I woke to a knock at the door.
"Huh, wha?" I asked, blinking and reaching out in the dark.
"Tea service for Miss Caulfield," came a voice from outside.
I rolled out of bed and fell to the floor with a thump. With a groan, I yanked a sweater from the back of the desk chair and pulled it over my head before opening the door: a man that I didn't recognize stood in the dim hallway, holding a tray. The tray held a steaming teapot, a cup, and a small vase with a single flower.
"Oh, um, thanks," I said.
The man handed the tray to me, bowed, and departed.
I set the tray down, poured the water, and looked at a note underneath the vase.
In my handwriting, the note said, "Good morning, Max, I'll be attending to my typical duties today so feel free to explore. If you need me at any time and for anything, ask around to find me. Love, Maxine."
Her duties…
I dug around in my bag and found the folded-up schedule that Chloe had given me. I sat at my desk, sipped tea, and looked through the schedule, which included plenty of notes from Chloe…
Every day, Maxine had breakfast at the Two Whales, usually with Warren and Megan. Then she walked all the way to Blackwell, stopping for five minutes at Rachel's statue. She then spent thirty minutes inside Principal Wells' old house before going to her morning meetings in Blackwell's main building. Then she'd do her first set of rewinding duties, followed by lunch. After lunch, she took two hours of free time, often ensconced with Warren and Megan but sometimes doing something like touring a new piece of landscape art or reading a book. She then performed another set of rewinding duties, followed by dinner. After dinner, she'd spend two hours in her photo wall tunnels before attending a nighttime activity, anything from a film to a concert to private time with some "fling of the moment," as Chloe put it.
That last part made me wince, wondering if I was going to become one of Maxine's "flings of the moment."
Next to the schedule, Chloe had written a note saying that if Maxine ever canceled a block of time, it always meant that she went to a secret spot off in the woods behind the Tobanga (that was where the crudely-drawn map came in). Chloe also wrote that every time she considered finding out what was in the secret spot, an angry Maxine would appear, coming out of a rewind, telling her not to. The same was true with the inside of Principal Wells' house. Clearly, Maxine didn't want anyone finding out what was in those two places.
I checked the watch that Maxine had given me: at that moment, Maxine was likely over in Principal Wells' house, doing whatever it was that she did there.
After another sip of tea, I made a decision: I'd find out the things that Chloe couldn't and I'd start today.
I got dressed; Maxine, or someone under her orders, had filled the dorm room's closet with a collection of clothes essentially identical to what I had in my own closet. Once I got dressed and grabbed my bag, I time-stepped, as Maxine had called it, right to the Two Whales from my room…if I ever got home, I was going to miss that little trick.
Inside, I ate another batch of waffles, gazing out at the storm and taking my time to ensure that Maxine would be well away from Wells' house: I planned to break in while she was deep into her morning meetings.
But then my plans changed.
When I left the Two Whales, I found Chloe approaching at a brisk walk, coming right out of a bank of fog. As soon as she saw me, she grinned and jogged over.
"Hey, glad I found you," she said, nudging me to walk along the sidewalk with her.
She looked around and then gave me a meaningful look.
"Maxine cancelled all of her afternoon shit," she said, her voice barely above a whisper.
"Oh," I said, my eyebrows rising.
"Yup," she said, "so, um, yeah."
"I understand," I said.
"Cool," she said, "so, I can't stay long 'cause Maxine wants me helping her move some piles of wood or some shit but how's it going?"
I debated how much to tell her…but I wasn't about to start keeping secrets from Chloe.
"I slept in my old room last night and Maxine got me up at about three in the morning to show me that she found my universe," I said.
"No shit," Chloe said, "that must've been…interesting."
"Yes," I said, "but probably way more interesting for her: I've obviously seen it and it took her a few days to find it."
"Wait, how…oh, duh," Chloe said, shaking her head, "it's been years and I still can't wrap my head around that fucking stuff."
"Oh, it messes with my brain, too," I said.
She ruffled my hair and said, "thanks for making me feel better. But hey, since Maxine found your home, that definitely means you can, um, well, you know." She glanced around nervously.
I interpreted that as: you can go home.
"Yeah," I said, "and…um, she kissed me."
Chloe laughed out loud, which was not the reaction I'd been expecting.
When she finally calmed herself enough to speak, she looked at me with a lopsided grin and said, "that must've been…interesting."
"You want to know the truth?" I asked.
"I'm ready for it," she said.
"It was both really weird and really…"
"Hot?"
"Yeah," I said, my face burning.
"Yeah, I could see that," she said.
She put her arm around my shoulders and squeezed me as we walked.
"Max Caulfield, the first person in history to actually go fuck herself," she said, waving her other hand in a grand gesture.
I spluttered, "we…we didn't…"
"Sorry," Chloe said, "had to say it. See, about two seconds after I saw Maxine giving you 'fuck me' eyes, I came up with that line and I wasn't about to wait until you guys get all fingerbanging before using it."
"I'm not sure it'll go that far, Chloe," I said, "although…she wants to."
"Yeah, she does," Chloe said, "wait, she made even more of a move on you?"
I nodded.
"Damn, you'd think she was getting plenty from the Ws," Chloe said, shaking her head, "so she started getting handsy?"
"Yeah," I said, "and I was…not ready for that."
Chloe chuckled and said, "yeah, not exactly something you prepare for in life."
"What about you?" I blurted.
"What about me?" she asked, "I haven't done the horizontal tango with Maxine since before the fucking coup."
"No…I mean,um…," I said.
"Oh," she said, giving me another lopsided smile, her eyes sparkling, "what about me, Max?"
"I just…," I started.
She stopped and faced me.
"I dare you to kiss me," she said, a laugh in her voice.
"What?" I asked, my eyes going wide.
"I dare you to kiss me, right now," she said.
Almost without thinking, I stepped forward, popped up on my toes, and kissed her. It was just a tiny kiss, a little press of my lips on hers. But it send a burst of warmth through my chest as if the clouds above had parted.
I stepped back; Chloe had her eyes closed and she sighed before opening them. Her eyes suddenly looked bright and so very blue.
"So, who's better, you or me?" she asked, grinning at me.
"Oh, stop," I said, lightly smacking her arm, "it's apples and oranges."
"I think it's more like having your cake and eating it out, too," she said, snorting a laugh.
"You're awful," I said.
"You like it," she said.
"Do I?"
"I guarantee it," she said, "I've caught bits and pieces of a lot of versions of you, Caulfield. I know what's what."
"You have me at a disadvantage," I said.
"Makes up for you having your rewind bullshit," she said, starting to step away, "and speaking of, I'd better get going before her highness gets her glare on. See ya later, Maxaroni."
"See you, Chloe," I said, waving.
She gave me a peace sign before sauntering off towards a warehouse down the road. I sighed, touched my fingers to my lips, and then shook my head. No time to dwell on cozy feelings: I had work to do.
With Maxine taking the afternoon off, it probably meant that she'd be going to that secret spot behind Blackwell, the one marked on Chloe's terribly-drawn map. I could still make it up to Wells' place with time to spare but I decided that it would be far better if I scouted out that secret spot while Maxine was on her rounds. That way, I'd be prepared and could spy on whatever she did there. Who knew when I'd get the chance to do so again?
So with one last glance at Chloe's retreating figure, I time-stepped back to Blackwell's dorms.
. . . . .
Maxine's secret spot was well hidden and Chloe's shitty drawing of stick-like trees actually helped: it guided me to the cluster of trees that hid the structure. Without that hint, I probably wouldn't have been able to find it in the dim light filtering through the trees.
