October 31st, 2013 – First Choice Timeline

Max jolted up in bed, her sheets drenched and tangled around her legs. The bray of the distant thunder faded away, but Max found little comfort, neither in its distance nor in its vanishing. Another flash would be along soon enough, another peel through the night —

— the light through the window was dim, but the outside was not dark either; not nighttime. At least what little she could see of the outside world through the blackout curtains that concealed most of the windows wasn’t dark; not nighttime dark. Those curtains had been an early purchase upon resetting the timeline. Max’s sleep was troubled at best now, so she made up for it by sleeping any chance that she could manage. Blocking out the sunlight had been an immediate priority.

She tried not to think about how the darkness of the room echoed the serial killer vibes of Prescott’s dorm in that other life; nor its shades of Kate’s in the week that no longer was. Max’s room was a mess, she couldn’t deny that, but her mirror still remained uncovered, and she could see stretches of floor still unconcealed by the sporadic piles of laundry. Hers definitely wasn’t the messiest dorm room in the Prescott Dormitories; however, it might have been the darkest.

The dark.

The light.

Something was on your mind.

Chloe.

No, that wasn’t it.

A flash stole in from the gaps between the blackout curtains and the windows, followed swiftly by another peel of thunder. Max immediately curled into herself, hugging her knees tightly to her chest.

That’s right. The storm. The light. What time is it? When is it?

She chewed at her lower lip. Her heart raced now, its pace quickening with a rapid intensity that made Max panic; a panic that itself quickened that same rapid racing of her heart even further in an endless self-feeding loop. Her head began to pound as her heartbeat ran out of control; not a time travel headache either, but something deep and equally frightening. At least Max was pretty certain that it wasn’t a time travel headache. She didn’t do something in her sleep did she? Could she?

Another flash. Another peel of thunder rolling over Arcadia Bay and the Prescott Dormitories. The light and thunder rippled through Max’s room, shattering both the silence and the darkness; but only for a moment. A new darkness slipped into the void left by the vacuum of their departure.

Max’s chest hurt and her breath came shallow now. She needed to breathe.

How do you breathe? I think I forgot how to breathe.

She knew it was a panic attack. This wasn’t her first incident since returning from making that decision under the lighthouse; since deciding to undo that week and let Chloe die in order to prevent the storm. Hell, the lightning and thunder weren’t even her only triggers. She didn’t even have one source of panic. Life had been simpler just a month ago, before that lost week. Now, so many things could set Max off: the crack of thunder, the flash of lighting. Hell, even just the right flicker of a light bulb, or a sudden loud noise could do it. Sometimes it was the Dark Room that she found stealing in and crushing her. Sometimes it was the gunshot from the bathroom. Tonight it was the storm; The Storm.

This wasn’t that storm though. No.

When are you? That’s right, she needed to ground herself in the when. This wasn’t that week, anymore. This was Halloween, and today’s storm, today’s storm was just another storm like any other; not the storm. It had been on the forecast all week. Nothing to worry about.

Another bray of thunder shattered the silence, and Max couldn’t help herself; she screamed.

Shit. No way Victoria and Kate didn’t hear that , she thought, then remembered she still didn’t know what time it was. She should check her phone.

Slowly, Max peeled her eyes open. She hadn’t even realized that they were closed; but she could feel the pressure now as she eased them open; she must have winced them shut as she screamed. She still hugged her knees, and her head and chest still burned from the pounding, crushing pain. Her breath still came in ragged shallow gasps, as well. She needed to get that under control.

First things, first.

She released one hand from around her knees, and slipped it toward the nightstand, fumbling for her phone. Her hand shook as she reached out; her whole arm shook.

No worries. It will pass. Time. What time is it, Max?

At last her fingers closed around her phone. She brought it to her face, reopening her eyes.

When did I close them, again?

The phone screen flashed the time: 10:32 am. She was supposed to be in AP English now. Class was back in session, Ms. Hoida finally returning from her leave and ready to resume her teaching duties, but Max wouldn’t be in attendance. Not today. At least not this morning.

