Chapter 8; Didn't Happen

The end is near
And it's high time
The light's amazing, man
So time your Instagram
The rapture swallowing the land
But we're the last ones laughing
Pictures or it didn't happen

-Amanda Palmer, Smile

October 11, 2013. For real this time.

Max Caulfield fell out of a moving vehicle in one reality and landed in the street in another reality altogether.

This reality was dead. It just didn't know it yet. It kicked and screamed and would not be still. A massive tornado, a storm beyond reason perched over the water just outside of Arcadia Bay.

Max landed badly. She rolled along the street, battered and bruised. Ironically, the straitjacket afforded her some protection, keeping her arms tucked in tight to her torso. Her unprotected forehead took a bad scrape, stinging and caked with dirt.

Groaning, she forced herself to focus past the pain. Sitting up, she saw Jane's van driving away, out of town. Or at least, the Jane in that reality, fleeing the tornado. Max wondered if that was when Jane stole the van or if she'd had it the whole time she was living on the street behind the Two Whales. What would have happened if she hadn't warned Jane about the storm? Would it have killed her? And what would that have done? To hear Jane tell it, that would have ended one reality and spawned another; a fresh new loop starting from 1978. Maybe that had already happened! Maybe Jane knew about the tornado the whole time! Max rankled at the thought. That meant there wasn't a single word spoken between herself and Jane that wasn't fake. No moment of interaction when Max wasn't being played. Somehow, despite everything else that had happened, that still stung.

Shaking her head, Max focused her thoughts on her surroundings. She scooted her legs under her body and awkwardly rose to her feet. Everything was exactly as she had left it, for whatever that was worth. Raging surf, tossed cars, dead whales. Arcadia Bay lay in ruins, and above the water hovering Rachel's storm, looming like some vast predatory bird.

Nearby, the storm had sheared off the tops of several parking signs, leaving sharp edges on the exposed u-channel posts. Dragging the jacket against the jagged metal, Max managed after several attempts to rip a hole large enough to allow her hand to escape. She quickly undid the straps and wriggled her way out of the musty old thing. As she cast it aside, the wind took it and sent it dancing away down the street. One of the loose sleeves almost seemed to be waving goodbye.

"I guess we're both free now," said Max to herself. She wanted to take a photo of it, but she had no earthly idea where her camera was any more. Glancing down the street, she saw the Two Whales diner was still intact, which meant in this particular dead reality, her camera was with her other self, who would be just escaping the dark room and driving furiously downtown to reach Warren. As soon as that other Max traveled into Warren's photo, this reality would end. As much as she didn't want to have to meet a prior version of herself, she had more pressing problems.

"Okay, let's test this theory, before we bet the farm on it," she mused out loud. Scanning the street she saw most of the doors were broken or blocked with debris, but she managed to find one that was intact on the front office building of the Harbor Inn.

Leaning against the door and doing her best to shut out the weather, Max concentrated on sifting through time. She scrolled up towards the future, saw debris flying as the tornado got closer and then, suddenly, nothingness! Max's brain felt as if it was being pulled from her skull. The void devoured her eyes and ears. She pushed away from the door with all her might, fighting off the sucking emptiness that clawed at her mind. She fell to her seat on the sidewalk, gasping for breath.

Jane was right! Dead realities end when they end, and everything in them ceases. Becomes nothing! Max had maybe 10 minutes to do what she needed to do and escape or this timeline would take her down with it. Debris and torn strips of siding fell from the second story, blocking her access to the door.

"There's not enough time!" she cried. "Come on, Rachel! Are you really going to make me do this?"

Minutes later, Max stood on the shore of Arcadia Bay, buffeted by salty spray and whipping winds. Before her loomed the tornado, a massive, swirling mountain of noise and anger.

Once, she had thought of it as HER storm; her own personal penance for meddling in destiny. She supposed that was arrogant of her, in hindsight, to have imagined there was some cosmic presence that cared so deeply about her fate and the fate of her friends as to send divine retribution when defied. Now, she knew the truth. The storm was little more than a side-effect, and the only hand on the wheel all these years had been Jane's, twisting, warping, mutilating Max's life and the lives of everyone around her to suit her own ends.