I'd never been to the bunker where Mark Jefferson took his drugged victims…but I'd seen the pictures. And this place looked very much like it: a concrete ramp leading down to a covered area with a big metal door. The door stood ajar, leading into inky blackness, and vines had crept all around it, making the whole place look abandoned. I stood up at the top of the ramp, looking down the leaf-strewn path. It reminded me of the kind of place you'd see in a horror film, sending a crawling sensation up my arms. It would've been creepy enough in daylight, but in this place's eternal twilight haze, it seemed almost suicidal to step into such a place.
I took several deep breaths to work up the courage to start taking steps. But then I barely lifted my foot up when something tingled in my head. I stopped and took a step back. I raised my hand and did what I was now calling a time-view: I didn't slow or stop or rewind time, I just looked at it.
And what I saw made me say, "whoa," out loud.
Pieces of the air, fractured into the now-familiar segments of space and time, were clustered tightly together in walls that looked almost solid in the time-view. And tendrils of those packed-together pieces rose up into the air and out of sight, tangled together like the vines that hung down over the dirty concrete walls.
If I were to touch one of those invisible walls, it would almost certainly shake the entire spacetime structure. It took me a few moments to figure it out but what I was seeing was, in effect, an alarm system. For me or Maxine, someone touching that structure would probably be as if someone struck a giant gong. Suddenly, it was obvious what had happened with Chloe: she'd gotten curious, tried to sneak into the bunker, and had unknowingly set off the alarm. Maxine had then time-stepped over to confront her before rewinding to warn the past Chloe off.
I, however, wasn't going to set off the alarm.
I walked up to a patch of ground above the bunker and performed a time-step down to a spot in front of the open door, a spot clear of Maxine's alarm structure. From there, I slid into the building.
A thin strip of gray light from outside glinted off of metal shelves in a mostly-bare concrete space. I pulled out my phone, which had been pretty much useless in a universe without internet or phone providers. Arcadia Bay did have a cobbled-together WiFi network, something that only contained content that people in town had downloaded to their own devices before the storm (Chloe told me that the servers were, essentially, 60% porn). I hadn't yet bothered to access said network but my phone would now come in handy as a flashlight.
My phone cast a dim cone of light as I moved deeper into the bunker. A narrow hallway off of the entry room opened up into a larger room. Chairs, bins, tables, and boxes lay scattered about in there, as if they'd been tossed around. I leaned in close to some of the items but none had any markings.
I stood up and moved to the far side of the room and when I raised my phone towards the wall, my phone illuminated a face hovering in the air. I gasped and took several rapid steps back, crashing into a pile of cardboard boxes and falling on my ass.
When my breathing recovered and I didn't feel like my heart was going to burst out of my chest, I pushed myself up and crept back over to the wall, raising my phone light back up to the face: it was Mark Jefferson, floating up in the air and frozen in time. His expression showed an odd mix of amusement and pain and it didn't take long to figure out the sources of the latter: his leg was broken, with a shard of bone protruding out from his skin and pants…and that wasn't all: a sharp, jagged rod of metal passed right through his upper arm, blood soaking through his white shirt on both sides. I had to turn away, my stomach roiling at the sight. And when I turned, I saw another body: Sean Prescott, floating in the air just like Jefferson, his face twisted in pain and rage. I couldn't tell what his injury might be, if he had one, but his black dress shoes, coated with mud, seemed to point off at odd angles.
"She didn't kill them," I muttered to myself.
Chloe told me that Maxine had executed both Prescott and Jefferson, tossing them into the time-ravaged woods beyond the Barrier. But she hadn't, she'd frozen them in time, here in this bunker. But why?
I guess I'll find out this afternoon, I thought.
I explored the rest of the space and came up with a plan: right after lunch, I'd time-step into the room and crawl under a desk pushed up against the wall: a pile of chairs and boxes in front of it would conceal me while offering a good view of most of the room.
With a nod to myself, I took one last look at Prescott and Jefferson before turning off my light and plunging the room into pitch-black darkness. I nearly time-stepped away but a new sight caught my eye: on the wall, glowing sickly green in the dark, were lines upon lines of familiar symbols, the same kind that were on the tablets down by Rachel's statue. When I looked at those symbols, I felt a mix of sensations: power and strength, the flow of time like a river, and a sense of life…like a tether between the flesh of a body and some ethereal thing that reminded me of Rachel's ghostly doe.
I didn't know what any of it meant but decided that I'd been snooping in one of Maxine's private places for long enough. Not wanting to push my luck, I time-stepped away.
. . . . .
Seeing the frozen forms of Mark Jefferson and Sean Prescott served as a stark reminder of Chloe's story, specifically the parts where Maxine dolled out punishments. And Chloe had told me where to find out what happened to those who attempted the coup.
I forced myself to walk over to the far side of Blackwell and up past the parking lot.
It didn't take long to find what I was looking for.
From a distance, it looked like a sculpture garden or perhaps some kind of avant garde cemetery, filled with equally spaced, life-sized depictions of people and with a low cloud of mist hanging above. But they weren't statues, they were real people.
The first one, front and center, was David Madsen.
A lot of people thought of him first and foremost as Blackwell's head of security. But since he'd been on leave when I arrived at my version of Blackwell, I primarily thought of him as Chloe's stepdad (and no, I didn't have any of Chloe's more colorful terms for him: I'd only seen him grieving his stepdaughter's death and hadn't had Chloe's perspective on the matter until quite recently).
His frozen form stared straight ahead, his back ramrod straight and his jaw and fists clenched. It didn't take much to guess who he'd been staring at. I stepped in front of him and his frozen eyes bored right into mine: as expected, he'd been staring right at someone of my exact height.
Behind him, Principal Wells had his hands up, covering his face, as if Maxine's time freezing would come with some kind of impact.
And next to Wells…I'd only ever seen a couple of pictures of Arcadia Bay's mayor but I recognized him, too. He was turned away, his legs in the midst of starting to run, as if he could escape Maxine's punishment.
I found Brooke Scott slightly away from the rest, her head tilted away and tears on her face.
Courtney, whose last name I forgot, stood with a silent scream.
Several grizzled fishermen all cowered, trying to cover their faces.
And there were teachers, too, a lot of them. Ms. Grant stood with a calm expression on her face, her eyes closed; she looked like she was in the midst of taking a deep breath. She was, perhaps, the only serene figure in the entire group, a group of at least a hundred people.
When I got to the far side, I found a surprise: Daniel, not at all frozen, sitting at the edge of this open-air jail, a sketchbook in his lap.
"Oh, Maxine," he said, dropping his pencil, "I am sorry, I did not expect to see you here."
"Hey, Daniel," I said, "it's okay. It's just Max."
He looked at me with a furrowed brow and then his mouth made an "o" shape.
"Oh, oh yes, Alyssa told me," he said, "I thought she might have been trying to play a joke on me."
"I can understand why you'd think so," I said with a smile.
"Yes, of course. But it is not difficult to believe strange things in this place," he said.
"Yeah," I said, glancing up through the mist, "so, um, what are you doing here?"
"I am sketching," he said, his cheeks flushing a little, "it is…perhaps not the most appropriate thing but the people here…they do not move." He shrugged.
"I get it," I said, "well, I'm going to go before Ma…before anyone finds me here; not sure I want to deal with questions and commentary."
"Yes," Daniel said, "and it is good to see you, Maxin…Max."
"It's good to see you too, Daniel," I said.
. . . . .
I kept myself on something of a mental autopilot throughout lunch at the Prescott Estate, waiting for the right moment to excuse myself. That moment came when Maxine stood and declared that she needed to speak with Warren and Megan for a while and would then be unavailable for the rest of the afternoon. When she said that, Chloe glanced at me out of the corners of her eyes.
As soon as Maxine led Warren and Megan away, I casually walked out of the house right behind Alyssa. Alyssa, off in her own little world, paid me no heed. And once I was outside and out of sight in a fog bank, I time-stepped to the bunker.
