December 19, 2013 - First Choice Timeline
Kate caught her breath a few feet away, bent over on bloodied hands and knees freshly scraped against the asphalt and all Max could think is how… How is Kate alive?
"Kate!"
Max crawled forward, using her own knees and her left hand to drag herself towards her friend. By this point, Warren had rolled back in shock, and as Max glanced over her shoulder she could see that his eyes had glazed. Yeah, he's in actual shock now, she thought, but she didn't have time for Warren; not now. Kate needed her.
Off to her left, Taylor was screaming, but Max didn't look. She could hear the force of those screams, and she knew that Taylor must be alive. A pair of footsteps crashed over the road and vaguely Max thought she might have heard Dana and Trevor yelling at her. Still, no time. She had to get to Kate.
Just a few feet away, Max paused. The smell of smoke permeated the atmosphere and before her a warm glow flickered across Kate. There was a fire somewhere, somewhere behind Max now. She could almost hear the dancing of the flames, their flicker show playing out across the glassy surface of Kate's stunned eyes. The small girl had rolled onto her back now, and a hand had shot up towards her mouth. The hurt and pain in those eyes shouted out at Max, clear as the noon day sun shining down from above.
Only that sun isn't so clear now, is it?
Smoke trails had drifted up, tearing across those blue skies and burying them in a pall of gray. The chill before her, and Max was still so cold, now fought with a growing warmth playing against her back. She knew with a horrid certainty that if she turned she'd see those flames striking out over the rig, flirting their way over the road. She didn't need to turn to see them. She needed… she needed…
You need to get up, Super Max.
Chloe was right. She needed to get up. She needed to move.
Only before she could, Kate was on her feet. Kate was dashing over that road, just a few steps, and then she knelt. Kate knelt in a huddle next to Dana and Trevor, and Max couldn't see what they were huddling over, but she knew that they couldn't stay there. They were in the middle of the road. It wasn't safe. Not there.
Nowhere was safe.
She looked over towards Warren's car. Was it safe?
Warren's car… dad's car? Why does that fucker have dad's car?
Max shook off the thought. Her thought? Chloe's thought? Damnit! This wasn't the time for hallucinations.
Suddenly, Kate motioned back towards Max, and Dana and Trevor took to their feet, rushing her way. As they rose, their absence revealed a pair of blood-stained khaki jodhpurs, and the hem of a cream blouse, just beyond Kate. Max didn't need to see the girl's face to know who lay there or what had happened.
Victoria had pushed Kate out of the van's path. Victoria had saved Kate.
Victoria had been run down by that fucking beige van!
Behind her, behind the burning rig and the crashed cab, Max could hear a door opening. This wasn't over. Why isn't this over?
The semi-truck had crashed into Warren's car. It had plowed through the intersection. The "trucker" had shot Warren and Dana. He had tried to shoot her. Each time she had stopped it. Each time, Max had turned back reality as if it had never happened. Now, this other bastard had run down Victoria Chase; run her down as if her life meant nothing.
And still he wasn't done.
No. No.
NO.
Max lifted her arm.
She flexed her fingers.
Time sparked. It sizzled, electricity and heat kindling together, a firecracker on the Fourth of July. Children laughed: a hearty pirate laugh. The world shifted white and gray and white and gray, sputtering like a stalled motor. Then the pain took hold and Max fell forward in an agonizing heap, landing on that shattered arm.
She screamed and she cried and she wailed, and the tears flowed, but she couldn't stop. It hurt so much. So, so much.
Why! Why was this happening!?
She'd been so happy just a few days ago. Even there at the cemetery, she had felt it; she had felt herself letting go, finally grieving; finally moving on.
Stop wallowing and shake that bony ass!
Make-believe Chloe was right. Max needed to fix this. If only she could stand. If only she could even sit up. Max strained with her left hand, attempting to push herself off of her belly – off of that mangled arm – only she couldn't find the strength. Max lifted herself maybe an inch, maybe two, off of that gritty asphalt, then fell right back down, right back onto that arm.
Screams cut through the smoke-choked air. Her screams?
Feet raced across asphalt.
Suddenly, something was scraping and dragging down the road? Her? Was it her again? She could feel pressure under her arms, as if someone pulling on her… dragging her.
More screams burst forth. This time she felt sure that it was her own voice ripping through the fog; tearing through what remained of her focus.
A pop, like an explosion, sounded off by the rig and little whistles pierced the air.
Blackness settled over her; blackness and a deep stillness.
All grew quiet.
All grew empty.
The comfort of nothingness carved its way within her, and Max felt that cold peace taking hold. She welcomed it.
Mad Max! Wake up!
"Huh!"
Max jerked her eyes open, her mouth falling agape. She felt hard metal against her back and grass against her legs. She blinked, trying to gain her bearings. To her left, Trevor shouted, a phone pressed to his ear. What's he saying?
Dana yelled to Max's right, her voice drilling into Max's pounding head.
"Try again!"
"I'm telling you," Trevor yelled back. "It's not working! The call won't go through."
Oh damn. We're truly, utterly alone.
Where was everyone else? Max gripped the trunk with her left hand and pulled, attempting to peek over the car to the road beyond.
