Summary:
After the suicidal incident, Blackwell's world turns upside down. The same way, Max feels. All occurrences give her the assurance, that everything shall be fine. Despite her naïve thoughts, she makes a mistake that she'll never get out of her system.
Chapter 03 – Another suspension of disbelief
Theme Song: Muse – Hyper Chondriac Music
The ambulance was too late. Sure thing, Nathan shot a bullet through his skull. Apparently, this is my first day on this timeline. I'm sick and tired, already. No matter how hard you try to change something you'll never be able to calculate the repercussions. Monday, amnesia, mocking, vandalized room, suicide and pulsing- instead of rewinding-powers have already piled up. Christ, I knew that Friday the thirteenth is the most superstitious garbage. Well, fathoming all thoughts doesn't simplify this weird situation by itself. Kate is safe and sound, by all means and the Prescott's boy has left this planet. I'll find out more about Rachel and Chloe, as soon as my overly complicated situation has calmed down a tad. Perhaps, I'm gonna get me a high dose of valium… or a mental enema.
Policemen with heavy armor walk around in our dorms and ask dumb questions about Nathan. Don't tell me they don't know shit about the Prescott family. Oh well, forgot that they're paid by the Prescotts. Speaking of the devil, I haven't seen David, among the racket. I hope he's not an even more abusive stepdouche on this layer.
Due to Kate's help, my room looks finally tidy. Can't get rid of the typo daub on the wall… Nonetheless, it is now time for the notorious Maximus-proverb: home, sweet home… my favorite cocoon. Quite interesting to see completely different polaroid images. What have I become? The images all show pretty much darker themed sceneries. With stronger emphasis on bloom and shadow. I'll have a look on my mirror reflection. How comes, my throat is heavily injured… like… for real?! I'll have a closer look in the mirror. A red, uber-thick bruise surrounds my neck. At first, I thought this visual horror was just my brain. But it really is there. So, thinking I left the horror all behind was a complete lie. One crack inside of the mirror draws a cut through my gorge. Gosh, don't remember me about that stuff! Damn, I'm feeling sick by just thinking about it. I'd better go to Kate, she seems to be the only sensible person in this godforsaken place called: Blackwell Academy.
On the way down to her dorm room, I feel the grief weighing us all down. Or maybe it's just me moving and looking like a total loser. A brief look down on my legs, explains it all: almost no muscles on my thighs nor my calves. I became really lean – a skeleton. Well, maybe I should get Joyce's high carb, high fat meal. Bacon with… uh I'm drooling. Dana sees me wiping the spit away in mid-air. She keeps crying while leaning against the wall behind her, though. She and her appearance has changed significantly, and yet, she's beautiful.
I reach Kate's door, I knock on it. With a smile on her face, she opens the door as I instantly pass out and feel my body falling somewhere on her… Brain obviously had too much of it… How predictable. I resurrect on Kate's lap… okay, that was not reasonable to say Max... But let's accept her religious attitude. I'll call Kate's room along with her kindness: Holy lair of charity. She comforted me, took care of my splayed polaroid images, my messy room, and, after all this shit she now pets my head just like Brooke did on campus. I'm slowly getting fond with these head-massage-after-bullshit things. To be honest, Brooke was doing terrifically awesomely, but Kate's love is different. Humble and joyful. Light floods the room and stings in my eyes. A good burn, similar to a bad headache. Diverging feelings… outside the window, you can watch very deep into the woods. Magnificent what a sight. Nothing else to add here. I love her place and I love her energy. We haven't shared a word, and we've kept this going, until the end of my attendance. I see her violin. Her strings aren't cut. Maybe she'll play some wonderful melodies the next days.
As I leave her chamber of love, she keeps up her gorgeous smile. At the end of the floor, I see two police officers continuing to ask the students dumb questions about Nathan. A window behind them glints light through the floor. Migraine incoming? Now, those policemen appear like sinister shadows on an endless hallway with the bright light behind them. One covers the other shadow. Oh, are we the bad girls, now? Hell, what's wrong with this place. I'm heading to my room. On my way there, I see my feet walking over those shadows of both the policemen. Eerie for some reason.