Suddenly in the dark, I had a brief moment of panic before I took a deep breath and pulled out my phone. Everything looked exactly as it did before and I took a few seconds to shine my light over the frozen forms of Jefferson and Prescott, just to make sure I hadn't been seeing things before. Then I crawled into my chosen hiding place, settling into a comfortable position before turning off my phone's light and letting the darkness return.
Maxine arrived a short while later, her time-step coming with a little popping sound that echoed from the outside room. Then sudden light burst through the room and I had to squeeze my eyes shut. I blinked and blinked until my eyes adjusted to a set of harsh fluorescent lights that buzzed above.
Maxine strode across the room with measured steps, her face hard and her lips pressed tightly together. I saw her glance at Jefferson with a clenched jaw. But she didn't go to him.
She stepped right up to Sean Prescott and flicked her hand.
The man crashed to the floor and let out an angry scream that echoed painfully in the tight concrete chamber. The scream faded to ragged breaths and he pushed his torso up from the floor to glare at Maxine.
Maxine chuckled and said, "long time, no see."
"Fuck you," Prescott said, his voice tense but clear, "you know it's only been seconds for me."
"Of course, Sean," she said.
She reached back and dragged a chair over with a scraping sound that made both Prescott and I wince. Maxine smiled…it wasn't a pleasant smile.
"What do you want?" Prescott asked.
"Same as usual," Maxine said, "information."
"I've told you everything already," he said.
"I'm sure you haven't," she said.
Before he could respond, she continued, "let's cut through the usual bullshit, Sean. I'm going to be honest with you: I'm losing my powers."
Prescott barked out a laugh and said, "I'm so, so sorry, Miss Caulfield; how very unfortunate for you."
"How very unfortunate for you," she said, "remember: I can heal you in seconds with my power. Without it, you'll be in for a long and painful recovery. And that's if you happen to be unfrozen, because if I lose my powers and you're still a timesicle…well, you'll be stuck down here forever. As I've told you before and as you know from experience, if you help me, I'll make things more pleasant for you, despite everything you did."
Prescott clenched and unclenched his hand and I wondered if Maxine had healed something already…and then I wondered who had injured Prescott to begin with.
"Everything I did," he spat, "was a simple transaction with nature. If you hadn't interfered, I would've made this town rich."
"If I hadn't interfered, a lot of people would be dead, including a lot of my friends. And we'd all be pawns in your own little kingdom," she said.
"And with your interference, you destroyed the fucking world," Prescott said, pushing further up and then wincing and falling back down.
Maxine went very still.
"Be careful, Sean," she said, "we've been over this before."
"Fine, fine," he said, taking two deep breaths, "So, you're losing your powers? My guess is that you've been fucking around for too long. Been doing this for years? Decades? Turning back the clock every time the people decide they don't want to live in your little fantasy land anymore?"
"Why is it happening?" Maxine asked.
"You're getting old, Maxine Caulfield," Prescott said with a chuckle that sounded more like a cough, "your body is still that of a teenager but the rest of you? No. The rest of you is old. And with age comes the failure of things we once took for granted. So the real question is: why are you asking me now? Did you just notice the decline? I can't imagine you'd be coming to me first…or to dear old Mark. No, either you've run into a dead end, something is about to happen, or something has changed."
"Another Max Caulfield showed up," Maxine said.
Prescott's eyes widened.
"Alive?" he asked.
Maxine nodded.
"How fascinating," he said, "did your powers begin to fade once she arrived?"
"No, it's been going on for…for a long time," she said.
"Hmm, and this new version of you: she has the power?" he asked.
"She does," Maxine said.
"Aha. So…what are the symptoms of your decline?"
"The quanta respond to me as they always have but the presence of others makes it more and more difficult," she said.
"So, you can't rewind in front of others," he said, "well…that puts something of a damper on your promises to heal me."
"I can rewind in front of others, asshole, I just can't do it well and it hurts like hell."
"As much as two broken ankles and two broken wrists?" Prescott said.
"I wouldn't know," she said, "and it's only your ankles now."
"Indeed," he said, "and what else?"
"My most recent multi-year rewind was very difficult," she said, staring at her palm, "I'm not sure if I'll be able to do it many more times. Perhaps not at all."
"Ah, so the reign of the time queen comes to an end?" he asked, grinning.
"Not yet," she said, fixing him with an icy glare, "now to my question: is there a way I can recharge my powers? Get them back?"
"I have no idea," Prescott said.
"Careful, Sean," Maxine said, flexing her fingers, "I don't like to hear things like that."
"It's the truth, you sadistic bitch," he said.
"You have no idea what a truly sadistic bitch would do to you," she said, "there are many others in this town that would be doing far worse to you. I'm the reasonable one."
"Lucky me," he said, his voice dripping with sarcasm.
"So what about this other version of me, the one with powers," Maxine said, "she is new, her powers fresh. Can I harvest them from her?"
Prescott gave a dry chuckle and said, "if I knew how to do that, I would've done it years ago."
"You never had a power, I do," Maxine said, leaning forward, "so tell me: did you find anything about transfers?"
"Perhaps," he said.
Maxine's eyes sharpened and she twisted her hand; Prescott let out a yell, squirming on the ground. He went silent as soon as she dropped her hand.
"Sean," she said, "clear answers, please."
"Fine," he spat, glaring at her, "what if I told you you'll have to kill your little twin to gain her power?"
Something flashed across Maxine's face and she paused. I held my breath.
"We'll find a way to avoid that," Maxine said.
"And if not? Are you prepared to take a life, Miss Caulfield?" Prescott asked, "your own life, as it were?"
"If I must, to maintain this place, then I will," she said, with steel in her voice that made me shudder.
"Then let us begin," Prescott said.
For the next hour and a half, the two of them discussed things that I could barely understand; Maxine wrote symbols on the wall as Prescott stared up from the floor, his face pained as he commented and gave suggestions. They talked about tablets and rituals and even sigils painted with blood. I could tell that most pieces of the discussion resonated with Maxine; she wrote those parts down in a very familiar-looking journal. But other things that Prescott said didn't: Maxine's face would twitch and she'd nearly raise her hand towards Prescott but stopped each time. Instead, she'd rewind; I could tell she was doing it but didn't follow her into the rewinds, meaning that I only saw the end result: her calling him out on things that he was guessing or making up. And I could quickly tell that her condition, as she'd described it, was real: the rewinds were clearly a drain on her and I could see a hint of blood on her upper lip from time to time, her efforts to wipe it away in frozen time not always completely successful.
By the end, I had a general idea of what Maxine intended to investigate. And fortunately, I had a good idea of what to watch out for if Maxine wanted to take my powers through some kind of blood sacrifice.
Maxine shut her journal with a snap.
"Very well," she said, "I think this is good enough for today. It's a start. I will experiment with the Tablet of Transcendence and the Tablet of the Vine; those will be non-invasive and will give us much information."
"I'm so glad I could help," Prescott said through gritted teeth, "now, will you do as promised?"
"Not yet, Sean," Maxine said, "you will have your next reprieve once your assistance bears fruit."
"I never guaranteed any of it would work!" he shouted, his face red.
"I know," she said, "and if it doesn't, you will still get a reprieve for your efforts. I keep my word. Now, back you go."
Before he could say anything, she flicked her hand and he froze in place. She then weaved her hands back and forth and I watched as little slivers of space and time shifted and bent, lifting Prescott back into the air and closer to the wall, where he'd been before.
When she finished, Maxine sat down and stared at the floor for what felt like several minutes. Then she rubbed her eyes, sniffed, looked at the ceiling, and pushed herself to her feet. She walked over to Jefferson and flicked her hand again.
Jefferson dropped to the floor with a sickening squelch.
With his injuries, I expected him to shriek. Instead, he laughed. He rolled side to side and laughed, looking up at Maxine through cracked glasses.
