Soft footsteps pitter patter on the concrete walkway. Steady is their gait, and timid is their presence in the chilly ambience of October.

Kate walks down the path leading to Blackwell Main. A couple of birds can be seen dancing in between the branches, chirping in their sweet tones. A gust of wind blows across the quad, and sweeps the fallen leaves up in a turbulent swirl. Her hands, afflicted by the cold, clutch tightly to the hem of her sleeves, and she shivers.

It's been roughly an hour since they came back from the junkyard, and it's not even remotely enough time to come to terms with what she and her friends had uncovered. Even now, Kate finds herself coughing instinctually whenever she recalls the smell of rot, and fights the nausea burning in her stomach when she thinks of the grisly sight of the body.

The quartet split up once they returned, both for the sake of efficiency and to give themselves some time to recover. Dana and Juliet have gone off together to recover in peace. When Kate asked each of them if there was anything she could do to support them, they kindly refused, and said that they would be busy for the rest of the day and would rejoin with Warren and Kate once they all decided to visit Max in the hospital.

For her part, Kate had returned to her dorm and spent the few minutes she had fighting the urge to toss up her lunch and plucking tissues. A text from Warren sometime later notified her that he was in the library reading up on the possibilities of time travel, and that he would like to talk about it with her once she was ready. Seeing no better alternative than to sit in her room and sulk, Marsh picked herself up and began her walk to Blackwell's main building, trying her best to keep her chin up and her brow straight.

A terrible feeling of anxiety has sunk its talons into her heart, and has weighed down upon her shoulders like a great bird of prey, perched atop its spoils. Except, this animal has a name and a face, and happens to exist in close proximity to Kate and her friends—

Nathan Prescott.

Marsh remembers the way he crept to safety under the cover of the alarm, the gun in his hand still smoking, probably still rife with the incriminating tang of cordite and gunpowder. In that moment, he had nearly taken the lives of both Chloe and Max, and had most likely been the one behind Rachel's murder. She does not know if it was him for a certainty, but there was too much correlation. She can already imagine him, standing over the grave with a shovel in hand, that sinister glare of his looking down upon his handiwork.

Control yourself. Don't get lost in your delusions. It could be anyone.

She steps through the entrance of Blackwell's main building. Gone is the chilly wind, and Kate takes a moment to calm herself. It never does any good to dwell on things, especially if one cannot change them. All she can do now, is follow through with her friends and put together the pieces Max left behind.

Max…

Those vivid details of Max clutching at her overcoat, begging her to listen, slumping against the wall once all was said—it still boggled her whenever she thought about it. There was so much urgency to when she had carried the brunette out and into the arms of Madsen, that she hardly had the time to think about why Max had said those words of warning, had written them in scratchy strokes.

…I am the Max of the future, coming back in time to deliver this message…

Max…from the future? But was that really the case, there in that silent room, with its blue tiles stained in red blood? It could have been the onset of shock, of the adrenaline coursing through the brunette's veins, forcing her to speak when she was not capable of thought. But how could Caulfield have imparted onto the blonde so many details to follow, and speak so emphatically about the dangers she would face?

Kate shook her head clear, and pressed on into the building. Thinking about the possibility was too much to consider at this point in time.

Marsh finds the library, and enters. It's among the largest of rooms within the main building, yet it always gives the feeling of being cramped and restrictive. This might have something to do with the several shelves full of books that took up most of the space. In front of the entrance were also some empty desks for people to read in silence, and further past these desks were the handful of school computers that students could access for class projects and whatnot.

The blonde liked the library, though she does not visit as often as she would like. There was always someone causing a ruckus with their friends for her to enjoy reading in peace, or better yet, there was no luck in finding the right books that she was interested in reading. Coming here was a seldom occasion, but Warren had asked her to meet up with him here, and she was not interested in sulking in her room for any longer than necessary.

Except, Warren was nowhere in sight. He ought to be at one of the desks, but there was not a soul sitting amongst the wooden tables, nor the computers for that matter. Kate was alone.

She stepped further inside, and placed her messenger bag down upon the closest desk. She looked around, searching for any sign of life—but there was nothing.

Maybe he's somewhere amongst the shelves?

She wandered from the desks to the maze of towering bookshelves, weaving through the isles in the hopes of seeing Graham's shaggy hair or that olive green sweater he usually wears. Yet, there was still no indication that he was here.