Max focused on her breathing, trying to give it some semblance of order; trying to break through the panic.

Another crack pierced the briefly renewed silence, and Max let out another scream, her phone slipping from her hand and hurtling into the wall beside her bed. With a thunk, it fell down the crack between her mattress and her wall, crashing to the floor in the mystery land under her bed.

It’s gone now.

So be it. She didn’t have time for that anyway. She chuckled at that.

I don’t have time. That’s funny.

And it was, wasn’t it?

Dog, why’s it so dark? Oh. My eyes are closed again, aren’t they?

Max peeked one eye open. As she did, she heard a door opening down the hall. Damn. She’d been hoping everyone else was in class. Guess I’m not so lucky.

A quiet set of footsteps sounded outside her door, then paused, followed by a soft knock. Max knew that knock. Why wasn’t Kate in class?

“Max,” came the quiet voice on the other side of the door.

Max isn’t here , Max thought. Just Other Max, slayer of best friends. Murderer.

She returned to her ball on the bed, tightening her grip around her knees, and closing her eyes once more. At least this time, she closed them on purpose.

“Max,” Kate said again. “I know you’re in there.”

Max didn’t answer, and Kate let the silence stretch out for a moment. Kate deserved better than this Max. Max knew that. Moreover, she just couldn’t deal with that look of pity right now.

Suddenly another flash lit the room, followed by even more thunder. Max screamed again, because of course she did. Yeah, there went her silent treatment. Hopefully, Kate had already given up.

“I just want to help.”

Damn. Kate didn’t give up.

“I know something about… about being in a dark place. I… I know you scream when it storms.”

Great. Glad that’s not a secret. Max the spaz – afraid of a little thunder.

“I have some tea if you’d like. Chamomile.”

La, la, la. I’m not listening.

“It helps me, when… when things are bad.”

Is that what things are? Bad? Oh Dog, I thought it was something serious. Bad I can handle.

Max paused, her bitter thoughts screeching to a halt. She was being mean. Yeah, she wasn’t telling Kate these things, but Kate was an angel, as much an angel for Max as perhaps Rachel had been for Chloe— if a different sort of angel. Kate didn’t deserve this type of treatment even if only in Max’s thoughts.

Of course, I’m Other Max, aren’t I? The murderer. The one who killed her best friend. Twice… Three times if you include the bumper ricochet in the junkyard. Let’s just ignore all the other times when I ‘merely’ failed to save her, rather than literally causing her death. 

“I understand if you… if you need to be alone,” Kate continued. “I’ll just leave a cup by your door, if you want it. I know… I know panic attacks can be hard. I’m here… if you need me.”

Panic attacks? Yeah, maybe. Panic attacks. PTSD. Time Shenanigans. Something-like that. 

Shenanigans? Did I really just think that? What am I, eighty? Chloe so would have busted my chops over that one.

At the mere thought of Chloe, her eyes teared up, and Max could feel the full-on crying session incoming. She didn’t want Kate to hear that. It was bad enough that Kate knew she was having a panic attack, or whatever was happening. She couldn’t take much more pity right now, even if Kate really did only want to help.

Luckily, she heard Kate’s footsteps retreating, followed by the sound of Kate’s door opening and closing behind her. Max was alone again.

Slowly, Max crawled from her bed. She didn’t have the energy to stand up, but maybe Kate had a point. She needed to try something. Max inched her way to the door, still on her hands and knees, slid it open just a crack, and dragged the small cup of tea inside. The cup of Chamomile secured in her sanctuary, Max slammed the door shut once more.

Alone. Safe. 

More thunder rolled over Blackwell and Max’s vision blurred.

Sort of safe.

With a trembling hand, she raised the cup and took a sip. She spilled more than she drank, but the tea tasted good: sweet, with a light floral flavor. The warmth of it eased down her throat, burning away the cold that had snuck in during the storm.

Max focused on her breathing, slowing it down, then took another sip. Her hand shook a little less this time, and her tea remained mostly in its cup.

