Present Day
The jukebox switching tracks jolted Max Caulfield from her reverie. Blinking, she raised her eyes from the white and brown swirls in her coffee cup. That memory from the forest felt so crisp and clear, almost like a photograph. But it was whitening away now like it had been left too long under the sun.
She had been sitting alone in her favorite booth at the Two Whales Diner, waiting for Joyce to come and start her shift. The diner had been kind enough to give Joyce two weeks off for the funeral, but with the influx of new faces, the place needed her back badly. Today, Joyce was finally returning to work. Max wanted to be here to welcome her and offer moral support.
Because if it weren't for me, your daughter would still be alive.
Max let her face fall into her hands. It had only been ten days since they laid Chloe to rest. Just the week before that, the two of them had been running around Arcadia Bay, getting into adventures as they searched for clues that would lead them to the missing Rachel Amber. What they had uncovered was enough to scar Max for life and left a pall over all of Arcadia Bay. And worst of all, she had lost her best friend all over again.
I just keep abandoning you, don't I, Chloe.
Max pushed these thoughts away. They weren't helpful, especially not now.
Her weary eyes wandered to the patrons of the diner. There were more now than ever, it seems. It wasn't just hungry truckers anymore; construction workers occupied every booth and seat at the counter.
"So how're things coming along at the site?" the waitress, Annie, asked one of the men.
"Now that the TRO's been lifted, Prescott's running us ragged every day," the beefy guy in worker's clothes replied as he slapped his companion's shoulder. "My boys and I got maybe five hours' sleep and 20 energy drinks between us. But we ain't complaining. The weather's been good and Prescott's checks haven't bounced once."
"We could have started weeks sooner," groused his friend, a leaner, grey-haired gent with a Portland Sea Dogs cap. "But the old man needed time to pull his kid out of the slammer and into a hospital."
"We don't talk about that," the beefy guy said hastily.
Annie's brows nettled. "You'd think after that nasty business with his son…"
"I suppose, but money opens doors, you know?" the grey-haired man said, completely ignoring his friend's warning. "The Prescott Foundation has its investors and they'll push for the project, never mind his troubles with his son." He jabbed his finger at a newspaper headline for emphasis.
"But surely people would talk."
"Nah. Prescott will find a way to get his kid off. Insanity plea, I reckon'. Shift the blame to that psycho prick of a teacher. Then they'll stick the kid in a sanitarium and wait till it all blows over."
Confused, Max picked up a copy the Arcadia Bay Beacon a previous customer had left on the table.
PAN ESTATES CONSTRUCTION IN FULL SWING
by Juliet Watson
Friday, October 18, 2013
Pan Estates, the Prescott Foundation's flagship real estate project, has officially resumed construction now that CEO Sean Prescott has succeeded in convincing the court to lift the temporary restraining order secured by the United Tribes of Oregon six months ago.
The court had ruled that developing real estate on land deemed sacred by the Tribes did not impinge on their right to religious freedom. The Tribes consider the forests north of Arcadia Bay as the dwelling place of spirits.
Currently, Arcadia Bay is seeing an influx of construction material and heavy equipment from Lincoln City. Residents are advised to avoid the road leading up to the forest in the Northeast side of town, as heavy trucks will most certainly
Before she knew it, Max's eyes were straying from the article. Lately, she had trouble paying attention to anything for long. Likely because she was averaging four hours of sleep a night.
It didn't matter. The whole thing had been resolved. Chloe's sacrifice saved all of Arcadia Bay, and right now, both of Rachel's murderers, Nathan Prescott and their teacher, Mark Jefferson, were sitting in county jail.
Nearby, Annie was asking in a hushed voice, "Do you really think they'll make trouble?"
"Nah, they're not the sort," the worker replied, "but just between you and me, I'm not really keen on having 'em around, y'know? Just the sight of 'em creeps me out. Damn, was that racist? I—"
The swivel of the front door cut him off. The men at the counter took one look at the newcomers and fell silent.
For some reason, Max couldn't help but stare. Though all eyes had gathered on them, the attention didn't seem to faze the three Native American women who had stepped inside. Draped in black from head to foot, they stood in the middle of the diner like they were meant to be there.
