My life isn’t normal; it hasn’t been normal since October 2013.
In the space of a week I: gained power over time, saved a friend from suicide, reconnected with you, kissed you, uncovered a murder, and discovered the secrets of Blackwell and Arcadia Bay.
Except it never happened.
Because I chose… to save Arcadia Bay.
After that, I entered a haze. It was hard to feel anything. My accomplishments may as well have happened to another person for all that they meant to me. Because after that week, very little in life had meaning to me.
Everything and everyone who means something to me is buried in Arcadia Bay.
After a lot of therapy, prescriptions, self-medication, and oh so many other things, I’m kind of functional. To people around me I always looked functional, alive. They couldn’t see how dead I was inside. How dead I am.
I graduated from Blackwell and went on to get my degree in photography. My parents made me pursue photo-journalism as a fallback plan. I did well in school, although my thoughts were always distracted. Whenever I’d see a blue-haired girl, I would descend into a place I won’t write about. Just know that it’s a place no one should visit.
I never used my powers after that week. Well, that’s not true. I test them in the privacy of my room at least once a year. A rewind of a few seconds. I don’t know why I test them. What will I do with them? They are a painful reminder that I’m buried six feet under in a small town up north.
The oddity of my life didn’t end with that week. Little good things began to happen with my life, like the Universe was trying to make up for the trauma.
Restaurant bills mysteriously were reduced to a few dollars. An awning that snapped open just in time would block sudden rainfall. When down, I’d find the right photo or song that I needed. Many little things like this happened and made my life tolerable.
You’ll never believe you I dated in college: Kate Marsh. “Oh my dog,” I said when I saw her the first time. She’d cut her hair short and her clothes were brighter and more casual. Her squeal of laughter when she saw me is one of my good memories. I was ‘hella’ surprised, as you would say, when a few days later, she asked me out.
We dated for two years, even lived together. At the end, it didn’t work out. Because of me. Because my heart was hundreds of miles away instead of in Kate’s hands. My heart was with you, always with you. It hurt so much but felt so good while we were together. She helped me feel something for the first time since that week, and I’ll never forget her. When we separated, it was on good terms.
Two years out of school and I’m pursuing my dream. Our dream. At least, it was the dream we talked about when we were kids. I split my time between work and art. Both have won me recognition and allow me to support myself. Which means paying off student debt while living in a tiny, old apartment.
And now, here I am, writing my thoughts like I used to. It’s not easier. More than once I ask, “Why am I doing this? Why go on?” I don’t have an answer.
I hear you and see you, though you aren’t there: a laugh in a crowded room, the glimpse of a smile, a fragment of speech. They raise my hopes, for a moment I believe it’s all a horrible dream, then hope is shot down by the cruelty of reality. I don’t know how much longer I ca
Max put down her pen and pushed the journal away from her. She used her sleeves to wipe her eyes. There was nothing inside her, yet she cried. An aching void had replaced her heart. She grabbed a tissue, stood and blew her nose. After tossing the tissue in the trash, she filled a glass with water and took a long drink.
Hunched over the small sink, she swirled the cup. The water went round and round, climbing the sides of the cup. She swirled faster, and it rose higher. She stayed that way for a while, swirling the cup and watching the water.
All she wanted was to see Chloe again. She wanted to hear her voice, her laugh.
Max dumped the rest of the water in the sink and set the cup on the cold counter. After another moment of staring at the wall, she left the small kitchen. The journal no longer called to her. Carefully, she closed it and clicked off the light. She shuffled into her bedroom and got ready for sleep.
Sleep wouldn’t come easy for her tonight. It never did on Oct 7th or on Oct 11th. Memories consumed her mind on those nights and were the only two days of the year where her hollowness was filled.
Wrapped in her comfy jammies and snuggled with her favorite blanket, she propped herself in bed. On her lap was a photo album, a remembrance. It would take her all night to make it through the album.
After a deep breath, she opened the album. Immediately, that achey, empty place inside was filled with a mixture of warmth and sorrow. It squeezed her heart, and she coughed. It was the picture Joyce gave her of her and Chloe smiling in the kitchen.
The day William died.
She traced Chloe’s face and smile and coughed again. “You were such a good friend,” she whispered. “The best… you didn’t deserve that death. I…” It became too hard to speak as what seemed like a giant hand tightened around her throat. She kept tracing Chloe’s face, though.
“I… love… you,” she choked.
A warmth settled on her hand. For a moment, she imagined a hand covering hers. But it was nothing, as usual.
The next picture was a hand drawn picture. Early on, she’d drawn several memories of the week that never was. This one was of Chloe dancing on her bed. Her hand shook as she touched it. It filled the hollowness to overflowing. Her side warmed as she remembered dancing with Chloe in her room.
Several pictures were from Chloe’s stash in her room, including several of her and Rachel. The next picture was the one she’d found the first day. Chloe’s beautiful, pissed-off face stared at her from next to Rachel. She wondered who took the photo. It captured so much of Chloe’s spirit.
Then there was the pirate picture. She slipped it from the protective covering and held it close. “Captain Bluebeard,” she whispered, “your first mate misses you. I wish you could come back.”