I see Alyssa being totally absent, who'da thunk? I walk past her, drag her a little. "Max, what's wrong…?" she asks confused concurrently with this the toilet paper leaves the restroom and almost hits her head. I mumble vacantly, "You're welcome." One police officer frowns at me, I change my look to the bottom. Stains of blood… somebody must've walked through Nathan's blood puddle. Yeesh! I enter my room and close the door behind. The gates of hell transcending down into the Maximus-abyss. With my back leaning against the door, I'm slipping down to the ground. I feel my bony buttocks. My phone vibrates. Sorry! Whomever I cannot respond, I've got other problems, at the moment. Second important objective – after saving Chloe's ass – is getting some shape around my ass back. I look up on my desk, the laptop's clock shows 5:45pm. What now? Maybe I'd better go and see, whether or not Jefferson wants to talk to me - oh pardon - I mean lecture me. I grab my bag from the sofa and open the door. Never guessed, opening a door could be so unique, since two police men block the only way out.
The front officer starts pissed off, already, "Good afternoon Miss… eh, why leaving?" – "I'll go back to Blackwell campus," Avoiding eye contact, I really hope they just leave me alone. "I… we hope you won't mind us asking a few questions about your de- fellow student Nathan Prescott," Without having a chance to answer, they enter and shut the door while walking in. Two tall men inside my room. Gives me the head-creep-ache. "First, may you tell us your name, please," he commands me – "Caulfield," I mutter. "Okay Miss… Cornfield, what do you think were Mister Prescott's biggest issues?" he asked with a very unfriendly tone. "He had a sharp eye for shadows…" – "Miss Cornfield, will you respond to my questions properly, or won't you?" he bellows. "Max, you're in here," my door opens and Warren squeezes himself through both officers. Yay! Another member joining us into the Maximus-abyss. Warren hugs me tightly. Ugh! "Ho- how dare you, what are you doing…?" the officer screams infuriated.
Warren still embracing me: "What she deserves, this is all too much for her!"
Officer pointing in my direction: "What's that bruise on your neck, is it self-inflicted?"
Me, not caring about it at all: "If that's all, you can see…"
Warren screams back: "Can't you just leave us alone here, please?"
Officer deductive: "I see…" watches my wall, whispers to himself "'Go fuck yourselfie' hmm… really welcoming," after this back to Warren and me, "Seems like you've known him very well."
Warren seriously: "Yeah, he's the mastermind of anger, if that's what you think we knew… well enough." faces both officers, yet keeps hugging me: "Look, how he thrashed my face! Look, how he… treated Max," raising his left hand to draw the attention to my neck.
Officer flying off the handle: "Mister… I ask you to leave the room, one last time!"
2nd Officer restrained whispers: "C'mon, leave 'em already…"
Officer angry: "Mark, you know this was a Prescott?"
2nd Officer calm and sensible: "They're both benign. Let's check the next student's room…"
"Why are you doing this Warren?" – "I heard, that Nathan rampaged together with Victoria through your room," is his – me not telling anything – answer. "Yeah, it would be nice, if Samuel could paint this darn message a-…" – "…Max, you told 'em anything about the photos taken at the party?" Shit! Now I've heard enough. It certainly is a pain knowing that this outrageous occurrence may've intensified the bullying against me. "No, and I don't know if I ever will!" is my quick answer. "Sorry Warren, I've gotta go." – "No Max look at this!" Warren walks to my desk and searches up a photo album on social-shitwork, I guess. But I don't want to bide the slow booting up of my laptop. I've got no time for this. I leave him in my room. If all the horror at Blackwell is represented as my face, Jefferson definitely ain't no monster, after all.
Outside the dorms, there are a lot of medics, policemen and other fellow students. Either crying, chatting or on the phone. Blackwell in deepest chaos, bigger than after Kate's death. Oh Max, she's alive and she will stay. Zachary comforts Juliet, Dana cries out her eyes on the other bench of the yard. All alone. Poor thing. Miss Grant looks bummed. Maybe I'll ask her, what's the matter… despite Nathan being dead. An inbound call on her mobile… later then Miss Grant I guess.
