October 7, 2015
Interstate 5 Highway
Just north of Longview, Washington

"...ing up on Longview."

Victoria's voice surprises me and I turn away from the passenger window, blinking. "What?"

"I said we're coming up on Longview."

"Already?"

"Traffic was pretty light. We made better time than I expected. At this rate we should be at what's left of Arcadia Bay a little after noon." She points to one of those highway signs that tell you what's available at the next exit, and Longview seems to have everything a weary traveler could ask for. "We'll be pulling off the Interstate here, so if you want to make a pit stop, now's the time."

She's right; there isn't a lot on the route between Longview and Arcadia Bay, and I really didn't think we'd get here so fast. I'd been hoping for another hour, at least. There's something I want to ask for and I've been trying to figure out how to ask for it in a way that doesn't end with her getting angry to the point of actual violence.

Looks like I'm out of time, though. I can see our exit coming up. I just have to bite the bullet and hope she listens rather than throwing me out of a moving vehicle at seventy miles per hour.

"So," I begin, watching the lines on the road pass by. "I have something I want to ask you. But before I do I want you to know that it's going to sound messed-up, so I want you to hear me out before you react."

"Compared to resetting the last two years?" she smirks. "How bad could it be?"

"I...uh..." I swallow heavily. She's definitely not going to like this. "I want to go see Mark Jefferson in prison."

I expect Victoria to explode, but she doesn't even respond. She doesn't make a sound or take her eyes off the road. After a few seconds, she glances in the rear-view mirror, activates the right turn signal, and smoothly pulls the car over to the side of the highway. Coming to a stop, she pulls up the parking brake, turns on the hazard lights, and kills the engine. Turning to face me, she smiles sweetly. "Could you please repeat that, Maxine?"

Something in her voice makes me reach for the door handle. Without breaking eye contact, Victoria's hand flashes to the driver's side lock button; the sound of the locks engaging echoes in my ears. "I said I wan-"

"Because I couldn't possibly have heard you correctly."

"Victoria, I jus-"

"Since it sounded like you just suggested we go visit Mark god damned motherfucking Jefferson in prison!" She closes her eyes and lets out a shuddering breath. "But that can't be right, because that would be fucking insane."

"Look, I know how it sounds, but..." I pause, considering the words. "You remember when you testified at his trial?"

"You're goddamn right I remember."

"And that gave you closure, didn't it? It helped you move on?"

Victoria's eyes narrow slightly. "Where are you going with this?"

"I...it's complicated."

"Then un-complicate it."

"Victoria, I...I was there. In Jefferson's Dark Room."

"What do you mean, you were there?"

"I mean he took me and he...he had me t-tied to that...that chair, and..." It's been two years, and I can still feel the tape on my wrists.

"Oh god," she whispers, the anger draining from her face. "How? When?"

She listens quietly as I recount events that never actually came to pass. How Chloe and I followed the clues to Jefferson's bunker and discovered the Dark Room, where we found the last photos ever taken of Rachel Amber. About finding Rachel's grave at American Rust, trying to stop Chloe from killing Nathan, and our panicked rush back to the junkyard to keep the evidence of Rachel's murder from being destroyed.

Seeing Chloe die, the feel of the needle piercing my neck, and looking up to see Jefferson looming over me. Waking up in the bunker, dazed and tied to a chair. Seeing that timeline's Victoria and trying to convince her that everything was going to be alright, only to have that bastard make a liar out of me.

My desperate photo jumps, the bright and shining timeline I abandoned to save the girl I love, being rescued by David, using Warren's photo to go back, saving Chloe, and setting the police on Jefferson to create that final timeline.

"When David and the cops bust into the bunker and saved me," Victoria says, slowly. "That was because of you?"

I shrug. "More or less."

"Oh, Max." She reaches over and pulls me into a hug. "Why didn't you ever tell me?"

"It didn't happen to me in this timeline. I changed things, so it didn't happen." I try to force the tremor out of my voice. "I...I didn't think I had the right. Not when you..."

"Stop that. You remember it, so it happened," she insists, unknowingly echoing Chloe's words from almost two years ago. "You have as much right to hate him as anyone."

"That's why I want to go see him. However the plan goes, this might be my last chance to look him in the eye and show him I'm not scared of him anymore. Or at least tell him to fuck himself to his face."

