Jefferson's hand is around my neck, tight enough to make it hard to breathe. His face is uncomfortably close to mine.
"Be honest with yourself, Max. There is a part of you that enjoys being at my mercy. Why else would you keep coming to me?"
I would bite his fucking nose off if I could.
"You're old news, asshole. I have bigger problems than you—"
The rest of my words get choked off by the sudden clenching of his hand. He turns my head and sniffs close to my neck. I'm lying in bed, my clothes are gone, and I cannot move.
"I wouldn't be so sure," he says next to my ear. "I think your biggest problem is still inside you. I hope you remember me when you let everything fall apart again. I would be flattered."
You're nothing, you're dead, I try to scream, but it's just a gasp for air. He presses his thumbs into my throat, looming over me.
"Are you sure I'm dead, Max?" He leans in until I can see my own terrified reflection in his pupils. "Are you completely sure?"
I can't answer. I can't breathe.
"Oh, but I must be dead, right? Your precious Chloe said so. She has no reason to lie to you."
His weight bears down on me with unrelenting finality. He'll crush my windpipe before I suffocate. I can't even try to fight it.
"Tell me, Max. If I'm dead, then who is choking you right now?"
Suddenly Jefferson's voice is coming from the side of the bed. Someone else is straddling my hips, hands squashing my neck with every ounce of her strength.
I can finally move, but it's useless anyway. She's far stronger than me. I claw at her hands, I thrash and push to no avail. I silently plead, squirming, unable to even gasp. I begin to feel lightheaded. Her impassive features dim and blur behind a black curtain.
Chloe's face is an emotionless mask as she chokes the life out of me.
I startle awake with a sharp breath, and for a moment that's all I can do, try to get some air into my lungs. I'm lying on my side, facing dim daylight behind a tinted window. My head rests on Chloe's arm, and she's not-quite-snoring behind me.
I feel gross, far too warm, covered in sweat and sticky. Right now I've a visceral need to get away from her. The thought comes with a pang of guilt, but that doesn't make the urge any less real. Goddamn fucking nightmare.
I peel myself off her skin and the damp sheets, yet she barely stirs. I sit at the edge of the bed, press my hands into my eyelids and rub until it hurts. The digital clock on my nightstand says 5:33PM. It was after 4PM the last time I glanced at it, so I was out for an hour at most. I feel like I could've gone for twelve. My eyes are full of grit, like sleep is a luxury I can't afford or a pleasure I don't deserve.
Thinking about the dream brings in a tide of self-loathing. Yeah, yeah, I get it, this unconditional devotion to Chloe might end up killing me. Fuck you, subconscious. You're as subtle as a punch to the face.
Looking back at her shrivels the memory of the nightmare to insignificance. She's splayed over most of the bed, nude in all her glory. The sheets are such a mess, mostly on the floor. I don't even remember trying to fall asleep. The last thing in my mind is just lying there, panting, kissing her tattooed arm like it's a sacred idol worthy of worship.
It's possible that we got a little carried away. Or...a lot. I would have zero regrets even if the windows exploded right now in a shower of bullets. To put it in words that are now forever lost in time, it was fucking magical.
It's a challenge to get upright, but I manage—though a bout of lightheadedness has me leaning a hand on the dresser. I'm feeling famished, it's been...what, seven hours since we ate? How many meals do I end up having after all the rewinds? How many hours do my days last, on average? Am I keeping track?
I mean, it's only March and I might have turned nineteen already. It's a weird thought.
I shuffle toward the doorway, careful not to make noise. On the way I try to finger-comb my hair but I give up immediately. It's a disaster zone up there. I step over my top and consider it for a moment—who knows where the rest of my clothes ended up—but fuck it, why even bother. Let's embrace the bohemian lifestyle.
Quietly slide the door shut, enter the kitchen area. Open the tap to a trickle and splash cold water on my face, try to become mostly functional. I notice a tiny spider inside the sink. Why hello there, creepy sleep spider, pleased to meet you at last. I'm sure there's nothing sinister about you at all.
I throw water at it until it tumbles down the drain.
Drying with paper towels I check the fridge for something to gnaw on, but I'm soon wrinkling my nose at the snacks on offer. Apples, mandarins, greek yogurt? I just had the most incredible sex ever, I need something far less healthy, please. It's weird to imagine either of us going grocery shopping for our clandestine pantry. Is that a thing that we do? Go shopping together? It seems so wonderfully mundane compared to all the high-stakes hijinks.
A minute later I'm sitting on the couch, stuffing cookies in my face and washing them down with one of Chloe's beers. The combined taste is kind of nasty, but I'm feeling rebellious. BetaMax didn't like beer, did she? Well, I'm gonna get smashed now, just you wait. No-one's going to dictate what I drink. Watch out for Transgressor Max over here, she's gone wild.
I'm rifling through my messenger bag, which Chloe must've been kind enough to bring in from the car. Pens, notes, a tiny mirror, a granola bar...my camera? I thought Chloe had left it on the counter after...
No, wait. That bathroom photo never happened in this reality. Oh, all the headaches that await trying to keep every timeline straight in my head, such fun.
And inside the usual slot for my journal, there's the Death Note. It's what I'm after. Might as well get the reading out of the way, and I admit I'd rather do this alone. I know myself, there is a good reason I kept this private. I don't know if I truly want to find out what that reason is.
I take another hearty swig, lift the cover and—
Blegh, seriously, this is gross. I renounce you, Chloe's beer. Return to the hella whence you came.
I get some plain old water from the tap, go back to the couch, cram three more cookies into my mouth and crack the notebook open.
Oh yes, I am such a rebel.
Hi, Max.
It's me, your bizarro-world counterpart. Isn't life just grand?
It felt wrong to continue the old journal with something so different, but how to even start this one? I keep rewinding everything I put down. I feel like I'm on my deathbed, writing a memoir before it's too late.
Fuck it, Chloe wants me to vent, so I will. Fuck you. Fuck you for not telling me how long I have. Just a date on the note, that's all I needed. You'll never know the true meaning of "existential dread" until you end up on this side of the equation.
And yeah, you told me to save Chloe, fine, but you're also the scumbag that threw her away in the first place. I wouldn't have. I didn't need your fucking note. You just took the easy way out, let me do all the hard work and now you're ready to swoop in and enjoy the ride. Well, don't come back yet, because everything is still fucked up. I'll let you know when I fix everything, okay?
Shit. Now I keep writing apologies. Apologizing to myself sounds pretty damn insane, don't you think?
I'm just so angry. Fate dealt me a shit hand and I'm taking it out on you. I know I'm full of it, I know we're the same person and you totally saved our Chloe, I know you know that I know that you know AAAH!
Okay. This is starting to look like mental asylum material. But I think I should leave it anyway, you should get to read it. A glimpse of how bad we can get, maybe? A cautionary tale? It's not fun inside my head right now.
I'm not looking for sympathy or anything. You should feel bad for Chloe, she gets to put up with me, which is a load of crap. She's got enough to deal with, what with her being a homeless orphan now. Is that a callous way to put it? I'm being an asshole again, aren't I? Sometimes I'm convinced she'd leave me if she didn't feel like she owes me.
As if we did all this just for her, right? It's not really about her, is it. It's about us, you and me. We're selfish people, Max. We want Chloe in our life and nothing else matters. I don't blame you for what you did, you know I'd have done the same. Since...we're the same person and everything.
Holy shit, is this really how I'm starting whatever this is?
Fuck it
"Still can't believe you went over five hours."
Chloe is idly juggling the rubber ball from one hand to another. We stand in the clearing outside, both clad in lazy sweatshirts and pants. Despite the sunny weather, the late March chill of dusk is settling into our little corner of the woods.
I'm about twenty feet away, nodding at her. "I'm pretty sure I only stopped because I got to the point when I was unconscious. I don't know how far I could've gone, otherwise."
"I really wish I knew what's going on with you. Are you sure you didn't do anything weird with your powers on your side? Did you even use them at all?"
I shake my head. "Only to go back and change everything."
"What did you even do for five months, then? Did you tell me about that yet?"
"No, but there's not much to tell. I tried to move on and failed. I crawled into a corner and cried a lot. That's about it."
"Hah."
I also kind of tried to kill myself, sort of, but never mind about that.
Okay, I should tell her about jumping off the lighthouse, I know. I will. But not right now, she'd freak out on me, we'd probably get all emotional again...I'm pretty tapped out on drama for today, especially after reading the whole damn journal in one sitting. Talk about angst and serious mental issues.
"I attended your burial," I tell her. "It was held the same day the storm would've come."
"Dude. That's so surreal."
"Yeah..."
"You had to watch me die and then put into the ground the same day?"
I just nod, wondering why I would even mention it. Way to keep things light, Max Downer.
She's standing there, chewing on her lip. "Did anyone even bother to go besides you?"
"What kind of question is that? It was small on purpose, but everyone that mattered was there." I'm quickly realizing just how much I don't want to talk about that time of my life. "Are you going to throw or what?"
"Oh, yeah, sure. Here goes, ready?"
Chloe winds up like a pro pitcher and throws the ball as hard as she can at a nearby birch tree. It paps against the bark and bounces wildly out of sight.
"Weaksauce," she deadpans, adjusting her displaced necklace. "I'm so glad I forget the anticlimactic part."
It's funny how each time she'll say something slightly different.
Let's get back to work on fine control. Conscious not to raise my hand I start a very slow rewind, nearly as slow as I can make it. Chloe's words become eerie gibberish, her motions an uncanny scene of performance art. I fix my eyes on the tree she hit, now obscured out of focus, and soon enough the ball flies back in a bubbly wobble. It un-hits the tree and begins to travel back to Chloe's hand.
I slow down the rewind even more, but don't push it all the way to a complete freeze. Though it's nearly the same in practical terms, it's an important distinction to make. Complete standstill is way tougher to maintain, the difference between a shoddy stopgap and a perfectly hermetic seal on the passage of time—no, no, no. That's the wrong way to think about it. A rewind is turning around and walking the other way down the timeline. A standstill is reaching perfect equilibrium with the normal speed of time, no going forward, no going back. It's not what we're after right this moment.
