He had received a lava lamp the summer his mother had returned.
Eight years she had been out of his life, and she had believed a lava lamp would be a sufficient gift to make up for all the monumental events she had missed.
He had his first drink that autumn, to cope with a vicious fight between him and his father.
The gleam of the beer bottle had reflected within the lava, until Dylan had taken that lamp and smashed it against the garage door.
Water and wax blobs had cascaded down the driveway, looping through shards of glass that had caught the day's sunlight.
He felt a little like that wax blob himself as his stomach churned at an alarming rate.
He tossed about, unable to open his eyes from the sheer force of the wind around him.
Then, it stopped.
He braced himself for the fall, his hands sinking into the dewy grass.
Dylan opened his eyes.
"Where are we?" asked Kelly.
Recognizable words were printed across a paper tacked to a pole.
"France, I think," said Dylan.
"France?" asked Kelly. "Why are we in France?"
"When are we in France is the more important question," said Dylan, "and if it's the same year we were just in, then we're going directly back to Cork." Dylan stood. "We'll need to find a newspaper."
"A little help here?" Kelly thrust out her hands.
"I was getting to it."
Dylan helped Kelly off of the ground.
"Do you think they can see us?" Kelly steadied herself, looking at the crowds of people and then down at her clothing to presumably compare ensembles.
"If they can, we better figure out how to change," said Dylan, who was in his standard uniform of jeans.
Not a single individual in the crowd wore jeans.
"Are we really in the past?" asked Kelly.
"Maybe it's just too warm for jeans," said Dylan, though the climate didn't feel warm. "Hurry up. I'm gonna find a newsstand."
Kelly scanned the faces around them.
"You can search every face," said Dylan, "but the more you don't see Brandon, the more disappointed you'll be."
"I know he's here," said Kelly. "He feels close, like he's just around the corner. Don't you feel that?"
He did, with both twins, but Dylan didn't want to subject himself to false hope.
He had experienced that enough for a lifetime.
"We can't be sure they're here," he told her instead.
"Your mom said the coin would lead us to where they were."
"The coin got us from Ireland to France, I'll admit that much. It isn't a total crock. At the very least, it's proven teleportation exists."
"You're such a cynic."
"Until I see a newspaper, I'm not believing anything. For all I know, I could be dreaming this whole thing up."
Kelly shot her hand out towards Dylan's upper arm and pinched him, hard.
"Fuck!" Dylan grabbed his arm. "Kelly! What the hell?"
"Is that real enough for you?" she snipped. "Do you want to find Brenda or not?"
He did, and that was why Dylan thought believing in the power of an old coin was a waste of his time.
But he had, so he would at least need to look around.
"TV," said Dylan. "Look for a TV. If we don't see a TV, we'll know we're at least back in the twentieth century."
"We were raised in the twentieth century," said Kelly.
"And Farnsworth's demonstration wasn't until 1927," said Dylan. "TV wasn't introduced in France until 1931."
"How do you know all of this?"
"I read."
The absence of television from the shops confirmed they weren't in the twenty-first century, but it didn't answer what decade they had come to.
"Judging by the Barbie waists, I'd say most of those women over there are wearing corsets," said Kelly. "That should put us about what, the eighteen hundreds? And that one, there, she has a copy of Vogue, which didn't come out until 1892. So that's my guess: 1892. She could be an American tourist showing off her hip new magazine subscription to her French friends."
"Can't be," said Dylan. "I hear a radio. Marconi didn't transmit radio until 1895."
"Alright, then 1897."
Dylan stopped so abruptly, Kelly nearly ran into him.
"It's 1912," said Dylan.
"1912?" asked Kelly. "Are you sure?"
Dylan pointed to a poster.
"I can't read French," said Kelly. "Remember? I couldn't understand anything anyone said in that awful castle. And you were no help at all, the way you kept talking so fast I would've never caught up even if I could."
That awful castle had been the site Dylan had most wanted to see in France, aside from Balzac's house.
He had planned to visit the homes of various poets, as well, like Art Rimbaud and Charles Baudelaire, but had lost interest when his rejection had been emailed in from Berkeley.
"You don't need to know French to read it," said Dylan. "Just find something you recognize."
"Océan," said Kelly. "Océan Atlantique. I recognize that."
"The Atlantic Ocean," said Dylan. "Voyage across the Atlantic Ocean, in steerage 'the likes of which none have ever known,'" Dylan quoted from the poster.
"Like in that movie with that gorgeous Leo DiCaprio?" asked Kelly.
"Like the White Star Line offices we were just near," said Dylan. "Seriously, Kel, did you pay any attention while we were in Cobh?"
"Excuse me if I was a little distracted with looking for Brandon," said Kelly. "I majored in psych, not history."
"And when you think of Ms. Robinson's eighth grade history class, you think of…"
"How incredibly cute Joshua Keller was. Do you know how many times I dropped my eraser in that class so he could hand it back to me? I was convinced I would be Kelly Keller. How could I pay attention to anything Ms. Robinson said when Joshua smelled so good?"
Dylan resisted the urge to express his irritation.
"It's the Titanic, Kelly."
"So I was right," said Kelly. "It is like that movie with Leo and Kate."
"Or the one with Kenneth More and Ronald Allen," said Dylan. "Or how about the one with Barbara Stanwyck and Clifton Webb?"
Brenda had loved both of those. Dylan had borrowed every Titanic-related film he could and planned several movie nights during Brenda's phase of being fascinated with all things Titanic after their group had watched James Cameron's blockbuster movie release.
"Unless they filmed with Ingrid Bergman or were directed by Frank Capra, these names mean nothing to me," said Kelly.
"How did we ever get together?" asked Dylan incredulously.
"If I had a dollar for every time I've asked myself that, I'd be richer than Rush," said Kelly.
Dylan's mind ran berserk with the names of all the writers who would have been alive in the year of nineteen hundred and twelve.
Kahlil Gibran. Franz Kafka. Leo Tolstoy. L. Frank Baum. Edith Wharton. Jack London. Lucy Maud Montgomery.
