March 11, 2015
Caulfield Residence
Seattle, Washington

"Happy birthday to you, happy birthday to you," I sing softly, my voice cracking as I run my fingertips over the framed photo. "H-happy birthday, my Chloe. Ha...hap..." Sobbing, I squeeze my eyes shut and clutch the frame to my chest.

I asked my question, I got my answer, and it only made things worse.

He warned you, you idiot, I berate myself for the hundredth time. You should've listened.

I've barely left my room in a week, let alone the house. The trip back from the hospital is a blur. So is what I said to my parents when I got home, but whatever it was, it's kept them from bothering me. My phone rang a lot the first day or so - probably my friends trying to get ahold of me at my parent's request. I couldn't be bothered to answer. They might still be trying, for all I know, but my phone is on the other side of the room and I honestly can't remember the last time I charged it.

I open my eyes to gaze at the picture again. It's the original version of the photo that had been placed atop Chloe's casket at the funeral and, until I took it, had hung above the fireplace in the living room.

My mother had taken it on Christmas morning in 2013, only a few months after the storm. The two of us had come downstairs to find dozens of wrapped boxes around the tree. My parents had gone all out, buying Chloe as much as they could afford, to replace all the things she'd lost. I remember that morning like it was yesterday, just like I remember the radiant smile she'd worn the rest of the day.

It's such a beautiful shot, full of warmth and happiness, and - in a cruel twist of fate - had been deliberately taken when I wasn't in the room. As much as they wanted to capture the moment, they hadn't wanted to upset me on Christmas. And I'd actually been thankful that they'd had been so considerate.

Even though I'd never gone through it in this timeline, memories of Mark Jefferson and his Dark Room have plagued me ever since Arcadia Bay. I've barely been able to stand the sight of cameras since, just the thought of having one pointed at me makes my skin crawl. That was the scar Jefferson left on me; an aversion to having my picture taken so severe that I'd actually refused to go up on stage for my own high school graduation.

Not the kind of thing that leads to a career as a photographer.

I've only managed to overcome it twice. One of those pictures is on my driver's license, and the other is the thing that keeps pulling my gaze back to the closet across the room. It's in the box tucked away at the back, carefully hidden away from prying eyes.

I desperately want to look at it, but I'm not sure I'll be able to resist the temptation that comes with it.

As we'd moved into the new year and the events of Arcadia Bay's final week fell further into the past, I'd tried to get over my issues around cameras. The therapist my parents asked me to go to had helped a little, but she didn't know the whole story and it's tough to help someone get over something that technically didn't happen.

I did have a little success, here and there. As time went on, I eventually stopped breaking out in a cold sweat when I saw somebody holding a camera or flinching at the sound of a shutter. I was even able to walk through the more tourist-y parts of town without feeling like there were a thousand eyes on me.

But it'd been for Chloe's sake, on our first Valentine's Day as a couple, that I'd finally found the strength to stand in front of a lens. She'd insisted that she was going to take me on a fancy date and the moment we'd come downstairs, all done up for our evening out, Mom had started going on about how beautiful we both looked.

I'd done the whole 'embarrassed teenage daughter' thing, of course, but I couldn't deny that Chloe looked stunning. I'd teased her that dressing nice would mean having to dig out her only pair of non-ripped jeans, but the clingy deep blue dress she'd worn had been absolutely breathtaking. We hadn't even left the house, and my imagination had already moved way past dinner.

And somehow, whether it'd been Mom's gushing or Chloe's adoring smile or both, I'd agreed to pose for a single photo.

Slowly climbing out of bed, I'm almost to the closet when I narrowly avoid stepping on my missing phone, half hidden under a dirty t-shirt. When I pick it up, I'm surprised to find that it's not only fully charged, but that it's been plugged into the charger the whole time. No messages, though. I guess people decided not to bother anymore.

That probably would have upset me a lot more a couple of months ago.

The closet door opens with a familiar creak. Sitting down on the floor, I reach in to pull the box from under a ratty blanket and lift the lid. The first thing I see is a package wrapped in cheerfully colored paper that would have been Chloe's twenty-first birthday present.