Each of them was at a different stage in their life. The youngest seemed about Max's age, tall and reed-thin, unblemished red skin and a long black braid that reached down to the center of her back. The woman beside her was middle-aged and matronly, her curly dark hair partially hidden beneath a wide-brimmed hat. Both were dwarfed by the last woman—a crone, stooped and slow and round like a black moon, the shawl around her head concealing her features.
The youngest pointed to the last unoccupied booth—the one beside Max's—and all three shuffled towards it. Anne approached to offer them menus while the rest of the diner averted their faces. To fill in the silence, a trucker selected "We'll Meet Again" on the jukebox nearby. As if the music were a cue, conversation restarted across the diner.
One of the women—the matron—caught Max's eye. They held gazes for a moment before Max turned her head towards the window. Try as she might, she couldn't shake the feeling that the woman was still watching her. Peering from the corner of her eye, Max saw her lean and whisper something to the grandmother. Max couldn't say why, but she felt certain they were talking about her.
Then the diner door slid open again and Joyce walked in from the cold autumn afternoon. Spotting Max, she made a beeline for her booth, favoring her with a wan, tired smile. "Hi, Max."
"Hey, Joyce," Max greeted her with a tentative smile. "How are you feeling today?" But she could already tell the answer from the older woman's lackluster gaze and the deep shadows beneath her eyes. Max had seen that same look five years before, after the car accident that claimed William's life. It isn't fair that Joyce has to suffer through such a loss again. But I've been learning that life really isn't big on fairness.
"About as well as you do, I expect," Joyce said as she smiled back. She set down her bag on the table and slid her coat off. "Have you had anything to eat?"
"I'm not really hungry. Just this coffee's okay."
"I'm surprised you didn't take some time off in Seattle. I'm sure your parents would have wanted you back with them for a while."
"I know. They called and asked me to come home for the weekend. But I felt like I needed to be here. At least for a little while."
Joyce slipped into the seat across her and reached out to touch the back of Max's hand.
"Max, how are you?"
The guilt washed over her again, and for an instant, Max didn't know what to say. What could she tell her that wouldn't make things that much worse? That she had trouble sleeping? That last night she dreamt of holding and kissing Chloe again, and woke up with tears in her eyes? That she hadn't taken a single picture with her camera since the day Nathan Prescott put a bullet through her best friend's chest in the Blackwell Academy girl's restroom? That each morning she would be jolted awake by the thought that she would never see Chloe again?
"I'm coping," Max said, and Joyce gave her hand a comforting squeeze.
They talked a little more about Max's parents, about school, and a few more inconsequential things to stave off an uncomfortable silence. But at length, Joyce pulled back her hands and clutched at her forearms. "I heard from Sean Prescott's lawyers today."
Max straightened up in her seat. Prescott again. She was so tired of hearing that name. "What did they say?"
"I didn't have long to speak with them, but they said they wanted to meet. That Mr. Prescott had an offer I would be interested in."
"And what did you tell them?"
Joyce's gaze hardened like steel. "That I would stop with the charges if, and only if, they could give me back my daughter."
"Good." Max nodded. "They deserve what's coming after everything they've done."
"Yes, you're right. And I won't give up, no matter how they try to strong arm me. It's just…it can get so tiring." For a moment, her façade of strength slipped, and the lines of her face deepened with the afternoon shadows. "Oh, Max. Just to hear her laugh again."
Joyce turned her face away, eyelids trembling. Max's throat tightened at the sight of her fighting back tears. She reached out, threading her fingers through Joyce's own. "I know."
Max's eyes slid away from Joyce's, and by chance met those of the young Native American just a booth over. The girl was openly staring at her—insolently, too. That same judgy look reminded Max of Victoria Chase.
Max frowned at the girl, but turned back when Joyce spoke again. "Will you be alright here by yourself? I…I think I need to visit the lady's room a moment."
"Don't worry about me," Max replied. "I'll stay here a while, keep you company. You can sit with me if you ever feel the need to talk."
"Thank you. But I doubt I'll have a minute to myself, given..." She gestured to Anne, who was throwing beseeching looks her way. "I suppose I should get started. These customers aren't going to feed themselves." She gave Max's hand another squeeze, then stood to make her way past the counter.
"Joyce?" Max said, "Can I ask you something?"