Maybe once he found Brenda, they could use the coin to travel to 1912 whenever they wanted and meet all of them.
1912 was only one possibility. They could go anywhere, meet anyone. He could propose to Brenda amongst Elizabethans. Marry surrounded by Arthurians. Rescue the Romanovs.
On second thought, rescuing the Romanovs could damage history. Better to avoid that.
"Dylan!" Kelly's hand waved frenetically. "Dylan, it's Brandon!"
"Where?" Dylan's gaze soared.
"There!" Kelly pointed to a page in one of the nearby magazines. "He's there! In the top hat and tails."
"Actually, Kel," Dylan swallowed, "he's right there."
Kelly pivoted. Her face immediately ignited.
"Brandon," she said. "I told you he was here. I told you he's alive."
Kelly bolted in the direction of Brandon.
Dylan followed, noticing how Kelly's shoes didn't kick up dust. No one sneered at their outfits. In his own run, he was weightless.
He tried to not dwell on it.
He didn't want to draw attention to himself, anyway. If he remained unnoticed, it would be quicker to spot Brenda. Quicker to get her out, back to their own time period.
Back to his life. To his arms. To his bed.
He'd ask why she had ignored his calls, why his letters had been sent back as undeliverable.
What he had done for Brenda to completely bar him from her world.
It couldn't have just been the fight they had before he left.
Could it?
"Brandon." Sneaking up behind Brandon, Kelly looped her arms around his shoulders. "God, Brandon, you have no idea how good it is to see you. Never fool us like that again."
Brandon's conversation stopped.
"What is it?" asked his female companion.
Brandon turned his head to look over his shoulder, directly at Kelly.
"It is most peculiar," he said. "I was certain there was an object pressing upon my back."
"There is something," said Kelly. "My head! It's pressed right up against your back."
"Kel," said Dylan, "I don't think he can see you."
"He can see me," said Kelly. "He can. Brandon, you see me, right? You feel me, so surely you can see me. You have to be able to feel me, because I have to get you home. You have to take my hand and let me bring you home. You can't stay here. I won't let you."
Brandon shifted enough for Dylan and Kelly to view his companion.
Kelly's lips parted into a giant circle.
"That bitch has my face!" she yelled.
"Damn. She sure does," said Dylan. "Though you don't have scars on your collarbone like that."
"No, but I have them behind my ear from the fire," said Kelly.
Kelly rarely spoke of the fire.
Dylan wondered if she had ever talked about it to Brandon.
Dylan had been better at helping Kelly forget her problems, rather than helping Kelly deal with them.
He had always been better at helping Brenda deal with hers; at least, when he wasn't the reason behind them.
"Did you say something?" Brandon asked a parked car.
It was the kind of car that could have easily been stashed in the Royal Mews of Buckingham Palace.
"Me?" asked a voice that streamed from the car. "I did not say a thing."
"I know I heard something," said Brandon.
"Me!" said Kelly. "You heard me! Brandon, don't kiss her hand! She isn't me. I'm me! She's just some bitch that stole my face."
"I thought Dylan stole my name," said Dylan. "What if he didn't?"
"Dylan?" asked Kelly. "Are you talking about yourself in third person?"
"No."
"You heard it, didn't you, Kellieanna?" asked Brandon.
"I heard whatever you want me to hear," said the blonde Brandon had called Kellieanna.
"Kellieanna?" Kelly screeched. "Kellieanna? That's my name! My face!"
"Kellieanna isn't your name," said Dylan. "It's Kelly Marion."
"Kelly Marlene," said Kelly. "It's close enough. How long did Iris say we'd have?"
"She didn't," said Dylan. "Just that we won't last the day."
"Does the sun look like it's waning?"
He wouldn't admit it if it was, not when he still had to find Brenda.
"Maybe we can take into account the time difference," said Dylan.
"What did you think you heard?" a second voice asked Brandon, also from the car.
"I cannot tell you in front of the lady," said Brandon.
Kelly scoffed.
"A lady doesn't go around stealing people's faces," she said.
"Maybe she's your ancestor," said Dylan.
"Remember our family tree project? In second grade?" asked Kelly. "Bill and Jackie helped me go back generations. There wasn't anyone named Kellieanna on that tree."
"She could've changed her name," said Dylan.
"Maybe she's a conwoman," said Kelly. "Maybe she conned Brandon and she's the one who sent him here to make us all think he was dead."
"Kelly -"
"What?"
"Brandon's getting in that car," said Dylan. "And now he's leaving."
"We have to follow it! Quickly!"
"How are we going to follow a car?"
"There's a motorbike. Steal it."
"I can't steal it. It might be someone's only transportation."
"What if Brandon leads us to Brenda?"
Dylan stole the motorbike.
"You getting on, or not?" he shouted to Kelly over the discordance of the streets.
"Not," she said, hanging onto the back of the car. "I'm finding a way in. I have to get Brandon to see me. He can't when he's in there and I'm out here."
Dylan had never driven a motorcycle he couldn't fully sit in, but he did get a thrill out of driving one that must have been newly invented.
The car halted, and so did Dylan.
Brandon waved at whomever had been inside, returned his hat to his head, and whistled cheerily as he strolled.
"He's different," said Kelly.
"I don't think he's the Brandon we know," said Dylan.
"He felt me," said Kelly. "If he felt me, it's him."
Brandon's whistle was returned with a quieter one.
"McKay!" Brandon greeted. "I thought we were not to meet until tomorrow."
"I must speak with you," said the man. "About your sister."
"He has your face," said Kelly.
"He does not," said Dylan. "The light is playing tricks on you."
Except the man did assuredly have Dylan's face and, what's more, Dylan recognized the man's eyes as those of Old Walshford's.
"About my sister?" asked Brandon.
"Valerie brought her here yesterday," said the man Dylan adamantly refused to refer to by his own name. "Brenda claimed she had a fall off of her horse."
"Brenda has never fallen off of a horse," said Brandon.
"Are you aware that Brenda has remained in this house to protect you?"
