While Bert took up residence on her fallen tree, Roger paced the snow laden landscape restlessly. Unlike before his body was beginning to feel tired, and the cold was penetrating the dress shirt and pants he wore. In the distance he thought he could hear the sounds of sirens, but like everything else he determined that it was a giant mirage. He audibly sighed as he paced.

" Roger, time is growing short. Have you made a decision?"

Roger narrowed his eyes and stared at the old woman but continued to pace. He shoved his hands into his pockets. An odd sensation washed over him as his fingers grazed the setting on the ring in his pocket. It was Holly's ring, the one he would give her when she agreed to become his wife, only she'd never wear it. She'd never forgive him. He wrapped his hand tightly around it. There was Blake, and his grandchild. He longed to be a grandfather. He knew, or at least hoped that he'd be a better grandfather than he was a father. He'd teach him, or her, he surmised how to play the piano and to love poetry. The thought made him smile but just as quickly he scowled when he remembered that Ross Marler was the child's father. Sure, he had said some comforting words about him to Blake, but how would he feel in the months that followed, leading up to and following the birth of the heir apparent. He sighed again before stopping and turning towards Bert.

"Alright, I've come this far. Let's go." He reached out to her, but she didn't take his hand right away. He threw it upward in frustration. "I said I'm ready. What are you waiting for?"

"Come sit a moment" She laid a hand softly on the log next to her.

"Damn it, would you make up your mind? You said we don't have a lot of time!"

"We have time for this. Come sit" She beckoned.

Begrudgingly, Roger joined her on the log, hands folded over his chest in an attempt to stave off the chill he was feeling. In the dim light he could see that Bert appeared almost ashen for a better term.

"I have to warn you, Roger. Not unlike the events we viewed in the past, the events of the future will give you little comfort."

"And the present did? Holly hates me, Blake is despondent because her mother and I have abandoned her yet again. How much worse can the future be without me in it?"

It was a rhetorical question of course, but Bert answered anyway.

"Roger, the future you will see will at the very least be surprising. However you still have a choice. You can choose to be the man you want everyone to believe you've become and change the future or you can die before the night's end. The choice will be yours, always.

Roger swallowed. He watched his younger self abuse Holly, and lie to their daughter. He watched Holly' and Blake's relationship disintegrate when she found out he, not Ed Bauer, was her father, if he could survive the past, he was certain the future wouldn't hurt him more any further than he had hurt those he professed to love. He lowered his head and again reached out a hand.

"I'm ready," He said quietly.

"Alright then, just remember, what you see doesn't have to happen."

When they arrived at their destination Roger had his eyes tightly closed. The thought of a future he needed to be warned against scared him. He inhaled deeply and could smell the fragrant note of flowers. He next heard the soft sounds of a pipe organ. He pursed his lips and shook his head before opening his eyes. He knew exactly where they were, Holly was getting married and this was her wedding.

"Oh look, there's Ed" Bert mused from beside him, causing Roger's eyes to fly open.

He looked to where the groom would stand, but instead of a man in a tuxedo he saw the back of a framed portrait sitting on an easel. A hard lump formed in his throat. He looked past the steps of the altar on which they stood and looked down the aisle, and yes, Bert was right. Walking up the center was Ed. Roger watched as he approached Blake who was sitting, crying into a handkerchief in the front row. He cocked his head as if to hear the conversation between them.

Blake looked up at Ed as he embraced her. Her eyes were rimmed in red, the lines from fallen tears clearly visible on her face, and while heavily made up it couldn't hide the dark circles that formed around them. Roger watched as Ed guided Blake to the casket, one made of dark wood, and covered in a blanket of flowers. His eyes narrowed. Ed seemed just as upset by the person inside as Blake.

"Oh my God, it's Ross!" Roger surmised. "It is, isn't it?" He turned and asked Bert, but she had manifested herself in the crowd. "Damn it" Roger swore, immediately turning his attention back to the mourners. Notably absent was Holly. His eyes shifted back to Blake who was being guided back to her seat. "Where are you Holly? Our daughter needs you!" He yelled needlessly, for as was the case in the past no one could hear his scream. Shifting his weight he looked down the long aisle of the church when he saw him, Ross, rushing forward. Roger, while still confused, was relieved.

He watched with great interest as Ross rushed to Blake, and immediately took her in his arms. From his vantage point he could see the pew line clearly, but wasn't privy to what was being conveyed in hushed whispers. Suddenly a grotesque thought crossed his mind. If it wasn't Ross, it had to be him. He had to be the occupant in the box. That, he decided, explained Holly's absence, she wouldn't mourn him. Not after she thought that he had slept with Alexandra.

"Damn it" He swore again. His feet felt like lead, but he urged them to move forward. He wanted to see himself in death.

As he did Bert was again by his side. "I'm sorry" She whispered, as if anyone in the church could accidentally overhear them.

"I need to see." Roger swallowed the word "myself" that would have followed.

"I agree," Bert confirmed, "but remember, you can change this. This doesn't have to be how it ends"

Roger nodded and slowly made his way to the last step on the altar. Before he could make his way to the front however, a trio that he wouldn't expect at his funeral arrived. Gilly Grant, his station manager, was flanked by Nick McHenry, and Fletcher Reade.

"Feeling guilty, Gilly? Should have tried to talk me out of leaving the station in a blizzard maybe" Roger chuckled to himself. Her arrival he could explain, but Nick and Fletcher. No, that was all too bizarre even for this experience. Quietly he watched. This time he was close enough to hear what the mourners were saying.

"It's a shame," Gilly said. "Such promise wasted over an affair that proved to be an illusion"

"Atta girl,Gilly," Roger congratulated with a smile..

"Oh please, they didn't belong together anway! That was a waste, so much time lost that could have been spent…"

His words were cut off when the organ swelled, indicating that it was time for the priest to begin his incantation. Roger watched as Nick and Fletcher took their seats, while Gilly quickly went to say something to Blake. As the pontiff walked up the aisle, an altar boy swung a brass vessel containing smoking incense. This display confused Roger. He wasn't a religious man. Holly was, but not him. Sunday's weren't for kneeling, he once said, but for practicing the art of meditation and he didn't mean at the altar either.

Roger leaned in and asked Bert whose idea this spectacle was.

"Why don't you go see for yourself?" She said, tipping her head towards the portrait.

"Fine." Roger conceded.

He stepped around the casket and stared at the large gilded portrait in front of him, only it wasn't his graven image that was returned, but one of Holly. He knew the image well. Her flaming auburn hair, her big brown eyes, her smile. She was dressed in purple against a black background, and she looked radiant, but why was her photo here? Why was it at his funeral? Then he looked into the casket and screamed.