I walk along the path back up to Blackwell campus. Just around the corner and my face bangs against somebody's back. I've stumbled across him, sigh… David Madsen with the facial expression as if he hadn't taken a dump for at least a week. Pointing with the finger at me he starts bidding, "You! I know you're hiding. I see you! Don't you think you can play games with me! I know who you are." so this is, how Chloe had to suffer for ages. This man is fucking scaring the shit outta me. I can't even think about something useful to calm him. "Mister Madsen! Leave her alone. A photographer is not hiding anything…," Mark Jefferson defends me. He has said that from above the stairs. I hear Brooke's drone buzzing around. But I can't spot it at the sky. Normally, she'd race that thing around us, but this time, there's no drone to find. I leave David, he presumably hasn't transformed into the rather sensible Stepdad, yet. Dammit, I feel the anger against him. "Max, since you've napped through my photography class today, entirely, I would've been remiss, if I hadn't talked to you, afterwards. I don't want to ignore my job as a photography teacher. Come and meet me in our classroom, Max," Jefferson commands me, turns around and leaves at a rattling pace. David doesn't move at all, although I feel the anger boiling through his chest.
After going up the stairs, I reach the campus. Emptiness à la dystopia. Except for this stranger from the floor, after my photography session. He's resting on the bench, Evan was sitting at over one hour ago. This stranger's talking on a cellphone, but uses a different language. The student from abroad, right? At the same time, I notice, I'm not devoting myself to the powers, anymore. I'm not feeling as if I had all the time in the world. Perfect, they're painful anyways. I haven't drunk any water since… I don't remember when I drank for the last time. Maybe I'll get myself a cold soda inside Blackwell. Jefferson doesn't seem to be the human infamy, here. Considering David obviously is the mean douchebag… it could be that everything will heal up by itself. I've just gotta abide the scorn a bit longer, and then everybody will be living his or her happy life.
I enter Blackwell, asking myself, why Jefferson would talk to a student after a suicide incident. In an empty Academy? Maybe I should pulse back and ask him that in front of David. Principal Wells confronts me on my way in. "Miss Caulfield, would you mind me, if I asked you something about the most recent vortex-party?" all those 'would you mind me…'-questions slowly begin to push it over the edge. Dammit, who will ever know, what's wrong with this place? "I'm not sure Sir." – "So, I heard some rumors about 'things' no sensible woman – like you – should doth," Principal Wells answers in his dull way of speaking. As if he was ever giving a shit about the stuff, women 'doth' on parties. All he cares about is getting drunk because he can't stomach his own job. I try to answer, "Sir Wells, Nathan… he-" – "Exactly Miss Caulfield. I must talk to you about that incident with you and Mister Prescott. I know, this was a rough day, but… eh-," he interrupts himself. He glimpses on his watch, then he raised his arm to have a closer look since he can't believe the time he already has wasted. In a hurry, he kills our nonsense conversation, "Pardon me, Miss Caulfield I've totally forgotten about the time. We need to discuss a few things with Blackwell's new student from abroad. Could you please wait here for five more minutes, Officer Turner will be present then, too?" Top ten ways to kill a totally redundant conversation after a student's suicide… First place: Be the confused Principal Wells.
What the hell ever. My head doesn't ache too badly. Maybe the trick is, not to pulse repeatedly. Well, let's see what Jefferson has to tell me. I follow the floor along the lockers and posters. The door to Jefferson's class is opened. Dead hollow rooms of Blackwell. I have to be very cautious about this. There's still the high possibility that he is, yet again, the same whacky lunatic. I enter the classroom. Jefferson is not present. I should just wait. As long as he's not pointing with a gun at me. I plug in my headphones. Muse's song "Hyper Chondriac Music" will carry me through the evening. Whoa melancholy has a melody? I had never thought, I'd owned tracks by Muse. Should check all my playlists and changed taste in music anyway.
I see the photograph of our class pinned on the billboard. Everything as usual. The only retouch – it apparently went through – was Kate's face being swapped with mine. Yeah, time travel has some gruesome retouch powers, at the end of the day. Not only by rinsing somebody's memory or traveling back in time, but also in retouching captured moments of time itself. There is so much truth hidden in one photograph. The only truth kept inside a photo. Andre Bazin knew what he was talking while writing the ontology of the photographic image. Gee, I should study more stuff. And Hitchcock would only envy me for those skills. On the other hand, nobody ever strangled him while editing analogue footage… yuck, this timeline converts me to a cynical minx. Never fricking mind… where the fudge is Mister 'insert any desired pejorative name here'? Jesus, I want to leave this creepy room of terrifying memories. I hear the double doors shutting. Footsteps approaching the classroom.