Despite advice to temper my expectations, I'd been almost certain that Chloe was going to be the one to beat the odds. So much so that I'd bought her gift almost six months in advance. When I'd come across the black hoodie proclaiming 'Cancer Is My Bitch' across the front in ridiculously bright pink letters, I'd known that she would absolutely love it.

I gently place it to one side, trying not to think about how useless it is now, and underneath I find the thing I'm looking for, staring right back up at me.

We'd only ever had one copy printed and I'd never had the courage to frame it, but I couldn't imagine ever getting rid of it. Instead I'd hidden it away like the rare treasure it was, because for all that Chloe and I had loved each other, it's the only photographic evidence of us as a couple.

Gazing at the picture and running my fingers over its glossy surface, I start to hear the faint sounds from the other side and force myself to look away.

I have to stop. I made a promise. I gave Chloe my word that I wouldn't do this.

But what harm could it do if I just take a quick look? Go back and breathe in the moment? See her smile again? Just because I visit doesn't mean I have to change anything, right? So long as I'm careful not to say or do anything unusual, it wouldn't change a thing. I'll be super quick and won't interact with anything or anyone.

"Just for second," I mutter to an otherwise indifferent room.

Taking a deep breath, I look back at the photo and almost immediately the world around it begins to blur. As the image itself sharpens, Chloe, me, and our surroundings seem to take on more depth, like watching a 3D movie. Next comes the feeling I remember; the sensation of gently tipping forward as the sounds of the past echo in my ears. Then there's a blinding flash and I hear my Mom's laugh.

"That's a keeper!"

I'm blinking the spots from my vision as she lowers the camera, still getting my bearings when I hear Chloe's familiar 'I Fought The Law' ringtone beside me.

"Oh, hang on. I gotta take this." Before I can turn to look at her, Chloe has pulled her phone from her pocket and moved away. A half-second later she's past the memory's glowing barrier and out of reach, and it takes me another second to figure out what had just happened. That had been the day Chloe's boss had offered her a full-time apprentice position at the garage. She'd come back from that phone call so excited that she'd actually been bouncing on her toes.

Memory is a funny thing. Looking back, I'd always thought of that day as a turning point in dealing with my fear of cameras. But apparently it'd still been so bad that I'd forgotten about Chloe's phone going off almost as soon as the picture had been taken.

Just one more time I thought I was stronger than I really am.

"Are you alright, sweetheart?" I glance over to see my Mom giving me a slightly concerned look, but I don't bother to reply.

Moving carefully to where I'd been standing, I lift my hand, take hold, and let myself be pulled back to the instant the photograph was taken. My arrival there is surprisingly jarring. It feels a little like running into a padded wall, and I lose my hold on the rewind when I hit it. I guess it's not surprising that I can't rewind to before the picture was taken, and I'd probably be more interested in why that was if I weren't already exactly when I wanted to be.

"That's a keeper!" Mom laughs, and although the camera's flash practically blinded me again, I immediately spin to face Chloe. She makes a sweet little surprised noise, but as my vision clears all I can think about is that she's here. She's right here and right in front of me and so, so beautiful.

"Hey there, cutie. Happy to see me?" she asks, flashing me that wonderful smile of hers and leaving me breathless. It's not the words that have me struck dumb. Chloe is...was...always so affectionate to me. But I haven't heard her voice in more than a month and even then it'd been so, so long since it sounded so rich and full and beautiful that my promise to myself goes right out the window.

"So happy. I love you so mu-" Her ringtone cuts me off before I can finish breaking my promise.

She laughs. "Hold that thought, babe? I'll just be a second."

I feel like such an idiot, watching her vanish past the edge of the photo. What had I been thinking? I'd been delusional to think I could really come back and just look. Could I really just stand here, look into her eyes, and not do everything in my power to save her life?

"Of course not," I whisper to myself.

"What was tha-"

I don't even let Mom finish before I rewind back to the beginning.

