Seven months before Safi dies.
It was the last few days of April, with May rushing in. The end of the Spring semester on any campus brought havoc, and Caledon was no different.
Just like the students cramming for finals, Mark was also getting frantic. Soon the majority of his vessels would leave campus and..and…there she was.
It was evening and the walkways were lined with tiny bulb lights. Food trucks and pop-up tents covered the normally vacant cobblestone expanses. Mark sat in the body of an owl, perched atop one of the lamp posts and surveying the chaotic scene.
Max was the same and yet different. She still had short brown hair but she didn't have bangs, it moved easily with the breeze and fell in slight waves. And there were streaks that were either highlights growing out or were kissed by the sun on her travels. She walked with confidence, stopping occasionally to observe the bustle around her. She moved like no one else could see her. The old max that he remembered seemed to have a disdain for invisibility but this new max radiated contentment as she weaved through the crowd.
And then he knew why she looked so at peace, Max was at work. Every so often she would pause her gait to position her camera and take a shot. She had the poise and patience of a wildlife photographer but she didn't need to in this mess.
Holy crap, I miss photography.
It was nice to see a friendly familiar face. He wanted to be down there, to talk to her, but that wasn't possible. All Mark could do was watch from afar.
He waited until she was about to pass his perch before he flared his wings and let out a melodious coo as greeting. Their eyes met.
She lifted the lens and his old catchphrase came to mind. She took the shot.
…..Max's POV (Some time later)
It was mid May. Max rested her pen on the desk and stretched out. She'd just written a journal entry and she'd gotten into the habit of writing it as if she were speaking to Chloe. It was therapeutic to do so.
Even though I could just call her…It had been a while since Max reached out to Chloe, since the breakup last November. But writing journal entries had always been her way of coping and she saw no reason to change that.
If it isn't written, did it really happen? Her old journal would contradict that statement.
One of the worst things that came from having her powers was that all the traumatic shit that happened to her- never actually happened. At least not in this timeline.
All the times someone had died in front of her…the dark room even, all were just things that happened in her memories alone. Max couldn't talk to a therapist about any of it without the risk of being deemed insane.
All Max ever really had was Chloe, which in most cases, was the person that died, and she wasn't the only death she'd seen or caused. Chloe was the person Max saved in exchange for a whole town of people.
Is it worse to be the person that made the choice or to be the person the choice was made for? Max pondered. It was a frequent topic of argument between the two of them.
Max and Chloe had never really stopped moving since the storm because if they always had something new to talk about, the scars of the past would be the last thing to talk about. And it was something they made sure to never talk about, even in private.
Nothing was permanent though, in terms of roots, so there was nothing they could use to bury the pain and grow from it. The pressure got to them and their relationship simply withered. Max had always been lost in her own head and Chloe had never truly been able to extend trust. They had a long and beautiful love story but it was time to heal.
Maybe the best way we could heal was apart- for now.
Max pressed a light kiss to Chloe's forehead on the last photo she had of them smiling together. She then pinned it to the wall of her new "home." She and Chloe had parted ways last Thanksgiving and she had started her sad solo tour of the US. Chloe headed south and Max headed east.
She'd thrown herself at any photo gig she could get. And money only ever seemed to be getting tighter. And after a while Max began to feel like she was stuck in a sad beige carousel of cheap motel rooms. Photography became less about art and more about work.
Before the breakup, Chloe had helped her gain a fairly large online following, but Max had let it fall into disrepair since. She hadn't lost a crazy amount of followers but the payouts were becoming smaller and smaller.
Like any good artist, Max had eventually turned her sadness into something productive, a photo series. With all the darkness that constantly swirled around her mind she felt so alone. So she found abandoned places that felt like home to her, like Arcadia Bay torn to pieces. Places that were once full of life and were now empty husks.
The potential of what used to be.
Max had started posting those photos, mostly for an ego boost after a photoshoot she wasn't particularly proud of. It wasn't much but it kept the cash flow going. She had entered the Boston Arts Festival in the hopes to begin to build herself back emotionally and financially. It was a lucky coincidence that the head of a Vermont college was swept away by her work and offered her an artist in residence position.
Max looked around the absolutely cavernous lofted house that was all hers- well for the four whole semesters she was contracted for, starting this summer. The view from the windows was beautiful but there was just sooo much space for one person.
She picked up her pen and continued her journal entry, "The artist in residence lodgings were described as a cottage in the on-boarding materials, but it's the size of my last three apartments combined. It'd be a great place to bring friends over, if I had any."
She started sketching a little schoolhouse to avoid the rest of her unpacking, even doodling a random fox when she felt time had passed too quickly. But she couldn't put it off any longer, she had to set it up…
Max gathered as many bags of equipment onto one arm as she could. Chloe would probably have praised her for trying to get workman's comp so soon into employment but, "Multiple trips be damned!"
