. Looking around, I spot a couple of long wooden boards that’ll work.

“Kate, help me out with this.”

Between the two of us, we lift the boards up and lay them side-by-side over the gap, making a nice, wide bridge.

“Come on, Alyssa!” Kate shouts, reaching out to the scared girl. “You just need to take my hand!”

Alyssa eyes our makeshift bridge hesitantly. “I...I don’t know...”

“You can do it!” I shout. “We won’t let you fall!”

“Alright. Okay.” Taking a second to psych herself up, Alyssa takes a deep breath and rushes over to our side. The wooden planks barely move. I guess me and Kate built a pretty good bridge.

“Thank you! Oh god, thank you!” Alyssa cries, pulling me into a bone-crushing hug. “I was so scared!

My arms are pretty much pinned to my sides, but I still try to return it as best as I can, patting her awkwardly on the back. “Uh...no problem.”

“Seriously! You just totally saved my a-aah!” A sudden gust of wind takes us by surprise. Pushed off balance, Alyssa knocks into Kate, sending the smaller girl stumbling toward the edge.

“Kate!” I reach out to grab her, miss by inches, and see her pitch over the side. It’s not very far to the ground - only seven or eight feet – but watching Kate fall makes it feel like a lot further. She lands with a dull thump, laying still on the pavement below, and for a second I feel my heart slam to a stop. Then I’m grabbing Alyssa by the arm and pulling her along as I scramble down to the ground.

Running around the junk pile, I feel like I could cry with relief when I see Kate already picking herself up, coughing loudly.

“Kate! Oh my god, are you okay?!”

“I’m...I’m okay.” She nods. “Just got the wind knocked out of me.”

Oh, thank god. It’s okay. Kate’s okay. She just had a little fall but she’s back on her feet and everything is going to be...

“Uh...guys?” Alyssa’s pointing at Kate’s left arm and the growing patch of red on her sleeve.

“Hm?” Kate looks down, a little absently. “Oh. I must’ve cut myself when I fell.”

“Here, let me see.” Alyssa reaches out. “I know some first aid.”

Kate waves her off. “It’s okay. It doesn’t even hurt.”

“You’re bleeding, Kate. Bleeding and not hurting does not equal okay.”

Huffing a little, Kate holds her arm out. Carefully rolling up the sleeve, the first words out of Alyssa’s mouth are, “Oh, shit.”

“What?” Looking over Alyssa’s shoulder, I feel my stomach roll a little at the slightly unnatural angle of Kate’s left wrist. The scraped and bleeding skin doesn’t help either. “Oh fuuuck...”

“Huh,” Kate says, looking down. “It really doesn’t hurt that much.”

I will not throw up.

“Oh, it’s gonna,” Alyssa assures her.

I will not throw up.

“Shoulda known better,” Kate murmurs, looking a little woozy. “Standing up on a high place. Never works out for me.”

Alyssa turns to me. “We need to splint this.”

“I...uh...yeah. Got it.” I take a deep breath and - careful not to look directly at Kate’s arm again – point the way back. “C’mon. There’s a first aid kit back at the bus.”

The trip back isn’t easy; Kate’s pretty wobbly on her feet, Alyssa’s not exactly dressed for the weather, and I’m only 95% sure I’m not going to throw up. But a few minutes later, we’re back in the wonderfully warm and dry bus.

“Fuck’s sake, Alyssa,” I grumble, pulling the first aid kit out from under the driver’s seat. “Why the hell were you even up there?”

“Because I live there?”

“I meant why didn’t you get out of town?”

“Why would I?”

“I dunno. Maybe because of the tornado warning?!” I say, and she gives me a confused look. “On your phone, remember?”

“My phone died after I fell in the pool.” She shakes her head. “That’s why I left the party early.”

“That’s...forget it.” I don’t have time to stand around and marvel at Alyssa Anderson’s bad luck. Handing her the first aid kit, I ask, “You think you can handle this?”

“I...” She glances over to Kate’s and nods slowly. “Yeah. I’m good.”

“Cool. I’m gonna go see how the road clearing is doing.” I flip my jacket’s hood up and give Alyssa a quick smirk. “Kate’s in charge until I get back.” I look past her to Kate. “Don’t let any of these assholes give you any shit, okay?”

“Okay.” Kate gives me a watery smile and a thumbs up, then I’m back out into the rain.

Seriously, what the hell else could go wrong?

...I can’t believe I just thought that.

 


 

“That was All Along The Watchtower from the legendary Jimi Hendrix, and this is Radio Free NOAA, rocking the bottom of the AM dial with the one and only Weatherman Cliff.

“Well folks, lemme tell ya, I’ve been a meteorologist for thirty-two years, and I’ve never even heard of a storm this powerful forming this rapidly. Honest to god, you’re seeing history in the making.

“The NOAA has five offshore buoys I should be getting storm data from, and as of ten minutes ago I’m only getting a signal return from the two north of us. Before the other three stopped transmitting, though, they were showing reports of thirty-foot waves and windspeeds upwards of a hundred and eighty miles an hour. This thing is a monster, and it’s coming right at us.

“I’m not sure how much longer I’ll be able to stay on the air, but if you haven’t gotten the hell outta town yet, this might be your last chance. Lemme help you out with a little mood music. Here’s April Wine’s Sign of the Gypsy Queen.”

 


 

Is that a whale?

Oh my god, is that an entire fucking whale just laying there in the middle of the street, right next to a diner called the Two Whales?!

That is so fucked up.

This whole thing is completely fucked up.

This is what Hell looks like in the movies, and I’m stuck right in the middle of it.

Stop.

Breathe.

Just gonna put that in a box with all the other stuff I’m going to freak out about later. I’ll deal with it all when we’re safe.

Okay. I’m good.

Pulling my eyes off the dead whale, I happen to turn toward the diner just in time to spot a flicker of movement. Cupping my hands around my eyes and peering through the rain, I can definitely see a dim light glowing inside. “What the...?”

A second later, a shadow passes over one of the windows. There’re people still in there.

I guess Bowers and Evan are gonna have to wait.

The place is in seriously rough shape. Part of the roof is collapsed, probably because the storm dropped a fucking boat on it, and a few of the windows are broken. Whoever’s inside has put some metal sheeting from who-the-hell-knows-where up to keep the rain out, but it doesn’t look like it’ll hold for long. Most of the neon lights in the diner’s sign are broken, and the few letters that aren’t spell DIE.

Thanks, Universe. That’s really fucking subtle.

Even from here, I can tell that the front door isn’t an option. There’s so much junk piled up against it that it’d take forever to get through, but they’ve gotta have a back door or something. Cutting around the side, I find an unlocked door that leads me through the kitchen and into the diner.

It’s mostly dark inside, but a couple of candles give off just enough light to see the half dozen scared-looking people sitting around, and they’re all gawking at me like I just appeared out of thin air.

The cook and one of the diner’s waitresses are easy to recognize; the aprons are a dead giveaway. There’s a guy sitting in one of the booths who looks even older than Doug, and this cranky-looking fisherman I’m pretty sure I’ve seen warming a stool in here a bunch of times. But the real surprise is Warren Graham, who’s sitting on the floor with Brooke Scott huddled under his arm. Blackwell’s two biggest nerds (and compared to Vicky, that’s saying something) are both soaked to the bone and staring at me in disbelief.

“Uh...hey.”

“T-Taylor?” Brooke asks, her teeth chattering a little, looking at me like she can’t quite decide whether or not I’m real. “W-what are y-you d-doing here?”

“Saving your asses, apparently. I’ve got a bus outside and some people clearing shit out of the road.” I gesture to the door, but no one moves to follow me. “Well? What are you waiting for?”

“Are you nuts?” the cook asks, scowling at me. “We can’t go out there!”

“Well you sure as hell can’t stay here.” I point out one of the remaining windows at the rapidly approaching storm. “That thing is gonna rip this town to pieces. You really want to be here when it does?”

“We’ve got a better chance in here than we do driving around outside!”

Fuck this. There’s no way I’m wasting my time arguing with this moron. “Whatever, pal. Your funeral.”

“You can’t j-”

“Come with me or stay here and take your chances.” I say to the others, cutting him off. “What’s it gonna be?”

For a second, no one moves. Then Brooke murmurs something to Warren, he nods, and the two of them climb to their feet. “We were walking on the beach when the weather got bad, and my c-”

“I seriously don’t care,” I interrupt.

“It’s just that my car is still at Lighthouse Park,” he says. “If you could drop us off th-”

“I’m not a fucking Uber, Warren. Are you coming or not?”

“Yeah, we’re coming with you! Chill!”

“I am, too!” The old guy stands up from the booth and walks over a little unsteadily.

“Yeah.” The fisherman agrees, shrugging. “Beats sitting around.”

The waitress hesitates a second, then nods and moves to steady the old man; he smiles gratefully.

I turn to glare at the cook, who glares right back at me. After a few seconds, he looks away and mutters, “Well I’m sure not staying here alone.”

“Good call. Let’s go.”

Pulling the first aid kit off the wall on our way out, I lead everyone to the back door. Before I open it, I turn around and give them what I hope looks like a confident smile. “It’s pretty nasty out there. Just stick close to each other, watch out for flying trash, and follow me. We’ll be there in no time.”

I turn the handle, and the door is barely open a few inches before the wind yanks it from my grip. Raising one arm to shield my eyes, I reach back with the other and feel someone’s hand grasp mine. It’s small and cold as ice. I figure it must be Brooke, but I don’t bother looking back to check. Whoever it is, I’m not letting go until they’re safe.

Something about the narrow space between the diner and the building beside it makes it feel like we’re in a wind tunnel, and more than a few times I’m certain that I’m about to get blown off my feet. It never happens, though. I just keep putting one foot in front of the other, moving steadily through the wind and rain toward the bus.

I’m so focused on the path ahead that I barely notice the first flickering light out of the corner of my eye. I almost dismiss it as a reflection off a puddle and I don’t know what it is that makes me look again, but I turn my head just in time to see the fire rush along the ground, following a trail of spilled fuel all the way up to the diner. A second later, it meets up with what must’ve been an open gas line; I barely have time to shout a warning before the whole place explodes into flames.

I get knocked on my ass, scrambling back to my feet a second later and looking back to make sure I didn’t lose anybody. “Is everyone alright?!”

I guess the pouring rain was enough to keep the flames from reaching us. They all look a little stunned, but otherwise okay. The cook looks the worst, kneeling on the wet pavement and staring wide-eyed at the burning remains of the Two Whales diner.

“H-holy shit...that could’ve...we could’ve...”

“Freak out later!” I grab the guy by his arm and haul him to his feet. What the hell makes him think that this is a good time to sit around? “Move now!”

We make it back a minute later, but the bus’s windows are so fogged up that they probably couldn’t see us coming. I slam my hand on the door and it opens a second later to reveal Alyssa’s shocked face. “What the...? Where the hell did they all come from?”

“Funny story, actually.” I push her aside and start herding everyone in. “Did you see that explosion a minute ago?”

“That was an explosion?”

“Yup. And before that it was the Two Whales,” I say, nodding. Stepping in and shutting the door, I lean close to one of the heater vents. “I think it was a gas line or something. Up until two minutes earlier, all of them had still been inside.”

“Holy shit...” she breathes, staring at the flickering yellow glow that used to be a diner. “Are you okay?”

“Oh, for sure.” I rub my hands together over the vent, feeling a tingling sensation as the warmth slowly seeps in. I can’t believe how frigid the rain is. “It’s super fucking fun out there. Can’t wait to head back out.”

“Y-y-you’re l-leaving?” Brooke asks. She really doesn’t look good. Turning the heater up to full, I angle the vent in her direction and try not to think about the gas gauge. We’re down to a little more than quarter tank, since whoever drove this thing last didn’t feel the need to top up the tank. And from the look of that huge fire down the road, we probably won’t be fueling up on our way out of town.

“I have to go check how the road clearing is going. Just stay here and warm up, okay?” I turn to Alyssa. “We brought a few blankets from the hospital. They’re around here somewhere.”

“Uh...okay. Right.” Alyssa nods, glancing around. “I’ll just, er, find those.”

“You can sit over here, Brooke,” Kate pipes up, surprising them. She’s got her injured wrist - which looks like it’s been splinted with some scraps of cloth and a couple of broken pieces of wood – held close to her chest. Her other arm is curled protectively around my backpack, and the zipper is open just enough that I can see Alice peeking out curiously. “There’s a heater right under this seat.”

“K-Kate? What are you d-doing here?”

Kate glances at me, smiling. “Taylor left me in charge.”

“That’s right.” I smile back. “Kate’s the boss until I get back, okay?”

I don’t bother waiting for a response. Throwing my hood up, I take a deep breath and prepare to go back out.

“Wait!” The fisherman from the diner grabs my shoulder before I can open the door. “We gotta go look for Carl!”

“What the...who the hell is Carl?”

“Carl Mitcham.” He leans over (I don’t think he’s washed his sweater in a while) to point at a building across the road; it looks like there’s a small fire inside. “He runs the bait shop. That’s his car over there, but I ain’t seen him since the weather got bad.”

“I...” Damn it. I can’t be everywhere at once and I need to know whether they’ve been able to clear the road at all. If they haven’t, we’ll want as much time as we can get to come up with another plan. But if there’s still someone in there...

“I’ll go.” Warren volunteers. “I mean, I can’t get any wetter, right?”

“You sure?” I ask.

“Seriously, I’m on it,” Warren grins, though Brooke doesn’t seem quite as enthusiastic. “You go check on the road.”

“Good man!” Grinning, the fisherman loudly claps him in the shoulder and Warren winces a little. He takes a second to whisper something to Brooke (who I’m pretty sure would be blushing if she weren’t so pale), then he’s on his feet and headed outside.

“Brooke, was it?” I hear Jillian murmur as I let the other two go ahead of me.

“Y-yeah?”

“I think you got yourself a keeper there.”

I glance back just in time to see Brooke smile shyly. “...yeah.”

 


 

“And that was Stairway to Heaven from the immortal Led Zeppelin. I wanna remind you folks that central Arcadia Bay is pretty much a disaster area. So, if you’re south of town, keep moving south. I’ve got a couple of cameras up on the Doppler tower, and one of them is showing me a huge fire on the north edge of town right where the gas station used to be. And while it’s not the best quality image, I’m ninety percent sure the Two Whales diner is no more.

“A moment of silence, brothers and sisters, for the loss of her world-famous waffles and a truly glorious jukebox.

“...

“Thanks, folks. I dunno about you, but this seems like a good time for the James Taylor classic, Fire and Rain.”

 

 

Chapter End Notes

The spark of inspiration that would eventually turn into Shepherds came to me when I was listening to the instrumental version of the Woodkid’s Run Boy Run. You can check it out on Spotify or YouTube.

Redemption

“That was Creedence Clearwater Revival, asking the real questions with Who’ll Stop The Rain.

“It breaks my heart to say this, folks, but I think the time to skip town has come and gone. Time to batten down the hatches and hope for the best, because the only souls left on the streets are either stupid, fearless, or insane. Whichever it is, they better hope God’s on their side tonight.

“If you’ve got a basement, that’s the place to be. If your basement has a basement, that’s even better. The more concrete you can put between yourself and the sky, the safer you’ll be.

“If you’re getting scared, brothers and sisters, you’re not the only one. If you weren’t able to make it out, I want you to know you’re not alone. And if there was ever a time for some positive vibes, this is it. Here’s one of my favorite songs for when things are looking dark.

“I'm Weatherman Cliff - still live, still alive, and right here with you for as long as I can be - and this is Touch Of Grey from The Grateful Dead.”

 


 

Yeah, it still sucks out here.

I follow behind Warren and Bob the Fisherman (or whatever the hell his name is) for a short way, keeping as much distance as I can from the scorching heat and melting-plastic stink coming off what’s left of the diner. I can’t fucking believe how close that was. If I’d gone inside just a little later or bothered to argue with that dumbass cook, I’d probably be dead. Just a minute difference between me and extra-crispy Taylor.

Yeah, I’m gonna go ahead and not think about that either.

Rushing past the fire, I’m squeezing my way between a flipped car and a piece of broken roof when I hear the sound of an engine over the wind. Whatever the hell it is, it sounds huge.

Moving a little faster, I come out the other side just in time to watch the biggest tow truck I’ve ever seen ram an overturned SUV right off the road. The huge metal scoop it’s got mounted on the front easily pushes the smaller vehicle up onto the sidewalk. In the light of one of the nearby fires, I see the words ‘Tillamook County Public Works’ written on the side.

It backs up to take another run, revealing Bowers and Evan standing on the other side. They’re both filthy and soaked to the bone, yet somehow they look like they’re having the time of their lives.

“Woo-hoo!” Evan shouts, pumping his fists in the air. “Hell yeah, Floyd!”

“Fuckin’ right!” Bowers hollers beside him. “Wreck that shit!”

Coming to a stop, the trucker (Floyd, I guess?) lowers the scoop again and revs the engine like he’s in a demolition derby or something. Noticing me standing out in the rain, he grins, tips the brim of his hat, then floors it. A few seconds later, the back half of a small fishing boat is off the road and most of the way inside the remains of some kitschy candle shop.

Okay, even I can admit that was pretty cool.

“Bowers!” I shout over the wind, waving my arms as Floyd backs up again. “Bowers!”

Spotting me, he slaps Evan on the arm and the two of them come running over. “You get that girl out okay?!”

I nod, one arm held up to block the pelting rain. “And six more out of the diner! How’s it going out here?!”

“Pretty good!” Evan points to the much-clearer road. “We just have to move a couple more cars out of the way. Then Floyd can use the snowplow...”

“Dozer blade!” Bowers corrects. I get the feeling it isn’t the first time.

“Whatever!” Evan fires back, rolling his eyes. “Anyway, once those are moved, we’re going to hook the towing cable up to the big truck over there!” He points to the truck laying on its side, right in front of where our bus is stopped. “Then we’re going to drag it through while you drive along behind it! It’s not far! Just a few hundred feet before the roads are clear! The hardest part is going to be driving past the fire. That’s gonna suck!”

Bowers nods. “The dozer blade will clear most to the loose shit off the road and dragging the truck along will get the rest! That’ll-”

An almighty crash cuts him off as Floyd clears another vehicle out of the road, then backs his truck up to a flipped car sitting right in the middle of the street.

“Gotta go!” Evan says, running over. Grabbing the end of a seriously big winch cable, he and Floyd move it over to the flipped car and hook it over the axle.

“Anyway,” Bowers says. “We figure that’ll keep you from driving over anything that could blow out the tires!”

“He can do that?! Just drag a flipped truck?!”

“That thing’s a wrecker, kid! Shit like this is what it’s built for!”

“Hey, Frank!” We turn to see Floyd waving at us. “Little help?!”

Bowers waves and looks back. “Me and what’s-his-name will head back when we’re good to go! Sound good?!”

It takes me a second to realize he’s waiting for an answer. “Uh...yeah! Sounds good!”

“Alright! See you back there!”

I cannot fucking believe these people think I’m in charge.

I head back at an awkward hunched-over jog, the gusting wind doing its best to blow me off my feet. It’s getting a lot worse out here. As fast as the guys are working, I think this is going to be close.

I’m about halfway there when I pause, crouched behind an overturned dumpster, and look out over the water. The storm is right on the edge of the bay now, looming over us, so close it feels like I could reach out and touch it. It’s like nothing I’ve ever seen. Like nothing I’ve ever imagined.

Standing there in the rain, staring up at it, I wait for the panic to hit. For the shaking hands and the wrenching twist in my stomach. I wait for my throat to tighten, but each breath comes as easily as the one before it. My heart isn’t racing, even though it’s got every reason to. It’s not that I’m calm; I’m definitely not calm. I’m scared to death. I don’t think I’ve ever been so afraid in my life...but I’m handling it. I’ve got this under control.

“I’ve got this,” I murmur, so quietly I can’t even hear it, and suddenly I’m smiling. Then I’m laughing as I throw my arms wide, and kinda wondering whether I just went a little crazy.

“What?!” I shout. “Is this the best you can do?!”

Bolts of lightning flash across the sky and the wind is howling in my ears, but I keep laughing.

“Oh, you want a piece of me?! Come and get it, asshole!”

I burst out from my cover and sprint the rest of the way to the bus, trying not to dwell on the fact that I just challenged some kind of apocalyptic megastorm to come and kill me. Running around to the driver’s door, I haul myself in and turn around to see at least five more people than I expect to. “Uh...Warren?”

“They followed us home,” he says, grinning. “Can we keep ‘em?”

“For fuck’s sake...” I actually laugh a little, rolling my eyes. “Did you find that Carl guy?”

“They sure did!” another guy pipes up. He’s kinda scruffy, wearing a hoodie and gaiters and looking pretty much exactly how I imagined. He’s got kind of a nervous vibe, too, that makes me think he’s a lot closer to losing it than he wants people to think he is. I know what that’s like. “The kid here saved me from gettin’ lit up. Kept Merv from flipping the breakers and electrocutin’ my ass.”

“Damn. Good catch, Graham.” He just shrugs, awkwardly rubbing the back of his neck. “How’s everyone else doing?”

“Okay, mostly.” He shrugs. “Cold and wet. Scared, too. A few cuts and scrapes, but Alyssa took care of those.”

I look past him to see Alyssa speaking softly to a little girl who looks like about seven years old as she wraps a white gauze bandage around the kid’s shin. Thinking back, I can’t remember the last time I saw Alyssa smile like that.

“How’re things up ahead?” Warren continues. “Is the road clear?”

“Almost,” I murmur. “Gimme a second.”

Moving down the tightly packed middle aisle, I try not to step on anyone as I make my way to the back where Mom is. She’s looking pretty pale, but someone’s draped a coat over her to keep her warm. She turns her head toward me a little stiffly and my heart clenches at the pain in her eyes. Despite the tears streaming down her face, she still smiles when she sees me.

“Hey there, sweetheart,” she says between ragged breaths.

“Hey, Mom.” I kneel down, taking her hand. “How’re you doing?”

“Little...uncomfortable.” She tries to shrug and lets out a pained hiss.

“Your mother’s tough as nails, young lady,” Douglas comments from his place next to her. “I’ve seen Marines half her age with less grit.”

“Flatterer,” Mom laughs, wincing as she looks back to me. “Everything okay?”

“Uh, yeah.” I nod. “I mean, okay-ish, considering. I’m handling it.”

“Good girl.” She gives my hand a little squeeze before letting go. “I’m so proud of you. But I’ll be fine. You get going.”

“But...” I glance over my shoulder. I don’t want to leave my mom in pain.

“Go on, hon,” Jillian says. “We’ll take care of her.”

“Right. Okay.” I swallow heavily, standing back up. “Make sure everyone is ready to move.”

I pause to check on Kate on my way back to the front. She has a few other people gathered around her, their hands clasped together, heads bowed as she softly leads them in prayer. Alice’s backpack is still tucked safely in her lap, and there’s an almost-tangible feeling of strength and comfort radiating from her. She glances up to give me a warm smile as I pass by, and I silently resolve to never make fun of her beliefs again.

Brooke is looking a lot better than the last time I saw her. She’s still wrapped in a blanket, but her cheeks have some color in them now and I get the feeling that she isn’t just huddled under Warren’s arm for the warmth. Bowers’ dog is sitting next to them, his head resting on Brooke’s knee, his tail wagging as she softly scratches his ears.

Dropping back into the driver’s seat, I try to keep my knee from bouncing nervously. I’m ready to get out of here, and the way the wind keeps rocking the bus from side to side definitely isn’t doing anything for my patience. Who knows how much worse it’d be if we didn’t have a couple of buildings shielding us from most of it. There’s nothing to do but wait, though, and I force myself to stay calm - for everyone else’s sake, at least.

I don’t know how many agonizingly slow minutes crawl by before I finally spot Bowers making his way around the side of the flipped semi. Evan’s right beside him, but he doesn’t look so good. He’s got one arm slung over Bowers’ shoulder, the other clutching his side.

“Son of a bitch...” I hiss. Levering the door open, I stumble out to help. Warren’s right behind me, and between the two of us we’re able to walk Evan the rest of the way. A couple more people get out to help lift Evan inside, and he lets out a low, pained groan as they ease him into an empty seat.

I turn back to Bowers, who’s panting like he sprinted the whole way here. “What happened?!”

“The wind threw a piece of junk into him. Think he might have a couple cracked ribs, but the kid’s pretty tough. Stayed on his feet the whole way.” Straightening up, he points back the way they came. “We got the road clear, though. Just hit the horn when you’re ready for Floyd to start pulling.”

“Yes! Fucking rockstars, both of you!” I shout, grinning despite the chaos around us. “Let’s get the fuck outta here!”

“Fuckin’ eh!”

I scramble back inside, Bowers right behind me, and I shut the door on his heels before turning to face everyone.

“Listen up! That truck in front of us is the only thing still in our way, but it won’t be for long. It’s going to get pulled out of the way, and we’re going to follow behind. It’s gonna start out slow, but I want everyone sitting down and holding on tight. As soon as we reach open road I’m flooring it!” Looking from one person to another, I still see a lot of fear and uncertainly. Hoping I sound confident, I add, “It’ll be okay. I’m going to get us out of here, I promise.”

Dropping into the driver’s seat, I take a breath, and then lean on the horn; the overturned truck starts moving forward a few seconds later. There are actual sparks getting thrown up, and even the wind and rain can’t drown out the painful screech of metal grinding against concrete. Like I guessed, it’s slow at first. We’re moving at what feels like a snail’s pace, but gradually picking up speed. Soon we’re at a walking pace, then at something close to a run, and I can hear the wrecker’s engine roaring from the effort.

“Oh my god,” Alyssa gasps as we pass the burning diner. “Is that a fucking whale?

Shaking my head, I keep my eyes on the road. While the wrecker and the semi it’s dragging are clearing most of the debris away, a few pieces are getting through that I need to carefully navigate around. It’d only take one to blow a tire, and if that happens we’re pretty much screwed.

I can feel the heat coming through the window as we pass the inferno that used to be the town’s only gas station. The fumes it’s putting out make my eyes feel like they’re on fire, too, but I keep them open. It’s hard enough to see through the smoke, and I absolutely refuse to let this storm kill all these people just because I looked away and drove over a sharp piece of trash.

After a very, very long minute, the smoke starts to clear. Blinking, I realize there’s less and less junk on the sides of the road. A few seconds after that, the flipped semi starts moving to the side to reveal the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen.

Straight, open road.

“Hold on, kid. Gotta wait for Floyd.”

“But he’s got his tr-”

“It’d take time to unhook the wrecker,” Bowers cuts me off, looking back at the really, really close storm. “And time’s something we ain’t got.”

Gritting my teeth, I come to a stop. The winds are battering us from side to side, so much that I start to worry that they’ll just knock the bus over. The rain is coming down so heavily now that I can barely see out the windshield. I can see Floyd in my right-side mirror, though, climbing down from the wrecker’s door and hauling ass toward us, struggling to stay on his feet as the storm does everything it can to take him down.

I try not to look at the left-side mirror, which shows nothing but a whirling black and gray mass.

“Come on, come on...”

Bowers pulls the door open the moment Floyd is close enough, grabbing the surprised man by his shirt and hauling him inside like a piece of oversized luggage. “Pedal to the metal, kid! Let’s get the hell outta here!”

I don’t need to be told twice; my foot is on the floor before he’s done yelling.

 


 

“That was Gimme Shelter from The Rolling Stones, and before that was Dire Straits with Brothers In Arms.

“Well folks, I’ve got some bad news for you. It’s been real, but I’m afraid our journey together has come to an end. The winds are howlin’, the walls are shakin’, and I can hear the broadcast tower starting to come apart. The shelter in the basement is calling my name, so here’s hoping it’s tough enough to make it though.

“Goodbye, loyal listeners, and good luck. One way or another, I’ll see you all on the other side.

“The time is 8:04 and this is Weatherman Cliff at Radio Free NOAA, signing off.”

 


 

Our trusty bus isn’t exactly a roadster, but it’s still got a decent engine. And the more speed we pick up, the less storm I see in the mirror. The howling winds start to ease up, the pelting rain tapers off, and by the time we’re passing through Rockaway Beach the weather outside doesn’t seem much worse than any other rainy October day.

“I...I think we’re okay,” I say, softly, a little afraid of jinxing us. When they universe doesn’t strike us down on the spot I say, louder, “I think we’re clear of the storm!”

I halfway expect them to cheer or something, but what I get is more of a collective sigh as the stifling tension finally vanishes. After a minute, I hear someone softly crying, then the sound of someone else comforting them. Then a couple of people start laughing. By the time we’re past Nedonna Beach, it feels like everyone in the back is talking at once.

Eventually we start seeing cops – a mix of Arcadia Bay PD, Rockaway Beach Police, Tillamook County Sheriffs, and even Oregon State Police – all trying to direct the flow of traffic. We get waved one way and another, passing cars parked along the side of the road, some with trunks full of luggage or stuff tied to their roofs. I even recognize a few of the people staring at us as we roll past.

Leaning over, I slap Bowers on the shoulder. “Want me to stop so you can make yourself scarce?”

He seems to consider it for a second, then his eyes narrow angrily. “Naw. I see someone I wanna have a word with.”

Following his glare, I see a couple of familiar-looking ABPD officers. They’re the assholes who usually provide a ‘police presence’ at Vortex Club parties and spend half their time hitting on teenage girls. “Lemme guess. Your friends from the hospital?”

“Goddamn right.”

“You’re not going to do something stupid, are you?”

“Sure thinkin’ about it,” Bowers growls, cracking his knuckles.

“Don’t do it, Frank.” Floyd says, reaching up to put a hand on Bowers’ shoulder. “You’ll just end up in cuffs, man.”

“Screw ‘em, son,” Douglas shouts from the back. “They ain’t worth it.”

Bowers grunts, but he doesn’t get up as we pass by the officers. What he does do is knock on the window and wave when they turn to look; the shorter cop goes white as a sheet at the sight of him.

“See that?” Floyd laughs. “That asshole knows what he did.”

“I guess I can live with that.”

A couple of Sheriff’s Deputies wave us off the highway and into what looks like a marina parking lot. There’re a bunch of ambulances around, and as soon as we stop there’s a cop banging on my window. Startled, I lower it. “Uh...yeah?”

“How many injured do you have?”

“Huh?”

He frowns. “You’re from Arcadia Bay Medical Centre, right?”

"Oh. Right.” I completely forgot that was written on the side of the bus. “Yeah, we are.”

“So? How many injured?”

“Uh...” I take a second to think back over the insanity of the last hour. Holy fuck, has it only been an hour since we left the hospital?

“Miss?”

“Shit. Sorry. We’ve got a forty-eight-year-old woman recovering from back surgery, an eighteen-year-old girl with a broken wrist, a woman in her sixties who’s recovering from pneumonia, a guy in his late twenties who might have a concussion, an eighteen-year-old boy who’s probably got a couple of cracked ribs, an eighteen-year-old girl who might have hypothermia, and...uh...I think those are the serious ones.”

“Alright then.” The cop nods. “You did a damn fine job getting them out. We’ll take it from here.” He gestures off to the side. “Pull in over there and the medics will be right over.”

“Oh. Thanks. I’ll...uh...do that, I guess.”

“Breathe easy, miss. You made it.” He smiles, reaching in to pat me on the shoulder. Then he points to a big tent set up a couple hundred feet away. “We’ve got breakfast laid on over there. You can link up with your people inside.”

“My people?”

“The Medical Centre staff.”

“Oh. I’m n-”

“Scuse me?” Bowers interrupts, leaning over. “You know if they got any baked beans going in there?”