What we're after is endurance, and so I start walking within the rewind. It's the fourth time by now, and I'm tired, but not exhausted. Each step is an underwater slog, space thick around me like an ocean of pressure between me and the little red sphere slowly floating backwards—which is another faulty way of thinking about it, according to my journal ramblings. What I feel is the combined effort of traveling in all available dimensions at once, as well as moving against the anchor that keeps me glued to Earth's high-speed journey through the cosmos. Pretty sure BetaMax was just pulling things out of her ass, how the hell would anyone know this stuff for sure?
I reach the ball and pluck it out of its weightless spin. Grabbing it for the first time was yet another learning experience: it may look like it's lazily drifting in mid-air, but it still carries every bit of its momentum. Taking hold of it transfers that energy to my hand, which means a pretty hard smack against my palm the moment I touch it. Note to self: never grab speeding bullets mid-rewind.
Ball in hand I fight my way back to where I started. I'm panting by the time I make it, damp with cold sweat, weak in the knees—yet I don't feel any of the wear in my muscles. The strain is all deeper inside, in my mind, all along my spine, in the core of my bones.
I return to the normal flow of time and plop my butt down on the grassy dirt, completely pooped.
"Woo! And it's gone! You got it again?"
I hold it up between thumb and forefinger.
"Awesome! You feeling okay?"
Words are a bit hard to come by at the moment. I settle for a nod.
"Well, it's official, you're just as good as you ever were. Maybe better."
The words fill me with an absurd sense of pride. Congratulations, Max Prime, you can break reality the hardest of them all. Yay?
"Got one more rep in you?"
I shake my head. She starts walking over. "That's fine, don't push yourself too hard. You look like you could pass out, how long have you been awake now?"
I have to think about it. About two hours of jumping through temporal hoops, a rewound tutorial on handgun handling and shooting practice—I'm still carrying it under the sweater, gotta get used to the shoulder holster—an hour of packing decoys after she got up, rewound shower and reading time...
"About six hours?"
"Are you counting the nightmare nap as sleep? Because you really shouldn't."
"Alright, then...ten, I guess. I'm doing okay, I promise. I'll rest if I need it, I'm not like before."
She eyes me suspiciously, trying to determine whether I'm just putting on a brave face. I raise my hand, three fingers up. "Scout's honor."
"Fine, alright. I have to keep close watch on you, you're an untrustworthy individual."
"I do like to keep you on your toes." I feebly toss the ball back at her. It falls short and she has to bend down to grab it. "Oops."
"Maybe give up on your softball career."
I snort at her. "Alright, so...I'm still the amazing timelord or whatever. What now? Can we just drive back and...you know. Finish what we started?"
I cringe as the words come out of my mouth. You are talking about murder, Miss Caulfield. Get used to the idea, keep it clear in your mind. Using euphemisms doesn't make it any less of a heinous crime.
Chloe is shaking her head. "It was a short time window. Prescott would've been completely alone in a bathroom, no bodyguards, no witnesses and no cameras on the whole floor after you made a stop in the security room. You would have had twenty minutes to subdue him, learn whatever you could, do the deed and get out. There can be no proof that we did it, the whole point is being able to put all this behind us."
I mull over her words for a moment. "Did we really plan to take him out while he's sitting on the toilet?"
She smiles and shrugs. "Strike when your target is most vulnerable, right?"
"I suppose..."
Chloe squats in front of me, elbows resting on her knees. "It's actually a pain in the ass to find a time and place to do it. The main problem is that he needs to be somewhere he considers safe, without his super-bodyguards, and you need to be able to get out without rewinding the kill."
"Super-bodyguards? You didn't say anything about super-bodyguards!"
"Huh. Are you sure? Come on, I must've mentioned the other spirit-touched at some point, it's part of the reason it took us so long to get here."
"Oh, um...maybe in passing?"
"Or maybe you didn't pay enough attention, huh? The man is paranoia incarnate. He usually keeps Helen close and she will sniff you out from a mile away. She won't take the risk of pretending you're not there, so she needs to be gone somewhere else. For muscle he's got the Oxen Twins, they're practically his shadow. They'll shrug off a bullet like it's a BB pellet. And on top of that is his usual security detail."
"The Oxen Twins."
"Aw, you don't like the nickname? Their names are Carlo and Remi Laurent. Let's say they're way stronger than they look. Excellent shots, too, according to Helen."
"Awesome. And that Derrick girl?"
"Never anywhere near him. I don't even know what she looks like."
The image of this woman leaning over Chloe with knife in hand flashes in my memory. It's enough to put me in a far more murderous mood. "Tall and lanky, pale blond hair in short waves, skin pasty white like she's a cave dweller."
Chloe just gives me a clueless shrug.
"So what can we do?" I ask her. "We need to use this card before they figure out it works, right?"
"Yeah. What we'll do is go with the original plan. Olympia was actually a detour, Helen tipped us off three days ago and we took the chance to get it done. Original idea was to steal into the Prescott Estate, snoop around for all the intel we can gather and go from there. There's no way he doesn't keep files somewhere on all the supernatural stuff."
I nod thoughtfully. It sounds sensible enough: if there is someone with solid answers out there on all this nonsense it's bound to be Sean Prescott, Evil Overmind of the Superslaves.
On the other hand...
"Chloe..."
"Yeah?"
"Do we want to know that badly?"
"What do you mean?"
"What if...what if we don't give a damn about getting answers? What if we just" kill him "do the deed and that's it. Wouldn't it be way easier? I mean, it sounds like he travels a lot, we could jump him in transit or something. Rewind to wherever he was, shoot, freeze time and get out."
She blinks a few times. "Don't you want to find out what the fuck is going on?"
"I'm kind of used to the idea that I'll never know. I'd much rather get this over with so we can build an actual life together."
"Well, I can relate to that, but...we really should know as much as we can before we take care of him. There'll be fallout of some kind, we should be prepared. And all this spirit world bullshit won't simply go away when he dies, Max. You...you get that, right? We can't just ignore it. I thought you'd accepted that by now."
"I've accepted I need to fight this man, not that I should spend the rest of my life making a mess of reality..."
She tilts her head to one side, brow knit in a fretful mien. Chloe kneels so she can rest a hand on my shoulder.
"Max..." Her thumb caresses my neck. "I think you need to be honest with yourself."
I press my lips together, biting back the irritation. Her patronizing makes me want to throw a hissy fit right now. I am being honest with myself, I just want to have a normal life at her side without worrying about paradox space and weird fucking spirits meddling with everything I do. Is it so much to ask, after everything that's happened? Bring on the mortgage. Bring on the professional rat race. I'd give up in a heartbeat all this superpower crap in exchange for leaky faucet woes and Date Nights on Friday.
But no, Chloe wants me to embrace it all, complete with whatever superhero fantasy she's conjured up in her head. She is not afraid that I might turn out to be Max, Destroyer of Worlds. Gee-whiz, which version of the future is more level-headed, I wonder? Hers or mine?
I'm about to give her a piece of my honest mind when I notice a rustle of branches among the trees. It takes me a moment to make out the big round black eyes among the foliage.
It's a doe. It's staring at me.
Chloe follows my eyes. "What? What is it? Oh."
The doe breaks eye contact and runs back into the woods.
"Yeah," she says with another shrug, "it happens."
"Seriously, what the fuck is up with the damn deer?"
"You tell me, Super Max."
"Oh, I'll tell you, alright."
Is it a spirit again? I don't even pause to think about it: the rewind happens by instinct, zero conscious effort. I swear, I'm chasing after the stupid thing if I can't make it come back.
Beyond the blur I watch the doe move in reverse and once more fix its stare on me.
It's just a plain old deer.
Chloe follows my eyes. "What? What is it? Oh."
The doe breaks eye contact and runs back into the woods.
"Yeah, it happens."
That was so fucking precious, Princess Maxine.
The voice in my thoughts is distinctly my own. It's accusing, caustic.
I can't tell whether you're a hypocrite or a total chicken-shit. Probably both.
Staring after the doe, I am reminded of the panic I felt when the rewind didn't seem to work right anymore. The frustration of glaring into the butterfly photo day after day, regret crushing my lungs like I was being buried alive. The desperation that drove me to do the unthinkable in the stormless reality and the sense of pride that swelled in my chest just a minute ago.
You are willing to use this power when it suits you, then drop it the moment it becomes too much to handle. You are so full of shit.
Pride. Chloe was so proud while telling the burning building story, her voice was bursting with it. Under me her body was practically vibrating with joy. When is the last time I've seen her like that? Have I ever seen her like that before? I can't even come up with a recent memory. Certainly none after William's passing.
Oh, the calculus test. She was in eighth grade, I was in seventh. William got stern with her slipping grades so she worked really hard and got an A+ for it. She rubbed that test result all over my face for months, the most I ever got in anything math-related was a B. We both hated math so much...
"Hey."
Chloe squeezes my shoulder, bringing me back to the present. She gives me a tentative smile. "Remember all the times you told me it was destiny that we'd met again? That it was fate for you to save my life?"
I roll my eyes. "Big fat cruel joke that was..."
"But you did save me. Not just from dying—you saved me from myself. It was you who pulled me out of the hole I was in and loved me until I got a fucking clue; you punched all my bullshit insecurities in the throat and showed me I'm worth a damn. You did that, isn't that a good thing?"
"Of course it is, you are worth the world to me..."
"See? You actually mean that, it's crazy. You make me want to live up to it and be everything I can be. And here's the thing: you couldn't have done it without your powers. Can we agree on that?"
She's pouring her heart into this pep talk, but I can't keep the bitterness from my voice. "Yes, the powers make me great, I get it."
"No, no, listen to me! I'm saying you're fucking incredible, okay? I'm saying you got these abilities because you're incredible, not the other way around."
I raise an eyebrow at her. "I didn't...I'm not the source of these powers, if that's what you mean. I know that much for certain."
She shakes her head. "No, what I mean is..." she looks away for a moment, frustration clear in her features. Chloe's mouth quirks down at the corner and subtly squirms, as if words are pushing against her lips and she's trying to hold them in.
Finally she blows out a deep breath. "Okay, I'm gonna say something I never told BetaMax because I knew she'd be mad, but I've been thinking about it so much. Just keep an open mind, okay?"