"That's a keeper!" she laughs. Again.

I blink stupidly, trying to recover from that ridiculously overpowered flash. Again.

My vision clears to reveal Chloe giving me that smile that makes my heart ache. Again.

"Chloe, I need to tell y-" I'm interrupted by her ringtone. Again.

"Oh, hang on. I gotta take this."

"It's not that important!" I try to grab the phone from her hand.

"You'd be surprised, hot stuff," Chloe fires back, winking as she lifts it out of reach. "I'm hoping this is good news."

Chloe vanishes into the wall of light, and I rewind. Again.

I hit that same soft barrier, but this time I'm expecting it. Letting go of the rewind, I close my eyes to avoid being dazzled by the flash.

"That's a keeper!"

I'm still thinking of something to say when I hear her ringtone and I angrily swipe at the device as soon as it clears Chloe's pocket. My hand connects and knocks it from hers, sending it clattering across the floor and past the barrier.

"What the shit, Max?!

"Wait, Chloe! I need to talk to you!"

"Then just say so next time!" she shouts over her shoulder as she walks away. "You better not have broken my phone."

And then, once more, she vanishes from sight. I react with a rewind that's a lot more aggressive than it needs to be, so much that even the soft barrier at the memory's opening hurts a little when I hit it.

"That's a ke-!"

I don't even let Mom finish before I grab Chloe by the arm and shout, "Cancer!"

Chloe gives me a funny look, then laughs and pulls free of my grasp. "Actually, I'm pretty sure I'm a Pisces."

Seriously? That's where her mind goes with that? Unbelievable. "What?! No, I mean yo-"

"Pause button, cutie," Chloe interrupts, tapping one fingertip on my nose and laughing when I sputter. "I'll be right back."

And then she's gone. Again.

"Son of a bitch!" I shout, stomping on the floor hard enough to actually startle my parents.

"Maxine! Watch your language!"

Mom is giving me the kind of scowl that only mothers unimpressed with their children's behavior can pull off. It'd probably work if I gave a crap what she thought. Right now I'm so frustrated that, for a fleeting second, I honestly consider slapping that look right off her face. But the urge vanishes as quickly as it appeared. Mom didn't do anything to deserve that.

"Sorry, mom." I manage to sound genuinely contrite as I try to come up with something decently believable. "I...uh...I bit my tongue."

Thinking about it, I don't know why I'm bothering with either restraint or excuses. It's not as though it matters. I'm just going to rewind and try again. I have to. I can't give up now, not when she's right there.

I roll things back, and this time I'm ready.

"That's a keeper!"

It doesn't matter that my vision is still a little dazzled by the flash; I already know exactly where Chloe is standing, and I don't hesitate for a second. I've got my arms wrapped around her before she knows what's happening, pressing my cheek to hers as I whisper, "Photo rewind."

I can't see her expression, but I definitely hear her startled gasp next to my ear. Her entire body goes stiff in my arms, then she lets out a delighted laugh. I'm so surprised that I allow her to pull back a bit, just enough to see her face. My mom and dad are standing behind her; they don't see the flinty look in her eyes, and she sounds like she's smiling when she says, "You too, cutie."

When her phone rings, she silences it without even breaking eye contact. I hadn't been sure what reaction to expect from her, but I know this isn't it. She holds her glare for another second, then looks back over her shoulder with a grin that actually looks sincere and gives my parents a little wink. "Just a heads up, we're about to get all disgustingly sweet and romantic here."

"Alright, we can take a hint. We'll give you two a minute," Mom laughs, taking Dad by the arm and leading him out of the room. They're out of sight for less than a second before Chloe hisses, much too quietly for them to hear, "What date?"

"Chloe, I..."

"What date did you come back from, Max?" There's a harshness in her voice I haven't heard since after we found Rachel's body and even though I know Chloe would never hurt me, I still feel a shiver of fear run up my spine.

"Your birthday."

"Next month?"

"N-no." I shake my head jerkily. "Next year."