"I was not aware of that, I assure you," said Brandon. "As a matter of fact, I have remained in this house to protect her."
"I am concerned."
"Dylan, I will protect my sister with my life," said Brandon.
"I fear your sister would do the same, Walshford, and that is my concern."
Walshford.
Brandon Walshford?
Dylan blocked out the rest of their conversation. His mind focused on one thing, and one thing alone.
Brenda Walshford.
Shit, Walshford wasn't a lying crook.
Dylan stepped around the men.
A sign pointed towards the Walshford estate.
Dylan took off without bothering to see whether Kelly had followed or had chosen to stay with Brandon.
The iron gates were locked.
"Brenda!" Dylan shook the gates. "Brenda, are you in there?"
He scanned the exterior of the manor.
Singing came from an open window.
"When other lips and other hearts, their tales of love shall tell / In language whose excess imparts the power they feel so well / There may perhaps in such a scene some recollection be."
Dylan joined in with the voice he knew to be Brenda's.
"Of days that have as happy been," he belted, "and you'll remember me."
"And you'll remember me," Brenda sang.
"You have not sung like this in quite a while," said a voice near Brenda. "Is it Richard who has stirred this joy in you?"
Richard? thought Dylan.
Who the fuck is Richard and how the hell is he stirring joy in her?
"Yes," said Brenda. "Richard." She reached out to close the casement window.
"You have to listen to me, Brenda!" said Dylan. "We've got to go! There's - there's so much for me to show you, so much for us to explore, but you have to open these goddamn gates and let me through!"
Brenda's hand stilled on the window.
"Shall we open the gates?" she asked. "The new maid will be arriving soon. We should welcome her."
"Your mother expressly forbade unlocking the gates until she arrives."
"Yes, alright." Brenda shut the window.
Dylan repeatedly rattled the gates.
He would need to find something to stand on if he wanted to climb over them.
"Dylan," he heard the sorrow in Kelly's voice, "Dylan, the sun is beginning to set and Brandon won't take my hand."
"Keep trying," said Dylan. "I have to get into that house."
"How?" asked Kelly. "Even Andre the Giant isn't as tall as these gates and they're too tightly packed for either of us to squeeze in."
"There's a way in," said Dylan. "I just have to find it."
There was not a way in, not until Brandon arrived to unlock the gates himself.
Dylan and Kelly tailed him.
"Brenda," said Brandon, "show me your face."
"I cannot," said Brenda.
"Dylan told me you claimed a fall," said Brandon. "Off of your horse? Utter poppycock! You would be a champion equestrian, if you were permitted to enter into the races."
"I'll buy you all the horses you want," said Dylan, grabbing Brenda's waist. "You just have to come with me."
"Do you feel a chill?" Brenda placed a shawl over her shoulders, which whacked Dylan in the face. "There is a chill in here."
"I do hope you are not exhibiting symptoms of influenza," said Brandon.
"Must have stood too close to the window," said Brenda. "Nothing a good cuppa cannot fix."
"We don't have a lot of time," said Dylan. "You both need to come with us, now."
"Please, Brandon! Brenda!" said Kelly. She looked at Dylan, her eyes filling with unshed tears. "They have to come with us, Dylan. We can't leave without them."
"We won't," said Dylan. "I'll hold onto Brenda. You hold onto Brandon and that way, they have to leave with us."
He dipped his nose into Brenda's hair, which smelled as fruity as it always had.
She was his Brenda. Not Richard's. Not Walshford's, or whatever his name was.
His.
"I've got you, Brenda Analiese," Dylan closed his eyes, breathing in every bit of Brenda he could. "I'm not letting you go."
"Are you alright?" asked Brandon.
"I seem to be frozen in place," said Brenda, trying to move.
"As do I," said Brandon.
"That's because I've got you," Kelly told him. "And as soon as we get back to 2002, I'm tearing your clothes off."
"Hope you heard that, Bren, because I'll be doing the same to you," said Dylan. "We'll lock the hotel bedroom and throw away the key."
"Dylan, it's - it's happening," said Kelly. "The wind. It's picking up."
"Hold tight to him, Kel," said Dylan. "Don't let our Bran go."
"I won't," said Kelly. "I won't let him go."
The wind had returned. The process of melting down into gelatin returned.
They landed on the floor of the hotel room, where the others sat, waiting.
"We found them," Kelly smiled.
"And we brought them back," said Dylan.
"Dyl," said Val, "there - there isn't anyone with you two."
"That can't be," said Dylan. "Brenda never left my arms." He searched the room. "I know she didn't. She was there! I heard her, in the wind!"
"Brandon?" Kelly asked fearfully. "Brandon!"
Neither Brandon nor Brenda stood in that room.
"We," Kelly released her tears, "we couldn't bring them back."
"But," Dylan clung to the bed, "but Brandon; he heard Kelly. And - and Bren," he hacked out a cough that choked his throat, "she felt me."
"Brandon must be straddling the past and present, all at once," said Iris. "It would have allowed him to hear Kelly."
"Brenda?" asked Dylan. "Is Bren also straddling them?"
"If Brenda felt you, but did not hear you, then she is fully immersed in the past," said Iris. "Her life here will be nothing more than a mere dream to her."
"What does that mean?" asked Dylan.
"It means you may have been able to return Brandon to the present, but not Brenda. You were unable to return either because -"
"Because Brandon didn't want to leave her." Dylan wiped furiously at his eyes. "How - how do we get Brenda out of there? There must be a way."
"The only way is for you and Kelly to rewrite your own histories with the Walshes," said Iris.
"Then we'll do it," said Dylan. "Tell me how, and we'll go there."
"To determine how to use the coin to your advantage, you must speak with someone who has travelled with the direct help of the Society," said Iris.
Dylan sat before the man clothed in a grey sweater.
"Come to taunt the 'sick fucker' further?" asked Walshford. "Or perhaps you would like to tear through more of my possessions?"
"I have met your Brenda," said Dylan. "Or who you think is your Brenda."
"Then you have changed your mind about my ridiculous kidnapping charge?"