"I can try, but I'm out if you start talking about mutants, the speed force or gamma rays."
Her serious expression cracks, and she gives me a good-humored shove. "It's actually about aliens, smartass. You're a secret envoy from planet Asswipe."
"It explains so much..."
Horsing around, Chloe needlessly leans all over me as she moves to sit at my side, ending with one arm draped around my shoulders. I stoically put up with it and then burrow into her a bit. It's getting chilly out here.
"Max."
Her free hand idly plays with my fingers. Her nose is buried in my hair, which can't smell all that great by this point. I'm waiting for her to get the words out, quietly tracing the contours of the two rings on her right hand.
Only recently it dawned on me that the glossy black ring she always wore was William's wedding band. The new one, a plain golden ring, belonged to Joyce. Apparently a few months ago David sent Chloe a package with a few things that Joyce would've wanted her to have.
"You know what I honestly believe?" she finally says.
"I'm dying to find out, why don't you tell me?"
"I'm trying to, if only you'd stop being a wart about it."
"Jeez, so sensitive..."
Still it takes her a bit longer to start talking.
"Okay, the thing is...I think your real fate is something that hasn't happened yet. You have these powers for a real big reason, I just know it. I mean, how could all this be random? There's no way. Saving me and everything that's going on is only...a build-up. Trials by fire."
I don't want to hurt her feelings, but I have to shake my head. "Chloe, fate is a load of bullshit. I thought I was surrendering to fate, but I was just letting you die for no reason, I ended up going back and changing it anyway. I'm never thinking in those terms again. There are only choices and consequences."
"Yes, exactly! And you are the one making those choices, don't you get it? You have the power to make them, no-one else. Whoever or whatever picked you for these powers...it knows you are fucking amazing. It knows you are the right person for the job, whatever that turns out to be."
There is something deeply chilling about this line of thought. "So I'm...what, the Chosen One? Am I going to bring balance to the force now? I hope not, because I'll straight up barf if a prophecy turns up somewhere."
"No, look, all I'm saying is...maybe it wouldn't hurt you to feel good about yourself, to feel a little bit of pride in what you're capable of? Just the fact that you've made it this far...maybe you're literally doing the best anyone could, because someone else would've simply fallen apart, or gone to the dark side. Shit, I dread to think what I'd have done with time travel on demand. We'd all be so fucked."
"Are you serious? I deliberately killed hundreds of people, how could anyone ever be proud of that?"
"Yeah, whatever, and what happened then? It set you on this path, didn't it. A reality where you're mastering your powers and learning all this mystical crap, opposing evil incarnate instead of leaving it all behind. What a weird coincidence, that the hard choices you've made have led you here." She wraps both arms around me, squeezing like she wants me to become a part of her. It's nice, sure, but it makes the holster dig painfully into my side. It's a bit hard to get air into my lungs.
"You're special, Max," she says close to my ear. "You are one of a kind. I wish you could see it the way I do."
Oh my god. She talked about hero worship before. I didn't think she was this serious about it.
"Chloe, you can't think about me this way..."
"Why not?"
"It just sounds like...worship? Don't you think that's super unhealthy?"
"I don't worship you, butt-face. I believe in you. Somebody has to."
"Well, maybe...I...nhhh, I can't breathe..."
"Shit, sorry!"
She immediately eases her grip. I take in several breaths, perhaps a bit more theatrically than is necessary. "Damn, have you been wrestling bears or something?"
There's a smile in her voice. "What can I say, I take the sidekick gig seriously." She brushes my hair out of the way and kisses my neck. "You like to watch when I work out."
"Probably because I still need to see it to believe it."
"I think you just like to watch in general..." Her playful nip on my ear makes it pretty clear what she means.
"Not even gonna try to deny it."
She laughs softly, and we fall into a comfortable silence. The whole conversation keeps running circles in my mind. She knows it, she's giving me time. The small talk and playfulness and affection are all part of that. The longer I spend this close to her, the more I understand there are always two conversations going on when I'm with Chloe: there is what we say, and there is what we tell each other without saying.
I think about losing these powers. Truly think about it. Is there no part of me that would forever regret giving them up?
I consider everything that's happened, every part of the stories she's told me, every weird incident and vision I've experienced. If I don't make an effort to know more, won't I forever wonder?
The answers are painfully clear.
I kiss Chloe's hand and gently disentangle myself form her. I reach into her sweater pocket, grab the red ball and drop it on her open palm.
"I can go for at least two more," I tell her.
Chloe's grin is eager, fierce and proud.
I guess you're my therapy. You're the only one in the world that will believe a word I say, besides Chloe. It helps to think of you as a different person.
There are some things I can't bring myself to talk to her about. She says she wants me to, but I could watch her heart break the one time I tried. She feels so much for me...telling all the awful shit doesn't help either of us, it's just painful all around.
So that leaves you. Where do you think I should start? Right away with the horrendous stuff, or should I ease you into it with some bullshit insecurities?
Maybe I'll just skip right to the identity crisis. You should relate to this one, right? You grow up into this person you think you are, with your hopes and your dreams and your scoffing at make-up made with animal products, just trying to make it through school without embarrassing yourself every day. And then everything blows up, it gets completely destroyed. All that is left is Chloe. All your life has become...is Chloe.
It wasn't so immediate for you, I know. Did you stop the storm from happening? Or did you go back and let her die, just to watch Arcadia Bay get razed anyway? No, then it would make no sense for you to wait like this. I have to assume that letting her die saved the town.
That's what is taking you so long, right? You are trying to make it work. You are trying to let her go.
Well, we both know how that turned out.
It isn't normal, is it? To feel this strongly about someone? I abandoned her for five years. It took me five days to lay everything I am at her feet. It sounds so dramatic, but it's true. I gave her my life, just like she gave me hers. Anyone on the outside looking in would say we are crazy, and if they knew the power I won't hesitate to abuse just to keep her safe, they would probably want me dead.
But they don't feel it. This isn't just love. I don't even know what to call it, but I will never let it go. In fact, you are proof that I actually can't.
I try to remember what it was like before, and it feels like a dream. I was passionate about photography, right? I feel the itch so often, to grab a camera and capture a moment. But it's all tainted. By what Mark Jefferson did, by the time powers. She's already encouraging me, but these days taking a selfie always brings dread to my gut. The wonderful irony is that now I do it because I have to do it. How can I ever grow to enjoy it again?
Maybe with time. Maybe when I no longer have to fight for our lives.
This all sounds like I'm having second thoughts, but I'm not. She's worth it all and more. I'm just trying to figure out who I am now. Am I living for anything besides her? Do I want anything beyond revenge? What happens if we win? What will I be then?
Fuck, why do I bother? It doesn't even matter. In one day or in one year you'll take over. I'll let you worry about all this fluffy nonsense.
For now, ruthless retribution suits me just fine.
It is an hour past midnight, and Chloe is leaning into the laptop's microphone like she's about to start gnawing on it.
"It's just a goddamn simple question, can you track him tomorrow night or not?"
"And for what? So you and your master can do nothing at all again? If he finds out I'm deliberately following false trails then it's my arse on the line, yeah? But why should you care about that."
Wish I could attach a face to the voice, but the call is only audio. Helen Briar's Scottish accent is subtle and rather pleasant. I'd enjoy listening to it far more if it didn't carry such contempt for the woman I love.
Chloe's mouth puffs out with hardly contained outrage before replying.
"We're not even asking you to take a risk here. She'll rewind the whole thing, just like before."
There is some crackling that eats a part of Helen's angry reply. The satellite connection is spotty sometimes.
"...my neck for ya daft fuds for too long, I can't keep stalling like this, he's damn near suspicious if he isn't already tracking me. Keeping quiet about the trail to Olympia could cost me a niece if he finds out."
"You're just paranoid. He's trying to capture a time traveler, of course we're always one step ahead."
"Except for when you're just standing still doing nothing, that is. Did she have to babysit you last morning, that it?"
"For fuck's sake, will you let it go already? Can you do this for us or not?"
"Let it go she says! How I'd love to let it go, darling—it was supposed to be over by now, and you didn't even give me a good reason! I've a mind to say it was pure shite, she was not sick, if she got sick then I am the sodding Queen of England! I say she backed out. I say in the moment of truth she din't have the gumption and fled to the past. She won't even give me the courtesy of an apology, she keeps sending her pet to talk instead. Teach me to trust a wee pair of middle schoolers, it does."
"Listen, you damn harpy, you can believe whatever you want, I don't give a flying—"
I lay a hand on Chloe's arm, and she bites back the rest of her colorful reply.
"You're right," I say out loud, "I was not sick."
Chloe shoots me a look, dismay and an urge for caution at once.
"And there she is! Listening the whole time, I should've known. Are you here to lie to me as well? Or will you be skipping right ahead to the manipulative mind-fuckery?"
"It's all my fault, Helen. I'm sorry we failed you. I would like to tell you everything, if you'll listen. Could we maybe talk without all this anger getting in the way?"
"Max, what the fuck are you doing?"
"I think we haven't treated this woman as an equal, and I want to do things differently. Miss Briar, the truth is that I have never met you before. It's complicated, but—"
"I don't know what you're on about," Helen says, "but it sounds like you're ready to give me another mouthful of rubbish so I'll do what you want."
"Will you please listen? I honestly want us to be friends and allies."
Chloe is rolling her eyes, shaking her head. Helen lets out this high-pitched laugh full of mockery.
"That's golden, it is! Mayhaps try not to put a gun to my back next time! Right fast drove the friendliness out of me."
Chloe immediately leans in. "What a load a shit! You were already being a total bitch, and you had every intention to play both sides!"
"Will you silence your lapdog already? Or put her down, why don't you, she's pure useless."
"Whoa, guys, come on—"
"Fuck you, Helen! We'll do it without you, I don't give a shit! Go right ahead and warn him too, we'll wreck whatever new ambush bullshit he wants to pull, like we always do!"
"You mean like she always does, ya worthless dead-weight. I say, if you're going to leech off someone's greatness at least do it quietly, it's right pure tiresome to deal with—"
I reach for the mouse and end the call. Chloe's exasperated groan is nearly a roar. She looks ready to punch the screen.
