"Listen Chloe, I'm so sorry, but I don't have much time. In a few seconds, I'm going to forget everything that just happened."

"Max, I don't, what? Max, w-what are you even doing here? How are you here? What was all that about Rachel? And a Dark Room?" a bewildered Chloe managed to stutter. She literally couldn't believe it—Max Caulfield, ghoster extraordinaire, standing right in front of her after five years of silence. And the scene that just played out… was this really Max? Some sort of doppelganger? Max was never the confident type, yet she just stared down Nathan Prescott. At gunpoint. And he ran away.

Chloe fell into a hunched, limp posture, unable to grapple with the reality unfolding in front of her eyes. For possibly the first time in her life, she was absolutely speechless. Max met Chloe's eyes and a moment of peaceful silence settled across the bathroom. Max gestured forwards with her hands, lightly touching Chloe's elbows. "None of what I am about to say will make sense. I'm going to forget everything I said about Rachel. I'm going to forget all of this. But I need you to hear me: this Friday night, I'll be back." Tears began to form in Max's eyes and she realized how insane this sounded.

What will she think? This is so crazy. Chloe is going to hate me when I can't tell her about what I just told Nathan. She'll think it's some cruel joke. That I'm fucking with her. There's no way she's going to let this go. What will the "auto" version of me do? How will she react to a hell-driven Chloe demanding answers about Rachel?

For a second Max's thoughts stray to ponder the philosophical implications the photograph focus. Is there really an "automatic" version of herself that plays out events? Is she murdering herself every time she focuses? Squishing the memories, thoughts, and feelings of the Max that existed in between? Given that her previous jumps spanned years, the very thought made her sick. But it was too late to back out now. There was only one path forward.

"On Friday, I'll remember this," Max continued. "And I'll tell you everything. I just need you to be strong, Chloe. I don't know what will happen between now and when I return, but I need you to know: I will always be there for you. I will never leave you again."

Chloe simply stood there, hunched, stunned, unable to complete a single sentence, much less a coherent thought. She wasn't sure whether to feel happy or pissed right the fuck off. Her best friend, who abandoned her when things were toughest. Who couldn't be bothered to respond to a simple text. Who just possibly saved her life. And then proceeds to spout insane drivel. It was borderline embarrassing for someone who prided herself on always having a witty retort to be so utterly blindsided. It's only when Max began to crumple like a rag doll that she reacted.

"Max? MAX?" Chloe quickly threw her arms under Max's armpits to catch the girl before her limp body hit the bathroom tiles. Max heard Chloe continue to shout her name as the world slowly faded to white. A trickle of blood began to flow from her nose.

A cool breeze hit Max as she regained awareness. A familiar setting settled into focus: her beloved cocoon, her escape from reality. Shivering slightly, she walked to her dorm's window, which was slightly cracked, and shut it closed. Hands resting on the sill, Max closed her eyes and took a deep breath.

I'm here. I'm safe, and there's no sign of a storm. So far, so good. Now—Chloe. She had better be alive this time around. I don't know if I have it in me keep changing things. This has to be the final timeline, otherwise I will absolutely lose my shit.

And so began the frantic search for her cell phone. Max grew more and more panicked as the device failed to appear in any of its usual haunts. After checking everywhere: behind a recently-deceased Lisa (We'll have to ponder that in a bit, Max thought), her cubicle storage, under the bed, around the futon, she finally found it tucked safely into one of her draws. Oddly, the battery had been removed.

Interesting. I guess other-me decided to go full monty-introvert. But why? Images of how Chloe might react to a "Max-sans bathroom memories" flirted through her imagination. None of them ended well. Max drummed her fingers against the mattress as she sat on the bed waiting for the phone to start up. You'd think by now these things would boot within seconds, she thought impatiently. After what seemed an eternity Max gave her passkey and launched the messenger app. What she found was both relieving and highly distressing.

Chloe, 10/6 12:02 pm: Listen Max, I don't know what the fuck has gotten into you, but I'm not letting you weasel out of this one!