Joyce paused and turned back to look at her.
"Is it helping, my coming to see you? Y-you know, if it's too hard for…if you need time alone…"
The look Joyce gave her carried nothing but deep affection. "Max, never doubt for a moment that I'm always happy to see you. 'Shared joy is double the joy, shared sorrow is half the sorrow.' That's something William likes to say. And I can't think of a better person to spend time with than the one who gave my daughter some of the happiest memories in her life."
Bitterness lanced through Max's chest, but she managed to hide it under a weak smile. "Thanks, Joyce. I guess I really needed to hear that."
Joyce smiled back and was about to turn to the counter again when something caught her eye.
"Now what do you suppose is going on out there?"
Max turned to the wide window beside her. Outside, pedestrians had stopped on the sidewalk to gaze up at the sky. One woman had her cell tilted upwards to shoot a video. A cop had even parked his squad car along the curb and stepped out to stare, his jaw hanging open.
Curious, Max tried to peer up from her seat. At first, she saw nothing through the blinders that had bunched up at the top of the window. Nothing but a flock of geese steadily pointing south, wisps of orange clouds against the deep blue, and…
"No." Max felt as if a hole had opened in her guts. On unsteady feet, she slid from her seat and stumbled out the front door to get a good look.
The aurora shimmered high above her against the orange autumn sky. Like an optical effect or a light show, it stretched out in a long undulating strip of bright purple and green. Then another ribbon of light appeared next to it. Then another.
"You can only ever see them at night, right?" a man nearby was asking. "But it's not even sunset!"
Max didn't even consider the impossibility of it all. Her mind had opened a door into white silence. She turned in place, eyes fixed on the sky, while a single word occupied her entire being: why?
Low murmuring caught her ear. She looked down to see everyone in the diner peering out the window, looking up askance at the spectacle above them.
All except for the three Native American women. As one, their impassive gazes stayed on Max Caulfield.
Max's Journal
October 27, 2013
This can't be happening.
But I saw it. Everyone else in town saw it. The pictures are all over the web. Stop denying it, Max. Two days ago, you saw the aurora light up the sky-in broad fucking daylight.
In the other timeline, snow fell on a clear day. Then came the beached whales, the unscheduled solar eclipse, the twin moons. Then finally that enormous storm that had wiped out Arcadia Bay. Something that Chloe and I had been able to stop only by sacrificing Chloe's life.
Oh god, Chloe. Was everything we did for nothing?
The aurora stayed throughout the night, flying over our heads like a demon. Everyone in Blackwell was talking about it. But it didn't stop there.
The next day, around noon, the sun started changing color. First, it flashed into a bright ball of green flame. An hour later, it turned a kind of phosphorous blue. And after that, it became ochre, like clay. Then it turned to the color of dried blood until it disappeared into the sea.
That was yesterday. Today, every last animal was spotted fleeing Arcadia Bay. Squirrels, foxes, deer, cats, birds, and even dogs that weren't caged. They seemed to be heading for higher ground, and nobody knows why.
I hear the Vortex Club is setting up an(other) End of the World party scheduled for this Wednesday. At least that much didn't change this time round.
I can't take this, Chloe. I might just go crazy. And I hate it most of all that I can't talk to anyone about it. Not Kate, not Dana, not Warren. They keep trying to see if I'm okay, but I've been kind of avoiding them. Shitty of me, I know, but no one knows what I went through. No one can understand how I feel.
I wish you were here, Chloe. It feels like the Apocalypse and I miss you so, so much. I wish you could tell me—what do I have to do to stop this? What else do I have to give up?
Help me, Chloe. Please.
That Monday, her final class done, Max left Blackwell and walked towards the coast.
Today had been quiet, for which she felt grateful. No strange weather disturbance had occurred—at least not yet. She could almost pretend that the previous days were some kind of fluke. Yet the anxiety remained, twisting in her gut. She'd never been lucky in her life and she wasn't about to get her hopes up now.
She had no earthly idea where she was going, so she let her feet lead the way. Before long, she had crossed Arcadia Bay Avenue and onto the beach. Then she followed the winding forest path to the cliff, up to where the lighthouse stood like a watchtower over the bay.