"What time?"

"I...I don't..." I can't imagine why it matters, but her eyes make it clear how important it is to her. Racking my brain, I manage to remember what was on my bedside clock right before I came back. "A little after noon, I think? Chloe, I need to..."

"Stop." She grabs my arm. "Not one word, Max. Don't you say one more fucking word."

"But I..."

Chloe's grip tightens. It's not enough to hurt but I still let out a surprised squeak. Her hard expression vanishes and she recoils like she's been burnt. She looks shocked and distraught and a little afraid as her eyes jump between me and her hand. "Oh god, I...I didn't mean to squeeze that hard!"

When I open my mouth to tell her I'm fine, she places her hand over it. Her touch is feather light, but it's enough to silence me.

"I'm so sorry, Max, but I meant what I said. Please don't say anything." There's a tremor in her voice now and eyes are full of disappointment. "You gave me your word that you'd never, ever do this again. You remember that, right?"

I nod again, slowly.

"Right. And I know you must think you've got a good reason, but whatever it is, it's not enough to be worth it. It's just too dangerous."

Half of me wants to ignore her and start speaking anyway. The other half is rejoicing at the feel of her fingertips pressed against my lips.

"So, here's what's going to happen. You're going to go back to your time, and I'm going to pretend this never happened. I'll never tell the past version of you. If she asks about the lost time, I'll blame the camera and she'll believe me. It's going to kill me to lie to her, but that's how it has to be. Got it?"

And that's when I realize that no matter what I say or do, this is never going to work. She'll never let it. She'll take whatever steps are necessary to protect me from myself, even if it means sacrificing her own life in the process. And she'll do it without the slightest hesitation, just like she would have that day by the lighthouse.

Because she's a hero.

More of a hero than I'll ever be.

"Now, you need to get going so I can call my boss back. Hopefully I'm not fired or anything, cause that'd put a real damper on our date."

"You're not."

I couldn't help reassuring her, and I think she knows it because there's barely any heat behind her glare. She even looks the tiniest bit relieved. "Alright. I'm gonna let you have just that one."

I nod. Then, a hint of a smile pulling at the corner of my lips, I decide to push my luck a little. "I love you."

There's no glare this time. Just that wonderful, beautiful, one-of-a-kind crooked grin that's hers and hers alone. "I love you, too, smartass. Now get out of here before I have to explain to my Max why I gagged her." She's almost at the barrier when she pauses, looking back. "Oh, and do me a favor? Check your email when you get back."

I can't bear to watch her pass through the barrier, and after she's gone, I already know that no amount of rewinding will change how this plays out. Letting the burnt orange light close in, I try not to cry as my unkept bedroom comes into focus around me.

The bed is still a mess, and my half-eaten breakfast is still on the desk, long since gone cold. Worst of all is the plain, black dress I wore to Chloe's funeral, which is still crumpled in the corner where I threw it weeks earlier. Nothing has gotten better. Nothing is different at all.

Of course it isn't. Because she knew. Chloe always knew. I couldn't change anything because I'd always gone back to that day. I was marching perfectly in time with a past I'd never even known about in the first place.

It's why I remembered Chloe getting the job offer but had somehow forgotten her getting the phone call. Thinking back, Chloe actually had told me that having my picture taken had left me a little dazed. She'd been right about me believing her, too. I'd never even questioned it.

I let the photo fall from my hand with a sigh, and just as it lands back in the box of keepsakes, my phone lets out a soft chirp. I look down to find a single notification on the lock screen.

I've got a new email...and it's from Chloe.

No.

She didn't.

She wouldn't.

Oh, who the hell am I kidding?

Of course she would.

Hey Cutie,

Did you know you can set up emails to deliver on a specific date? Like, months after you actually hit the send button? So even though I'm writing this on Feb 2nd, you won't get it until my birthday.

(By the way, I hope you realize just how infuriatingly stubborn you can be. I swear it took me almost an hour to convince you to go home and get some sleep, just so I'd have time to write this at all.)