"Whoa, Max." Instantly, Dana's hand was on her shoulder, trying to ease her back down. "You're awake…"
Max attempted to shrug that hand away, but her energy reserves had depleted well below empty and she just couldn't work up the force to push Dana off. She felt so out of spoons… Instead, she settled for a quick peek, then slumped back down behind the car.
Beyond the hatchback, metal shrapnel littered the street. Something in that trailer had to have been flammable because it was in full on flames now, debris from its ruptured roof scattered across the road. The road… where Kate…
"Kate?"
Dana peered over the car, then ducked back down with Max.
"She's… she's okay. She's with…" Dana trailed off, unable to look at Max.
"Victoria?"
"Yeah."
"Warren?"
"I don't know. He was… he was pretty out of it. Then…"
"Then?"
Dana seemed to be at a loss for words. Max tried to shake her with her good hand, but Dana was sitting on her right, and the angle made it awkward. In the end, it was more as though Max just lightly grabbed at her shirt and pinched.
Something lit up in Dana's eyes then and the words began to spill out once more. Only they were the wrong words. They were not helping; they were not helping at all.
"You were right there, Max. Right beside me. Then, then… then… then you're coming up from the ditch, and you look like you've been through hell and that truck just – it just plows through the intersection…"
"Taylor!" Max screamed over Dana; beyond Dana. Dana was done. Max had broken her. She needed someone functional.
"Max?" Max couldn't pinpoint that voice, not exactly. Out by the road somewhere.
"Back here!" Max waved her left arm over the top of the hood, hoping that Taylor would spot her.
"... it crashes," Dana kept going, "... and the trailer… and you're suddenly impossibly close, like you just were one place, then there, and… then you're on the ground… then you're up and around the bend… you're… you were there and then… I don't understand…"
Yep. Broken.
Taylor rounded the car, and Max had never been so thankful to see her. What had happened to Trevor, though? Oh, there he was… off in the field, phone held high.
Looking for reception. Good luck, buddy.
"Max?" Taylor was down at her side, her face a cascade of tears. "Holy fuck, Max. What happened? You? Victoria?"
Max didn't have long. Not enough time to even attempt to explain. That man wouldn't be done. Whoever was in that beige van, he'd be back soon.
"I need my messenger bag."
"Your… your fucking bag?"
"Taylor, just trust me and get me the damn bag."
Max's eyes must have been cold, 'brook no argument, take no prisoners, fuck with me and I end you' cold, because Taylor didn't hesitate. Immediately she disappeared into the car looking for Max's bag. Maybe it was years of doing as Victoria bid, that need to follow now drilled deep, or maybe it was just that cold that Max felt seeping in, now exerting its force on those around her. It didn't matter. Taylor was looking for Max's bag, and that, that mattered. That was as it needed to be.
"Just tell me what happened?" Dana was sputtering at Max's side again. "I don't… I need to know."
Fuck it. She's broken. She won't remember anyway.
"I can bend time. Time and space, space-time, whatever. It's my bitch."
Dana shut up. Max knew the girl didn't believe her, but she also knew the girl didn't know what to believe, and frankly, in that moment, Max didn't give a shit either way.
"You got it?" Max called into the car as she shifted onto her feet. They were unsteady, but they seemed to hold for the moment.
Good. Gonna need those to hold.
In answer, Max's messenger bag came flying out of the car, landing just beyond the passenger door. A moment later, Taylor followed suit dragging herself down behind the rear of the car.
"Mind telling me…" she started, stopping to catch her breath. "...what's so damn important in your bag?"
Max didn't say a word. She had already inched over to the messenger bag and begun ruffling through it, tossing out its contents. Bit by bit, she tossed the bag, still not finding what she needed.
Somewhere a door opened and Max thought she heard Alyssa trying to say something, fumbling for words that she could not find. Then the inevitable happened.
A loud bang broke through the chaos and Max saw the crimson spray fly back over the BMW misting out over the field.
A shout, an angry bellow, followed that bang and Max dared a quick glimpse through the back windows of Warren's car only to spot Warren himself springing on the gunman from behind. Immediately the two fell in a knot to the road and Warren began pounding the man with everything that he had; he was going full on ape, and it reminded Max of another time, of a hallway and a different gunman in the dorms… She had had to pull Warren away then. She would be doing no such thing now.
Max dropped back to the curb. She had to find it and fast. Where was it?
No, this wasn't working. Too slow. Max lifted the bag and dumped its contents to the ground wholesale. She flinched a little as William's camera clattered out against the gravel of the curb, but she didn't have time to think about that. Without delay, she honed in on the polaroids, sifting through them, flinging the useless ones aside, scouring for that one, the only one that mattered.
"A photo? A photo, Max?" Taylor screamed at her side. "What the hell?"
"Time?" Dana sputtered to life. "Max, Max, you're in shock."
"Nope," she said, flipping away more photos. "Time's my bitch."
Yeah, it is.
Thanks for the cheer routine make-believe Chloe.
Anytime, dude.
Finally, Max seized on that prize: that damn blue butterfly perched on a bucket in the girl's restroom, Max's reflection shining off that metal interior. Sweet relief. Now she just needed to focus. She might not be able to rewind, but maybe, just maybe –
Another pop. Then another.
Max lost focus.
As if choreographed, all three girls peered out from behind Warren's car. They all saw it at once. Warren clutched at his gut, that man, whoever he was, rising above him, his pistol angled down at Warren.