The sun was beginning its slow descent in the west, forming a curving, golden path on the water. The tide was coming in. A breeze, heavy with the scent of brine, swept in from the Pacific, ruffling her hair and her loose jacket. She crossed her arms to keep out the chill as she watched the waves roll to shore.
Even as a kid, she loved coming here. She and Chloe had raced fearlessly up and down the lighthouse steps, screaming to scare off the gulls. They had played pirates and made this place their fort. Just a stone's throw away, by the town map, a stump bore their mark: BFF Pirates, 2008.
This was also where, a lifetime ago, she last held Chloe in her arms, where they shared a final kiss and a last goodbye. Chloe's words still hung in the air around her, like a distant echo. I'll always love you…And Max Caulfield? Don't you forget about me.
"Never," Max echoed her own response as she shut her eyes. If I could take it all back, I would. If I could just hear your voice one more time…
"There's nothing like the sea, is there?" an aged voice said behind her.
Gasping, Max spun about. She could have sworn she was alone just a few moments ago.
Yet just a few feet away from her were the three Native American women she had encountered in the Two Whales days before. The grandmother and the matron sat side-by-side on the wooden bench while the young girl stood behind them. They smiled benignly at Max-except for the girl, who merely crossed her arms and frowned.
"Um, I suppose," Max said, attempting to be polite. "Sometimes I come out here just to look at it. It's so beautiful in this light."
"Yes, it is," said the middle-aged woman, removing her hat to get a better view of the coast. "Gorgeous, really. A pity that most disasters in this town come from the sea."
Max blinked. "Disasters?"
"Storms and what not," the grandmother clarified. "You can never tell. The land is capricious. To be respected, certainly, but never trusted."
For a moment, Max felt like reality had tilted oh so slightly. Were these women speaking in some kind of code?
She studied them closely. They wore black from head to foot, loose clothes that hid their limbs. The eldest no longer wore her shawl, revealing a mass of crinkly grey hair pulled into a loose bun. Her mahogany, weathered face looked like a rocky cliff, filled with the deep ridges of crow's feet and jowls that likely shivered when she laughed. She wore brightly colored shoes woven from some kind of straw.
The middle-aged woman still wore her round, wide-brimmed hat, her dark hair tumbling down past her ears. Now she wore round spectacles on her face and a talisman of animal teeth around her neck. She also carried a nervous air, and her black eyes watched the sea as if she were waiting for a ship to dock.
The youngest stood ramrod straight behind them, dark sunglasses in her hair, her mouth a grim line. Despite her severe expression, Max found her exquisite: sharp cheekbones and even sharper eyes, a small upturned nose, unblemished bronze skin, a single dark feather hanging from her beaded headband.
"I've never seen you around here before," Max ventured. "Do you live in town?"
The young girl snorted. "Do we look like we live in town?"
"Manners, child," said the matron, clucking her tongue.
"We come from another place," the old woman answered. "Our tribe, Storm Raven, lives north of here." She gestured somewhere over her shoulder, but her eyes never strayed from Max's. "And you, young lady? What is your name?"
"I'm Max Caulfield. I study at Blackwell University."
"Manahuu, Max. I am Tuhudda." She touched the shoulder of the woman beside him. "This is my daughter, Ada. And the impudent sore behind me is my granddaughter, Lulu."
"Um, nice to meet you all." Max felt her hands clenching and unclenching at the attention they focused on her. She wasn't used to such scrutiny, especially from strangers. At least they didn't seem dangerous. Just…weird, really.
"Does your tribe live far away?" Max asked.
"Far," replied Lulu, checking her nails. "Not nearly far enough."
"…Have you come here to sight-see?"
"We came to bear witness," said Ada, whose smile had vanished from her face.
Max tilted her head. "Witness? Witness what?"
Tuhudda turned her dark eyes down to the beach far below. "Three weeks ago, I had a dream. I saw the ocean flee from the shore and the seabed give up its secrets."
Max followed her gaze. "The sea? You mean here in Arcadia Bay?"
"Yes. This is what I saw in my dream. Our guardian spirit led me here, telling me to come."
Okay, wow, thought Max. Spirit guardians giving side-quests. I've officially entered Final Fantasy territory.
"Well, some strange things have been happening with the weather lately," Max said. "I wouldn't be surprised if what you said did come true."