"Okay, that I can understand," Victoria admits with a rueful chuckle. "But as much as I'd love to give you that, I'm pretty sure you can't just drop by for a surprise visit."

"You're right. You have to be on a prisoner's approved visitor list."

"And how do you plan on getting arou..." She trails off. "Oh shit. He sent you a letter, didn't he?"

"Yeah, he did." I hesitate. "You, too?"

She nods. "And I sent him a strongly-worded response."

"How strongly worded, exactly?" Knowing Victoria, the description is probably grossly inadequate.

"I might have threatened to fillet him from the waist up, then tie the loose skin in a knot over his head so he could suffocate in his own stink."

"Holy shit, Victoria."

She shrugs at my horrified look. "I read it in a book and thought it sounded scary."

"Yeah, just a little."

"Anyway, it probably landed me on some kind of watchlist or something, so I doubt they'd let me in to see him." Victoria frowns. "But why did he send one to you, if he never...you know."

"He, uh..." I shift uncomfortably in my seat. Remembering the twisted affection Jefferson had for me makes me want to puke. "He really liked me. He said he was disappointed we never got a chance to work together. He said I could come visit anytime."

"Oh my god." Victoria looks appropriately disgusted. "That's just...ugh."

"Yeah," Another memory pops up, bringing a fond smile comes to my face. "Chloe actually burnt the letter and..." I drop my face into my hands, embarrassed. "...and then she convinced me to pee on the ashes."

"Okay, that's fucking gross," she laughs. "Totally justified, but still gross."

"It was a very Chloe idea," I admit.

"Yeah," Victoria nods. "She and I never really got along, but hearing you talk about her makes me wish I'd had a chance to know her the way you did. I never thought I'd say this, but she sounds like she was pretty cool."

"She was. And I think you two could've been friends."

"I'm pretty sure she actually hated me, Max."

I shake my head. "She hated rich Victoria. She would've liked regular-person Victoria. Regular-person Victoria is a badass."

"Damn right I am."

"So, about Jefferson...what do you say?"

Smirking, Victoria starts the engine again and smoothly pulls back onto the highway. "I say that you're long overdue to give that vile, perverted pile of dogshit a piece of your mind."

October 8, 2015
Oregon State Penitentiary
Salem, Oregon

Visiting hours at the Oregon State Penitentiary are pretty narrow; just a three-hour window in the middle of the day, and they were long over by the time we made it to Salem. I briefly considered rewinding, but that would mean going back to a point before I convinced Victoria to come here in the first place, and I really didn't feel like having that conversation again; especially not over the phone, since she'd be back in Washington state in a suddenly empty car.

We were fine spending the night in town. One of the upsides to knowing you're going to change the past is that you don't feel bad about spending money in the present. We treated ourselves to two of the best hotel rooms we could afford, ordered a ton of room service (mostly drinks and desserts) and stayed up late making fun of crappy pay-per-view movies. Then we each got to stretch out on our very own (super comfy) king size beds for an amazing night's sleep.

I woke up the next day feeling better than I have in a long while, and by the time we arrived at the penitentiary I felt ready for anything.

Getting in to see Jefferson proved to be shockingly easy. My name was still on his list of pre-approved visitors (shudder) and signing in was just a matter of showing them my driver's license. A bored-looking woman behind an inch-thick window passed a small basket to me through an opening and told me (in such a monotone that I actually wondered if it was a recording) to empty the entire contents of my pockets into it.

A moment later I was trading the full basket for a numbered slip of paper, then she directed me to follow an intimidatingly large and grim-faced guard to the visitor's area. He explained the prison's visitation rules on the way.

"Remember that you're here to visit one inmate and one inmate only. You're not to speak with anybody else, not even another visitor. You and the inmate will sit on opposite sides of the table. There will be no physical contact of any kind. Understood?"

I nod. "Got it."

"You will give absolutely nothing to the inmate. And that means nothing, no matter how harmless it may seem. No cigarettes. No photos. Not even a stick of gum. Got it?"

"You guys actually took everything I had back at the..." I trail off when he gives me a sharp look. "Right. Gotcha. Nothing."

"You're going to be monitored and recorded the entire time you're here and you'll be expected to exercise proper behavior. Any physical contact, yelling, loud cursing, vulgarity, or other kind of disruption will result in the immediate termination of your visit."

