* Tuesday Night, Or Maybe Wednesday Morning, After the _ *

Only the colors this time. Red and blue. One in each eye. The problem is the two views keep changing which eye they prefered.

I need those oldschool 3-D glasses.

She focuses directly on the lighthouse itself. The Bay is a pair of superimposed images. A rise and a fall. Every molecule is both being pulled in and pushed outward from the epicenter of the Whirlpool. Focusing on the towering edifice in front of her lets her ignore the duality of what is occuring. The lighthouse is unchanged. Whatever is going on, it remains unaffected so far.

Even looking at the trees is difficult. The same branches, same leaves, but in two different locations. The dirt is even disturbed, arond her legs. Seated cross-legged, able to peer down so close to the soil, Max can see all the minuet changes in dust and rocks. The lighthouse is the only unchanged thing here.

All of it is giving her a headache.

'Are you there?'

No answer.

'FM, can you hear me?'

A siren, so far off in the distance it barely exists.

Max stares at the dirt, keeping her orientation. Refusing to look around. the dirt doesn't change. It was here for so long before she came.

'I can't keep doing this.'

She traces half an oblong oval, lightly, with her finger. A mirroring companion to it, and a line dividing the pair.

'I can't keep trying to keep everything together. I'm doing my best, but...'

She begins pressing more forcefully into her sketch in the dirt, adding definition. A dimple is added to the ovals.

'I can't keep Kate safe. And Victoria is... she is going to stop. She is going to stop supporting me, just as soon as she realizes I have no idea what I'm really doing.'

The line has added definition. A slightly more defined top, a slightly more bulbous bottom. An i whose dot compresses it down slightly.

'And... and how can I keep them safe? With everything I've been through, with what happened to Chlo-'

Her hand comes down, crushing the butterfly.

'I can't go through all this again.'

But it's the first times.

Eyes tight, a sigh escapes. 'You're here.'

I/we are always here.

'I was so worried you-'

You are always here too.

Startled, Max looks up. The kaleidoscope in front of her immediately puts her stomach on edge.

'I'm... here?'

Yes.

'Which means..?'

This is where you are.

Old frustrations threaten to bubble up. 'Not really helping.'

The you that was here is here. The you that will be here is here. You have/will mark here and that mark never fades.

The statement rocks her. 'My power, it... changed this place?'

Yes.

'Because I used it here?'

And will again.

A bit of fear creeps up to touch the base of Max's spine. 'What did I do? Is it just the lighthouse or did... did I do something to the Bay too?'

A sound, so ugly and sweet and understanding and terrified answers her.

Laughter.

Not just from one voice, or two. Ten. Or twenty. A nervous laugh. And fearful. And hearty. Sarcastic. Childish. Content. Playful. Alluring.

The fear grabs Max's spine.

Nothing to the lighthouse or the Bay. Time. Time is marked by you.

'But I didn't mean to... Can I... If I never use my powers, can I fix it?'

No.

'THEN WHAT SHOULD I DO?'

Decide.

* After the Storm *

Nestled in arms, a young woman sleeps. Tears leak from her closed eyes. Shivering, she moans and pulls a clasped hand inward. The other's arms squeeze briefly, and the young woman settles back to sleep.

* After the Funeral *

Alone in bed, a young woman sleeps. Tears leak from her closed eyes. Shivering, she moans and pulls her body inward. Her name is quietly whispered and a knock lightly rapped, but the young woman settles back to sleep.