"Yes," Ada agreed. "Strange would be right."
Max thought for a moment. "I noticed you in the Two Whales before, when the aurora came. But you didn't seem surprised to see it."
The old woman shrugged. "No, we were not. Auroras are common enough, daytime or no." With some effort, she pushed herself from the bench to her feet. "Truth be told, we were more interested in what you would do."
"What… I would do?"
Lulu crossed her arms again, the impatience clear in her voice. "Gramma, are you sure we have the right girl?"
"We do," Tuhudda replied as she approached Max, eyeing her from head to foot. "The right girl in the wrong time."
Max felt the hairs on her neck standing on end. "W-what are you talking about?"
Now Ada stood up to approach Max, who took an involuntary step back. "We came here hoping to meet you."
"You…you know me?"
"By face," Tuhudda replied. "You were also in my visions. Just like the sea."
"What you're saying sounds impossible."
"An aurora in the daytime sounds impossible, but we all saw it happen," Ada said. "One night three years ago, we saw smoke and fire rising from the forest north of Arcadia Bay, the likes of which we hadn't seen in a generation."
"A great cleansing flame," Lulu added. "It set back the Prescotts' designs for Arcadia by years."
"And that was when our people knew…the cycle has turned," said Tuhudda. "The land has chosen, and the Incarnate comes once more."
Max looked from one woman to the other. "I…I don't understand. None of what you said made any sense. What do you mean by 'Incarnate'?"
"She is the judge," Tuhudda said. "She is the God in the Wood, the Land-Who-Speaks. It is her duty to make things right. Her arrival is long past due."
Ada continued, "Many moons have come and gone, and still she has not prevented the harm done to the land. The fish drown in the sea, the trees torn down to make way for rich men's homes. But we could neither hear her voice nor feel her presence."
"She's gone," Lulu muttered, then shook her head in anger. "She was killed."
"Her blood on a Prescott's hands." Tuhudda spat out the name like it were poison.
All the women fell silent, heads bowed in either sorrow or shame. Max's own head was spinning, so she latched onto a single word in a bid to understand. "You say Prescott killed her?" she asked Tuhudda. "Nathan Prescott?"
"The younger...and the elder. Yes."
"And this, um, Incarnate…d-did you mean...Chloe Price?"
Tuhudda's widening eyes reflected inner fire. She drew something from her pocket and held it to Max's face. "I mean the Incarnate."
Dangling from her fingers was a blue feather earring.
Images floated before Max's eyes—a headline, a missing persons poster, a folded picture in Chloe's room. "Rachel Amber," she whispered.
Tuhudda lowered her hand. "Without her, the land has no eyes and no voice. Now it can bring only suffering and ruin to the Bay. But…"
She smiled, reaching out clasp Max's hands with her own. "You are here now. While you live, there is hope."
Lulu strode forward. "It's been weeks. Why haven't you done something about all this?"
"W-what?" Max shook her head, pulling away from her grasp. "I don't know how to help you. I'm not…I mean…I can't..."
"You have a gift, do you not, Max Caulfield?" Tuhudda asked.
This is happening. This is actually happening. Max swallowed, looked about for some kind of escape. "You know about my power too?"
Now it was Ada who strode forward. "We saw it in our dreams. The land, it saw this Incarnate was special...and in peril. So it chose another to protect her. It gave you your own gift."
"A mighty gift," Tuhudda cut in. "The power to set things right."
"You mean my rewind power," said Max. "But I can't use it. Not anymore."
"Can't?" Lulu said, arching her brow. "Maybe...won't?"
Max whirled to face her. "Does it matter? Every time I tried to change the past, something always goes wrong. Yes, I can manipulate time. I did do something about this. You know what happened? In a different timeline, a storm came to destroy Arcadia Bay—all because I saved my friend."
Lulu tilted her head. "Is that what you think happened?"
Max stared back at her, dumbstruck.
Tuhudda spoke up again. "Nature knows what it is doing, young Max. It gave the raven wings to fly, the wolf fangs to kill. The land is wiser than you and I. Wiser even than Prescott, try as he might to outwit it. If you were given the power to ensure a just world, should you not use it?"