Chloe, 10/6 12:02 pm: I went easy on you after the nurse's office but pretending not to know anything is NOT COOL

Chloe, 10/6 12:02 pm: You hella know something about Rachel. Presass is involved, right? You have to tell me what you know. SPILL THOSE BEANS CAULFIELD

Max, 10/6 12:05 pm: Chloe, honestly, I don't have any answers for you. I still can't remember anything about what happened in the bathroom. And who is Rachel? Is it the same girl as in those missing person posters?

Chloe, 10/6 12:05 pm: Right. Sure. You know what? Fuck this

Chloe, 10/6 12:06 pm: You can text me when you're ready to stop playing shitty games

Chloe, 10/6 12:15 pm: Silence. As expected. Way to keep in character Max

And that was it. Max let out another sigh, trying to digest her emotions. Despite the angry tone of the text history, she couldn't help but feel a wave of absolute and euphoric relief. Chloe's alive. There's no storm, and Chloe's alive. Granted, she hates my guts now… but, she hated me for five years, and forgave me within hours of our first reunion. What's five more days?

Max moved to compose a message to Chloe, but hesitated, her thumbs hovering over the screen. Once I start this, there's no going back. I need to decompress for at least a few minutes. So much has happened so quickly. Images of the vortex club party, a dead Chloe in the junkyard, the Dark Room, and so much more raced through her mind. I've been trucking non-stop since Thursday. I need to get my bearings before jumping into the deep end again. And with that Max began to rifle through her other messages. A conversation with Nathan immediately caught her attention.

Over the course of several days Nathan went between threatening and pleading with her. Crazy pycho. Make up your damn mind already! Then, on Thursday, Nathan went radio silent. Other-Max's initial reaction to all this was absolute bewilderment. Yet another person yammering on about this Rachel person, and a "Dark Room," whatever the fuck that was. Other-Max responded to Nathan with a few confused replies, but after a spurt of aggressive texts saying to "watch her back" and that he "knows where she sleeps," she stopped replying completely. Good call, other-me. Do not engage with crazy. And then it hit her. If Nathan was bothering other-Max all week about Rachel and the Dark Room, then that meant…

Oh shit. Jefferson and Nathan never got caught in this timeline. Jefferson is probably still teaching! And if nothing changed, then what happened to… a cold lump formed in Max's throat as she hesitantly pulled out her chair and seated herself in front of her laptop. A brief search revealed that a Blackwell student, Kate Marsh, threw herself off the girl's dormitory roof last Tuesday. Upon reading the headline Max fought off a wave of nausea, and slowly brought her legs up onto the chair, hugging her arms around them. I did this. I wasn't there for Kate when she needed me, and now she's dead. Tears began to trickle Max's face as she resisted the urge to begin sobbing. Oh my god, Kate, I'm so sorry. I'm so sorry. Max didn't know how long she sat like that, silently grieving her friend.

This is how it's always been, right? Balancing lives. Chloe or William. Chloe or Arcadia. Chloe or Kate. I can't fix everything. And I can't give up Chloe. I won't. I refuse, she thought bitterly. I'm no hero. I'm just playing with death… deciding who lives, and who dies.

But I can get justice.

With that thought Max remembered her previous success with contacting David Madsen. If she could do that again, right now, (and ideally, anonymously), maybe she could put a stop to this sick saga. A few minutes later a text sent via Skype makes its way to David's phone, giving him the information he needs to enlist the Arcadia Bay PD in a search of the Dark Room.

And that's that. Once again, with feeling: eat shit and die Jefferson. In fact, I hope that literally happens in whatever hell-hole prison they boot your ass into.

Max's thoughts immediately returned to Kate and how other-Max must have failed when she was needed most. Needing to know more, Max reached for her journal and poured through the entries since Monday. The first thing made abundantly clear was that other-Max was not in a good place after her confrontation with Chloe in the nurse's office. Apparently, she had passed out in the bathroom (understandable, really, after so many consecutive focuses) and woken up in the nurse's office. Despite being banned from campus, Chloe refused to leave her side and was there when she came to. Her face was the first thing she saw when she woke up. Aww. That's so sweet. I guess in no matter what time line, you can't help but look out for me. But then things went south.

Oh Chloe. This must have been so hard for you. I can only imagine how much you must have been chomping at the bit to hear any information about Rachel. You must've been so disappointed when I woke up and "stuck to my guns" on the whole not remembering thing.