Max looked behind her, back at the derailed lumber train she had to climb over to reach the beach. Lying forlorn on its side, tossed off its tracks, logs scattered across the street like pick-up sticks. Just the week prior, she and Chloe had run from that train, or at least, one very like it.

She wanted to run now. She wanted to find a dead reality where Chloe was alive and sneak away with her to some other timeline. Get away and start a whole new life. Maybe they could defy destiny after all, but they could not defy Jane. Max knew that now. Even if they got out somehow and Jane never found them, their escape would just bring more suffering to someone else; Another Max and Chloe in another loop or their friends and loved ones.

No, the time for running was over.

Max thrust both hands out in front her, clenching into the flow of time. With little left to lose, she took a step out onto the water, frozen in time. Locked in place, unable to part, the surface of the water held her weight.

Stepping out onto the harbor, she stared down the storm. The winds bit into her face and hands. She moved one arm up in front of her face to block debris, and with that hand she clutched her fingers, slowing the winds by locking them in time, grinding them under the weight of her will. She felt a powerful resistance. Not just the force of the wind, but something more. An opposing will. Not a mind, but something less than that. A remnant. A memory. Raw emotion untethered. Unlike in her drug-induced nightmare, this time it had nothing to say.

"Rachel, you were right!" she yelled into the vortex. "I was selfish! I never really thought about trying to save you! All I wanted was for things to go back to normal!"

Max's arms shook from exertion. Her hands felt like they would seize up into twisted claws. She could feel the winds slowing, the howl of them drawn out into a mournful moan. "I never thought I could save you! I never thought I had the right to choose! It shouldn't be my decision!"

She felt the force behind the storm struggle and scream, an anguished voice on the wind. The storm threw gust after gust at Max, attempting to drive her back, but reaching out with her mind, Max clawed at the machinery of time, holding it fixed in place. She could feel it in her hands, a tangible, workable thing. It felt like the wax in a lava lamp looks; motile and flowing.

"I didn't ask for this! I didn't want this! But if I have to be the one who chooses, then I fucking choose! Everybody lives!"

With a loud cry and a thrashing motion, Max tore the tornado from time itself. She felt the physical stuff of it come apart in her hands, freezing the storm in place. There was a deafening ripping sound, rising into a lonely wail. No, not a sound. She didn't hear it. This was some other sense entirely, the same that allowed Max to see the ragged edges, to feel the pain of the wound she had ripped into the fabric of the time. The storm still moved, but imperceptibly slow. It would never reach the shore, not in this reality.

Exhausted, Max dropped like a stone into the roiling surf. The salt water stung her eyes and she nearly gasped at the shock of the cold. Her head spun as the current crushed her to the bottom and rolled her back and forth. She fought to right herself, but the waves dragged her along the rough sand and rocks. She tried getting her feet under her but was brutally knocked off balance again and again. She felt her hand break the surface but was thrown down again by the current, submerged stones digging into her back and head. Tossed and dragged like a rag-doll, bruised and bloodied, Max was quickly losing track of which way was even up.

Her lungs burned in screaming, piercing pain. A primal, physical urge to open her mouth and gulp for breath permeated her whole body and she shook from the effort of holding it back. Then suddenly, the decision was made for her. A sharp stone slammed her hard in the small of the back. She involuntarily gasped as her head was thrown back and the cold, salty water rushed down inside her. Max expected to feel crushed, or even more panicked, but mostly she just felt the chill of it; An icy, creeping sensation, like a skeletal hand reaching down her throat.

Her vision dimmed. Time dilated. Whether this was some side effect of her power or an experience common to everyone when they died, Max would never know. She hung suspended and still in the water, unmoving, unbreathing, unfeeling for what seemed both an hour and an instant. The water held her in a way that was strangely soothing. Rest, it seemed to say. No more struggle. No more pain. Just sleep. Sleep forever and you won't even notice the cold.

"Well, this is it," she thought to herself. "Wherever I end up, I hope Chloe is there."