The cop nods, giving Bowers a funny look. “Beans, bacon, hash browns. The works.”

“That’ll do just fine, officer.” Bowers says, smiling as he pokes me in the leg. “Thanks.”

Fine. Whatever. I can take a hint.

 


 

“I don’t get it.” Leaning against the bus’s fender, I watch in awe as Bowers happily digs into yet another helping of beans. It’s been a little over two hours since we got here, and he has to have gone back to the food tent a half dozen times, at least. The guy must have hollow legs or something. “How can a regular person like beans that much?”

“No idea, Taylor,” Warren says, sitting in the bus’s open side door. “It defies explanation.”

“Seriously, I think he cried a little when he took that first bite.”

I keep waiting for someone to come along and tell us to move, but after the sick and injured people from the bus were unloaded and carried off to one of the waiting ambulances, everyone seemed to forget we were here. Seems like all the people around us have more important things to do. It actually gives everything a weird vibe, because if it weren’t for all the activity around us, you’d never know anything had happened at all.

The storm, terrifying as it was, vanished without a trace about an hour after we got out of town, leaving nothing behind but blue skies and the shattered remains of Arcadia Bay. I can’t fucking wait for the epic breakdown I’m going to have when that little fact finally hits home.

“If you say so,” Alyssa laughs from her seat on the bus’s hood. “I was too busy watching his dog scam bacon off of the kitchen staff. I swear, that animal is unfairly cute.”

“No kidding. And speaking of unfairly cute...” I reach over to slap Warren on the shoulder and point to one of the tents. Brooke’s standing there, still wrapped in a blanket. She waves shyly when Warren looks her way. “Looks like your girlfriend’s feeling better.”

“Oh, uh...” He blushes a little, looking down at his shoes. “She’s...I mean...Brooke technically isn’t my gi-”

“Hey, Warren,” Alyssa interrupts. “You want some free girl advice from an actual girl?”

“...sure?”

“Shut the fuck up, go over there, give her a hug, and tell her that you’re glad she’s okay.”

“What?”

I nod, adding. “And say she looks pretty.”

“Ooh, yeah,” Alyssa agrees. “Do that, too.”

He hesitates, glancing between us. “...seriously?”

“Fuck’s sake, Graham! Go!”

“Alright, alright!” he laughs, climbing to his feet and walking away.

“That poor boy has no idea what he’s doing,” Alyssa comments.

“Nope.” I watch Warren as he reaches Brooke, gives her a slightly awkward hug, then says something that has her grinning like an idiot. “Fast learner, though.”

“I get the feeling she’ll cut him a lot of slack.” Hopping down from the hood, she points to the food tent. “I’m gonna go get a muffin. Want anything?”

Shaking my head, I go back to watching the slowly passing cars for a familiar head of short, blonde, beautiful hair.

“You know,” the unexpected voice startles me a bit, and I turn to see Douglas rolling up. He nods to Warren and Brooke. “That’s more or less how I met my wife.”

I smirk down at him. “A couple of other girls had to force you to man up and go talk to her?”

“My older sisters, actually.” He nods, an amused twinkle in his eye. “So, I just got off the phone with my daughter in Tillamook. She says that they’ve got something to the tune of six hundred people from Arcadia Bay down there. The police officer I spoke to told me we’ve got just over three hundred here. And that’s not even counting the other towns in the area.”

So at least two-thirds of the fifteen hundred people who lived in Arcadia Bay are accounted for. That’s good news, but while I’m happy to hear that, there’s really only one person I care about right now.

“I thought you’d want to know,” he continues. “Because I think the odds are pretty good that they got out.”

“That who got out?”

He gestures to the two-lane road and the line of cars that have been slowly creeping past. “Whoever it is you’ve been watching for.”

I guess I shouldn’t be surprised. It’s not like I’ve been very subtle about it. After making sure that Mom was in good hands, I’d taken off in search of Victoria. I’d walked up and down every row of parked cars, showing her picture to every police officer and paramedic I saw. I’d asked every single Blackwell student I came across, and it wasn’t until Stella told me, irritated, that she’d already said the same thing to Warren, Alyssa, and Kate that I realized the others had been helping me look.

No one had seen her, though. Not even Courtney, who’s almost as worried about her as I am. And even though my phone had a signal again, she wasn’t picking up. Eventually I just came back to the bus, telling myself over and over not to worry, and I’ve been waiting here ever since.

“Thanks, Douglas.”

“It’s the least I could do.” He shrugs, watching people rushing from one place to the next, then looks up at me again. “You know, I was in the Marine Corps for twenty-two years. Fought in two wars, led men in combat, and made it to Master Gunnery Sergeant before I was discharged.”

“No kidding,” I laugh, thinking back to what had happened when we first walked into the food tent. “It kinda shows.”

We hadn’t even made it to the long row of steam trays when Kate had pointed out the pair of nurses who’d left us behind. Those fucking bitches had just been sitting at one of the tables, smiling and drinking coffee with the other staff like they hadn’t abandoned us to die.

I’d been absolutely ready to let them have it, but I never got the chance. Douglas beat me to it, and holy fucking hell. Those assholes hadn’t even had a chance to stand up before he’d unleashed a wave of verbal savagery like I’ve never heard. I saw a war movie once where some drill sergeant was yelling at a bunch of soldiers, and I’d thought it looked kinda intense. But compared to the real thing, up close? Forget it.

The weird thing was, he hadn’t really been yelling. Somehow, he’d just been talking at a scarily high volume, and every single devastating word had come out razor sharp and clear as a bell. The effect had been like watching a pair of deer caught in a truck’s headlights. Both women froze up completely, eyes wide, shaking like the gates of hell had just opened up in front of them.

It’d been fucking epic.

Everyone else in the tent had been too shocked to do anything. No one had moved or spoken, at least until Douglas’ verbal assault had moved on from him being angry, to the reason why he was angry. He’d laid the whole thing out, and one by one every gaze had shifted from him to the pair of terrified, stammering women. He kept going until a couple of state troopers had escorted the two women out of the tent so they could ‘talk about what happened’.

The troopers had also very politely asked Kate if she’d be willing to provide a statement, which she was happy to do.

Legally speaking, I’m pretty sure those two are screwed.

“What, that?” Douglas waves vaguely at the food tent. “That’s like riding a bike. You never really forget how.”

“Pretty scary bike.”

“I prefer to call it motivational. In any case, I only mention it so that when I say what you did during the storm was one of the finest examples of leadership I’ve ever seen, you know that I  know what I’m talking about.”

Blinking, I look down to stare at him. “Excuse me?”

“You did a hell of a job, Miss Christensen. I think we’re damned lucky we had you there.”

“Are you serious?”

“As a heart attack,” he nods, adding, “And I’ve had one of those. They’re pretty damn serious.”

“That wasn’t leadership, man. That was me somehow managing to not freak the fuck out.”

“Same thing.” He shrugs. “You had a goal and people following you. Shit happened, but you kept your head and reacted accordingly. You’d be amazed how many people can’t even do that much.” He snorts. “I’ve seen actual military officers – grown men with years of training – buckle under less pressure than what you dealt with today.”

“But I...”

“Argue as much as you like, but the fact is that eighteen people are still alive thanks to you. And thanks to Miss Marsh, as well. What you two did was just plain heroic, and you should both be damned proud of yourselves.” Releasing the brakes on his wheelchair, he pulls a slip of paper out of his pocket and hands it to me with a smile. “In any case, that’s my daughter’s phone number. She’s very insistent about having you two over for dinner.”

“Oh,” I say, surprised. “Thanks.”

“Not a problem.” He gives me a little wink. “Take care of yourself, Miss Christensen.”

“You, too,” I mutter, watching him roll himself over to the food tent and strike up a conversation with Bowers. Leadership? Heroic? That guy needs to lay off the war movies. “Crazy old coot.”

Turning back to the road, I cross my arms, lean against the bus’s fender, and go back to intently watching every vehicle that creeps by. Traffic is still moving at a crawl, but that’s fine by me. Slower cars are easier to search. I don’t hear the sound of approaching footsteps, so I’ve got no idea anyone is there until I hear the distinct sound of a phone’s camera.

Surprised, I turn to find Kate grinning at me, smartphone in hand. “Gotcha.”

“What the...where’d you get that?!”

“My phone?” She looks down at it, like she’s actually thinking about the answer. “It was in my pocket.”

Of course it was. “You better delete that picture.”

“Hmm...” She tilts her head thoughtfully. “No, I don’t think I will.”

“I’m serious!” I shout, laughing for some reason. “I probably look like a hobo!”

“Well, if you do, then you look like a very noble hobo,” she answers primly, putting her phone away and moving to lean beside me.

“What does that even...oh, forget it.” Sighing, I gesture to her properly splinted wrist. “What’s the word on that?”

“Just a dislocation. Maybe a slight fracture. I’ll need to get it x-rayed, but I’m okay for now.” She holds it out, wiggling her fingers a little. “See?”

“Hm. Gave you some painkillers, I guess?”

Leaning in, she shyly whispers, “Just a little.”

I kinda want to tease her about being a lush or something, but even though I think we’re on better terms now, I’m pretty sure it’s still way too soon for that. “Well, when you do get your cast, I call first dibs on signing it.”

“Sure.” She thinks for a second. “But no curse words, please.”

“Just take all the fun out if it, why don’t you?” I mutter, and she actually giggles.

“So, has there been any sign of Victoria?”

“If there was, would I still be standing here?” I answer, a little sharply. Wincing, I add, “Sorry. I’m just worried about her.”

“I’m sure she’ll be alright. She’s...” I can practically see Kate searching for a description that doesn’t include the words ‘relentless bitch’. “...tenacious.”

“Yeah, she is,” I agree, and another brief silence passes. “Hey, you wanna hear something crazy?”

“Okay.”

“I was just talking to Douglas a minute ago, and he called me a hero. Can you believe that?”

“Why is that crazy?” she asks, because of course she does.

“I’m not a hero, Kate. At most, I was just in the right place at the right time.”

“Maybe that’s the same thing?” she muses, adding, “I  think you’re a hero.”

“How can you think anybody who treated you the way I did is a hero?” I can’t help cringing again at the memory. “I really am sorry.”

“I know.” I’m super aware of the fact that she doesn’t tell me it’s alright. But since it wasn’t, I’m sure as hell not going to say anything. One step at a time. “But you don’t have to be perfect to be a hero.”

“Hm.” I take a second to consider that, then I add, “He said you were a hero, too.” I laugh when she looks down, blushing a little. “Yeah, not so easy when the spotlight is on you, is it?”

“No,” she softly admits. “But at least this spotlight isn’t lonely.”

“I guess not.”

She yawns loudly and the two of us fall silent, watching the slow procession of cars go by.

"Y’know,” I say eventually. “I always figured heroes were supposed to be brave.”

“You were brave.”

“I was scared shitless,” I counter, shuddering a little at the memory of how the storm rolled over Arcadia Bay. Buildings flying apart like they were made of matchsticks; pieces being thrown in every direction. Even the flames from the burning gas station had been swallowed up entirely.

“I was scared, too,” she reminds me. “But my father once told me that you have to be scared before you can be brave.”

“Your dad sounds like a smart guy.”

“He is,” she agrees, smiling. “We were all scared, Taylor. But you were the one who stood up and told us everything was going to be okay.”

“Yeah, and people just believed me. What the hell was that about?” I take a breath, running a hand over my face. “I’m an eighteen-year-old girl and I was surrounded by adults. Why didn’t one of them take charge? Why did any of them listen to me?”

“I don’t know.” She shrugs. “Maybe that’s just how it works sometimes.”

“How what works?”

“Providence.”

This time yesterday, I might have laughed at her for saying something like that. At the start of the week, I definitely would have. “You really think so?”

“I do.”

“But...why me? Why either of us?”

“Mysterious ways, Taylor.” Yawning again, Kate leans over to rest her head on my shoulder. “Mysterious ways.”

 

-------------------

END PART X

-------------------

 

Clean Slate

 


 

October 13, 2013
FEMA Relief Camp
Tillamook, Oregon

For all the times people told me I wasn’t going to amount to anything, I bet they never thought I’d end up living in an actual refugee camp. I mean, it’s technically a ‘relief centre’. And sure, I could leave anytime I wanted to. But I think saying I spent time ‘living in a refugee camp’ sounds kinda badass, so I’m sticking with that.

Besides, whatever people want to call it, it sure looks like a refugee camp. Just rows and rows of white tents set up in the fields around the local high school. Long walkways made of wooden pallets run between them, keeping my boots out of the churned mud that a thousand feet very quickly turned the ground into. So much for football season. Sorry, Tillamook Junior High.

I gotta hand it to those FEMA guys, though; they work hella fast.

The storm hit Arcadia Bay at 8am, spent about an hour ripping the whole town to shreds, and then it was just gone. Me, Max, and Victoria emerged from the bunker at about 10:30 to find blue skies and not much else. Almost all of the trees had been torn up, laying flat all around us, like a gigantic lawn mower had just rolled right over our heads. The barn, Jefferson’s Bentley, Nathan’s truck – all of it was gone.

It was pretty scary. For me, at least. Max and Victoria had seen it all before. It wasn’t until a few hours later that it occurred to me; even if my truck had made it to the barn, there’s no way it would’ve survived the storm. It’d been doomed one way or another. In a weird way, I was glad I had the chance to part ways with it on my own terms, instead of coming up to find it gone.

Cell reception was long gone (probably because the tower was, too) so the three of us made our way to Tillamook on foot. That fucking sucked. The part of the highway closest to us was covered in fallen trees, and it took us an hour and a half to make it as far as Hobson Point.

We’d been exhausted by the time we’d reached the edge of the storm’s path, and I never thought I’d have been so relieved to see the National Guard. The three of us got tossed in the back of an ambulance and driven right into town. It was a ten-minute drive, but I think we were all asleep in the first two and we woke up to find the FEMA camp already up and running.

If I paid taxes, I’d be happy to see them being put to good use.

I’d love to say that the first thing we did was find our families and have a great big tearful reunion, but that’s not what happened. The three of us had some shit to work out first.

After we got out of the ambulance, all three of us headed to the nearest liquor store. The dude working there was chill as fuck, too. He took one look at us – tired, dirty, and pretty much entirely out of fucks to give - and asked if we were from Arcadia Bay. We said yeah, and he just nodded and said we looked twenty-one to him.

Then we got a room at the nearest hotel (Victoria might’ve changed into Future Victoria, but she still had Original Recipe Victoria’s purse and the credit cards inside it) and finally let loose with all the shit we’ve been bottling up. Once we got started, everything came spilling out. We spent the rest of the day (and a good part of the night) drinking, talking, crying, laughing, screaming at each other, apologizing, consoling, hugging it out, and then drinking some more.

I learned about almost all of the ‘red lights’ Max had been keeping from me. Some of them weren’t as bad as I thought they’d be, others were way worse, but for a couple of them I gave in to Max’s begging and let her keep them to herself.

She flat-out refused to tell either of us what happened to Jefferson, though, and no amount of demanding, cajoling, wheedling, or guilt-tripping could get her to change her mind. All she’d say is that it was her nightmare, and she wasn’t going to share it with anyone.

Victoria had some stuff to say about Rachel, but I had some stuff to say about Nathan, too. I’m pretty sure that if Max hadn’t been there, we both would’ve started throwing punches. Max was right about her, though. To my shock and fucking horror, I do like her. I actually think we’re gonna be pretty good friends.

The next morning I woke up in the bathtub with a sore back and the absolute worst hangover I’ve ever had in my life, but I still couldn’t stop smiling. For the first time in fucking forever, I wasn’t a little bit disappointed to find myself back in my own life. I actually felt hope.

Once I woke up Vic (curled up in an armchair) and Max (sprawled out on the floor beside the untouched bed), we went back out into the world and finally got in touch with our worried (and pretty pissed off) families. They’d all made it out safely.

Max’s parents had made it to one of the emergency muster points in Wheeler with Mom, and hadn’t made it down to Tillamook for another 24 hours. Max wasn’t exactly pumped to explain things to them, and I don’t really blame her. It’s one thing to get caught up in time travel bullshit, and another to be the cause of it. She’s supposed to be talking with them now, though. I’ll be meeting her right after.

Victoria told her mom and dad the truth as soon as she saw them, but she pretty much had to. They’d seen OG Victoria the day before the storm, and forty-eight hours later she’d aged two years. Along with her big-time attitude adjustment, they were actually pretty easy to convince. They’d mostly just been happy she was safe, right up until she confessed what she’d done to Kate Marsh.

Holy shit, did those smiles vanish in a hurry. Me and Max made ourselves scarce after that. I’m pretty sure she’s planning to go talk to Kate today, and that’s probably gonna suck.

As for me? Well, even though Douche-vid spent the whole storm running around with his phone turned off, somehow I’m the bad guy for not immediately answering his many, many calls. He’d headed up to Barnesdale during the storm, along with a bunch of people from Blackwell, and he’d actually made it down to Tillamook before Mom did. He’d started looking for me (unaware that I was sleeping it off in a hotel room) and had himself a nice little freak-out when he couldn’t find me.

After Mom got here, the two of them spent a couple hours getting each other even more amped up about it. So much that by the time I did get in touch with them, they both yelled enough that I didn’t feel like sharing any more than I had to. And even if El Dickbag Supreme already knows the score, he’s not going to say shit unless he knows I’ll back him up.

Which I will, eventually. I’m just waiting for the right moment to bring it up. And whatever Max might think, that isn’t the same thing as stalling.

Finally reaching the tent we’ve been calling home for the last twenty-four hours or so, I shoulder past the entrance flap and immediately recognize the tinny sound of the small radio Mom had in the car when she finally left town with Max’s mom and dad.

“...and although NOAA officials have refused to comment on the actions of Clifford Matheson, the lone meteorologist staffing the Bayview weather monitoring station during the night of the storm, or on the seemingly unfounded emergency weather SMS he transmitted on an otherwise clear night, there can be no doubt that his decision to do so saved over a thousand lives.

“Matheson’s impromptu AM broadcasts, which he dubbed Radio Free NOAA, have since gained viral fame. Both the NOAA office in Portland and the agency headquarters in Washington D.C. have been inundated with calls, e-mails, and even protestors demanding that Matheson be cleared of any charges of wrongdoing, even though no such charges have been brought forth.

“Meanwhile, the Federal Emergency Management Agency is on-site to offer care and support to Arcadia Bay’s displaced residents. The relief camp, located in the nearby town of Tillamook, Oregon, was assembled and operational less than six hours after the storm had passed. FEMA’s quick response to the disaster stands as a testament to the major reforms and restructuring the agency has undergone since Hurricane Katrina.

“Tragically, not all residents heeded the warning, instead choosing to try weathering the storm in their homes. Although the exact number of dead had yet to be determined, current estimates are...”

“Ugh. Turn that stupid thing off,” I grumble, dropping the big paper bag I’ve had tucked under one arm onto my cot. Fucking news bastards. Bad enough that they’re swarming all over the camp looking for the next hard-hitting interview; I don’t need to listen to them spout it all back at me, too.

Mom spares me a brief glance. “I’m listening.”  

“Listening to what? It’s been two days and they’ve just been repeating the same shit over and over.” I drop into the folding lawn chair I found yesterday, scowling at the radio. “I mean, isn’t there anything else happening in the country right now?”

“The entire town just got wiped off the map, sweetheart,” she says sadly, as if I need to be reminded. “As far as the media is concerned, nothing else is happening anywhere right now.”

“She’s right, Chloe,” David chimes in, like he always fucking does. “Twenty-four-hour news channels live for this kind of thing.”

“Fucking vultures,” I mutter as I pull a cardboard food container out of the bag and hand it to Mom; David’s just gets tossed on the cot next to him. Opening my own, I scowl at the mediocre-looking bologna sandwich inside. “Is this the best they can do? I don’t pay taxes so the government can feed me this crap.”

“Since when do you pay taxes?” David asks, smirking. Even though I was thinking the same thing just five minutes ago, I still consider telling him to go eat a dick. The only thing that stops me is something Max told me about the first timeline, about how David reacted when he learned that I’d been killed. After all the shit he’s put me through, I can barely wrap my head around the idea that he actually cares about me. If it’d come from anyone other than Max, I’d have called bullshit in a second.

Considering that, and after everything that’s happened, getting in a fight with David just feels like a waste of time. And now that I’m thinking about it, this is probably as good a time as any to tell them what’s going to happen next.

“So, I’m getting out of here,” I say, and Mom gives me an exasperated look.

“Oh, for goodness sake, Chloe. If it bothers you that much, I’ll switch it off.” She twists the radio’s volume dial until it clicks. “There. Better?”

“No, I mean I’m leaving. With Max, first thing tomorrow.”

“Leaving?” She blinks, like the word doesn’t quite make sense.

“Yeah, leaving. As in, going to somewhere that isn’t here, and then not coming back.”

“W-what?” she stammers. “Sweetheart, you can’t just leave.”

“I sure can.”

“But...why?”

“Why not? It’s not like I’ve got anywhere else to be. The house is gone, David’s job is a bunch of scattered bricks and yours exploded.”

“I know that, but...” She shrugs helplessly. “I’m sure we’ll figure something out.”

“I already did. And it’s me and Max, leaving together.”

“Where will you go?” For a woman with a nineteen-year-old daughter, she’s having a lot of trouble with the idea of that daughter moving away. “What will you do for money?”

“I’m sure we’ll figure something out,” I answer, smirking a little. Honestly, I’ve got no idea what we’ll do. I know the medical bills are going to add up fast, but I also know I can’t stay here anymore. Victoria said she had an idea, but she was pretty tight-lipped about the details.

“Chloe...”

“Joyce,” David interrupts. “Would you mind giving Chloe and I a moment alone?”

Oh, fuck my life. I swear to god, if Douche-vid tries to drop some bullshit fatherly wisdom or something, I might actually throw something at him. If he tries to strongarm me into staying, I’ll definitely throw something at him.

Mom doesn’t say anything, glancing between us. And as much as I love her, the wary look on her face makes me want to scream until my throat bleeds. Every time I tried to tell her that David had hit me – every single fucking time – she’d taken his side. She’d say shit like ‘stop exaggerating, Chloe’ and ‘don’t blame David because you got into a fight with someone’. She always acted like the idea of him getting pissed off and taking a swing at me was completely crazy. Like I was just some delinquent teen making up stories about her innocent stepdad.

But then there’d be rare moments like this one, when she’d hesitate or give me and David a look that revealed the truth; that she knew perfectly fucking well what was going on, and that she was just too gutless to stand up for her own daughter’s safety.

Like I said, I love her. But she’s smoking crack if she thinks I’ll keep living with her and David if I don’t have to.

And as for David himself? After everything that’s happened in the last couple of days, I’m betting he’ll think twice before losing his cool. Whatever this is, I might as well get it over with.

“It’s fine, Mom,” I say, not looking at her.

“Oh. Alright,” Mom nods, standing up. “I’ll be right outside, though.”

“Uh-huh.” I don’t bother watching her leave, fixing El Douche with an unimpressed look. “If you’re gonna try to change my mind, you might as well save your breath.”

“I’m not.” Well, there’s a plot twist for you. “There’s just someone I thought you ought to know about before you go.”

“And who’s that?”

“Private First-Class Chester Patrick Munroe.” He says, and as soon as the name leaves his mouth he looks like he wants to take it back and walk away. “Good kid. Good soldier, too. He was about your age, joined up right out of high school. He just wanted to serve his country.”

“Uh...okay.”

He sighs. “You ever heard of ‘Don’t Ask Don’t Tell’?”

I’ve heard the phrase before. Something to do with gay people in the Army, I think. “Pretend I haven’t.”

“The official title was Defense Directive 1304.26, and it was a bullshit half-assed policy pushed through by a cowardly administration. It said that gay people could serve in the military as long as they didn’t openly state they were gay.” He shakes his head. “Basically, homosexuals were only allowed to wear a uniform as long as they stayed in the closet. And while the Army wasn’t allowed to ask if someone was gay, if they admitted it themselves then they got discharged.”

“I’m guessing ol’ Chester was gay?”

“Yes, he was. He was also from an extremely conservative family and was struggling with a lot of internalized homophobia. Poor kid had himself all tied up in knots about it.” He hesitates. “So he did exactly what soldiers are told to do if they’ve got a problem. He went to talk to his Sergeant.”

“Lemme guess. That was you.”

“That was me. And I...” He looks down and actually seems ashamed. “I did what I was supposed to do. I reported him to the chain of command.”

I’m on my feet in a heartbeat. “You fucking what?!”

“I’m not proud of it, Chloe. If I could take it back, I’d do it in a heartbeat. I’m not making any excuses for myself, but...” He takes a second to collect his thoughts. “Do you remember when I told you about my friend, Phil Becker? About how he was killed by an IED?”

“Yeah. So?”

“The Army has procedures in place for overseas operations. Rules that soldiers are supposed to follow in order to minimize those kinds of risks. Things like proper route reconnaissance, defensive postures, responses to suspected devic-”

“So?” I interrupt. “What the hell does that have to do with anything?”

“Thing is, those rules get pretty old after a while. Especially in places like Iraq and Afghanistan, when you’re already exhausted, and those rules are the only thing standing between you and a shower. It gets easy to justify cutting corners. That’s what happened the day Phil got killed, and after that I got a little...militant...about doing things by the book.”

I roll my eyes, because seriously? “No shit.”

For a second he looks like he’s about to snap back at me, then he looks down again. “The rules said that if a soldier disclosed that he was gay, it gets reported and they get discharged. Simple as that.” He swallows heavily. “It was supposed to be about unit cohesion. Soldiers’ effectiveness as a team.”

“What?” I snort. “Can’t get any killing done if people like me are around gaying up the place?”

“I...I wish I could say it was more complicated than that, but it wasn’t. When all was said and done, Don’t Ask Don’t Tell was institutionalized discrimination, just like every single regulation like it. It took me a long time – too long – to see it for the bullshit it was.”

“So, what? You got Chester kicked out of the Army?”

He clenches his fists and I force myself not to flinch. “I don’t know if it was the notice itself or if he just couldn’t bear the idea of going back to his family, but the day Munroe found out he was being dishonorably discharged, he went back to his barracks room and shot himself. The last thing he said to me that day was ‘I really thought you’d have my back, Sarge’.

“I got out of the Army not long after. I came back to Arcadia Bay to try and start over, but the past is a tough thing to shake.” It’s like he has to force himself to look me in the eye. “I didn’t pull the trigger, Chloe, but I may as well have. And I’m going to have to live with that for the rest of my life.”

“So...what? Am I supposed to feel bad for you now?”

His brow furrows, like he’s confused by the response. “Excuse me?”

“What happened to that guy is all kinds of shitty, but do you really expect any sympathy from me? If it weren’t for Rachel, Chester’s suicide wouldn’t have been the only one you were responsible for.”

“What are you talking about?”

Un-fucking-believable. Apparently he needs it spelled out for him. Does he honestly not realize that he almost did the same thing to me? “You came into my life like you owned it. Your shit started appearing one day, and suddenly pictures of my dad were coming off the walls.”

He scowls at me, like I’ve somehow fucking offended him. “Now, I never aske-”

“Stop,” I interrupt. “I listened to you, now you listen to me.”

“...fine.”

“You were an angry, chauvinistic hardass to me from day one. You and my mom had only been on, like, five dates before you started in with your ‘tough love’ bullshit. I lost my father and my best friend in the same week, and you actually thought you knew how fix that?”

He opens his mouth to say something, but I manage to silence him with a glare.

“Here’s a question for you, David,” I continue. “Can you think of a single time you were nice to me – just fucking nice to me – when Mom wasn’t in the room? Because I can’t.”

“I...” I can see him racking his brain for an example. He seems surprised when he comes up empty. I’m not.

“Exactly. What you did – all you did – was shout at me, and belittle me, and treat me like I was a fucking failure just for being the person I was. I had to live like that for a year before I met Rachel. A fucking year, never knowing what was going to set you off next. Do you really think I never considered ending it?”

“Chloe, I...”

“I had the fucking razorblade in my hand when Rachel talked me down. It was a few hours after I told my own mother that her new husband had hit me. You remember that? I was sixteen years old. I had a black eye that you gave me, and you just stood there while she told me not to make up stories. I wanted to kill you for that, but figured it’d be easier to just kill myself.”

“I...I said I was sor-”

“Don’t you fucking dare,” I snarl. “You always said you were sorry. You always said it’d never happen again, and it always fucking did. Well, if you’re gonna say it now, you’d better mean it.” I lean in. “Because I swear to god, if you ever touch me again, I’ll gouge your fucking eyes out with my bare hands.”

For a second, he actually has the goddamn fucking audacity to look amused. “I doub-”

“Or I’ll just let Max take care of you,” I add, and his jaw snaps practically shut. He’s got no idea Max’s powers might be gone, and I’m in no rush to tell him. “She bent reality in half to save me from myself. What do you think she’d do to you?”

I lean back again, giving him a second to think on that before I continue.

“Now, I don’t know about you, but I’m pretty fucking tired of this whole...thing.” I gesture between us. “Which is why I’m willing to try starting over with some new rules. And you don’t even have to worry about having to remember them; there’s only three, and they’re dead fucking simple.”

He grunts but doesn’t say anything. Turns out Army-boy can be quiet. Who knew?

“First of all, you are not my father, and you never, ever will be. I don’t answer to you in any way, and you don’t get to dictate any part of how I live my life, ever. Got it?” I wait for him to nod. “Second, you’ll get exactly as much respect from me as you give. Act like an asshole, get treated like an asshole.”

He frowns again, then sighs, looking away. “I suppose I can’t argue with that.”

“No, you can’t. Finally,” I jab a finger at him. “If I hear you’ve raised your hand to my mother one fucking time – if I even suspect it - I will end you. No mercy. No second chance. Just a stain on the fucking wall. You understand me?”

I see the brief surge of indignance in his eyes and I silently dare him to say he’d ‘never do something like that’, but he’s not that stupid. There’ve been too many fights between the two of us over the years, and too many times that he let his temper take over. He hasn’t got a leg to stand on here. He knows it, and I know it.

“...understood.”

“Don’t test me, David. You’ll lose.”

He gives me another sharp nod and, for once, precisely none of the bullshit attitude I’m used to.

“Alright then,” I finish, standing. “Good talk.”

He looks like he still had more to say, but I’m not even remotely interested. I’m out of the tent before he can say another word, only slowing down to give Mom a nod on my way by. “Don’t worry, we didn’t kill each other.”

“Chloe, wait.”

I sorta want to ignore her and keep walking, but she’s still my mom. Just because I’m leaving doesn’t mean I want to leave on bad terms. “Yeah?”

She blinks, surprised. I don’t think she actually expected me to stop. “I just...can we talk about this? Please?”

I think she knows that she can’t change my mind, but I guess there’s no harm in letting her feel like she tried. “Look, I’ve got somewhere else to be right now, but...”

“Chloe...”

But I’ll be back later tonight. We can talk about it over shitty ham sandwiches, okay?”

“Thank you, sweetheart.”

She looks so relieved; it almost makes me feel bad. I wonder how thankful she’ll be at breakfast tomorrow when I drop the cancer and time travel bombs on her at the last minute. Preferably while Max is waiting outside in our shitty $1800 used car with the engine running.

 


 

October 13, 2013
Starbucks Coffee
Tillamook, Oregon

“Starbucks just doesn’t taste as good here as it does in Seattle.”

“...you think you’re a time traveler?”

“I mean, I know saying that makes me sound like the worst kind of hipster, but it really doesn’t.”

“Max, please...”