"Oh, Max," he said, "it's so good to see you again. You look different; how long has it been?"
"A long time, Mark," she said, "and it's Maxine. Now, shut the fuck up unless I ask you a question. First, do you know how a fading power can be refreshed?"
Jefferson slowly shook his head and said, "you'll always be Max to me, you know. And you know that I never knew much about these…powers. If I had, do you really think I would've taken you?"
"Answer the question, Mark," Maxine said, taking a threatening step toward him.
"No, Max, I don't," he said, "and does this mean that your powers are fading? No more playing with time and fate?"
She ignored his question and asked, "do you know how I could recharge a power using someone else's?"
"One of your other friends? Perhaps the blue-haired one? Or dear Kate?" he asked.
"No, asshole, another version of me," she said.
"Fascinating," he said, the room's lights flashing off of his glasses, "but no. I wish I could help you, Max, I really do. But my partner…" he tilted his head towards Prescott. "...never let me in on the biggest secrets. But perhaps you should think of this as you would a piece of art, as a particularly important and crucial photo: frame the shot, find the angles with the best lighting, and take the shot."
At that moment, Jefferson glanced right over at me. His eyes met mine and I felt a shiver run down my spine.
The moment passed and Maxine didn't notice.
"You pretentious fuck," she muttered, "I knew this would be useless…but I suppose I had to try. And remember, Mark, if you ever actually help me, I can and will lessen your pain."
"The pain gives me focus, Max," he said, "perhaps you should try it. And speaking of my situation, I've been rendered unique vulnerable, don't you think? Injured, trapped in frozen time? You should capture this, Max, capture images of me. Capture images of him…" He jerked his head to Prescott again. "...what an opportunity, don't you think? Poetic, no? Vengeance and justice captured forever on film."
"No, Mark, never again," Maxine said, "I'm putting you back. And for fuck's sake, if you don't start calling me Maxine, I'll have another pole shoved into you."
Jefferson began laughing and kept laughing until Maxine froze him.
After maneuvering Jefferson back up into the air, Maxine collapsed onto her rickety chair and cried into her hands. Her shoulders heaved and for a long time, she sobbed. A huge part of me wanted to crawl out of my hiding space and comfort her. And another huge part of me wanted to creep further back, away from the creature that held people in prisons of time and promised relief from torture as a way to get information…information, incidentally, on how she might kill me to get the power to continue her weird, time-frozen world.
Finally, Maxine's sobs melted away. She went silent, staring blankly at the wall. Then she stood up, grabbed her journal, and walked away. The lights clicked off, plunging the space into darkness; the clusters of symbols on the far wall let out their faint glow. Then, with a quiet pop, Maxine time-stepped away.
I waited only thirty seconds before scrambling out from my hiding place. I stepped into the middle of the room and time-stepped out.
. . . . .
Joyce answered the door a few seconds after I rang the bell. When she saw me, her face drained of color for a moment before she blinked and then smiled, her shoulders relaxing.
"Well, hello, Max from another universe," she said, "what can I do for you?"
"Is Chloe here?" I asked.
"Chloe? Here?" she asked, her brow furrowed, "oh, no, she moved out ages ago. Has her own place over in the old lumber mill."
"The lumber mill?" I asked, arching an eyebrow.
Joyce chuckled and said, "that's right. Can't say I agreed with it at first but she had it fixed up real nice." She shrugged. "I keep her room in case she ever wants to stay over. Hasn't happened yet but you never know. But right about now, she'd be over in her place."
"Thanks, Joyce. Anything you want me to bring or tell her?" I asked.
Joyce frowned and said, "nah, you go right ahead. Just tell her I love her and to stop by every once in a while."
I smiled and said, "I'll do that."
"Good to see you, Max," Joyce said.
She gave me a big grin before we said our farewells.
I stepped down to the sidewalk and chewed on my bottom lip. I'd come to Chloe's house without planning anything more than a quick chat…but now that I thought about it, I really wanted to spend more time with Chloe; those hours at the junkyard were the happiest I'd had in years. And if I wanted that kind of quality time, it would mean skipping what would undoubtedly be another long and awkward meal with Maxine's group. So to keep the peace, I had a detour to make…
. . . . .
I found Maxine sitting on a bench at the beach boardwalk, staring up at the swirling maelstrom in the bay.
When I sat next to her, she didn't turn.
"Hello, Max, it's good to see you," she said.
"You too," I said, "have you ever taken a photo of this?"
She looked at me with an eyebrow raised.
"Of that," I said, pointing at the storm.
"Oh, no, I don't really take photos anymore," she said. Then she laughed. "Well, obviously that's not true. I've taken more than a few photos of other worlds. But that's different."
Quite suddenly, I felt an itch for my camera.
"Um, do you have a camera with you?" I asked.
She shook her head and said, "no. Why?"
"I just…had the thought to take a selfie of us," I said.
She looked at me with a curious expression: an amused curl of her lip and a sad weight to her eyes.
"I suppose you would, wouldn't you?" she asked. She paused and then sighed, "I can get a camera for you. Or Chloe can. She keeps a few."
"Oh, that's good, I was actually about to go see her," I said, bracing myself.
"Oh?" Maxine asked, her face going blank.
"Yeah," I said, "I'm actually thinking I'd like to get some takeout with her, if, um, takeout's still around…"
"It is," Maxine said.
"...oh good," I continued, "I never realized how much I missed those dumb nights we'd spend with her, just watching terrible films and goofing off."
"She's different than she was," Maxine said, looking at the storm again.
"I know," I said, "and I know how…foolish it is to try to recapture the past exactly as it was. But I'm hoping for a piece of it. If she wants to, that is."
"She might want more than that," Maxine said.
My heart skipped a beat on a wave of adrenaline at that suggestion but I pushed those feelings away and shrugged.
I said, "I guess we'll see. In many ways, she's still my best friend. I guess I want to find out more of what that friendship is now, if anything."
Maxine nodded and asked, "so, no dinner with our group tonight?"
"Not tonight, if that's okay," I said, "but hey, I have an idea: what's your favorite food?"
She looked at me with a raised eyebrow.
"Breakfast," she said.
I laughed and asked, "what about for dinner?"
"Why do you ask?" she asked, tilting her head and leaning towards me.
"I was thinking, if it doesn't mess with your schedule, that you and I could hang out tomorrow night, just the two of us," I said, "I know it's not your normal group but I really want to get to know you better. Um, as odd as that might sound."
She grinned and I felt a stab of guilt: it was true that I wanted to spend time with her…but I had ulterior motives as well.
"Sure," she said, practically bouncing on her seat, her eyes alive, "that sounds wonderful. We could hang out in our old room and get pizza…or sushi."
"Arcadia Bay has a sushi restaurant?" I asked.
"It didn't used to but it turns out there were pre-storm stocks of high-quality fish, enough people that wanted to learn to make it, and far more that wanted to eat it. It's popular, too: those stocks of fish are one of the most frequent things I rewind in."
"That's amazing," I said, "I used to hate the idea of sushi…"
"...but Kristen convinced you to try it at that hole-in-the-wall place in Renton and you've been in love ever since," Maxine finished.
"Exactly," I said with a grin.
"Wow, that was a long time ago," Maxine said, her smile faltering.
"And now we get to enjoy it together," I said.
Maxine's smile returned.
"I mean, not right now but tomorrow," I said, "does that work?"
"Anything for you, precious Max," she said.
In my head, I wondered if that included not killing me…
"Thanks, Maxine," I said, standing up.
She stood too.
"No, thank you, Max," she said, "you've turned my gloomy day bright. I almost don't even see that." She gestured to the storm in the bay.
I gritted my teeth: there was no way I couldn't see that storm.
Then she pulled me close, kissed me for several long seconds, and stepped back.
"See you tomorrow, then," she said, "and have fun."
