* Tuesday, After 11, Before Noon, After the Funeral *

'Well, it's not really from her. It's, it's just stuff. From Joyce.'

He stands, fidgeting. Obviously uncomfortable, and just as obviously struggling a bit with the box.

Max struggles to get out coherent words. 'Th-thank you, Mister Madson.'

'Just David, if you would.'

'Sure.'

David stands there, shifting the box uneasily. Max mirror's him, unsure of herself.

'So, um, Miss Caulfield, I-'

'Max.'

'Uh, okay. Max, um, where would you like this?' The box, though not particularly big, is beginning to sag in the middle.

'Wh-what is it?'

'It's some of Chl-. Of her things. Stuff Joyce said you should have. There was no, uh, no will or anything. It's mostly stuff from when you were kids. Joyce said you'd appreciate it.'

'Yeah. Sure. Can you take it up to my room?'

'Uh. Sure.'

'Let me get the door.'

The walk is ponderous and slow. Neither knowing what to say. Max leads him to get door in complete silence.

'Just please leave it on the couch. I'll get to it later.'

Gingerly placing the box down, David takes a moment to once-over the room With a nod, he turns to leave.

Max speaks up, just before he swings the door closed. 'How's Joyce?'

The hesitation in his step lets Max know he's trying to lie. The deflation of his face let's her know he's choosing not to.

'She's... pretty bad. It's tough, loosing a child.' His eyes grow distant. 'It's not something you get over easy.'

'And, um.' The catch in her throat almost makes her gag. 'How are you?'

'I'm... I'm fine.'

'David, I... really don't believe you.'

He stands in the doorway, refusing eye contact. A shudder rolls down his spine. 'Neither do I.' A hand covers his mouth, moving to cover his eyes and rub his temples. The shudders rolls back up, catching in his throat and aborting the sob hanging there.

'David, I... Are you..?'

'I'll be fine. I'll just-' He turns to leave.

'Wait, David. Do you want to talk?'

'No, Max.' He pauses, reconsidering. But- 'No. I need to leave. Be with Joyce. But when you have a chance... Come by. I know Joyce would... like to see you.'

As he closes the door, Max needs to speak. 'David, she... she loved you. In spite of everything that you went through, she loved you.'

The tears don't fall, but they want to.

'Thanks.' Again turning, this time he pauses on his on volition. 'Max. Really, thank you.'

The vacuum left is a pale echo of the void Max has felt for days. The void won't be- can't be- filled by David. Or Victoria. Or Warren or Kate. But David, his familiarity, the knowledge of what he did last week, what he went through. The shared love the two of them had for the missing person in their lives. It was something, however briefly, they shared. It was a small comfort, knowing someone in the room with her cared for Chloe as much as Max did.

That vacuum sucked life from Max, abet a tiny amount.

Turning to the box, determined not to break, not yet, Max pries the lid open. Clothes, CDs and DVDs lay piled haphazardly. Requiem for a Dream greeted her gaze, prominently displayed in center amidst the chaos.

Never saw it. Heard it was pretty messed up.

Digging through, familiar items start surfacing. A pirated 'Pirate' CD. Graphic t-shirts and tank tops. A beanie- the beanie- slightly stained a vibrant blue on the inside, where repeated use had it take on some personality from it's owner.

It's previous owner.

Fighting tears, fighting so hard, Max pulls the hat over her head. Holding the sides, she stands, still, letting the pressure build. The last time her bluenette wore this. At the lighthouse. Or, no. That's not right. In the bathroom. As her blood pooled-

Flinging it from her, as if acidic to the touch. Bouncing off the door, landing just next to her pillow.

Not now.

A morbid desire to see this task done forces Max to dig deeper. More shirts, random paraphernalia. As she speeds up her search, items start following the hat. A white shirt, depicting a black skull, lands on the bed next to the hat. A snow globe, a single deer in it, follows. An eye-patch. The broken handle from a cardboard sword. An album, depicting two pure white hands, one bearing a medical bracelet, separated by a field of red.

A photo album, colorful in it's pastels.

Pause.