I'm leaning back on the chair, staring at the "end of call" window. "Holy shit, I didn't expect it to be that bad."
"What the hell, Max?"
"I know, I'm sorry."
"What, you think we haven't tried to be friendly before? You've spent hours rewinding, trying to figure out a way to win her over. She's a fucking nightmare."
"I read as much in the journal, but I just couldn't believe it. Why does she hate you so much?"
"I don't know, she's a bitch? I've tried to make nice with her, she's not interested."
"Are you sure? I mean, I've seen the way you do diplomacy..."
"Wow, thanks, fuck you too. I've honestly tried. She simply thinks I'm this sub-human lowlife mooching off you and you're too young and blind to see it. There's no getting through to some people. You can only outsmart them and make them think you mean business."
"Building trust takes time, though. She might not listen now, but maybe if we keep at it every time we talk..."
"Max, I get the way you feel, but listen to me. She does not respond to kindness. She will only think that you're weak and that it was a mistake to throw in with us. And if she believes you're weak, she'll decide you can't pull this off, and she will betray us. That's why BetaMax did what she did. The only thing stopping her right now is this 'ruthless killer' façade you've got going—and you heard her, she's starting to have doubts. Remember, she didn't give a shit about us until she watched you kill eight trained goons in ten seconds."
I look away from Chloe, lips pursed. The Death Note's entry on Helen Briar had been chock-full of bitterness and hostility, hardly an unbiased account. It made me feel queasy, like my past self hadn't really tried not to be a douche.
"I don't want to be like that. If we're going down this road, I want people to work with me because they want to, not because I have some sort of leverage on them. We should all be banding together to do what's right."
She gives out a mirthless chuckle. "Yeah, you're right, and everyone should always help each other, and criminals should all stop what they're doing, and world peace should've happened by now. Your heart's in the right place, but that doesn't change reality."
I don't want to say it, but I have a feeling Miss Briar might be far more receptive to an actual conversation without Chloe's "enthusiastic" input. She was right, we don't strictly need Helen's help, but it'll be great for our peace of mind to know Sean Prescott's exact whereabouts at all times while we search his inner sanctum.
I squeeze her forearm. "It might be different this time. I have to at least try."
She rolls her eyes again, but there's a reluctant smile at the corner of her lips. "Of course you have to try, because you'll always have a kind heart. I can't get mad, it's good that you don't stop trying." She brings me into a side-by-side hug. "Unfortunately, there are exceptions, and my alternate self will be right there to say 'I told you so' when you give up."
"I can always count on you. I'm going to rewind, okay?"
"Knock yourself out."
I kiss her goodbye. "See you earlier."
"Dork."
I concentrate and go back, careful to stop a little while before the conversation starts. Once more Chloe is double-clicking the icon, setting up skype to call Helen's burner phone.
"Hey there, beautiful."
She snorts out a laugh. "Oh boy, sweet-talk. What do you want?"
"I just rewound. First time."
"You rewound a call with Helen Briar? I am shocked beyond words. She's such an easygoing gal, whatever might have gone wrong?"
"I was wondering if I could speak to her alone this time."
"Pff, come on, did I piss her off that bad? Wait, don't answer that." She bites the inside of her lip. "I suppose I can stay out of it, but you've never even talked to her before..."
"I just did, that's the whole problem. Will you please wait outside?"
"Seriously? You're kicking me out in the middle of the night?"
I raise my eyebrows at her, half-smiling. "Can you honestly promise me you won't start yelling at any point, no matter what she says?"
Chloe gives me a blank look and considers it for maybe three seconds. Then she gets up, grabs lighter and cigarettes from the table, her hoody from the armrest, and starts for the exit. Every one of her movements is despondent and oozing displeasure.
Before going out she digs out a cig from the pack and holds it up for me to see. "Just so you know, I'm smoking this one purely to spite you."
"Duly noted. Thanks for indulging me."
"I'm getting out of talking to that dickwad, can't really complain. Have fun."
The hum of the generator barges into the room for the brief moment that the door opens and closes. The solar panels embedded in the roof can keep up for only so long after sunset, I guess.
After a deep breath I tap in the number and hit call. Let's get this conversational puzzle over with.
Just like before she answers on the second ring and says nothing.
"It's Max Caulfield. Are you safe to talk?"
"I wouldn't have answered if I weren't, 'Max Caulfield.' I am so flattered that you finally grace me with your personal attention, 'Max Caulfield.' The talk with your beloved burden this morning was enough to last me the lifetime, 'Max Caulfield.'"
"Listen, I know you're upset. It was totally my fault, okay? We had a setback and had to change plans. I'm sorry."
"I don't care about your sodding apology! It was supposed to be over now, but here I am still, trapped between a tyrant and a ditzy bint that can't hold up her side of a bargain."
"I know, Helen, please. I really just want to talk to you about some things. Could we please be civil to each other?"
"Aye, let's talk about our emotions, that's just what we need, yeah? Go ahead then, waste my time some more."
"Holy shit, do you need to be this abrasive all the time?"
"Oh, I'm so very sorry, am I hurting your feelings? Is the wee lass going to start crying now? Maybe go fetch your pet and see—"
No, no, go back. Don't lose your cool, Max. Never resort to swearing, it sets her off.
"...Go ahead then, waste my time some more."
"Aren't you tired of this dynamic between us? I'd love to work with you without all this anger getting in the way. Tell me what I can do to make that happen, and I will do it. I sincerely mean this, I would like for us to be friends."
Her tone becomes scathing. "Aye, pure simple, how about you return to when we met and never press a gun to my back? Right fast drove the friendliness out of me, it did."
Okay. It's time she knew the truth. It's all about building trust.
"This is what I wanted to talk to you about. I am not the same person that threatened you. Please let me explain."
"I don't know what you're on about, but it sounds like you're ready to give me a mouthful of rubbish so I'll do what you want."
"I'm only telling you the truth. I can turn back time, but I can also time-travel through photos. I can focus and go back to that moment, changing things and creating a brand new reality. That's what I did yesterday, I went back to five months ago and created this timeline, and now I'm learning everything that's happened in it. Do you follow me so far?"
"That all sounded like gibberish, but nevermind."
"Well, the bottom line is, I literally just met you. I don't have any of the baggage or animosity I used to have. In fact, I'm kind of lost right now, this is all new to me and I'm trying desperately to adjust. I could really use a friend as knowledgeable and experienced as you, I want us to work together beyond this whole Prescott mess."
There is only silence on the other side. I hadn't planned to go quite so open with this sincerity plus sucking up approach, but I have a good feeling about it. There is empathy in this woman, deep down at her core. I'm positive I can reach it one way or another.
"Are you daft?" she finally asks.
"I swear it's all true! I know it's hard to wrap your head around it, I've been grappling with it myself..."
"No, I'm asking why in the world you would tell me this!"
"It's a show of trust, Helen. I'm trying to let you know—"
"Trust? Ya harebrained clown, you've no idea what you're doing! I'm at the brink of compromised, and you tell me all your time traveling secrets? Do you think I'll even try to keep my mouth shut if I get caught? Any damn fool would understand that the less I know about you, the better!"
"Uh..."
"Is this supposed to be reassurance? That now you've become a softhearted dweeb with no common sense? Aye, sure calms me right the fuck down that you went from blind to downright stupid."
Well, shit.
The worst part is that she actually has a point. Better go back and try a different tack...
I might end up doing this so much that I'll become able to understand the backwards speech.
"...return to when we met and never press a gun to my back? Right fast drove the friendliness out of me, it did."
Explaining is far too complicated, anyway. Let's try going with events as they are.
"I didn't want to do that, but you betrayed us, Helen. Try to see it from my point of view, I had to do something drastic. Isn't it obvious by now that I've no desire to do you any harm?"
"What's obvious is you're feeding me a mouthful of rubbish so I'll shut up and do what you want!"
Boy, she loves that line. "I swear I'm sincere. Come on, you have my apology and my trust. We can help each other without all the threats and posturing."
"Right, sure." She makes a pause. "You must truly believe I'm stupid."
"Oh my god, I'm just trying to make amends here!"
No, come on, don't raise your voice. Take it back.
"...truly believe I'm stupid."
"All I'm trying is to make amends, is it so hard to believe? Why are you this suspicious of me? We're on the same team."
She lets out a bitter, disdainful laugh. "Not even remotely, princess. That's the rub, innit? You actually believe as much. I've never met someone so capable of self-delusion, you're downright precious."
"What the fuck are you—"
Keep calm. Take a deep breath. Don't let her get under your skin.
"...self-delusion, you're downright precious."
"What do you mean? Believe it or not, I'm willing to listen."
"Right you are. You say we're on the same team, but that's not true. I'll be your friend, sure, until suddenly I'm not. You would not hesitate one second to throw me and everyone I care about under a bus if it means saving your skin, or especially your beloved parasite. Go right ahead and tell me that's not the truth."
"Will you stop talking about Chloe like that?"
"Why? Will you 'erase me from existence' if I don't? She drags you right down into the mud, just like my sister suffers from her useless husband! You'd be a hundred times better off—"
"You don't have a fucking clue what you're talking about, Chloe makes me the best I could ever be. Leave her out of this."
She's actually still going, talking over my words. I can take the abuse, but the Chloe-bashing really pushes my buttons. Maybe try to avoid talking about her altogether.
Let's back up a bit, this might still be salvageable.
"...right ahead and tell me that's not the truth."
"Oh, please, Helen—as if you wouldn't do the same for your sister. That we have personal priorities doesn't mean we can't work together to keep everyone safe."
"Feich! That's exactly what we were doing, right up to when you failed to do a damn thing last morning! And now you come to me like this? Will you propose a rosy friendship to that madman as well? Maybe put all this behind us over a cup of tea, yeah? It was all a misunderstanding."
"I will take down Sean Prescott. That has not changed."
"Are you sure? I've had my doubts for a good while. I say you got cold in the gut and couldn't do it. I say you fled into the past and you're making excuses. I've a mind to say you're downright soft and useless and it was pure mistaken to ever come to you, so feking desperate I was!"
