Chapter 13: Change the Past

The pain filled tears fall down my face
As I look back on my life
Sitting here all in black in the third row of hell
Never in my life would I have thought
This day would come so soon into being
But God, it did
Why did my only and best friend had to go?
Why me, why now, i thought we were all for one
I wish I could have at least been signaled
I loved him not only as a friend but a piece of myself
But I can't change the past
If only he shared his thoughts
If only I could change the past
This third row is hurting me
The black is straining my eyes
The sun upon your pale, dead face makes me cry
It makes me wonder
Can I change the past?

By: Allen Kincaid

Halliwell Manor, 2031

Alison's face was cold, emotionless. Alex could tell she was cutting herself off from the rest of them. The memory of her mother's death had been brought to the surface of her mind, dug up from where it was buried.

She had been a child when her mother was killed, thrust into the world to fend for herself, in a hostile city. How she had managed, he would never know. But what he did know was that it had aged her far beyond her years.

She was only fourteen, but looked at least seventeen. She had seen things no child should have to face. She had fought them, and she had killed them.

And she had walked away with a heart that turned to stone if anyone got to close to her. She was afraid of losing them, he knew that. She was afraid of being left alone.

"We have been on the defensive too long," she was saying, "We have to fight him."

"But how can we? He's too powerful."

"That's why we're here. We need a plan. I propose that Maka and myself, and some of the strongest witch-whitelighters attack, while Alex and the rest of the witches with active powers, and the whitelighters, stay here just in case."

"Why can't we come too?"

"Because Wyatt might find a way in."

"I thought you said he couldn't get through the barrier."

"He can't. But being Wyatt, he'll figure out a way around that. I need you here in case he does."

"Okay," Alex agreed.

"Where will we attack?"

"That hasn't been decided yet. Chris, you have the best knowledge of how Wyatt works. What would you suggest?"

Wyatt sat on his throne, shaking with anger. The stupid demon was dead, and Alison had escaped. He screamed in rage.

The demons at the entrance to his office shivered in fear. Their worries were well founded- the previous occupants of their position were all dead, destroyed in one of Wyatt's tantrums.

Wyatt couldn't believe that the demon had been so damned idiotic! He had seen the security tapes; he knew how the girl had goaded him into freeing her. He had seen her fall, injured, behind the desk.

He had no idea where she had gone from there. The camera didn't cover that crack. He didn't think she would have been up to any kind on teleportation in that state. So what had happened?

She was no longer there, he knew that for sure. He had had his guards go over the room with a fine-tooth comb, and they had found nothing but pieces of shattered glass and the ashes of the demon.

So she's dead. He told himself, but he knew this could not be true. The shield was still up. He frowned. Even if her soul had died, her body could go on living indefinitely, in a coma. Maybe that was what had happened.

He waved a hand and a demon was engulfed in flames. His partner looked terrified, but said nothing, only stood up a little straighter.

Wyatt sighed. "Much better." He loved venting his rage into violent acts. It was like the new anger management.

"Okay, is everyone ready to go?" Alison asked, looking at the strike team. It was made up of fifteen witches and five witch-whitelighters, including herself. They were all armed to the teeth with potions and had memorized various vanquishing spells, keeping others in pieces of paper.

Alex, with about ten witches and ten or so whitelighters, the rest of the Resistance, smiled. "Good luck. You're going to need it."

Alison laughed. "I hope not. Let's go." Each whitelighter had been assigned three witches to orb with. As she spoke, the whole army disappeared in a swirl of blue lights.

Wyatt paced up and down the throne room, thinking. He had to figure out a way into that house! He knew that he couldn't make it through the barrier, but there had to be some other way.

Something he had heard a long time ago echoed in his head. Time is the fourth dimension.

"That's it!" he cried out, startling his guards. A new one had replaced the one he'd killed.

"Assemble a team of fifty upper level demons!" He called out to his attendant. "Have them here in five minutes."

"Yes sir," the startled demon bowed, then telepathically contacted the demons. They began shimmering in immediately.

Wyatt used his telekinesis to draw an enormous triquatra on the wall with some chalk he orbed in.

He stood up and cleared his throat, and the milling demons instantly silenced. "We will be attacking the Rebels currently occupying Halliwell Museum. We will travel back in time one week to avoid the force shield, then once we are inside the area it will occupy, we will travel back to the present and attack. Any questions?" Of course there were none.

He began to speak, his voice full of power and evil.

"Hear these words, hear the rhyme, Heed the hope within my mind Send me now where I will find What I wish in place and time."

The great triquatra glowed a dark blue flecked with black. It was the color of good magic tainted by evil. "Go in!" Wyatt called out, and the mass of demons slowly trudged through it.

They arrived just outside the Museum, about a day before Alison was due to arrive. The tour guide was stunned. "Milord, what-?"

He cut her off. "We are merely passing through; you can resume the tours once we are gone."

She nodded confused. She knew all to well what happened to people who asked questions.