The gun fired and suddenly Warren snapped back then ceased moving. He was dead. Warren was dead.
The man hovering over him licked at his busted lip, then dabbed at it with his own bloodied knuckles. He smirked a little, then turned taking in the scene. Max watched as he did, something about him nagging at the edge of her memory.
"He said you'd probably avoid the truck. I thought, no, that's just paranoia. But hey, here we are. Then when he asked Thompson to carry a gun for backup, okay, whatever. He's paranoid about the truck, he needs a plan B."
Max focused in on that voice. There was a familiarity there; something recent. As she listened, the man toed at Warren's body, rolling it slightly, then removing his foot and watching as Warren's limp form shifted back in place.
"Hmm. Anyway…" he continued. "Then he wants me to come in with the van, packing as well. Nah, that just seemed like overkill."
He strolled closer as he spoke, his eyes not yet locked on them. He must've seen Kate, but he didn't seem concerned about her. He nodded his head with a gentle tip of an invisible hat in her direction, as if to say hello, and continued to look about the scene. Max stopped paying attention.
She recognized that bent nose – that nose that looked as though it had been broken one too many times. She knew that voice. She had met the man the night before, right after his colleague had hauled Nathan off towards the parking lot.
"Ah. There you are," he said, locking eyes with Max. "Pleasure to see you again, Ms. Caulfield."
In a flash, he raised his pistol and fired once more.
Another gunshot blasted over the roadway.
More blood sprayed out. It was everywhere now.
All three girls fell back to the false safety behind the car. Only one of them fell further back. Dana crumbled to the curb, crying as she clutched at her chest, and suddenly Max could hear Trevor screaming. He was running back from the field now, his phone falling from his hands.
Not another one. Not more. Max couldn't lose more friends. She couldn't watch this man take them away from her. She couldn't watch them all suffer like this. She winced, squeezing her eyes shut and willing the world to stop.
As she opened those eyes once more, everything was playing in slow motion. Max couldn't tell if it was shock, or if the world had literally slowed to a crawl. It wouldn't be the strangest thing she'd ever seen.
She tried to focus in on the photo in her hand, but her eyes kept shifting to Dana juddering in perpetual slow motion, her body still rebounding against the pebbles of the curb, blood still seeping through those fingers tightly pressed to her chest. In the distance she could see Trevor running, his legs and arms pumping, yet barely moving, caught in viscous time, slogging forward, but perpetually held back. Time had slowed. It had actually slowed and well and beyond a crawl. This was the infinitesimally short moments between moments.
Max stood and she saw the next bullet burst from that pistol, speeding towards Trevor. Beside her, Taylor wrapped her hands over the back of her neck as if dropping into a tornado drill and ducking for cover. Kate huddled over Victoria, frozen, unable to run, yet shielding her friend.
Go time, Super Max.
And maybe it was.
She couldn't rewind and she couldn't stop time. The photo was her only escape, her only way to right all of this ( undo it ), but even then, she couldn't leave her friends like this. Would this reality continue on with a different her? Would she disappear to leave a defenseless Max cowering beside Taylor? Would she leave Trevor running towards a bullet that had already claimed his life, even if he didn't know it? Leave Kate defenseless in the middle of the street with that psychopath right there? Leave Dana bleeding out behind Warren's hatchback?
Hell no, Mad Max.
Yeah. You're right make-believe Chloe. Hell no.
Not make-believe Max.
Uh huh. We'll discuss this later.
Pretty fucking sure there won't be much later for us… not this us.
Max pushed up on shaky legs, ignoring that last unbidden thought. She had to get this weird ass broken conversation under control and focus on the here and now. The pain in her head was already beginning to pulse, amplified by every moment she held time's pace in check. That pain streamed down from her head, through her shoulder and along that arm to those flexed fingers. Her shattered cast had taken on a macabre visage, misshapen and cracked, multiple slow drips drenching through the breaks to mark a trail in her wake. Only as each drop fell from that cast, it virtually froze in air, beginning its slow, almost imperceptible descent.
Max pushed on, marveling as she did at the crimson globules floating lazily towards the ground like feathers in a slow-motion fall. Then Trevor was in front of her, and she knew what she had to do. She leapt at him in a full body-tackle. She expected to collide with him as if against a solid immovable force, much as it had felt hitting the trucker with the butt of the gun, or at most for him to give a fraction of an inch as his slow motion fall began. Still, hopefully in doing so, when time started the force of that tackle would carry him out of the path of the bullet.
That had been her hope. Instead, as she grappled Trevor in that tackle, it was as if time only moved for the two of them. He screamed in shock as Max latched onto him from out of nowhere and the two tumbled into the grass, Max cursing as the unexpected fall twisted her right back onto that broken arm.
Time sped up once more, everyone's time, as the world flashed white in that scouring pain, then Max seized hold again, biting through the pain, clenching her teeth, and wincing through the growing throbbing that threatened to tear her head apart.
As at last she opened her eyes, Trevor was caught mid-movement rising and reaching for her and the bullet that had been meant for him hung frozen over the dunes beyond the ditch and the grass. He was clear of its path. Otherwise the scene remained largely unchanged beyond minor, microscopic movements upon the stage. Max regained her legs and hobbled towards the street where that man with the much-too-broken nose readied to fire once more.