"I haven't changed my mind about anything," said Dylan. "Nothing except that my mother's magic coin let me see my Brenda again."
"My Brenda," said the man.
"Look, maybe my Brenda is your Brenda, or maybe your Brenda is my Brenda," said Dylan. "Maybe we're in love with two different Brendas. I don't care about that right now. I need someone who's gone back into their own past, and you're the only one I know who has."
"Why should I help you," asked Walshford, "when your unfounded accusations have put me into a cell?"
"Unfounded?" asked Dylan. "My girl's in the past! Brandon's in the past! They didn't get there themselves. I get mine back; it doesn't mean you have to lose yours."
They lapsed into a tense silence, and then Walshford spoke.
"You must concentrate only on the event you want to change," he said, "on the person you wish to see."
"Thank you," said Dylan. "How - how did you lose your Brenda?"
"I don't like to speak of it," said Walshford.
"Your letters say McKay."
"McKay is the name the government insists on using. I took Brenda's surname. Walshford. It reminds me of her, and of her brother."
"Walsh," said Dylan. "Mine's was - is - Walsh."
"How'd you meet yours?"
"School. Yours?"
"Her father was my employer. Deplored me from the first paycheck."
"Bren's father isn't too fond of me, either. Feeling is very much mutual."
"Brenda's was an Earl, a member of one of the wealthiest, oldest families in England. Blood related to half of the royal families of central Europe, and the Czars of Russia. I was poor, an orphan, could barely rub two francs together. To Jameson, I was lower than amoeba."
"Jim's the same," said Dylan, "except I'm rich. I could give Bren anything she ever wanted, but even that wasn't good enough for Jim. No, I wasn't exactly a model citizen and to Jim Walsh, I was my corrupt father's son. Too rebellious. Too delinquent. Never good enough for Jim's little girl, no matter what kind of life I could give her."
"Jameson believed no one except Richard Worthington was suitable for Brenda."
"Richard Worthington?"
"Brenda's fiancée."
"She was engaged?" asked Dylan.
"Was engaged," said Old Man McKay. "But Richard had a concerning temper of his own, and Brenda's friends, her brother, my sister; they were all determined to turn Brenda's head away from him."
"Mine knew a Rick," said Dylan. "Fucking tosser."
"Tosser?"
"Jackass."
"An appropriate word for Richard and Jameson both. Jameson would beat on his children when he became displeased with them."
"Jim never went that far and if he did, I woulda kicked his ass to the other side of the planet."
That got the tiniest hint of a smile out of the old man, who proceeded to tell Dylan every step of what he would need to do.
"Is your Brenda English?" Dylan was asked.
"American," said Dylan. "Midwestern. She has a tinge of London in her voice, but not enough to be mistaken as English."
"When I met her, assuming that was her, she sounded English."
"Really? I saw her in your time period and she still very much sounded herself to me."
"That will be the coin's doing, I expect. You hear the voice you yearn to hear."
Dylan retracted his statement about Dylan McKay-Walshford and marched out of the jail.
"We're going," he told Kelly.
"Going where?" asked Kelly. "Back to 1912? Iris said we can get Brandon."
"But not Brenda, and Brandon won't let us take him without her," said Dylan. "No, we're going into our own pasts. And I know exactly what we need to do."
He and Kelly spoke to their friends individually, asking each of them what they would change about their lives, if given the opportunity.
"I should say I wouldn't cheat on Donna," said David, "and while yeah, that's something I'd take back, between you and me, McKay? I sometimes wonder if I would've married Donna if Val had never left town."
Steve was torn between his desire and his daughter.
"I don't want Mads to not exist," said Steve. "If I don't meet Janet, she won't exist."
"If we can find a way for you to still be a father to the Madster?" asked Dylan.
"Then truthfully, ever since the separation, I've thought about what might've happened if I'd gone with Clare when she asked me to come with her to Paris."
Valerie's was similar to David's, adding that she wouldn't have given in to Ginger LaMonica's demands about David; whatever that meant.
Donna said she had reconnected with an old friend on their alumni website, D'Shawn Hardell.
"I used to have this massive crush on him," said Donna.
"Why didn't you say anything?" asked Kelly.
"And have my mother hunt D'Shawn down? No. No way. You saw how she was when I was only dancing with him. And I was dating Travis, Griffin, Ray, then Joe."
"Would you have wanted to date D'Shawn?" asked Kelly, as Dylan wrote down everyone's wishes.
"Maybe," said Donna wistfully.
Dylan mulled over everything he could change, everything he wouldn't have to endure. Everything Brenda, Valerie, Kelly wouldn't have to endure. That they all wouldn't have to endure.
He could convince Silver to seek help sooner, maybe get a diagnosis for his bipolar sooner. He could be with Brenda in London sooner. He could help Valerie with Ginger. Kelly; maybe if Kelly moved with Brandon to the East Coast, she could avoid all the horrors that had happened to her after college graduation, or perhaps before.
Dylan had been cautioned that the more events of his past he changed, the more events of his old life he would forget.
"Then we can really change things?" asked Kelly.
"We can," said Dylan. "But Walshford said that we'll have our old bodies, our old mindsets. We need to write down our mission as soon as we get there, or we'll forget it."
They stood before the others, with Steve a blubbering mess.
"This might be the last time we ever see you guys," he said.
"No," said Dylan. "It won't. We'll see you in 2002. It'll just be a different 2002."
"A 2002 that has the Walshes around sounds like the perfect 2002 to me," said Val. "Do me a favor? Try to get Bren to let me reconnect with her if we drift?"
Dylan said he would.
He looked questioningly at Iris.
"No need for goodbyes," she said. "I'll still be around."
Dylan nodded and glanced at Kelly.
"Ready?" he asked.
"Ready," she said, releasing the quivering Donna.
This time, they landed on a beach.
Dylan could almost taste the surf.
"Are we at the Beach Club?" asked Kelly.
"What did you think of?" asked Dylan.
"When you and Brandon wanted me to choose," said Kelly. "I was gonna choose him. What did you think of?"