She time-stepped away and I let out a long breath. My internal battle continued: this other version of myself was both alluringly confident and unnervingly quixotic. She was an exact reflection of me in so many ways but also almost unrecognizable. And my body seemed to feel the same conflict: I touched my lips and smiled…and then shuddered.
I looked out into the bay: in the middle distance, the towering storm stretched across most of my vision. But close by, quiet waves lapped at the beach.
It's like Maxine, I thought, quiet and calm close by but capable of terrible things just beyond reach.
I picked up a rock and hurled it out over the beach. It thumped down into the sand, far short of the water. I watched the rock sitting there and thought it would make for a good photo: the blue glow from the storm shone off of the stone, making it look like a single bright star among little pinpricks of light from hundreds of grains of sand.
Then I thought of what Jefferson said when he looked at me: frame the shot, find the right angles, and take the shot.
I had the impression, based on what little I'd seen of various universes, that the vast majority of Maxes out there loathed Mark Jefferson to a level that I didn't quite think myself capable of reaching. And that was where I was different: I hated the man, for sure, in the way that most people would hate someone who committed sociopathic crimes as he had. But I had a certain amount of separation: in my world, he hadn't killed Chloe, hadn't killed Nathan, hadn't killed Victoria, hadn't drugged and kidnapped Kate, and hadn't drugged and kidnapped me. It occurred to me in that moment that almost every other Max or Maxine would flat-out reject anything that Jefferson said. Or they'd assume that it was some form of manipulation.
But not me.
I turned it around in my head because what Jefferson told me was clearly meant as more than an obvious comment about photography. Jefferson was an intelligent man…and also selfish and probably narcissistic. Like me, he wanted to escape this place. And his desire in that regard had to be orders of magnitude greater than mine. So what was Jefferson the teacher trying to teach me?
Frame the shot: this universe was trapped in a cycle maintained by Maxine and protected by some spiritual manifestation of Rachel. Many people, perhaps even all but Maxine, had some level of desire to leave. But Maxine didn't want that and had the power to enforce her will.
Find the right angles: to me, that seemed to mean that I should look at the problem from several angles, examining the relevant pieces to arrive at a complete and properly-lit image. Or, to translate into something more practical, I needed to use as much information as possible to come up with a plan.
And take the shot: when the opportunity to capture that image, that plan, emerged, I needed to take it.
So what did all of that tell me?
It told me that I had a lot more to do. I had to make sure that I had the situation fully framed, and that meant doing more than just digging into Maxine's life. That was important, sure, but Jefferson's comment made me realize that this wasn't all about Maxine. She was central to everything, yes, and I still needed more information about her. But there were other pieces, pieces that I needed to shine lights on: Chloe, Kate and Victoria, Rachel, Maxine's loyal minions, like Warren and Megan, and the people of Arcadia Bay in general. And, lest I forget, I had to find the tools we'd need to leave this universe.
I nodded to myself as a weight of weariness fell upon my shoulders: it was like getting a huge assignment in every class all at once. But, and this was a big enough 'but' to lift much of the weariness from my shoulders, I had time. A lot of time. Maxine wasn't about to kill me. No, I was far too valuable to her from an emotional perspective. Months or even years down the line? Maybe. But for now, I had time.
All I had to do was make sure I'd be ready to take the shot. And the best way to take that shot would be with my best friend.
I turned away from the storm and time-stepped away.
. . . . .
I knew where the lumber mill was but since I hadn't been there in years, I wasn't confident that I'd be able to time-step right to the door, as it were. And so I started off from the southern edge of town and hiked out into the woods.
The walk took longer than I expected, mostly because I had to use my phone's flashlight to navigate over uneven ground in the dark.
When I finally reached the mill, it loomed suddenly out of the fog, a hulking timber castle that looked abandoned. But it wasn't: I squinted and could see warm light coming from somewhere on an upper floor.
I seemed to remember there being an entrance on the far side of the building so I walked around to the left (I was pretty sure that going to the right would've dropped me right into the ocean). On the other side, I found the remains of what had once been a fire pit, only steps away from the main entrance. A lightbulb glowed cheerily above an open door there, which I took as an encouraging sign.
At the end of a creaky hallway, a door that looked far newer than the surrounding walls stood shut. Next to it, a thick rope hung low, with a long blue feather tied to the end. On the wall, thick black text read, "ring the bell for hella awesomeness."
I smiled and tugged on the rope. Somewhere up above, a deep bell rang. Almost immediately, I heard creaks come from somewhere up above, followed a few seconds later by heavy thumps on steps.
The door opened on surprisingly quiet hinges and Chloe poked her head out, her long blue hair falling down over her shoulder. Her eyebrows went up in surprise before she tilted her head and then grinned.
"Max!" she said, "you found me!"
"You could've told me you'd moved into an ancient pirate castle," I said.
"Where did you think I was?"
"At your house," I said.
She furrowed her brow and said, "oh, yeah, I guess that makes sense. Well fuck, come on in to Casa de Chloe. Although damn, Chloe's Pirate Castle does sound way better. You're here for less than a minute and you already picked a better name. This is why I love having you around, Max."
"Not for my winning personality and photographic talent?" I asked with a smile as I stepped inside.
Chloe looked at me nervously for a moment then relaxed.
"Those too," she said, "but definitely not for your choices in wardrobe or music."
"Hey, for all you know, I love death metal and usually dress in leather," I said.
"I'd fork over serious gold to see and hear you thrashing like that," Chloe said with a laugh.
She led me through a dim and creaky corridor, which opened into a wide, warmly-lit space. Old floorbeams gave way to shiny new hardwood, which drew my eyes past the stairs in the middle and to a long, polished counter that had clearly been a bar at some point in the past. Behind the old bar sat an impressively modern kitchen. I looked around at the old wooden walls, which had tufts of insulation poking through the gaps: a handful of framed photos hung off of nails but much of the wood had art applied directly, mostly featuring crude figures that reminded me of our old pirate paintings. One entire wall featured a half-finished mural of what looked like two people sitting on a pier looking out over the ocean.
Chloe kicked off a ratty pair of slippers and strolled toward the middle of the room. She wore the kind of outfit that had been a staple of our childhood sleepovers: a big t-shirt and tiny shorts. She stood up on her toes, grinned at me, and spun around with her arms out, making her blue ponytail fly out in a circle.
"Ta-da," she said.
"Wowser, this is really impressive," I said.
"Yeah, you shoulda seen this place before," Chloe said, "it was such a fucking dump. Broken glass and trash and needles all over the place."
"I remember: you and I came here a couple of times," I said.
"Oh, right, we did," Chloe said with a frown, "I forgot about that. Huh, well, a while after you left, people started doing, um, like underground concerts and parties and shit here. So it got way more intense. It all kind of tapered off about a year before the storm and got all abandoned again."
"So you took it over?"
"Yup," she said, rounding the bar and opening the refrigerator, "want anything? I got beer and, um, beer."
"Ah, so this is what happens when you live alone," I said.
"Wasn't expecting company," she said, "but I'm messing with you: I've actually got hella booze."
I laughed and said, "maybe later. Do you have some water?"
"Yeah, bottled," she said, "they tell me the tap's good but I can't bring myself to fully trust the pipes here."
She tossed a water my way and I caught it. Then she came back out of the kitchen with the neck of a beer bottle clutched in her fingers.
"Hey, take off your clothes, get comfortable," she said, her lips curving into a mischievous grin.
"One step at a time," I said, giving her what I hoped was an overly innocent smile, "I took my shoes off already. You just need to be patient."
She laughed hard, her head tilted back, as she walked over to a couch sitting next to stairs that led up. She dropped down beneath a big red anarchy symbol and put her feet up on a table. I followed and sat down next to her, twisting to face her.