“Maybe it’s the beans? Like, what it they have some secret coffee bean reserve that only goes to Seat-”

“Stop talking about your damn coffee, Maxine!”

As much as I want to snap back, I force myself not to. Someone here needs to keep their cool and from the way Mom and Dad are glaring at me, I don’t think it’s going to be either of them. Taking a slow sip, I place my coffee cup down and give Dad a decidedly unimpressed look. “First of all, it’s rude to shout in public.”

“I beg your pard-” Dad starts, but I cut him off.

Second, don’t think for one instant that I won’t walk right out of here if you do it again.” It breaks my heart to see how hurt they are at the threat.

I hate having to act this way. It’s why I’ve been avoiding (hiding from) them for the last twenty-four hours. I even went as far as to crash in Victoria’s motel room, just because Mom & Dad wouldn’t think to look for me there.

I wish that talking to them could be as easy as talking to Chloe had been, but if that phone call on the morning of the storm showed me anything, it’s that I need to keep control of the conversation. Unfortunately, that means that ‘nice’ Max might need to let ‘hardass’ Max take the wheel a few times.

It also means not throwing up from anxiety, but so far, so good.

“Now, let’s get the basics out of the way. Yes, I’m a time traveler. No, this isn’t a joke or a prank. No, I don’t expect you to believe me right away. Yes, I can prove it.”

“Oh, can you now?” Mom asks, skeptically. She’s definitely got her lawyer face on now; she wants facts and evidence.

“Sure can,” I reply, smirking my smirkiest smirk. “Tell me, how long does a tattoo take to heal?”

“I...” Her stern expression falters; that’s obviously not something she was expecting. “What?”

“How long does it take for a tattoo to heal?” I repeat. “You’ve got three, don’t you?”

Her cheeks turn a little red. “Only two, Max.”

“No, it’s three,” I correct. Too bad only one of us remembers that particular mother/daughter heart-to-heart conversation. It was pretty enlightening. Wine may have been involved. “The butterfly on your left hip that you got in high school, the raven on your right shoulder blade from your first year of college, and then there’s the one on your-”

Alright!” she shouts. Ducking down in her seat, she glances around furtively. Even Dad looks a little startled. “When did you see...”

“I’ve never actually seen it,” I reassure her, adding, “Thank god.”

She looks pretty relieved to hear that, and I don’t blame her. “Then how do you know about it?”

“The same way I know about that little fling you had the summer after college. You know, while you were backpacking in Europe?”

“You mean Charlie?” Dad asks, unimpressed. “You’ll have to do better than knowing about one of your mom’s ex-boyfriends.”

“Right.” I nod, not looking away from Mom. “Charlie.”

I see it on her face a half-second later; she knows I know. Pretending to scratch my nose, I move a hand so Dad can’t see me silently mouth the name ‘Charlotte’. Mom’s eyes go as wide as saucers and her blush goes into overdrive.

“Honey?” Dad gives her a concerned look. “Are you alright?”

“Anyway,” I jump in, earning a brief, grateful look from Mom. “How long does a tattoo take to completely heal?”

“I...I don’t know.” She shrugs. “About a month and a half?”

“And the last time you two saw me in person was about five weeks ago, right?” They nod. Holding out my arm, I roll my wrist over and tug my sleeve up a few inches. “Well, does this look freshly healed?”

“...that’s a tattoo.”

“So it is.”

“Max...” She hesitates, glancing at Dad. “Sweetie, that’s a pride tattoo.”

“Mhm.”                  

“Why do you have a pride tattoo?” Dad murmurs, staring at my wrist.

“I dunno. I just thought it was pretty.” I leave them hanging for a second, because at least one of us should be enjoying this conversation. “Oh, and because I’m gay. That’s probably what you meant.”

“...oh.”

“Is that a problem?”

“No!” Dad practically shouts.

“Of course not!” Mom agrees, quickly.

“I just...” He looks like he’s searching for the right words. “I guess I thought coming out to your parents was supposed to be a bigger deal?”

“Oh, it was. I was all nerves, but you guys were really cool about it.”

“What? When?”

“Thanksgiving.”

“You didn’t say anything on Thanksgiving.”

Next Thanksgiving.” I’m laying it on pretty thick, but I really need this to land.

“As in, almost two months from now?”

“For you. Almost two years ago for me,” I pause, glad I took some time to rehearse earlier. This is working just like I hoped it would. The longer I can keep them off-balance, the better. “Though to be fair, you already knew I was gay when I ‘came out’ so it’s not like I surprised you or anything.”

“We did?”

“You saw us making out at the mall.” I shrug. “It was a whole thing.”

Dad goes from bewildered to stern(ish) in a heartbeat. “And exactly who was the other half of ‘us’?”

“Chloe.”

And he’s back to bewildered. They both are. This is actually kinda fun.

“Chloe...Price?” Mom asks, slowly.

“Yup.”

“You’re...you and Chloe are...?”

“Mhm.” I nod.

“How long? I mean, when did this start?”

“For me? Since next Halloween.” I pause. “About four days ago for her. The hazards of time travel.”

“Max, I...” She looks away for a second, and I see her eyes harden a little. Damn it. I almost had her, but now she’s gone back to ‘thinking rationally’. It’s funny; Mom is one of the smartest people I know but looking at things logically doesn’t always help in the wide world of time travel. “Sweetheart, it doesn’t matter whether you’re gay or straight or have a tattoo. We love you no matter what. You don’t need to make up stories.”

So she’s not going to take my word for it? Fine. That’s what backup plans are for.

“What about this?” Reaching up, I tug the borrowed beanie off my head and watch my parents’ jaws drop when my hair, longer than they’ve ever seen it, falls past my shoulders. I swear, not cutting my hair was probably one of the smartest choices I could’ve made. People can explain away a lot of stuff, but there’s absolutely no way to convincingly fake two years of hair growth. “Think I’m making this up, too?”

“That’s...that can’t...” Mom swallows, hesitantly reaching out. I lean in, patiently allowing her to check for extensions or signs of a wig. After a moment she sits back and stares at me, stunned. “You’re...you’re really telling the truth, aren’t you?”

“Yup,” I say, absently tying my hair back into a ponytail.

“But...but how?”

“That’s a long story, and I think it’d be best if I started from the beginning.” The conversation had been kind of fun up till now (for me, at least) but it’s time to get serious. “You guys better get comfortable. This is going to take a while.”

 

 

A Wing And A Prayer

Chapter Notes

Recursion has its own soundtrack! Each track corresponds to one of the story's 13 sections (prologue, Parts 1-11, and epilogue). Check it out on either Spotify and YouTube.

October 13, 2013
FEMA Relief Camp
Tillamook, Oregon

I’m fine. Everything is going to be fine. I’m insanely nervous and Taylor is going to be here any minute now and my palms are sweating which is apparently an actual thing, but that’s all fine.

Max said that Taylor’s gay, and I trust Max. Chloe’s pretty sure that Taylor’s bi, at least, and Max trusts Chloe. And just because I’ve never seen Taylor show the slightest interest in girls, that doesn’t mean that Max and Chloe are both totally wrong and that Taylor’s going to freak out and not be my friend anymore and possibly slap me.

Actually, she might do that last one no matter what she is. I may have it coming.

I mean, sure, maybe I should’ve been a little faster responding to one of her 38 text messages. Or maybe I could’ve returned one of her calls. And maybe it wasn’t the most mature strategy to turn off my phone and hide like a coward in my motel room until Max threatened to drag me out kicking and screaming.

It’s just that after I ran into Courtney and she told me (after she was done with all the crying and hugging) how frantic Taylor was, I got myself so psyched out that I almost booked myself a flight to Ohio. It’s not that I actually wanted to go to Ohio; it had just been the first flight I could probably make it to.

Yeah, I wasn’t in a very clear headspace. And, if I’m being honest, I was still a little drunk.

I don’t know if I actually would’ve done it, though, because before I had a chance Chloe grabbed my phone out of my fucking hand and called Taylor for me. I could actually hear Tay yelling before Chloe suggested she save it for when she saw me in person.

Fucking bitch.

Then she agreed on a time and place (without so much as asking me!), hung up, tossed my phone back and had the fucking gall to say ‘you’re welcome’.

So now I’m here, sitting on the bleachers of one of the baseball diamonds FEMA has taken over, trying not to pick at my fingernails or think about whether I still have time to run away and hide.

“God damn it, Victoria...” I mutter. “Just calm your shit down already.”

There’s nothing to be nervous about.

It’s fine.

I’m fi-

“Victoria!”

Oh my god, there she is.

Rocketing to my feet, I spin around to see the only girl I’ve ever loved standing right there, shining and vibrant and full of life. It’s been so long since I saw her last, but she looks just as beautiful as she does in my memories.

She also looks really fucking pissed. And while I acknowledge that last part isn’t actually a good thing, that doesn’t change the fact that Taylor is so unbelievably hot when she’s angry. Her cheeks are all flushed and her eyes are blazing and she’s practically humming with barely restrained energy. I swear, it just makes me want to drag her somewhere out of sight and tear her clothes off.

I don’t even care that it’s me she’s pissed at right now. It’s like staring down a sexy tiger.

A sexy tiger that’s getting closer and not slowing down.

I barely have time to brace myself before Taylor practically crashes into me, wrapping her arms around me and holding on for dear life, and for a moment my whole world narrows down to just her – the sound of her breathing, the smell of her shampoo. I feel weightless and dizzy at the simple fact she’s alive and safe and right here in my arms. So much so that even when she pulls away and says something, I’m in too much of a daze for the words to register.

Then she scowls and slaps my shoulder. “Well?!”

Oh, right. She’s still mad at me.

“Oh...uh...” I flounder for a second. “Sorry, I didn’t hear what y-”

“I asked where the hell you’ve been?!” she growls.

“Um...here? In Tillamook, I mean.”

You know how they say honesty is always the best policy?

They lied.

“WHAT?!” she cries, stepping back to glare at me.

“I...”

“It’s been two days! Two days, Victoria! Do you have any idea how scared I was?!”

“I was...”

“I’ve been going to all the hospitals and FEMA camps and...” she hesitates, her voice cracking. “...and even the m-morgues. And you’ve been there the whole time?!

“Oh, Taylor. I’m-” I try, but she plows right over me.

“I went back into Arcadia Bay four times with the volunteer search & rescue teams, looking for you, and you couldn’t even send me one text message to say you were okay?!”

“I didn’t...” Despite the number of times I practiced this conversation, I can’t seem to make my mouth and brain cooperate. “I was...”

“You were what?” she presses. “Too busy to think about me?”

Desperate to dispel that crazy-ass notion, I blurt out the first thing that comes to mind. “I was scared.”

I don’t think that was the answer she was expecting. “You were scared.”

I nod.

“Of what?” she asks, a faint note of apprehension creeping into her voice. She looks like she’s worried the answer might be that I was afraid of her. And while that’s admittedly sort of true, what possible reason would she have to think so?

“It’s hard to explain,” I hedge. When I see her scowl start to return, I step in close and gently lay my hands on her shoulders. “But I’m going to try my best, okay?”

I’m not sure how to react when she doesn’t say anything. Instead she just blinks up at me owlishly, looking a little startled, and it takes me an embarrassingly long moment to figure out why.

I’ve always been taller than average. So much that when we’d started our senior year at Blackwell, I’d been particularly satisfied to learn that at 5’7”, I was the tallest girl in the entire school; something I’d used to my advantage more than once.

That’s probably why (for lack of a better term) I got used to looking down at Taylor, who’s always been a little shorter than me. And even though I wouldn’t have thought that one extra inch would make such a difference, it’s only now that we’re standing so close to each other that I realize how much she has to tilt her head back to look me in the eye.

She must not have noticed the difference at first, but now shock is written all over her face. Leaning back a little, she looks down at my feet. She must’ve thought I was wearing heels for some reason, because her eyes widen even more at the sight of my runners.

“Victoria, are...did you...” She trails off, her brow furrowed in confusion. She slowly lifts her hand until it’s level with her eyeline, then hesitantly moves it toward me. I feel the feather-light brush of her fingertips just below my lips a second later, and she actually gasps. 

“Taylor, I...”

“You’re...taller?” she murmurs, like she can't believe what she's seeing. “Oh my god...you’re actually taller than you were on Thursday.”

I start to say something, but then her fingers move to glide delightfully through my hair and all at once I’m too flustered to remember whatever it was I was going to say.

“Your hair looks longer, too.” She lifts her other hand to cup my cheek. I’m blushing so hard by now that I’m almost surprised she doesn’t burn herself. “But...how?”

“Like I said, it’s hard to explain.” I take a breath, forcing my voice to keep steady. This all seemed so much easier when I practiced it in my head. “There’s a lot to it, but the simplest answer is that I’m...uh...I’m actually...”

“Older,” she says, and my thoughts slam to a halt. I’d been so sure that I’d have to work convince her. That it’d be a huge, uphill battle getting her to accept a truth I could barely prove. Not that she’d just...just...guess.

And as dumb as it sounds, a little part of me feels the tiniest bit offended. Sure, I look a little different, but not as much as Max. She’s got long hair and tattoos and piercings and shit like that! Physically, she’s got another whole year on me, and no one accused her of looking old.

Some flicker of indignance must show on my face, because Taylor suddenly looks like she’s stuck somewhere between bewilderment and embarrassment. “Sorry! I don’t mean that in a bad way, I swear!”

“No, It's fine. It's just, well..." I shrug, a little helplessly, wishing this could be going as smoothly as I'd planned. "I guess I didn't think you'd notice right away?”

I realize how dumb that is the second the words are past my lips, so I'm not surprised when her bafflement briefly gives way to a look that practically screams ‘are you kidding me?’. Of course she noticed. Taylor always notices things like that. She notices when I get a quarter inch trimmed off my hair. I once changed my foundation to something half a shade darker, and she spotted the difference from across the room.

Fuck. Chloe is gonna be such a smug bitch about this, too. Apparently, she’d realized Max was older the second she laid eyes on her, and she’d bet me ten bucks that Taylor would realize the same thing about me. I’d argued (for some reason) that Chloe had only been able to guess the truth because she already knew that time travel was real, reminding her that when Taylor had seen Max, she hadn’t noticed anything unusual.

Naturally, Chloe pointed out that in Taylor’s universe, Max and I aren’t even in the same galaxy. Something I found annoyingly hard to argue with.

And of course, she just had to be right.

“Vicky?” The sound of my name yanks me back into the present and sends a warm rush right through my heart. “What’s going on?”

“It’s...” I swallow. My mouth is so dry that my tongue feels like sandpaper. “Can we...I mean, we should probably sit down.”

“Okay. Sure.” She nods again, letting me lead her to a bench. I give her a little space, not wanting to overwhelm her, but the second we sit she takes one of my hands in both of hers. Honestly, I have absolutely no issue with that.

“Before I get into this whole...thing,” I begin. “I want you to know that I was worried about you, too. I can’t even tell you how happy I was when I found out you’d gotten out of town safely.”

“Oh, yeah. That was intense.” She laughs, a little nervously. “It definitely got a little touch and go for a minute there, but we made it.”

“Intense?” I ask, a little confused. “I thought Blackwell was evacuated before the sky had even clouded over.”

“Yeah, but...” She trails off. “Never mind.”

“What do you mean, never mind?”

“Forget it.”

“You got out with the other Blackwell students, right?”

“We can talk about it later, Victoria.”

“Or we can talk about it no-”

“Hey! I’m not the one who’s here to explain herself, remember?” she fires back.

“Fine,” I sigh. I can let that go for the moment, but we’ll definitely be coming back to it.

“Good. You can start by explaining how you knew about the storm. There wasn’t any sign that it was coming, but you still knew to warn me.”

Looks like past-Victoria decided to get proactive. I wish I could thank her for that.

“That’s kind of a tough question to answer first.” I’d hoped to ease her into this, but no; Taylor had to go and be all perceptive and to-the-point. “There’s a whole backstory.”

“Start there, then. I mean, you did say you were going to tell me everything,” she says, casually, as if I’m supposed to know that.

“I did?”

“Yes, you did. It was right after you...y’know...” She glances away, smiles, and mumbles something that sounds a hell of a lot like ‘kissed me’.”

What?

What?

Holy shit! When I told baby-me she should tell Taylor how she felt, I didn’t think her closeted ass would do it right away! And now I have to jump in with no idea what...wait a sec.

Taylor’s here. I (kinda) kissed Taylor and she’s still here. She was worried about me and was out looking for me and she’s smiling after I kissed her. She didn’t run!

“I...I kissed you?”

“I mean, I know it wasn’t a kiss kiss, but...” I guess I look about as bewildered as I feel, because she trails off and peers at me uncertainly. “You don’t remember?”

“No.” Her hurt expression is like a knife right through my heart, so I hurry to add, “But there’s a reason for that! My memories of the last few days don’t exactly match yours.”

The hurt vanishes, but nothing really appears to replace it. She’s just staring at me, blankly. “...excuse me?”

“It’s like, let’s pretend I don’t remember anything between now and...er...” When did Max say she talked to the other Victoria? Everything would be the same before then, right? “About four o’clock Wednesday afternoon.”

“Are you saying - like, literally saying - that you don’t remember the last four days?”

“No, I do. But I remember them differently. I mean, I remember a different version.”

“What do you mean, a different version? There isn’t another version. There’s one version, Vicky. Reality isn’t multiple choice.”

“Actually...”

She’s starting to look concerned. “Victoria, what the hell is going on?”

“I...” Fuck it. I’m done with this shy uncertainty crap. “It’s alright, Sweet-T. I’ve got a lot to tell you. You trust me, right?”

“Of course,” she responds instantly. “You know I do.”

“Good, because if I’m going to tell you everything then that means I have to tell you everything, and it’s a pretty insane story. There’re parts of it I can prove, and parts that you’ll just need to take my word for. Either way, I swear every word of it is true. Do you believe me?”

She nods, giving my hands a little squeeze.

“So, there’re two parts to this. One of them is huge, unbelievable, kind of scary, and is probably going to change the way you look at me for the rest of our lives. The other one...” I hesitate; this intro seemed so clever in my head, but now that I’m saying it, it just sounds kind of vague and weird. “...is a little more complicated?”

“Okay...” She’s back to looking worried. I think the whole ‘Victoria looks older’ thing is the only reason she doesn’t already think I’m nuts. “How about we start with the big scary thing and go from there?”

“Right. Big scary thing. No problem.” I take a breath. “So, I...uh...I don’t remember kissing you, and we’ll get to why I don’t remember in a minute. What’s more important right now is that I really, really, really wish I did remember, because...because I...”

Regret is a terrible thing to live with. Never again.

“Because I love you, Taylor. Because I’m in love with you.” 

“Y-you do?” Her eyes go wide. “You are?”

“So, so much.”

She looks like she has about a million questions whirling around in her head, but the one that makes it to the surface is a confused, “Since when?”

“Since we...” I try to smile, but it probably comes out as more of a cringe. “...spent Christmas together?”

“Christmas,” she echoes. “As in, last Christmas?”

“That’s right.”

“Seriously?” She’s staring at the ground, looking completely bewildered, and I’ve got no idea why. “Last Christmas?”

“Okay, I know it’s kind of...” Fucked up that I’d been loving her in secret for almost ten months? “...been a while. But I was really closeted back in 2013. I mean, now in 2013. Or back when I was in 2013...the first time.” Groaning, I drop my face into my hands. “Fuck.”

“Last Christmas,” she murmurs again. I don’t think she heard my time travel related rambling just now, which is probably for the best. “You’ve been in love with me since last Christmas...when I spent a whole week flirting with you?”

“That’s rig-” I stop, puzzling over her last nine words. But no matter how many times I run through them in my head, they just don’t make any sense. “I’m sorry...you did what?”

“Flirted with you. All week. Heavily.”

“No, you didn’t.” That’s ridiculous. She’s ridiculous. Taylor is being a ridiculous girl right now. “...did you?”

“Are you kidding me, Vicky?” She laughs. God, I’ve missed her laugh so much. “I couldn’t have been more obvious if I’d climbed into your lap and pulled my shirt off.”

“But you...I...”

“I even kissed you, dummy!” God help me, she’s cute as hell when she’s exasperated with me.

“No, you didn’t!” I say, like a complete idiot, considering that kiss pretty much changed my life.

“Yes, I did. Right there.” Her fingertip gently brushes the corner of my lips and I feel a little tingle go through my whole body. “Seriously, do you have any idea how long I had to wait near that mistletoe?”

Taylor waited by the mistletoe? For me? “H-how long?”

“Over the whole week?” She gives me an embarrassed smile. “Maybe a couple of hours.”

Okay, that’s just stupid. There’s no way I wouldn’t have noticed...wait a sec. I remember now. All those times she’d leave the room, call out for me to help her with something, then we’d end up meeting in the hall. Or the morning I came down for breakfast, and she’d seemed surprised (and, looking back, a little annoyed) that I walked into the kitchen through the dining room entrance instead of the mistletoe decorated living room entrance.

That image prompts another, then another after that. It’s just a trickle at first, then a stream, then a river of memories rushing back to me. All the moments that I’d pushed into the background so I could obsess over that kiss, suddenly bursting into vibrant color. All the smiles and casual touches. Every wink and playful comment. The hugs that lasted the tiniest bit longer than I was used to. The way she’d always seemed to want to be near me.

All the scary movies she suggested watching, even though I know she hates them, and all the time she spent curled up beside me with her face pressed into my shoulder.

The look of warm affection in her eyes every time I’d walk into the room.

Seventeen-year-old Victoria hadn’t noticed any of it, of course. That idiot was still kinda half-wondering why she enjoyed watching the cheerleader routines more than the football games. But looking back now? “Oh my god...”

“What?” Taylor asks, looking a little nervous.

“Oh my god!” I laugh, giving her a playful shove. “You thirsty bitch! You were all over me that week!”

She blinks, her mouth moving silently for a second, then throws her arms up in frustration. “Oh, for fuck’s sake! Now you notice?!”

“Well, why didn’t you just say something?” I ask, even though that’s probably the dumbest question in the universe. Maybe for the exact same reason I didn’t say anything to her for almost ten months?

“Gee, Victoria, I don’t know. Maybe because I was in love with you and scared to death about it?”

Called it.

Wait, what?

“Say that again?”

“I was scared to death! You’re my best friend and I was, like, ninety percent sure you were straight.”

“No, that’s not what I...you were in love with me?”

“I still am, you idiot!” she laughs. “You’re clever, and beautiful, and passionate, and you’ve always, always been there for me. Vicky, I’m crazy about you!”

Wow. Taylor loves me.

Taylor loves me. And at the risk of overstating things, that might be the greatest thing that’s ever happened to anyone in the history of the world.

“I love you,” I say, suddenly.

“I know,” she laughs.

“No,” I grasp her hands again, looking into her eyes, aching to hear the words. “I love you, Taylor.”

“I love you, too, Victoria,” she whispers back. Then she slides a little closer to me, her lips curving into a warm smile, wraps her arms behind my neck, and kisses me.

Okay, forget what I said before. This is the greatest thing that’s ever happened to anyone in the history of the world.

Her lips are warm and soft and taste a little like cinnamon. I feel them like I’ve never felt anything before. My whole body is practically buzzing. It’s like there are sparks dancing in my chest and a whole other kind of storm in my belly.

She kisses me like she means it, like she’s promising something, and when she finally draws back, I actually have to give my head a little shake to clear it.

She kissed me.

Taylor just kissed me.

I’ve dreamt of what it’d be like to kiss her for nearly three years, and it still felt better than I could’ve imagined. Everything feels amazing. I feel amazing, and I’m pretty sure Taylor does too. I haven’t seen her smile like this since my sixteenth birthday party, after we all played spin the bottle and oh my fucking god.

“Wait a second...how long have you felt this way about me?”

“Oh, uh...” Her eyes widen a little, and she suddenly seems very interested in looking anywhere but at me. “...a while, I guess?”

“Taylor...”

“It’s not like I was really keeping tra-” I reach out and pinch her arm. “Ow!”

“Remember who you’re talking to.”

“The girl I love?”

Okay, if she thinks that’s going to...distract...me...wow. That’s me. I’m the girl she lov-focus! “Uh-huh. Nice try.”

“Fine,” she huffs. “Maybe...possibly...since your sixteenth birthday?”

“I knew it!”

“And I know two years is a long...” she blinks. “Wait, you what?”

“I just remembered! We all played spin the bottle but when it was your turn it landed on me. Then Crissy Mordan called you a dyke-in-training and I slapped her so hard her retainer flew across the room.”

“You remember that?”

“Of course I do. Crissy was a bitch to you, so I smacked her right in her stupid bitch face. I’d do it again, too.” I feel my cheeks heat up a little. “I kinda also remember the way you spent the rest of the party pretty much glued to my side.”

“Well, yeah. You were my hero.” She grins and lifts one of my hands to her lips, softly kissing it. “You’re still my hero.”

Okay, this is it. My last chance to chicken out, because after this there’s no turning back. “You know, two years isn’t that long to wait.”

She blinks. “It isn’t?”

“Not really.” I’m standing at a crossroads right now, and I won’t say I haven’t considered both paths.

If I really wanted to, I could jump right into my old life, this time with Taylor, and blame any lapses in memory on an unfortunate head wound I suffered during the storm. I could probably even explain my appearance away. Just a few lies, and I can leave those two lost years behind me once and for all. Taylor would believe me. Everyone would believe me. And even if Max and Chloe didn’t like it, I could probably talk them into backing me up.

Or I can tell Taylor the truth, which is exactly what I’m going to do. Because I love her, and she loves me. And because I’ll be ashamed of myself for the rest of my life if I don’t. If I lied to her about this, I wouldn’t deserve to be with her at all.

Okay...deep breath...here we go. “I mean, I’ve loved you for almost three.”

“But...you said it was just since last Christmas.”

“That’s right.” I nod, confusing her even more. “See, this is the part where things start to get complicated.”

 


 

Kate wasn’t embarrassed about that night, Victoria. She was terrified. She couldn’t remember what happened, most of her own family was shitting all over her, and you tormented her about it so much that she wanted to kill herself! You need to take that video of her down RIGHT NOW and go beg for her forgiveness.

Life is going to get a lot harder when her story hits the news. She’s going to have reporters harassing her constantly. I never forgave myself for what I did to her, but now you have a chance to make things right. We both know you can be a cast-iron bitch, but now it’s time to use your powers for good.

Look out for her, Victoria. She’s counting on you.

 


 

FEMA Field Hospital
Tillamook, Oregon

She was going to kill herself, and it was all my fault. That’s the thought that’s been rattling around my head for two long years.

Kate Marsh, who never did anything to hurt anyone, was going to kill herself because of me. Looking back, it feels like one minute we were just giving her a hard time (because I had decided, for some fucking reason, that she needed to be taken down a peg) and the next minute she was up on that roof. And what’s really messed up is that while I was standing there, looking up at a girl I’d literally driven to her breaking point, all I could think was ‘why is this happening?’.

This isn’t the first time my mind has followed this particular path, and just like every time the sheer guilt makes me want to throw up.

Why didn’t I try to help her? Did the idea even come to mind? Or was I too busy filming her on my fucking phone. Who the fuck does something like that? I don’t know if it makes me a coward or just a callous bitch. Sometimes it feels like both. What’s worse, I’ve finally got the chance to make things right, and all I’ve done is sit here and stare at the cluster of prefabricated structures that make up the FEMA field hospital.

Right now, I think the scales are tilted more toward coward.

Taylor offered to come in with me, but I got the stupid idea in my head that this was something I needed to do alone. She’d insisted that Kate would want to talk rather than just scream at me (I’m still a little dubious about that...) but I’m still wishing I hadn’t turned her down.

“Fuck this,” I finally say to myself, rising from the bench I’ve been warming for nearly twenty minutes. “No more stalling.”

Pausing at the door, I allow myself one last second to steel my nerves before I head inside. The ‘front desk’ is just a man in scrubs sitting at a folding table. He looks up at me with a semi-genuine smile. “Can I help you?”

“Uh...yeah. I’m looking for someone. I think she’s here.”

“Name?”

“Victoria Chase.” When he starts skimming the list of names on his clipboard, I add, “Sorry, that’s my name. I meant Kate Marsh.”

He glances up but doesn’t comment. A second later he finds her name, tells me her bed number, and gestures to a canvas door. The hospital is basically a huge tent, and its interior is just a big open space that’s been separated into dozens of smaller spaces with free-standing curtains, offering the patients at least some semblance of privacy.

I slowly make my way down the row, counting off the numbered tags that hang next to each cot. I reach Kate’s sooner than I’d have liked, take a deep breath, raise my fist, then slowly lower it when I realize how stupid I’d look knocking on a curtain divider. Instead, I hesitantly push the fabric aside and lean in, only to discover that the space inside is empty. It’s not unoccupied; there are a few personal things, including a familiar sketchbook sitting on top of the neatly folded blanket. Unfortunately, the girl herself is nowhere to be seen.

“Damn it,” I mutter, debating whether I should try looking around or wait for her here when a small voice from behind almost scares the living hell out of me.

“Victoria?”

Startled, I spin around to find Kate Marsh standing right there with an armful of blankets, looking curiously back at me.

The last time I saw her in person was two years ago, when she was standing on that roof in the pouring rain. I sent her a card while she was in the hospital, before the storm blasted it off the face of the Earth along with the rest of the town, and every day since I’ve wished I’d gone to apologize in person.

Now here she is, alive and well, and everything I’ve always wanted to say to her vanishes from my mind in the blink of an eye. “I...uh...”

“Are you okay?” she asks, taking a tentative step closer. She looks a little wary, but there’s no anger or hatred in her eyes. It’s not much, but I’ll take what I can get.

“H-hey, Kate, ” I say, cursing the tremor in my voice as I shift from one foot to the other. “How are you doing?”

How is she doing? Seriously? I should just slap myself and save her the trouble.

“I’m...alright.” The wariness in Kate’s eyes slowly turns into curiosity as she glances between me and her ‘room’. “Were you looking for me?”

“Yeah, I was.” I nod. “I was hoping we could talk. If you’re not busy, I mean.”

Even though she has absolutely no reason to trust me, she still offers me a small, polite smile. “Sure. Come in.”

Shuffling into the small space, I take a seat on a folding metal chair as she places the blankets she’d been carrying on the end of her cot. It’s not until she settles herself down beside them that I notice the cast on her left arm. “Is that from when you fell during the storm?”

She glances down at it. “That’s right. How’d you know about that?”

“I talked to Taylor. She told me about...” I shake my head, still kind of astonished that Kate and Taylor rescued all those people. “Sounds like you two had an interesting time.”

“That’s one word for it,” she chuckles. I’d forgotten what her laughter sounded like. Or maybe I never really knew.

I look down at the cast again, smiling a little when I notice the words ‘A WILD KATE APPEARS!’ in Taylor’s handwriting. There’s also signatures from Alyssa Anderson, Brooke Scott, Warren Graham, Evan Harris, and a bunch of others I can’t read from this angle. There are a few patches of empty space and I’d love to sign, too, but there’s no way I’m going to ask. “Does...does it hurt at all?”

“A little. Nothing I can’t handle. One of the FEMA doctors was able to cast it, and I’m right-handed anyway, so it doesn’t really bother me.”

“So why are you still here?” I cringe. “I mean, if you don’t need to be in the hospital, I’d have thought your parents would’ve taken you home.”

“They were going to, but I told them I wanted stay and help,” she responds, simply.

“Help?”

Unzipping her hoodie, she holds it open to reveal a bright blue t-shirt that reads ‘FEMA Volunteer’. “I’m just staying here until they can find me a spot in one of the volunteer tents.”