She had something to say about that.
With each agonizing step closer to that man, Max pondered her actions. She couldn't leave that man there to kill her friends – even if their prolonged existence was debatable (theoretical), she couldn't leave it at that. Yet, even if she immobilized him as she had the trucker, would that be enough? Perhaps if she could get the gun away from him?
She didn't know what she was doing. She didn't have a plan. She was acting on impulse alone, and at that thought, she tugged at Chloe's beanie (her blood-soaked beanie), and she felt a little bit closer to her blue-haired angel.
You got this, Max. Go be a badass.
Her cheeks flushed. Yeah, that probably wasn't happening. Max the badass? No, she was sure she'd screw that up. She'd never get in the right quip, never pull off that punk bravado that radiated off of Chloe with such beautiful ease; but she'd still get the job done.
Another step closer and still no plan had formed, only a growing sense of rage; yet that was okay. That felt right, somehow. This man had shot Dana. He had killed Alyssa. He had killed Warren.
She glanced over as she passed Kate and Victoria's still forms. She could see the deep red stains soaking through that cream blouse, the bruises and gashes and lacerations over that once pristine face, and the crimson puddle forming beneath that pixie-cut hair. If Victoria wasn't dead now, she would be soon.
Max took another step.
This man, this terrible, horrible, no good, very bad man, had killed Victoria. Victoria Maribeth Chase. Her friend.
Max's legs fought her. Her trembling arm fought her. Her aching head fought her.
She took a final step. The man stood right in front of her, with his crooked nose and that hideous smirk, and his fine, blood-splattered suit. And his gun raised towards Trevor.
Max didn't think. She just acted. She pulled back and she kneed him in the balls.
As she struck her target, she felt him move, suddenly timeless, and his gun hand swung her way. Then Max withdrew and that viscous time took hold again. She had to be careful. Apparently with contact, her hold on time no longer bound the other. That could prove problematic.
She sidestepped, making sure the gun was pointed nowhere near her, then slammed her foot into the back of the gunman's knee. The man's foot buckled forward, and he tried to twist towards his assailant now behind him. Max walked around as he slowed into that twisting fall, then punched him in the jaw as hard as she could. His head jerked a little with that, but not as much as she would have liked.
And Dog, why has no one ever told me how much it hurt to punch someone?
Never got the chance, Mad Max.
Guess you didn't. Well, no punching then.
She shook her hand, and studied the slow spiral of the man before her. She needed something blunt. Something that could do the damage she would never be able to inflict on her own. Otherwise he was likely to just get right back up and… and… and kill her friends (those he hasn't already).
All around Max, smoke billowed into the sky, small fires burned, and terrified friends cowered for safety. Yet nowhere did she see anything useful; nowhere but in this assailant's hand.
She let out a deep sigh. Here goes nothing.
Max grabbed for the gun.
Time flashed to life, at least for the two of them. A bullet fired, ricocheting off the asphalt, as another hand rose up and hit Max hard across her cheek. Max jerked back, falling away from the shooter, thankful at least that in their separation he had returned to the slowed state of time.
Okay, so that hadn't gone as planned. She couldn't stop though. She had to take that gun away.
Her assailant hung moments from smashing his knee into the pavement, still bowling over from the knee to his nuts, and a small spew of blood suspended from his lips mid spit. She hadn't hurt him much, but she was having an impact.
Max hobbled over to his side, reared back and kicked a Conversed foot into his ribs, rejoicing a little as she felt him begin to topple. Then, around to his back she went, reaching around to either side of his face, her fingers hovering there, mere inches from touching. She could take her time; she didn't have to rush this.
She knelt down, braced herself, then raked her nails through his cheeks as she pulled his head back with as much force as she could muster. She could see the gun rising, arching back towards her. Instantly she let go, shifting around until she was perpendicular to his gun hand. Then she bit as hard as she could on the join of skin between his thumb and index finger.
The man screamed and thrashed as his knee met asphalt, his side jutted in, and his head banged back against the road as he toppled. He screamed as Max bit a chunk of flesh from his hand, and then he slowed once more, caught in a low, elongated scream, as that join of flesh ripped away and Max and he broke contact; broke contact just as the gun released from his hand.
Max fell away, choking as she tasted the thick of blood sliding down her throat, metallic and salty, yet unfamiliar. Her nose still bled, yet the taste overwhelming her was not all her own, and there was something meaty and chewy caught in her teeth and she couldn't… no… she couldn't let herself think about it. She bent over and she retched and she spit, and she gagged trying to clear out that blood and that… meat… and Dog, what had she done?
Kicked his ass, Maxi-Taxi.
Maybe, she thought, but she didn't feel good about it.
She spat and she gagged some more, then, wiping her lips with her arm, she rose hobbled back to where the gunman inched up from his prone position, an arc of blood raining out from the open wound of his hand as it froze mid-thrash. His fingers had loosed from around his gun, and so studying it, reassuring herself that the man before her no longer had a grip on the gun, Max plucked the pistol from the air. She couldn't reach the handle without also touching the gunman, so instead she plucked it by its barrel, pulling it away from his failing grip and screaming as the hot metal from the freshly fired gun burnt into her fingertips.