Page after page, picture after picture the night deepened and lengthened toward morning, and her heart ached. If only she could see Chloe one more time! There was so much she wanted to tell her: how much she meant to her, how much she cared for her! The pictures blurred together into a smear of colors that turned to blackness.
If only I could hold you one more time…
Morning intruded on her sleeping mind. Her eyes fluttered open to stare at the wall opposite. For once, she was warm and snuggly. The last time she felt that way was when she and Kate-
Wuh!?
A body pressed against her side. An arm was curled around her shoulder and another one draped over her waist. For a moment she thought she was dreaming, back in bed with Kate in their college dorm. Breath tickled the back of her neck. The hand she saw looked wrong to be Kate’s. The nail polish was blue.
Slowly, a thought took hold of her. It grew and blossomed into hope and fear. The arm shifted to rest against her leg. With bated breath, Max carefully shifted onto her back.
Blue hair caught her eye, and her body stiffened! Immediately, her heart rate spiked, and she screwed her eyes shut. The breath she held became her only breath as her mind raced among thoughts that teased and eluded her. She had to catch them, had to know them before they left her alone and lonely. No matter what she did, though, they escaped.
“Breathe, Max.” Her whisper wove through Max’s mental helter-skelter. It was an impossibility that flared a need to run, to escape, to hide before life found her and tortured her with memories that would flay her soul!
“Breathe. It’ll be ok.”
But it wasn’t! She had to get out of here! Had to find help!
Max was out of the bed scrambling at her clothes, the dresser, the door. Something. Anything! She pushed and pulled and pounded and cried and screamed as she tried to escape the horror that pursued her from nightmare to reality.
“Go away! Leave me alone!”
She tripped and fell, tumbling to the floor where she scrambled and crawled and rolled away from the pain that flared within her. It seared her mind and heart and crushed her cruelly. The numbness that ruled her life was gone, and she begged for it to return! Let it go! Get away from here!
There was no place to go as she shivered and trembled. Images and sounds flicked rapidly through her mind: blue walls, icy floor, gunshot, a scream, a butterfly, walking among trees, wind and rain that beat her. She screamed and clawed and tried to escape them and tried to beat them from her mind, but something restrained her! She screamed louder, a mournful cry she barely heard as the memories consumed her, overwhelmed her, drowned her.
How long she was in that place, Max didn’t know. Over and over she heard and saw her choice played out. No matter what she did, she couldn’t escape it. Her only option was to relive it for all eternity. The scene tore what little sense of self she had from her and shredded it. It stomped her heart until it felt no more. It ground her into the nothingness she truly was.
Yet through it all, there was a presence. A hint of something or someone. A voice whose words didn’t match the memory. A touch that was out of place. She tried to anchor herself with those differences, but the memory was too strong, tearing her from those attempts and pummeling her with a loss so intense she might burst!
Her unseeing eyes slowly focused. A small flatscreen TV stood upon a low table. Photos and books lay on either side of the table.
Am I on my couch? How did I get here?
She lacked the energy to move. In fact, her entire body felt like she’d fallen down the stairs, tumbling story after story to the body. Yet, she also couldn’t feel a single thing inside. That numbness had returned. Her blessed escape from the pain of existence. For how long?
Fingers moved through her hair. They touched her ear, her scalp as they gracefully slid along her temple and down her cheek. She lacked the energy to look at who held her or even to care.
Her head lay on someone’s lap. Of course. But who would break into her apartment just to hold her? It made little sense. The hand slid down her arm to curl around her hand.
“Max, are you with me?” The voice from her nightmare whispered to her, but an unexpected quality filled it: grief. Usually it was angry or brash.
She didn’t answer.
“I’m so sorry.”
Max closed her eyes again, but she couldn’t close her ears. Not without moving her arms, and she couldn’t muster the energy for that. The legs shifted under her head. So they stayed in silence, the stranger not speaking again and Max unable to.
Energy seeped into her the longer they stayed there. Max’s stomach rumbled, and a pressure built near her groin. She had to pee, but she didn’t want to move, didn’t want to return to the nightmare. She lay there as long as she could, but the need won. With a groan and aching limbs, she rose and stumbled to her bathroom. After shutting and locking the door, she leaned against it a moment. She flicked the switches and the light and exhaust fan turned on.
Long after she peed and washed her hands, she stayed in the bathroom. Outside was the unknown, a new nightmare she was unprepared for. By now she knew she was awake. She’d had flashbacks and similar experiences while awake, but never hallucinations. She scrubbed her face with cold water.
Her stomach rumbled again. She couldn’t stay in here all day. She opened the medicine cabinet and pulled out the ibuprofen. After downing one, she closed the cabinet and stared at the door.
Beyond it was a reality that threatened to undo her existence. She rubbed her upper arms as she tried to put together a plan. There had to be a way to deal with this fresh problem. Maybe she should call her therapist, or the psychiatrist.
Ok, I can do this. It’s not different from any other problem. Just… gotta get a plan and focus on it. Clothes. Food. Work. Clothes. Food. Work.