I don’t even know what to say to that.

Kate’s got a broken wrist. She’s barely out of the fucking hospital herself. And after all the shit she’s taken from people over the last few weeks (and from me, in particular), I wouldn’t have blamed her if she’d decided to leave this place behind her forever.

Instead, she’d stayed. It probably hadn’t even been a tough decision for her.

How in the fuck did I ever not respect this girl?

“Mom and Dad did take Alice back to Portland, though,” Kate continues. “It was better for her. All the noise was stressing her out.”

“...Alice?” The name is familiar, but I can’t quite place it.

“My pet rabbit.”

“Oh. Right.”

We lapse into silence for a moment. She doesn’t push, patiently waiting for me to gather my thoughts. The quiet is stifling, and for a second I kind of wish she would just start screaming at me. 

Humility isn’t a new experience for me; the knowledge that I’d nearly driven someone to suicide certainly took the edge off my sense of superiority and losing virtually everything and everyone I knew a few days later pretty much annihilated the rest. Still, I fidget for a moment before forcing myself to look her in the eye.

“I’m sorry,” I begin, simply. “I know how insanely inadequate that must feel after all I’ve done, but I’m so, so sorry.”

“You are?” Kate asks, and her brief look of surprise that I could even be sorry feels like a punch in the stomach.

“Of course I am. I was cruel for no good reason at all. I didn’t think for one second about how much you were hurting. I was a monster to you and I...I had no right.”

She regards me quietly. “...then why did you do it?”

“Because...” I’d known the question was coming. How could it not be? The feeling of choking guilt returns as I search for an answer that doesn’t make me sound like some kind of fucking sadist. “Because it made me feel superior.”

“Hm.” Kate looks down, her fingertip playing at one of the pages in her sketchbook. “I talked to a councilor here. He says that a lot of bullies act the way they do because they have poor self-esteem.”

My own therapist told me the same thing, more than once. “He’s right. And I was a bully.”

She seems genuinely surprised by the admission. I think she expected me to argue with the idea. To be fair, back in 2013, I probably would have.

“You always seemed so sure of yourself.” I continue. It’s hard to admit, but I refuse to hide behind lies. “You were so open with people and secure in your faith and it made me feel like a phony. I resented you for that, and I couldn’t think of any way to cope other than tearing you down. I’m so, so sorry for that.”

“You’re not a phony, Victoria,” Kate says, her voice gentler that I would have ever expected. Then she rocks my world a little by adding, “And I accept your apology.”

“You do? Just like that?”

“Of course I do. It takes courage for someone to admit when they were wrong, and even more to genuinely apologize for it.”

“O-oh.” Kate’s face seems to blur and a second passes before I realize I’m crying. It feels like a thousand pounds have been lifted from my shoulders. Before I can say anything, Kate tilts her head to one side, smiles slightly, and leans forward to pull me into a gentle hug.

It’s too much - more than I had ever let myself hope for - and the rush of emotion that hits me feels like a punch to the gut. A heaving sob breaks free, then another as I finally let go of the guilt and self-loathing that’s been clawing at my throat for so, so long.

The harder I try to get myself under control, the more I feel like I’m spiraling. And all the while Kate holds me steady, whispering reassuring words and rubbing gentle circles on my back.

It feels like forever before the sobs begin to fade, but before too long I’m down to mere sniffles as I stare at the floor between our feet. Kate continues to rub my back, and I alternate between feeling comforted by the gesture and feeling guilty about feeling comforted.

“Any better?” Kate asks, eventually, and I look up to stare at her incredulously.

“Did you really just ask how I’m feeling?”

Kate nods solemnly.

“Seriously, how can you be so forgiving?”

“Practice, I guess?” She shrugs, offering a tiny smile that somehow makes me feel even worse. “Victoria, can I...can I ask you something?”

“Of course,” I answer, without hesitation. “Whatever you want.”

“Why are you apologizing now? I’m not trying to be mean,” she hurries to add. “But are you apologizing because you genuinely feel bad over what happened? Or is it just because the storm scared you?”

“I...” I take a second to try and come up with an explanation that doesn’t involve time travel, but it’s going to come up sooner or later and I swore to myself that I’d be honest. “Because I feel horrible for what I did. And because the guilt has been eating me alive for so long that I almost forgot what it was like to live without it.”

Her brow furrows. “But it’s only been...”

“And because Max is a time traveler.”

I expect her to look shocked or incredulous, but she just blinks and asks, “She told you about that?”

Honestly, I don’t know why I expected anything else. “Wait, Max told you about that?”

“When she and Chloe visited me at the hospital.” There’s a faint hint of reproach in her tone, and an unasked question. You put me there, but why didn’t you come see if I was okay?

“Oh. That’s good. That you know, I mean. It’ll help with the rest.” Alright, here goes. Taking a deep breath, I ask, “It’s been about four days since the last time you saw me, right?”

She thinks for a second. “That sounds right.”

“Well...the thing is...” I swallow. “It’s been seven-hundred and thirty-three days since the last time I saw you.”

“I beg your pardon?”

“Take a look at me Kate.” I lean a little closer. “Really look. See the details.”

It’s kind of amazing to watch her pick out all the subtle differences. I wonder, if I looked in a mirror would I be able to see everything she does? A few seconds later, she lets out a soft gasp and reaches up to touch the crucifix around her neck. It’s a nervous gesture I’ve seen her do before, but it beats the hell out of running and screaming.

“You’re like Max,” she murmurs. “You’re from the future.”

“That’s right.”

“Did you...You came back with her?”

“No. I didn’t turn up until just before the storm hit. Before that it was all twenty-thirteen Victoria. Honestly, I wasn’t even supposed to come back at all. Max and I have no idea how it happened.” I laugh nervously. “Just lucky, I guess.”

“Lucky...” she echoes, staring at nothing. I’m not sure if she’s overwhelmed or just deep in thought, but I haven’t said everything I came to say yet.

“There...uh...” I sigh heavily. “There’s one other thing.”

She looks up, her expression caught somewhere between curiosity and apprehension. “Yes?”

“Y-yeah,” I nod. “It’s about the...uh...the video.”

Kate’s eyes darken, just a little. “What about it?”

“I found out what happened to you that night. It was...”

“Nathan,” she interrupts. “And Mr. Jefferson. The police already talked to me.”

For a second, I want to say ‘me, too! it happened to me! I know what you’re going through!’, but I don’t. Not right now. This conversation isn’t about me.

“Oh,” I nod. “Well, I deleted the original video post. It’s the internet, though, so other people probably made copies.”

“They did.” Kate sighs. “I have a cousin who seemed to enjoy finding them and sending the links around. I think she thought it was funny.”

For the first time since I came here, I feel a familiar fire ignite inside me. “Oh, that little bitc-”

“Victoria,” Kate interrupts warningly. “She’s only twelve, and my uncle has already talked to her about it. She apologized, too. It just means that I have to live with knowing that it’s probably going to be out there forever.”

“Maybe not. I talked to my parents and told them what happened. They...weren’t happy.” It’d be more accurate to say they were fucking furious at me, but that’s between me and my parents. And I think it helped that I begged them to let me stay here and make up for it rather than return to Seattle. “Anyway, it turns out that there are actually companies that specialize in getting stuff like that removed from the internet. They’ve already contracted one to find and take down every online copy.”

Kate looks shocked again, but I hesitantly classify it as a good kind of shock. “That sounds expensive.”

“You don’t have to worry about that.”

“Victoria, I can’t accept your mon-”

“It’s already done. And don’t worry about money. I’ve taken care of that, too.”

“What do you mean?” she asks, giving me a suspicious look.

“We’ll get to that later, I promise.” Kate’s distrustful look still hurts a little, even if it’s exactly what I deserve. “Look, we’ve got some time, at least, because right now the storm is all anyone is talking about. But it’s a safe bet that sooner or later the news is going to go looking for more content. My dad hopes that we can make the video disappear before they do, but...”

“But there’s a chance it could end up on TV.” Kate winces, curling into herself a bit.

“I’m so, so sorry.” I don’t think I’ll ever be able to apologize to her enough.

“It’s....” She shrugs, a little listlessly. “It’s fine, I guess.”

“It’s not fine, and that’s completely my fault,” I insist. “But no matter what happens from now on, I want you to know that I’ll be here for you. If you ever need someone to talk to, or even somewhere to hide from reporters, just give me a call. Day or night, okay?”

She eyes me for a long moment, then nods. “...okay.”

“Okay. And if anyone around here gives you any more grief...” I slap my fist into my open palm.

Kate’s eyes widen and she shakes her head emphatically. “Please don’t do that.”

“I’m just kidding,” I reassure her, then add, “Y’know...mostly.”

“Victoria...”

“All I’m trying to say is that you’re not alone anymore, Kate.” I risk a small smile and lightly place my hand over hers. “Whatever happens next, I’ve got your back.”

 

Potential Energy

Chapter Notes

October 13, 2013
Tillamook, Oregon

I walk out of the Starbucks to find Chloe already waiting for me, sipping on a soda and looking almost defiantly nonchalant. I’m not surprised that she’s standing just out of sight; she’s already said that she’s not looking forward to the whole ‘talking to the girlfriend’s parents’ thing.

Actually, she had to say it twice. The first time, my brain latched onto the word ‘girlfriend’ and happily ignored the rest.

Mom and Dad are still reeling from the things I’ve told them and all it implies, and I didn’t even tell them everything. Not yet anyway. I know this won’t be our only conversation, and there some things that they’ll be better off hearing about in private. And like with Chloe and Victoria, some things they’re better off not hearing about at all.

As far as the world is concerned, Mark Jefferson evaded police custody, fled into the woods, and got caught out in the storm. His name is on the ‘missing and presumed dead’ list, and I’m perfectly happy to leave it there. Even I can’t say for certain what really happened (and may still be happening) to him, but I can imagine.

No one else needs to know about that. It’s my nightmare. It’s always been my nightmare, and I worked too hard to create this timeline to go around giving nightmares to everyone else.

And who knows? Maybe one day I’ll be ready to talk about it. Until then, I’ve given my parents enough to chew on.

“So, how’d it go?” Chloe asks, pushing off the wall.

“Honestly, better than I expected it to. I thought they’d take more convincing, but in the end the hair really did the trick.” I hand her beanie back to her. “Thanks for the loan, by the way.”

“Anytime.” She briefly hands her drink to me so she can happily tug the beanie onto her head. “How’re they handling it?”

“Not bad, all things considered. They might need a little time to absorb it all.”

“Yeah. Nothing like having their daughter suddenly transform into a tattooed twenty-one-year-old time-traveling lesbian to blow someone’s mind a little.”

“I might’ve dropped a little insider information I picked up in the future. Nothing asserts dominance like telling your mom you know all about her brief bi-curious college relationship.”

“Damn, Mrs. C! Get it!” she laughs. “Y’know, after Blackhell gave me the boot, I’d have sold one of my kidneys for that kind of dirt on David. Maybe it would’ve actually shut him up for two damn seconds.”

“Chloe, David’s...”

“I know, I know,” she rolls her eyes. “He might get better in the future, but he’s still a dick now. I kinda got the last laugh, though, didn’t I? El Douche isn’t my problem anymore, Blackhell’s a pile of bricks, and I’m still standing.”

A thought comes to mind that I’ve been a little hesitant to bring up. It seems like one of those things that’s pretty likely to spark her temper, and my mind briefly flashes back to our long-ago conversation after a Thanksgiving dinner that’ll never happen.

Chloe doesn’t like being told what to do. She never has.

“You know,” I casually begin. “You’re going to need to do something about that, eventually.”

“About what?”

“Not having a high school diploma.”

“Why?” She looks away. “I’m doing fine without it.”

“You’re nineteen, Chloe. You can get by without a high school diploma at nineteen, but not having it is going make life a lot harder when you get older.”

“Then I’ll deal with it when I’m older. The school I got kicked out of just got blown to pieces, for fuck’s sake. Maybe I wanna take a little time before finding a new place to remind me how dumb I am.”

“You’re not dumb, Chloe,” I insist, pushing back the urge to groan in frustration. “I know you can do it. You did it befo-”

“Fuck, Max!” She angrily hurls her half-empty soda can across the street. “No I didn’t, because that wasn’t me! I don’t fucking care what your Chloe did because that wasn’t me!

A heavy silence falls over us before I respond, softly, “You’re right. I shouldn’t have pushed.”

“Damn it,” she murmurs. “No, I’m sorry, Max. I know you’re just trying to help.”

The two of us walk in silence for a couple of blocks, the brief argument reminding us that for all we mean to each other, we’re still working out how to be together. For both of us, one of the biggest hurdles has been moving past the Chloe from the old timeline. Despite everything, I still have to remind myself sometimes that the girl walking beside me is a different person. I can’t treat my memories of being with the other Chloe like some kind of relationship cheat sheet.

“Some shit is just hard to get over,” she says, eventually. “I know I’m not dumb, but when you hear people say something enough times you kinda start believing it.”

I can’t think of the right thing to say, so I just keep quiet.

“I’m gonna get my GED, at least.” She pauses. “Okay, first I’m gonna figure out how to get my GED. Then I’m gonna get my GED.”

I nod. “Solid plan.”

“Damn right it is.”

“Look, I just want you to know that I’m always going to be here to support you, okay?” I risk a little smile. “And yeah, that means I’m gonna be a pest sometimes.”

“You? A pest? I can’t even imagine.”

“Har har.” I spot our destination coming up and reach out to take her hand. “You going to be okay in there?”

“Maybe.” She swallows. Her palm is a little sweaty, but I’m not going to say anything. “Yeah, I think so.”

“You sure? I can come in with you.”

“No. I got this. You’ll wait for me, though?”

“Always.”

 


 

It smells weird in here. Not a bad kind of weird; just too clean.

There’s an older guy in scrubs at the front desk, and he looks up when I come in. “Can I help you?”

“Uh, yeah. I...” Would it sound weird if I said I have an appointment? “The cops...the Arcadia Bay ones, I mean...they told me to come by at two-thirty?”

“Name?”  

“Chloe.” I clench my fists to keep my hands from shaking. “Chloe Price.”

“Just a second,” he says, typing it into the computer in front of him. “Ah, here it is. Come with me, please.”

Standing up, he gestures for me to follow. I trail just behind him down a short hallway and through a big set of double doors into a large room. I try not to shiver as he leads me over to the far wall and a row with what looks like stainless-steel refrigerators. It’s cold in here. I mean, obviously, but it’s not just the temperature. The whole place feels cold in the same way Jefferson’s bunker did.

Morgues always seemed creepy on TV. Turns out they’re hella creepy in person, too.

He goes to open one of the refrigerators, and I catch a brief glance at the label on it before the door swings outward. It says exactly what I knew it would say, but I still wish I hadn’t read it. I half-expect a cloud of fog to billow out onto the floor, but there’s nothing like that. The air flowing from inside isn’t much colder that the rest of the room. It’s just a refrigerator.

Like the rest of this place, there’s no smell, or at least not the kind of smell I expected. Not that I know what a dead body is supposed to smell like. Pretty bad, probably.

Taking hold of a metal bar inside, he pulls out a long metal shelf covered by a white sheet. That looks exactly like it does on TV. “I want to warn you,” he says, gently. “The state of decomposition is very advanced.”

It doesn’t take much imagination to guess what that means; she’s been buried in a shallow grave for six months. I nod and try to swallow the lump in my throat. “I get it. C-can I have a minute?”

“Of course,” He goes to walk away, then hesitates. “As someone who’s been doing this a while, can I offer a piece of advice?”

“I guess?”

“Don’t look. It won’t bring you peace. Better to remember her as she was.”

“Uh...thanks.”

He gives me a nod, turns, and then he’s gone and I’m all alone with her.

What the fuck am I even supposed to say?

“H-hey, Rachel. It’s...uh...it’s been a while.”

My hand twitches again. I don’t know whether it’s because I want a cigarette or because I want to tear the sheet away and see what really happened to her. Either way, I jam it in my pocket and keep it there.

“So you...you sure got yourself a primo spot here. Pretty much the presidential suite.” I comment, looking around. “The people who got killed in the storm are all in these refrigerated containers across town. Pretty nasty, I bet. I guess you b-beat the r-r-rush...”

I can’t stop the tears. I don’t even try. I have to grip the side of the metal shelf to keep from collapsing, my breaths coming in deep, heaving sobs. Why did it have to be her? She was the only person in that fucking town I needed. The only one who made me feel like I was worthwhile.

I’m shaken by another sob and almost fall on top of the sheet. My face comes within an inch of it before I catch myself, and for a brief second I smell something – a hint of the rotting decay that’s been eating her for half a year. I feel my stomach turn over and I’ve barely even realized I’m going to puke when scrubs-guy appears out of nowhere and smoothly walks me to a sink.

I kinda wish I’d eaten that crappy sandwich earlier, because all that comes up is half a can of orange soda. And believe me, that stuff doesn’t taste as good the second time.

I retch a few more times before my stomach decides it doesn’t hate me anymore, then morgue-dude guides me to a chair. He hands me a box of tissues and, a second later, a glass of water. Best of all, he doesn’t try to say any comforting bullshit. He just leans against the counter and waits for me to get it together.

“Thanks,” I say, finally, pulling out a few tissues and handing the box back to him. He accepts it with a nod.

“No problem.”

“I...uh...I guess that’s happened before.”

“Sometimes.”

Going back to the sink, I blow my nose and have a couple more glasses of water. After a minute, I turn back. “Okay, I think I’m good.”

He nods again, glancing toward Rachel’s...toward Rachel. “Did you have anything else to say?”

I’m surprised enough that I don’t answer right away. I kinda figured he was just waiting to kick me out. “Couple things.”

“Okay. Would you like me to stay?”

“I...” Weirdly, my first instinct is to say yes. I kinda don’t want to be alone and I’m wishing more and more that I’d brought Max with me.  “No. Thanks, though.”

“No problem.” He gestures to the doors at the far end of the room. “I’ll be right outside.”

“Cool.”

Hesitantly shuffling over to where Rachel’s waiting, I take a couple breaths and try to untangle all the shit that’s rattling around in my head. There are so many things I was certain of that’ve fallen to pieces in the last seven days, right from the second I looked out over the hood of my truck and locked eyes with my long-lost best friend.

It's weird. I've spent so much time obsessing over what me and Max are to each other that my relationship with Rachel got caught up in it, too. Honestly, I think this week was the first time I really took a step back and looked at who we were together.

Despite my best efforts, a lot of the things Victoria had to say about Rachel have stuck with me. Especially the stuff that I couldn’t really deny. There were so many things we did that seemed like such good ideas when Rachel suggested them, because being around her made me forget that consequences were a thing. Like letting her drag me off on her ‘field trip’. If I’d just said no and gone to class, I wouldn’t have been expelled from Blackwell the next fucking day.

The one that really hurt, though - that froze me where I stood – was when Victoria compared Rachel and I to Jefferson for drugging her over a part in some stupid fucking play. For a second, I couldn’t decide whether to break Victoria’s nose or drop to my knees and beg her to forgive me.

“What the fuck did we think we were doing, Rach?” I absently murmur. “What if we’d given her too much? We could’ve killed her, just like Nathan killed you.”

I wish I could go back to seeing Rachel in that warm affectionate light I remember, but once someone points out the flaws in something you thought was perfect, you can’t just unsee them. And the more I notice, the more I start to see Rachel for who she was.

Not an angel, but a normal teenage girl. A regular flawed person just like the rest of us. Go figure.

"Victoria thinks you never really loved me,” I say, keeping my voice low. “That you were just stringing me along because you liked having someone around who adored you. I think she’s full of shit. I know you loved me.” I hesitate, as if I’m afraid of offending her. “I just think that sometimes, you might’ve loved yourself a little bit more."

Sometimes it’d felt like everything had been about Rachel, even when it was about me. If I was having a rough time she’d say ‘That's terrible, Chloe! I’m so sorry’, but it’d almost always be followed by something like ‘It's just like the time I...’. Her life seemed so much brighter than mine, though, that I didn't even mind the comparisons. A few times I was almost flattered by them.

"Why did you do it?” The words almost surprise me. I’d barely been aware of the thought before I voiced it out loud. “Why did you cheat on me? Wasn't I good enough? What did Bowers and Jefferson have that I didn't?” Sarcastically, I add, “I mean, besides the obvious."

I wish I could be mad at her, but what would be the point? I’ve got plenty of people to be angry with who’re still alive. I’m not going to waste my time being pissed off at dead people, too.

“Max wanted to save you, you know,” I say. “You remember Max, right? My best friend from before we met? She tried to figure out a way, but in the end she just didn’t know what would happen if she permanently went back to a time before she first got her powers. What if it made things worse? What if she died and nothing changed at all?”

Shaking my head, I think about how not too long ago I would have wanted Max to try anyway. Now I can’t bear the idea of risking her like that.

“And you know how you used to tease me about secretly being in love with her?” I rub the back of my neck, actually embarrassed for some reason. “Well, it turns out you might have been on to something there.”

I pause, waiting for Rachel to laugh - that sweet, gentle laugh that never once made me feel like I was being made fun of – but she doesn’t. Of course she doesn’t, because she’s just a lump under a sheet in a too-cold room. Just like Nathan, that vibrant spark that defined her is long gone. This body isn’t Rachel Amber any more than the clothes in my closet had been.

Rachel’s gone (...shes gone...shes really gone...) and this is just some stuff she left behind.

“You saved me, Rachel. You pulled me back from the edge and I'll always love you for that." I pause, trying to think of something cool to say. Rachel deserves a cool-sounding goodbye. “We might not have come back from our intermission, but maybe I’ll see you after the credits roll.”

Nailed it.

Satisfied, I take a step back (bye rachel i’ll miss you) and then another. I’m almost halfway to the door before I can make myself turn around, and I find the morgue guy waiting right outside.

“Said what you needed to say?”

I consider that for a second. “Yeah. Yeah, I think so.”

“That’s good. Can you find your way out?”

“Sure. And hey...thanks for...y’know.”

“Don’t mention it.”

Walking to the exit, I find I can’t quite figure out how I’m feeling. I’m definitely not happy, but I’m not really sad either. I know I’m going to miss her, but it’s like the pain of her being gone isn’t as bad as it was before. Like knowing what happened and being able to say goodbye lifted some of it away.

I guess this is that ‘closure’ shit therapists are always going on and on about. I guess I can see why, now. I’d ask Max or Victoria about it, but those two are basically the poster children for not being able to let go of the past.

“Chloe? Chloe Price?”

Oh, fuck me sideways. Of all the people for me to run into.

“Hey, Mrs. Amber,” I say, turning away from the exit and even managing to sound polite. “How you doing?”

I never really meshed with Rachel’s parents, even at the best of times, and that didn’t improve much after she disappeared; especially since the heartless fucks gave up looking for her after just two months. They just accepted the idea that she’d skipped town to go back to LA and gotten on with their lives.

“I don’t really know how to answer that,” she admits, looking over my shoulder. “When we got the phone call about Rachel, we wer-”

“Chloe Price, I thought that was you.” Oh, great. James motherfucking Amber. District Attorney, Rachel’s dad, and all-around piece of human shit. This is the stuck-up, holier than thou fuckhead I was forced to put up with for years, smiling for Rachel’s sake when I knew that he’d hired local scumbag Damon Merrick to try to kill Rachel’s birth mother. “How are you holding up?”

Oh my fucking god, he’s using that politician voice of his. He’s here because his daughter is dead. Her body is laying in the next room, and he sounds like he’s campaigning. I fucking hate this guy.

“Dealing,” I answer, shortly.

“I’m sure this must be a very difficult time for you.” He reaches out to put a hand on my shoulder. “If there’s anything we can do...”

Y’know what? Fuck this guy.

Slapping his hand away, I respond with all the respect and dignity he deserves. “You wanna do something for me, asshole? How about you go suck off a shotgun.”

“I...I beg your pardon?” he sputters indignantly, like the fucking hypocrite he is. “How dare y-”

“You hired Damon Merrick to kill Rachel’s real mom,” I interrupt, watching the color drain from his face as Mrs. Amber turns to him in shock. “He didn’t, by the way.”

“I-I don’t know what you think you’ve heard, bu-”

“Save the gaslighting for someone who gives a shit. I sat on that secret for three fucking years, because I loved Rachel and I didn’t want her to know what a piece of trash her dad was. But now she’s gone, and I’m not going to waste any more of my life thinking about you.”

“Now, you listen to m-”

“Shut your fucking mouth, you lying shitsack! Don’t you get it? No one cares! You’re nothing! You’re the District Attorney of a pile of rubble, and you’ll have to go on knowing that you abandoned your daughter to die at the hands of a psycho.”

Mr. Amber looks like he’s somewhere between scared and indignant, and Mrs. Amber just looks sick. I might feel bad for her if she hadn’t been the one who told me to stop putting up the missing person posters because they were ‘embarrassing for Rachel’s father’.

“You gave up on her. I didn’t. Never, ever forget that.” Walking away, I pause at the door to look back at them. “Rachel deserved better.”

 


 

Waiting just outside the doors, I watch with confusion (and more than a little concern) as Chloe tells off the older couple who just walked in. I can’t hear what she’s saying but judging from their expressions, it’s pretty bad. Chloe still looks pissed when she shoves the door open and comes to a staggering halt when she sees me.

“Oh. Hey, Max.”

“Hey.” I glance over her shoulder. “What was that about?”

“Uh...” She pauses. “Red light?”

Oh. Well, I guess we can still use that. “Not ready to talk about it?”

She shakes her head.

“That’s okay.” I smile, stepping forward to give her a hug like the supportive and loving girlfriend (woo-hoo!) I am. “Take your time.”

“Really? Just like that?”

I step back. “Just like what?”

“You’re not gonna bug me till I talk about it?”

“You said you’re not ready to. I figured we’d talk about it when you are.” She looks alarmingly surprised by the idea. “Is...is that not normal?”

She shrugs. “Rachel never left anything alone. If she wanted to know something, she didn’t give up until I told her. She could be a real pain in the ass about it.”

That’s new. In the first timeline, it was pretty rare for Chloe to talk about Rachel, and even rarer for her to say something negative about her. One more reminder that things aren’t going to be the same this time around. “Well, I can wait for as long as you need.”

She laughs ruefully. “This is one of those ‘healthy adult relationship’ things, isn’t it?”

“Yeah, pretty much.”

“Weird.”

I rise up on my toes to kiss her cheek. “You’ll get used to it.”

“Max! Hey, Max!”

Surprised, I turn toward the shout to see Taylor running toward us.

“Oh my fucking god,” Chloe mutters. “I swear, if Victoria stood her up I’m gonna kick her scrawny blonde ass.”

“She doesn’t look angry,” I murmur back. “That’s probably a good thing.”

“Seriously, though...kick her scrawny blonde ass.”

“Be nice.” Raising my voice, I give Taylor a wave. “Hey, Taylor. What’s up?”

“I’ve been looking all over fo-whoa.” She comes to a jarring stop a few feet away, her eyes going wide. “Max, your hair. It’s...wow.”

“So Victoria actually did woman up and tell you everything?” Chloe asks, grinning.

“Yeah,” she nods, still kinda staring at my head. “And I believed her, but...”

“But there’s a difference between knowing something and knowing something?” Chloe asks, and Taylor nods again.

“You going to be okay?” I ask, cautiously. I know Victoria would never intentionally do anything to hurt Taylor, but she can be pretty blunt sometimes.

“I’m good. It’s just...” She laughs softly. “Would you believe that finding out that Victoria is in love with me was a bigger shock than finding out she’s a time traveler?”

“Fuck!” Chloe laughs. “Tell me about it!”

Taylor eyes Chloe for a second, then looks back to me. “You weren’t kidding about the tattooed punk rock chicks, huh?”

“I sure wasn’t.” I hesitate. “So you and Victoria are okay?”

“Oh yeah, we’re great.” She smiles, blushing a little. “Like, really great.”

“Yeah.” Chloe nods, smirking. “You definitely look like things are...great.”

Even though her blush gets a little deeper, Taylor still rolls her eyes. “Anyway, she actually asked me to find you two. She said she has some big surprise for everyone.”

“It’d better not have anything to do with lotto numbers and sports scores,” I say, kind of suspecting it might.

“It doesn’t,” she shrugs. “I already asked.”

“Well, yeah,” Chloe agrees. “That’s, like, the first thing you ask.”

“Exactly,” Taylor nods. “I’m glad someone else gets it.”

“Well, let’s not keep her waiting,” I say, chuckling.

“Could we stop at the 7-11 first?” Chloe asks. “I’m kind of thirsty.”

“Well, then maybe you shouldn’t have thrown your drink across the street,” I fire back, giving her an unimpressed look that seems to have absolutely no effect.

“Actually, I’m a little thirsty, too,” Taylor comments.

“Fine. Whatever. We’ll keep Victoria waiting. I’m sure she won’t mind that at all.”

 


 

“About fucking time you three showed up!” Victoria shouts as Chloe, Taylor, and I walk up. As we cross the local park she asked to meet us in, I notice she hasn’t been waiting alone. Sitting next to her on the set of aluminum bleachers is none other than...

“Kate?”

“Hi, Max!” She waves, looking shockingly cheery for someone who’s been sitting next to her own bully. Her and Victoria’s conversation must’ve gone really well.

“Sup, Special K,” Chloe says as we get close. “I hear you and Christensen here went all Road Warrior during the storm. Sounded pretty epic.”

“It was certainly interesting,” Kate agrees with a little shrug.

“Dope. I wanna hear all about it.” She points to the bleachers Kate’s sitting on. “Hey, those aren’t too high, are they? What if you fall?”

I’m about to smack Chloe on the shoulder when Kate actually laughs. “I’ll be fine. Falling’s not really my area of expertise.”

“Oh, yeah. I forgot.”

“I dunno, Kate,” Taylor chimes in, grinning. “You’re getting better at it.”

“Geez, you fracture one little wrist and suddenly...oh, wait! You guys haven’t signed my cast yet!” Hopping down from her seat, she pulls a sharpie from her pocket and rushes over to hand it to Chloe. “No cursing, please.”

“Spoilsport.” Thinking for a second, Chloe uses the empty space just below Victoria’s name to quickly draw an adorable little caricature of Kate with angel wings and sunglasses. “There ya go.”

“Aww! I love it! Thank you, Chloe! It looks so good!”

While Chloe basks in the praise, I settle for a much more boring signature in the free space between Evan’s and Warren’s. Capping the sharpie, I turn to Victoria.

“So, what’s this big surprise we’ve heard so much about?”

“Right. Everyone sit down,” she says, waving at the bleachers, “So, I was talking with my parents about...well...stuff. About what we owe Max, and how Chloe means everything to her, and how horribly I treated Kate, and how much...” she smiles a little shyly, which looks kind of weird on her. “...how much I love Taylor.”

Beside us, Taylor blushes too.

“Er...anyway, I wanted to find a way for us to...do right by you guys, I guess? They agreed, and that’s why they gave me this.” Grinning, she holds up a black card she’d told me about a few times, but that I’ve never actually seen.

“A credit card,” Chloe deadpans. “Cool.”

“This isn’t a credit card, Chloe. This is the credit card. It’s an American Express Centurion Card that’s linked directly to my sizable trust fund, which itself is connected to my family’s many, many, many accounts. For all intents and purposes, it has no spending limit. And I asked you here to tell you that after today, as far as you’re concerned, things like debt and loans and mortgages are problems for other people.”

“Meaning...what, exactly?” Taylor asks, hesitantly.