Letting go, the gun stopped mid-air, slipping into its sluggish fall, and Max shook out the pain from her fingers. Gently she blew over the burn on those fingertips, easing the sting as best she could, then collected herself, slowing her breathing and trying to find some semblance of calm. It did not come easy, nor completely; yet when at last she felt some measure of peace return, Max reached back toward the gun. It had fallen no more than half an inch in its descent. She grabbed it by its handle, plucking it back into her flow of time.
I'm sorry, she thought, then pivoted, aimed, and pulled the trigger. She heard the explosion start, she saw the muzzle flash, and then everything paused.
Cause and effect; separated by microscopic time.
She released the gun then released time. The bullet exploded out of the barrel and the man at her feet jolted back, juddered, then ceased all movement. Max could see the entry just below the man's eye, see that perfect circle puncturing above the cheekbone, and she could see the life fade from those eyes.
He deserved it; and yet it made her sick.
She swallowed, forcing down the returning nausea that threatened to overwhelm her. She still had one more thing to do.
I'm so, so sorry. I didn't want to. I had to… I didn't… this isn't me… I'm so, so sorry. I didn't want to. I had to… I didn't… this isn't me…
Her mind shifted into an infinite loop of apology and justification and denial. She couldn't stop, and so Max simply pushed it down, minimized it, and moved on.
She pivoted on her heel and hobbled towards Kate and Victoria, that mantra still playing muted in a deep well in the back of her mind.
i'm so, so sorry. i didn't want to. i had to… i didn't… this isn't me… i'm so, so sorry. I didn't want to. i had to… i didn't… this isn't me…
Kate sat shell-shocked beside Victoria, and Max couldn't blame her. From Kate's perspective Max had been hidden from view behind the car, then she would have been suddenly standing above the gunman, his own gun firing mid-air and killing him as it fell to the ground in front of Max. None of it would have made much sense.
Well, if a Max remained here when she left, that would have to be her problem. This Max had done all that she could. Now it was time for goodbyes.
So many goodbyes. Goodbye to Alyssa in her silent, parallel friendship, never quite interacting, but there nonetheless. Goodbye to Warren and his awkward posturing, his false bravado painting over his geeky core and his insecurity. Goodbye to that kind humor hidden just beneath that crush, and the friend that could have been. Goodbye to Dana, who she had been unable to protect. Goodbye to Taylor and Trevor, still shocked and screaming, but alive nonetheless. And goodbye to sweet Kate, who above all had survived, but would face so much more pain than she should have ever had to confront.
Goodbye to Victoria, who had come so far.
Max fell to her knees beside Kate, ignoring the hard jolt as she hit the asphalt. Her head was a storm of pain, lightning flashing through her arm, and fire burning in her side. Her whole body was pain, a violent sea torn asunder by a tornado of violence. A couple of bruised knees barely registered - just two more battered fishing vessels lost amidst the total devastation of the entire bay.
Max slumped against Kate and pulled her into a tight hug. The shock that had overwhelmed her friend stuttered momentarily away and her eyes lit with recognition and pain. Kate had returned to the present moment and with it she let in the pain and anguish of everything that had transpired. Max could see the confusion battling with trauma within those eyes, but the trauma won out and with it poured forth a sea of wracking sobs as Kate fell into Max. For her part, Max held her friend tight, pulled her in close and let her cry while whispering softly in the girl's ear. The words didn't matter, or at least Max hoped that they didn't; what mattered was the tone — the soft caress of gentle tones soothing the fear and grief seizing through her.
"I'm sorry," Max said. "I'm sorry this happened. I'm sorry I couldn't stop it… that I was too little, too late."
"Not your fault, Max. You couldn't, it's just…" Kate's words came frantic and hurt and jumbled. In response, Max held her tighter with her good arm, and whispered into her ear.
"Shhhh, shhhhh, I'm here. Quiet Kate. Quiet. I'm so, so sorry. Quiet now."
The tremors rippling through Kate continued to come, but they did ease as well, and she stopped trying to respond, simply listening as Max whispered soothing tones into her ear.
As she whispered, Max lifted her good arm up from that embrace and stroked her fingers through Kate's hair. Trails of blood stained Kate's blond bun with each movement of Max's hand, and she hesitated, cursing herself for marring Kate's beautiful hair (That shift from black to white to gray… and beyond), yet as she paused she could hear the hitch in Kate's voice and so Max resumed that soft caress, careful not to look at the streaks of blood and gore each movement left in its wake.
She did this. She caused this. No, the storm had never come, not literally, yet with her she had brought a different storm and her friends had paid the price. Behind her she could hear Trevor crying and she knew without looking that he had reached Dana, gasping and struggling through her own pain. Just off from that weeping, she could make out the hurried, frantic breathing of Taylor, itself hitching and juddering and completely unstable. The girl was having a panic attack. Max knew it, but she could do nothing for her. She would have to leave that to others. Now, now Max had to be here for Kate… for Kate and for Victoria.
Max looked to her friend laid out before her, her body broken and ragged, her beautiful face bruised and scarred and bleeding, ruined in one terrible act of cruelty and she wanted to cry and to rage and to scream. Instead, she merely focused in on those trembling lips… those… trembling… lips?
Her left hand still stroking Kate's hair, Max leaned down towards Victoria, pressing her ear towards those lips and listening to the ragged exhalations slipping forth. Victoria was alive; she was broken and she was surely, if slowly, dying, but for now she was still here.