Something in the man's voice gives the impression that each rule is followed by an unspoken 'or you will be shot'. Everything around me, from the concrete walls to the reenforced steel doors, seems soulless and impersonal. This entire place feels like a draconian hellhole.

It warms my heart to know that Jefferson has been locked inside it.

We arrive at a steel door that looks more or less the same as all the others, just as the guard finishes his little speech. I wonder if he's got it timed so that happens? There's a faint buzz as the magnetic locks release, and the guard pushes the door open to reveal a large space that looks surprisingly similar to a high school cafeteria. He holds it open until I've passed through, then closes it behind me with a dull thump and gestures to a nearby table.

"Wait here and the inmate will be brought to see you. Any last questions?"

I feel like asking to borrow the taser strapped to his belt might not go over well. "No."

He gives me a curt nod, murmurs something into his radio, and moves to a small guard station next to the door. A few minutes later, he gestures to the far edge of the room. I look just in time to see another door open, revealing the one and only Mark Jefferson.

I'm not surprised to see that he looks different from the last time I saw him. His beard is gone and his hair, once carefully shaped to look just the right amount of messy, has been reduced to little more than a ragged buzz cut. The stylish-enough-to-not-look-too-stylish glasses I remember have been replaced by cheap black plastic frames, and one of the lenses is visibly scratched. I recognize the dark patches under his eyes as a dead giveaway that he doesn't get much sleep, but those eyes still light up when he sees who's come to see him.

Another equally stone-faced guard escorts him to the table as quickly as the shackles that connect his ankles and wrists will allow. The result is a satisfyingly stupid shuffle that robs him of whatever charisma he might've had left.

Sitting down as smoothly at his restraints permit, Jefferson waits quietly while the guard secured the shackles to a hook on the floor, giving me a smile that makes my skin crawl. It's not until his escort has walked away that he speaks. "Well, if it isn't Max Caulfield. I have to say I'm surprised to see you here. I was wondering if you'd actually received my lett-"

I'm out of my seat before he can finish. Surging across the table, I grab his head in both hands and slam his face into its steel surface with all the strength I have. All the time I've spent at the gym finally pays off; the crunch of his nose breaking against the tabletop might be the most gratifying sound I've ever heard in my life.

The pained howl he lets out as a torrent of blood begins pouring down his chin is a very close second.

"That was for Rachel, you sick motherfucker!" I drive a follow-up punch right into his shattered nose. It hurts and my aim is a little higher that I meant it to be, but it's absolutely worth it when the bridge of his cheap glasses snaps under my fist. Jefferson cries out again as the two halves clatter to the floor, tears of pain streaming down his face. "And that was for Victoria!"

He lets out a frightened whimper when I raise my fist again, and I swear I'd give anything for a recording of it. I'd make it my ringtone. From the side of my eye, I can see the guard that brought me in is a lot closer now. I don't have much time left to act, but I've dreamed of this moment. Without gloves or wrist wraps, this is probably going to hurt - a lot – so I want it to be worth it. That's why I'll wait the second it takes for his eyes to open. Because I want him to see it coming. And when he does open them, when he squints up at me through his tears, I know I don't have to say it. He already understands.

This one is for me.

I throw my last punch, piling all the weight I can behind it. It lands right where I want it to, just below what's left of his nose. Another bolt of pain rockets back up my wrist as his head snaps back, but the shackles keep him from going far. He almost immediately rocks forward again and spits his two front teeth out the table.

The guard's fingers are already closing around my arm when I twitch my hand. Everything freezes in place. I take one last moment to enjoy the damage I've done, wishing that my phone hadn't been taken away when I arrived; I would've loved to have a picture of this to show Victoria.

Sighing, I turn my wrist a few degrees and try to ignore the throbbing as I watch events roll back. The guard beside me withdraws his arm, then starts to run backwards to his place against the wall. Jefferson's teeth seem to hop back up into his mouth as the blood staining his orange jumpsuit flows back up into his nose. A few seconds later he seems to miraculously heal his own broken face by bouncing it off the tabletop.

I watch the world comes to a slow stop as I ease the rewind to a halt. Sitting back down, I slide my battered fist out of sight and let time resume moving forward right in the middle of Jefferson's sentence. "...surprised to see you here. I was wondering if you'd actually received my letter. But having you visit is such a pleasant..."