Shaking, from fear and adrenaline, Max lifts the cover. Peering back at her, nine years old, pure blue eyes and a dazzling smile. Seven and eight year old girls, sharing cake on one of their birthdays. A twelve year old running along the beach.

A fifteen year old girl, uncomfortable in her dress and slightly awkward in boots. A seventeen year old girl, throwing a dark gaze back at the camera.

A four year old, held by her father, trying to pull off his glasses.

Again, the seven and eight year old's, having breakfast, still covered with finger-paint.

Why would Joyce want me to have this? How will this help me? How can she-

Off.

Max turns off.

Taking the album. Closing. Not feeling it as her fingers tingle.

Sitting on the floor, against the couch. Clutching the memories against her chest. Still not feeling the book.

Choosing to keep her eyes dry. Her head empty. Not feeling

The knock-knock-knock at her door causes Max to jump. A quiet voice calls for her. Tells her that the speaker is going to class. That Kate wanted to talk later about something later. Max doesn't answer. The voice repeats her name. Repeats the knock. Steps recede from her door.

Max breaks from her stillness.

Finish it.

The album forgotten, among the debris of her bed. Digging again, picking at that barely-healing scab, trinkets form a small pile on the bed beside her. Eventually all but emptied, the box sits on the couch, surrounded by things.

Not Chloe's things anymore. Just... things.

The last item of the box is another book, smaller. Bits of torn pages stick out from the covers. Anarchy symbols and band stickers adorn it's cover. Max has never seen this before.

Weighty for it's size, it does not close right. Curiosity finally breaking through her wall, Max hefts it, taking a seat amide the flotsam on her bed. randomly opening it, she comprehend it's nature.

A journal? Chlo's journal.

The entry, dated March fifth, twenty-ten, has her likeness drawn on the right-hand side. The words reach out, capturing her.

MAX

Now this is more like it! here I can write to you all I want without wondering or worrying if you'll ever write me back.

Maybe one day, when you return home and apologize for having forgotten all about me and we kiss and make up, I'll show this to you and we can read it and laugh.

Or maybe I'll decide that journal Max is way cooler than reality Max and you'll just live in here forever as my little imaginary former current best friend pen pal. Time will tell.

Chloe, the Journal Boss

Skipping ahead, another entry strikes out.

MAX

So The Mustache drove me to school today. Yup, that's what my life's become. Even worse, he thought the ride was like a "tell me how things are gonna be from now on" opportunity.

You'd be proud of me. I kept my mouth shut like a good little girl. Or a good little serial killer. There's more than one way to skin a David...

Again, she pushes forward.

MAX

With all this Shakespeare shit going on, I thought I'd write you a sonnet. Then I realized that rhyming is hard, and nothing really rhymes with Rachel. Which seems fitting, given that I've never actually met anyone like Rachel before.

With Rachel, everything is a game of some kind. I had to use my breaking and entering skills to get this viewfinder working just so we could spy on peeps at the park...

Again.

Max,

Ever been to therapy? It's actually kind of awesome. And I don't mean writing down your feelings and hugging and crying and shit. I'm talking about popping open the hood and getting your hands dirty...

Again.

Max,

When you think about it, it's kind of amazing that anyone ever trusts anybody about anything. Take the stars, for example. We learn all these things about them in school, but no one bothers to tell us the most important fact of all: some of them are dead.

Yet, somehow, Rachel trusts me with the most important thing in her world. Finding her real mom...

Max,

I don't think you can know how you feel about someone until you almost lose them. Until you sit in a hospital waiting room, frozen in place yet somehow falling, silently desperately pleading to hear their voice, touch their hand, make them laugh...

Then you know.

Max,

I thought David would freak but he barely seems to notice. Mom, on the other hand, freaked when I showed her my new... expression. It's only a little colored, and only a little blue...

Max,

Got the cash from Frank. Gonna get this old jalopy running right and headed out to Cali. Rachel thinks LA should be our destination but I always wanted to ride a cable car...

Max,

I can't find Rachel. It's been four days and she hasn't answered a single one of my calls yet. I know she's all flighty but you'd think she could tell me...