"The day I left London," said Dylan. "I was going to turn right around and go back into the flat, talk things out with Bren. That would've put you close to the day Brandon left the Hills."
"Well, we aren't in London," said Kelly.
"But we are at the Beach Club," said Dylan. "So when we meet everyone for Andrea's goodbye party, you can change your decision and I'll fly off to London tonight."
Kelly's hair wasn't yet styled in her old pixie cut, but maybe it didn't have to be for them to be in nineteen ninety-five.
"Dylan, you; uh," Kelly fished through her purse, "you might want to use this." She offered him her compact mirror.
Dylan examined his reflection.
"Shit," he said, running his hand over his gelled hair. "1998. I'm supposed to be in 1998."
"And I'm supposed to be in 1995," said Kelly.
"So if we aren't in 1998 or 1995, when are we?" asked Dylan.
They spotted David; a much younger, dorkier, David Silver free of tattoos, arguing with Brandon's old girlfriend.
"I know what I saw, David," she said. "I saw your sister go into Dylan McKay's cabana."
"Look, you can't tell anyone," said David. "Don't tell Brandon especially."
"Why would I tell Brandon?" asked Nikki DeWitt.
"No reason," said David.
"Excuse me," Kelly asked a woman in passing, who was dressed for a warm summer's day, "can you tell me what the date is?"
"August nineteenth," said the woman.
"And the year?" asked Dylan for clarification, though he already knew.
Ninety ninety-two, he was told with a strange look.
Kelly thanked the woman, whilst Dylan's chest locked up.
"Oh, come on!" He yelled at the clouds. "If you were gonna bring us back to 1992, couldn't you have done it before Bren went to Paris?"
"1992," said Kelly. "Summer 1992, the day Bren and Don return from Paris. How am I supposed to get Brandon back when he doesn't even love me yet?"
"How am I supposed to get Brenda back when she learns what we did?" asked Dylan.
"You did before," said Kelly.
"Not for another four years," said Dylan. "I can't wait four years, Kel."
"Then tell her now. When she gets home from the airport. Don't drag it out."
"I'll - I'll tell her. But first, I just want to hold her. I just need to enjoy some time being with Bren before I go and break her heart all over again."
"I'm not looking forward to hurting her, either," said Kelly. "I would've happily stayed away from you this summer, if I'd known then what I know now."
"You and me both, Kel," said Dylan. "I guess it wasn't something we could change. Here's hoping Bren's hate for me won't last."
Dylan wiped sand off of his shorts.
"Time to go be seventeen again," he said. "See you at the welcome home party."
"Remember," said Kelly, "every time we change something, we'll forget a little more. So write down -"
"That we need to keep them away from Cobh on the ninetieth anniversary of the Titanic sinking," said Dylan. "I'll put it on every calendar from now until then." He dug through his pocket for his note of the others' wishes.
The note was gone.
"We gotta hurry up and write what our friends said, or we'll lose that, too," said Dylan.
Kelly agreed to write down Steve's and Donna's. Dylan would note David's and Valerie's.
"Guess you won't be choosing me in the pool?" asked Kelly.
"Kel, if I have my way, it'll be Bren and I in that pool," said Dylan. "Who knows; maybe by Jack's party, Brandon will be looking your way."
"Or I'll have to wait through a string of girlfriends," said Kelly. "Let's see. He's on Brooke now, isn't he?"
"He'll be breaking up with her soon enough," said Dylan. "You and Brando should at least be together in another two years, if not before."
"Just in time for the Friends premiere," said Kelly. "Maybe we can watch it together."
"Maybe Bren and I will," said Dylan.
"You watch Friends?"
"I've seen it a couple times when I've been over at Steve's. I like Chandler."
"Why am I not surprised?" Kelly's upbeat expression drastically shifted. "Dyl, I should probably tell you; it was me who convinced Brenda that we should give you the ultimatum. Bren was hesitant, but Tiffany and I had done it to Steve and well, that time, I lost."
"I was so mad at Bren for giving me that ultimatum," said Dylan.
"Yeah, I," Kelly bit her lower lip, "I knew you were. So when Bren asked that I not tell you why she didn't go to Jack's party -"
"You told me so I would get angry enough to choose you," Dylan realized.
"I'm sorry," said Kelly. "It's just; Jake had left and besides Steve, you were the first guy I thought was interested in me for me, not my appearance. I was still stung over Brandon's rejection and Steve choosing Tiffany but wanting me back anyway and well, I saw how you were with Brenda. So sweet, so loving. I thought maybe; maybe you could be like that with me. At least until Brandon would change his mind about me."
"I'm not like that, Kelly. Not usually."
"I know that now," said Kelly. "Loving Bren brought it out in you, like loving Brandon brought out something different in me. So we're vowing right now that this summer is the last time we'll be together, because I don't want to be in competition with Brenda for the rest of my life. Not when I know what it's like to lose her, and to lose Brandon. Because a life without the Walshes -"
"- is a life neither of us want to experience again," Dylan finished. "You go get your happiness with my brother."
"You go get yours with my sister," said Kelly. "Friends?"
"Or something like it," said Dylan.
Kelly slid into her red BMW.
Dylan climbed over the door into his old Porsche, the one that had become scrap metal at the start of the twenty-first century.
He'd pick up Brenda from the airport, take her to the bungalow and then, he'd carry her to bed.
For the first time in years, when he said Brenda's name in bed, she would answer.
Once he maneuvered out of the overcrowded parking lot, where it seemed everyone in Beverly Hills had chosen to park on the nineteenth of August, nineteen ninety-two.
xx
She had been in the midst of searching her armoire for an appropriate dress that wouldn't remind her of him when she had found the book sitting high upon the shelf.
A first-edition of Anne of Green Gables, gifted by him the previous Christmas.
"Because of your shared love of Octobers," he had said as she had examined the cover.
"Anne Shirley and I have a shared love of Octobers?" she had asked.