She kept repeating the plan as she unlocked the door and slowly opened it. No one was in the bedroom. The sheets and blanket were on the floor with her pillows strewn about the room. The smell of food wafted to her and a sharp hunger pain cramped her stomach. She shoved that aside and focused on the first step: get dressed.
While she changed, she also gathered the sheets, blankets, and pillows and piled them on the bed. She kept her movements slow and deliberate, actions she could focus her mind on. Mentally, she recited the steps for each thing she did. The smell of food made her mouth water.
In the bathroom again, she applied her eyeliner. This was an exercise in focus and mindfulness. When she uncapped the pencil, her hands shook so much a straight line was impossible. Again and again she closed her eyes to focus on her breath. The lines over and under her eyes grew a bit each time until they finally extended to each side. She kept it simple: no wings or other art. The eyeliner pencil went back to her makeup pouch, and she stared at herself in the mirror. It was time to leave the bedroom.
The smell of food was strong outside her bedroom. The stranger stood in the kitchen, back to Max. Only from her waist up was visible. A white tank, black bra, black cord necklace, and blue hair pulled at her. She resisted, standing in the doorway with a hand on her shoulder.
She finally stepped toward the kitchen, and it was like walking through thick mud. Her feet clung to the floor and didn’t want to go in that direction. They wanted to stay in place, or move toward the exit. She made herself go to the kitchen. She needed food.
The food smelled too good to ignore. Eggs, bacon, hash browns, and fresh coffee. She slipped between her and the counter to grab a mug from the cupboard. A hand took it from her, but she turned away.
This can’t be happening. I… I need to call someone…
Her palms were flat on the counter, and she leaned into it. If she let go, she knew she would fall. Into what, she didn’t know. The tremor returned as a mug of fresh coffee slid along the counter next to her.
“I’m really here, Max.” The whisper slithered into her mind, an intrusion she didn’t want, but that she needed.
Fingers rested lightly on hers, and she shook.
“You didn’t trade me.”
Her knees threatened to buckle. She tried to thrust those words away, but their presence and weight was too much.
“You never forgot me.”
Max stifled a sob as her mind and life unraveled. A hand touched the small of her back.
“You saved everyone and made those fuckers pay for what they did to Rachel.”
She was falling into a void that would never let her go. The hand followed her as she slumped across the counter. It moved up her back to rest between her shoulders.
“All those moments? They were real.”
Her fingers clutched the counter edge. She pulled and strained to keep herself from falling. A cry exploded from her as the words, the voice, the smell, the presence intruded upon her.
But she couldn’t hold on. She slipped, sliding and falling faster and faster to a crumpled heap. She curled into herself, but arms that shouldn’t exist lifted and held her. The body that cradled her wasn’t real, it couldn’t be!
“It’s time someone was your hero.”
Noises fell from her lips as she tried to deny what was happening, tried to push it away and fight to remain herself, fight to ground herself. Nothing worked. The arms remained holding her to a warm body where an unmistakable voice spoke to her. It was the most beautiful sound in the world. It tore her apart. She couldn’t believe it! Wouldn’t believe it!
Yet she wanted to.
What little remained of herself craved that touch, that voice, that scent more than life, more than anything.
With a scream, she let that tiny part free.
Those arms held her in the throes of her breakdown. That voice spoke words of comfort that touched her heart. That body shielded her from the blows she wanted to inflict on herself.
They held, protected, and soothed until the fit depleted her energy. She clung to shoulders that imparted more than support. She averted her eyes, as if she could prevent acceptance by not looking. And no one forced her too.
Fingers brushed her hair. Lips pressed against her head. Arms held her as they gently rocked her from side to side.
The part that believed, that never lost hope, finally spread through her. It gave her the spirit needed to tilt her head to look at the impossible person.
Chloe looked down at her with a smile that played at the corner of her mouth. Max raised her hand, hesitated a moment, then lightly traced Chloe’s mouth with a finger. Warm flesh greeted her fingertip.
They sat without words, wrapped in a silence born of inexplicable events. Max’s exploring fingers traced Chloe’s mouth, her nose, her eyes, every part of her face. Chloe’s smile slipped into Max’s heart.
“H-how?” Max finally asked with a weak, quavering voice.
A faraway look entered Chloe’s eyes. “Last night,” she whispered, “when you sat in bed looking at your photos, something… pulled me. The more you looked, the stronger it became until I was here.”
Max’s eyebrows drew inward. “You… were watching me?”
Chloe leaned down until their foreheads touched. “I’ve watched you every day since… Nathan… I did what I could to help you.”
“What do you mean?”
Chloe kissed the tip of Max’s nose and something long dormant and hidden away burst into life inside Max.
“You wrote about some of them last night: opening awnings when it rained, messed with cash registers so your bills were cheaper, so many things. A hella lot of things.”
Max moved her arms to Chloe’s neck. “And now you’re here,” she breathed.
“And now I’m here.”
Was it permanent? Was it real? At that moment, Max didn’t care.
“I dare you to kiss me,” she whispered with her heart in her throat. “I double dare you. Kiss me now.”
Chloe tilted her face. Their lips found each other and in that moment Max felt alive for the first time in years.