And the last entry.

Max,

I have a plan. It's a bad plan, but I'm running out of options. I gotta see if that dick can get me enough cash to skip town. I don't think I'll need this journal anymore, if things pan out

Goodbye Max.

PS

I keep saying goodbye to you.

I keep saying goodbye to everyone. But always after they leave.

I never get to say goodbye in person. I never get to let them leave.

They keep getting taken away. No warning. And every time I say goodbye, I never mean it.

Because I never get to choose when to say it.

I'm choosing now. Now I get to say goodbye for real. I haven't talked to you in years. But this Max, Journal Max, has been here the whole time.

And I keep leaving you. And I keep coming back. But I don't want to say goodbye because I'll keep coming back, as much as I don't want to, as much as I say this is the last time, as much as I know I'll be here tomorrow, telling you how it went with Nathan tomorrow.

So no goodbye.

See you tomorrow, Max.

Dark stains appear near the bottom of the page.

See you tomorrow, Max.

Truth in those words. They keep rolling through her head.

See you tomorrow, Max.

Flashing back to the bathroom. Max didn't recognize her the first time. Who would? After five years, at least a foot of height and a blue dye job. A gun being waved around. A psycho yelling into a mirror.

See you tomorrow, Max.

Max saw her, ten feet away. But Chloe never glimpsed her back.

'Come on Max. Class time.'

A patter of knocks.

'Max?' Again the door shakes. 'You in?'

She can't stand.

The latch is undone. Kate stands there, a slightly worried look on her face. 'You sleeping-' Slightly worried becomes fully realized. 'Max, what's wrong?'

Wordless, soundless, Max pleads with her friend. She's hurting, again, and cannot voice it.

'What happened? Talk to me.'

Kate stares at the open book handed to her. Reads the entry displayed.

'Oh... Oh Max.'

A hand against her back, the other atop her head, pull Max forward into the embrace. Soothing noises issue from Kate, competing with the whines issuing from Max. Max's grip on her power slightly slips. Time has a slight stutter-step, elongating but not quite stopping the moment.

Her grip keeps slipping.

She wants to tighten her fist. Hold on to time and make it do what she needs. Save everyone. Save Chloe. But she can't save Chloe and everyone. She needs to choose. And everything wants her to choose the world.

Even Chloe wanted this.

Self-sacrifice came easy for Chloe, at the end. Truthfully she was at least half suicidal. Depressed. More than a touch bipolar. Of course she wouldn't want to live in a world where people died for her. She didn't want to live in the normal world already. All noble, telling Max no one else needs to be hurt for her.

But it wasn't the rest of the world that would be hurt. It was Max. It was Max's world that was destroyed. What Chloe saw as self-sacrifice... Max murdered Chloe.

I murdered her. Because she told me to.

Max always did what Chloe said. Always followed the bluenette's lead. The push-over. The side-kick. And when Max finally became truly powerful, what did she do? Max was Chloe's Swiss Army Knife. Get out of jail free. When Chloe needed help, Max fixed it. And when Max needed help...

She's alone.

Was I really that bad? Was it impossible to see a future together?

Chloe asked Max to leave her to die. To live on all alone. To help her best friend, her love, to commit suicide.

Did she love me?

Chloe would rather die than be with her.

'That's not true and you know it.'

'katie, you didn't know her like i did.'

A chiding sound is her rebuttal. 'Max, I don't know her. I know you.'

'so?'

'So, you are just... you need an excuse to hate her.'

'no. no i loved her.'

'Which is why you want to hate her now.' A shake of her head. 'Max, you are one of the few people I've met that... I don't know. I don't know how to put it.'

'what?'

'You don't stay angry at people. You don't hold grudges. You forgive.'

A pair of eyes, framed by glass, appears in Max's head. 'not everyone.'

'True. But most. And those people you don't, you at least understand. Like, like Nathan. I know you haven't forgiven what he did. But you, like, acknowledge that it wasn't all him. He wasn't forced to do anything, but he also wasn't shown anything else. He is as much a victim as m- as the rest.' Kate folds her legs on the bed, prompting Max to do the same. 'You have empathy. And perspective. And understanding.'