"All the floors in here are new," she said, gesturing with the hand that held the beer, "the walls are, um, kinda new. Had to double up on those 'cause when I first started cleaning this place up, I'd get clouds of fog in here."
I looked around again.
"It's really great, Chloe," I said, "it's…kind of like a mix between your old room when we were kids and…the one I most recently saw."
She took a sip and said, "you mean after I died in your boring little universe."
"Yeah," I said, "and it's not that boring."
"Oh, I kind of mean that as a good thing."
"Oh," I said.
"So," she said, "going to stick around for a bit?"
She looked so eager and hopeful as she asked that, which made a sad thought pop into my head: did Chloe have any friends in a world where the queen of time was giving her the cold shoulder?
"Actually," I said, "I was kind of hoping I could hang out here and sleep over. Maybe make it a bit like old times? Get some crappy takeout, watch a couple of films and stuff?"
Chloe gave me a smile that made my heart melt.
"You really want to do that?" she asked.
"Yeah," I said, "I mean, I really wanted to before, back in my own world. And then I thought I'd never get the chance."
She suddenly lunged across the couch and wrapped her arms around me, squeezing me tight. Her beer bottle banged hard against my back but I just winced and hugged her back, just as hard. When she sat back, she wiped tears from her eyes.
"Sorry," she said, "there's still dust and stuff in here, you know."
"Sure, Chloe, sure," I said.
She wrinkled her nose at me and then frowned.
"Um, what about Maxine?" she asked, "you talk to her highness about hanging out with me?"
I jolted and looked around, half expecting Maxine to time-step into the room.
"Oh, don't worry," Chloe said, "this is a 'dense' place too. Kinda why I chose it."
"It is?" I asked.
I reached out with my hand and did a time-view. It was true: just like the junkyard, the pieces of time here were clustered together, packed in tight and difficult to wade through. A kind of pressure pushed at my ears, muffling the typical background rush I could hear even when not actually changing anything.
"Oh, wow, it is," I said.
"Yeah," Chloe said, twisting and drawing her legs under her, "there are a few spots like that: the junkyard, here, Rachel's house, a few spots at Blackwell." She shrugged. "Turns out, the places that were big for Rachel and I ended up that way. No idea why but fuck, there's way weirder stuff around here than that."
With the mention of Rachel and her, I put a hand softly on Chloe's bare knee; she smiled.
"It's okay, Max," she said, "I've done a shit-ton of processing when it comes to Rachel. It still hurts…almost everything about her still hurts. But I've figured out what it all really means to me. What she means to me."
"I'm glad, Chloe," I said, "and I'm sorry."
"Thanks, Max," she said, giving me a gentle smile, "but yeah…does Maxine know about your plans?"
"She does," I said with a nod, "she…wasn't super happy about it at first but then I promised her I'd spend tomorrow night hanging out with her and she was giddy over it."
"Good move," Chloe said, taking another sip, "and, um, before we get all relaxed, and I do have really good shit for that, I have to ask: did you check out Maxine's secret bunker?"
I took my hand back and fidgeted.
"Hey," she said, "you don't have to tell me. I have no fucking idea what you're going through right now. And it's not like we don't have a ton of time." She snorted.
"Well, maybe not an infinite amount of time," I said. She raised an eyebrow and I continued,, "I…found out that the bunker's where she's keeping Mark Jefferson and Sean Prescott."
Chloe was in the middle of taking a sip of beer and spit it out in spectacular fashion.
"No," she said, scrambling for a napkin, "she killed them. They're dead."
"They're still very much alive," I said, "injured and frozen in time."
"Seriously? What the fuck is she doing with them?" Chloe asked.
"She keeps them for information. Prescott seems to know some important things about the powers and the symbols. As for Jefferson, I'm not sure but I think Maxine thinks that he must know something valuable…or maybe she just couldn't bring herself to kill anyone."
"So she asked them about stuff today?" Chloe asked.
"Yes," I said, "it turns out that her powers are weakening."
"No way," Chloe said, her voice barely above a whisper.
"Yes way: she's having a harder time rewinding, especially around other people," I said, "and she was trying to find out why from Prescott. And she was also trying to find out if she could somehow recharge her powers using me."
"How the fuck would she do that?" Chloe asked.
I shrugged and said, "apparently, that was Prescott's whole thing: trying to get powers. He suggested that she'd have to kill me through some kind of ritual and then they talked a lot about symbols and stuff."
Chloe sat up straight.
"She's going to kill you?" she asked, her voice an octave higher than normal.
"Not anytime soon," I said, "and she really didn't seem to like the idea."
"Max, look," Chloe said, putting her hands on my knees, "you're not going to like to hear this but no matter how much Maxine seems to like you, and she probably really, actually fucking likes you, she will always pick this universe over anyone and anything else. I used to be her anchor, Max, and that's coming from her, not me. But nothing I could say could help her forgive herself for whatever the fuck it was that we did. The only thing that anchors her now is the idea that this place is supposed to exist this way. She wants this peaceful utopia shit and if killing you is the way to keep it, she'll do it, even if it breaks her fucking heart."
"I know," I said.
My tone must have been as solid as I intended it because Chloe nodded and sat back.
"Fuck, Max, I'm sorry," she said, "if we couldn't figure out a way to get you home, I was at least hoping you could stay. But now?"
"Maxine may come up with a different way," I said, "there were a whole bunch she plans on exploring. And I think we have one big advantage: if everything she said about her powers is true, my powers are probably stronger than hers."
Chloe sat up again.
"Oh shit, that's probably right," she said.
"But," I said, holding up a hand, "she has far more practice than me, so we shouldn't count on it."
"Yeah, but I'll take any advantage," Chloe said.
I nodded and said, "and that's not all. She also unfroze Jefferson…"
Chloe scowled and took an angry swig of her beer.
"...and he saw me."
Chloe spat up again.
"Shit," she said, wiping her mouth, "what happened?"
"He didn't rat me out, for one," I said, "because I think he knew I might be the best chance to stop this. Right before looking at me, he said to frame the shot, get the lighting angles, and take the shot."
"The fuck does that mean?" Chloe asked, "and why would you even bother listening to that fuckwad?"
"I…have this thought that Rachel might've chosen me, specifically me, for a reason," I said, "I don't carry the same, well, traumas as almost any other Max. I'm not coming into this world with a lot of preconceptions, I guess. And one of those is that I'm not immediately going to reject something that Jefferson says, even though he's a fuckwad."
"So what does it mean, what he said?" she asked.
"I think it means that we need a plan, something more than just the equivalent of pointing a camera at something interesting and snapping a shot. We need to look at the whole picture and get all of the information, not only about Maxine but about the other pieces we'd need to get everyone out. It's like a proper photo: we need to consider the framing, the composition, the angle, the lighting, everything. I take that to mean that we need a solid plan. And, finally, when the opportunity presents itself, we take it."
"Take the shot," she said.
"Yes," I said.
"Fuck, it makes sense. And it's really fucking annoying that he's the one who said it." She took another sip. "But that asshole is right: I didn't even think about anyone or anything besides Maxine."
I nodded and said, "me too."
"So, do you have a plan?" she asked.
"Not yet," I said.
"Yeah, I hate to say it but I'm not exactly the best at making plans," Chloe said, wrinkling her nose.
"We need more information anyways," I said, "a lot more."
"Including how to keep Maxine from stopping us, now that I think of it," Chloe said, biting her lip.
"Not the kinds of things we can come up with in a single night," I said.
Chloe laughed and said, "yeah, no kidding."
"So maybe I'll take you up on that offer of a drink," I said.
"Say the word, Max, and I'll mix you something hella epic," she said with a grin.
"Booze me, Chloe," I said.
. . . . .