"Wow, maybe you should do it yourself, if it's so damn easy."
There is a short pause. I can see my probably far-off-the-mark visualization of this woman moving the phone away from her ear and looking at it in disgust.
Then the line clicks, and the call ends.
"Oh, for fuck's sake..."
I don't even know how far back I should go from here. I can't tell where everything went wrong, it's more like the conversation was doomed from the start.
Well...nobody said it would be easy. Best to simply start over. Blast fast to the past and have patience, Max. There is a way to do this, there is always a way.
Just like before she answers on the second ring and says nothing. Alright, maybe go a bit more solemn this time.
"This is Max Caulfield. Let's talk."
###
"Oh my god, for the last time, stop talking shit about Chloe, you even saw her save my life!"
"But of course she would do as much, she knows she's less than nothing without you! I bite my tongue with my sister's no good husband, but I've no such reservations about your precious burden. Aye, tell you what! Do us both a favour and dispose of her useless carcass, I'll be right cozy and friendly in return then."
"You're projecting on her whatever crazy baggage you have. She is nothing like you imagine, what Chloe and I have is far beyond—"
Her contemptuous laugh drowns out my words. "Oi, you are precious! Tis true love indeed, how could I be so ignorant? You're, what, all of eighteen years old, and you have your soulmate forever, of course! It would be golden to hear what you have to say about her ten years from now, if you're still alive."
"You're just a bitter old hag, aren't you?"
###
"No, all I'm saying is we're both willing to go to certain lengths for someone in our life, we have that in common."
"Aye, except my lil' sister is a pristine hard-working angel that never did any wrong, while your parasite is the good-for-nothing loser that was ever so eager to put a bullet in my leg."
"Really? Is that why you hate her so much? You asked us to do it, and she volunteered only to spare me. You can't seriously think she enjoyed it."
"I don't hate her, she isn't worthy of hatred. She's a lost soul clutching at her saviour, like a noose around your neck. I know her type well, she carries no value of her own and will leech off yours till there's nothing left."
I clench my jaw, holding in the knee-jerk retort. This is almost a conversation. There might be useful information at the bottom of it.
"That's not what's happening with us. It sounds like you had some rough relationships in the past, Helen."
"That may be, but it doesn't make my words any less true. I admit you remind me of my own sister, trapped with a parasite in a doomed marriage and not even aware. At least her kids all take after their mother. She's got your same blue eyes, too. She's a looker."
"Do you get to see her often? She's not, like...in a dungeon or anything, right?"
"She's oblivious to my plight and I will keep it that way. She's back in Glasgow still. We talk now and then, not that it's any of your business."
"Hey, I get it. I know a few things about keeping safe the person we love."
"You do, don't you? Say, such an open heart-to-heart we're having, it's almost as if you knew exactly what words to choose at every point to get this far. Isn't that curious, Maxine?"
"What? I thought we were just...talking."
"Are those the magical words, Maxine? You can do better than that. Mayhaps improve your delivery."
"Oh, come on, I am trying so hard to work with you. Why are you like this?"
"I should tell you all about my sister and my own life now, right? I should open up to you and realise we could be such good friends, aye?"
"I sincerely wish you would."
"Well, I sincerely wish you would piss off, you and your sodding time-travel mind-fuckery! Here is a wonderful revelation for you: half the things I've told you have not been true. Go ahead and try to use any of it after you go back, it will be good fun to tear your schemes to shreds."
My laugh is short and bitter. "What a crazy surprise. It's not like I have pages of notes on you, telling me what's true and what isn't."
There's a snort on the other side of the line. "Well lass, I believe you just made my point for me."
###
"You keep putting words in my mouth, that's not what I meant at all."
"It's not what you want me to believe, you mean! Do you truly think I don't see what you're doing? Digging for any information you can get your grubby conniving hands on?"
"I'm just trying to know you better, how terrible is that?"
"Nothing you say is genuine, Caulfield. It's the bane of your existence. Case in point, how many times have I called you out on this?"
"Not even keeping track at this point."
"I very much doubt that, you're keeping track of everything I say. But there's the rub, innit? Truth or lie, it doesn't matter. I could never trust a word that comes out of your mouth, fer I'm aware I'm being manipulated. I know you have much of it, but that's still no reason to waste your time like this."
"You know what? You're right, this is a massive waste of time."
###
Nearly gnashing my teeth I start talking the moment she answers the phone.
"It's me. We had a setback and had to change the plan. I need you to keep track of Prescott tomorrow night, 9 PM to 2 AM."
"Oh, if it isn't the princess herself, making demands without even giving a sodding reason why—"
"I've had the worst day, I'm not in the mood to deal with your shit. We had a setback, that's all you need to know, deal with it. Unless you've suddenly come up with a plan of your own to kill that asshole without killing your sister too, you'll do what we ask without giving me any of your fucking attitude. Or do we have a problem?"
A stretch of silence.
"What are you up to now?"
"You don't need to know our plan. The less you know about what we do and how we do it, the better. Keep detailed notes and deliver them like we said before, you know how this goes. Do what I'm asking and your Prescott problem will be over soon. And you better not get caught tracking him, I don't want to waste a rewind on saving your ass. Don't make me regret sparing your life."
More silence, followed by a curt reply: "March 9th, 9PM to 2AM. Understood."
I hang up and blow out a deep breath. I feel gross, like I just bullied my own mother into doing my laundry.
My own deranged, hyper-abusive mother.
"Chloe's going to be so smug about this."
Time to go outside and apologize to her. She was right, if there was a way into the heart of that woman, I sure couldn't find it. Not today, at least.
I guess you can't win them all.
I refused to rewind exactly once.
He had his minions set up the remote connection to Chloe's cell. They slit her throat open in front of the camera without a single threat or warning. Her blood gushing out all over the floor is an image that will haunt me to my last day.
"I'm afraid there is only one way to undo this," he said.
I learned the lesson. I didn't say no to anything after that.
Whatever you do, Max, whatever happens...don't ever let them catch you alive.
I was spent beyond words before I lied down, yet now I keep staring at the near-darkness on my side of the room, wide awake. I'm so sick of the nightmares. They only got worse since I got here. I don't even give a shit about Jefferson anymore, but still he keeps turning up in my sleep like a persistent gnat I can't swat away. He gets mixed in with all the new fears of an uncertain future and memories of a reality I never experienced. It's a terrifying cocktail I don't want to swallow again, and so my eyes remain open.
We go back to Arcadia Bay tomorrow. A seven hour drive, we leave at ten. I'll be rewinding before taking off just so I'm tired enough to sleep for most of the trip, since I need to be somewhat fresh awake come dusk. Chloe will catch a nap some time in-between.
She's right next to me, since we finally arrived at a joint bedtime. We're not snuggled up, but our legs are touching. She's not yet asleep, but it feels like she's getting there.
"Max."
Her whisper isn't a tentative call. She must know I'm awake.
"Hm?"
"Tell me about my funeral."
I look back over my shoulder. "What?"
"I've been thinking about it since you mentioned it. Do you mind?"
"That's so morbid, Chloe."
"So?"
"Why do you want to know?"
"I don't know, I keep thinking...who else in the world gets to hear about their own funeral? Wouldn't you be curious if you were me?"
I don't answer. I've been avoiding those memories. They belong to a reality I destroyed. Maybe with enough self-delusion I can some day forget that I simply sat while Chloe died.
Her hand touches my arm. "It's okay, you don't have to. I get it."
I remain quiet for another minute.
"Father Matthews still looks like Larry David," I finally say.
Chloe laughs under her breath. She wriggles her arm under me and draws closer until I'm wrapped in her embrace. She does like being the big spoon.
"Must've been a long-ass eulogy," she says. "He wouldn't shut up with dad. Or...I guess it felt like it at the time. Oh, shit, did they put me next to him?"
"Yeah."
"Fuck my life." She buries her face in my neck. "Tell me more. Who showed up?"
"David and Joyce, of course..."
I try to remember all the names and faces. I was somewhat distraught at the time.
"Everyone you knew from Blackwell was there, and some of my friends too. The principal, Warren, Kate, Dana, Trevor and Justin...even Victoria."
"Seriously? What the hell. She was such a bitch to Rachel, we couldn't stand that skank."
"She was actually nice to me then. She even approached me the day after, acting as if it wasn't the first time. I think she had talked to the clueless version of me before I took over. I kind of...I went off on her. She looked so confused and hurt, but I was so angry at everything..."
"Good for you. Mean Max is the Best Max."
"No, don't say that. She didn't deserve it that time, she was hurting about Nathan and actually trying to be a real person to me. And we wasted so much energy with our petty little war before that...who knows, maybe we could've all worked together if I'd tried to connect with her back then."
I feel Chloe shrug behind me. "She wasn't worthy of you. Bitches get stitches."
"Hah. We sure seemed to get along in the alternate reality. I told you about that, right?"
"Sure did, super bizarro-land. Reason number one we don't fuck around with photojumping unless we have to." She takes a deep breath, inhaling my scent like it's getting her high. She's big into smelling me, I've noticed. It's a bit weird, but I like it. It makes me feel...coveted.
"You didn't mention your parents," she says. "They weren't there?"
"No. Their flight got cancelled and they had to drive. Didn't make it for the service."
"Aw."
"I didn't mind. They'd have smothered me. I wanted them gone the moment they arrived, I shut out anyone that tried to talk to me. Anyone except...Joyce. She..."
I think of it better and shut my mouth. It's probably the last thing Chloe wants to be reminded of.
"Tell me about her."
It takes me a moment to respond. "Are you sure?"
She silently nods, her chin poking the side of my neck.
"She...she was broken, Chloe. Watching her sob and fall apart felt like cosmic punishment. She was the one person I wanted to talk to, I wanted her to know the real you, but...I was the one who'd let her daughter die. I could never look her in the eye, ever again."
She kisses the back of my head. She doesn't say anything, but she doesn't have to.
"It was killing me. You made this sacrifice, and for what? So your mom could suffer like this? Last I heard, through David...she wasn't doing any better, she didn't bounce back. She blamed herself, and blamed him too. I...I don't know if she'd have ever recovered."