“Meaning that whatever university you want to go to – and I’m talking about the best schools - tuition and expenses are on me. It means that if you want to own your own home, it’s yours.” She looks at me, smiling. “And if, god forbid, you or someone you love gets sick? You’ll enjoy the best medical care in the world and it won’t cost you a dime.”

“That last one was about you,” I whisper to Chloe, gently elbowing her side. She just nods dumbly.

Kate fidgets a little. “I’m not sure I’d be comfortable accepting that.”

“Good thing I’m not asking, then. If you want to go through all the hassle of getting student loans or mortgages, go right ahead. I’ll just contact the bank directly and pay them off for you. What are they going to do? Say no?”

“But...”

“If it makes you feel better, Kate, this isn’t a free ride. I’m not about to pay for your every whim for the rest of your lives. I just want you all to enjoy some of the advantages I would have taken for granted. Think of it as a chance to follow your dreams without having to worry about whether or not you can afford them.” She pauses, smirking a little. “That said, I’m also going to see to it that you and your families all get set up with some very lucrative privately managed investment portfolios.”

“And your parents are really okay with this?” I ask. I’m sure the Chases are grateful, but this seems like a lot.

“I think they’d be more hesitant under normal circumstances,” Victoria admits. “But they’ve agreed that these definitely aren’t normal circumstances. Besides, it’s not that much money, relatively speaking.”

“Sending all of us to university isn’t much money?” Chloe laughs. “How do you fucking figure that?”

“Because the total amount it would cost for all of you to each get a doctorate degree and own a three-bedroom house would be less than a thousandth of a percent of Chase International’s annual revenue.”

“Hang on.” Chloe leans forward. “What the hell is Chase International?”

“My parents’ company.”

“I thought your parents owned an art gallery or something?”

“They do,” Victoria agrees. “Among many, many other corporate assets.”

“Uh-huh.” Chloe narrows her eyes suspiciously. I don’t blame her for being a little skeptical. When Victoria first told me how much Chase International was actually worth, I just about choked. “Just how rich are you saying your family is?”

“Considering we don’t waste our money on yachts and vanity mansions like that Bezos douchebag?” She grins. “Extremely.”

“Nuh-uh. I want a number.”

“You’re not ready for a number, Chloe,” Taylor laughs, and she’s probably right.

“Oh, whatever.” Chloe snorts. “Try me, rich girl.”

“Alright, fine.” Walking over, Victoria leans down to whisper something in Chloe’s ear, and a half-second later my girlfriend (yay!) recoils in shock. “Are you fucking serious?!”

“Yup.”

“Was that with a B?!”

“Sure was.”

“And you lived in Arcadia fucking Bay?!” Her eyes go wide. “Wait, did...did you guys own Arcadia Bay? Have we all been, like, living in your front yard or something?”

“My family didn’t own Arcadia Bay, Chloe. My parents just have this whole thing about not living excessively. They never saw the point of owning a house with rooms that you could go weeks without actually seeing.” She pauses. “Though Dad does have a weakness for sports cars.”

“Um, everyone?” Kate interrupts, raising her hand a bit. “Can I say something?”

“Of course.” Victoria nods, smirking at the look on Chloe's, which just screams ‘we’re not done talking about this’.

“Okay.” Standing, Kate pauses to clear her throat, not quite looking at anyone. “So, I’ve been thinking a lot about all the things Max and Victoria told us about the future. About how the first time they lived through today, Taylor and I were already gone. How badly hurt the rest of you were. How Chloe didn’t get much more than a year. And it’s got me thinking about how different things are going to be this time.”

“That’s the idea,” I point out, smiling.

“Exactly.” Kate nods. “And just now, when Victoria said she would pay for all those things, my first thought was that I wouldn’t have to worry about anything anymore. I could just relax and live an easy life.” She shakes her head. “But I don’t think I’m supposed to do that. I don’t think any of us are.”

I glance at the others, but they look as puzzled as I am.

“I know that not everyone shares the same beliefs as me,” she continues. “But there’s no denying that what happened is bigger than all of us. I feel like something more powerful than we can imagine gave us a second chance. That’s why I know I need to do something meaningful with my life. Something that matters.”

“What’s that?” Taylor asks, curious.

“I haven’t figured that part out yet,” Kate admits, shrugging. “But I will. And I think you should all do the same.”

I have to confess, I’m not a huge fan of the idea. And from the look on Victoria’s face, neither is she. It may sound selfish, but I think we’ve done enough meaningful things for one lifetime. Personally, I’d be quite happy to fade into the background and live out my days in peace and quiet.

At least, as much peace and quiet as a life with Chloe could possibly contain.

I guess I’m not very subtle about what I’m thinking, because Kate hurries to add, “I’m not trying to pressure or guilt-trip any of you, I swear! You all can do whatever you want with your lives, and if you think you’ve given up enough for the world, I’m certainly in no position to say otherwise. All I’m asking you to do is think about it, okay?”

 


 

October 14, 2013
Tillamook, Oregon

“Houston, huh?”

“Houston,” I nod. “The University of Texas has the best cancer treatment facilities in the world. I talked to my parents about it a couple of days ago, and they’ve already arranged everything.”

“Geez,” Chloe looks down, awkwardly scratching the back of her neck. “I...I really don’t know what to say, Vic. Seriously, thank you.”

“Don’t worry about it.” I reach out and gently squeeze her shoulder, and I can actually see it blow her mind a little. If I ever needed proof of how much I've changed in two years, the look on her face would be more than enough. “Just focus on getting better, okay?”

“You got it.” Shaking her head, she glances back at the limo waiting to take her and Max to the airport in Portland. “So, I guess this is goodbye for a while?”

“Sure.” I roll my eyes. “You know, except for phone calls, texts, emails, and visits.”

“I guess,” she laughs.

I look around curiously. Max has already said her goodbyes, but I’d have thought Joyce and David would be here to see Chloe off. “Isn’t anyone else coming to say goodbye?”

“Er...nope.”

“Not even your mom?”

“She...heh...might not know I’m leaving now.”

“Are you kidding me?” I barely keep my jaw from dropping. “Are you seriously ghosting your own mother?”

“No! She totally knows I’m leaving. Just not that I’m leaving right now.”

“Don’t you think she’d want to say goodbye?”

“Yeah, but if she was here she’d probably want to know where I was going.” Chloe seems to find it suspiciously hard to look me in the eye. “And...y’know...why.”

“Oh my god! You didn’t tell her?!”

“I’m going to! I’m totally going to! Just...not right now." She sighs. "This isn’t like your parents or Max’s. Mom lost almost everything to the storm. How can I tell her that she might lose me, too?”

“She is not going to lose you!” I snap. After all the shit we’ve gone through to get here, there’s no way in hell I’ll accept anything less than Chloe’s complete recovery.

“You know what I mean,” Chloe groans. “Look, I just want to wait until I’ve talked to a doctor and there’s actually a plan before I drop the cancer bomb on her. So she’ll have hope right away. Is that so fucking unreasonable?”

I want to say yes, but maybe she’s got a point. Maybe Joyce really doesn’t need to take another hit right now. After a few seconds, I give Chloe a reluctant nod. “I guess that’s your decision.”

“Thanks, Vic.”

“Is there any point reminding you that my name isn’t Vic?”

“None at all.”

“Didn’t think so,” I mutter, rolling my eyes. “You’d better get a move on, or you’ll miss your flight.”

“Right. Take it easy.”

“You, too,” I say. “Oh, one last thing.”

“Yeah?”

I point to the limo, where Max is already waiting. “I deleted The Spirits Within from the available movies before Max got here.”

Before this week, I’d never have imagined myself being voluntarily hugged by Chloe Price. “Thank you so much, Victoria.”

I give her a gentle pat on the back. “You’re welcome.”

“I love her like crazy, but...”

“I understand.” Laughing, I take a step back. “Now get going before your girlfriend gets jealous.”

 


 

October 21, 2013
University of Texas - MD Anderson Cancer Center
Houston, Texas

“You know,” Doctor Singh comments as she looks over Chloe’s test results. “It’s rare for someone your age to be so proactive about their health.”

“Seriously?”

She nods. “Most of the time they either ignore the symptoms or just try to ‘tough it out’. Especially something as innocuous as a persistent cough.”

Chloe shrugs and gives me a smile. “I guess I recently realized that life is short, y’know?”

“I suppose that’s fair,” Looking up, Singh folds her hands on her desk and gives us a serious look. “So, I have good news and I have bad news.”

“Okay.” Chloe nods. “Well, my dad always used to say it was better to get the bad news out of the way first.”

“As you like.” Pulling a pair of CT scanner images out of the folder, she lays them out for us to see. I know what she’s going to say the moment I look at them, but I somehow doubt that’ll make it any easier to hear. “I’m sorry to tell you this, Ms. Price, but we’ve confirmed that you have stage 2A lung cancer.”

I’m stunned by the mix of emotions that wash over me. Even though I’d been right - despite knowing the words were coming, they'd still landed heavily – I feel a wave of elation. Stage 2A! Chloe's only at stage 2A! I’d forced myself to temper my expectations, preparing myself to deal with something as bad as stage 3B! I feel like I could jump up and dance on Dr. Singh’s desk!

“The good news is that we’ve caught it relatively early,” Doctor Singh continues, oblivious to my inner celebration. “And that your condition is very much treatable. You’re quite lucky, Ms. Price.”

“I bet you don’t get to follow up a cancer diagnosis with the word ‘lucky’ very often, do you?” Chloe laughs, looking a lot more relaxed than me.

“Not nearly as often as I’d like,” she admits with a smile. “Based on these results, I think you might be able to get by without surgery. We should be able to eliminate the cancerous growth with a combination of radiation and chemotherapy.” She grins. “All told, you have every reason to be optimistic.”

“Music to my ears.”

“We can begin working out a treatment plan today, if you like?”

“You know what they say, Doc. No time like the present.” She turns to give me a smile, and I grin back and reach over to take her hand. “Let’s do it.”

 

Chapter End Notes

Hold on, folks. We’ve got a lot of ground to cover, and not a lot of time left to do it. Next chapter, we're stepping on the gas.

The caricature of Kate in the cast picture was drawn by the one and only Perso_Aprilo, artist and Russian interpreter extraordinaire.

Side note, it's kinda funny that I'd pass 275,000 words with Chapter 75.

Divergence

“Hello?”

“Oh, hello, Max. I guess your phone does work.”

“You know what, Victoria? I think one of the best things about having you back is being able to make fun of your natural passive aggressive helicopter mom-ness without feeling guilty about it.”

“Spoken like a true teenager. How’s Houston so far?”

“It’s alright. Not as many astronauts as I hoped there’d be. A lot of steakhouses, though.”

“Sounds about right. Is Chloe settling in okay?”

“Okay-ish. I’m not sure how comfortable she is here.”

“Well, I’m so sorry the rent-free luxury loft isn’t to her liking.”

“That’s just it, Victoria. This is the nicest place either of us have ever lived. Between this and the ridiculously nice treatment room you got for her, I think she feels a little guilty. I don’t blame her. I didn’t know hospitals had private rooms that fancy.”

“Tell her not to worry about it. I’d much rather see her in there than some fat seventy-year-old oil tycoon recovering from his second heart bypass. How about you? All moved in?”

“Mhm. I let Chloe take the bigger bedroom, but I think mine has the nicer view.”

“Separate bedrooms, huh?”

“We’re taking things slowly.”

“Fair enough.”

“Seriously, though. Please thank your dad again for letting us stay here while we’re in Houston. It’s really cool of him.”

“It’s a corporate property, Max. It pretty much exists to be loaned out to VIPs.”

“Your dad thinks I’m a VIP?”

“Are you kidding? You kept him and Mom from dying in the storm, saved me from Jefferson, and - even if it was unintentional - brought him my knowledge of all the major stock market trends over the next two years.”

“Is that a yes?”

“Max, if Jesus Christ himself appeared in Houston right now looking for a place to crash, Dad would tell him to go stay at the Four Seasons.”

 


 

Chloe: hey

Mom: Hello, sweetheart! I’ve so glad to hear from you!

Mom: I hope you noticed how I’ve been respecting your decision and not pestering you.

Chloe: lol

Chloe: i did

Chloe: thanks

Mom: Still, it’s been over two weeks. I was getting a little worried.

Chloe: sorry

Mom: Where are you two?

Chloe: houston

Mom: You went all the way to Houston? Why?

Chloe: long story

Chloe: u busy?

Mom: I’m doing some job hunting, but we could talk on the phone this evening if you like?

Chloe: me and max are dating and im in Houston getting my lung cancer treated

Chloe: u busy now?

<Incoming Call: Mom>

 


 

Max: You’ve known Victoria since middle school, right?

Taylor: That’s right.

Max: Can I ask you something about her?

Taylor: I guess?

Max: Has she always been a huge nerd?

Taylor: LOL!

Taylor: Oh my god! She is SUCH a nerd!

Taylor: But she gets so salty when you call her on it!

Max: I noticed. I called her the Queen of the Nerds once and she threatened to turn me inside out.

Taylor: Yeah, that sounds about right.

 


 

Kristen: Okay, I’m a little confused.

Max: ya thats normal at ur age

Max: just do what feels natural

Max: and remember to use a safeword

Kristen: ...and now I’m even more confused.

Max: That wasn’t me! I was out of the room and Chloe figured out my password again. I have no idea how she keeps doing that!

Kristen: Okay. And Chloe would be...?

Max: My girlfriend.

Kristen: Confusion intensifies.

Kristen: Wait. Is she that blue haired chick who’s suddenly all over your Facebook page?

Max: That’s her. I’ve known her since we were little.

Kristen: The same Facebook page that has a picture of you with tattoos? And a bunch of you wearing a long wig for some reason?

Max: Yup.

Kristen: And says you live in Houston now.

Max: That’s right.

Kristen: The town you left Seattle for gets wiped out by a tornado, and somehow you ended up in Houston.

Max: At least it wasn’t Kansas.

Kristen: >:(

Max: Sorry. It’s a long story.

Kristen: Well, then I hope you’re not busy.

<Incoming Call: Kristen Jacobs>

 


 

“So, I am, as you’re both aware, bisexual. That’s part of what I’d like to discuss today, and why I wanted Dad to Skype in from Bethesda.”

“This sort of feels like the opening to a thesis defense.”

“Don’t interrupt her, Stephen. This is clearly important to Taylor, and she doesn’t need you being a smartass.”

“I realize that, Helen. I was only teasing. You don’t need to take everything so seriously.”

“No, you were being rude and-”

“Hey!”

“Sorry. Go ahead, sweetheart.”

“As I was saying, I’m bi. Which, as you know, means I like boys and girls, and...uh...so...”

“It’s okay. Whenever you’re ready.”

“She doesn’t need your permission.”

“I know tha-”

“Stop it, both of you! Just...just...gah!”

“Taylor, it’s okay.”

“Slow, deep breaths. In and out.”

“I’m fine!”

“We know. You’re safe. Your mother and I are right here with you.”

“I said I’m fine! This isn’t an anxiety attack! This is me being pissed off! Can’t the two of you just be civil for five fucking minutes?!”

“...we’re sorry, Taylor. This isn’t about us.”

“Your father’s right. We’re here to listen.”

“Good. Now please, no talking until I’m done.”

“I...”

“No talking!”

“Tha-”

“Either of you!”

“...”

“...”

“Thank you. Alright...so, here’s the thing. You know I like girls, but this is more about how I like...um...a girl. A specific girl, I mean. One girl in particular...who’s my...ahem...girlfriend.”

“...”

“...”

“So...yeah. I have a girlfriend now.”

“...”

“...”

“Who I love. A lot.”

“...”

“...”

“And I’d really appreciate it if you guys could just be quietly happy for me and not turn this into a thing.”

“...”

“...”

“You’re going to turn this into a thing, aren’t you?”

“...”

“...”

“You can talk now.”

“That’s fantastic, sweetheart!”

“We’re so happy for you!”

“When did this happen?”

“Who is it? Anyone we know?”

“Is it Kate? It is, isn’t it! Oooh, I had a feeling about you two!”

“Who’s Kate? Is that the dark-haired girl she and Victoria are always with?”

“No, that’s Courtney. Michael and Kelly Wagner’s daughter.”

“Which one is Kate, then?”

“Kate was at the hospital during the storm. She’s just the sweetest, most mature young woman.”

“Of course she is. Our girl knows how to pick ‘em!”

“Oh, Taylor! We should have Kate and her family over for dinn-”

“It’s not Kate! She’s straight, remember?”

“Oh. Well, I jus-”

“It’s Victoria.”

“...”

“...”

“You guys are still allowed to talk.”

“Victoria...is your...girlfriend?”

“Yes, Mom. She is.”

“Victoria Chase?”

“Is there another one?”

“Right. Sorry, it’s just...Victoria?”

“We didn’t realize that she was...well...”

“It’s really weird that you assumed Kate was gay, but you’re having trouble with the idea that Victoria actually is.”

“How...how long have you two...”

“That’s kind of complicated.”

“Try us.”

“Well, I’ve liked her for a long time. Like, a couple of years.”

“Oh, honey.”

“I know, I know. But I didn’t say anything because I thought she was straight, too. And even though she’s felt the same way about me for about ten months, she didn’t say anything because she thought I  was straight.”

“Ouch.”

“Hang on. Ten months? That would be last Chr-”

“I know.”

“But the two of y-”

“Can we not? It’s bad enough that she and I spent almost a year pining for each other. I really don’t want to rehash it with my parents.”

“Alright. Maybe another time.”

“So, then...”

“I guess we’ve officially been together since a couple of days after Arcadia Bay?”

“Officially?”

“We kinda...connected...the night before the storm.”

“...”

“...”

“Oh my god, not like that! We just talked! She kissed me on the cheek!”

“Oh thank goodness!”

“To be fair, Stephen, it’s not as though she could’ve gotten pregnant.”

“Oh my god, Mom!”

“I know, but STIs are still a concern.”

“Dad!”

“That’s true. You’re being safe, aren’t you, honey?”

“Nope! Leaving now!”

“But...”

“Not happening good talk love you guys seeya later!”

“...”

“...”

“You think she’s coming back?”

“I doubt it.”

“I almost feel like we should have seen this coming.”

“Looking back, I think you’re probably right.”

“How are you two holding up?”

“We’re managing. We finally settled with the insurance company, so we’ll be able to find a proper apartment. Taylor’s been dropping some pretty heavy hints about moving to Seattle. I suppose now I know why.”

“I guess so. Anyway, I think I should go before we start arguing again.”

“I understand. I’ll email you if anything important comes up. Goodbye, Stephen.”

“Goodbye, Helen.”

 


 

Max: Everyone at school thinks I’m weird! :*(

Mom: I love you to death, Max, but even I think you’re a little weird.

Max: I am not!

Mom: You’re a tattooed, time-travelling, secretly 21-year-old lesbian high school student who’s come to Texas from a recently destroyed Oregon town to live in a million-dollar loft apartment with her girlfriend.

Mom: Your life sounds like a young adult novel.

Max: STOP SAYING THINGS THAT ARE TRUE AND BE MY MOM!

Mom: I don’t know why anyone would think you’re weird, sweetheart. You’re a wonderful, normal girl who they’d be lucky to have as a friend.

Max: I know, right?!

 


 

Taylor: Hello, Katelyn.

Kate: Hi, Taylor! Kate is actually short for Katherine.

Taylor: Neat.

Taylor: So, I was standing in line at the grocery store today and do you know what I saw?

Kate: No?

Taylor: I saw a picture of myself.

Taylor: On the cover of Time magazine.

Kate: Really?!

Taylor: Kate, why am I on the cover of Time magazine?

Kate: It’s the picture of you standing by the shuttle bus, isn’t it? I submitted it to them online!

Taylor: I thought that might be what happened.

Taylor: Since I knew you were the one who took that picture.

Taylor: AND NOW IT’S ON THE COVER OF TIME MAGAZINE!

Kate: This is so amazing! Have you told your mom yet?

Taylor: I told you to delete it!

Kate: You know she’ll want to show off to all her friends.

Taylor: I look like someone found me in a ditch!

Kate: She’s so proud of you. We all are! :)

Taylor: Cut it out Kate! I’m trying to be mad at you!

Kate: I’m sorry. You’re right. I should have asked permission first.

Taylor: Yes you should have!

Kate: I just thought you looked really heroic.

Taylor: Why are you like this?! >:(

 


 

Chloe: did otherchloe seriously call her chemo infusions semi-lethal injections?

Max: She sure did.

Chloe: lol thats awesome

 


 

Max: Have you seen any of my hair ties? I swear I bought a new pack of them last week.

Chloe: i have them

Max: Haha! Why?

Max: It’s not like you need them. :P

Chloe: holy fuck max

Chloe: thanks for the reminder

Chloe: i almost forgot i look like the six flags guy

Max: Crap! I’m sorry! That was so insensitive! :(((((

Chloe: and she apologizes with emoji

Max: I’m so so so sorry!

Chloe: lol j/k

Max: Chloe! I felt so bad!

Chloe: anyway i needed ur hair ties to shoot at this 11 y/o jerk

Max: What?! You can’t do that!

Chloe: he started it!

Chloe: and he has real elastic bands!

Chloe: he shoots them at me whenever the nurses arent looking!

Chloe: max?

Max: I’ll be there in 15 minutes. I have to get some elastic bands at the drug store first.

Max: Don’t worry, babe! Reinforcements are on the way!

 


 

Dad: So the Seahawks are looking pretty good this season.

Max: No, Dad.

Dad: Not even a hint?

Max: Sorry, but this is what you get for letting me watch Back to the Future II.

Dad: Should’ve known that’d come back to bite me.

 


 

Chloe: feeling pretty rough

Chloe: chemo rly took it out of me today

Chloe: hoping i could score a hit?

Chloe: just to get me thru?

Kate: Of course!

Kate: I believe in you, Chloe!

Kate: You’re gonna kick cancer’s butt!

Kate: You’re funny and wonderful and compassionate and brave!

Kate: You’re an amazing friend and we’re all so lucky to know you!

Chloe: oh ya

Chloe: thats the good stuff

 


 

Chloe: u!

Chloe: time traveller!

Chloe: i require knowledge from the future!

Victoria: Okay?

Chloe: i want to make max dinner

Chloe: but i just realized i dont know her favorite food anymore

Chloe: it used to be mac n cheese but that was when she was 13

Chloe: what is it now?

Chloe: and dont say waffles

Chloe: thats different

Chloe: thats a lifestyle choice

 


 

Max: Would your dad mind if we set up an office-type thing in the loft? We want a place where we can do schoolwork that doesn’t involve taking up the entire kitchen table.

Victoria: I’m sure he wouldn’t, but I didn’t think the Houston loft had a third room?

Max: We were going to use the smaller bedroom.

Victoria: I see.

Victoria: Not sleeping in that bedroom anymore?

Max: :)))))))

 


 

Kate: The oddest thing just happened.

Victoria: Oh?

Kate: Remember that reporter I told you about? The one from the Portland Tribune who wouldn’t leave me alone?

Victoria: What about him?

Kate: I just got a call from the Tribune’s lawyers. They apologized on behalf of the newspaper and told me that he’d been fired.

Kate: They also said that they’d filed for a restraining order on my behalf.

Victoria: That was considerate of them.

Kate: Almost suspiciously so...

Victoria: I don’t know what you’re implying.

Victoria: If I had to guess, I’d say they simply realized that his behavior was placing them in an extremely vulnerable legal position, and that their best course of action would be to kick his ass to the curb before some Seattle-based multinational corporation took them out behind the woodshed.

Kate: That’s a very specific guess.

Victoria: I’m good at guessing. You should see me play charades.

 


 

Chloe: hows the new crib looking?

Mom: The renovations are almost finished. The hot tub just got installed yesterday.

Chloe: dope

Chloe: u think about my idea?

Mom: You mean the helipad?

Chloe: ya

Mom: Well, I spoke to the contractors and they were fairly certain that we’d need a helicopter to go with it.

Chloe: so...

Mom: Sweetheart, there’s rich and then there’s helicopter rich. And while our stock portfolio is doing very well, David and I are not even close to helicopter rich.

 


 

Taylor: How’s life in the Marshlands?

Kate: I wish you hadn’t said that in front of my dad.

Kate: He wants to get a sign made to hang over the front door! >_<

Taylor: I’m alright with that.

Taylor: Did Christmas dinner go okay?

Kate: It actually went really well!

Kate: My aunt tried to bring up the video again and my mother said that if she couldn’t be a respectful guest at our table, the Denny’s up the road was still open.

Taylor: Ha! Savage!

Kate: I know!

Kate: Coming to terms with what happened to me has been really challenging for both of us and there’s still some tension, but it means so much to me to know that she’s on my side.

 


 

Chloe: happy new year from the future!

Taylor: You’re not in the future. You’re in Texas.

Chloe: ya well my clock here says midnight

Chloe: and ur seattle clock doesnt

Chloe: so...

Kate: It’s still 2013 in Portland, too. :(

Victoria: Don’t encourage her.

Chloe: no emoji kate

Chloe: weve evolved beyond such things in the future

Max: NO WE HAVEN’T! ( ∩ˇωˇ∩)

Chloe: ignore her shes crazy

Kate: Well, if the future has forgotten emoji, I’ll just have to help bring them back.

Chloe: no kate! i trusted u!

Victoria: HA!

Kate: I’ll be like a missionary, only I’ll be preaching to the emoji-less!

Taylor: Plus no smallpox blankets!

Kate: Also that! :D

 


 

Chloe: its january 17!

Chloe: happy traumaversary!

Mrs. C: What?

Chloe: lol ask max she can tell u all about it

 


 

Mrs. C: Sweetheart, can I ask you about something?

Max: Sure, of course.

Mrs. C: Why does Chloe think January 17th is our ‘Traumaversary’?

Max: I have no idea.

Max: That clearly doesn’t mean anything.

Max: She’s just being Chloe.

Max: That’s not even a real word!

Max: LOL! Crazy old Chloe!

 


 

Date: 9 February, 2014
From: m.e.chase@chasecorp
To: victoria.m.chase@webmail
Subj: Re: Post-Secondary Education

Hello Victoria,

When I originally agreed to let you attend Blackwell Academy, I did so with the assumption that you would go on to attend Princeton like myself and your father. With that in mind, I confess that I’m not totally surprised you’d use an email to express your unconventional choice for post-secondary education. Nor that you would wait until the two of us were on the other side of the planet to send it.

Of course I understand your enthusiasm. How could I not? We raised you to appreciate the arts since you were just a girl. Even so, you and I have never seen eye to eye on your ambitions. The Chase Space represents only a small part of our family’s assets, and it was never my intention to have you pursue the arts as a career. I’ve always believed you’d be better served relegating it to a hobby, in the interest of focusing on something more practical.

That said, I admit that I still struggle to see things from your unique point of view. Living through and then losing two years of one’s life is an experience only you and Maxine will ever truly understand, and I imagine it’s granted you a measure of perspective that I can never match.

That’s why, having given the matter a great deal of thought, I’ve reached the conclusion that when it comes to the matter of your future, you may simply know better than I do. Let me assure you, that wasn’t an easy thing for me to acknowledge.

Your father, on the other hand, needed no such soul searching. He’d barely read as far as ‘USC School of Cinematic Arts’ before he had his checkbook out. I hope you realize he’s going to be insufferable about this. It’s been less than a day and he’s already referred to you as ‘his daughter, the aspiring filmmaker’ three times. One of those was to the Prime Minister of Korea.

Regardless, I hope you know that I’ll always be proud of you, no matter what path you choose. If this is what you’re passionate about, then you should embrace it. I know you’ll be amazing, and I’m certain that Hollywood won’t know what hit them.

On an unrelated note, you might want to give your godmother a phone call. She was brokering a deal on our behalf with a Saudi industrialist when the man expressed ‘reservations’ about doing business with people who have an openly gay daughter. To hear our lawyers tell it, Jess tore into him so viciously that the man quite literally fled the room.

Needless to say, we took the deal off the table.

We’ll be back in a week, and we’d love to talk more about your plans over dinner. Taylor is welcome as well, though I’ll warn you that your father intends to put on the overprotective parent act again. I’d be grateful if Taylor could keep pretending to be intimidated by it.

Love,
Mom

P.S. – Your father wants to know whether your interest lies in narrative or documentary filmmaking. For the sake of my sanity, I beg you not to answer him until we get home.

 


 

Chloe: just be chill and remind urself why u love her

Victoria: I’m trying but this is a lot.

Chloe: cmon vic

Chloe: she didnt actually say she liked it did she?

Chloe: just that it wasnt as terrible as people say?

Victoria: Yeah. But still.

Chloe: and it isnt a dealbreaker is it?

Victoria: Of course not!

Chloe: then this is ur spirits within vic

Chloe: u gotta rise above

Chloe: sometimes loving someone means u gotta see past the bad stuff

Victoria: I know. And I do love Taylor. With all my heart.

Victoria: But The Last Airbender movie?

Victoria: Really?!

 


 

“Ugh...I’m so sorry.”

“It’s fine, babe. You don’t need to apologize.”

“But I had plans, Max. Hella romantic plans with dinner and flowers and shit. Not this piping hot...urk...bullshit sandwich.”

“It’s really alright. Chemotherapy is like this sometimes. I’m just happy we’re together.”

“This is our first Valentine’s Day! It...it was...hurgghh!”

“That’s it. You’re okay.”

“I...bleh...I wanted tonight to be special!”

“It is special, Chloe.”

“Watching me puke my guts out is not special.”

“Maybe not. But knowing that you trust me is. And that you’re not afraid to be vulnerable around me. And that even when you’re feeling your worst, you’re still thinking about how much you love me. That stuff is really special to me.”

“How the hell can you be so romantic kneeling on the bathroom floor?”

“I guess you bring out that side of me. Are you feeling any better?”

“Little bit.”

“Think you’re up for some soda crackers and ginger ale by candlelight?”

“Okay, seriously. What the fuck did I do to deserve you?”

“You were yourself. That was more than enough.”

“I love you, Max.”

“I love you, too, Chloe.”

“Even when I’m a hot mess?”

“Even then.”

 


 

Date: 23 February, 2014
From: d_madsen@webmail
To: chloe.price@webmail
Subj: Apology

Hello Chloe,

I can't imagine you're overly excited to get an email from me, so I'll try to keep it brief.

I owe you a tremendous apology for the way things were between us in Arcadia Bay. I was struggling with some serious issues that I wasn't ready to acknowledge at the time. I still am, if I'm being honest, but I’ve finally sought out the help I needed then, and I feel that I’ve made some very positive changes to my outlook on life.

I want you to know that I'm truly sorry for hurting you, for failing to respect your boundaries, for my disparaging and belittling remarks, and for ultimately throwing away whatever chance we could have had for a positive relationship. I'm especially sorry for how long it’s taken me to tell you as much.

I'm not asking for your forgiveness. I feel like that would be a little selfish at this point. Until recently I was just too proud to reach out and apologize to the people I hurt, and I'm not doing it now simply to make myself feel better.

For what it's worth, I do care about you. It's great to hear you're doing well.

I'm very happy for you.

Regards,
David Madsen

 


 

Taylor: You hate emojis, right?

Chloe: yes

Taylor: Even though you text like a dyslexic preteen?

Chloe: yes

Taylor: How come?

Chloe: because theyre dumb

Taylor: Do you hate these emojis?

Taylor: Throwing a table   (╯`□`)╯︵ ┻━┻

Taylor: Rocking out   \o/_(>.<)_\o/

Taylor: Flipping someone off    凸(ಠ_ಠ)凸

Taylor: Chloe?

Chloe: damn u taylor

Chloe: damn u to hell

 


 

Happy birthday, beautiful!