"Max?" The name whispered out a quivering question. Behind it followed more. "Kate? Taylor? Dana?"
Max knew the real question behind each ask, but Victoria didn't need to know those answers; not now. Now she needed to be consoled.
"It's okay, Chase," she said. "We're here."
"You're okay?"
"Yeah… Yeah, we're all okay."
Victoria coughed and Max finally pulled away from Kate so that she could wipe the spittle and blood from Victoria's lips. As Max's arm retreated, Kate too took notice of her friend before her, and pulled herself up from the depths of her pain to be there for Victoria. Reaching out, Kate took Victoria's hand in her own and clasped it tight. Max couldn't be certain, not with the agony dancing in those eyes, but she thought that she saw the faintest hint of a smile form on Victoria's lips, even if only for a moment.
"Good, good," Victoria said. "That's good."
"Yeah," Max agreed, choking back the lump that threatened to seize up her entire throat. "Yeah, it's good. You did it. You saved Kate."
"I did… huh." Victoria let out a feeble laugh. "Who would've thought?"
"Not a soul." Max tried to twist those words, imbuing them with the usual playful jabs that had defined her and Victoria's budding friendship. They came out dull and lifeless. Even so, Victoria seemed to understand.
"Getting better at being a bitch, Caulfield."
"Had a great instructor."
Victoria actually laughed at that, then choked, and sobbed from the pain of the act. Slowly she regained her faltering breath, then stabbed back at her friend.
"Ass."
Max couldn't respond. She didn't know what to say. She could see Victoria fading and it just wasn't right. She had come so far. The girl had been trying, trying so hard to absolve herself, to be better than the girl that had once ruled over Blackwell, and she had done it; she had risen to the occasion and this, this was her reward? To die in the middle of the road before she ever had the chance to live; before the world could come to know her the way Max had come to know her.
No, this world was too cruel. This was a world that allowed Victoria to become her better self only to toss her aside. This was a world that killed Warren and Alyssa whose only mistake had been to befriend Max. This was a world that forced Chloe to die alone in a dirty bathroom, certain that she was unloved, abandoned, and worthless.
I wasn't alone, Max. I know that now. You were there and you loved me. You were there for me even if I didn't realize it at the time.
Max tried to push the thought away. She didn't deserve the comfort of this lie.
Not a lie. It's me, Max. I've been trying to reach you, but I was too chickenshit to come myself. I know what you did; what you sacrificed.
You.
Yourself. Your happiness.
I don't deserve happiness.
You deserve so much more, Max. Just be strong a little longer. Can you do that?
I don't know.
I do. You're almost there. And I'm here for you now. Like you were for me.
Max sobbed. She couldn't listen anymore. Whether she had lost her mind, or was so close to death that she was actually hearing Chloe, it didn't matter. This was not the world that Chloe had sacrificed herself to save; not the world that Max had let Chloe die to salvage from the storm. This world was hard and cruel and thoughtless. It could not be allowed to stand.
Max reached into her pocket and pulled out the crumpled photo of the blue butterfly that she had retrieved from her messenger bag: her failsafe. Carefully, she scooted to the other side of Victoria, setting the photo gently on the girl's chest and taking Victoria's unheld hand in her own. Across from her Kate whispered something that sounded distinctly like a prayer, but Max couldn't make it out. Those words weren't for her anyway.
Gripping tight to Victoria's hand, Max noticed how the cold had washed over her… only she wasn't sure if it was Victoria's hand or her own from which that chill sprung. Quite possibly it came from both. Max had grown numb from the pain flooding through her system, but she felt certain that her body must have been pushed far beyond its limit. If this Max continued to exist after she jumped, would she even survive? Max couldn't be certain, but she did feel pretty sure that that doubt should have troubled her more than it did. She could feel the numbness that permeated her body seeping into her core, and she wondered if she still was Max, the Max that had come to Blackwell that September, or if she was forever broken, dying a little more each time she was forced to alter time.
Only one way to find out.
Max focused in on the photo, staring at the bright blues of those wings and her own blurry reflection in the sheen of the mop bucket. This world had had its chance. Now, she would make a different decision.
A light squeeze at her hand momentarily stole her attention and Max allowed her focus to shift once more to Victoria, the girl's soft whisper just barely audible.
"Max?"
"I'm still here." Max squeezed Victoria's hand back in gentle reassurance.
"You'll stay?"
"Of course."
Victoria blinked, but Max couldn't tell how well the girl's eyes were working. They appeared clouded, her gaze shifting, but seemingly unable to focus in on any one point.
"I'm scared," she said, and Max choked back a sob.
"I know," Max said, not knowing why she chose those words. What help would they be? Useless to the end, aren't you?
Struggling to tamp down her own self doubt and loathing, Max sought to find some comfort to offer, some words that could ease Victoria's fear and soften the pain of her passing. Everything she tried to offer up, however, turned to ash in her mouth. What could she say now that could possibly make this any better; that could provide Victoria any comfort?
"I don't want to die." Victoria's words were barely words at all. They came as meager gusts carried on fading breaths. Max said the only thing that she could.
"I don't want you to, either."
Across from her, Kate continued to pray, Victoria's words too soft, too weak to reach her. Victoria pressed closer to Max anyway, her words directed to her alone. And why was that? Victory and Kate had grown so close. Why would she waste her final moments with this useless hipster waif? What was that look in her eyes?