"Hello Max, thanks for coming by," Jefferson leans against the door. Wearing black gloves. I lower the volume on my music player. Warning! Max, this is not good! I step back to the window, looking at him stone still. I cast a long, unsharp shadow on him. I'm not going to lose my line of sight with you again. Here's still enough daylight in Arcadia Bay. You can't jump at me out of the darkness. You'll need to come closer at me first. "I told Kate, I'm worried about your… behavior. Before that, I told Mister Wells. I know, you have something special to share with us Max..." – "I'm good…," I see on the left side of the classroom the balled-up paper next to my table. I turn my head back to Jefferson fast. He has made a few silent steps towards me. My shadow engulfs him. He obviously is stressed, but yet prepared. I must get out of here, now!
I clench my fist and think about leaving this place. Moving the position outside of Blackwell. I am not doing well. I think I've made a mistake.
While pulsing, I hear the ugly acutely tolling of the bell.
I black out. I lose control over space and time. Muse's song fades. Sorry, Einstein-Powers…
Hangover. Everything hurts. The pure tone in my head constantly beeps. A deep burning sting on my neck is sore and burns like acid. I can't hear anything. My ears only seem to catch the soft noise of the ocean. Or is it the noise of my brain? Noise that doesn't make any sense. Slowly but surely, I catch the sweeping sound of humming critters. Whales? The urgent wish to open my lids aches on my eyes. I can't. I'm too weak. What on earth has paralyzed me? Please, let me leave this hellhole. At the beginning of this day, I thought that I was living a wonderful dream, but this is nothing good. This fight should've been over, long time ago.
My hands are taped together. So are my feet. Gradually I regain eyesight. A blur. Dammit Max. You'd better know how to focus. I've got the very unpleasant feeling inside my gut, that I'm back at some place, that I never wanted to sense around me ever again. This scent… I'm not hearing very clearly, neither does my vision work a bit. My eyes shut, the blur is suffocated by darkness. This time it's my nose, which starts working. This plastic, those tripods, this… bunker. No! I'm not back here, am I? Shit! But wait, there's another component in this room's scent. Alcoholic breath exhaled against my face. Cheers, yuck! Whoever is in close vicinity to me, there're only two people who could likely come into my mind. One of those splayed his brain on a wall, already. Possibly, you can find the never-ending-why with a forensic scientist and puzzle all the pieces together. Fuck this world why am I back here again? I'm scared and my heart wants to race, but the only thing that I can do, for sure, is thinking. My heart slows down. I'm getting drowsy… maybe should sleep… in a heartbeat…
I hear somebody's scream. All the sounds are almost deaf. The stitch in my neck is disgusting. I'm sitting on some sort of chair. Around my neck, I feel a strong pressure. Gosh, no strangling, please. The pressure on my gorge increases, chokes me almost unconscious… A loud scrunch goes through my body. A despicable sound. Somewhere in this room… a bell tolls at the same time. I feel the vibe's location. However, it's not happening inside my head because I'm not using my pulsing-powers. This isn't me who does that. Fucking put an end to this! All this makes me feel like I'm mentally drowned. I want to go home, leave this place in some other way. I can't talk. My mouth's numbed, my jaw prickles when I try to move a muscle. Only my body answers with grave pain. All limbs twitch instinctively, shaking, having convulsions. Yet, the weakness in my head doesn't stop. I can't open my God-fricking eyes. If somebody could look inside of my mind, what would he think? Who's the bigger sicko? Definitely not Jefferson! He is the plain and pure example of a gutless psychopath.
My ears start working and perceive some noises. And color me impressed, I wasn't mistaken. The weird noise was humming of whales. Kind of something calming inside this dreadful pit. Chloe, wherever you are… I don't know why you didn't recognize me at the parking lot. But you must know, that I made every feasible decision to save your life. You deserved it. Not I. By all means, I am not the one, who is designed to be loved or liked… missed or bemoaned… This timeline proves it, undoubtedly. My loopy amnesia also is a sign. All this and I just couldn't keep in touch with you, as expected. No letters, no visiting you, no being there for you and I don't know why to this day. I just can't fucking remember anything that made this timeline loop all over. I've consigned my final thoughts to you, before I'm going to leave. Obviously, I'm Blackwell's first missing victim. I'll black out again in a bit or maybe shortly… this is it… I feel a last choke from this ugly thing around my neck, which I cannot see. I hear myself cough and fighting. A very dead sound via my ears. My body gives up… all muscles relax. Losing a fight is honest, as well? Is this, what Jefferson meant?