"Little lady, you're in love with a guy born in October," he had said, giving her a cheeky grin. "Only you could get this loner to dress up for a Halloween party. And need I remind you that the Pigskin Prom you worked so diligently on was in -"
"October," she had finished. "Perhaps I do like October."
"Love October," he had corrected, leaning in for their morning snog. "You love October."
Standing in front of her armoire, holding the book, seeing other items that carried his scent or his memory, she had never loathed October more.
Nearing four months since he had left, and yet she still saw his own books, as if he had purposely left them behind to have a reason to return.
Brenda wouldn't allow him to.
"Hello?" A woman had answered, one whose voice was unknown to her.
She shouldn't have been surprised or hurt that he had found another already.
She would too, in time.
"Hello?" Brenda had begun boxing up Dylan's forgotten possessions, a dull ache in her throat. "Sorry," she had said, "I'm looking for Dylan?"
"Who is this?"
"I'm - I'm no one," Brenda had said.
"Well, no one, I'm Gina Kincaid, Dylan's girlfriend."
A hive of worker bees had swarmed into Brenda's throat to chomp on what little breath she had left.
"Then I should go," she had managed to say.
"Google says this is a UK number. Are you Dylan's ex?" asked Gina. "I heard about you. Donna was convinced you would fly out to check on Dylan last month. As I understand it, she and David both tried to call you, several times. But no answer. No visit. Shows just how little you care about him, doesn't it?"
Last month, Brenda had pondered. January. January, of nineteen ninety-nine.
"I was out of the country, on a tour, with shoddy service," Brenda had said. "My messages and missed calls have been a mess since."
"Convenient," Gina had snorted.
"It's the truth," said Brenda. "Did something happen to Dylan? Is he - is he alright?"
"He's fine now, no thanks to you. He was far from fine then. It's too late for you to pretend to care," said Gina. "Dylan doesn't need you messing with him while he's trying to get his life in order. Delete this number from your phone. Never call here again."
"Wait!" Brenda had said. "Don't hang up. It's just, Dylan left some of his things here, and I need an address to mail them to." Brenda had grasped onto her mobile as she had bitten back her tears. "Should I - should I mail them to the bungalow?"
"Mail them to Kelly's," Gina had said with a harsh laugh. "He's over there enough."
"Kel - Kelly's?" Brenda had latched onto the railing of her stairs. "Kelly Taylor?"
"Is there another Kelly in Dylan's world?" Gina had noted.
Brenda hadn't responded.
"I guess neither of us mean much to Dylan, since he's only connected with Kelly and his late wife," said Gina bitterly.
"I don't understand."
"Understand this. Dylan McKay is in love with Kelly Taylor, and he has every intention of getting her back. So don't waste your time enchanting Dylan back to you, because when Kelly rejects him yet again, it will be me he'll bury his sorrows in. Me, the one who's been by his side through all of this. Me, the one he fucks hard every night like he's never had a good fuck in his life. Not you. You mean nothing to him. Save yourself the trouble and move on from him, as he's had no problem moving on from you."
Brenda had suffered a terrible blow, but she had been determined to not cry to Gina.
"Then you - you tell Dylan that, that," Brenda forced out the words she didn't want to say, "that he never meant anything to me, either. London, it - it meant nothing. And you can ease his mind that I'll never - I will never speak to him again."
"Great," said Gina, "now you can both move on."
The phone had clicked. Brenda had sunk down to the carpet that had lined her stairs.
An overwhelming sob had grasped her. Bolts of heat lightning had catapulted through her, exploding into a violent, unexplainable pain.
Brenda had been heartbroken over Dylan McKay before, but not to that extent.
She had reached for her mobile a second time and punched out the numbers with her thumb.
"Brenda?"
"Mags? Are you - are you with Brandon?"
"Yeah, we're at the theatre waiting for you. Are you on your way?"
"I - I can't -"
"Brenda?"
"I need - I need Brandon."
"Brenda?" Maggie had repeated. "What's wrong?"
"I - I don't know, but I - I tried to call Dyl - Dylan," Brenda had sniffled, "just to - to send his things, and it - it fucking hurts." Brenda had grasped hold of her back, which had never been more cruel. "Maggie! Oh my God, Maggie!"
"Brenda! Hold on, love. We're coming. Brandon's getting the car keys from Shane and we'll be there in two shakes of a lamb's tail."
"There's - there's blood. Maggie - Mags, there's so much blood."
Mags.
Mags.
"Mags," she called out. "Mags!"
"Good heavens, child, what are you dithering on about?"
Brenda awoke to find herself in the parlor room, her needlework lying haphazardly on the table.
The thimble had fallen, embedding itself into the carpet below her feet.
"You surely did not fall asleep again?" asked Nanny. "That's the third time today!"
"Perhaps I am feeling a bit peckish," said Brenda. She attempted to commit to memory the dream that was rapidly slipping away from her.
She had held a foreign object in her hand. Spoken on it, to - to a woman called Gina?
Gina. Kelly. Had Dylan lain with a Gina? What did Brenda care if he had, when she was set to marry Richard? Dylan could lie with any woman he wished.
It wasn't as if they were in a committed relationship, or any kind of relationship that crossed the boundaries of friends.
It wasn't as if they could ever be in one.
"I've been having the strangest dreams," said Brenda. "I hold peculiar objects that do not exist, in tiny houses occupied by many people. Out the window, I see London, but it is a London that is inundated with all kinds of transportation I have never seen. Sleek buses mix on the streets with sleek seats, on wheels, but they are not motor cars, nor motorbikes."
"Your futuristic dreams continue, I see," said Nanny. "Was it another one where you were level with the sky, and music emitted from the back of crowded seats?"
"No," said Brenda.
"I did warn you that all this reading you do would permeate your dreams," said Nanny.
"Yes, I suppose you did."
"You stayed up all night reading, I presume?"
Brenda's silence was an answer of its own.
"Still," said Nanny, "I suppose it could be due to the weather itself."
"It is possible."
It seemed too convenient for Brenda's bizarre dreams to be explained away by the weather.