The cold trickle of her tears bled down Max's cheeks, and she squeezed Victoria's hand harder in a final act of assurance. Then she turned back to that photo and she focused; she focused as hard as she could.
Fuck this timeline, she thought. She deserved better. Victoria deserved better.
The world around Max faded to white, the brilliant overexposure flooding out all else, and the click of a camera shutter sounded.
Of that camera… that camera in his hand… in that room…
She was there, she was in the Dark Room, and yet she was on the street there on that December day, Victoria bleeding out as Max clung to her hand and Kate prayed over her, and Max was also in that bathroom, that blue butterfly flapping it wings as it lifted off from the rim of the bucket. She was in all of these places, but only one could remain.
Max thought about that dirty bathroom with its graffitied stalls and mirrors. She remembered the stench of the cleaning chemicals from the janitor's cart tucked in the back corner. She remembered the bright blue of those wings flapping, and how fascinated she had been by the beauty of it in that moment.
"Max," Victoria's voice sounded from some time beyond. "Please… don't leave me. I… I don't want… don't want to be alone."
"Never," Max said.
And that temporal white flared and the smell of the cleaning chemicals overwhelmed her, and slowly, ever so slowly, the blue and white of that bathroom bled back into focus.
The pain tore through her; it ate at her until Victoria could not tell between the pain and her own sense of self. Vaguely she was aware of the tears winding down her cheeks. She could feel the sticky tar of the blood puddled beneath her, and the cool of the asphalt beneath her back. Yet all of that, it came buried beneath the pain, a distant oasis, a mirage within the desert of pain that engulfed her.
She blinked back the milky white morass that puddled in her vision, seeking clarity, but for all her efforts the world remained a blur. Above her some form lingered, blotting out the smoke-filled sky; and vaguely she could suss out the smoke-tinted air, the smell of it thick and oppressive. She could hear the flames licking and burning and eating away at the debris on the road, though she couldn't remember a fire. All she could remember was Kate turning back to her, that look of fear so prominent, then herself pushing forward, Kate stumbling away… and then the world became pain.
So much pain.
Victoria couldn't hold it in. Her tears fell and her lips trembled as those sobs tore softly, almost mutely, through her ruptured body. Above her, that blurred shape parted, revealing two forms. They hesitated there above her, then one leaned in close, and through the vague vision of her clouded eyes that shape took greater clarity. She could see short, not quite shoulder length, hair hanging down from what must have been a beanie, and pale skin marred by those wonderful freckles. Only one side seemed darker than the other, more freckled, and these larger and viscous, and then she remembered that blood-soaked image of Max hobbling from around the rig, before… before that van came crashing into her and stole everything away.
"Max?" Victoria tried to shout the question, yet it came out gurgled and whispered, barely more than a faint gust on the wind. And Kate? She had pushed her from the van's path, but how much time had passed? Was she okay? Were they okay?
"Kate?" she asked and pushed on. She had to know. "Taylor? Dana?"
Max's voice answered her back, a slight tremor stealing in through her words. "It's okay, Chase. We're here."
"You're okay?" Max was okay? They all were? It seemed too good to be true.
"Yeah… Yeah, we're all okay," that soft voice trilled into her ear.
Good, she thought, then the pain surged up and suddenly she was coughing and hacking and spitting up, choking on that metallic salt taste filling her throat. Vaguely, Victoria felt cloth wiping at her mouth, turning her ever so slightly, so that she did not choke, and then a new sensation tore at her - a soft warmth in her left hand, and Victoria looked up and could just make out Kate's hand in her own, and the silhouette of her face and her hair done up in that bun above her. It was comforting, seeing her there, feeling the warmth of her hand in her own, and involuntarily a smile stole over Victoria even if only for a moment, before the pain washed back and tore that smile away in the tide.
"Good, good," Victoria said. Her friends were okay, and that would have to be enough. "That's good," she finished.
"Yeah." Max's words came whispered so close to her ear that she could feel the heat of the girl's breath tickling at her hair. It felt good, comforting even. "Yeah, it's good," Max continued, and Victoria thought she could hear the faintest hint of strain in the girl's voice, a pain pushed down, struggling to be hidden. "You did it. You saved Kate."
"I did… huh." Victoria let out a feeble laugh. "Who would've thought?"
I wouldn't have. Not in a million years. Not two months ago, no. Now? Well, I guess kind of hard to argue it in the moment.
"Not a soul," Max answered. That bitch. Victoria tried to smile, but she couldn't. The pain was too great. Still, she felt a vague sense of pride over the jab from Max; a spark of strength that she had helped kindle in the mousy girl. True, Max's voice lacked the grit to back her words, yet, given the situation, Victoria felt she could let that slide.
"Getting better at being a bitch, Caulfield."
"Had a great instructor."
Victoria actually laughed at that, then choked, and sobbed from the pain of the act. Slowly she regained her faltering breath, then stabbed back at her friend.
"Ass."
She didn't mean it of course, but it felt good to banter; to share a few last words of jest with a friend. Even as they jabbed at one another, Victoria could feel the light fading, and Max's form was blurring out above her, just a vague hint of dark gray in sea of light gray, as all the color bled from the world, bled away from it and took with it all the warmth, until only that cold gray remained.