Argh, my throat… eyes… weakness. Ugh. The paralysis fades. I regain more eyesight. What a surprise, the fucking Dark Room Jefferson had put me in. His nether lands. With my hands taped, I'm lying on the ground, again. He seemingly wants to capture my honest moments. Fighting for every new drawn breath. Jefferson kneels down to frame my helplessness, his so-called 'beauty'. I want to listen to music, finish the song I've played, before I passed out. I want to escape. Sigh. I see, "Helpless like you by Nero Argento". Try, Scare, Lose, Waste! Please, toss me the power of music. I can't stomach this ugly melody of whales… And again, I don't know how I've bethought a song I had never heard before. The song's lyrics became so clear. As if I've listened to it a million times.
I begin to hear more clearly… "I was right! The slightly unconscious model is often the most open and honest. No vanity or posing, just… hell you are so beautiful Max…" not again, I must move! "Hold that stare there! Don't you fucking ruin this shot!" he yapps at me. Darn, he scares me so much, it intensifies the tranquilizer's potency. Each of my muscle's twitch feels like the painful burn of acid. I'll be a skeleton, this way or another. Unfortunately, I completely lost all memory about how horrible this guy was. Always the same old story that only I know. I've completely lost control over my – taped together – arms. The slow wind of breath in my nostrils is the only orientation about my life. I've got no control over anything. Just those billions of thoughts keep convolving themselves in that obnoxious precipice called Caulfield's-Mind. I can only imagine… "Stay still!" thanks for the pleasant interruption Mister Jefferson…
Some control over the muscles returns… I move my left leg. "Oh Max, you fucking ruined my shot again!" he screams in deepest anger. This anxiety… this sinister anxiety to lose this game, to fail… it's back. I'm frightened to lose inside of this ginormous maze. I fucked up! I had too many possibilities to walk around this unholy path, but I kept being nosy… or human. Combine a human with my powers. Immortality? Are you dead serious? The executioner stands in front of me, preparing my paralyzed body for his artistic arousal. Me, I am his first victim… "I love the purity of your own image…," he continues and kneels down to ramble even more, "Y'know, if only Nathan could see this... Max, you… you are a miracle… precious. Magic," this gives me the creeps! Let me out, "…groan…" first try always fails. "Fuck Max, you ruined such a perfect frame! Stay the fuck still!" don't you touch my body! Jefferson grabs my foot to get my helplessness back into its appropriate pose. Disgusting filth! You know what's the most horrible thing, inside? I still feel Chloe's head on my chest. As if it was a minute ago. The phantom pain remains, even anaesthetized… The palsied condition doesn't make this pain wither. I don't feel my heart racing, I don't feel my limbs. It's all dead, except the phantom imprint of Chloe, bleeding out on my chest. Sigh, everything is going to be in vain. But, as long as Chloe is safe together with Rachel, I'll be ok. I see Jefferson picking up a syringe. My final blackout I assume… "…groan… Chloe…," my heart has screamed. It's like rotting in vain…
"How do I get home? Everything revolves around me." …huh? I'm back. Emptiness, void…darkness. Cut me a break. I'm back on a chair. Bonded strangled on my gorge. What is he testing? If the last freaking deed is Max Caulfield hanging then finish me off! This game had been played too far. It had been lost way back… in those days, when Chloe and I tried to find answers about Rachel's whereabouts. Now me, I am the one, who'll leave and whom they dig under the junk yard. Life is a game. A game with self-made rules. Everybody can join and ruin the board, as they pleases. And whatever fucking force gave me rewind powers: How dare you? You'd think, I ever was to escape dystopia, if I had been given magic powers?