I woke up early, but I didn’t want to wake you up, too, so I just stared at you creepily until I had to go to school. (Just kidding (or am I?))

I got an email from Victoria about those people who yelled at you in the elevator about your loud music. She said that since Chase Intl. owns the building, they ‘can either shut the fuck up about it or find somewhere else to live’. With that in mind, I left a CD on the kitchen table that I know you’ll like. It’s a punk band from Seattle called Bloody Bootstraps.

Remind me to tell you about the time OtherChloe accidentally punched me in the face at one of their shows. Good times.

Send me a text when you wake up to let me know what kind of cake to pick up on the way home. Just so you know, if I don’t hear from you, I’ll just have to buy a bunch of different slices and hope for the best (hint, hint).

Love you,
Max

 


 

Victoria: You’re spending your 20th birthday in a hospital, hooked up to an IV line. I wonder how many people saw that one coming?

Chloe: keep it up and ur gonna find out what it feels like

Victoria: Don’t listen to what anyone says. Chemotherapy hasn’t made you any less pleasant to talk to.

Chloe: shouldnt u be day drinking somewhere?

Victoria: You know, I was at the drug store the other day and saw a great hair color you should try.

Victoria: Oh, wait...

Chloe: u know its not like i wish u were dead

Chloe: i just think id be happier if u were

Victoria: That attitude is going to take you places. Do us all a favor and never come back.

Chloe: is ur flat ass jealous of all the shit that comes out of ur mouth?

Victoria: You have such a lovely voice. Especially when you’re not using it.

Chloe: i hope ur next period happens in a shark tank

Victoria: So many people have never met you, and I’m jealous of every single one of them.

Chloe: id tell u to eat shit but that would be cannibalism

Victoria: Still holding on to that spot right at the top of the bell curve, I see.

Chloe: weak

Victoria: Yeah, that sucked.

Victoria: You’re proof that God exists, Chloe. Who else could make such a huge mistake?

Chloe: lol brutal

Chloe: i bet ur birth certificate is an apology letter from a condom factory

Victoria: Remember that whatever doesn’t kill you, only disappoints me.

Chloe: ur like a brand new penny vic

Chloe: real pretty but fucking worthless

Victoria: Oh shit. Good one.

 


 

Chloe: send me $100

Taylor: What?

Taylor: No.

Chloe: but ive got lung cancer

Taylor: Why the fuck does that make me want to send you money?

Chloe: ikr?

Chloe: i think i just found a real life cheat code

Taylor: That’s messed up, Clo.

Chloe: u cant judge me

Chloe: i have lung cancer

Taylor: Cut it out!

 


 

“Hello?”

“Confusion intensifies!”

“Good morning, Kris.”

“I know it was you! You’re always involved when things like this happen!”

“Could you please be a little more specific?”

“More specific? Okay. You know how I really, really wanted to study at USC, but my application got rejected?”

“Yes, I remember.”

“Well today I got an email from their Dean of Admissions. Not the Office of Admissions, Max. The fucking Dean of Admissions! Who somehow ended up with copies of the short films I made last summer and said they showed that I had real potential! Who personally offered me admission to the program of my choice!”

“And that’s bad...how, exactly?”

“Don’t you sass me, missy!”

“Could you please stop yelling?”

“How about the full-ride scholarship I got, even though I never applied for it?! How about that?!”

“What scholarship?”

“The Arcadia Bay Memorial Foundation Grant for Aspiring Young Artists. Which, by the way, didn’t exist until this year! I mean, Arcadia Bay, Max? Really?”

“Ah. Okay, in my defense, this is almost certainly Victoria’s doing.”

“...Victoria? As in, your friend, Victoria Chase?”

“That’s right.”

“The menacingly confident blonde with the cool poise of a marble sculpture and the encyclopedic knowledge of twentieth-century cinematic icons?”

“Yes?”

“Oh. Never mind, Max. We’re good.”

“Um...okay.”

“So, I...uh...don’t suppose you could give me her phone number? To thank her?”

“No.”

“Ma-”

“But I can give her yours.”

 


 

Max: <contact.inf/Kristen>

Victoria: Well, that didn’t take long.

Max: Be nice.

Victoria: I’m always nice.

Max: (-_-)

 


 

Chloe: this is bullshit

Chloe: im rich

Chloe: what do i need an education for?

Victoria: Trust me, you’re not that rich.

Chloe: ha ha

Victoria: Homework getting you down?

Chloe: its ged prep

Chloe: its all homework

Victoria: What are you working on?

Chloe: ap chem

Chloe: its actually really cool

Chloe: theres just so much of it

Victoria: Nerd.

Chloe: no u 

 


 

Chloe: so im sitting here trying to study

Chloe: but i just looked out the window

Chloe: and i saw this smokin hottie doing yoga out on her balcony

Chloe: srsly i have such a killer view

Chloe: but she cant see me watchin

Chloe: i dont know how im supposed to focus now

Chloe: i wonder what her name is?

Chloe: oh wait...

Chloe: thats u!

Max: I love you, too, you creep. ;)

 


 

Taylor: You’re a barista!

Max: Former barista.

Taylor: Explain this witchcraft!

Taylor: <latte_art.jpg>

Max: That’s not so tough to do.

Taylor: Then teach me your ways!

Max: lol I’ll show you how when you guys come visit. :)

Taylor: I want to make one that looks like a turtle!

Max: Maybe we’ll just start with a leaf.

 


 

“So, your mom says you’re being an idiot.”

“No, I’m not. I’m fine. She’s overreacting.”

“She also says your ankle is swollen up like a grapefruit.”

“No, it isn’t.”

“Send me a picture of it then.”

“I don’t need to send you a picture, Chloe. It’s fine.”

“You know I love you, right?”

“Of course I do.”

“Good, because I’m lovingly telling you to quit being a dumbass and go to the damn hospital!”

“I don’t want to.”

“Max...”

“I don’t want to go there, Chloe.”

“It’s just a building. I get how it might feel a little weird, but...”

“Weird? Weird?!”

“C’mon, Max. It’s not that bad.”

“Don’t you get it?! You died in that hospital!”

“...no, Max. I didn’t.”

“I was there, Chloe! I saw you...”

“No, you didn’t. I’m in Houston. The Chloe you’re talking about was someone else.”

“I...shit. I know. You’re right. I’m sorry.”

“I understand, babe. I know that project of yours is stirring up some old memories.”

“More than a few. I’m sorry. I’ll go to the hospital.”

“Atta girl.”

“I love you, Chloe.”

“I love you, too, Max.”

“Even when I’m being dumb?”

“Even then.”

 


 

Victoria: Houston Community College? Are you fucking kidding me?

Max: It's just a few summer classes.

Max: Why does it matter?

Victoria: You’re graduating high school with straight A’s and you’re going to Houston Community College?

Max: I’m just going to knock out some electives while Chloe’s still in treatment.

Victoria: Remember when I said ‘the best schools in the country’? Houston Community College is not one of the best schools in the country.

Victoria: Or Texas, for that matter.

Victoria: For fuck’s sake, it’s not even the best school in Houston.

Max: Whatever. I’m lucky I was even able to sign up so long after the application deadline.

Max: Victoria?

Max: The silent treatment? Really?

Max: You realize you’re being childish, right?

Victoria: I don’t do the silent treatment and I’m not childish. I need to check some things.

Victoria: In the meantime, you and I need to have a serious talk about your standards.

 


 

Date: 17 May, 2014
From: chloe.price@webmail
To: d_madsen@webmail
Subj: Re: Apology

David,

My therapist says I can thank you for your apology and actually mean it without having to forgive you.

So thank you for your apology.

I appreciate it.

-Chloe

 


 

“Check it out. I passed my GED exam.”

“...”

“What?”

“Holy shit, Chloe! You did amazing!”

“It’s not a big deal. I’m pretty sure a monkey could pass that test if they had six months to do nothing but study.”

“Babe, you didn’t just pass. You absolutely destroyed it. You got a perfect score in the science section! I’m so proud of you!”

“Heh...thanks.”

“Hey, you okay?”

“Yeah. It’s just that I worked my ass off for this dumb piece of paper, but...I dunno. Now that I’ve got it, what am I supposed to do now?”

 

Life, Remixed

Chapter Notes

Victoria: Since I’m not delusional enough to think I can talk you into leaving Houston while Chloe’s there, I’ve gone ahead and made more appropriate educational arrangements on your behalf.

Max: Hey, Victoria. Oh, I’m doing great. How are you?

Victoria: Cute. Anyway, someone will be contacting you later today about enrolling in distance summer classes through University of Texas at Austin.

Max: What have I told you about meddling?!

Victoria: I’m not going to let my best friend go to Houston Community College over something as stupid as an application deadline. UT Austin is ranked #28 worldwide, your grades were more than good enough to meet their admission standards. End of story.

Victoria: This is just for the summer, though. We’ll talk later about a more permanent solution.

Max: No meddling!

Victoria: Oh, Max.

Victoria: You haven’t even SEEN meddling yet.

 


 

Kristen: Hi Max.

Max: Hi, Kris. What’s up?

Kristen: Ms. Victoria asked me to help coordinate everything regarding your admission to UT Austin. Congratulations, by the way!

Kristen: I’m emailing you some mandatory paperwork from the Office of Admissions. I’ve filled in most of the fields, but it’d be great if you could double-check everything. If nothing needs to be changed, all you need to do is fill in the empty fields, sign your name, and email them back to me.

Kristen: Don’t worry about filling in the housing application part. Obviously, that doesn’t apply to you.

Kristen: Naturally, all your tuition and fees have been taken care of by Chase International, but if any issues come up there, I’ll work directly with the Bursar’s Office to resolve it. All you need to do is focus on your classes!

Kristen: Please let me know if you’ve got any questions!

Max: I have so many questions.

 


 

Max: Really, Victoria?

Max: REALLY?!

Victoria: Okay, look.

Victoria: Kristen may have a mile-wide submissive streak, but she also has a razor-sharp mind, an unparalleled work ethic, and an incredible amount of potential. If I don’t take advantage of that, someone else will. And that person might not have her best interests at heart.

Victoria: I want to support her in reaching her goals, just like I did before. For Kristen, this is the best form that support can take.

Max: You know, you make it really hard to be mad at you about this kind of thing.

Victoria: I’m aware.

 


 

 


 

“Hello?”

“Hi, Chloe.”

“Hey Vic. What’s good?”

“I wanted to ask you about something, if you’ve got a little time?”

“I’m plugged into a chemo infuser and Max is at the library. Time is something I’ve got plenty of.”

“How’s that going? The chemotherapy, I mean.”

“It’s not fun, but it’s working. The doc is pretty sure this round should do the trick.”

“That’s awesome. I’ll keep my fingers crossed.”

“Yeah, here’s hoping. Anyway, you wanted to ask me something?”

“Right. So, Max told me about your GED score. Pretty impressive.”

“Heh...thanks.”

“Have you given any thought about what you’re going to do with it?”

“Hang it on the wall?”

“Not what I meant.”

“Yeah, I know. Been asking myself the same thing.”

“Well, what do you actually want to do?”

“I dunno. I mean, I’m a decent artist. And I’m pretty good with engines, so I could always work as a mechanic.”

“I didn’t ask what you think you’re good enough for, Chloe. I asked what you want. If you could do anything, what would it be? Dream big.”

“Come on, Vic. Even if I did get my GED, I’m still a high school dro-”

“No, you’re not. And you never were. You were expelled, and only because Rachel Amber dragged you into her bullshit.”

“Hey...”

“And none of that even matters now, because you know what your GED score makes you? A high school graduate with a three-point-nine GPA. So, what do you want to do?”

“I really don’t know.”

“Really? Nothing? Not even a glimmer of an idea?”

“Well, I guess...I mean, it’s dumb, but...”

“Probably not as dumb as you think.”

“Okay, so, here’s the thing. Even if this room you scored me is awesome, Max has classes and there’s only so much time I can spend in here alone watching Netflix. And since chemo infusers are mounted on those rolling IV poles, I started going for these walks around the hospital sometimes. Just to stretch my legs, you know?”

“Sure.”

“I’ve been here for six months, though, and the place is only so big. It didn’t take long for me to see most of it, and I was getting kinda bored so I...uh...”

“Chloe?”

“Thing is, it’s a university hospital and there’s always these little groups of medical students wandering around, so I started to tag along. Like, not obviously. Just kinda nearby so I could listen to the attending give ‘em the gears about stuff.”

“Attending?”

“They’re kinda like teaching doctors.”

“Oh.”

“Right, so...uh...a couple weeks ago...”

“A couple of weeks ago...”

“Look, I was still waiting on my exam results and Max was asleep, and I ended up in the ICU following this group of interns while they did rounds. The attending had this box of mini candy bars, right? She kept asking them questions and tossing candy to the interns who got the right answers. And at one point she asked something about chemotherapy and none of the interns were saying anything so, y’know...”

“You answered.”

“Yeah. I mean, why not?”

“And you were right.”

“Yup. And she didn’t even blink. She just tossed me a candy bar and said ‘at least someone here knows what they’re talking about’. I’m standing there in a bathrobe and beanie like a fucking idiot, and she’s smiling at me, and a couple of the interns are giving me the stink-eye like they aren’t the ones who screwed around when they shoulda been studying, and...”

“And?”

“And...look, do you remember what Kate said right after the storm? About doing something important with our lives?”

“Of course I do.”

“I’ve been thinking about that ever since, and about all the people who’ve worked their asses off here to get me healthy again, and I guess...I mean, if I could do anything, I...uh...”

“Just say it, Chloe.”

“I swear to god, Vic, you better not laugh.”

“I won’t. Promise.”

“I...I think I’d want to be a doctor.”

“Alright. Then let’s get you started.”

“...what?”

 


 

Kate: I just got a call from the district attorney’s office. They don’t need me to testify after all.

Kate: Both women agreed to plead guilty to reckless endangerment if the criminal negligence charges were dropped. Their nursing licenses are going to be permanently revoked.

Kate: The lawyer I talked to said it was a good thing, because they’d have had trouble getting a conviction for criminal negligence.

Taylor: Better than nothing, I guess. I hope the judge locks them up and throws away the key.

Kate: He also said that they probably won’t go to jail.

<Incoming Call: Taylor Christensen>

<Call Declined>

Kate: Are you angry?

Taylor: Of course I’m angry!

Kate: I’m sorry. I’m not ready to shoulder someone else’s anger right now.

Kate: Please don’t be offended.

Taylor: No, it’s okay. I get it.

Taylor: And I can keep my cool if you need to talk.

Kate: Promise?

Taylor: Promise.

Kate: Alright.

<Incoming Call: Taylor Christensen>

“Hey, Taylor.”

“Hey, Kate. You okay?”

“He...he said it’s because nobody actually got hurt because of what they did.”

“Oh.”

“...they abandoned us, Taylor.”

“Yeah, they did.”

“It’s not fair.”

“No, it isn’t.”

 


 

Max: What do you like better? Pizza or Chinese?

Chloe: u

Max: I meant for dinner.

Chloe: whatever i like u best and I always will

Max: Okay, that’s really sweet and I love you too but I also need a decision

Chloe: answers still u

Chloe: but i guess some pork lo mein would be a pretty close 2nd right now

 


 

Max: Then there was the Avengers musical. I guess it was a neat idea, but a couple of those songs were kind of uncomfortable.

Victoria: She means seriously fucked up. Loki does this song called Daddy’s Boy. Let’s just say that there was some very clear subtext.

Victoria: Tom Hiddleston refused to do it. They had to re-cast the part at the last minute.

Max: Weird how they went with Matt Damon.

Victoria: He was probably desperate for work.

Max: Good point. Who knows how much money he lost producing that live-action SpongeBob disaster?

Chloe: oh whatever

Taylor: We know you guys are just trying to mess with us.

Victoria: I wish.

Chloe: were not buying it

Taylor: We already fell for that Mountain Dew Gold thing back in April. You’re not getting us twice.

Chloe: u mean u fell for that

Taylor: Oh please. I remember you being all ‘I’m gonna buy it by the case and strain out all the gold flakes for money’.

Chloe: fuck u they made it sound legit

Kate: Are they really making a live action SpongeBob Squarepants movie?

Max: I still see it in my nightmares.

 


 

Taylor: So you know how Douglas’s grandson is a lawyer?

Kate: Yes?

Taylor: He’s taking those ex-nurse bitches to court and wants to know if we want to get in on a class action suit.

Kate: You can go ahead, but I won’t. I think there’s a difference between seeking justice and seeking vengeance.

Taylor: Well, way to make me feel like an asshole.

Kate: I’m sorry. :(

Taylor: No, you’re right. I’ll give him a TBNT.

Kate: TBNT?

Taylor: Thanks, but no thanks.

Kate: Oh.

Taylor: You just have to keep making me want to be a better person, don’t you?

Kate: I’m sorry.

Taylor: You know, I don’t think you’re sorry about that at all.

Kate: No, I’m not. :)

 


 

Chloe: guess whos officially in remission?

Chloe: THIS MOTHERFUCKER RIGHT HERE!

Mom: REALLY?!?!

Mom: OH MY GOODNESS THAT’S SO WONDERFUL!!!!

Kate: That’s so fantastic! Congratulations!

David: That’s great news, Chloe!

Victoria: You just can’t finish anything, can you? (Seriously, though, I’m so happy for you!)

Mr. C: Way to go, kiddo!

Mrs. C: We knew you could do it!

Taylor: Hell yeah! That’s awesome!

Taylor: Does that mean you and Max are coming back to Seattle?

Chloe: u know its funny u should ask

 


 

Stanford University
Office of Undergraduate Admission

7 June 2014

Dear Ms. Price,

Congratulations! On behalf of the Office of Undergraduate Admission, it is my pleasure to offer you a place in Stanford’s Class of 2018.

You have every reason to be proud of your accomplishments. In addition to your outstanding GPA, we were especially moved by your essay regarding the personal challenges you have faced and how they’ve shaped the person you’ve become. In acknowledgement of your unique circumstances, we have elected to waive the usual application deadline, and we are honored to invite you to join the Stanford Community.

The materials in your admission packet (forthcoming by mail) are designed to assist you with...

 


 

Chloe: im gonna miss texas

Chloe: max took me out for dinner to celebrate

Chloe: and i ordered some bbq ribs

Chloe: and the waitress asked if i wanted a side of short ribs

Chloe: to go with my bbq ribs

Kate: Yum!

Chloe: salad was not suggested

Taylor: Damn right it wasn’t.

Chloe: i knew u guys would get it

 


 

Stanford University
Office of Undergraduate Admission

19 June 2014

Dear Ms. Caulfield,

After careful review, I am pleased to inform you that your application to transfer to Stanford University has been accepted. Both your outstanding academic performance at the University of Texas at Austin and the glowing recommendations we received from several of your professors reveal a focused and dedicated student, and we feel that you would make an excellent addition to our alumni.

On behalf of everyone at Stanford, we look forward to having you join us for the 2014/2015 academic year...

 


 

Max: Victoria?

Victoria: Yes?

Max: When did I send a transfer application to Stanford University?

Victoria: Early May.

Max: And I have no memory of that because...?

Victoria: You earned the grades that got you in, Max.

Victoria: You can thank me for the rest later.

 


 

“Hello?”

“Hello, I’m looking for Margret Herman?”

“Yes, that’s me. May I ask who’s speaking?”

“My name is Joyce Madsen. You knew my daughter, Chloe Price.”

“I’m sorry, the name sounds familiar, but...”

“She was a student at Blackwell Academy. You were the school’s academic advisor at the time.”

“Oh, of course. I remember Chloe.”

“Do you recall what you said when she actually came to you for academic advice?”

“I spoke to a lot of students.”

“It was when she expressed an interest in attending university after graduation. I believe your response was something along the lines of ‘there’s a time and place for lofty goals, but I think you’d be better off setting your sights on something more realistic’.”

“...”

“You do remember, don’t you?”

“What I remember, Mrs. Madsen, is that your daughter’s ambitions exceeded her academic potential.”

“Hm.”

“I’m sorry if you feel personally insulted, but I didn’t want to set her up for failure. My job is to help students set achievable goals. The unfortunate truth is that your daughter simply wasn’t college material, as evidenced by her eventual expulsion.”

“Is that right? Well, I suppose no one told that to the Stanford University Admissions Office. Chew on that, you condescending bitch.”

“I beg your pard-!”

 


 

Max: hey victoria guess what?

Victoria: Chloe, give Max her phone back.

Max: no i'm not chloe this is max.

Victoria: Right.

Max: it really is me i'm in seattle visiting mom and dad right now while chloe is visiting joyce and david in denver and it turns out that taylor wasn’t busy today so the two of us decided to get together for a coffee and i told her about that coffee place near the montlake house you remember that place right?

Victoria: Oh no.

Max: oh yes!

Max: so we went and we each got two of those really big expreddos.

Max: expresos.

Max: espresaos.

Max: drinks.

Victoria: Please tell me that was a typo.

Victoria: Please tell me you haven’t had two of those hyper-caffeinated abominations EACH.

Max: we totally did!

Max: taylor really liked it so she drank hers really fast and got another so i drank the rest of mine and then i got another and then we drank those ones too but its fine we’re fine we’ve been playing ultimate frisbee for like an hour now with a bunch of really cool people we met in the park.

Victoria: I swear to god, Max, if you give my girlfriend a heart attack a week before my birthday I WILL END YOU.

Victoria: Max?

Victoria: Max, you answer me right now!

Max: Hi there. Is Max the excitable brunette who runs like a coked-up cheetah, or the trash-talking blonde with reflexes like a rattlesnake?

Victoria: Who is this?

Max: The coach of the AUDL team whose practice your friends crashed.

Victoria: Oh my god, I am so sorry. They aren’t usually like this.

Max: I got that impression.

Max: Gotta say, though, they’re giving some of my players a real run for their money.

Max: Have either of them ever considered joining an ultimate disc team?

 


 

“Uh, hi. Ms. Grant? It’s Chloe Price.”

...

“David Madsen gave me your number. He’s my ste...he’s married to my mom.”

...

“Pretty good. How about you?”

...

“Fresno, huh? Sounds like a party town.”

...

“That’s cool.”

...

“Anyway, I’m calling because...uh...okay, you remember how back when I was still at Blackwell you were always trying to kick my ass into actually trying? And how I was kind of a shit about it?”

...

“No, it’s cool. I totally was. I’m owning it.”

...

“Right, so the thing is, I’m starting at Stanford next month.”

...

“Yup, that Stanford.”

...

“I got my GED.”

...

“Three-point-nine.”

...

“I know, right?”

...

“Because even if it didn’t take at the time, I wanted to thank you for trying to help me. And...y’know...let you know it worked out in the end.”

...

“Chemistry, actually. I’m...uh...I want to be a doctor.”

...

“I guess.”

...

“Aw, c’mon...”

...

“It’s not that big a deal.”

...

“I am not!”

...

“I’m not crying, you’re crying!”

...

“Well, then I guess were both crying! Happy now?”

...

“...yeah?

...

“I’m really happy, too.”

...

“That’s awesome.”

...

“I totally will.”

...

“Cool.”

...

“Alright. Take it easy, Ms. G. And seriously, thank you.”

 


 

Victoria: Happy Birthday, Kate!

Taylor: Happier Birthday, Kate!

Chloe: happiest bday special k!

Max: And Max was there, too. ;)

Chloe: i love u but no emoji weve talked about this

Kate: Thank you everyone!! :D

Chloe: im gonna let u emoji but only cuz its ur bday

Taylor: Victoria and I are on a 5:30 flight so we should get to Stanford by about 8pm

Kate: You’re not coming up to Berkeley?

Victoria: We’d love to, but FOR SOME REASON you’ve chosen to live in a shared dorm room. Max and Chloe have an actual apartment.

Kate: Okay, but can I show you guys around tomorrow?

Taylor: Totally. I bet the entire campus smells like weed.

Kate: Not the entire campus. ;)

Chloe: okay im gonna go on a totally legal booze run that def doesnt involve a fake id

Chloe: what do u guys want?

Victoria: I’ll email you the names of a couple of Napa cabernets I’ve been wanting to try. They should be easy to find.

Chloe: omfg ur a snob

Victoria: Says you, peasant.

Taylor: I feel like trying something new. Surprise me?

Chloe: kk ill find something good

Kate: I’d like some cider. Dry apple is my favorite.

Chloe: huh?

Kate: I’d like some dry apple cider, please.

Chloe: u want booze too?

Kate: That’s right.

Chloe: why?

Kate: Because it’s my nineteenth birthday?

Victoria: Who else just felt their worldview crack a little?

Chloe: big time

Taylor: I’m a little scared.

Kate: For goodness sake, I’m not a nun! >:(

Chloe: ok ok chill

Chloe: i can feel ur disappointed look thru my phone

Chloe: i got u special k

Chloe: u ever try south city?

Kate: No.

Chloe: its pretty good ill get u some of that

Kate: Thank you, Chloe!

Victoria: This feels weird. Doesn’t this feel weird?

Max: You think this is weird? Try playing Cards Against Humanity with her.

Taylor: WHAT?!?!

Chloe: lol were totally playing that tonight!

 


 

Max: How many tea shops are there in the Bay Area, anyway?

Kate: A lot. I tried to google it but stopped counting after 100. There are 25 just around Berkeley!

Kate: And that doesn’t even include the bubble tea shops.

Max: I dunno. We might be biting off more than we can chew here. :/

Kate: Hey now, that’s quitter talk! We can do it!

Max: You know what? We CAN do it!

Kate: Every tea shop in the city before next September! ٩(^‿^)۶

Max: Every tea shop in the city before next September! \(^O^)/

 


 

Victoria: You know what sucks?

Max: Well, there’s something everyone loves to hear on their birthday.

Victoria: Oh, cut it out. Taylor and I are already at the airport. We’ll be there in a few hours.

Victoria: But that’s what got me thinking. You and Chloe are going to be at Stanford and Kate’s going to be at Berkeley while Taylor & I are down in LA, and it feels like we’re barely going to see you guys.

Max: You were here literally last week for Kate’s birthday.

Victoria: Yeah, but there’s only so many times we can fly up there to hang out!

Max: That might be the most privileged sentence I’ve ever read in my life.

Victoria: Do you want your birthday present or not?

Max: You’re my best friend and I love you and I’ll miss you every single day you’re not around.

Victoria: Goddamn right you will. ;)

 


 

Taylor: Just between the three of us, does anyone else think the whole OtherChloe thing is kind of weird?

Victoria: It is a little concerning.

Taylor: Do you think one of us should say something?

Kate: I don’t think so. This is just their way of coming to terms with some very difficult to process emotions. I read about things like this over the summer.

Taylor: You’re not worried about them talking about someone who doesn’t exist?

Kate: That’s just it, though. She DID exist.

Kate: It’d be one thing if they were using an imaginary OtherChloe persona to separate Chloe from her current thoughts and behaviors, but in this case they’re using it to differentiate between two very different people.

Kate: Using the name ‘OtherChloe’ rather than pronouns like ‘you’ or ‘me’ probably helps remind Max that the Chloe we know is a unique individual with her own thoughts and feelings, and reassures Chloe that Max sees her that way.

Kate: It might seem strange to us, but then this whole situation is pretty strange, isn’t it?

Kate: Hello?

Victoria: You majoring in psychology suddenly makes so much more sense.

 


 

Victoria: What’s a good example of theological symbolism in a popular late 20th century film?

Max: Do your own schoolwork, Victoria. :P

Victoria: But Maaaaaaax... :(

Max: Fine. Let me think.

Max: The Matrix?

Victoria: Really?

Max: Yeah. Apparently it’s a whole thing.

Victoria: Weird. I’ll look it up.

 


 

“Hang on, I know I have a picture here somewhere.”

“Sir, I...”

“Ah, here it is. That’s my stepdaughter Chloe on the left, and her girlfriend Max on the right.”

“Hm.”

“It’s the hair, right? No, I get it. I’d think the same thing if I were you, but she lost it to chemotherapy. And the tattoos, well...teenagers.”

“I understand, sir. I have three daughters of my own.”

“Fair enough.”

“Is she doing better, if you don’t mind me asking?”

“Much better. She’s officially been in remission for a few months now.”

“Glad to hear that, sir. In any case, could y-”

“Chloe and I didn’t have the easiest relationship when she was growing up. I’m trying to do better, though. And you can’t even imagine how proud her mother and I are...”

“Hello.”

“Afternoon, ma’am.”

“...that she just started at Stanford last month.”

“You don’t say? Congratulations. That’s a great school.” 

“Yeah. She’s really something.”

“Sure sounds like it. But sir, I really am going to need to see your license and registration now.”

 


 

Victoria: Seriously?

Victoria: You really don’t see the Christian symbolism embedded in the Matrix?

Kate: I didn’t say that, exactly. I just think that some people are reading too much into things.

Kate: Especially the whole Neo/Jesus comparison.

Victoria: Unbelievable.

Victoria: Okay, what are you doing on Saturday?

Kate: Nothing in particular.

Victoria: Good. I’m going to jump on a commuter flight up to SF, head out to Berkeley, we’re going to get lunch, and we’re going to settle this.

Kate: Sounds fun. :)

Victoria: Be warned, Marsh. I WILL be bringing literature to back up my case.

Kate: You go right ahead. I’ll bring my Bible.

Victoria: Hm.

Victoria: Okay, we might have to get dinner, too.

 


 

“This is Weatherman Cliff on ALT 105.3, the Bay’s Area Alternative radio station, and that was Throttle, the latest from Bloody Bootstraps. Well, folks, it’s twenty minutes past the hour and I’m getting bored just sitting here, so we’re gonna have ourselves a round of Cliff’s Crazy Stories. That’s right, I want you to call in with your best and weirdest, and the first person to blow my mind gets an ALT 105.3 t-shirt and, oh, what the hell; two tickets to see Placebo live in three weeks at The Masonic. First caller, wow me!”

“Hey, Cliff. Big fan.”

“Thanks, brother.”

“So, this one time in college, me and my buddies went to this out-of-control party and...”

“Now, I’m gonna stop you right there. Is this rolling into how you all got totally plastered and one of you almost died doing something really stupid?”

“Uh...yeah. Basically.”

“Heard it all before, my man, but I tell you what. I always appreciate a good drinking story, so I’m gonna go ahead and hook you up with one of those t-shirts anyway. Just stay on the line.”

“Dope! You rock, Cliff!”

“I try. Next caller?”

“WOO!!! 49ERS RULE!!”

“Not last season, they didn’t. Next caller?”

“Heya, Cliff. Love the show.”

“Right on. What have you got for me?”

“I mean, it’s not Radio Free NOAA, but you had to be there for that one, amirite?”

“You trying to say you were?”

“Arcadia Bay, born and raised. There to the bitter end, too.”

“Man, stories don’t get much crazier than that, but if you think you can beat the night of the storm, I’m all ears.”

“Lemme put it to you this way, Cliff. I was in the room the very first time you spoke into the mic.”

“What do you mean you were...oh, no freakin’ way.”

“Yup. Sorry ‘bout that whole thing. No hard feelings?”

“Wow...uh...no hard feelings, caller. Glad you got out okay.”

“Right back ‘atcha.”

“Don’t suppose you’d be interested in leaving your info for those concert tickets?”

“Not so much, but thanks. Take it easy, buddy.”

“You, too. Well, folks, I’m bound by a stack of non-disclosure agreements as tall as I am from explaining what that was about all about, but here’s what I can do. For the rest of today’s show, I’m gonna be giving away concert tickets to anyone who can prove they were in Arcadia Bay, Oregon the night the storm hit. You’re listening to Weatherman Cliff on ALT 105.3, the Bay’s Area Alternative, and this is the Foo Fighters with The Pretender.”