Little by little, Maxitaxi. Little by little.

She smiled as that Chloe-ism snuck into her thoughts, and at last she let the tears fall. Max missed her. She missed her so much.

A knock sounded once more at Max’s door. This knock was louder than Kate’s – almost chipper – and equally familiar. Max knew exactly who was on the other side of that door and suspected that she had ulterior motives beyond checking in on Max’s mental state. Max also knew that this girl would be far more difficult to avoid than Kate Marsh.

“Max? Max, are you in there?”

Max really wished that Dana would go away, but she knew better than to believe that was going to happen. She’d have to placate her some at least.

“No,” Max said. “No one’s here but Lisa and the Captain.”

Max hugged her one-eyed teddy bear close as she responded. She felt better than she had when Kate swung by that morning, but she hadn’t been able to get out of bed yet. The storm had passed an hour or more ago, and her nerves had settled shortly thereafter. Media lab had concluded about thirty minutes after that, but Max had been a no show to that class as well. They hadn’t found a replacement for Jefferson ( Jeffer-shit ) yet – not since Nathan ratted him out and both psychopaths had been arrested – so Max didn’t feel compelled to even attempt her final class of the day: Language of Photography. Sure, Blackwell had likely brought in a substitute, so technically she was still missing class, but Blackwell never seemed to land anyone with any real knowledge of photography to fill in, and Max couldn’t motivate herself to sit through one more boring recitation from the temporary textbook Principal Wells had insisted that the subs follow. They couldn’t even land a long-term sub. What was the point of attending photography class when the teacher changed almost weekly and was learning the material right along with the students?

So much for that photography scholarship going to good use.

Max might have been more bitter if she felt confident that she could even take photos anymore, but so far, she hadn’t snapped a single Polaroid since… well, since coming to this timeline.

“Maaaaxxx?” Dana practically sang her name from the other side of the door. “I’m coming in Max.”

“What Max? This is Lisa.” Max sat up on her bed casting off her cocoon of blankets and pulling her legs underneath her as she leaned against her photo wall. See, I’m sitting up. That’s some semblance of life, right? She hugged the Captain closer, taking comfort in her beloved bear. I probably look so childish hugging my precious Captain. Pretty sure he’s the only thing keeping me upright though. Max scooted back, pressing more tightly against the photo wall. Okay, so it’s the Captain and this wall for support. That’s the most I can manage. It will have to do.

Dana cracked the door open, peering into the darkened room. Noticing the gloomy atmosphere, Dana muttered to herself. “No, no, this won’t do.”

Well, damn.

Dana flipped  on the light and stepped inside. Max squinted shielding her eyes as the room lit up for probably the first time in at least a week.

“Sadist,” Max said, with a tiny smirk. Chloe would have wanted her to at least try to be happy. Plus, no way Dana would leave her alone if Max let her see how she was really feeling.

Dana glared at her as she gathered up the tea cup sitting by the doorway, while simultaneously toeing a wadded up pile of dirty clothes over into the corner. “Max, you’re getting out of this room,” she said, swinging a shopping bag in her free hand. Max suspected there was something for her in that bag, but if Dana was the courier, Max feared what lay within.

“Kate sent you, didn’t she?”

“We’re worried about you.”

“All good, see.” Max smiled or at least managed some facsimile of a smile. She felt fairly confident the abomination on her face at least conveyed a fraction of the joy that she was trying to pretend that she felt.

“You’re coming to the Halloween party tonight.”

“Is that a question?”

“No.”

“Can it be?”

“No. You’re coming.”

“Meh. That seems unlikely.”

“Max.” Dana cast Max her best mother hen death glare.

“Fine.”

“See, was that so hard?”

“Yessss?” Max shrugged. She knew Dana was only watching out for her; she had been doing a lot of that since Max returned to that bathroom; since she entered this timeline. All in all, despite Dana being one of the popular kids, a cheerleader, and a leader in the Vortex club, Max really did like her. She cared, and she didn’t put up some bitchy facade like some pixie-cut posers across the hall. No, she was bubbly and cheerful and genuine, and if you were nice to Dana she was nice to you.