Jefferson hits the bell and strangles my throat, simultaneously. I can hear the camera's shutter. One click for each time my defenseless body fights against Jefferson's… something around my neck and this atrocious anesthetic. You know, how much this phantom pain had evolved, since you fucking sedated me? Jefferson chokes me, again. My weak eyes open up to a little gap. Barely enough space to see the room as a complete blur. A blurred tripod in front of me… I watch deeply into the camera's lens. Hope, your 'captures' are fucking worth it Jefferson. If you ever touch Chloe again, I'll reincarnate and burn you alive while capturing your execution. And I will enjoy watching you burn. Seeing him preparing the next dosage makes me sick. My eyes are much stronger now, I can move my limbs or… at least I think that I can move them. More light enters the iris, but everything's still blurry.
"Why… are-" – "Sh, shh, Max… the 'why' doesn't matter. You've been captured in your peace… your perfection. You are beautiful. I knew this, since you made your first… selfie, urgh hate that word!" Oh man I just want to kick into your artistic tiny balls, anything, just shut your trap! "You… are a piece of shit…" I clench my fist and… I won't survive a pulse. I don't want to execute me myself. "Max, …nobody will be neither surprised nor care about your disappearance. Though I promise… people cared today, when Nathan blew his head in the dorms. And this time he didn't blow cocaine, haha. Oh well, superb grades for some… experiments with him paid their heavy price, didn't they? He made some nasty pictures with you, didn't he? While being drugged, too, haha!? Well, he knew too much anyway." nobody will care, when I die? I don't think so. "You know Max, when I saw Kate, today… she might be the better choice in terms of purity. Perhaps, she'll beat your perfection!" Jefferson plays with both his hands and waves them about. One of them with the loaded syringe. The needle glints in the bright lights behind him. I'm only guessing it's the syringe, but he's so very close, it must be obvious. The huge load prepared for me to enter the eternal sleep. I'm going to feel with you alternate… disabled Chloe… My vision fades, the colors desaturate. Jefferson gets up. I hear a bang… Jefferson flinches and runs away from me.
I recognize a lot of ropes on the wall, since the blur decreases, bit by bit. Was he taking pictures of me with all sorts of ropes? My heart accelerates, increases its pounding against my chest. Maybe the paralysis fades… I hear men screaming something. Jefferson tries to flee and faces my direction. A heavily armored man follows and catches him. The syringe leaves Jefferson's hand flying… right into my left arm. I've barely seen it, but haven't felt the stitch yet. A couple of other men enter the room, aiming loaded guns inside the room. They're also wearing body armor. Obviously, FBI or SWAT guys. Evidently, nothing works straight on this particular timeline. For what I can tell, Arcadia Bay has no secret operating police forces around. Only police. "Get us a paramedic here!" the guy arresting Mr. Jefferson bellows. "And get Madsen here. He knows the girl!" another out of the team screams, while leaving the room. Shit! I – in all seriousness – survived this hell. I'm losing consciousness, while my heart is on a race…
I reawake inside the ambulance truck. David is by my side. "David…" – "It's Mr. Madsen to... Excuse me… I'm sorry for everything that happened to you. I never was the designated peacemaker, but I had my reasons. Do you understand me?" somehow foreign. He talks like a total loser. His facial expression looks rather sensible, again. Déjà-vu... "How's Chloe?" – "My family is not your concern! Excuse my words… this day was a pain," my throat hurts while swallowing because it parched. Forgot to get the soda in Blackwell… Damn this world! One paramedic interrupts us, "Excuse me Mister… Madsen. I'd like to ask Miss Caulfield some questions." – "Sure, you're doing a great job sol… Sir." Who'da thunk it? Same ol' Stepdouche, after all. My vision has replenished entirely – asides the desaturated colors – although my head is pounding as hell. "Alright Maxine, can you tell me the date? Monday, Tuesday? Or Year?" – "I… I guess it's Friday. Eh, 2013…" I stammer. Wobbly voice, don't mess this up. "It's Monday... so what has happened… what happened, yesterday, or the day before that?" – "I can't remember… I… I kinda forgot." no Max no! The paramedic turns away and talks to the other paramedic at the wheel, "Better keep her." Damn, no… I've recalled false details of another timeline…
I clench my fist and try not to go too far away. The acute bell tolls. Whales sing their melodies. The choke-effect felt like all ropes on Jefferson's wall strangle my neck. I feel myself crying…
I'm back on the ground. The syringe already sticks in my left arm. The Policeman arrests Jefferson. I stark coughing like never before. The Policeman immediately drags the syringe out of my arm and touches my face with his bulletproof cold gloves. On the glass shield of his helmet, I can see my own reflection. Behind the helmets bulletproof glass his focusing tired eyes. I see compassion, apprehension and partially anxiety. He screams, "Paramedic, as long as this girl breathes!" Another Policeman kicks Jefferson away from the chair. Away from me. Jefferson rolls against the big locker with a bummed grumble exiting his nose. "What the fuck do you think are you doing to that poor girl?" the other Police guy yells at him. The stereo inside the locker begins to play melodies from the wailing whales. The Policeman, who dragged out the syringe, cuts the tape off my arms and legs and picks me up.