'so? so do you.'

'No, I don't. I know how to connect to people. And I usually understand them. But so often I'm confused why they do what they do.' A pause, as Kate collects thoughts. 'Max, let's try an experiment. I want you do explain Victoria to me.'

'huh?'

'Explain who you think Victoria is. I don't care about the good or the bad.' A coy smile appears. 'And I won't tell her a single thing, so don't hold back.'

Max ponders a moment. 'victoria?' How do I explain Vicky? 'everyone thinks she's a bitch. and they're right, but for the wrong reasons. she isn't mean because she enjoys it. in fact, what most people see as mean is really her being competitive.' The words start to flow. 'when she gloats about winning it isn't because she wants you to feel bad, she just wants to reaffirm herself. and she isn't conceded. just self-confident. and earned, too. vicky mostly excels at what she puts her mind too. she has a mean streak, but it's rarely malicious and when it is the person is usually messing with her accomplishments. which are kinda like her babies.'

'Wow. Most people would have stopped at the b-word. Kind people would have said she acts so mean because she's lonely or afraid.'

'oh, no. vicky doesn't really do the whole "fear" thing without legit justification. and she isn't lonely. she's really tight with her family and she does have close friends, even if most have a weird master-minion thing going on. mostly, i don't think victoria knows what it's like to have peers. like, real competition. she never saw anyone that way. maybe rachel. but she was a bit too flighty to be a big threat. the only one could have been nathan, and he was her best friend. no threat there.'

Kate still has that smile on her face, brighter now.

'what?'

'That's what I mean. You have every reason to dislike Victoria. You have every reason to just see her as a shallow drama-queen that tormented you. Instead you're best friends with her in a couple of days.'

'not best friends...'

'Max.'

'fine. but what does this have to do with c-chloe?'

'You want to forget her and hate her so you don't miss her anymore. But if you can't hate someone who gave you every reason to, how are you going to do that with Chloe?'

'then- then what do i do?' Her face screws up. 'i can't handle this. i thought i was fine and then- how can i handle this?' The first sob shakes her but the subsequent ones are stifled before leaving her chest. 'i'm fine for an hour, or minute, or all day. and then i'm like this. i'm broken and i can't fix it!'

The look on Kate's face breaks Max's heart. She may think I'm some sort of people-reader but she's the most compassionate person I've ever met.

'Max, you don't fix this. All you can do is wait. The memories will hurt less, eventually. But not anytime soon, and not if you keep trying to force out the emotions. You have to hurt before you can get better.'

'...don't wanna...'

A small, sad giggle issues. 'Doesn't matter. You just need to remember that you love her and she loved you. It's not enough now but it will be one day.'

'when?'

'Definitely some time after class today.'

Another giggle, this one from the brunette.

'do i have to?'

'Yup.' She tries to tidy up a bit, almost immediately giving up. 'And then I'll help you put all this away. And here.' The journal is pressed into Max's hands. 'Keep this on you. If you don't mind I'd like to read it.'

'yeah, sure.' Staring at the open entry, Max yelps. The book clatters to the floor, still open. 'FUCK!'

Worried, Kate about-faces and switches back and forth quickly, Max to book to Max. 'What?!'

'just- just look.'

Peering down, Kate goes wide-eyed.

On the left hand side, the last entry is displayed just as before. The previous last entry. Next to it, in block letters and obviously hastily scribbled, a new entry appeared.

HEY JOURNAL MAX-

I WAS FUCKING RIGHT! THE REAL YOU CAME BACK TODAY AND SAVED MY LIFE! SHES GOT TIME TRAVEL POWERS!

I'm not sure it's for real but... it looks true. We're headed over to the diner tomorrow, I'll see if she can prove it.

I wasn't the nicest. I mean, I'm super pissed she was gone for so long but, now, I'm just happy she's back. And hella cute at that.

She can never find out about us

So, to be uber lame, TTYL when more shit happens

See you tomorrow, Journal Max