Kate sighed, dismayed at the absence of her friend. Would she have to spend the time learning about time travel, now that she was here? She supposed she might as well, and that perhaps Warren would show up in the meantime. So, she circled back to the shelves closer to the desks, and glanced over to the entrance—

She froze. Her eyes widen, her brows furrow with dread. Hands clench into fists.

A predatory glare observes her from a seat right next to her messenger bag. A smile greets her once she notices him.

"Hey there," Nathan calls. He waits patiently for her to come over, and Kate swallows her fears and does just that. Slowly, she takes her seat. Thankfully, her messenger bag goes uncontested, and she sets it down at her feet and away from Prescott's reach. It doesn't do much to quell her nerves.

"Fancy seeing you here," he starts up, prompting her to squint in suspicion, "Why's that?"

"You're just the person I've been looking for," the Prescott heir leans back in his chair to get comfortable, "Better than that annoying geek, that's for sure."

"…where is he?" she pressed. Her dread shifts to righteous concern. She was right to assume Warren never flakes out on meetups.

"Don't worry 'bout him," Nathan smirked, "He's getting acquainted with my friends. Nothing serious. I'm mostly here for you, anyways."

Kate imagines Warren in a pitched battle, surrounded by human shadows, struggling to remain standing; his nose is bleeding and his fists are barely able to shield the salvo of punches being dished out by his faceless opponents. She wonders if the fight is still going, or if she's already too late.

"What do you want me for?"

"You know the answer to that already," came the sardonic retort, "The question right now is whether you're gonna start confessing or if I'm going to have to connect the dots for you."

Kate clenched her jaw, and bit down upon her tongue. Under the table, her fists trembled in anticipation.

"I…I don't know what you're talking about."

"Except you do. I know you were inside, when it happened," he grinned at the visible distress on her face, "You told the pigs that you saw Madsen as he went inside, but we both know that isn't the whole of it. If you saw him, then you saw me. So tell me, Marsh—am I wrong?"

Kate said nothing. She was frozen still. The only part of her that moved was her fearful gaze, shifting down to the table and away from Nathan's own.

Nathan's smile grew, "Good to know."

A pause. Neither one said anything. Nathan was content to sit there and watch Kate work through what was said and left unsaid. He enjoyed seeing her squirm in fright at the terrible realization.

"…I don't know what's made you keep quiet about what you saw," he began, "perhaps you're smart enough to know what happens if you snitch, perhaps it's just blind luck. Either way, you would do well to keep quiet. Nothing good happens if you start squealing."

Kate seemed to make up her mind with that veiled threat, and jabbed back, "Why is that? Can't your family pay for all the legal fees in court?"

"I'm not talking about me," he corrects. He takes the time to slowly lean forwards, his arms resting upon the tabletop as his eyes glare down the shivering blonde, "I know you've got friends, and family. It'd be a shame if something bad happened to them. Of course, it helps when we try to not involve them in things they don't need to be involved in, ain't that right?"

Kate nodded dejectedly.

"Good to see we're on the same page," again, Nathan leaned back with a sigh of content, "Oh, don't be so down about it. Look at the bright side, all you have to do, is nothing! In fact, you can walk out of this room and pretend that we never had this conversation. Just know that, if you try anything, if you think you've got a chance at sticking it to me, you should really reconsider."

He leans in again, but this time with a smile, "Because you will not live to see the sun rise, if you try to fuck with me. Are we clear on that?"

Kate nodded silently. She has yet to look the Prescott heir in the eye.

"Good."

The chair groans as he stands up and slowly walks to the exit. The door opens, then closes. Silence rings in the room.

Kate raises a hand to brush through her bangs, then sets it upon the table, rolling and clenching her fist in despair. She huffs her frustrations away, one exhalation at a time.

Lord, forgive me.

She wanted to scream, she wanted to tear that—that rotten bastard a new one! Oh, but the terror that would befall her friends and family, it stayed her hand and kept her quiet. She knew Nathan was a harsh ruler, and always followed through with his promises of violence. She had seen this fate befall other students during her time at the academy, names and faces that were suddenly transferring or moving away for personal reasons. Everyone knew the truth, but no one would say it aloud. Now she was in danger of becoming one of those poor souls, unless she submitted to the tyrant's demands—

Some noise came from outside the room, somewhere in the hall. Kate turned, then stood up and walked over to see what was going on—but someone beat her to the door; they pushed it open and stepped inside.