I start crying, since the sound of the whales is disturbingly loud. I also see the bell, that Jefferson must've used all the time, when he strangled me. I'm too weak to pulse again. This is pathetic. I've got no leftover strength to look back and see the instrument that Mister Jefferson had to use all the time he strangled me… David comes across, "How's she-" – "She'll be fine, thanks Sir Madsen," the guy carrying me immediately responds to him. "David…," I grab his arm with some strength, I can concentrate on "Tell me… how's Chloe… please…" – "Miss Caulfield you need medical treatment, now!" the guy carrying me says. "Officer...please," I'm begging you. He looks down to me. The scent of plastic, the armor vest… I can't see the human through his shroud of synthetics. But I can somewhat feel his heart… the despair… the worry. "I want… listen… my music in the ambulance. My bag must be… somewhere..." – "Sure, I'll see to it, that you get it. You can call me Mark!" he says in a sad way. Wait a sec! Was he the tall policeman who interrogated me? Mark… the sensible Officer behind the schmuck Officer from the dorms today? Let's stop thinking… Outside the barn, the ambulance awaits me.
The double door wings from the barn are opened widely. Jefferson's car is parked next to the old tractor. It's getting dark outside. Sure, it's evening. The cool winds of the fall sweep my skin and makes my hair fly against the rigid shroud of a sensible policeman. He carries me, as if my body weights less than a hundred pounds. The gentle gust scents akin to the woods refined with some fresh salt-breeze in it. My eyes become weaker, as I see us getting closer to the ambulance. The white-red flickering lights on its roof. Things begin to move in slow motion… all the sudden, everything begins to blur… All white elements begin to bloom. Everything shines so bright… I'm blind.
"If I can't find myself? I am so completely fake! Yeah, I remember that spot, where you thought about a fitting song by Pendulum." Where am I? Gosh, I see myself wearing a white tunic and sitting in front of… me on the other side of a small table. Never is this a reflection of a mirror. Either this is a bad dream, or I am going nuts. "Yeah sure you are, welcome back. Reality, somewhere nice, I guess," she moves her lips and I hear her words. So fluent, so true. She can hear, what I am thinking. Why shouldn't she? It's definitely… me. "You always wanted more than I was worth... Hmm, I think you have a lot of questions, haven't you?" I'm not even talking, but she keeps responding to each of my chain of thoughts. Please, tell me what happened, why are some sort of tattoos all over your body? "Oh, I don't need to… you are just a part of something bigger." I know… I forgot – like – everything you made. I need to go back. "Go where? As you can clearly see, you found your way here." This location. A hospital? No… never behind bars. A big shadow of a grid drops on the Maxine in front of me. Red veins in her eyes. Dark bloodshot eyes with thick circles underneath each, not cute… just… creepy and dreadful. "Thanks, you are looking good, likewise." It can't be. The calendar on the wall reads 2015. I jumped two years forward? Never ever. "If I tell you – that I wanted to finish listening to the song of Muse – will you believe me?" No, you nasty little liar! You would've listened to "Helpless Like You" ... "I was talking about the moment, you were committed to this mental institution, busted Einsteinhead." This can't be… this Max in front of me knows a fricking lot! "Will you now shut your mouth and listen? … Fine, you create the impression that you've missed everything. That makes you saner and even more predictable. As soon as you're not sitting… there, anymore, you'll understand." My heart races a billion miles per hour. So does hers… Her tunic leaps. Up and down, and up… The vision smears with a fast blur.
I hear a chime, at the same time, I blackout entirely.