Chloe.

There was another time. Max remembered. As last memories go, it wasn't bad. She could do worse.

There was another time. Like this. These very same waters. In her lungs. The same sand in her eyes.

Drowning.

Dying.

Well, not really. She had thought she was dying. Just knocked down by a big wave and swallowed some water but, to seven year old Max, it had seemed the same; seemed final.

And then there was a girl! She was only a year older, but bigger than Max. She was always bigger, and she always would be, but there was more. An infinite confidence about her; a swagger in her smile that said she knew she was capable of anything.

This girl had pulled seven year old Max from the waves back then and helped her to her feet. This girl had sat with her while she cried and told her stupid jokes until she smiled again.

Chloe.

Max realized she had never really paid Chloe back for that.

So, no.

No, not yet. It wasn't time to rest.

Soon.

But not yet!

With the last of her strength, she kicked and reached out. Her hand broke the surface, and then suddenly, something had her, she was stuck! No, being pulled! A strong hand had her by the collar and yanked her to the surface. Sputtering and gasping for air, she felt her body dragged through the surf and past the breakers, over the sand to safety. She rolled to her side and broke into a fit of coughing, expelling the last of the salt water from her lungs, then flopped onto her back in the sand, utterly spent. She was tired in places she didn't know she could be tired. Her entire skeletal structure felt like someone had put it through a rock tumbler.

Eventually, Max realized she could hear ragged breathing from the form sitting next to her. Blinking, she wiped the stinging salt water from her eyes. As her vision cleared, she saw above her a purple halo of hair, back-lit by the flames of burning buildings.

"Alyssa? You saved me?" she asked weakly.

Alyssa was sat on her haunch, breathing heavily. Her clothes were wet up to the chest. "Yeah Max, you helped me all those times this week. It would be weird if I didn't pay you back!" laughed Alyssa, rising to her feet. Grasping Max's hand, she helped the smaller girl sit up. Sand sticking to her mussed hair and torn clothes, Max looked right at home amid the storm's flotsam. "You actually weren't that far out, but the current was keeping you under. I saw you go in, but it was so dark! If you hadn't stuck your hand up, I wouldn't have found you!"

Max blinked at her weakly. She had no response beyond a nod.

Alyssa asked, "Max, I... I saw what you did. Walking on water, waving your hands! You froze the tornado! It's blowing my mind! Are you... are you some kind of wizard?"

"No. Well, I don't know. Maybe. Sure," Max mumbled as she tried to get to her feet. Everything hurt. It seemed like nothing was broken, but many things were bruised or sprained or scraped.

Alyssa grabbed her elbow, "Let me help you!"

"You can't help me, Alyssa!" Max protested, although she didn't pull her arm away. Once she was on her feet and reasonably confident she could stay there unaided, she added, "Not unless you know a way to defeat an ancient, immortal psychopath."

"Well, in Ultima 1, when the evil wizard Mondain had the gem of Immortality that made him indestructible..." Alyssa started brightly. In response to Max's quizzical expression she added defensively, "What? I like retro gaming. You're not the only one who goes retro, Max!"

Max managed to suppress an eye-roll, "Okay, so how do you stop this invincible wizard?"

"You can't. You have to go back in time to before he got the gem and kill him then."

Max looked wide-eyed at Alyssa. This was just like Steph all over again! What was it with gamers and killing? But then, with Steph, they had only been talking about Mark Jefferson. How quaint and harmless he seemed now! But this was Jane; murderer, immortal, time-traveler. Jane, who had told her, in no uncertain terms that she would stop at nothing to restore her original reality. When Max thought Jane would kill again, that wasn't some abstract conjecture. If the loops kept happening, Max knew exactly who Jane would kill, and when, and how, over and over til one or both of them was destroyed.

Worse, she knew with a sinking ache that Jane was her problem. Not just Max Caulfield's problem, but this very specific Max Caulfield right now. Other Maxes in other loops wouldn't get this chance, Jane would see to that. And she had nowhere else to go. No future to which she could postpone. If she left this dead reality, Jane would find her. Old and feeble though Jane appeared, Max was certain she would lose any altercation between them. She shuddered remembering the strength of Jane's hands, like bony talons.