 


 

Max: Everyone ready for this weekend?

Victoria: SO ready. I need to spend some time not thinking about midterms.

Taylor: Amen to that!

Chloe: i think thats kates line

Taylor: Sorry, Kate.

Kate: I’ll let it slide this time. ;)

Taylor: NO EMOJI

Victoria: NO EMOKI

Max: NO EMOJI

Victoria: Damn it!

Chloe: u all think ur soooooo funny

Max: Anyway, we’re all meeting by the car rental desks at Portland International at 2:00. That’ll give us time to get the car, pick up groceries, and make it out to the coast about an hour before the sun goes down.

Taylor: Good. I really don’t feel like setting up tents in the dark.

Taylor: By the way, we have to stop in Tillamook. Douglas got his son-in-law to score us some primo fireworks. Can’t have a real anniversary camping trip without fireworks!

Chloe: gonna blow something up!

Taylor: Yeah, we are!

Kate: Are we sure no one else is going to be there?

Taylor: 100%

Taylor: Vicky’s dad actually went way overboard making sure we’d have the place to ourselves.

Max: I’m afraid to ask.

Taylor: He hired private security contractors to keep people out. Other than us, anyone who tries to get into Arcadia Bay this weekend is going to have a really bad time.

Max: WHAT?!

Chloe: lol sick

Victoria: I didn’t ask him to! He just did it on his own!

Taylor: We know, babe.

Kate: OH! WE NEED TO REMEMBER TO GET MARSHMALLOWS TO MAKE S’MORES!

Victoria: KATE IS SPEAKING MY LANGUAGE!

Kate: I FOUND AN ARTISANAL BAKERY THAT MAKES THE TASTIEST GRAHAM CRACKERS I’VE EVER HAD!

Victoria: OH MY GOD I CAN BRING THIS AMAZING CHOCOLATE AUNT JESS BROUGHT BACK FROM SWITZERLAND!

Kate: YES YOU NEED TO DO THAT!

Taylor: You two are adorable. :P

Chloe: ur all waiting for me to say it but im not gonna say it

Victoria: One last thing. Max & Taylor, no talking about ultimate frisbee. No one else cares.

Max: It’s ultimate disc.

Taylor: Don’t bother. I’ve tried and tried.

Victoria: Kate. No pretending to care about ultimate frisbee just because you care about Max and Taylor.

Kate: Okay. :(

Chloe: dont need to say it

Chloe: im already in ur heads

Kate: Oh no! She’s right!

Victoria: Chloe. Please promise not to bring up ultimate frisbee just to annoy me.

Chloe: hey i totally would any other time

Chloe: but not this weekend

Chloe: promise

 


 

Max: Do you think the fact that Agatha Christie wrote 80 books in her career is diminished by the fact that many people considered them to be pulp fiction?

Victoria: You really want to know what I think?

Max: Yes, please.

Victoria: I think you should write your own essay, Max.

Max: But it’d be so much better with your input.

Victoria: Trying to bait my ego? Rookie move, Caulfield.

Max: Yeah. I should’ve known you’d be too smart to fall for that.

Victoria: Damn right I am.

 


 

Kristen: Hello, Ms. Victoria.

Kristen: Are you busy?

Ms. Victoria: Not at the moment.

Kristen: I just wanted to let you know that if you ever need someone to help you take on some of your coursework, I’d be happy to make time for that.

Kristen: Ms. Victoria?

Ms. Victoria: While I understand the sentiment, I’m perfectly capable of doing my own schoolwork. You should focus on your own. As we’ve discussed before, you have tremendous potential. I’d be very disappointed to see you squander it by needlessly taking on somebody else’s responsibilities.

Ms. Victoria: Is that clear?

Kristen: Yes, ma’am.

Kristen: It’s just that I wasn’t offering to do your work for you. I happened to notice your midterm grades and saw that you found audio integration a little challenging.

Kristen: I did really well in that, though.

Kristen: And I was wondering if you’d like a tutor?

Kristen: Ms. Victoria?

Ms. Victoria: I’d like that very much. Thank you.

 


 

Max: She did what?!

Victoria: Totally called me out on my Cinematic Communications midterm and offered to help me do better on the final!

Max: Go Kris!

Victoria: I know! My little intern is growing up!

 


 

“Kate?”

“Yes, Max?”

“Did you just order our tea in Japanese?”

“Yes, I did.”

“Okay. And where did you learn Japanese?”

“I’m taking it as my language credit, and my professor taught me how to order tea like a native speaker. She says my accent is really good.”

“No kidding. The server’s jaw just about hit the floor.”

“I practiced a lot. My roommate’s sister’s boyfriend told me that if you come to this shop and order in Japanese, you’ll get the best jasmine tea in the city.”

“And if you order in English?”

“A cup of whatever’s been boiling all day.”

“So basically, you’re learning Japanese for the sake of getting good tea?”

“Mhm.”

“Wow. Dedication, thy name is Marsh.”

 


 

Taylor: Stupid bonding theory bullshit...

Chloe: yo u talkin trash about chem?

Chloe: cus i will fight u christensen!

Taylor: Could you maybe just help me instead?

Chloe: oh ya for sure

Chloe: skype in 10?

Taylor: You’re a lifesaver, Clo.

 


 

<message deleted>

Chloe: sup sup special k?

Taylor: Hey, Kate. How’s the fam?

<message deleted>

Taylor: Why are you using Kate’s phone?

<message deleted>

Chloe: u stole it?

Chloe: lol are u sure ur kates sister?

<message deleted>

Chloe: ask me and t?

<message deleted>

<message deleted>

Chloe: kk 1 sec ill call max

Taylor: V's just in the other room. I'll go get her.

Max: Hey, Lynn! What’s up?

Victoria: Taylor says you wanted to ask us something?

<message deleted>

Taylor: Of course we won’t.

Victoria: Not if you don’t want us to.

Chloe: lips r sealed

Max: Hang on. I’m in class and this feels important. Just going to duck out.

Max: Okay, ask away.

<message deleted>

Victoria: Oh.

Chloe: askin the big questions goddamn

Victoria: A little?

Chloe: honestly more like angry

Max: Pretty stressed, but in hindsight I didn’t need to be.

Taylor: FUCKING TERRIFIED.

<message deleted>

Taylor: To be fair, I was dealing with some anxiety issues at the time. I’m way better now.

<message deleted>

Victoria: Definitely not. Trust me on that.

Taylor: It’ll make you miserable.

Chloe: ya what they said

<message deleted>

Max: That’s fine. Take your time.

<message deleted>

<message deleted>

<message deleted>

Max: I’m sure none of that will happen!

Chloe: it probably wont but it could

Taylor: Fuck’s sake, Clo!

Victoria: She’s right, babe. No point lying about it.

Chloe: sorry kiddo

<message deleted>

Victoria: That's easy. Sit next to Kate.

Max: Absolutely.

Chloe: ya special k is a badass

<message deleted>

Taylor: No, seriously. Your sister is awesome.

Chloe: shell totally have ur back no matter what

<message deleted>

Max: Of course you can. 

Taylor: But maybe use your own phone next time.

Chloe: no keep stealing kates its funnier!

<message deleted>

Max: Oh no! That sucks!

<message deleted>

Victoria: Well, just send us your number when you do.

<message deleted>

Max: Good luck!

Victoria: We’ll always be here if you need to talk.

Chloe: and we all got couches if u ever need a place to crash

<message deleted>

Taylor: Thanks.

Chloe: and no emoji

<message deleted>

Chloe: delete ur messages and run!

Kate: Do you guys know what Lynn was doing with my phone?

Taylor: No idea what you mean.

Victoria: Haven’t checked my messages all afternoon.

Max: My phone’s been on silent all day.

Chloe: dont even own a phone

 

 

Chapter End Notes

Perso_Aprilo drew a little homage to Max and Taylor's poor decision making.

Who We Choose To Be

Kate: The craziest thing just happened!

Taylor: Too crazy to wish me a Merry Christmas first?

Kate: I’m so sorry! Merry Christmas, Taylor!

Taylor: I’m just teasing. ;P What’s going on?

Kate: We were all sitting down to Christmas breakfast and my sister Lynn came out as bisexual!

Kate: It was so sudden! She was like “Those waffles look delicious and by the way I’m attracted to both boys and girls so when are we opening presents?”

Kate: The whole table went silent and I was so sure Mom was going to explode, but she just took a deep breath and said that even though it’s a lifestyle she doesn’t understand, she loves Lynn no matter what.

Kate: Then she said she needed to pray on some of the things she was feeling and excused herself.

Kate: Lynn was so relieved that she started crying.

Kate: She’d been so scared!

Taylor: Oh thank fucking god! I’ve been trying not to stress about that!

Kate: You knew?

Taylor: Yeah. Remember when she stole your phone a few days ago? She wanted to ask me, Vicky, Max, and Clo if we were scared when we came out to our parents.

Taylor: And what she should do if it went badly.

Kate: I sort of wondered if it was something like that, but I wasn’t sure if she wanted to talk to me about it. I can see why Lynn might have been worried. Our mother doesn’t have the best history when it comes to tolerance.

Kate: But Dad said that she’s spent a lot of time over the last year praying on Jesus’ teachings about love and acceptance.

Taylor: Jesus was pretty down with that stuff, right? ;)

Kate: Yes, Taylor. Jesus was ‘pretty down’ with love and acceptance. :P

Taylor: Anyway, we told Lynn that even if it was scary, she’d be okay as long as you were there.

Kate: Wait, is that why she got me a coffee mug that says Awesome Badass on it?

Taylor: Lol! Yeah, that was probably because of us.

Kate: Awww! You guys! :*)

 


 

Kate: Happy New Year!

Taylor: Happy New Year, you damn Berkeley hippie! ;)

Chloe: happy new year special k!

Max: NEW Year? Bah!

Victoria: If you’ve seen one 2015, you’ve seen ‘em all!

Taylor: Har har.

Max: Why, back in our day, when you called a year 2015 it meant something!

Victoria: Now all you darned kids are doing it!

Chloe: whatever ya old geezers

Max: Damn whippersnapper!

Taylor: Respect your elders, Chloe. Even the senile ones.

Victoria: Disrespectful hooligan!

Kate: Silly old time travelers.

 


 

Chloe: hey t

Chloe: u got a minute?

Chloe: i kinda need to talk to someone who isnt from the future

Taylor: Of course. What’s up?

Chloe: max seemed kinda down today

Chloe: and i wanted to help

Chloe: so i asked her to tell me what was wrong

Chloe: but then she told me

Chloe: and now i wish i hadnt asked

Taylor: Are you guys okay?

Chloe: ya were good

Chloe: but in the other timeline

Chloe: where max and vic are from?

Chloe: i died at 8am this morning

<Incoming Call: Taylor Christensen>

 


 

Victoria: Hey, Chloe. Are you busy?

Chloe: nope

Chloe: sup?

Victoria: I can’t figure out what to get Taylor for her birthday next month. Do you have any ideas?

Victoria: I’m drawing a complete blank.

Chloe: k lemme think

Chloe: u guys met in middle school right?

Victoria: That’s right. Homeroom on our first day. We sat next to each other. Why?

Chloe: heres what u do

Chloe: go on google maps and find the school

Chloe: right click on the spot where ur homeroom was

Chloe: write down the numbers u see at the top

Chloe: get them engraved on a bracelet or a necklace or something

Chloe: along with the date/time u met

Chloe: so she can always remember where u guys started out

Victoria: Oh my god, that’s perfect!

Victoria: You’re like some kind of romantic savant!

Chloe: ya i know

Chloe: its a curse

 


 

“Hello? Max? Chloe? Can you see me on your end?”

“We can see you fine, Mom.”

“Well, I can’t see you. Hang on, let me just...oh, there you are!”

“Hi, Joyce!”

“Hello, Max! Hello, sweetheart!”

“Hey. So, care to tell us what was so important that it couldn’t wait until we come visit next week?”

“Well, we have something we wanted to share, but we weren’t quite sure how you’d react, so...”

“So we wanted to tell you while you were still in a different state.”

“David!”

“What? It’s true!”

“I swear to god, if one of you fucking copycats has cancer...”

“Chloe!”

“No, it’s nothing like that. It’s actually very exciting news!”

“We’re all ears, Joyce.”

“Yeah, Mom. Lay it on us.”

“Chloe, what if I told you that in about seven months, you’re going to be a big sister?”

 


 

Chloe: help!

Chloe: help me!

Chloe: the sky is falling!

Chloe: everything is ruined forever!

Chloe: r u guys there????

Chloe: help help help help!

Taylor: Oh my god, what?!

Chloe: the worst thing happened!

Chloe: its the worst thing!

Victoria: Don’t you have Max to unload these theatrics on?

Chloe: she doesnt understand!

Chloe: she and kate are laughing at my pain!

Taylor: What the hell could have happened on a Tuesday to get you this worked up?

Chloe: fucking david knocked up my mom

Taylor: Oh shit.

Victoria: Are you okay?

Taylor: Do you need anything?

Victoria: We can be on the next flight to San Francisco.

 


 

“Hey there, Vicky.”

“Hey there, Sweet T. Look at you, making all the other girls jealous.”

“Only because they don’t have you on their arm, gorgeous.”

“Flatterer. Oh, you know what I was thinking about today?”

“What’s that?”

“That even though someone or something saved me from being cast into oblivion, the thing I’m more grateful for is that I get to be with you.”

“I...wow.”

“What?”

“Babe, I don’t know if you were trying to win Valentine’s Day with that line, but you just did.”

“I mean it. Every day we’ve got together is a gift I never thought I could have.”

“Okay, that was just a victory lap.”

“I’m seri-”

“Vicky?”

“Yes?”

“Shut up and kiss me.”

 


 

Max: You’re going down, Christensen.

Taylor: What was that? I couldn’t hear you over that constant whining.

Taylor: I’ve been hearing it ever since Stanford bombed their last game.

Max: At least we got points on the board. Last time UCLA played, you couldn’t even find the end zone.

Max: Should we draw you guys a map? We’ve got crayons and everything.

Taylor: Whatever. We’re coming up there to clean up the trash. Be ready.

Max: Pretty sure you’re bringing all the trash with you. :)

Taylor: Laugh it up, Caulfield. We’ll see who’s laughing on Friday.

Max: Friday? The game is on Saturday.

Taylor: Yeah but I figured we’d come up a day early so we could hang out.

Max: Totally! There’s this new diner near campus you’ll love. They have a burger that’s just called The Extra Bacon and when Chloe tried one of their milkshakes, she said she’d found god.

Max: Kate didn’t even disagree with her.

Taylor: Damn. I’m sold.

Max: Awesome! You can have one after the game to wash away the bitter taste of defeat.

Taylor: I’m sorry, who threw a disc into the back of her own coach’s head?

Max: THAT WAS ONE TIME! >:(

 


 

Chloe: so i hear ur coming up for the game on sat

Victoria: Just to support Taylor. I’m seriously not into the whole ultimate frisbee thing.

Chloe: me either but I still wanna be there for max

Victoria: That’s nice.

Chloe: ya

Victoria: My girlfriend is going to kick your girlfriend’s ass, though.

Chloe: oh were gonna fuckin see about that

 


 

Victoria: Happy 21st birthday, Chloe!

Chloe: and?

Victoria: And what?

Chloe: thats it?

Chloe: just happy bday?

Chloe: no passive aggressive smack talk?

Chloe: no reminding me im technically younger than u? 

Victoria: Nope. 

Victoria: But just so we’re clear, that’s your birthday present.

 


 

“I...you...you’re...the Coast Guard?!

“Yep.”

“As in the US Coast Guard?”

“That’s the one. I got my acceptance letter last week for the CSPI program at UCLA. It’s like an ROTC thing.”

“I have no idea what any of that means, but seriously...the Coast Guard?”

“Yes, Victoria. I honestly don’t know how much clearer I can make that.”

“Taylor, I...why the fuck would you want to join the Coast Guard?

“Because there’re going to be other storms, babe. And I don’t want anyone to get left behind.”

“So, what? You’re going to swim out to sea and get them?”

“Actually, I was thinking I’d fly.”

 


 

Max: How about we just act all nervous and cagey for the whole week. We can play it up a little more every day and refuse to tell them why.

Victoria: That’s perfect! We can be all ‘don’t worry about it’ and ‘when it happens, you’ll know’.

Max: They’ll get so freaked out! :P

Victoria: This is going to be the best April Fool’s ever!

 


 

Date: 15 April, 2015
From: d.farren@penguinrandomhouse
To: maxcaulfield@webmail
Subj: Manuscript

Hello Ms. Caulfield,

I hope this email finds you well. I’m reaching out with regard to the manuscript you submitted to us last month...

 


 

Chloe: do u have class this afternoon?

Victoria: Unlike you, I always have class.

Chloe: ha ha

Chloe: im in la today to check in with some fancy doctor man

Chloe: u wanna go see fury road after im done?

Victoria: Why the hell would you even ask me that?

Victoria: Of course I do.

 


 

Max: Remember the fake book?

Victoria: Sure. What about it?

Max: I kinda wrote another one. A real one, I mean.

Victoria: No kidding?

Max: My Lit professor thought it was really good and even suggested I send it to some people to see what they thought.

Victoria: That was cool of him. I’d love to read it.

Max: You’ll have to wait a couple months.

Victoria: How come?

Max: It won’t be on shelves until July.

Victoria: WHAT?!?!

 


 

“Hello?”

“Max! I’ve been waiting all day! What did you find?”

“Well, my dear Miss Marsh, if you really want to know...”

“Don’t tease!”

“Okay, okay. So, I called the dim sum restaurant in Hayward like the old man in Alameda told us to, and I said I was looking for Mei because she forgot her homework at the park.”

“Her math homework, right?”

“Don’t worry, I remembered! They told me to come by at five-thirty today and order lunch special number twelve with no sauce. The guy at the counter looked really surprised when I did.”

“I’ll bet.”

“Anyway, he brought my food, which was actually really good, and when I was done I got a fortune cookie with what looked like a blank slip of paper...”

“Except...”

“Except I had the ultraviolet penlight the acupuncturist in San Mateo gave us. It was very...illuminating.”

“Max...are you saying what I think you’re saying?”

“I sure am. You and I have the address for Madame Shin’s Tea Parlor.”

“Oh My God...it does exist.”

 


 

  ~o~

For My Partner in Time

~o~

 


 

July 16, 2015

We Were Pirates: A Heart-rending Tale Of Friendship, Love, And Inescapable Endings
Nora Comeau
★★★★★

We don’t remember the days of our lives; we remember the moments. Brilliant points in time that, for good or ill, we’ll always carry with us. And of those, perhaps the most important is your earliest memory. Perhaps it’s your birthday party, or your mother’s face. It might be a fear of the dark or the taste of your favorite treat. For Samantha, her earliest memory is her wife’s smile, on the day she and Allie met as children. She’s accepted that it’s going to be her last memory as well.

We Were Pirates, from newcomer author M.A. Caulfield, has no sprawling backdrop or bold setting. It begins and ends in a Portland hospital room during the final hours of Samantha’s life. It invites us to sit and listen as she and Allie reminisce about their lives together; their childhood adventures on imaginary high seas, their tumultuous journey into adulthood, through the growth of their relationship from best friends to cherished lovers, from their first innocent meeting to their final tearful farewell. [more...]

 


 

Kate: I read your book. It was very beautiful.

Kate: I’m not quite sure how to ask this, so I’ll just ask. 

Kate: It’s about you and the other Chloe, isn’t it? The night before she died.

Kate: Max?

Max: Yes, it is.

Kate: Oh, Max. I’m so sorry.

 


 

Victoria: !!!!!!

Max: What?

Victoria: <we_were_pirates.jpg>

Victoria: !!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Max: I’m not sure what that means?

Victoria: Hey Max. It’s Taylor.

Victoria: Vicky’s having a lot of feelings right now. 

Victoria: Like, a LOT of feelings. 

Victoria: I think she’ll have to get back to you. 

 


 

David: yo clo!

Chloe: wtf is that?

David: just want 2 kno wassup

Chloe: are u having a stroke?

David: naw im all good

Chloe: stop that

David: wut?

Chloe: seriously cut it out

Chloe: its fucking weird

David: lol! chill!

Chloe: i swear to god david

Chloe: ill call mom

David: y u trippin, dog?

Chloe: STOP!

 


 

Chloe: hey i think davids finally cracked

Mom: what?

Mom: thats straight wack!

Chloe: NO!

Chloe: NO! NO! NO! NO! NO!

 


 

Chloe: Hi, Mom! Just wanted to remind you that Max and I will be flying out on Monday and we’ll need David to pick us up at the airport. I’ll email him the flight information. We’re really looking forward to seeing you both! :)

Mom: Alright, that’s actually a little creepy.

Chloe: ya well

Chloe: thats what u get

 


 

“Hello, you’ve reached Chloe Price. I can’t answer the phone right now, probably because I’m chilling with my girlfriend, BESTSELLING AUTHOR MAX CAULFIELD! Please leave a message and Max, MY AWESOME AND BEAUTIFUL BESTSELLING AUTHOR GIRLFRIEND will make sure I call you back just as soon as I’m done being SO FUCKING PROUD OF HER!”

 


 

Victoria: Taylor picked up her coast guard cadet dress uniform today.

Max: Oh yeah! She was really excited to get it, wasn’t she?

Max: How did she look?

Max: Victoria?

Victoria: So, it turns out that I’m very extremely into women in uniform.

 


 

Lynn: Hi, guys. Can I ask you a question?

Lynn: How do you know if a girl likes you?

Taylor: If you kiss her and she spends 10 months having a silent emotional meltdown, it’s safe to say she likes you.

Victoria: If she spends two years pining for you after you slap some bitch in the face for insulting her, you’ve probably got a shot.

Max: If she almost runs you over with her truck, then takes you home afterword, that’s a good sign.

Chloe: if she rips open the fabric of reality to save ur life then shes hella interested

Lynn: Okay...

Chloe: hypothetically i mean

Lynn: Claire hasn’t done any of that stuff.

Victoria: And who, pray tell, is Claire?

Lynn: Just a girl I met this week.

Max: And you think she likes you?

Lynn: Maybe? There hasn’t been any kissing or slapping, but she did say my highlights were pretty and asked if I wanted to hang out later.

Chloe: oh ya shes def into u

 


 

“I’m sorry, miss. This is a private establ-oh! Miss Marsh, Miss Caulfield, I’m so sorry! I didn’t see you there!”

“It’s alright, Renard. No harm done.”

“You’re too kind, Miss Marsh, as always. I see you’ve brought a guest today?”

“Yes, we have. This is our friend, Victoria Chase. Today’s her birthday.”

“Ah, of course. Welcome to The Cheshire, Miss Chase, and many happy returns.”

“I...er...thank you.”

“Will the three of you be wanting your usual table?”

“Actually, we’d like to sit out on the terrace today, if there’s space?”

“For you and your guest, Miss Caulfield, space shall be made. Right this way.”

“Victoria? Are you coming?”

“...I...I don’t...”

“Is something wrong?”

“Kate, when you said we were going for tea, I thought you meant we were going to Starbucks or something. This...this is The Cheshire.”

“Well...yeah?”

“No, Max. This is The Cheshire. You don’t just go to get tea at The Cheshire.”

“Really? We come here most Sundays.”

“Their cupcakes are wonderful.”

“Cupcakes? Cupcakes?! Kate, there are Fortune 500 CEOs who’d saw off their own leg to have a cupcake at The Cheshire. My own parents have been here once. My dad buys sports cars on a whim, and he said he thought it was expensive. This is where visiting heads of state come to treat themselves! How can you two possibly afford to come here every week? How are you even allowed in?”

“Oh, we’re friends with the owner.”

“You’re what?”

“She’s really nice! Max and I met her a couple of months ago playing mahjong at this great all-night chai bar in Cathedral Hill.”

“You what?!”

“The tea community in San Francisco is pretty tight, Victoria. Me and Kate? Well...people know us.”

 


 

“Chloe?”

My eyes snap to the nearby sliding doors, fixing on David so sharply that a nurse behind him actually flinches. “What?”

Grinning like an idiot, he jerks a thumb over his shoulder. “Someone’s ready to meet you.”

I’m on my feet before he’s done talking, but only make it a couple of steps. Looking back, I find that even though I haven’t let go of Max’s hand, she’s still in her chair and pointing at a sign next to the door that reads ‘Immediate Family Members Only’. The ‘Only’ is underlined. Twice.

“But...”

“It’s fine, babe.” Standing, she gives me a quick kiss and gently pulls her hand out of mine. “I’ll be able to visit later. For now, you can say hi for me.”

Taking me by the shoulders, she turns me around and gives me a light push toward the door. Swallowing, I fall into step beside David. It’s not far to Mom’s room, but the walk seems to take forever. I think David’s a lot more tired than he’s letting on, because he can’t seem to move any faster than an irritatingly slow mosey.

“So? How’d it go?” I ask, nervously. Mom’s a lot older than a woman ought to be when she gets pregnant, and even though I know her doctor made sure they were ready for anything, that doesn’t make me any less nervous. “Is she okay?”

“She’s fine,” he assures me. “The baby, too. No problems at all. The doctor said it was a textbook birth. She’s exhausted, but she still wanted to see you right away.”

“Good. That’s good.” I notice the ice pack he’s got pressed to his hand. “You alright there?”

“Hm? Oh, right.” He chuckles, idly flexing his fingers. “Turns out waitressing can give someone a hell of a grip. I’ll survive.”

Say what you will about him (and I could say a lot), but David’s put a lot of work into self-improvement since Arcadia Bay. He actually kept up with his therapy, got involved with some veteran support groups, and according to Mom he’s read every single parenting book under the sun.

I’m not sure if I’ve forgiven him yet for the way he treated me, but as more time goes by, the more I think I might be able to someday. In the meantime, we know where we stand with each other. That’ll do for now.

We get to Mom’s room a moment later, and David pushes the door open to usher me in. Mom is in bed (duh) and laying on her side, somehow looking crazy happy and totally wrecked at the same time. Next to her is a tiny little bundle wrapped in a pink blanket. Pink. That means...

“Hey there, sweetheart,” she says softly, her accent stronger than I’ve ever heard it. “C’mon in and meet your baby sister.”

Sister. I have a sister. There’s a brand-new person in the world that my mom made, and I get to call her my little sister.

Fucking sweet.

David puts a hand on my shoulder. “Do you want to hold her?”

“What?!” I shake my head frantically. “No! What if I drop her?!”

“You won’t,” Mom says. “I trust you.”

“I...o-okay...” Swallowing my nerves, I take a seat on the edge of the bed. “But if I do drop her, it’s David’s fault.”

Rolling his eyes, David carefully picks the little bundle up. He gives me a quick demonstration of how to support her, then all of a sudden I’m holding a newborn baby. She doesn’t do much. Just wiggles a bit without even opening her eyes. “Whoa. Was I this tiny?”

“If only.” Mom pretends to scowl. “You had to go and inherit your father’s big head.”

“Giving you a hard time from day one, eh?”

“No comment.”

My sister (wow!) shifts again and starts to make unhappy noises. I look up, a little panicked, and David mimes a rocking motion with his arms. I follow along, and after a few seconds she settles down. “What’s her name?”

Smiling, Mom reaches out to take David’s hand. “We decided on Sarah.”

“Nice.” I look down again. “Hey there, Sarah. I’m your big sister, Chloe. I’m gonna be the one who teaches you how to do all the cool stuff that Mom and David say is too dangerous.”

Mom gives me an unimpressed look. I just stick out my tongue at her, because Max is a terrible influence.

“And don’t you worry about anyone messing with you. If they do, I’ll be right there to kick their ass.”

“Chloe,” Mom says, a little warningly. “Language.”

“Don’t you listen to her, sprout.” I gently boop Sarah on the nose and she squirms a little. “I’m gonna teach you so many fucking curse words.”

“Chloe!”

 


 

Kate: So I have a bit of a situation.

Victoria: Are you okay?

Kate: I’m fine but I’m not quite sure how to handle this. It has to do with a girl Lynn met when she was planting trees in Yosemite over the summer.

Max: You mean Claire? Did she hurt Lynn?

Kate: How do you know about Claire?

Chloe: hold up that claire chick hurt babykate?

Kate: No!

Taylor: That’s bullshit! We need to send that bitch a message!

Kate: No messages!

Chloe: ok ok make it look like an accident got it

Kate: No doing anything!

Victoria: Kate’s right, Chloe. We aren’t going to hurt anyone.

Victoria: There are people you hire for that kind of thing.

Kate: Honestly, I don’t know if it’s sweet or terrifying how protective you all are.

Max: Seriously, though. What’s going on?

Kate: First of all, Claire didn’t hurt Lynn. They really hit it off over the summer, it turned out she lives in Portland as well, and now they’re dating.

Max: Yay!

Taylor: Go Lynn!

Kate: There’s just a couple of potentially awkward situations. Lynn was over at her house the other day and saw something. There’s really no subtle way to put it. Claire has a framed copy of Taylor’s Time magazine cover up on her bedroom wall.

Taylor: She has what now?

Kate: Lynn said that when she asked about it, Claire got embarrassed and admitted that Taylor was her hero.

Taylor: I guess that’s kinda cool.

Kate: And also what made Claire realize she was gay.

Victoria: Lol! That’s amazing!

Chloe: damn t!

Chloe: way to spark a young girls sexual awakening!

Taylor: SHUT UP NO I DIDN’T!!

Kate: You kind of did.

Taylor: How?! I look like garbage in that picture!!

Max: You really don’t.

Taylor: Are you kidding? I look like I fell out of a tree! I’m fucking filthy!

Chloe: oh my goddamn fucking fuck

Chloe: look were gonna talk about this once and then were not gonna talk about it ever again understand?

Taylor: Okay?

Chloe: tay u look so fucking hot in that picture its crazy

Max: You don’t look filthy. You look like a badass. A sexy, sexy badass.

Chloe: it could be a video game cover or something

Taylor: Bullshit!

Kate: It’s true! You look stunning!

Taylor: Seriously, Kate?

Max: Plus you’ve got that super intense expression in your face.

Chloe: srsly tho

Chloe: that look

Chloe: fuckin shivers

Victoria: Holy shit she’s blushing so hard right now!

Victoria: I’ve been telling her this stuff forever but she never believes me!

Taylor: LET’S GO BACK TO TALKING ABOUT KATE’S THING NOW!

Kate: Well, by the time Lynn found out about Claire’s crush, she’d already invited Claire to my 20th birthday dinner next week. If you’d rather not go I’d totally understand.

Taylor: I dunno.

Taylor: I don’t see why I should miss out on your birthday dinner OR that amazing casserole your mom makes just cause some 16 y/o has the hots for me.

Chloe: damn right

Max: Yeah, totally fair.

Taylor: What does Lynn want?

Kate: She’d kind of like you to come. She hasn’t told Claire she knows you yet, so I think she wants to show off a little.

Taylor: Then I’m definitely going.

Taylor: Besides, being able to introduce Claire to her literal hero is gonna score Lynn about a million girlfriend points.

Max: Haha! So true!

Victoria: Hang on, you said there were a couple of awkward things. What’s the other one?

Kate: Right. That one is about Max.

Max: What? What did I do?!

Kate: You wrote Claire’s all-time favorite book. The one that ‘made her believe in true love’.

Chloe: lol max just dropped her phone!

 


 

David: I need your advice.

Ryan: Don’t be a Raiders fan.

