Hello readers, From one story to the next, Again I'm working with Nothing_You_Can_Prove (Olivia) This was originally a suggestion for her, But her story list is a mile long and growing, So I'm taking the lead on this one.

This one follows Max on that Fateful week, However, not everything is as straightforward as it seems. Hope this one gets you thinking.

Enjoy

Tables Turned

A man sat in the middle of an empty room, unconscious and unmoving. His eyes gradually opened, vision blurred. Disorientation overwhelmed him, a flicker of panic. It took a few moments for him to become aware of his surroundings. The room he found himself in was eerily dark, although he could just about make out the edges of furniture.

Coming out of his groggy state, all he could hear was the sound of his own heavy breathing, and the low hum of fan, maybe several, He tried to move, only to find himself bound by his wrists and legs to a chair. As objects started to come into focus, he took in his surroundings. Behind him, a white screen with tripod lights either side. In front, another tripod, its mounting point empty, clearly ready for a camera. To the left and right of it, another tripod light either side making it difficult to see any further. He could just make out a couch past the tripods with a glass coffee table in front, strewn with a few magazines and what looked like a syringe and a small bottle.

The gentle patter of a printer could be heard on the far side of the room. A shuffling sound, one the man assumed to be footsteps, caused his head to snap sharply upwards to investigate. Now that the grogginess had mostly worn off, his eyes adjusted to the darkness.

On the far side, he could see shelves stacked with tinned food and boxed goods. A picture hung on the wall depicting a figure sprawled on the floor it seemed, still too dark to see properly, next to it another picture. His attention drawn to the floor, just beyond the tripods papers lining the floor. By the way the light was shining off them, they appeared to be pictures too. Various cupboards lined the walls, their contents unknown. In one of the corners sat a desk with a computer, the screen turned away. There was something oddly familiar about this place, although he couldn't quite put his finger on it.

"Ah, you're awake. I must apologize, I'm not as adept as you with this stuff, gave you too much the first three times. Luckily for you, I get a few redoes... or unluckily for you," a familiar female voice chuckled lightly.

"Wha... who are you, where am I?" the man replied, struggling against his restraints.

"Looks like I underestimated you a little there... I wouldn't bother struggling, I won't be making the same mistake again," the female voice spoke again, this time coming from the other side of the room.

Feeling angry rather than scared, he put as much authority into his voice as he could muster. "What is the meaning of this? I demand you release me at once, I am a teacher at Blackwell Academ..."

"HA, teacher, yeah right," the female voice interrupted him, "Come now, you know EXACTLY where you are," she paused for a moment as if pondering something, "Then again, things do look very different from this side of the camera. How does it feel to be on the receiving end of your 'ARTISTIC VISION,' SIR?" she said, each word full of venom.

"I don't know what you mean," he protested, trying to get a better look at her.

"I could frame any one of you, and capture you in a moment of weakness," the girl recited as she slowly walked across the room, each word with loathing.

"Who are you?" the man barked, clearly irritated.

"Much wow, although I suppose I'm not exactly who you were expecting tonight, am I? Guess I must have drunk sommin' that was...intended for someone else," she replied bitterly, not actually answering his question.

His eyes widened a fraction before he got himself under control again. "I don't know what you mean."

That was clearly not the right answer. "Pfft, come now, I know EVERYTHING. Kate Marsh was supposed to be your subject tonight, to... how did you put it? Ah yes, to capture the loss of youth."

"Who are you?" the man asked slowly as he furrowed his brow at the girl's wording.

"Really, you don't recognize your 'PERFECT SUBJECT'? I'm kinda hurt. Then again, you've had so many subjects, haven't you?" the girl spat, walking determinedly to where the printer noise was coming from.

She picked something up, a folder by the looks of it, and walked briskly back towards the bound man just behind one of the tripod lights. Flicking through the folder she took out a picture, tossing it on the floor for him to see.