"Best to conceal this from your parents," said Nanny. "You know how your father is about these fantasies of yours. Now, let's have a look at you." Nanny grasped Brenda's chin to examine her face. "You do not need to defend me from him, Brenda."
"I could not have him beating on you, Nanny."
"Instead, he beat on you." Nanny clicked her tongue. "Not for the first time, certainly, but it has been a good while since one that has marked you so. Brenda, I am twice your age. I can handle whatever punishment the Earl decides to dole out."
She applied ointment to Brenda's bruise, the way Dylan had.
"The punishment is unjust," said Brenda. "You have not done anything."
"The purple has faded," Nanny announced. "You will need to wear the scarf until the yellow does the same, or -"
"Or remain inside, to draw less attention and less questions," Brenda recited the line she knew well. "I cannot. Brandon and I have been invited to an event. To miss it would draw questions regardless."
"We'll say you are feeling unwell. Few will question that."
"I will wear the scarf."
Brandon peered at her.
"I told you," Brenda sighed, "I have made up my mind."
"I think you should unmake it," said Brandon. "David is concerned. Dylan is concerned. We are all concerned. We know of Father's temper. If Richard's is similar -"
"It is not."
"But if it is -"
"Let's not argue, Brandon. It is too lovely of a day to argue."
"You may have betrothed yourself to danger, Brenda."
"Unless you have seen Richard's alleged temper for yourself, we cannot assume anything," said Brenda.
Head held high, she walked into the building.
"Brandon! You have come!"
"As I promised I would," said Brandon. "Kellieanna, I would like you to meet my sister. Brenda."
"It is lovely to meet you, Brenda," said Kellieanna.
"And you," said Brenda, entranced by the sparkle of Kelly's costume. "Brandon has told me a great deal about you."
"Oh dear," said Kellieanna.
"Only that you are the finest dancer within any company I have seen," said Brandon.
"You do flatter me," said Kellieanna.
There was a spark between them, one Brenda had never seen Brandon possess with anyone else.
They found David, talking with Valerie and Dylan.
"I dragged him out here," said Valerie. "But I should warn you: he's in a foul mood."
"I am in no such mood," said Dylan. "Brenda -"
"I am not removing the scarf," said Brenda. "The less uncovered my face is, the less Brandon and I will be recognized. Unless you would like to see your face splashed across the papers," she told Dylan.
He didn't speak further.
The only available seat was beside him.
"Well, go ahead. He won't bite," said Valerie. "Hard," she added.
Brenda took her seat.
"Are you cold?" asked Dylan. "You're shivering."
"It may just be nerves," said Brenda.
"Nerves?" asked Dylan.
"Brandon and I have discussed it and we would like to invite you all on a little excursion after the performance, but it would be out of Cherbourg and we do insist on paying transportation for everyone."
"Brenda, we cannot accept," Dylan began.
"Oh yes we can," Valerie interrupted. "We're glad to accept; aren't we, Dylan?"
Dylan looked at her.
"We accept," he said begrudgingly.
The performance and Kellieanna's perfectly executed technique was beautiful, but not as beautiful as the terrain that greeted them in the French countryside.
Dylan had tried to decline the train ticket, but he had been outnumbered.
"It is wonderful out here," said Kellieanna. "Do you think it warm enough for a swim?" she asked Brandon.
"It is far too cold for a swim," said David. He had sat close enough to Valerie that he could speak with her and with Stephen. "But if we wait a few hours, we'll see a sky full of stars."
"You must have seen a sky full of stars," Brenda told Dylan. With no one around to ask questions, Brenda removed her scarf. "In Canada. The Canadian sky is surely one of brilliance."
"It is," said Dylan. "In Canada, you can see the night sky turn colors. You can see it, someday, if you go there."
"Perhaps I will," said Brenda.
Richard could take her, she thought. She was moving to America for him. He could surely take her for a visit in Canada.
"Do you know the legends of the skies?" asked Dylan.
"A few," said Brenda. "Can you tell me more?"
She sat, transfixed on Dylan and on his vast knowledge.
"Someday," said Dylan, "I'm going to see the Pacific."
"The Pacific? I have heard of that."
"Biggest ocean in the world. I'm going to swim across it."
"Then you will surely be in the papers."
They were all grouped together: Brandon and Kellieanna, Dylan and Brenda, David and Valerie.
Only Stephen sat alone, but he seemed to not mind.
"David and Valerie have become closer," said Brenda. "He appears to be debating whether to break decorum and hold her."
"Doesn't all of that seem silly to you?" asked Dylan. "Decorum. Etiquette. Chaperones. Rules. Resisting from touching someone you like because society may find it unseemly."
"When I am on my horse, I am without a chaperone," said Brenda, though she did not know why she had.
"Worthington does not accompany you?" asked Dylan.
"Horses terrify him," said Brenda, "but please do not reveal to him I told you so."
"Then where will your horse go when you marry?"
"With Brandon and Susannah. Brandon has promised to me that he will take great care of my beloved Elsie."
"Elsie?"
After Lily Elsie, said Brenda, who she had seen perform on a London stage five years before.
"I used to work with horses," said Dylan. "Before we came to Cherbourg. My aunt and uncle, they had a stable, and I learned a lot from the stable hands. I could look in on Elsie for you, every now and then. If you'd - if you'd like."
"I would like that very much," said Brenda. "Merci beaucoup."
"De rien."
It was far more than gratitude that coursed through Brenda's veins.
It scared her, what she felt for Dylan.
"What is that?" Brenda dug through the sand.
"It appears to be an overcoat," said Dylan. "It may have been carried here by the sea, or blown in by a storm."
"Try it on," said Brenda.
"You want me to try it on?"
"I think it may be your size."
Before Dylan could try it on, it blew away.
"Storm's coming," said Brandon.
"We best leave," said Stephen.
They climbed aboard the train just in time for rain to pelt in fat droplets against the windows.
"I do so enjoy the train," said Brenda.
"As do I," said Valerie. "Maybe when I become an actress, I will ride one every day."