He repeated the spell, and the army walked through it, emerging inside the Museum. Delia, a young whitelighter, barely had time to scream before they were on her. She was wreathed in flames from a dozen fireballs, and nothing was left but ash.

The others heard her scream and came running in, quickly falling into a shaky formation, with the witches at the front, whitelighters behind them wielding potions.

They were strong, but there were fifty demons, plus Wyatt, and they were already down one.

The whitelighters threw the potions, and witches recited spells and used their active powers, sometimes both at the same time.

A fireball caught James in the stomach, and an older witch named Agnes was killed by an energy ball. They fought well, but they were dying. Worse, they knew it. The whitelighters had run out of potion, and were being decimated by the demons. There were maybe three left, orbing to avoid being hit.

Another two witches died in flames, and Alex glanced around in terror. How had he gotten in? How could this be happening?

Another two whitelighters were down; apparently a darklighter had made it to the front line and was firing. And then the last one fell with an arrow in his shoulder.

Heather, a witch with the power of pyrokinesis, was in the middle of setting a half dozen demons on fire when an athame caught her in the back. She fell with a look of surprise and confusion on her face. Alex cried out in anger. She was his sister.

Then all of a sudden the last witch was covered in flames, and Alex found himself alone. This isn't how it's supposed to be, he thought, we're not supposed to die. It's supposed to work out like a story. We should be living happily ever after.

But this was no story, this was real life, and Alex was alone against the ten or so demons left, and Wyatt himself. If Alison was here, they might have had a chance. But she wasn't. It seemed that her greatest fear was about to be realized.

He put his chin up, determined not to go out without a fight. He set two of the remaining demons on fire, reducing them to ash. He felt an energy ball graze his shoulder, leaving his whole left arm burnt and useless.

He tried not to scream in pain. He was struggling just to keep his consciousness. Alison! He cried out through the bond that they shared, help me, Alison! Then an athame imbedded itself in his throat. He put his hands to the wound, and they came away stained with red.

He stared at the blood, unable to believe it was possible. He fell to the ground with a look of utter confusion on his face. His heartbeat slowed. And stopped.

His soul rose out of his body, trying to comprehend what had happened. Then it faded upward, and was gone.

Alison didn't hear the whispered cry for help, as she was finishing off the last demon. She smiled, satisfied with what had happened. They had taken out the demonic council, powerful demons just under Wyatt, and a great deal of their guards.

"Okay, let's go back," she told them. "And good job!" They had lost only one witch, a young man named Conrad. She hoped he would rest in peace.

They all orbed out, elated from their victory, and saddened from the loss of their friend. They couldn't wait to tell the ones back home- for the Manor was their home now- of their victory.

But the scene they orbed into was not what they had been expecting. There was smoke everywhere, and bodies were scattered on the ground.

"Oh, shit," Alison muttered. "Be on the alert!" she called out, "There may be demons still here!"

But her warning came too late. The had already been attacked. Nine witches were dead, ambushed from behind. Then Wyatt orbed in. He smiled.

"Ready to give up, Alison?"

"Never!" she vanquished his demons with a wave of her hand. He countered by killing the rest of the witches, leaving only Chris and Alison.

"Your puny little Resistance is dead, Alison. You will soon follow them. Give up now, and your death will be quick."

She only laughed. She was trying not to cry, not to scream in anger and grief. "You're forgetting one thing. I'm more powerful than you." This actually was not true, they had the same amount of power, but the bluff worked.

Wyatt narrowed his eyes. "You haven't won yet, my daughter. Where will you stay, knowing I can attack you at any time? You cannot fight me."

What he was saying was true, but she was not one to give up. She raised her head high and spit out, "Watch me." Then she orbed out with Chris.

Wyatt thought that they were leaving, but they really only went to the attic. "We will change the past," she told him, "we will make it better."

She waved a hand, and a triquatra appeared on the wall. She began to speak, tears rolling down her face. She could not get the sight of Alex's dead body out of her head. How could this have happened?

"Hear these words, hear the rhyme," she began, her hair streaming out behind her. The smell of burnt flesh was thick in the air, and she was struggling not to vomit.

"Heed the hope within my mind," her voice was filled with anger, with grief, with hate. Her eyes were cold and hard, her gaze stony and determined.

"Send me now where I will find," tears were streaming down her face, obscuring her vision.

"What I wish in place and time!" Wyatt heard her chanting and orbed in, just in time to see her disappear into the wall with Chris. Her lunged toward the portal, but if was gone. They were gone.

San Francisco, 2004

Alison and Chris appeared in the attic of a time long past, for them at least. Alison curled up in a fetal position. "They're dead, they're dead, i got them killed, this is all my fault." she whispered, crying.

"It's okay," Chris told her, "We'll change the past so they don't have to die." She nodded numbly, and fell asleep. Chris orbed her to Piper's room, because she wasn't there.

Then he called out to Paige, and she and Phoebe orbed in. "Piper and Wyatt have been kidnapped," Paige told him, "Where the have you been ?" "Shh," he told them, "she's sleeping. I'll tell you everything."

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