"I think she would have." Though damp, her whisper is full of conviction. "My mother was tough as nails. She would have made it, eventually."
"You would know, Chloe. All I know is...I couldn't."
"You're different. What we have is different. It goes beyond anything I could say."
Our hands entangle together as if they have a mind of their own. I press her arm to my chest. "It drove me insane the way people talked about you, like you were this poor girl gone wrong. A 'troubled child,' that one was the worst. Nobody had a clue what you'd done for them. Who you really were."
She chuckles lightly. "To be fair, I was a complete fuckup at the time."
"Life took a shit on you! Your dad, Rachel, and an abusive home, and me being a self-absorbed asshole and ditching you like that? You were doing alright, considering."
"Don't make excuses for me, Max. I had reasons to act out, but not for five fucking years. I should've been honoring my dad's memory instead of taking a dump on everything he worked to give me. I was a dumb-ass raging at the world, and I own that."
"See?" I bring her fingers to my lips and kiss them. "You're so amazing, and no-one knew. No-one could know. It kept eating at me..."
"Hey, I totally get it. You're far stronger than me, I'd have lost it in your place. I wouldn't have lasted five months, not even close. Probably I'd have ended up offing myself. No joke."
Well, Max, if you're ever going to tell her, now is the time. Speak now or forever hold your Rest in Peace.
"I...might have tried?"
She tenses after a short while, as though the words took some time to sink in. "What?"
"I, uh...I jumped off the lighthouse."
"You what? Are you fucking with me?"
"No. I was desperate. I...I'd lost my powers, I don't know why. Do you really think I wouldn't have brought you back earlier? I lasted maybe a week before trying, but I couldn't. I couldn't do a damn thing, and it got worse and worse inside my head until I couldn't see any other choice. I wanted to trigger a rewind again, or just...make the pain stop. Either was fine."
Chloe is deathly still. Her breath no longer smolders on my neck, held instead between lungs and teeth. Her arms are limp around me, like my words sapped the strength right out of her muscles.
"On the bright side," I add lamely, "it worked."
It's another second of silence, and then all at once she clutches me in her bear-wrestling hug. "Max."
"Oof."
"Max, I'm so sorry..."
"For what? You didn't do anything."
"I made you choose! I thought so much of you and so little of me that I didn't even consider how much it would hurt you to let me die. I couldn't imagine anyone would care so much about losing me. I thought I was doing the right thing, and I still managed to be a selfish asshole about it..."
"No, no no no." I twist around in her arms so I can face her. "That's not true, Chloe. You were incredible up in that hill, it was your best moment ever. I admired you so much. You were willing to die for our hometown, don't you dare feel bad about that."
She looks down. I cup her jaw in my hands so she'll look directly at me. "I fucked up, okay?" I know there's a frown on her brow and a protest forming on her lips, so I cover her mouth with my hand. "No, listen. I fucked up before all this started. You'd have never entered that bathroom if I'd been there for you all those years. That is the one regret I'll always have, you deserved more from me—and you can't even argue with that, it's the first thing you brought up when we started talking again."
"Mmf," she grunts.
I move my hand to her shoulder. "You know it's true."
"I guess."
"Say it with me. 'You're right, Max.'"
"Oh, fuck off."
"I'm serious! Say that, and then say, 'I'm proud of the sacrifice I was willing to make.'"
"What is this suddenly, a self-help therapy session?"
"Also say, 'I forgive you for being a shitty friend.'"
"You know I forgave you already, I don't even think about it anymore."
"Say that you love me."
Her gruff expression breaks into a smile. "I love you."
I close what little space remains between us and nestle into her, my head tucked under her chin. "Now say you'll keep the nightmares away tonight."
Chloe kisses the top of my head and squeezes me tight. "I wish I could make that promise."
"Say it anyway."
"There'll be no night terrors this time, Max. You'll sleep like an old man on drugs, drool and everything. You'll be snoring till noon and I'll have to kick you awake because I'll be so fed up of listening to it."
I scoot closer still, trying to burrow even deeper. Our legs are entangled, my toes brush up against her ankles and feet. Nothing feels close enough right now, I want her wrapped all around me.
"I believe you."
I'm settling in, getting cozy. Oh, I know I'm being selfish, this can't be all that comfortable for her. I'm big into cuddling all night, she prefers some space when it comes to getting actual sleep. This feels so good, though. I think I'll be a little selfish for a while. Just this once.
It's the last thought I remember. There were nightmares, Chloe said later. They didn't stay with me.
I can only recall this dream with a twenty-foot-tall Hot Dog Man chasing us up to the lighthouse, but then Chloe flew up to his face and used her Mazinger Z detachable fists to shoot him, and he got toppled over, and then we started eating him. Hot Dog Man told us about his captive family and his quest for revenge, and we apologized and became friends. I woke up giggling a bit after dawn.
It was pretty awesome.
Here is something I haven't told Chloe. I've died a few times.
Well, I guess it was almost dying. Near deaths? Should have died's? Something like that. I'm not talking about last-second saves, I've had my share of those too. I'm talking about actually 100% dead, foregone conclusion stuff. I went splat against the ground. Burning debris crushed my skull. I took a stray bullet to the gut, I clearly remember it going in. And I don't know if you can die from taser prongs to the face, but it was close enough to qualify.
These are the times when the hard rewind kicks in. It always leaves me far enough back so I can adjust and make changes, be it a minute or whole hours.
I've tried to control it, to find it inside me, but I don't even know how to look. Unlike everything else, it might not even be inside me at all. It doesn't feel like it's me doing anything. It feels external, like...like I'm being saved. And guess what I see every single time it happens?
Here's a hint for you: it has blue wings and an impeccable sense of timing.
I'm not crazy enough to go and test something like this, but I think the pattern is clear here. Congratulations, Max. You might be immortal.
Want to know the weirdest part? I think about it and I don't feel a thing. I'm not grateful, I'm not in awe or even all that intrigued. How jaded is that? I should be making a big deal out this spirit thing, maybe even...I don't know, be praying to it? I've never been much of a spiritual person, but however the hell it works, the butterfly is real, and it's protecting me. Shouldn't I embrace it? Shouldn't I...have faith in it?
Maybe I'd be more willing to believe if I knew what the fuck it wants with me. For all I know it could be an evil ghost, preserving its trusty agent of destruction.
I don't really know why I haven't told Chloe. It would give her some peace of mind, wouldn't it? Something to believe in besides me.
Yeah, okay, I know why I haven't told her. More and more I get this...vibe, from her. I think she believes I'm some sort of messiah. She hasn't outright said it, but it's definitely there. The last thing I want is to encourage that kind of thinking.
And while we're riding the truth wagon, yes, it's also because I'm fucked up and it feels good to have someone worried sick about me now and then. The feeling will be spoiled if she starts believing that nothing can take me down.
Man, I didn't realize how scummy a reason it is until I wrote it just now, but what hope do I have if I can't at least be honest with myself? (Ha, get it? Because I'm talking to you, and you're me, and...never mind. I've been spending too much time around Chloe and her lame jokes.)
I'm wondering whether you will let her know after you read this. I often imagine you as far nicer than me, couldn't tell you why. Maybe because you're the real savior of the story.
I suppose I'll simply leave it in your hands. What choice do I have?
Dye and shampoo wash off in soapy dark streaks running down her skin, slowly revealing the electric blue beneath. She sits in the shower, head leaning back, eyes closed. It's morning in the final timeline, my eyelids are starting to droop and I'm mostly done telling her everything we did in my last ten hours.
It was one continuous rewind. By testing it we risked wasting half of a pretty important day, but I had a pretty big hunch that it would work. I was right. Whatever the reason, my only limit now is me being unconscious.
With one hand I hold the showerhead, with the other I comb through her hair, fingers massaging her scalp. There is a relaxed smile on her lips. The occasional content moan happens now and then.
Yep, she's loving it. I should know, she just did this for me. It's deeply comforting...and so very intimate, surprisingly so.
Wonder if she ever did this with Rachel. The hair dying part, not the naked in the shower part. I don't think they did that. They better not have, at any rate.
Fuck's sake, Max, don't you dare get jealous of Chloe's dead crush.
"You're awful quiet suddenly," she says.
"Just making sure I get everything out."
"Or you're wondering if I ever did this with Rachel."
I stop what I'm doing for a second. "You're freaking me out now, how the hell do you keep reading my thoughts like that?"
"You already asked months ago, dummy."
"Oh."
"D'uh. Lather up again?"
"Sure..."
I grab the shampoo and get to work. It might be washable dye, but it sure is stubborn. It took four wash-and-rinse cycles for my hair to regain its natural color. Not that I minded. It felt so delightful that I was actually sad when she was done.
Looking at my hands I start to imagine Rachel's hands, parting Chloe's hair this way and that, carefully applying color to each strand. Her perfect little manicured California-model fingers, running through Chloe's scalp, sending tingles through her brain. Did it feel so intimate and personal for them too?
Holy shit, put this possessive garbage out of your mind, what's wrong with you? You've been stewing for too long, say something.
"Oh my god, your skin is so damn flawless, what do you even do? I'm dying of envy over here."
She giggles at the completely unexpected gushing. "I just shower regularly, you should try it some time."
Oh, man, I even made her blush. Score.
"You know, I'm glad you've kept up with the blue. It looks really cool."
"Yeah, we did it together. I know you're really into it."
I smile and nod, a bit self-conscious. She can't see it. "I am, I admit it. It suits you so well."
The blue hair was probably Rachel's idea to begin with. Not that it matters. God, why can't I get this out my head?
I try to make it sound casual, just curious. That's all I am, curious. "So did you do this with Rachel?"
"Hang out naked in the shower? I wish."
The white-hot ball of sheer jealousy that flares in my chest is positively disturbing. "You wish?"
"I wished,I meant I wished, back then."
"Hm."
Just cool it, you damn nutjob. She's allowed to have had other relationships, there's nothing wrong with that. She's with you now, she loves you more than anything.
She pinches my thigh. "You're so damn cute when you're jealous, I love it."
"I'm not jealous! I'm curious, I want to know everything about you."