"So many subjects, Lynn, Kelly," she spat, her voice choking slightly as she took another picture out, tossing it towards him like the others, "Chloe," taking an audible deep breath she took out another two pictures, "Rachel," her voice was near breaking point now, a mix of anger, betrayal and raw hatred, "KATE AND ME!" she practically roared, throwing the last two pictures down.

Looking down at the pictures of the girls, all bound, either panic or confusion in their eyes, the last two picture's catches the man's attention – a brunette with a glassy doe eyed expression, the other a small blonde with the same 'not all there' expression – making him frown. "I didn't take those pictures."

That made his captor scoff. "Oh, you did, or rather WOULD HAVE, you just don't remember it because I changed it... Like I changed Kate's fate this time around. Do you even realize how much you fucked with people's lives? And it's not just Kate's. If it wasn't for me, there would be five deaths that I know of on your head."

"What are you talking about?" he asked, confused by this nonsense.

The girl slowly walked to the other tripod lamp, contemplating before stopping and turning to the man, still in the shadows. "Ok, then let me elaborate a little. Originally, it would be Kate Marsh in this room tonight, like you planned, only for her to end up trying to jump off the dorm roof on Tuesday because of what you did to her. I managed to talk her down, but this time she won't have to go through any of that." She paused for a moment, crossing the point off a mental checklist.

The man's only option was to listen to what she had to this crazy babbling. For the moment, he was completely at her mercy. He kept vigilant for a way out, gently pulling against his restraints once more so she wouldn't notice.

"Then, there was Chloe. She originally got shot in the girls' bathroom by your little prodigy, Nathan Prescott on Monday. I stopped that too." There was something erratic about her tone, unstable. "Then, there's Nathan himself, who you intended on killing this very night a week from now. Yeah, he's alive, currently passed out in his truck on your little drug here," she continued motioning to the syringe on the table. "Oh, don't worry, it's got your fingerprints all over it. Gloves are wonderful, aren't they?" Fingers wiggled in the dim light, barely visible. "Then, there's me. You had no intention of letting me go free, or you would have made sure I stayed under. BIG MISTAKE, asshole. I'm the one girl you should never have even looked at..." the girl's voice trailed.

Done with this, the man tried to take control of the spiraling situation. "How... you speak of things as though they did happen when they didn't. You sure you're not just on something from that loser, Frank?"

She sighed like he was being totally stupid. "Have you not been listening? Let me spell it out for you, I AM A FUCKING TIME TRAVELER, YOU ASSHOLE!"

The man blinked a few times, a sly grin working its way onto his lips, before erupting into a torrent of laughter. "You expect me to believe...that you can travel through time, don't be absurd. Clearly, you are on something. Don't worry, I'll let it go if you untie me. You clearly need help."

"You really think I'm making this shit up?" the girl whispered into his ear from behind him.

"What the fuck?" he hissed

Just two seconds ago, she was stood in front of him. He couldn't see her clearly but he KNEW she was there. A subtle click was heard from the far side of the room. The overhead fluorescent lights suddenly flickered on to light up the whole room. He knew where he was, he had suspected all along. His gaze, however, was drawn to the pictures lining the floor and walls.

Every single one was of him, some had a bullet hole in the head, others multiple shots in the chest. One had blood pouring from his kneecaps, an expression of raw pain and fear. Others were of him in various poses, looking like he was completely passed out or dead.

A flicker of fear went across his expression as he stared at the portfolio of his own death, or deaths. Footsteps over by the computer caught his attention as he saw a young brunette walking towards him, and then disappearing only to appear a few feet to his right. Anger and betrayal carved out her expression, her eyes red obviously from tears, the tear tracks running down her freckled face, Arms at her sides one fist clenched, the other holding onto something in her pocket.

"Hello, Mark. I'd like to tell you a story. One where you not only fucked up Kate's life but Chloe's and mine, And so many many other people's, One where you have PERSONALLY doomed this town and a future I would VERY MUCH like to have,...and then you're going to tell me how it ends."

…

And so it begins...