And if you’re grumpy and a recluse and you ignore her texts and her numerous efforts to drag you out of your funk, she’s still nice to you. Obviously something must be wrong with her.

“Okay,” Dana said. “But you’re still coming. You’ve got two hours to get ready. Three and a half if you’re aiming for fashionably late.”

“Four and a half?”

“No.”

“Four?”

“Still no.”

“I don’t have a costume.”

“Which is why I brought this.” Dana dropped the bag that she had carried in with her at Max’s feet. “Get showered and get dressed.”

Max looked in the bag. Was that a pair of cat ears? And paws? And did that bag say sexy cat costume?  No, no, no. This isn’t happening.

“No, no, no,” Max said. “This isn’t happening.”

“Yes, yes it is. Get dressed and then find your bitch, Warren, and meet me at the gym.”

“So not my bit — my… look, I’m really not into Warren.”

“Uh-huh. Find Graham and meet up with Trevor and I. We’re going to dance it up at BlackHell-O-ween!”

“Um… has anyone ever told you that you’re scary gung-ho about this whole Halloween thing?”

“All the time, Max.” Dana flashed Max a genuine smile. “See you by no later than 6:30. Tonight, BlackHell-O-ween. Next week, we drag your ass to a rave.”

“Um… can I just settle for the Halloween thing?”

“Up for debate.” Dana gestured to the bag with a flourish. “Now get ready, get dressed, and see you soon.” And with that, she glided from the room, shouting down the hall as she left. “Hey Taylor! You’re going to be there right?”

Great. Go peer pressure someone else, Dana.

Her room once more her own, Max slipped from the bed and flipped off the light, switching it out for the dim glow of her lanterns. There, that’s better. 

She glanced again at the generic sexy cat costume that Dana had left on her bed. Yeah, she thought. That’s so not happening.

But maybe there was something she could throw together — something not Max-like for the occasion. With a mix of nerves and melancholy, Max glanced towards a pair of cardboard boxes resting just below her futon. The words ‘Picture Box’ were scrawled in Sharpie across one, ‘For Max’ across the other. Apparently Joyce had given the picture box to the her from this timeline sometime during that lost week. According to Max’s diary, she had spent a lot of time with Joyce and Mr. Madsen after the incident… after she killed Chloe (though that’s not how this timeline’s Max had put it). Joyce had brought the picture box to Max on that missing Thursday at the diner. The previous Max had left a tear-stained diary entry about how much it had meant to her. Piled right into the top of the box, Max had found William’s old camera. It seemed to become hers in every timeline; like destiny or some such nonsense.

Max and destiny weren’t really on the best of terms anymore; not when it insisted that her best friend had to die alone in a bathroom thinking that she was unloved, just some punk ass that no one would miss. No, destiny could bite Max, because frankly, she was done with destiny.

Max ignored the first box, opting instead for the one with ‘For Max’ scrawled across it.

She’d gathered this one herself. At first, when she had returned to this Arcadia Bay without Chloe, she had attempted to maintain the connection with Joyce that her previous self had forged. She had been there for her at the funeral ( still not thinking about that… not going to do it. La, la, la… can’t make me think about it) , and then afterwards she had gone to the diner a couple of times. Max had been so broken up each and every time that she saw Joyce at the Two Whales that Joyce had invited her home to comfort her. Of course, that did wonders for Max’s guilt complex, having to be comforted over the death of a friend she hadn’t seen in over five years (as far as everyone in this timeline was concerned), by that very same friend’s grieving mother. When she had showed up at Chloe’s… Joyce’s house, Joyce had that second cardboard box waiting for her. It had been empty then. She had insisted that Max fill it up and ushered her straight up to Chloe’s room.