"I did use it!" Max cried. "I…I changed so much that reality started coming apart! I saw it happen! Are you saying I…I…"
Before she could finish the thought, the ground began to tremble. It started as a gentle rocking, like a truck was rumbling nearby, but it quickly gained strength. Max cried out as she lost her footing and landed on all fours. Taken by surprise, the women also tumbled to their knees.
Earthquake, thought Max. Today's anomaly had come at last.
Around her the trees and bushes creaked and rustled, and from above came the groaning of rusted metal as the lighthouse swayed with the trembling earth. A glass window broke and twinkling shards fell to the ground around them. Max didn't know what she feared more—that metal tower crashing on top of them, or the cliff they were on sliding into the sea.
But neither happened. The earthquake lasted a full unbearable minute before fading away. Max reached out and grasped Tuhudda by the arm to help her up. Lulu did the same for her mother.
Then Ada gasped. "It's happening! Mother, it's just as you said!"
As the women gazed at sea, Max turned to look—and wished she hadn't.
The ocean was retreating from the shore, like a cloth drawn back by a giant invisible hand. It hissed faintly as it went, uncovering rocks, starfishes, seaweed, a sunken buoy, the forgotten remains of a sailboat. The seabed giving up its secrets, Max thought. The old woman was right.
And I was wrong. It's not a storm coming for Arcadia Bay this time, but a tsunami. And I sacrificed Chloe for nothing!
Tears stinging her eyes, she turned to Tuhudda. "Why is this happening? Why couldn't I fix it?"
"Disasters always come," the old woman said, her shoulders slumping. "They are delayed, perhaps forgotten. But never denied. If not a storm, a fire. Or the unquiet sea." She shook her head. "We are too late."
A whimper escaped Ada's lips. Lulu turned her dark, penetrating stare at her grandmother.
"What do you mean 'too late'?" Max's hands clutched at the old woman's shoulders. "You told me we had hope. You said you saw all this in a vision, that you were sent here to help!"
But the spark had fled from Tuhudda's gaze. "It seems the land will wait no more. Today is the end for this town, its demise written in water." She pointed to the horizon. And sure enough, far out at sea, the waves had begun to swell. The hissing noise was replaced by a low roar, like a monster rising from the deep.
"No!" Max whirled to the old woman. "You can't mean that! All those people–they don't have time to get to higher ground! There must be something we can do!"
But Tuhudda just shook her head again. "We should have found you earlier. We knew this would happen, but not precisely when. If we had time, perhaps you could have found a photo, gone back into the past. But there is no time now. The land has chosen for us."
"Then you must choose for her," Lulu said suddenly.
Max turned to watch the other girl as she came to stand beside her grandmother. "You must send her back yourself."
"Granddaughter, you know I cannot. There are rules. We were sent to witness and advise—not interfere."
"Oh drop it, Gramma!" Lulu stomped her foot, her braid swinging like a sword. "If you really believed that, you wouldn't have come all this way to find the Incarnate's guardian! You wouldn't have shown her my feather, or told her about Prescott or about your visions! You came here knowing exactly what you wanted to do!"
Ada laid a hand on her daughter's arm, but Lulu shook it off. "We waited years—years—for another Incarnate to come, to defend the land and to make Prescott pay for his crimes. Are you really going to stand here on higher ground and talk about hope, then fold your hands and do nothing? While so many die? While the land remains blind? When she—" She gestured to Max "—can do something about it?"
Tuhudda sighed, closing her eyes. "When we interfere, we invite dire consequences."
"Consequences!" cried Lulu. She jabbed her finger out to sea, where the bulge had grown into a wall of dark water. "Do something, do nothing—everything has a consequence! Well, if there has to be one, then let it find us as we are seeking justice!"
For a moment, they regarded each other, the young girl and the old woman. Defiance in the former, sorrow in the latter. What went on between them in the silence, Max would never know. But as last Tuhudda sighed, turned to her and said, "Max, are you willing to go back one more time and make things right?"
"But what can I do?" Max blurted out. "Whenever I tried to fix something, I ruined something else. I tried bringing Chloe's dad back but I only ended up hurting her instead!"
"Shoot an arrow aimlessly and you are liable to hit anyone and anything, except your target." She reached out a hand to Max's shoulder. "This time, I will help you aim."