She nudged the already ajar basement door open with her boot and slowly waddled down the steps. It was windowless down there and made for a very dark…space. She spotted a previous pile of her things nearby, it wasn't the first time she tried to come down here. Max had simply taken a three hour detour. When she came down here for the first time this morning and turned on the lights she immediately felt ill and turned back around.
When she saw the gray walls combined with the earthy smell that came with being underground, some shelves pre-stocked with foods… her camera laid onto a sparse desk under a white light. It was all too familiar- too similar.
Max always loved older forms of photography, and that often led to the need to develop film in darkness. In a clinical environment with the smell of chemicals. Up until now she had managed to utilize the bathrooms in the motels and apartments she'd had. But this was the first time she could have an entire space dedicated to photography…a true dark room.
Max had a rise of anger. Why did they even call it that? It hadn't even been an actual dark room, not in the true definition. She remembered the bright lights and the feeling of betrayal at what her idol had truly been.
Her internal struggle over Mr. Jefferson and the Dark Room was just another item on the list of things she had never taken the time to heal from. But at least it was an aversion to the type of space and not a fear of cameras.
She left the second load of bags further into the room than before but not far from the first. She made her way back up the stairs and looked back now. She switched off the light and stared into the darkness for a moment, her eyes playing games with the shadows, as if a monster would emerge from them. Her former teacher's face came to mind. A face she had once fantasized about, until all she knew as reality was torn away and he'd been revealed as a creep that drugged women and took photos of them bound. And if that wasn't bad enough he'd done it to some of her classmates, her 18 year old classmates.
In her naive youth and before the truth came out, she would have crossed any boundaries for the man if he had ever asked. He really was an alluring individual with the confidence he radiated and the way his voice got soft when he was speaking gently…But with age she realized how wrong the power dynamic would have been between an 18 year old and a 38 year old. Even if he wasn't a criminal, it just simply wouldn't have been a fair balance, someone just starting out in life should have a chance to thrive and discover themselves. Even if it was legal on paper, it just would have been creepy.
Max had a weird solace in knowing he hadn't been discovered to have sexually assaulted any of the victims. Unfortunately Chloe's first love, Rachel, had been murdered to protect the secret. But that seemed to be Nathan's fault, as far as she could trust the words of a man that had killed Chloe right in front of her as well as her classmate Victoria- in a now non-existent timeline.
In that timeline, Mr. Jefferson had said weird things to her while captured but he didn't make any moves to touch her in an obscene way. And he had been so kind to her by letting her ask questions and gingerly giving her water. He had gotten verbally aggressive, and in one timeline he attacked her with a tripod, but something was off about those moments. Something was off about the whole experience.
It sounded insane to her but she frequently thought back to every last moment, every last timeline. And the 180 in behavior of her teacher just didn't feel real, it felt forced. If Max didn't know any better, she would argue that it wasn't him that night.
I really need to go to therapy. Max rolled her eyes at her line of thought.
She tried to push his face out of her mind, because if she didn't, he would be on her mind the rest of the night. And that made for weird ass nightmares.
She closed the door and retreated to the warmth of the house, made some tea and curled up under some blankets. Again, the dark room was one of the things she couldn't really talk about to anyone- because it never really happened to her.
Everything about that week where she had discovered her powers was fucked up but escaping the Dark Room was the most bizarre. It had been like some kind of drug trip, like someone had poured acid into her brain, or at least what she imagined acid did to someone.
She still didn't get it. Why did she tell Chloe to take her to the lighthouse? They had been safe in her room after they told David where to find the Dark Room. But for some reason she'd told her to go there in the middle of a hurricane, and then the nightmare trip suddenly overtook her. It just didn't make sense.
A headache began to spread across her skull with a throbbing beat that halted her train of thought. How much sense could you make of time powers anyway. Max continued on with the busy work of unpacking her clothes.
She put all of her focus into folding and stacking until a drowsiness overtook her. She felt too exhausted to move anything and she curled up right there and fell asleep.
When she awoke the next morning she felt some discomfort where each pile of clothing had pressed into her like rocks. The outline of a jeans pocket left her cheek a little red but it would dissolve quickly. Sleep last night had been inconsistent and she felt groggy, she never fell deep enough to dream and it was probably for the best.
Luckily today was her first workshop of three for the summer semester. She wouldn't start official classes with grading and tests until the fall. The time over the summer would be meant for figuring out her curriculum and the three workshops would work to drum up further excitement for the university's new photography program.
Max had no idea what she was doing but at least she had three months to put together a game plan.
…Mark's POV
Thank the universe that Vinh's "flirting" with Reggie had worked so well that he'd decided to transfer over the summer. He was a junior that had room for plenty of electives, and Max's photography class made the cut. The thought of holding a real camera again had Mark simmering with excitement but he held back and let Reggie have control of his body for now. If Mark were to be in control the whole time Reggie wouldn't have any memory of the class. He was ready to pounce the minute they started taking photos.