Max pursed her lips and nodded grimly.

"Oh my God, Max!" Alyssa gasped, "Oh my God! You're... you're actually going to do it, aren't you? Go back in time somehow?"

Max didn't answer. Her face wore a cold, gray expression of stern resignation.

Alyssa offered, "Max, I don't understand this, but it's the most exciting thing I've ever seen! Can I... help? I want to help!"

Max turned her head and looked back toward town. The surf had washed her south down the beach. They were about a block and a half from the Two Whales. Still not on fire! And this reality still existed, so there must still be a minute or two left!

She said, "There's only one person who can help me now!"

Fresh from the dark room on a mission to save Chloe Price, Max Caulfield stepped out of Mark Jefferson's car and surveyed the destruction of Arcadia Bay. Shattered buildings, tossed cars, dead whales. She had never seen anything like it!

But Max Caulfield had! The older Max Caulfield that is, the one who approached from behind, still wet from the bay and covered in sand. She had seen something exactly like it. A couple of times now. It was not a sight that improved on repeat viewing.

She called to her one-week-younger self, "Hey, Max! I'm gonna need those keys!"

Younger Max spun around and stared. Older Max looked pretty rough. She was sopping wet, wearing the red checked shirt that used to belong to Rachel Amber, torn and caked with sand. She sported bruises, scrapes and cuts on her face and arms and knees. She was limping and cradling her left elbow. She looked alien enough to younger Max that it seemed less like a miracle of time magic and more like meeting a bad Max Caulfield cosplayer.

"I don't know why, but I thought meeting another version of me would be more of a big deal," said younger Max.

"Back to the Future was wrong," nodded older Max. "Hey look, I don't have time for you to stand there slack-jawed. Let's do this." She held her hand out in what she hoped was the universal symbol for keys.

Younger Max looked down at the car keys in her hand and then back at her disheveled doppelganger, "You're ME right? Like, from the future? Are you here to warn me? Should I not go find Warren and his photograph?"

"Sorry, better make this a spoiler-free zone I think. You just keep doing what you were doing and pretend you never saw me, after you give me those keys."

Younger Max's shoulder's slumped. She looked down at the keys with uncertainty, "Do we ... do we win?"

"We'll win if you give me those fucking keys already!"

"Okay, jeez!" said younger Max, and tossed the keys to her older self. As she moved, the light from the headlights caught on her necklace. Three bullets on a leather thong. Chloe's necklace. She caught older Max staring at the necklace and asked, "Can't you tell me anything? Like, what's up with the tornado? Why is it frozen? It doesn't look like it's moving."

"Oh. I did that," said older Max, as if it was nothing. "I needed more time here. There's still something I have to get before I can leave. I need you to wait when you get that photo. Don't focus into it for like an hour. Just hang out with Warren for a while. I know that's a lot to ask, but it's important."

Younger Max nodded. Her hand went to the bullet necklace. Older Max wondered if it was really only a week ago she had been uncertain how she felt about Chloe. She remembered around that time wondering in her journal whether what she felt for Chloe was friendship or love. Well, a week of missing her had answered that, with a capital L. She knew what she was asking her younger self to do; having to sit and wait for an hour instead of rushing back in time to save Chloe would make for a gnawing, difficult hour. All the time magic in the world can't soothe the impatience of the heart.

"Okay, one spoiler," called older Max.

Younger Max turned back expectantly. Older Max continued, "When you see Chloe, tell her you love her!"

Younger Max's face brightened with relief, "When I see Chloe?"

"Tell her you love her."

"I think... I think I do!" said younger Max with surprise.

"I know."

"We love Chloe," said younger Max, reflectively, tilting her head and clasping her hands over her heart, as if the feeling would escape if she didn't catch it.

"Yeah. Yeah we do," said older Max, managing a weary smile.

"So... do we win?"

Older Max clicked the key fob, unlocking Jefferson's car. "You buy me that hour and I'm gonna go find out."