Max lowered her eyes. "I don't have a photo with me. I can only jump back in time through one."
Tuhudda gestured to Max's bag. "But you have a journal, do you not?"
"I…yes." Max dove her hand into her bag and fished it out, holding it in front of her.
"Do you have an entry for a date just before April 22, 2013?"
That date sounded familiar for some reason. Then Max remembered it from all the missing persons posters of Rachel Amber. It was the day she went missing.
She flipped through the pages, her trembling fingers nearly tearing them in her haste. Behind her, the hiss had turned into a dull roar. One glance behind told that the wave had turned into a colossus, a black wall wide as the horizon and nearly as tall as the lighthouse itself. Dark clouds gathered over it like a crown, and it had blotted out even the sunset.
"Focus, Guardian," ordered Lulu. "You don't have time."
Max wrenched her gaze back to her journal and flipped a few more pages. There! She held the notebook up. "I have an entry for Friday, April 19. But…I don't have a photo here. Just words, sketches."
To her surprise, Tuhudda had taken out a long reed pipe, lighting it with practiced ease. She drew in a few puffs, nodded in satisfaction, then blew it all out. Max caught a sweet, alien aroma, like nothing she had smelled before.
"Don't worry," the old woman said. "In a moment, I will show you a vision. You will use your ability to enter it into the past. Do you understand?"
"I do...but what then? What should I do once I'm there?"
The old woman pressed the blue feather earring onto Max's journal. "If you wish to save your home, if you wish to save your heart, this is your task: save the Incarnate and let her choose. Can you repeat what I said?"
"I…okay. S-save the Incarnate. Let her choose." Max shook her head. "But choose what? What do I tell Rachel? How are the Prescotts connected to all this?"
"We have only moments left, Max. You must find the answers out on your own." Tuhudda grasped Max's hand in her own bony grip. "Are you ready?"
Max swallowed a lump in her throat, then nodded once.
I'm going to try again, she thought. I'm going to save Rachel. I'm going to save Chloe. And I'm going to keep trying until I finally do. I'll keep trying till the end of time if I have to. Because Chloe's worth it.
"I'm ready," she said.
Tuhudda raised a finger in warning. "One more thing. This journey will not be like the others. You will have only one chance to make things right and there will be no going back. And you will face wickedness like you've never seen. Layers upon layers of evil."
"I'll do what I have to," Max replied, "if it will save Chloe."
Still clasping Max's hand, Tuhudda lowered them to a sitting position on the ground. Lulu and Ada sat on either side of them. Tuhudda placed the journal onto Max's lap, then handed her the reed pipe.
"Inhale deep and keep it in for as long as you can. Then read your journal."
Max took one deep drag from the lip of the pipe. Despite the sweet smell, it tasted bitter—bitter like vinegar, or tears. She coughed but managed to hold most of it in. Then she lowered her watering eyes to the journal.
April 19, 2013
Man, this Chem review is killing me. I'm trying to concentrate, but I just can't. It's like my bed is pulling me towards it with magnetic powers. I wonder if I could get away with cramming during break…
The world had narrowed down to the words on the page. Tuhudda was speaking to her, her voice echoing as if from the bottom of a well. "Look at me, Max."
Max raised her eyes. It seemed as if time was slowing to a stop. She could no longer hear the din of the oncoming tide, nor the howling wind, nor the panicked call of the seabirds. Tuhudda's face loomed before her, eyes black as night. Or the mouth of the underworld.
"Think back to that day. See yourself there. Where were you? What were you doing?"
And through the darkness, Max could see it. She was sitting at her desk in her room, trying and failing to study. Her lava lamp was on, the radio was playing a jazzy tune, her stuffed teddy bear, Captain Woolychins, sat propped up against her books like a drunken sailor.
It looked so crisp and clear, almost like a photograph. If she reached out her hand, she could pull herself through.
Ringing erupted in her ears. The world was slowing around her, like a clock winding down. A shadow fell over them as the colossal wave formed a canopy that blotted out the sun. The world blurred.
Chloe...
Notes:
We'll meet again
Don't know where
Don't know when
But I know we'll meet again
Some sunny day
Keep smiling through
Just like you always do
Until the blue skies drive
The dark clouds far away
- Vera Lynne, "We'll Meet Again"