After a round of drinks and several stupid jokes about time travel films, Chloe led me upstairs, explaining that the loft there had once opened up to the main hall below and that she'd watched a kick-ass concert from it. As part of her renovations, she'd enclosed the loft, added a bathroom, and put in a huge bed, a comfy couch, and a huge television, among other things. The walls were covered in posters and artwork but had none of the hand-written messages of anger and grief that I'd seen in her room back in my own reality. It took me a minute to notice that there weren't any windows.
"I don't want to be reminded every fucking second of that fucking storm," she said when I asked about it, "so in here, it's either lit up or completely dark. Like a cozy cave."
"I like it," I said.
"If I ever get back to a real world somewhere and get the chance to get or make my own place, I'll make sure it has a fuck-ton of windows," she said.
She paused and looked around the room, sweeping strands of blue hair out of her face. It looked like she was imagining what this place would look like if it existed somewhere where the sun came out. In that moment, I wanted to ask her if she would come with me, back to my world. My heart ached when I thought about going back to a place that didn't have her. But I held that question back: she wasn't my world's Chloe and I didn't know where she'd want to go if given the chance.
"It's beautiful now," I said instead, looking around, "but I can imagine how beautiful it would be with sunlight streaming through windows. Like a punk cathedral of light and sound."
She grinned at me and gently jabbed an elbow into my side.
"Max the beat poet," she said, "just wait until you see the rest."
"The rest?"
"Yeah, come on, we'll chill here later," she said.
She had me put on a pair of slippers at a door downstairs ("trust me, you do not want splinters in your feet") and we stepped out into a quiet, dark, and cavernous space: the main hall of the mill.
Faint light from the storm outside filtered in through cracks in the walls and every so often, a flash of lightning would paint the walls with patterns of lines. We walked slowly, our slippers crunching on dirt and sand. When we reached the center, Chloe flicked a switch on a big box. Lights clicked on and slowly brightened, showing brilliant swirls and patterns of colors that covered nearly every wall.
"Wowser," I said, my voice echoing.
"There were a few epic concerts here," Chloe said, "but since it's empty now, people come and paint the walls. I come out here every once in a while but I figured you'd like it, even with the lights off: old creepy ruins make for good pictures, or so I've been told."
"It would, if I had a camera," I said.
"Oh shit, that's right," she said.
She shut off the lights, grabbed my hand, and hauled me back into her home, kicking her slippers off so hard that they flew across the room and hit the wall. We pounded up the stairs and back into her bedroom. I stood and watched as she knelt down in front of a cabinet and began tossing things out, from hoodies and hats to sketchbooks and markers.
"Aha!" she called out.
She triumphantly held up a Polaroid camera almost exactly like the one I'd lost.
"Chloe Price to the rescue, bitches!" she called out.
"Whoa, where did you get that?" I asked.
She handed it to me and said, "well, Maxine broke her camera back during the week of ultimate shit and I gave her my dad's old camera; she's had that one ever since. But there was a while there where we were kind of running all over and she had that thing bouncing around in her bag and I figured I'd make sure to have some more hipster cameras on hand in case she broke another. That was, um, before we found out she could rewind single things like cameras and shit." She shrugged.
"Wow, thank you, Chloe," I said.
"Just take hella awesome pictures, Max," she said, "it'll be good to see a real life version of you with a camera stuck to your face again."
I smiled, raised the camera, and took a photo of Chloe looking slightly surprised.
"Should've known that would happen," she said.
I grinned at her and she grinned back before jumping up and draping her arms on my shoulders.
"So, Max, we have the whole rest of the dark and stormy day and the whole dark and stormy night. I have ideas," she said.
I put my hand on my hip and said, "let's hear them."
"First, break into Chateau de Prescott and put sausages in Warren and Megan's underwear drawers," she said.
"I think that might be traceable," I said.
"Okay, second: we take all of Maxine's porn photos, make a giant collage, and put it in her office," she said.
"She might literally kill us," I said.
"Good point. So, number three: we get into Juliet's computer and change all of the nouns in her upcoming articles to 'beans,'" she said.
"You seem to really want to pull pranks," I said, raising an eyebrow.
"Eh, I'm mostly messing with you," she said, "I have much better ideas, ones that won't get us the glare-down from her highness…"
. . . . .
It turned out that Chloe's real ideas were, for the most part, pretty chill. First, she turned on some music, telling me that I had to start letting her broaden my musical horizons or I'd be, and I quote: doomed to indie rock hell for the rest of my life. Then she opened a closet, pointed to a row of clothing on the bottom, and urged me to try on outfits that weren't, in her words, either my current 'hipster-lite' style or Maxine's 'preppy-artiste' style.
Chloe had put Maxine through the very same exercise a few months after the storm came, hence the collection of clothes in my size. Some of those clothes came from Rachel's house: her parents had been living out of town before the storm came and so the house was now, for all intents and purposes, abandoned. Several more pieces came from stores that were just starting to return to some semblance of normal in this weird, post-apocalyptic economy. And the rest of the clothes were pilfered from stores that would never open again.
After about two dozen outfits, Chloe informed me that my picks didn't match Maxine's, something that surprised us both. I confessed to being relieved over a concrete sign of differences between her and I…and Chloe confessed to finding my picks "way hotter" than Maxine's.
After the last outfit and a promise from me to seriously consider actually wearing some of them, I changed into an old set of Maxine's pajamas. And as I sank onto the couch next to Chloe, I found myself truly relaxing for the first time since I'd arrived in this weird universe.
We watched Blade Runner, projected onto a blank wall from an expensive-looking projector (Chloe remarked that Nathan couldn't exactly complain that she'd taken it). About ten minutes in, Chloe casually snaked her arm around my shoulders and I leaned into her with a smile.
In many ways, it felt like old times: we snacked on microwave popcorn, dramatically recited the film's most quotable lines, and snorted our way through our own droll commentary. But I also felt something new: an electricity in the air, buzzing with a comfortable tension that stretched between us. Was it Chloe's leg slowly sliding on mine? Was it her arm draped over my shoulders? Was it the pictures I'd seen of us, in other universes? At that moment, I didn't really care where the feeling came from; it was too comfortable and too exciting to try to define.
After the film, we rifled through take-out menus from a pile on Chloe's kitchen counter and picked China Garden, a purveyor of greasy, Americanized Chinese food that would be practically criminal in Portland or Seattle. We called in our order, found a copy of Death Race 2000, and I time-stepped out to pick up our order. The pimply teen behind the counter must not have heard that a new Max was in town: he stuttered and swallowed as he handed me our order, tossing several extra packets of soy sauce, chopsticks, and moist towellettes into the bag. If I hadn't spent the last several hours goofing off with Chloe, I would've been mortified by the whole situation. Instead, I laughed heartily and, in a pirate voice, told him to "heave to and get him some booty" before time-stepping back to Chloe's.
When I told Chloe what happened, she laughed her ass off.
The food was just as amazingly terrible as I remembered: salty and crunchy and greasy in ways that seemed to match up perfectly well with the gruesome and over-the-top humor of our film choice, one in which the drivers in a dystopian, cross-country car race gained points from vehicular homicide.
About halfway through the film, as we poked and prodded at the remains of some sesame chicken, Chloe let out a humorless chuckle.
"What's up?" I asked.
"Nothing," she said, giving me an easy smile, "I just realized that my point value in this movie would be hella low."
"Good," I said, "then no one would hit you."
"Aww, adorable Max," she said, ruffling my hair, "given my luck in most universes, I'd be hit by at least three of them."
When the film ended, Chloe checked her watch, a big and expensive-looking one with a black face and multiple dials. I didn't ask but I didn't really have to: that watch almost certainly once belonged to Sean or Nathan Prescott.
"So, I've got another hella awesome idea," Chloe said, "see, there's something Maxine and I did back in the week of awful fucking shit and, well, it's different now but I kinda wanna do it again anyway."
"Okay," I said, my eyebrows rising.
