* Tuesday, Way Too Early, In a Dream *

Everything is so blue/red. Max's hands look raw/frozen. The silence is solid, a physical pressure in her ears. All she can hear for the moment is the pounding of her blood.

I'm back.

The lighthouse stands solemn in the failing light. The white of the edifice is washed the same blue/red as everything else, but deeper. A more crimson/midnight color. It glows.

Again the cliff.

The whirlpool is almost done. It stands towering/it falls to the depths of hell. The bubble/dent of the spiral is poised to complete it's journey.

Max is standing, alone. The silence breaks, a siren starting in the distance. No other acknowledgement of life exists.

Where are the clouds?

The world is crystal clear. Max can see, unaided, miles. Straight through to the horizon. Not a soul dots Arcadia Bay's streets. The dead body of a town.

She takes a step.

Everything and nothing changes.

Everything is so red/blue. Max's hands look frozen/raw. A thunder storm roars a single note. Everywhere, sound, pushing her back/pulling her forward. She can feel the sound caress her skin, thick enough her pulse pushes against it.

And now wha-

Momentum causes another step.

Everything is so blue/red.

Silence.

But not alone.

Victoria stands some dozen feet away, closer to the edge. Her back is to the Bay, but she doesn't look at Max. Her face hard. Angry? Pained? Red eyed, hair a mess. Wearing a blouse and skirt/worn jeans. Muddy. Wet. But there's no rain.

She stares at the feminine form in front of her.

The person is no taller than Max, but older? More defined physique. A few more pounds, not overweight but fuller. Brown hair, just past the shoulders. Tan skin, but still on the pale side. Her hand outstretched, warding off Victoria. Or pushing. Or reaching for her. Beseeching, attacking. To hard to tell. Nothing moves. No action. No sound.

Momentous step.

Red/Blue

Thunder

Pressure

Kate stands in front of Max. Obviously crying. A hand, right against the sternum, flat/holding tight, as Kate pulls/pushes Max. Her mouth is open. She is yelling. Hazel eyes, red-rimmed, stare into Max. They want something. What? What do you want?

Step

Blue/Red

Quiet

Empty

The brown-hair of the new girl is once again in her view, sitting at the bench, overlooking the Bay. Kate and Victoria stand at the door of the lighthouse. They gesture. Towards Max or away? Come closer?

What? I can't know what you want.

A sliver of silver catches her eye. Afraid to move, to upset this moment, Max follows with her eyes.

A gun. Revolver. David's? Or Frank's?

The thought she should have had first appears.

Who holds it? Chlo/War-

Step

Empty. Again.

The blister/crater is about to finish it's trip.

Max stops trying to move. Every step, a different scenario. Every move, a different future. She gets it. She begins to understand.

Do you?

She asks herself-

Do you think you really understand?

-but doesn't answer her own questions.

You are here, at the crux. The decision.

She can make words.

'Always the lighthouse. Why? Why here?'

You decide why.

'I don't want to come here.'

Then don't.

'...What?'

Don't come here. You decide. You always decide.

'You said... I had no choices. Anymore.'

True. You do not choose. You decide.

'What? That's the same thing!'

No.

'No? Just no? Explain, dammit!'

To choose is to find a direction. To weigh right and wrong. You see the answers to your question. You pick your answer from many. From two or ten or all the stars above. You see all outcomes.

'Then decision is-?'

Belief. Grays. Nothing firm. You decide the direction, not the selection. Not one or another. If then but while just-in-case. You choose Chloe or Arcadia. Life or lives. But you decide who means more. Value. You decide your mind, you choose your path.

'That sounds like some bullshit semantics.'

Yes. No. Maybe so-

'-sometimes, always, never. It's still you. Me. Future me.'

Yes.

'Why are you so fucking vague right now?'

Because you still only see the fork in the road. Save/damn the town. Kill/cure the girl. You only see your choices and you won't decide!

'I don't... understand.'

Black/white/black/white/black/white all you see. The world is not monochromatic. We have too much potential too many decisions too much too many too much

'So... so I have a decision to make. One which is big.'

Bingo was his name-o.

'And because I haven't made this decision yet, you're... unstable?'

We are quantum we are nothing we are everything we are the cat in the box look we are alive and dead and naught and either

'Okay, dial it back. Let's keep you, or me, together.'

Keep is simple.

'Okay. What are the simple things you can tell me.'

You have to find the value. Of your love and your love. Decide between it.

'Not making sense...'

You love her. Decide on that love. Is it enough? What is enough? When will it be enough?

'Chlo... What about her? What about love?'

Is the love she has/had/will have/won't have/can't have... is it ever enough? Does it ever fill?

'What does all this have to do with it?'

You only ever see the path as right and wrong. Left and right. Binary. Kill him, kiss her. You see options.

But you are very powerful.

You split and pull the world and don't understand. The grays. For you, for us, it is just like everyone else. We value. But you see the obstacles and choose to go over or under or through.

But why?

You/we/I never ask why. Why did Chloe love you. Why did Kate take your hand. Why does Victoria want to help you. They place value on you.

You need to find your values.

'I don't-'

Understand. We know.

'Then... then who is the girl?'

Can't tell you that.

'Of course not. Can you tell me anything useful?'

No.

'Why? Why all of this? What can you do to help?'

Nothing.

'You're me. Why are you being so God. Damn. USELESS!'

We cannot tell you more. More will cause paradox. More will make us not exist.

'Then what? What do I do?'

Wake up.

* Tuesday, 3 am, After the Funeral *

A cold sweat and shooting pain in her temples wake Max up. A pressure across her chest causes momentary panic.

It's just... just Victoria.

Max lies there, doing nothing, the agony in her head receding quickly. A finger to her lip, checking for blood. None, this time.

She shivers. Reliving. A nightmare.

Her thoughts jumbled, she quickly falls back asleep despite the will to remain awake. She will forget much of the vision before morning.

But not all of it.

She chooses to let sleep take her.

* Tuesday, 3 am, After the Storm *

Heat and pain awake Max. Just heat and pain. The pain of a spike driving itself slowly into her eye. The heat of breath on the back of her neck.

Chloe...

Max pulls herself inward, willing the pain away. And it is forced to retreat. A bit of blood dribbles from her nose, unnoticed.

She sweats. Forcing the nightmare away.

Her mind clearing, she slowly dives deep into slumber, embracing that little death. Still, she knows she will remember that vision with clarity.

But not all of it.

She decides to let tomorrow wait.