David: Seriously, Ryan.

Ryan: Ok ok. What can I do for you?

David: I have a newborn daughter.

Ryan: ...and?

David: Swear to god, that’s the only thing I feel sure of right now.

Ryan: Yeah, been there. Gimme a minute.

<Incoming Call: Ryan Caulfield>

 


 

Max: Hi, Lynn. How’s Claire doing?

Lynn: Okay. She’s still feeling pretty embarrassed. :(

Max: Tell her it’s fine. Everyone gets overwhelmed sometimes.

Lynn: But not everyone faints in front of their girlfriend’s entire family.

Lynn: Maybe I shouldn’t have introduced her to both of you at once.

Taylor: Honestly, it’s alright. I’m actually pretty impressed that she stayed for the rest of dinner. That took guts.

Lynn: Seriously though she’s super embarrassed!

Lynn: She’s usually way more chill about this kind of thing!

Lynn: But it was really really cool how great you guys were about it!

Lynn: You two are seriously the best!

Max: That’s really nice of you to say, Claire.  

Taylor: Now give Lynn her phone back.

Lynn: ok

Lynn: OMG! Isn’t she adorable?

 


 

Kristen: Hello, Ms. Victoria.

Victoria: We’ve talked about this.

Kristen: Hi, Victoria.

Victoria: Hello, Kristen. What can I do for you?

Kristen: I was wondering if you’d already joined a group for the short film term project?

Victoria: Considering this is the first class of the year and it was assigned to us five minutes ago? No, I hadn’t gotten around to it yet.

Kristen: Well, I’m sure a ton of people are going to ask, but I’d really love it if you’d come work with my group.

Victoria: In what capacity?

Kristen: I was hoping you’d be willing to be my Director of Photography? You’ve got such an amazing eye! Everyone thinks so!

Victoria: Be your DP. In other words, you want me to come work for you.

Kristen: Yes?

Victoria: Alright.

Kristen: Just like that?

Victoria: Just like that.

Kristen: Awesome! We’re still looking for a sound editor, but the rest of us are meeting in the student union at 5:00. Does that work for you?

Victoria: Yes, ma’am. ;)

Kristen: Good girl.

Victoria: Don’t push it.

Kristen: Sorry!

 


 

“Hi, Taylor.”

“Hey, Kate. I...uh...did you hear about...?”

“Yes. His daughter called me this morning.”

“Oh.”

“Are you planning to go to the funeral?”

“Yeah. You?”

“Of course.”

“Actually, I was thinking...”

“What?”

“I thought I’d wear my dress uniform. Or would that be weird?”

“No. I think that would’ve meant a lot to him. Douglas was so proud of you.”

“Heh...yeah. Hey, do you remember when he called us his honorary granddaughters?”

“Of course I do.”

“I almost cried.”

“I actually did cry. He was such a sweetheart.”

“I’m gonna miss him a lot, Kate.”

“Me, too.”

 


 

Mom: Happy birthday, sweetheart!

Max: Thanks Mom! :)

Mom: I can’t believe my little girl is already 20!

Max: Yup. I sure am.

Max: That’s me. Max Caulfield, age “20”.

Mom: Still annoyed Chloe can drink legally and you can’t?

Max: YES!

Max: I’M 23 YEARS OLD!

Max: AND SHE CAN BE SUCH A BRAT ABOUT IT!

Mom: Do you have time for a Skype call? We can each open a bottle of wine and complain about the immature doofuses we’re hopelessly in love with.

Max: You’re the best, Mom. :)))))

 


 

Kate: Okay, so you’re two of my best friends and I love you both.

Kate: But I need to tell you something.

Victoria: That’s oddly foreboding.

Chloe: lol r u breaking up with us?

Kate: No! This is a good thing! I just need you to make me a promise before I say anything more.

Chloe: u met a guy u like and u want me and vic to promise not to be me and vic about it?

Victoria: Kate? Are you still there?

Victoria: Not answering us kind of makes it look like Chloe’s right.

Chloe: course im right

Chloe: she said its a good thing

Chloe: what other good thing would she ever be worried about telling us?

Victoria: Good point.

Chloe: so...?

Kate: Promise not to make fun of me first.

Victoria: I promise.

Chloe: cross my heart, special k

Kate: His name is Gabriel. We met in my 20th century literature class last semester and started talking and it turned out we volunteer at a bunch of the same places, just on different days. We’ve been going out for a little over a month and he’s really sweet and I really, really like him.

Victoria: He sounds really nice, Kate.

Kate: Thanks.

Chloe: no offence and im not makin fun of u but he also sounds like a total nerd.

Kate: He is, but I kinda like that about him.

Chloe: right on

Chloe: but if he hurts u then hes obvs done for

Victoria: Seriously, nothing on Earth will be able to protect him from us.

Kate: He asked me to tell you that he’s got three little sisters so he gets how it works.

Chloe: yeah he better be scared

Kate: He’s not scared. He’s a gentleman.

Victoria: And we’re very happy to hear that. Aren’t we, Chloe?

Chloe: of course but i bet i could take him

Kate: He’s going to Berkley on a wrestling scholarship. You probably couldn’t.

Victoria: Is it weird that I want to see her try?

 


 

Chloe: so me and max tried some roleplay stuff last night

Victoria: Please don’t sully my phone with the details of your sex life.

Chloe: and we thought wed do this whole sexy student/tutor thing

Mrs. C: Why would you think I’d want to know about that?

Chloe: and it started out pretty hot

Kate: I’m not really comfortable hearing about this.

Chloe: and we were both pretty into it

Taylor: Clo, I am literally begging you not to continue.

Chloe: then it got weirdly real all of a sudden

Mom: Sweetheart, this really isn’t appropriate.

Chloe: long story short max is kinda pissed at me cuz she wanted to have sex

Chloe: but i wouldnt lay off about a term paper shes been avoiding

Chloe: guys?

Victoria: Okay, that’s actually fucking hilarious.

 

-------------------

END PART XI

~

EPILOGUE TO FOLLOW

-------------------

 

 

 

Epilogue: This Is Only The Beginning

Chapter Notes


 

October 9, 2015 - [7:48 AM]
Arcadia Bay, Oregon

Living in Seattle, especially during the fall months, means accepting that there are going to be cold, damp, generally crappy days that make you resent anything that forces you to go outside - but since none of us live in Seattle, none of us have to give a damn about that.

On the Oregon Coast, where we’re camping this week, the early fall months have some of the best weather of the entire year. Sure, it gets a little chilly at night, but between a warm campfire and my Chloe-shaped personal heater, I’m not complaining.

Although we managed to talk Victoria’s dad out of hiring a bunch of gun-toting thugs this year, it ended up not mattering. Things now aren’t the same as they were the first time. Arcadia Bay and its population weren’t mysteriously wiped out in this timeline. To the rest of the world, nothing supernatural happened here. It was just a really bad storm that destroyed a bunch of buildings and killed some people too stupid to leave.

There’s no hint of the Arcadia Bay Believers that Victoria and I remember, and we’re perfectly happy about that. A bunch of people will probably be coming out on Sunday - the actual anniversary of the storm – but we’re here early because we’ve got some anniversaries of our own. So much happened to us that week, things that had changed all of our lives, and part of coming here was about taking the time to reflect on that. To remember who we'd been before the storm and, in some ways, why those people were better off left in the past.

Yesterday we walked from our campsite (in what used to be Chloe’s backyard) up to the shattered remains of Blackwell to commemorate the second anniversary of the moment Kate stepped back from the edge. Victoria and Taylor had engulfed her in a giant hug, apologizing for the millionth time for the way they'd treated her back then. They probably thought they'd have to be the ones to help Kate feel better, but it wasn't long before they were the ones in tears, and she was the one comforting them.

Kate just started the second year of her bachelor’s degree in psychology, and none of us were surprised when she told us her plan to get her master’s degree in trauma and crisis counseling. She already finds time to volunteer at a non-profit suicide prevention hotline and an at-risk youth shelter. Of course she’d want to help people like that for a career.

It can be a little intimidating to look at her, happily toasting a marshmallow over our crackling campfire, and realize that she’s basically the best person we know.

“How close are we?” Victoria asks, drawing me out of my thoughts.

Pulling my phone from my pocket (which requires Chloe to very reluctantly un-snuggle me for a second), I check the time. “Pretty close. About ten minutes.”

“Nice,” she murmurs, looking up into the slowly lightening eastern sky. Her eyes are bright with anticipation, like they always are when she sees something worth capturing on film. When she’d told me she wanted to go to USC, I’d assumed (we all had, actually) that she wanted to be Hollywood’s next great director. Instead she’s on track to become Hollywood’s next great cinematographer. She’s got an amazing gift for lining up a shot, capturing light and shadow and motion in a way static photography never could.

She’s even working on a short film with Kristen, who it turns out can run a film crew like nobody’s business.

“The camera stays in the backpack, babe,” Taylor says, gently pulling Victoria’s hand away from the bag between her feet and laughing at her girlfriend’s slightly petulant expression. “There’ll be other sunrises to film.”

Taylor’s been different since Arcadia Bay was lost, or so Victoria tells me. Calmer, for sure. It seems like the more stress she’s under, the more focused she gets. I’ve seen it up close more than once on the disc field. That’s why, when she decided she wanted to become a Coast Guard Search & Rescue pilot, it actually didn’t seem that unbelievable.

She just started in the pre-commissioning program at UCLA, has her eyes set on going to flight school right after she graduates. There isn’t a doubt in my mind that she’ll get there. I think Kate put it best when she said that Taylor earned her wings back in Arcadia Bay.

“Hey, if Vic wants to stare at the sun, I say let her.” Chloe shrugs. “It’s the only way she’ll learn.”

“Said the future Dr. Price,” Kate murmurs, giving Chloe a sly smile.

“You’re being pretty sassy considering the graham crackers are over here,” Chloe fires back, trying not to show how happy being called ‘Dr. Price’ makes her, even if it’s only a joke. She’s dead set on getting into medical school - so much that she’s already started studying for the MCAT exam – and recently told us that she’s thinking of going into oncology. She’d already made one cancer her bitch, she explained, and now she had to go do it to all the other cancers.

She’s been in remission for a little over a year now, and even thought the five-year survival rate for lung cancer is only about 50%, I’m determined to stay positive. She’ll make it, because she’s brilliant and strong and amazing and because the universe probably knows better than to fuck with me on this.

“Come on, babe,” I say. “If you hold the graham crackers hostage, Victoria will just start withholding chocolate and then nobody gets to have s’mores.”

“She’s right,” Taylor agrees. “Nobody wins that standoff.”

“Of course Max is right. She’s a bestselling author, you know,” Chloe points out, as if she doesn’t take literally any opportunity to mention it.

We Were Pirates, a book I only wrote to help myself process some of my baggage from the old timeline, has been on the New York Times bestseller list for two months now. I’m still trying to wrap my head around that. I’m working really hard to stay humble, which is why I’m so lucky to have Victoria as a best friend. She’ll always be there to set me straight if I start to get a big head about it, which is really easy to do when my creative composition professor tells me that my writing is grossly underdeveloped and all I want to do is smack him on the head with a copy of my bestselling novel.

Yeah. Humility good. Assault charges bad.

I haven’t told anyone yet, but I’ve actually started working on a new book. I’ve got ideas for a couple more, too. They’re all on the backburner until I graduate, but I’m feeling pretty good about them.

“But whatever,” Chloe continues. “I can be the taller person here.”

“I think you mean bigger person,” I point out.

“Says you, shorty,” Chloe quips, winking down at me as she tosses the graham cracker bag to Kate. “Hey, Taylor?”

“Yeah?”

“Do you know what I was just thinking?”

“What were you just thinking?” Taylor asks, smirking.

“I was just thinking about the best part about today. You know what that is, Taylor?”

“Oh, please tell me what that is, Chloe!”

Next to Taylor, Victoria takes a slow sip from her travel mug, rolling her eyes and trying (unsuccessfully) not to smile.

“I will tell you what that is, Taylor. The best part about today is...” Throwing her arm around my shoulders, she pulls me tight to her side and shouts into the pre-dawn sky. “No more time traveler bullshit!”

“God damned fucking right!”

“Taylor...” Kate says, a little reproachfully.

“Gosh darned fucking right!”

Smiling, Kate reaches over to pat her on the knee. “Thank you.”

“Hilarious, both of you,” Victoria comments. “Absolute comedic geniuses.”

“Easy with the yelling next to my ear.” I give Chloe’s side a gentle poke but don’t make any attempt to move away from her warmth. “I need it. For hearing stuff.”

“Oh, whatever,” Chloe laughs. Prodding the fire with her ‘fire-pokin’ stick’, she eyes it thoughtfully for a second before adding a fresh piece of wood. “You’re just feelin’ cranky cause you and Vic don’t get to be all ‘I know the future’ anymore.”

“Are you kidding?” I laugh. “That’s going to be amazing. There’s going to be new music again!”

“And new movies!” Victoria adds. “TV shows we haven’t already binge watched!”

“Aren’t you two nervous at all?” Kate asks, slowly moving the marshmallow she’s been toasting away from the flames and over to Victoria.

“I don’t know.” I shrug. “Kind of?”

“It does feel a little weird to be all caught up,” Victoria comments, gingerly pulling the golden-brown marshmallow off the skewer. “Two years went by really fast.”

“But after spending four years living through the same two, it’s nice to know we’ll finally be moving forward.” The sun is peeking over the eastern hilltop, and I glance down at my phone again. “It’s almost time. You ready, Taylor?”

“One sec.” Twisting around, she reaches into the cooler behind the log she and Victoria have been sitting on and pulls out a bottle of champagne. At the same time, Kate walks over to the car and returns with five plastic cups. She hands one to each of us and she makes her way back to her folding chair.

“Gimme.” Chloe reaches for the bottle, but I pull her hand back.

“No chance, babe. You've shot me with a cork two New Year’s in a row.”

“But...”

“The second time you weren’t even facing me,” I remind her. “Let Taylor do it.”

“Fine,” she grumbles, kissing me on the head. “But I’m doing it because I want to. Not cause you told me to.”

“Whatever you say.” Smiling, I cup her cheek and draw her down for a proper kiss.

Shaking her head, Taylor goes through the motions of opening the champagne, popping the cork easily into her hand. “See that, Clo? Skills.”

“Yeah, yeah.” She holds out our cups. “Just pour the drinks, ya big showoff.”

Laughing, Taylor fills all the cups before returning to her girlfriend, who happily folds her back into the blanket they’ve been sharing.

I check my phone again. “Just under a minute left. Did everyone think of something to say?”

They all nod, a little hesitantly.

“Who wants to go first?” No one volunteers and I fight the urge to frown. “Come on. I know it’s a little corny, but this is a special occasion. Now, someone has to go first, and I already called going last, so...”

They all stay quiet for another second, glancing at one another, then Victoria clears her throat, smiles, and raises her drink. “To two years gone, and two years spent living without regret.”

Kate takes a breath, then lifts her own drink. “To falling down. And to getting back up.”

“To providence, dumb luck, and scared heroes,” Taylor says, grinning as she does the same.

“To...uh...” Chloe hesitates, her knee bouncing a little nervously. Looking at me, she smiles and raises her drink, too. “To everything we’ve lost, and everything we’re still ready to fight for.”

She finishes just as my phone’s alarm goes off. It’s 8:01 AM, October 9th, 2015 - two years plus a minute since the moment I went back in time to change the world. Since I defied fate to save the woman I love more than anything else in the world.

I can still remember that morning, when I thought I was abandoning Victoria in a soon-to-be-erased timeline. Now she’s sitting across from me next to the love of her life. It’s pretty awesome that she can say the same thing about me. Our eyes meet over the campfire, and we share a smile. We made it. We’re finally here, with all the things we dreamt of and our whole lives to enjoy them.

I don’t know if I’m still able to rewind, but sometimes I think I might be. It’s a feeling that’s tough to describe; a little tickle at the edge of my consciousness, telling me I could undo a speeding ticket or un-spill a coffee. I’m proud to say that I’ve never been tempted, though. This is the furthest in time I’ve ever been, and I refuse to move even one second back.

So, taking the first deep breath of the rest of my life, I raise my glass to the four strongest people I’ve ever known.

“To yesterday, tomorrow, and all the important stuff in between.” I can’t help but grin when I feel Chloe’s hand gently squeeze mine. “Welcome to the future.”

 

 

 

-------------------

-THE END-

-------------------

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Chapter End Notes

So, we’ve come to the end. And before anything else there are some people I want to recognize who’ve been along for this particular ride.

First and foremost is the one and only Perso_Aprilo for all the hard work she’s put into Recursion’s amazing Russian translation. If any of you have written a Pricefield story that you’d like to see translated into Russian, I highly recommend reaching out to her. She’s great at what she does and a pleasure to work with. You can find her on Tumblr and Ficbook.

A humble thank you to Rainboq for putting up with me spamming their weekly Fan Fiction Friday threads over on the Life Is Strange subreddit. I promise I’ll stop now.

And I definitely want to thank everyone who took a little time out of their day to tell me how much they were enjoying the story, give me a heads up if I made a mistake, and share their opinions and perspectives. Every comment was important to me, and I read every single one of them with a smile.

 

3dogdaddy
Amberion2dp
AnotherAmateurPassingBy
AreYouOKAni
BethOfDeath
BlaqueDragon
Bm
BravoSixActual
Calamiti1
cedi
CHAOSMAXINE
ChloeTheRainbowQueen
cure4banshees
DoctorStranger01
DuLaux
EllieLOL
Entrapta_The_Arsonist
flawly
Gem
Goauld_of_War
Gonozal08
HeadsoffwithRobespierre
Heaven12
HighgardenHonourGuard
Hopeful_monster
Janetdax
JoshSpicer
JustClem
Kayazi
KoriDaWolf
LanelLabatDubelais
lis_a
maniacal1
MustardHill
mystic_kitty
Rogue_Demon
Saidin
salazarsiri
SecondSeraphim
Silent_1
Skyward
SnappyAunt1
StrikeKT
theattackchicken
TheLateDentArthurDent
TheWatchingEye
TheWingedOne
WarcrimesAreMagic
xHauntingSmilex
Zrodeath

 

It’s been a trip, folks. What was meant to be a 5000-word one-shot ended up becoming the longest thing I’ve ever written. It feels kind of weird to be finished, but as my story ends, another begins. Life Is Strange: True Colors releases today and it’s time for Alex Chen to step into the Life Is Strange world. I’ve taken the entire week off so I can dive right into the game, and I’m really, really hoping it doesn’t throw the continuity I’ve relied on into total disarray...but it probably will. Such is life.

I hope you’ve all enjoyed my story, because I had a blast writing it. I hope I’ve done the characters justice and brought you a satisfying ending. If anyone has any questions, feel free to put them down in the comments and I’ll answer as best as I can. :)

Cheers,
-CC


If you missed them before, here are the YouTube and Spotify links for the Radio Free NOAA playlist, and the Recursion Soundtrack.

Radio Free NOAA:   YouTube  |  Spotify

Recursion Soundtrack:   YouTube  |  Spotify

Anniversary Announcement

Hello again everyone!

Where does the time go? Can you believe it’s been a whole year since I completed Recursion? Well, technically it’s been a year and a week, but we’ll get to that in a moment. First, I feel like reminiscing. So in the tradition of ‘best of’ articles and cooking recipes across the internet, you need to put up with my rambling for a bit before I get to the good stuff.

Or you could just scroll right past it, I guess. Your call. I’m a writer, not a cop.

Ahem...anyway.

Recursion kind of took me by surprise. When I started writing it, I had no idea what it would grow into. I certainly never expected I’d be pulled so deeply into the world of Life Is Strange.

When I first played the game back in April 2020, the pandemic lockdown was barely a month old. At that point I (like many people) thought it’d all be over in a few weeks. I was just looking for a way to keep myself occupied until then, so when I saw that the first episode was available for free on Steam, I figured it was worth a shot.

I won’t say I was blown away right off the bat. We all know that the pre-remaster graphics were best described as ‘solidly okay’, and anyone will tell you that the writing is occasionally a little awkward. Even so, the story and characters intrigued me enough to purchase the remaining four episodes. And as I guided Max forward (& occasionally backward) through that chaotic week in Arcadia Bay, navigating each situation as best I could, I found myself more and more invested in her world and the people that lived in it.

That’s why, the first time I was forced to make that last impossible choice, I did what I thought was right. I chose to save Arcadia Bay. And afterward, I was shocked to find myself in tears over the death of a girl who’d never really existed.

Never before had a video game affected me so profoundly. I felt Chloe’s loss as keenly as if I’d known her personally. And even though I went back and replayed that choice - this time saving her life - that indistinct feeling of loss never really left me. That feeling (combined with my love of both sci-fi and storytelling) was the seed that would eventually grow into Recursion.

I say eventually because the original version of Recursion (the one I started writing in October 2020) was a far cry from what you just read. Not only was it initially conceived as taking place after Max chose to save Arcadia Bay, but it was never intended to be any longer than about 25,000 words.

Looking back, it was a much less interesting story. Max’s original trip back was only going to be a couple of months, there were far fewer obstacles standing in her way. There was an almost entirely different (and significantly smaller) supporting cast, and nowhere near the same level of world-building.

To give you a vague idea of what that would’ve looked like, imagine losing the entirety of Parts 1, 2, 5, and 10 - no life with the Caulfields, no cancer arc, no Future Vic, and no shuttle bus. Then shave Part 3 down to truncated versions of chapters 20 & 24, boil Part 11 down to a single chapter, and ditch the epilogue.

I could keep going, but I think you get the idea. And luckily, that’s not how things turned out.

You can all thank Victoria for that.

You see, although there was always a place in the first half of the story for ‘Max’s sidekick’, it wasn’t always such a pivotal role. It wasn’t always Victoria, either. It was originally going to be Warren Graham.

No, I’m not kidding.

I actually had about 5,000 words of Warren scenes written before I realized that while Warren was smart, what Max needed was someone clever. Someone who had the brains to handle time travel, but also had enough common sense to...oh, I don’t know...not text someone instructions on how to build a pipe bomb from their own phone number? So I asked the same questions Max would eventually ask herself: Who was smart enough, strong-willed enough, and wouldn’t hesitate to call her out?

That was when I remembered which character had the next highest GPA after Warren; the one and only Victoria Chase. And unlike young Mr. Graham, Victoria was a lot more fun to write. A lot of her scenes felt like they practically wrote themselves, and it’s amazing how your story can develop when one of your major supporting characters is constantly questioning everything the protagonist thinks they know.

Part 4 (The Only Way Forward) contains some of the oldest parts of the original story; the oldest being the wristwatch scene from chapter 27. And the more I wrote conversations like that between the two of them, the more janky plot elements I stumbled across. And because I’ve always believed in the importance of details (it really doesn’t take much to shatter someone’s sense of immersion in a story), the more work I put into fully addressing said janky plot elements.  

As a result, the story kept expanding. It grew in new and unexpected ways to reveal not only the events surrounding Max, but other characters as well. The world-building and character development that came about as a result went on to shape the version of Recursion you all know and love.

Could I have held back? Sure. But I’ll think you’ll agree that Recursion would have been a far less meaningful story if I had. Better to go for broke and tell the story right. Of course, that’s also how you end up with a 300,000+ word story that needs to be split into two books just to have it printed.

That’s right, folks.

Printed.

Because to mark the one-year anniversary of its completion, I went and got something made that I wanted to share with you all; an actual hardcover edition of Recursion. And since trying to pack all 300,000+ words into a single 6” x 9” (standard US Trade size) book would’ve ended up being about 2 inches thick, I decided it’d be better to split it into a two-book set.

Picture of books

Pretty awesome, eh?

Luckily for me, Recursion already had a convenient separation point right in the middle of the story. Book I holds the entire ‘original’ timeline (Parts 1-5 / Ch. 1-40); everything up to the moment Max finally goes back in time to change things. Book II picks up back in 2013, following the event of the ‘new’ timeline (Parts 6-11 / Ch. 41-79).

However, it turns out that once a book has been printed, you can’t just fix any mistakes you might come across later on. Go figure. That’s why before I sent it to the printers, I went back and give the entire story one last really thorough proofreading. And although I actually found an embarrassing number of typos, while I was fixing those I decided to do a little fine-tuning and revision; mostly in the form of character interactions that needed to be fleshed-out a little.

And because I love you guys, I’ve been updating the AO3 version as I went through. In the process, I ended up adding enough to the story to break 300,000 words.

Lemme tell you, though, all that proofreading was a piece of cake next to reformatting the entire story for printing. There are a lot of little details I’d never really considered before, like how each chapter should start in the middle of the page rather than the top and making sure that every Part’s title card is on an odd-numbered (right side) page.

(I was happy using the original title cards I made for each of the separate parts. I even created some custom chapter headers, too.)

And once that was done, I had to pick and apply different fonts for different story elements; SMS conversations, emails, and even handwriting specific to certain characters.

But while I’m pretty decent with Illustrator, the original (admittedly minimalist) cover art I created just wasn’t lighting up my life. I wanted something that really caught the eye.

That’s why I commissioned a professional artist (CuteTanuki-chan on Tumblr) to create two beautiful pieces of wraparound cover art. And in my humble option, she absolutely crushed it. You can find her other artwork, as well as her contact and commission info, right here: https://cutetanuki-chan.tumblr.com

 


Book I has Max on the front cover and Victoria on the back. I wanted Max’s posture to reflect both her grief, and her sense of determination. At the same time, the color scheme is meant to represent (among other things) Max’s washed-out view of the world after Chloe’s death.

Also, because Book I takes place entirely in the original timeline and mostly in Seattle, all the flowers are plants native to the Pacific Northwest region.

High-Res/No Text Version

 


Book II has Chloe on the front cover and Taylor on the back, along with the infamous shuttle bus. Chloe herself has the look (I think) of someone who just got a ton of really heavy info dumped on them and is trying their hardest not to let it show. As I described it to the artist: “almost aggressively relaxed.”

And it’s pretty easy to see how Book II’s overall cover design was heavily influenced by Chloe’s tattoo.

High-Res/No Text Version

 


 

 

And now, I leave you with a little glimpse of the future.

I briefly planned to write a twelfth part to Recursion called World By Storm, and it would have followed our intrepid five all the way out to 2028. I actually had about 8,000 words written, but ultimately scrapped it for two reasons.

The first (and smaller) reason is that I didn’t want to catch up with the events of Life Is Strange 2. It’s tough to say whether or not any of them would’ve crossed paths with Daniel and Sean, but I honestly didn’t feel like addressing the possibility. The second is that by stopping where I have, Recursion takes place in a closed loop; two years, shown twice over. But the loop is broken now, and Max, Chloe, Victoria, Taylor, and Kate are on their own paths. The future I envisioned for them is a bright one. Make no mistake, all five of them go on to do great things.

However, I did post this funny little snippet from World By Storm to Tumblr last March. If you’re curious about the context, it takes place in Fall 2018. Chloe is a (very) proud first-year medical student living in Washington state with Max, Kate has just started grad school in New York, Victoria is already making a name for herself in Hollywood, and Taylor is all the way out in Florida attending flight school with the USCG.

And when they went looking for a way to keep in touch, Steph Gingrich had an interesting suggestion. (That may or may not be based on real life events...)

 


 

TinkerTaylorSoldierSpy: Weren't we supposed to protect this town? Like, wasn't that our only job?

Mama_G-Rich [DM]: Basically? Yeah.

TinkerTaylorSoldierSpy: Wow. We suck.

Qu33nV1ctor1a: I have no idea how I got roped into this.

TinkerTaylorSoldierSpy: Because you love me but we’re on opposite sides of the country, so we made a commitment to spend more time doing things together?

Qu33nV1ctor1a: Ugh! I guess.

Qu33nV1ctor1a: ;) ♡

MadMaxx: And because you’re a nerd.

Qu33nV1ctor1a: I cast Flame Strike on Max.

Mama_G-Rich [DM]: No PvP, Victoria. We talked about this.

Qu33nV1ctor1a: Whatever. Then I cast Mass Helling Word on the wounded villagers.

<Katherine_The_Pretty_Okay>: Isn’t it called mass healing word?

MadMaxx: lol...Kate, what’s with the new name?

<Katherine_The_Pretty_Okay>: Lynn picked it for me.

<Katherine_The_Pretty_Okay>: It was a ‘sisterly-bonding’ moment. °◡° ♡

MadMaxx: Aww! Cute! (∩ˇωˇ∩)

The_OG_Dr_Pr1ce: NO EMOJI!

The_OG_Dr_Pr1ce: NO EMOJI FOR ANY OF U!

Qu33nV1ctor1a: Yeah, I meant Healing.

Mama_G-Rich [DM]: Mwahaha!

Mama_G-Rich [DM]: Too late!

The_OG_Dr_Pr1ce: wtf do u mean too late?

Mama_G-Rich [DM]: As you draw on the massive well of arcane energies necessary to heal the sick and wounded around you, your feel your discipline waver ever so slightly. Your thoughts shift from the innocent and suffering villagers to yourself and your companions.

MadMaxx: What?

Mama_G-Rich [DM]: "This is our fault! We should have been here!" you think, letting your anger and frustration boil to the surface. "Damn us all to Hell!"

TinkerTaylorSoldierSpy: Well, this seems ominous.

<Katherine_The_Pretty_Okay>: Oh no.

Qu33nV1ctor1a: Are you kidding me right now?

Mama_G-Rich [DM]: As you do, the blue skies pale to a sickly yellow. Great cracks form in the ground, spewing fire and brimstone, and from them comes the sound of a thousand skittering claws.

MadMaxx: WHAT???

Qu33nV1ctor1a: God damn it, Gingrich! It was a fucking typo!

TinkerTaylorSoldierSpy: Lol! I can totally picture her yelling at her laptop.

Mama_G-Rich [DM]: A sense of almost staggering dread washes over the village, and from the sky comes the thunderous voice of your deity...

Mama_G-Rich [DM]: "SO BE IT."

Qu33nV1ctor1a: OH, YOU FUCKING ASSHOLE!

MadMaxx: She called you an asshole!

MadMaxx: That means you guys are friends!

Qu33nV1ctor1a: NO IT DOESN’T!

TinkerTaylorSoldierSpy: It totally does.

Mama_G-Rich [DM]: That’s sweet, Victoria.

Mama_G-Rich [DM]: But right now, I’m gonna need you ladies to roll initiative.

The_OG_Dr_Pr1ce: lol this is gonna fucking rule

<Katherine_The_Pretty_Okay>: So, just so I’m clear.

<Katherine_The_Pretty_Okay>: Victoria’s character was so overwhelmed with guilt for failing to protect these people that she inadvertently opened the gates of Hell, releasing an army of demons.

<Katherine_The_Pretty_Okay>: And now it’s up to us to stop them and save the world?

Mama_G-Rich [DM]: Yeah, basically.

MadMaxx: Is that not okay?

<Katherine_The_Pretty_Okay>: Are you kidding?

<Katherine_The_Pretty_Okay>: I wish I’d heard of this game years ago!

 


 

Incidentally, the only character classes I ever settled on for this were for Chloe and Victoria, who are playing a Barbarian and Cleric respectively. I think I’ll leave the rest up to your imaginations.

Take care, my friends. I’ll be back when inspiration strikes again.

-Crow

 


 

Edit:

By popular demand, if anyone is interested in printing their own copy of Recursion, here's a link to the print-ready files and how-to guide:

Google Drive Folder

Please note that these fall under the Creative Commons Attribution-Noncommercial No Derivative Works 3.0 License, so please don't modify the files at all or use them for any commercial purposes. 

 

Afterword

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