"You wish to become an actress?" asked Brenda. "Stage or film?"
"Film," said Valerie.
"Brenda had wanted to become a star of the stage," said Brandon.
"You could, you know," said Valerie.
"It was a dream of my childhood," said Brenda. "I am too old for such fantasies now."
Dylan gave her a beseeching look, as if he had picked up on her fib.
If she wasn't Brenda Walshford, if she didn't have to protect her twin brother by marrying a Worthington, then Brenda may have run away to the stage.
But she was Brenda Walshford, and becoming an actress wasn't a possibility for her.
They said their goodnights and returned to their respective homes.
The twins entered the foyer to find their father in a rage.
"Who have you been talking to?" he screamed, grabbing Brenda roughly by the arm.
"No one!" she said.
"Father, let go of her!" said Brandon.
"This is between me and your ungrateful sister," said Jameson. "I give the orders," he barked. "Not you."
Jameson smacked his hand across Brandon's back, who went sailing to the floor.
"Brandon!" Brenda bent to crouch beside Brandon's fallen form. "Brandon, please get up."
Brandon groaned.
Jameson dragged Brenda up.
"There is a woman in town," he said. "Clara Arnaud. A journalist. She is asking questions, questions about the way I treat my children. After all I have done for the two of you, this is how you repay me?" Brenda's chin hit the table as Jameson threw her into a chair. "Besmirching my name?"
He grabbed a book off of Brenda's stack.
Brenda caught sight of the cover.
It was the book her grandfather had given her, just before he had passed away from tuberculosis.
"I do not know a Clara!" she said. "Brandon and I have not spoken to her!"
"But you have spoken to someone," said Jameson, "and I will find out who."
He tossed the book into the roaring fireplace.
"No!" Brenda cried.
She leapt towards the fireplace, trying to salvage the remains of her book with the fire poker.
"It is with my money that you have purchased these books," said Jameson. "These stories are giving you ideas, ideas that cause you to believe it is acceptable to betray your father. If I find out you are lying to me, that you have taken off your scarf for anyone to show them the mark you inflicted upon yourself when you deliberately disobeyed me, this will not be the only book of yours I burn."
Jameson staggered away, leaving Brenda to cry into the charred pieces.
I'm so glad I live in a world where there are Octobers, the text had said.
It now read as so glad, a world, Octobers.
"Brenda?"
Brandon approached her.
"He burnt my book," said Brenda in a near-whisper.
"We can repair it," said Brandon. "If we cannot, I will buy you a new copy of the same story."
"Don't you see?" Brenda turned her tear-stained face towards Brandon. "If he can do this to a book he knows was given to me by our beloved Grandpère, a book I have cherished since receipt, what will he do to a person he despises that I am fond of?"
"Brenda?"
"We meet Dylan one more time," said Brenda. "Thursday, as we had planned. And then -"
"Brenda."
"For Dylan's own sake, I must not see him again," said Brenda.
"Do not be so hasty in your decision," said Brandon. "You are upset. I saw you, how you brightened tonight around Dylan. I have not seen that in you in a long time. You cannot allow Father to take that light from you."
"He is not," said Brenda. "I am choosing to protect Dylan by staying away from him. You may continue to bring him food, if you wish. I will bring it to David, who can give it to Valerie. We will ensure they remain fed, that their bellies are full. But tomorrow; tomorrow will be the last time I talk to Dylan McKay."
It was futile for Brandon to change Brenda's mind, though he certainly tried multiple times throughout the night.
"Can I at least tell him why?" asked Brandon.
"Not unless you would like for Dylan to be smacked, as you were."
"He is going to be hurt, Brenda."
"His psychological hurt will be less than his physical hurt would be."
"We set sail in a week. Reconsider until then. Once we are aboard, we will leave Dylan and Valerie behind. You need not speak to him. You can write. Valerie said Dylan likes to write."
Writing was tempting.
But not tempting enough.
"My decision is final," said Brenda.
She would avoid Dylan in her day-to-day activities. Fill her time with Richard, and with Richard's family.
If her dream that night was any indication, Brenda had no intention of barring Dylan from her sleep.
She dreamt of herself as a stage actress, Dylan watching her every move the way Brandon had watched Kellieanna.
"You were wonderful." Dylan kissed down her neck.
"Really?" asked Brenda. "I thought I skipped a line."
"Could hardly tell. You're gonna go far, babe."
"You're just saying that 'cause you wanna get laid."
"I'm saying that because it's true," said Dylan. "And I wanna get laid."
He threw Brenda down onto the bed.
"Now, let me show you just how much I appreciate every inch of this body. Every inch."
There were two Brendas that night.
Brenda of the dream world clung to Dylan, laughter permeating both of their voices.
Brenda of reality sobbed into her pillows, until they became drenched against her face.
-x
Yes, I intentionally included that nod to Matthew Langford Perry Roger Azarian Chandler Bing Mike O'Donnell. He's such a quintessential part of my childhood (and many people's lives) that to say I'm in shock is putting it lightly. It was also a shock to learn how close our Shan was to him when she posted it on Insta. This one's up there with Luke and Robin Williams for me.
My immense gratitude to Lore (Beverlybeat) for allowing me to bounce ideas off of her as I figured out what path this story would take.
To keep it from becoming too similar to Itero, BD of 2002 will not meet in their dreams, but Bren will have dreams of her old life, as Iris said.
Gina meant well, trying to protect Dylan from who she thought was his terrible ex and trying to encourage Bren to move on from Dylan because of how quickly he had seemingly moved on from Bren, but as usual, Gina's words did not come out as she intended.
I'm considering including the POV of Steve from 1992, as well, but that may get confusing. Unsure if Kelly will have one, because I'm not entirely sure I can properly write in hers. Will we see other POV's from 1912?
Sources: Google and the website for Britannica. Book: Anne of Green Gables by Lucy Maud Montgomery. Song: Then You'll Remember Me by Michael William Balfe.
(Shout-out to Crystal to express my gratitude and appreciation, as well as those of you whose review I could respond to directly.)
Thanks a million! x