"I wake up in…" the other Max's head… In front of me, a shrink. I get it. Everything… holy crap! My head is more likely ready to explode. Shit… I perceive her memory… the phone call, the warning… the party… the bullying and now I'm back with my memory. I don't understand. Fuck! Everything's weighting me down. I feel the past winning the race. It surpasses me. My head falls down on the table to a disgusting beep in my ear that instantly leaves. All this detail… so heavy. So damn brutal. I heave my head and look at the dude in front of me. A psych, I presume.
He writes all the things down, he sees with his sole view. He shakes his head, throws the spectacles from his nose down to the table. After that, his scratchpad follows as it is slipping out of his hands. Cringing with his face, he takes a long breather. Heaving a sigh, "Miss Caulfield… do you remember that… every time, we meet each other…" – "It is just another suspension of disbelief? Yes, I do remember," I interrupt his question by instinct. Predictable, his answer really was. "I'm glad you do remember Coleridge's theory," we are both recipients, who can't share their own language. He tiredly looks at me through his small eyes. Thinking about it, eyes being the mirror – the key – to one's soul, gives me the creeps when I look into his eyes. I think about the other patient, he was dealing with – terror indeed. The mirror to his soul is a big maze, I don't want to enter.
I don't know why I beached in this funhouse. "Can I…" – "Read your diary from two thousand thirteen? Sure, Miss Caulfield. Time's over now, anyway." wherever I was sticking, it definitely was a horrible timeline albeit 2015 must be the only true figure. I had no look into my diary in 2013, I notice. Gosh, I'd never forget it in the future. I'm glad to be back here, where I can get back the answers I need. The psyche – whose name I can't remember – stands up and leaves the table, grabs his stuff with a fast swipe. I glance out of the window. How long have I been here? "Miss Caulfield, if you are not feeling better in the next ten minutes, I'd ask you to take twice the dose of quetiapine." The doc leaves my room. The door stays open. I see a lot of other ill people. I am another hollow identity in this asylum. First and foremost, start with the diary! 3:50pm? Great, I could listen to Amon Tobin's song, again. Well this time, I'll make use of a lot more answers… and they might hurt.
I raise my hand… tighten it to a fist and concentrate. Nothing happens. I try to rewind and… ugh!
The doc iterates his fast grab after his stuff and says, "Miss Caulfield, if you are not feeling better in the next ten minutes, I'd ask you to take twice the dose of quetiapine." I'm back in the old game. Well, the so-called normal life inside of my future head. The rewind-powers are back, too. Great… My head doesn't ache. I could get used to this. I look on the bottom to see my white tunic. But wait, there is something written on my arm.
"Chloe can die in fragment." Her phantom imprint… I can still feel it… What the fuck? She knew? That Max has known everything that I was doing? And now I am inside of her head? That super sarcastic Max in front of me was mean, strange and alienated. I'm not feeling her thoughts nor her memory, however, I feel the strong medication and hence the strong motor deficit. Gross, I guess, I'll understand more about this later. I'm getting nervous. I want to know so much more about her!
I fall to the ground with despair, a male nurse rushes into my room, since he has seen my emotional meltdown. A big harmless guy. "Max my little doe… y'wanna tell me another story from Seattle?" a cheerful voice. Good, I could really use an ounce of solace. His tender grasp of his arms around my belly calms me slightly. It helps. His name is Michael. Always cute, always soft… the world could need more of those guys, and don't ask me why I know his name and not the doc's. Perhaps I'm only remembering the good people. Cute and a tad gullible at the same time. I'm sure he's just pretending.
As we start to talk about random stuff, I see other parts of my body. I wrote everywhere. Some text almost faded… some text has remained fresh. This is so much Memento, though Leonard's amnesia compared with mine… galaxies! I think I'll read the notes on my body and my old diary to find out the rest, as soon as Michael leaves my… cage. I've got the unpleasant feeling, that the other Max here started something huge, that I must end in some way. A new opportunity? A new chance arising inside of a closed hospital? A plan that works in 2015 for events of 2013 and even further?
Michael has held my hands throughout our conversation. They are warm, like his heart. His smile could calm down any aggressive person. Although, I don't know him, yet. I think the Max before me knew a lot more about this place. Now he's leaving. Let's grab the music player and finish Muse's song, to all my notes plus diary. A song I had never finished, two years ago. Better late than never!