"Uh-huh. Well, if you truly must know, she did dye my hair, and it felt pretty hot, so then we made out for like a minute. I was way more into it than her, she played it off as ha-ha, kissing, so random. And that was the whole extent of our romance, though it didn't stop her from leading me on. Pretty sure she just felt bad for me."
I stay quiet. I keep working on a good lather, massaging, pressing the soap from root to tips. Don't change the cadence, don't let anything show just how much fucking violence there is in your thoughts right now.
Chloe has this smug, I-know-something-you-don't smile on her lips. "Before you keep pretending whatever it is you want me to believe, I'll remind you that we've had this conversation before."
I take the showerhead, turn on the water and start rinsing. Squeeze those thick wet strands, wash off the rest of the dye little by little. It takes me about two minutes of largely unnecessary work to push out the words.
"I would scratch her eyes out if she were here right now."
She grins from ear to ear. "That's more like it. Is it weird that it's a huge turn-on to hear you say that?"
"It's not cool, Chloe. I don't want to be one of those girls. Next thing you know I'll be searching your drawers and snooping through your phone..."
"Don't you always do that anyway everywhere you go?"
I spray some water droplets at her face. "You know what I mean."
"Doesn't bother me one bit. A little jealousy is good."
"Feels like more than just a little."
She shrugs. "You value what's yours and you're willing to fight for it."
"You're not mine, Chloe."
"I'm not?"
"I mean, I don't own you or anything."
"No, not like that."
She turns, takes the showerhead from my hand and puts it down. She shuts off the water, her eyes never leaving me. Chloe takes my hand and stands up, gently pulling so that I follow.
"But I am yours," she says, "and you are mine."
She steps in, pushing me against the wall as her mouth easily finds my own. Soon her tongue slips past my lips with confidence, with familiarity, and I've no issues with it. My back is against the cool tiles, one of her hands pressed to my chest as if holding me in place. Her other hand is at my nape, fingers clutching my hair tight enough to make it interesting.
She stops kissing me and pulls just a bit harder. I gasp and moan without meaning to. Warmth is rushing inside me to all the right places.
"You're my Max," she breathes into my mouth, "and nobody is going to touch you but me."
Holy shit.
There is no gentle way to put it. This feels fucking hot.
Chloe leans in to resume what she started. Gone is her awkward uncertainty and all the tentative banter. I'm no longer a stranger in her lover's body, she knows me again. She knows I'm tired, but not too tired. And she knows I've been thinking nearly non-stop about what we did in bed yesterday.
Her hand travels down my chest, past my navel, reaching ever downwards. I get on my tip-toes, eager to shorten the distance. Her fingers make my breath catch in my throat.
This is the woman I obsessively love. She has been my girlfriend going on five months. She knows exactly what I want, and she knows exactly what she's doing.
Chloe's Pet Peeves
For your safe navigation of life together and/or your occasional entertainment:
- Readjusting her mirrors or her seat or the wheel or basically anything to mess with her driving. She is The Driver, no ifs or buts about it. Especially with the RV, oh god. Kind of anal-retentive, but I don't mind, I'd rather not drive this monster anyway. I mean, she will "let you" if you ask nicely, but she will definitely hover and watch your every move. Just be sure to leave everything back the way it was. Or not, if you want to irritate her.
- Using her toothbrush. Apparently "we're not kids anymore and it's gross." I thought it was cool to share everything, but I guess there should be boundaries somewhere. I don't really get it, she pushes her tongue in my mouth often enough, what's the difference?
- Hogging the covers. I call this one fair, she hogs the bed all the time. Not my fault that I get so cold huddled in my corner. Pro tip: it's a good way to get her to snuggle up when she's half-asleep.
- Emoji. Yep, still a thing.
- Self-loathing. She still has sympathy but these days it mostly drives her nuts if I wallow in my shit. She'll engage in "aggressive praise." Kind of...bullying me with kindness. It's weird.
- She's still super self-conscious about zits. Don't make fun of them if one shows up. Seriously, even if it's extra funny, even if it's at the tip of her nose. You'll regret it. BTW: compliment her utterly flawless skin, she's secretly proud of it, you'll watch her blush. Yes, she's proud of it even when she does absolutely nothing to maintain it. Lucky bitch.
- Nagging her about smoking. This is more of a "don't be an asshole" tip. She's doing her best. She didn't smoke for that long, but she smoked a lot. I've grown to hate the smell but I have to remind myself to be supportive. Word of warning: she fully intends to 420 blaze it on the regular again once / if we ever get out of this mess. She promised not to overdo it. I might join her, haven't decided yet.
It's not that much. We make a fucking awesome couple, after all. Like two matching jigsaw puzzle pieces, cut as opposites yet fitting together seamlessly. Ish.
I'll let you discover your own pet peeves. She'll probably annoy you on purpose with them. It's what we do for fun.
Max&Chloe 4ever
I'm watching the digital clock on my dresser tick backwards, gleefully counting down to the exact time I left the bedroom about three hours ago. I can't believe getting away with this is going to be so easy.
These powers wrecked my former life. Time travel is a constant headache, both literally and figuratively. Guilt and self-doubt regularly come to visit, and every possible future ahead of me ranges from complicated to godawful. All these things are still true.
On the other hand, sneaking out and getting Chloe her birthday gifts without her knowing a damn thing is undeniably awesome. I asked her unabashedly incriminating questions, I drove for over an hour there and back—from the outskirts of Littlerock to Centralia; manual transmission, how I hate thee—and roamed shops for longer, I made absolutely certain that the one fits her and the other suits her...and now it's three hours ago. I'm still lying in bed pretending to sleep while she's out there, prepping the RV for departure. She has no idea.
Yeah, it was a stupid risk even with the precautionary selfie I took, and temporarily-ditched Chloe was far from pleased. It was also totally worth it. I'm wondering now if I should give one of them early, since anything might happen tonight...but no, that's just an excuse so I don't have to wait. Besides, that's no way to think about the future. We'll do this thing and the day after tomorrow she'll have a proper birthday.
I hide the bulky present box under the bed and make sure no part of it is visible. Time to leave the bedroom and go pretend I didn't just get her a surprise I already know she'll love. Oh, I almost feel bad for cheating like this. There's no way she could compete.
Alright, that's not true. This is hideously unfair and I'm loving it.
They must have thought the system was time traveler-proof. A cell with a cot and a toilet. Food and water dispensed remotely, no human interaction. An IV locked tight to my hand, no chance of removal. If they needed to move me for more torturous power-leveling or set up anything in the cell, they'd just crank up the dose and knock me out.
They were right. There was nothing I could've done. This might be the creepiest part, Max: they were ready to handle a time traveler. They'd planned ahead, built a facility for it. They even put me in a hospital gown, I guess to drive home just how defenseless I was.
There was no escape...until a mistake was made somewhere.
You can't give any wriggle room to someone with my powers. All it takes is a tiny window of time outside lockout in which I can rewind freely. With enough rewinds, I can clear my head of whatever they kept pumping into me. And then there's no stopping me, motherfuckers.
I don't know whether it was a malfunction of the IV or someone screwed up, but I regained enough focus while they were moving me. Enough to rewind off their claws. Enough to do it over and over until I was myself again, until I could freeze everything in place and do what I had to.
I hope you never have to stab anyone in your timeline. It's an awful dream-like experience, to push a blade into the neck of a person frozen in time. Like sinking a knife into a raw carcass, slowly, forcefully. There is a lot of resistance, you have to put your heart and soul into it. You pull out, and there is this ugly red blotch in the cut, waiting to gush all over the place.
I had to do it. I could barely hold up a standstill back then, I couldn't simply take their keycard and get away. I had no other
fuck you
.
.
Sorry. I had to walk away for a while.
See that up there? That's me lying to myself, making it look like I didn't want to do what I did. I'm itching to erase it now, but I won't.
I don't think I had any other options, that much is true. But I didn't look very hard, because I wanted to hurt them. I didn't see people or minions or whatever you want to call them. I saw the evil fuckers that had done all this to me and Chloe. I was so full of hatred, so resentful and desperate...I wanted payback. I wanted to see them all suffer, and I did, and in that moment it felt good.
You're judging me right now, aren't you? Well, you should. I'm ashamed, of course I am, otherwise I wouldn't be struggling so much with it. But before you judge too harshly, do you remember what we felt sitting there, strapped to Jefferson's chair? Think back on it. Put yourself in that moment again.
Now picture him keeping you for a whole week. Drugging you whenever he wants. Abusing you every day.
Abusing Chloe in front of you.
You feel it now, right? Just writing that made my insides curl.
It's within us, Max. I think the right word for it is 'wrath.' It sounds so biblical. Not that long ago it would have been this pathetic mixture of anger and fear, and impotence and cowering and pleading. But we're not that person anymore, are we.
So yes, those assholes felt my wrath. I'm superpowered, I get to say things like that now.
Roaming through wherever the hell I was remains a blur of quiet violence and near-exhaustion. I know I collapsed a few times, barely hanging on to yet another rewind. I remember my mouth and nose filling up with blood, dripping from my face as my head pounded with each step...and using the powers again anyway, because I knew there would be no other chances. It felt endless at the time, but I don't think the place was that big, maybe five or six rooms connected by hallways. Very white and antiseptic, well-lit. Cameras on every corner, so I had to constantly rewind what little I could before the other guards ran over with their tasers and tranquilizer guns. There were no windows, so I'm assuming it was underground somewhere.
I never found Chloe. I don't think she was kept in the same building. I did find an actual gun on one of the bodies, which I didn't hesitate to use from that point forward. You don't have to be a great shot when you're firing point-blank at stationary targets.
Never found my bag, either, but my clothes were folded on a random shelf in a tiny room full of lockers. And tucked deep inside my jeans' pocket, the photo Chloe took outside Seattle. She'd slipped it there and I never moved it. Who knows what the timeline would be like if she hadn't done that.
Part of me wants to forget all this ever took place. In fact, Chloe asked me the other day if I ever thought about giving up and simply running. Find some place safe far away and eventually leave the horror where it belongs, forgotten in a reality that never was.
There is no way I could. I'm making a face right now just thinking about it. I live with these memories, I sleep with them every night. They're part of me. Even after you take over, all those moments were real, and they will always haunt us.