"Warren?"

Shaggy hair swayed from the sudden motion as he looked up to meet her shocked expression, and he smiled nervously, "Oh, hey Kate. Sorry, I uhm…I got caught up with this one book I was reading and lost track of time—"

"Stop, please," she chose to embrace him, and he returned it with some confused reluctance, "I was looking for you, but then Nathan confronted me, and explained why you weren't here. I…I was worried that he had sicced his hounds on you."

Warren huffed in dismay, "…yeah, he did. He and his followers cornered me in here, and then shoved me into another classroom. They didn't beat me up, but…yeah. What about you, though—are you okay? Did Nathan—?"

"No, thankfully he didn't," Kate assuaged his worries, "He just spoke to me, that's it. But, he knew, Warren—he knows that I saw him when it happened. I—I don't know how he managed to figure it out, but he threatened me to keep quiet about it, or else…"

"…why, is he going to try and hurt you?" Graham posited, "D-don't worry, we can find someplace safe for you. I know this one spot—"

"That's not it, Warren," Marsh pleaded, "He's…if I talk about him being the one who shot Max and Chloe, then he'll go after my family, and he'll go after you, and Dana and Juliet. I…I'm not sure what I should do."

"Well, for one thing, we definitely should find someplace safe," he pats her arm gently and beckons her, "Get your things, I know someplace where we won't get jumped by Nathan. We can talk there."

She takes her messenger bag from under the table, and follows him out of the library, the space becoming quiet once again.

It's not quite the safe place she had in mind. Although, if she were to really imagine a safe place to hide from Nathan, it would be nowhere in and around Blackwell, so this spot was technically the best they had. She only wished she wasn't so jittery, so shaken up by Nathan's persuasive spiel to enjoy the tranquil solitude this place brought.

The view from the passenger seat of Warren's Hatchback gave a perfect panorama of the Blackwell parking lot and the few vehicles presently parked in their respective places. Further beyond the lot and up a slight incline was the gymnasium, and then the main building poking out behind the former structure.

It was quiet, and peaceful. Nobody noticed her and Warren as they talked.

"…so if we are stuck to this plane of existence, this third realm of space-time, this means that we would need some kind of conduit to allow us to circumvent the hold placed upon our physical vessels. Whether this implies the conscious is not actually tied to one's physical body, I don't know enough to say for sure, but I do know that it would theoretically be possible to transfer one's conscious through space-time given some mathematically proven external force. Have you ever watched Back to the Future?"

She shakes her head. The only media her family owned in totality was The Ten Commandments and VeggieTales, and the Marsh elders never bothered to update that short list much to her and her sisters' chagrin.

"Well, to put it in summary," Warren continues, "Doc Brown's DeLorean is the conduit, and with it both he and Marty McFly are able to go back and forwards to different points in time, provided the conduit has the right energy input and velocity to facilitate the jump and make it through to the other side. That passage between points requires the person to sustain that energy through the conduit. Max doesn't mention having a physical item with her, so there's a possibility that she's using a conduit and has not told us, or…"

"…or, what?" Kate frowned worriedly.

"Or maybe, she is the conduit. And that's how she's able to manipulate time in such a manner that some things are unaffected, but others are completely changed. I mean, it's hard to tell because we don't know the actual extent to which her changing certain variables has changed the timeline—our timeline, relative to hers."

"…I'm so confused."

"Sorry, I'm probably nerding out a bit too hard about this," Graham placated, "But know that there's some legitimacy to Max being able to do this time manipulation-stuff. It might be one of those things where the stars would have to align and God himself would have to come down from the heavens and give his two-cent's worth, but it is possible. Our job is to fulfill those prophecies and see if we can find a way to communicate with Max from the future again."

"…Max from the future," she reflected, the string of syllables sounding so foreign to her ears.

"Yeah, crazy, isn't it?" Warren muttered, enraptured in the thoughts swirling in his head, "It seems so…so bizarre. It's almost like, if that is true, then what isn't true? Does that open up the possibility that things we once took for granted are not what they seem? I don't know, and now I feel like I have to know. I'll never be able to rest, until I figure out what's the truth, and what's not the truth."