"H-Hey everyone." It was Max, he recognized her voice from the acceptance phone call. Reggie and a few others didn't hear her though and kept chattering. He remembered how annoying that part of teaching was. Even if people voluntarily signed up for something they still wouldn't be motivated to pay attention 100% of the time, Max had been guilty of that herself.
When Sean had started putting Mark into schools he'd had to learn a thing or two about demanding respect. You should never have to ask for it, you should expect it and command it. This looked more like the Max he remembered as she held her arms around herself in a stance of discomfort.
Mark came forward and halted Reggie's conversation. He cleared his throat and was ready to hush the group when-
"Alright everyone! Get your artistic asses over here! It's time to see what you're made of!" He saw Max lower the hand she had cupped over her mouth to project her voice. He stood for a moment in disbelief at her brashness. Everyone gathered around her, he joined the circle.
He had only known Max for about two months back then and hadn't seen her in the ten years since then. Maybe he needed to let go of what he remembered. It would be ridiculous to think somebody hadn't grown or changed in ten years. Right?
It wasn't weird for a college professor to use swears like it had been for him as a high school teacher. Blackwell was at least special in the fact that it had one extra year that students could use as college prep and credit.
There were times where he noticed Max falter in her explanations or direction. He tried to guide her along with his questions but she was faring quite well on her own merit. Eventually, it came time for the best part- photographs!
Max shielded her eyes from the sun as she spoke. "Something crucial to being a successful photographer is having the confidence to get the shot you want. A great way to build that confidence is to take photos of people. Posed or candid, you'll need to explain yourself if you want a face in a shot. And that is what I want from you now. Photos with faces."
Aw crap. Of fucking course we'd start with people. Mark felt anxious now.
He made his way over to where Max was handing out model release forms. "Ma -ahem- Ms. Caulfield?" She looked up and raised her eyebrows as a signal to continue.
"I can't take photos of people." He literally couldn't. He was still running on the command to only take photos of Safi. Thankfully she was out of town, he was so sick of her face.
She pursed her mouth in sympathy but he saw pity too. "Aw Reggie." Her hand fell on his shoulder. "You'll get better through practice."
This was so horribly embarrassing. "Please." He sounded desperate. "Anything else? Please."
"Okay, fine. But when we meet next month I am going to start you on portraits." He couldn't tell if she was annoyed with him or not but was thankful she caved.
Her voice had wavered and it was clear she was trying to find a tone that was stern but well meaning. It reminded him of how he sounded when he first started teaching.
He really didn't enjoy having to become a teacher, at least not at first. The world he was living as a celebrity had come traveling and luxury tastes and in the early years, Sean touted him everywhere. But it had also come with seeing the dark underbelly behind the glitz and glamour. He'd have a legitimate photoshoot or show by day, but a much darker task at night. Back then the work of the dark room could be done anywhere.
Maybe it was the rise of surveillance and the internet that caused Sean to scale down their operation. To make the transition look organic he had Mark make a round working at different high schools until he could ultimately land in Arcadia Bay, Sean's privately owned kingdom where he could control everything and everyone. But unfortunately, Sean saw the black market value in the photos Mark could gather in his position.
While his time teaching was marred with darkness it was oddly a time laced with light. He'd gotten to spend his days inspiring people and giving hope to others while he had none. Seeing the optimism and drive of his students delivered him a vicarious happiness. If he couldn't be free he could at least work to set others on a better path. Having responsibilities and obligations kept Sean's demands at bay in order to keep up appearances.
He took a moment now to watch the other students milling about and taking photographs. It was ironic that a time he felt safest in his life was a time that had brought a dark veil to others. A guilty feeling as familiar as oxygen bubbled up in him.
Why didn't I put better effort into stopping Sean? It was a worthless question to ask.
He had run the scenarios over in his head a million times. With how deeply Sean had rooted Mark into his twisted games no one would ever believe his innocence. You couldn't expose a crime lord with mind control and live to tell the tale. He could be killed and have it look as though it was by his own hand. And because of this Mark considered his will to live as his greatest weakness.
Have I truly been alive? Mark had barely noticed his birthday pass by again last month. It was a disgraceful anniversary. His 20th birthday had been the day control of his life left his own hands. Mark had been caught in a compromising position with Sean's at-the-time fiance. That was all the way back in 1995…It had been 28 years.
"Reggie!" Max shouted from across the small quad, "Chop chop! We're almost done for the day!"
Mark did his best to shake off his depression and started to aim his camera at the treeline beyond campus. He was limited to anywhere without people, sadly this also left him with very few artistic choices. This wasn't shaping up to be the reprieve he'd hoped for.