"Let's raid the Blackwell pool," she said, her eyes bright.
"You want to go swimming?" I asked.
"Kind of," she said with a wink.
. . . . .
I thought for sure that Chloe would suggest skinny dipping, but she offered me one of Maxine's old swimsuits and dug one of her own out of a drawer. I felt equal parts relieved and disappointed, to be honest. Then, after a brief time-step, Chloe and I crept into the dark entrance hall of the Blackwell pool building. I closed the outer door slowly behind us as Chloe explained that the pool would look very different from anything I'd remember: one of the earliest projects that Maxine and the group had championed was to turn the pool into a small but intense water park.
And it was true: when Chloe opened the inner doors with an echoing clack, my mouth fell open. The entire far wall had been removed to expand the building. A second pool sat in the new space and no fewer than a dozen water slides snaked down from outside and above to empty into it. The old pool connected to a lazy river that disappeared into a dark archway and must have looped out through another expanded part of the building because the flow came back in through another opening.
As I stared in disbelief, Chloe vanished into a side room and with a loud click, underwater lights came to life. Moments later, pumps rumbled and water began splashing out of the water slides.
Chloe returned and put an arm over my shoulders.
"When Maxine and I broke in here, back during the week of incredible shit," she said, "we swam around in our underwear and chilled out. No water slides, obviously. Then we almost got caught by step-douche."
"And we won't get in trouble for being here?" I asked.
"Eh," she said with a shrug, "Maxine might wag a finger at us but no. Besides, I helped design this fucking place so I feel like I'm entitled." She clapped me on the back. "So, what first, hippie?"
. . . . .
We screamed down every single slide, splashed in the pool, grabbed snacks out of a vending machine, and floated along the lazy river in a two-person innertube. Intellectually, I knew that there would be no negative consequences from this "break-in"…but because the building's overhead lights remained off and because of the unending darkness visible through every window, it felt like we weren't supposed to be there. And that made it exciting: my instincts insisted that the non-existent Blackwell security would come at any moment and try to hunt us down.
When I explained my feelings to Chloe, she laughed.
"Kind of intentional," she said, "that's why I only turned on some of the lights. It's more fun when it's kinda spooky and dangerous."
"It's a good balance," I said, "I'll feel completely content at one moment and then get a jolt of adrenaline every time I forget that we're allowed to be here. It's a thrill."
"Well, I'm glad I can give you thrills," she said, resting a hand on my leg.
Her hand felt very warm on my skin and tingles worked their way up to my head. I looked at Chloe, my eyes tracing from her blue hair all the way down to her toes, her body barely visible in the shimmering light reflecting from the ceiling. I suddenly wished we had ditched our swimsuits, a thought that gave me another jolt of adrenaline. I could barely believe it but I couldn't deny it: I had serious hots for Chloe. Maybe it came from confidence: I had mountains of evidence that she felt the same way about me (well, someone very much like me). And Maxine's moves on me seemed to have shattered the solid block of doubt that I'd lived with for years, the one that said that no one could be attracted to a gangly, nerdy wallflower like me. I'd completely dismissed the possibility of romance for years and I found myself wondering how many relationship opportunities I'd missed. Then again, given the types of people at my former high school, perhaps I'd dodged a bullet.
"Max, you okay?" Chloe asked as we passed through a particularly dark section of the lazy river.
"Yeah," I said, putting a hand on her leg, "I'm doing great."
. . . . .
When I stepped out of Chloe's bathroom, toweling at my hair, she stood a few steps away with a grin on her face and a small stack of DVDs in her hands.
"Horror films," she said, her grin widening.
I groaned and said, "Chloe, if you want me to cuddle, you only have to ask."
"Ah, but these make for so many extra surprise cuddles," she said.
I rolled my eyes but didn't bother trying to hide a smile as I said, "fine."
We picked The Shining. I wasn't sure how late it was and I found that I didn't care: I felt completely awake, relishing every creepy moment that had me clutching Chloe tight and feeling amazing when Chloe did the same to me (despite her bluster, she got far more creeped out with horror films than I did).
It didn't feel at all like I'd only known this Chloe for a couple of days. It didn't feel at all like there had been a five-year gap in the history with my own version of her. It felt like this was my Chloe. It felt like we'd been friends again and hanging out for months, not hours.
When the film finished, Chloe got up and turned on a single light, giving the room the barest orange glow. She came back to the couch and faced me. She smiled and fidgeted with her fingers in her lap. I saw so many things in her at that moment: ease, hope, nervousness, hesitation, and love.
Without thinking, I leaned forward and kissed her.
Like with the dare before, it was just a quick thing, so light that I could barely feel her lips on mine. But it sent a jolt of electric adrenaline through me and I sat back hard.
"Sorry," I said, "I…"
Chloe didn't let me finish: her wide-eyed surprise turned into a mischievous grin and she lunged at me. I let out a yelp as she pushed me down onto the couch and pressed her lips to mine.
I kissed her back hard, tugged my hands out from where Chloe had squished them between us, and wrapped my arms around her back. She laughed into the kiss and relaxed down onto me. Completely on a whim, I wrapped my legs up around her thighs, which made her laugh again and kiss me harder.
At first, Chloe's kissing was hard, fast, and almost desperate, like a parched traveler taking a drink. But unlike Maxine, she didn't press her tongue against my lips and after a few minutes, she relaxed and slowed down. Everything became slow and gentle and instead of our nails raking at each other's backs and scalps, our fingertips made slow and gentle explorations over clothes and skin.
And it seemed that that was what my body had been looking for: I squeezed her tighter with my arms and legs, drawing her in and wanting to feel more of her skin. I slid my fingers underneath her shirt in the back, moving my hands further and further up.
When I got about halfway up her back, Chloe broke away and sat up, straddling me and looking down with soft eyes. She gently brushed strands of my hair out of my face and smiled.
"So, um, I'm horny as fuck, obviously, but I have no idea how weird or not weird you might be feeling about this," she said, "and since it kinda seemed like you want to take off my shirt…"
She grinned and I blushed.
"...I just want to make sure you're comfortable and stuff…so if we start to go all wild and crazy, I want to, um, know where to stop, you know?"
"I think…let's see where it goes," I said, my voice almost hoarse, "don't hold back."
"Are you sure?" she asked, raising an eyebrow.
I nodded.
"Okay," she said, "and don't you dare hesitate to tell me to stop if you want me to stop, okay?"
I nodded again and smiled at her.
"And you, too," I said.
She grinned and said, "if you've got something so kinky up your sleeve that I ask you to stop, I'll be impressed."
I wrinkled my nose at her and she responded by widening her grin, reaching down, and pulling off her shirt.
Over the next couple of hours, I never told her to stop. Momentary hesitations hit me, my brain asking "are you sure?" in the same voice as Chloe's. Those happened when she tugged my sleep shorts off, then again when I slid my own fingers down beneath her waistband (at which point I discovered that she wasn't wearing underwear, which led us into a round of intense laughter), and then again when she looked up at me with a raised eyebrow before bringing her lips and tongue down between my legs.
And after that, I had no more moments of hesitation.
To be honest, I hadn't expected things to go as far as they did. But I had no regrets. Every moment felt perfect, even the ones where I had no idea what I was doing and Chloe would laugh, guide my hands, and tell me what she wanted. There were so many little surprises, all of them so good, and I was so glad to be sharing it with Chloe.
When our bodies told us we'd had enough, we collapsed down on top of Chloe's sheets, sweat glistening on our skin. She lazily ran her foot up and down my shin and I slowly played with long strands of her blue hair in my fingers. We smiled at each other and kissed.
"How do you feel?" Chloe whispered.
"Perfect," I whispered back.
She gave me her heart-melting smile and we scooted closer, wrapping our legs and arms around one another. We whispered and giggled until we fell asleep.