He seemed to have a fire in his eyes, burning with curiosity. But this flame dimmed once he noticed her downtrodden features, "Ah, shoot—I didn't just make it worse, now did I?"

"…maybe I shouldn't have asked for help."

Warren sat up, confused and a bit hurt by the assumption, "Whoa, what do you mean?"

"No, I…I'm sorry," Kate sniffled, brushing the sleeve of her coat against her nose, "I…I didn't realize how bad things were going to get. I thought, maybe we would be able to figure this out by ourselves, that it wouldn't get anyone else involved—but that's not the case anymore. Nathan will go after us, he'll hurt you and everyone else. My parents, my sisters, and all my friends…he'll hurt them."

Then, she turned to him, the ambient light glimmering from the tears threatening to spill from her eyes, "He'll hurt you, and Dana, and Juliet. I can't bear to imagine that. I shouldn't have gotten you all involved, now you're in danger because of me. I'm…I'm sorry."

Warren said nothing. He waited silently as Kate finally begged of him, "I know that if I keep quiet and not say anything, then he'll leave us alone. We—we should bide our time, and wait. That way, you all can untangle yourselves from this mess, and then no-one can get hurt because of my actions—"

"Stop."

She stutters to a halt. Nervous silver orbs stare at him expectantly.

"…I don't know how I can say this without it sounding like I don't care," he starts, rough with uncertainty, "But if you've given up already, then just say so. You don't got to twist my arm about wanting to let go of this, and you definitely don't need to make me feel bad about getting involved."

She's confused, if the pinch in her trembling brow is any indication. He clarifies, "It's true that I might've gone on without noticing this, that we could be none-the-wiser if you hadn't approached all of us about it, but I'm not doing this simply because you asked me. Max wasn't just your friend, you know," he sighs, "She's the one who brought me into our small circle, if you can recall that. Before, I was just some nobody. I had no intention of making friends here because I felt that nobody would be able to understand who I was. When Max came along and talked to me, I thought that maybe, just maybe, being able to have friends was what I was missing in my life. And what do you know—now I've got good company in the form of you and Dana and Juliet. All because Max went out of her way to be my friend."

A pause. She can see the flush on his cheeks, but this was not from embarrassment. This was an emotion unnamed and indescribable, coursing through Graham's blood and boiling with energy. It was as if he had been waiting for the right moment to speak with such passion, and what a fiery spiel it was! Kate could feel the power behind these words as he spoke—

"I don't know how you see Max, but to me, she is my friend," he locks his determined glare at the blonde, "And I don't give up on my friends if I can help it. I'm not silly enough to say that I can be there for them every step of the way—but I won't just sit by and do nothing. Because I know, for an absolute certainty, that Max would do the same for me. That is friendship, that is what it means to be a good friend."

"And if you plan on forsaking that promise because you fear what Nathan's told you, then I'm sorry, but I won't go along with you," he called her out, "I don't give a damn what Nathan says or what he does. If anything, that only makes me assured that I need to get to the bottom of this, otherwise good people will be hurt, and will continue to be hurt, and the bastard that does the hurting will get away with it, and that isn't right!"

He's done. Any more, and he'd be driving himself to anger. His stern expression is etched on his face, a mark of resilience meant to show how he controls the flame in his heart. What virtue was this, that which lies within the souls of good men, here in this solemn space that could be so clearly understood by the observer, who bears witness to such blazing passion? For Kate had the sorrow punched out of her with those heavy-hitting words, words that she knows all-too-well herself. These are the same words which she governs her friendships with, and which she had forgotten whilst in the midst of her fear!

She looks out the windshield at nothing in particular. Tears stream down her face, and she brushes at them with her sleeves. She sniffles.

"I'm sorry. I didn't mean to say such things. I…I got so caught up in trying to keep you and the others out of danger, I didn't see that I was just breaking our promise to Max. I'm sorry, please forgive me…"

She can see him looking at her in her periphery. Gone is the passion, in its place is a smoldering regret. But she respects him for it, for if she continued down the path of giving into her fears, then she would become atomized and vulnerable. She would play right into Nathan's hand without ever realizing it.

"…it's alright, I forgive you," he finally says, "I just…that idea of leaving you to go through this alone makes me feel all kinds of bad. That's not what friends do. They don't abandon each other, especially when danger's afoot. Frankly, I'm glad that you asked for our help instead of trying to solve this mystery alone. None of us would be prepared for when Nathan decides to get physical if you didn't."