I don't bother listening to whatever he's rambling on about. No one ever tells you how much it hurts to punch someone, but I use that pain to help me summon up every single cruel thought I've ever had about the man. I force myself to recall everything he's done to me in excruciating detail; the feeling of duct tape on my wrists, the sudden pain of a needle piercing my neck, the nauseating disorientation of the drugs, and the words he kept muttering to me between the clicks of the camera shutter; the ones that left me feeling filthy and exposed for weeks after. Even the devastating sight of Chloe's lifeless body crumpling to the ground, the perfectly circular hole above her left eye just barely visible in the dark.

I gather all of it up - the rage and loathing and disgust he's forced me to carry for the last two years - and pour it all into the most vicious smile I can manage.

Jefferson flinches so hard, you'd think I'd pulled a gun on him.

"Stop talking, Mark," I say evenly. "It's bad enough that I have to share the same air as you. Don't make me listen to you waste it."

Pretty good, right? Victoria thought of that one.

"I..."

I make a small, sharp gesture with my left hand; enough to shut him up without accidentally alarming the guards. "The only reason I'm here is to enjoy the sight of you behind bars, hopefully getting beat up on the regular by some 300-pound guy named Tiny." I raise my voice just enough to reach the nearest tables. "Because I hear that's what happens to grown men who drug and molest teenage girls."

Jefferson's eyes go wide with terror and he ducks his head slightly. To my delight, several of the nearby prisoners look in our direction. One of them - a mountain of a man with a collection of military tattoos and biceps that look bigger than my legs - glances at the young woman sitting across from him, then turns back to glare murderously at Jefferson.

"Heh. I think you just made a new friend."

"Max, you can't..."

"You're probably thinking I just made this place into an extra special kind of hell for you, that there's going to be a waitlist for people who want to kick the living shit out of you, but you're wrong. What I just did is irrelevant, because you're irrelevant." Glancing over my shoulder, I see the same guard that brought me in making his way toward us. He really doesn't look happy. "Looks like our time is up, anyway."

"Ma-"

"Shush, now." I rise from my seat just as the guard arrives. "We're done here."

The process of signing back out is both abrupt and unfriendly. A paper bag containing the few things I checked in is practically shoved into my hands. Then I'm told, in no uncertain terms, that my name is going to be removed from Jefferson's approved visitors list and that I'll have to re-apply to get on it again.

I smile just as sweetly as I can. "No need. I won't be back."

Another expressionless guard (seriously, these guys are like Vulcans) walks me to the exit and all but shoves me out the door. Crossing the parking lot with a spring in my step, I find Victoria standing by the car, idly playing with her phone. She looks up as I get close. "So? How'd it go?"

"Pretty sure I just earned my very own spot on the no-visiting list."

"Glad to hear it," she laughs, tucking her phone away. "So, was telling him off as satisfying as you hoped?"

"It was okay," I shrug. Glancing around to make sure no one is nearby; I pull my hand out of my pocket to show her my injured knuckles. Bruises are already forming on three of them, and one is actually bleeding a little. I must've split it on Jefferson's teeth. Gross. I need to remember to disinfect that. "Punching him in the face was a real treat, though, even if it did hurt like hell."

The way Victoria's eyes light up, you'd think she just won the lottery. "Wait, are you serious?"

"Yup. It's too bad I had to rewind it away."

"How hard did you hit him?"

"Harder than I've ever hit anything in my life."

"Damn." Her eyes widen. I'm no prize fighter, but she's had to hold the punching pads for me enough times to know I'm no slouch, either. "How bad was it? Did you break his nose?"

I nod, not even trying to hide how pleased with myself I am. "Knocked a couple of his teeth out, too."

"Really?" She leans closer, excited. "Did he cry? Please, please, pleeease tell me you made him cry."

"Like a little bitch."

"That's beautiful, Max. That's just beautiful." She pretends to wipe away a tear. "The only crime is that you couldn't leave him like that."

"Yeah. Though I did very loudly call him out for molesting teenage girls. A lot of the other prisoners in the room didn't seem too pleased about that. Even if all of this does get rewound away, I bet tonight is gonna be pretty nasty for him."

"Oh, shit!" Victoria crows, laughing loudly enough to startle a passing couple. "You are my goddamn hero!"

"All in a day's work, ma'am." Grinning, I bump my shoulder against hers. "Let's get out of here."