Three hours and half a dozen mental breakdowns later and Max had left the Price-Madsen household with her own hand-picked selection of mementos. A snow globe and a few sketches from their childhood were there; obvious picks. She’d also gathered up a couple of blue beanies, and two white tank tops that were much too big for her — one with a black & white misfit skull, and one with a deer skull wearing feather earrings. Below those, she had placed a graphic tee of Hawt Dog Man. She never saw Chloe in that one, but it was cute, and it smelled of her, and would probably fit better than Chloe’s tank tops. She thought about taking a pair of Chloe’s shredded jeans and hanging suspenders, but she knew she’d never fit those. She had grabbed a pair anyway. Chloe’s rock chick t-shirt from their sleep-over had also been a must. Chloe had been wearing that shirt when they had kissed. Yeah, it had just been a dare, and Chloe had just been teasing her, Max knew that, but even the memory of that kiss sent a flutter through Max’s system. That flirtation might have been nothing more than classic Chloe, but that was the moment that Max began to suspect how she really felt about her best friend. The little downy chick on the shirt was pretty cute, too. Yeah, that shirt had been a must keep. She’d even snuck in Rachel’s outfit that she had worn at Chloe’s insistence. Chloe had really seemed to like that outfit. Finally, nestled between all the clothes, she placed Chloe’s spiked bracelet. Well almost finally.

As she had been prepping to leave Chloe’s room, she had noticed Chloe’s necklace hanging by the door. Max ran her fingers over the smooth metal of the three bullets, recalling how much that necklace had meant to Chloe. Had she seen Chloe even once that week without that necklace? She let her fingers linger for a moment, then withdrew them, listening as the necklace fell back, the bullets jangling like miniature wind chimes. Max jumped, startled as the noise broke her reverie. She stared at those bullets for another three minutes, wrestling whether this was too important of a memento to claim, or whether Chloe would have wanted her to have it. She never reached a conclusion, but in the end she had snatched the necklace anyway, stuffing it deep under the layer of clothes that she had boxed away, just in case Joyce might brook any argument as to Max’s claim on it.

Heading downstairs, she’d thanked Joyce for letting her fill the box with memories. Joyce had seemed somewhat confused peering in the open container as Max made to leave. Max knew that none of the visible keepsakes represented her and Chloe’s childhood together, all items from a Chloe that Max never knew in this timeline, but Joyce didn’t push the matter and Max didn’t offer an explanation. She’d merely hugged Joyce, that woman that had always been a second mother to her, then walked out of the Price-Madsen household for the last time; at least so far.

She hadn’t been able to face Joyce again since that day. The memories hurt too much. She hadn’t even been back to the Two Whales, although Kate occasionally brought her some Belgian waffles from the diner as a pick-me-up. Kate was too kind to her. What would she think of Max if she knew how Max had condemned Chloe to die? Would her God have forgiveness for her? Would Kate? Max felt pretty sure that she deserved forgiveness from neither.

Let it go, Max. Tonight you’re going to be happy. You’re going to dance and you’re going to be a teenager again, and you’re going to go to that stupid bash at the gym and you’re going to support your friend. 

It really would mean the world to Dana. Max’s heart wasn’t in it though. She liked to think that she was making herself go to make Dana happy, or even just to escape Dana’s constant mother hen peer pressure. In the end, though, Max knew she was only going because Chloe would have wanted her to get out and enjoy her life.

Chloe had wanted to save everybody and for some reason that had included Max. Didn’t she know that sacrificing herself also meant sacrificing Max? Still, she couldn’t accept having let Chloe die for nothing. If Chloe wanted her saved, Max had to make at least some effort at living again.

She turned her eyes back to the boxes under her futon. Yeah, she could definitely put something not-Max-like together from that second box.

After she stopped crying. In an hour or so. Maybe two.

Her decision made, Max slumped to the floor, her mind now firmly locked on her best friend; on her best friend that she had murdered. Yeah, Nathan had pulled the trigger, but Max might as well have given him the gun. She’s the one that returned to that bathroom. She’s the one that had erased her interference, erased the fire alarm. Fuck giving him the gun. She might as well have pulled the trigger herself.

With that final thought echoing in her head, Max collapsed, sinking as deep into the floor as she could, and bawled until she had no tears left. Then she bawled some more.