I know it, and you'll know it too. There is only one way to put this ghost to rest.
And if I don't get to do it, you will.
The name of the tiny town is Fallow Parks, and it's about an hour's journey from Arcadia Bay. It's four in the afternoon. I'm watching as Chloe works the mechanism that will uncouple the car from the RV's hitch.
"Are you sure you don't want to lie down a while longer?" I ask. "We still have time."
"I'm good. And I'm too wired to sleep now, anyway. I'd rather get there a bit early so we can do some recon."
She keeps turning a large knob on the tow bar until the two sides come apart. The hefty metal shaft clanks onto the asphalt of the local RV park. We'd planned on just boondocking somewhere, but the place is nearly deserted, no reservation needed. It felt so edgy to give one of our many aliases to the random lady behind the counter. My name is Emily Shaw today.
Chloe gets on her back and works a cross wrench under the bumper, on the bolts attaching the bar to the frame of the car. Her well-defined arm muscles flex and twitch in concert with her efforts.
She was so right, I'm totally into watching her work. It's outright oogling when she's showing off her body with one of those flimsy sleeveless tops of hers.
"Do you have to do that every time we want to use the car?"
"Not really. It just looks shoddy to leave this thing on."
"It seems a bit anal retentive to take it off just for a day's ride..."
"It bugs me, okay? Shut up." She puffs and pushes hard on the wrench to loosen the last bolt. "Fuck, I'm full of jitters inside. Aren't you?"
"Yeah, you could say that. I've felt it get worse and worse in the last couple hours."
"It's not even about going into the maw of the beast, it's all about returning to the Bay. Don't know why I'm so nervous to see it. I've kept up with the news, it's Construction City down there. Should be a hopeful sight, even."
"I'm mostly dreading the Blackwell-shaped scar..."
"Well...yeah, there's that."
I want to ask about the state of her house and The Two Whales maybe getting restored, but I just don't have the heart. The prospect of seeing first-hand the destruction I brought upon Arcadia Bay has gathered this dense, cold clump somewhere in my chest. It became more and more real as we cruised down the I-5 and small towns and large cities kept rolling past. According to the on-board GPS: Fords Praire, Centralia—nope, never been there before—Castle Rock, Longview, huuuuge Vancouver-plus-Portland—that was somewhat fun—Woodburn, Salem, Albany...the list went on and on until we took the detour toward the coast. It's been mostly pasture and orchards and wildland since then.
I missed seeing some of those places as I dozed off and on. I slept on the couch, since the rattle of the car hitch was kinda noisy in the back whenever we caught a pothole. Why would a Greyhound bus have a car in tow, I asked Chloe. I don't give a shit, not ditching that ride yet, she responded. Good enough for me.
"I am pretty hungry, though," Chloe says. "I saw a pita stand as we rolled in, looked edible. You game?"
"Always game for food, if you're buying."
"Pfft, moocher."
I watch her roll off the ground with the big metal thing in her hands. I take it off of her and set it next to the RV, mostly to feel a little helpful. "I'll drive you there to give you a break. Just point the way."
She gives me a look. It's the same look she gave me before, when I offered to take her place at the wheel so she could rest. It basically says "I'd rather live to see another day, thanks."
"Jeez, I can drive, you know?"
A smile plays on her lips. "Yeah, I know. Watch out for Granny Caulfield."
"What's that supposed to mean?"
"Nothing at all! I thought you hated driving a stick."
"I'll endure it just for you, because I care about your well-being for some reason."
"I'm good, Max. Let me lock up and we'll get going."
I follow her with my eyes as she takes the hunk of metal back inside. She does look spry and fresh awake.
Chloe is a serious driving machine, going non-stop for hours. She even seemed to enjoy it. I honestly don't get it, driving is mind-numbing at best, a nerve-wracking nightmare at worst. Yeah, I'm secretly glad she insists on playing the driver all the time.
She comes back, panda keychain rattling in her hand. We get in the car. She does a double take and frowns while looking at the mirrors. "Did you move these around?"
She begins adjusting them. Don't blush, don't freeze, don't get flustered, you didn't actually do it in this timeline.
I try to put the right amount of bitterness in my voice. "Apparently I'm not ever allowed to drive, so I don't see how I could. They probably got jostled during the trip."
"Oh, come on, don't pout. I just like driving you around, okay? Let me have that." She floors the clutch and starts the engine. "Let's go get some food in our faces."
Ha! The stealth mission remains uncompromised. ShadowMax strikes again.
The pitas were surprisingly delicious. She got an extra one for me wrapped to-go so I could eat it sometime tonight, before rewinding Helen's part of the deal. Chloe cares.
We're both anxious to get there despite the nerves, so we hit the road right away—after one last stop at TimeWarp HQ to get into gear and take with us everything we might need: laptops and phones and headsets and earpieces; my bag with all my crap, camera and wallet and snacks and a few failsafe photos included, inconspicuously tucked away as perfectly harmless mementos; both our guns—it's still so weird to think that I own a gun—and extra clips and tasers and even knives in concealed ankle sheaths for both of us, how badass is that oh god I hope I don't have to use it. The guns are compact .40 caliber G19 Glocks, Chloe tells me as she checks the magazines in the most generic-action-movie way possible. She knows because we looked it up.
We don't say much for most of the drive, together in a silence that rides under the modest hum of the engine and the wind in our hair. Chloe and I are on the same solemn wavelength, not in the mood for banter, or music, or small talk. Just grim thoughts shared through entangled fingers.
The winding road is hemmed by the kind of trees I knew while growing up, and as we draw near I recognize more of the sights and sounds and scents of a childhood spent surrounded by these woods. It's no surprise when the sign finally shows around the bend.
Welcome to Arcadia Bay, it says around stylized depictions of the harbor, the hill and the lighthouse. It looks brand new, larger than I remember. My eyes are drawn to the small footnote emblazoned in gold cursive over a blue background: Made possible by a generous donation from the Empower the Bay Foundation.
That would be us.
We park in front of the sign and get out. The road is at a downward slope here, revealing a good view of the town. It's far from quiet: trailer trucks roar past often, coming and going. This is our real failsafe photo, right before things can start going wrong...but I know we would take this picture anyway. Yeah, it's a tourist shot, but still it feels special. Momentous. It's even a bit of a thrill to strike a pose next to Chloe, aim the camera just right and press the button.
She looks at me expectantly, then relaxes. "Oh, good, it's still the same you."
"Let's hope it stays that way."
I shake the instant film and we wait for it to develop. Chloe made a face, because of course she did. It's quite the contrast with her muted black-and-brown outfit. She looks like she's ready to attend a business-casual job interview.
She's smiling at the picture. "You'll never lose your touch."
"Could've framed it better."
"Oh, shut your mouth and take the compliment."
I jostle into her with my shoulder. "So...do you want to visit David while we're here?"
Chloe shakes her head. "He'll ask me what I'm up to and I'd have to lie. Anyone you'd like to see?"
I think for a while.
"No. Not really."
"Yeah. Figured. We'll just roam and hang out until night."
I'm nodding at her. "In fact, we better rewind if either of us gets recognized at all."
"What, with these foolproof disguises?" She digs the baseball caps out of my bag and crams mine onto my head as carelessly as she can manage. "No need to worry, we're going completely incognito!"
"Thanks, Chloe, you're so very helpful."
"Always happy to." She dons her own, daintily tucking hair strands behind her ears. While I busy myself fixing the hair and the hat she walks up to the welcome sign and leans a raised elbow against it. She sighs deeply, looking down at Arcadia Bay. "You know, it doesn't feel like returning home at all."
I walk up to her and wrap my arm around her waist. "I know what you mean."
She pulls me in to her side and continues looking in silence. Another eighteen wheeler zooms past, carrying a fat load of raw logs to the lumber mill. At least they got a ton of business out of this mess.
I've been avoiding taking in the view. The trees obscure half the inland housing, but there is the lumber mill, and the harbor, and the shoreside drive that goes from one side of the bay to the other. There's a brand new patch of asphalt toward the middle, pitch black among the faded grey, shiny new traffic lines painted on it. The damage is impossible to miss: a three-block-wide swath from waterfront to hilltop that divides the town straight through its center. Yet within the divide there is a swarm of activity, and new roads laid down, and the skeletons of new houses reaching up for the sky. Cement mixers and cargo trucks make their slow tread up and down the strip like they have far too many places at which to stop. And up the gentle hill, where before you could see Blackwell's stately outline presiding over the bay...there is absolutely nothing. My eyes refuse to look in that direction any longer than they have to.
On one side of the gap, the Prescott Estate looms. It seems untouched, unblemished. On the other side I can make out the Two Whales sign. It shines neon blue, blinking from one position to the next, as if the big whale is inviting in newcomers. The smile that creeps onto my lips might be a tad bittersweet, but it's a smile nonetheless.
And there is the lighthouse. Always the lighthouse. I know we'll be heading there before the day is over. We've been drawn to it since we were kids.
What happens next, I don't know if I can even call it a vision. It's there for only a moment, painless, seamless, huge and sudden.
The sky becomes darkness. The sun becomes lightning. The horizon becomes a storm, while hail pelts onto the ground around me like raining marbles. Before my eyes the lighthouse is swallowed into the funnel of a gigantic tornado.
Then the image is gone, replaced once more by cloudless blue skies and breeze-touched leaves.
"What the fuck."
"What? What's going on? Max?"
"No way, no fucking way..."
Whatever Chloe sees on my face, it shifts her expression from surprise to serious concern. "Talk to me, Max."
"I saw a storm. Another fucking tornado, on the lighthouse itself. It can't be a vision, it can't."
"Did it hurt you at all?"
"No, it was just like...like the reflection in the mirror. Like a hallucination." The idea enters my thoughts and burrows deep into a new kind of fear. "Chloe...am I losing my mind?"
"No, no, you just...you saw a thing. You're returning somewhere that was very traumatic for you, and you saw a thing, that's all. You're okay, everything's okay, there isn't gonna be—"
We're startled by a loud thump behind us. Chloe and I look back in unison.
There is a bloodstain on the windshield. A spattering of red trails down to a motionless lump.
A white-and-brown bird lies dead on the car's hood.