Victoria layed there in the cooling quiet for a moment, unable to find the words to convey all that needed to be said. To her left, she could hear a soft prayer murmured above her and she knew that Kate was there for her in her own way; and though she could no longer feel the warmth of the girl's hand, she knew that warmth all the same. It filled her with those words, with the knowledge that she was there for her in the end. She had treated her so horribly; she had been so cruel; and yet in the end, it was Kate there beside her seeking to see her to the other side.
Kate and Max.
Max, whom Victoria could hear sobbing above her. Max, who had been through so much, seen so much, and whom had opened up to her, to Victoria, to her tormentor over the past few weeks. Max, who had come to mean so much to her. She had sought to heal Max, to bring her out from the darkness, yet it had been Max bringing that light to her, to Victoria, even if she had not known it at the time.
And now that Max was crying and weeping beside her. The girl set something on Victoria's chest, and though Victoria couldn't make it out, she could have sworn it was a polaroid photo, and damn wasn't that fitting. If she could have through the pain, Victoria would have laughed in that moment. Instead she rested there, comforted by the pressure of Max's grip squeezing her right hand.
Victoria tried to squeeze back, but she couldn't find the strength. She had so much that she needed to tell Max, but in the least, at the very least, she wanted to share this moment with her. So she focused, and she tried, and she fought through the pain until at last she felt a weak movement in her hand, and the light pressure of Max's skin against hers as she tried so feebly to return Max's grip.
"Max," she whispered, trying to find the words she so longed to say.
"I'm still here." A gentle pressure squeezed Victoria back and she knew that Max had heard her. She was still there with her, and despite the cold washing over her, that assurance gave Victoria the faint hope that she needed; the only comfort that she wanted. Well, almost the only comfort.
"You'll stay?" she asked.
"Of course."
Victoria blinked trying once more to clear the morass that clouded her eyes. She wanted to see that freckled face one last time. She wanted so much to stare into those blue eyes and see her hipster waif before she faded from this world. The vision, however, would not come.
"I'm scared," she said. And she was. She was so, so scared.
"I know." Victoria could hear the tremor in those words and she knew that Max was scared, too. They both were. They were in this together.
Only, in this last bit, Victoria would be on her own. Max could not follow her where she was going. None of them could, and in that loneliness, in that isolation, Victoria felt so very, very afraid.
"I don't want to die," she said, struggling to speak as her breath slowly waned, the last of her strength fading fast.
"I don't want you to, either," Max said. Victoria could hear the pain in the girl's voice, and she knew that she should feel for her; that she should be pained for this new agony that Max would have to endure, but as the light slowly dimmed, Victoria felt only comfort; comfort that Max was there for her; comfort that Max would miss her, as much as she would miss the days that would never be between them.
Faintly, Victoria felt Max squeeze her hand, yet the pressure felt so distant, almost as if from another time; from across some great void. Soon, she would be gone, and this distance between them would be greater than she could ever cross.
Her vision dimmed, shrinking into the darkness, and then, then the light grew faint at first; then brighter and brighter until it took over and the world was bathed in an impenetrable white. The click of a shutter sounded, and Victoria knew she was leaving; not herself, but Max. Max was leaving, and soon Victoria would be alone.
"Max," Victoria said, and she could feel her voice echoing in a great cavernous nothingness; only it was more than nothing – it was nothing and it was everything, it was then and before and after, all at once.
"Please," she continued. "Don't leave me. I… I don't want… don't want to be alone."
"Never," Max said, and her voice echoed through that same everything; that same nothing; that all times.
The white of the void flared and the sounds of laughter and voices echoed around Victoria. She could hear Taylor and Courtney nearby and the sounds of lockers. And slowly, ever so slowly, the blue of those lockers and the chaos of Blackwell's main hall bled back into focus.
Victoria was gone now. Chloe felt it, the moment her former rival passed beyond the physical world. She passed, and her body slumped to the asphalt, and Kate, poor, poor Kate, grieved above her. Max still held the girl's hand, yet, that wasn't Max, not the Max that had been; not the Max that had fought so hard to save her friends; and not the Max that had sacrificed everything to see the Bay survive.
This was a Max that had never been reunited with Chloe, but who had missed her and loved her all the same. Chloe knew that now, even if she could never be there for her, not in the way that she wished that she could. Yet still, watching from that world beyond, this Chloe knew what she had to do. She would be there for this Max; she would watch over her, and she would stay in this world between worlds. She walked in the land of dreams; in the passage between the waking and the sleeping, between life and death, in the nothingness of everything.
She knew that the Max that had been here, the Max that had fought so hard over the past couple of months, had a long journey ahead of her still; but that Max was beyond her reach now. She had jumped to a different there, a different when; but she would have her own Chloe now, and she hoped that that Max had the strength to hold her tight and to keep her from that cliff; that she would find the peace that she had been seeking at last.
Herself, Chloe would stay here and watch after this Max; the Max that had returned. Her world would be so confusing to her; so shattered and broken. She'd need her now, and Chloe would be waiting for her in her dreams… and if needed, she would come to her in her thoughts, and she would see her through the pain.
So, Chloe bowed her head, whispered a final farewell to the Max that had been, and braced to be there for the Max that she had left behind.