First off, let me just say that I think I've done a pretty good job keeping it all a secret for the last year. You never suspected a thing, did you? It wasn't the easiest thing to do, but I'm an old hand at keeping big secrets away from people who will just get hurt by them. I know that doesn't sound good, but I learned a long time ago that sometimes we have to lie to the people we love to protect them.

The first few months were probably the toughest. I was constantly second-guessing myself. I couldn't help but wonder what horrible thing you'd come back to prevent. Was it something personal, like one of your parents dying? Was it something huge, like the next 9/11 or something? Had I even made the right choice by not letting you tell me?

But when Doc Morris said the word cancer, my first thought was 'yeah, of course that's what it is'.

Well, my actual first thought was more like, 'oh, fuck', but you know what I mean.

Even then, part of me hoped I was wrong. I hoped that I'd recover and that you'd gone back to prevent some completely different terrible thing. I wanted that to be true so badly, but I never really managed to convince myself it was. Deep down, I've always known that there's only one thing that could make you do something so stupidly risky.

Alright, just a heads up: this thing is about to get pretty sappy, so I won't judge you if you want to cry. If you need to go get tissues, now is the time. You've been warned.

I meant it when I said I'm not scared of dying, but I am scared of being without you. I don't know if there's a heaven (or a hell, though I hope I haven't done anything bad enough for that to matter), but would you believe that if there is, that I don't want to go if it means leaving you? You're my everything, and the darkest days of my life were the ones when I didn't have you. I can't believe how lucky we are that we got a second chance.

I want you to know that I understand now, and that I don't blame you for wanting to change the past. And since I'm still here, I can only assume that you never tried again. I'm so proud of you for that. You have no idea. I'm proud because if I'd been in your shoes, I know I wouldn't have listened. I wouldn't have had the strength to let you go. I'd have moved heaven and earth to get you back, even if I had to break both of them to do it.

I'm not saying that's a good thing, cause it definitely isn't. It would have been stupid, selfish, and kinda self-destructive. But then, if I'd ever had an autobiography, that would've made a pretty decent title.

I guess what I'm trying to say is that it blows my mind how in love we are, and love can make people do some pretty crazy stuff sometimes.

Now, before you go getting any more ideas, I need you to know that I actually talked to the Doc about it the other day. He made it pretty clear that while it might've helped if we'd known about my cancer on Valentine's, it still only would have made it a 50/50 shot. I would've had to start treatment months earlier to really change the odds, and I'm pretty sure the only pictures left of us from before Valentine's are from when we were thirteen.

JUST SO WE'RE CLEAR, DON'T YOU DARE USE THOSE OR ANY OTHER PICTURES OR I SWEAR I'LL SEND SOME REALLY NASTY GHOSTS TO HAUNT YOUR SCRAWNY HIPSTER ASS! DO NOT TEST ME, WOMAN!

(I'd threaten to come down and haunt you myself, but come on. Let's be real. I'm probably going to try and figure out how to do that anyway. So if you're in the shower and the shampoo bottle suddenly falls over, don't be scared. That's just me perving on you from beyond the grave.)

I need you to know that I've cherished all the time we've had together, and that I wouldn't trade a single second of it for anything. But if you're reading this, it means our time is over. And while I'm not dumb enough to ask you to just let me go, I do have a last request. I want you to go have an amazing life. I want you to travel to new places and collect postcard and try weird foods and find different music and basically just go out and own the world.

(And maybe consider taking up pottery so I can go all Patrick Swayze sexy ghost on you. Just an idea.)

And I don't want you to do any of that for me, Max. I want you to do it for YOU.

I'm getting pretty tired now, so I'm gonna close with something you probably thought you'd never, ever see. Remember how you once said that I'd eventually break down and start using emojis like a normal person? And then I told you that it'd be over my cold, dead body? Well...

( ˘ ³˘)~

I love you, Max Caulfield, with all the fire in my heart, and as much more as I could grab when no one was looking.

Goodbye,

Chloe Elizabeth 'Danger' Price