Warren leaned back into the driver's seat of his small Hatchback, and reached around the seat for something in the back. A clatter came, and he snickered to himself in triumph—the sound of glass clinging against more glass caught Kate's attention, and she eyed the copper glass bottle of something in the boy's hands.

"…since when did you drink?"

"Oh, this is just root beer," he explained, "I personally don't drink much outside of water and juice, but every once in a while I'll have a root beer as a token of remembrance. Want some?"

"No thank you, I'm good," Kate decided, and she watched as he popped the bottle with an opener retrieved from his glove box, and took a great swig of it. He lay back in his seat, and stared off into the distance. Kate passively observed him, noting the marks of exhaustion underneath his forest-green eyes. His disheveled hair and calm expression gave him the feeling of familiarity, as if this moment had been repeated many times before.

"…what do you mean, when you say remembrance?" she asks.

Warren took another sip. He was thoughtful, his gaze swept across the Blackwell parking lot aimlessly, "I had an uncle on my Dad's side of the family, his name was Gary. Uncle Gary was an electrician, and he was raking in big money because of his work. He had a house on one of those full acre lots over by Pan Estates, back when it was just another community and not one where the Prescotts give the properties to those who happily kiss their asses."

There was a pause as Warren sipped again, then, "Uncle Gary had everything he could ever want, and he wasn't changed by it. I never got the chance to meet him, but from what my Dad told me, he was just a normal guy, had no problems until he and his wife went to some bar and they drank until the sun rose the next morning. Now, for most people, the hangover that follows is enough to convince them that drinking is a bad habit, but Uncle Gary just wasn't affected by the hangovers like most people. Dad said that he seemed to skip the aftereffects, and started upping his taste. First it was IPAs, the soft brew types that most places serve. Then, he turned to vodka, to Hennessey, then scotch and whiskey. He started drinking often. One in the morning, one at lunch, then one right before bed. Then a few more in-between. He got addicted to drinking so quickly that it came as a complete shock to my family. They would visit him and do the annual family get-together on Christmas break, but by the time that happened, he was already a functioning alcoholic. His wife stood by and did nothing to help him, so Dad had to intervene and try to talk some sense into him, before drinking could ruin his life."

Another swig, slow and deliberate. Warren held the bottle tightly, the tips of his fingers were white. Kate could've sworn he sniffled, but she would not ask him.

"…Uncle Gary died in a car crash on his way to work. It was a long time ago, so I don't remember many of the details. I do remember that they found a bunch of empty liquor bottles inside his car. Since then, I've been afraid to go out to parties, and just stay in my room all the time. It's why I'd rather be studying than going out to restaurants and bars. I can't help but wonder if I'll end up like my uncle if I start drinking, and so I promised myself to stay sober, and that I'd never be peer-pressured to picking up a drink."

The copper bottle is eased up to eye-level, and Warren studied it carefully, "The root beer is a reminder of my promise, and every once in a while I'll have one to remember why I'm abstaining from alcohol. I know that it might sound silly to do this, but seeing what happened to my uncle and what could happen to me if I follow in his footsteps…it's enough for me to consider otherwise."

Kate felt her heart ache in compassion for this solemn admission. She does not have any relatives who suffer from alcohol addiction, but she can imagine that it's no different than an addiction to drugs or sweets.

"I'm so sorry, Warren."

"Don't be," now he's smiling as he takes another sip, "I'm not drunk yet! It usually takes a few bottles before I start to get quirky!"

He's suddenly giggling at the cheesy delivery, and Kate couldn't help but chuckle along at the spontaneous nature of it. They laughed until the sadness faded away, and the thrill of it was all they had left.

"Well, I don't know about you, but I'm getting a bit hungry," he sets the bottle in the cup holder, and fiddles for his keys, "We've got a free meal thanks to Joyce's invitation—you up for it?"

"Sure," Kate looks over, and gives him a reassuring smile, "Thank you, for talking some sense into me."

"What are friends for?" he smiles back, and turns the engine over.

The hatchback roars to life, and makes its way out of the parking lot, and down into the quiet town below.

A/N - Expect significant delays to following chapters, life has been very eventful. All the best to you. - MB