Which was apparently exactly what happened. Things quickly escalated, Chloe stormed off, and a hurt and confused Max retreated to her dorm for almost a week, barely responding to texts and calls aside from her brief conversation with Chloe. Her journal entries continued for pages on this topic; it was obvious other-Max was incredibly wounded by Chloe's appearance when she woke up, and then sudden rejection. The small blotches of dried tear stains on the pages proved that beyond any reasonable doubt. Poor other-me. No wonder she clammed up. Hell, I would've probably done the same thing. Which, I guess, makes perfect sense?

Turning the page, she reached the entry about Kate's funeral, which was held yesterday. Fighting off a shattering wave of guilt, Max read about how she did in fact attend the funeral (thank god). Everyone was in attendance, from her Blackwell acquaintances to her extended family, and more. Even David Madsen was there. You really did care, didn't you, David? Max's emotions about David were still conflicted. Yes, he saved her from the Dark Room, but he also hit Chloe. She didn't know if that image would ever leave her head, even if she rewound it. How many other times did David abuse her, Max thought angrily.

Upon finishing the entry describing Kate's funeral, Max stopped reading to get a grip. It took a force of will to prevent a downward spiral of thoughts questioning about what she could have done differently. Could she have left her other-self a note while in the focus? Surely, had she the presence of mind, she could have saved Kate. She'd done it before, why not again?

I could try again. If I found the butterfly photograph, I could focus and try again. I could save Kate and Chloe…

But at what cost? Every time she'd tried to change something to save someone, someone else suffered. Plus, the thought of returning to the bathroom again made her feel sick to her stomach. I need to know when to call it quits. Maybe this is it? Maybe this is the best possible outcome? I don't know if I'll ever be able to stop feeling guilty about Kate, but… I feel spent. I just can't continue like this. I have to stop. I have to accept reality… and move on.

And with that thought, Max wondered: she didn't use the rewind to save Chloe in the bathroom. Did that mean…? Max reached out with her hand and attempted to draw at that strange, invisible, yet omnipresent well of power. And found nothing. Where once was a surge of energy that could warp time itself, was now an empty void. As quickly as the power had come to her, it had left.

I'm not sure whether to feel happy or terrified. I guess that's why the storm didn't happen? I didn't unlock my powers in this timeline? I guess that makes as much sense as anything else that's happened this week. I guess that means… I'm stuck "here."

With a heavy heart Max began to accept to her new reality. The ability to manipulate events and people to the desirable outcome was gone. No backsies now, Caulfield. Gotta get things right the first time from here on out. I guess, at least, I'm not responsible anymore for how things turn out. I can quit playing God. It was sobering, liberating, and horrifying, all at the same time.

Max leaned back in her chair, tilting it onto its rear legs. She stared up at the ceiling for a moment, and closed her eyes. Chloe. I've got to make things right with Chloe. I've done my best for everyone… now it's time to focus on what I want. For the first time since it happened, the vivid memory of their kiss came crashing back into her mind. What WAS that? I was so bold. Yet… it just seemed meant to be? It felt right. And Chloe responded… she didn't pull away.

The chirping of birds outside stole Max's attention back to the window, where she could see two Stellaris Jays perching on a tree outside her window. Looking down, a serene Samuel was feeding the squirrels as he sat on one of the courtyard's benches. Everything really is OK. Hell, I imagine half the student body is bro-ing down at the Bigfoots game right now.

Max returned her attention to her journal, but couldn't keep her thoughts from returning to the cliffside, the kiss, and the gut wrenching focus. I was going to go through with it. I was going to let her die. But I guess some things can't change-I couldn't let her die before, and I couldn't this time either. Unfortunately, now I have a target on my back. Hopefully David will pull through like he did last time. Anyway, enough stalling. Max grabbed her phone and opened her text conversation with Chloe. For a long time, she sat staring at the screen, wondering how to begin. I suppose it doesn't matter too much what I text… she'll be frothing at the mouth matter what I say. Still though. I want to start this right. I… I need her back. It's obvious that being apart from each other is toxic for both of us. And with that, Max settled on the simple approach.

Max, 10/11 7:32 pm: I'm back