Chapter One

Twenty eight. She's counted them a thousand times. The floral wallpaper pattern on her bedroom wall repeats itself twenty eight times as it rises from floor to ceiling. Max sits on the side of her bed staring at the far wall, a lone tear still desperately clinging to her chin even though she ran out of tears fifteen minutes ago. Her heart feels like an empty husk withering in upon itself, poisoned to death by her own failures. She cradles her lost beloved, her favorite picture of Chloe encircled by delicate fingers resting atop her faded jeans. Her eyes stay vigilant on the wall because she knows what will happen if she looks down at that picture again.

Max Caulfield. Don't you forget about me… Chloe's final words haunt her.

Never. How could I ever forget my biggest failure? I was given super powers and I still couldn't save you. All my efforts bring are death and destruction. I'm useless.

Chloe Price died on Monday, October 7th, shot to death by Nathan Prescott. Max Caulfield sat behind the final stall silently crying as her heart shattered, helpless to change the events without causing a massive tornado that would claim so many more lives. The funeral was on Saturday, and the flight that took Max back to Seattle was on Sunday. Nobody needed to be convinced that Max wasn't fit to learn in school after seeing her grey face and hollow eyes at the funeral, so for psychiatric reasons she was suspended and sent home to her parents. It's Tuesday now, and for the past three days she's scarcely left her room.

Why me? She silently asks the wallpaper, for lack of any other company. Why was I given a gift and no instructions on how to use it? I just messed everything up. You should have given it to Kate or Chloe, someone more righteous or stronger than me. You should have chosen someone else who could have made things right.

Her eyes drop to the picture before her mind catches up with the action, and by then it's too late. Chloe's beautiful face softly smiles up at her, framed so perfectly by blue tresses and her signature beanie. Max feels her face scrunch up in agony and the tears flow anew, a phantom lance piercing through what's left of her heart. She carefully escorts the picture to lie face down on her bed with the left hand while her right rises to clutch at her pink t-shirt, bundling up the material in front of the pain in her chest.

"Chloe, I'm sorry! I'm so, so sorry." She sobs, pushing off the bed and trudging through wet concrete with every grief burdened step she takes toward her desk. She plucks a fresh tissue from its cardboard home, the waste bin already full of crumpled, used ones. As she wipes her eyes and blows her nose she gazes down at a photo album of Seattle sites she had been building before leaving for Arcadia Bay.

I should have just stayed here in my simple life and continued building that simple album. Why did I have to be lured back there to study under that psycho Mark Jefferson? Why did I have to fall in love with Chloe over that week only to let her die in the end? Why did I have to feel like I had the power to save her when I really didn't? It's not fair. It's not FAIR!

Her sorrow explodes into rage and she reaches for that album, raises it overhead and hurls it across the room into the far wall. "It's not fucking fair!" She shrieks in agony, gripping her desk chair and throwing it as well. Her bookshelf is next, items launched in all directions with equal parts might and carelessness to thump and clatter against everything else. Max collapses to her knees when she hears the pounding of footsteps rushing up the stairs, struggling to breathe as her lungs seize up from the pain.

Ryan, her father, comes running through the doorway of her bedroom with shock and concern in his expression. "Max!" His voice is just as distressed as his face. On Monday he found Max sitting in her chair holding an open pair of scissors. She didn't do anything, but she didn't have to. Ryan knew what she was thinking and put her on suicide watch. Her bedroom door is never to be closed, and one parent is always to be home and listening for any disturbance.

I'm sorry, dad. I won't worry you. And I also don't feel like cleaning up this mess.

Max raises her right hand and concentrates, her father halting and reversing back out of the room, and all the articles within the room flying back into their proper positions. One in particular catches Max's eye, something about it tugging at the back of her mind. When everything is settled and quiet again she releases time to flow forward, staring quizzically up at the black binder on her bookshelf. Ten seconds of pondering pass before she finally allows curiosity to will her to her feet so she can collect the binder and bring it to her bed.

She sniffles and wipes her eyes as she scoots back and rests the binder atop her thighs, lazily opening it to cast her stone gaze down at the cover sheet. Colorful letters spell out Junior Year Memories amidst a flurry of flowers, hearts, puppies and kitties all drawn in colored pencil. Life was so much happier back then. Hopeful to immerse into those happy memories and rest her tear ducts for a few minutes, she gives in and starts flipping through the pages. She doesn't know what she's looking for, why the binder caught her mind and made her look through it, but she finds a small smile creep onto her dead expression as she looks through her old notes and pictures. Then she flips the page and the feeling returns, like some force is reaching for her attention.

Her brows furrow with thought as she scans the page. It's nothing. It's just her writing about her Spring Break plans back in late March, with a selfie glued to the bottom right corner that she took on Thursday before the break to capture her excitement. She frowns at the picture, disappointed at her mind for misleading her, until suddenly a thought strikes her mind like a lightning bolt.

"Wait. This was… March 28th. Spring Break went from the 29th to April 7th." She mumbles, thinking aloud as she discovers what her subconscious has been trying to tell her. "That's before Rachel died."

The selfie shimmers and Max looks away, raising her right hand up to stare at it as if she'll find answers in all the little creases and lines of her palm. She's suddenly aware of how warm it is in her bedroom, twisting her hand around to see the little veins in the back of her hand bulging as her body tries to cool itself. Her ears pick up the songs of birds outside her bedroom window, and she can smell dinner stewing downstairs. It's like she suddenly came alive for the first time since… Chloe.

I was so focused on trying to save Chloe all week long that I never listened to her! Every day she reminded me how important it was to save Rachel. It was always about saving Rachel. That's why everything turned into a nightmare after we found her body. I was on the wrong path! I still have my powers because I'm not done yet. It's not over yet!

Max lifts the binder and twists around to set it on her bed, then reaches for the downturned photo of Chloe to place it next to the March 28th selfie. She stares down with determination, eyes darting between the pictures as her shoulders rise back and she stands tall for the first time in days. She can feel the heat of conviction burning from her core.

"It's not too late. I'm going to save you, Chloe. And I'm going to save Rachel, too."

She stomps over to her desk and sits with pen and paper, thinking long and hard about what she'll need to do. Everything must be taken into consideration and she'll only be able to spend a couple minutes at most in the picture to write down instructions for her younger self to follow. So, she contemplates, writes a list of critical information to pass on, practices writing it into sentences, and times herself to be able to write the finished product in under two minutes.

Finally satisfied, Max stands and returns to her bed to gaze down at Chloe's soft smile. She takes a deep breath as she gives this plan one final consideration, letting out a nervous sigh as she remembers what happened when she went back five years.

That wasn't the right move. I can't save William, the butterfly effect of that paralyzes Chloe. I can't save Chloe in the bathroom, the butterfly effect of that sends a tornado to destroy Arcadia Bay. But I never tried to save Rachel. I have to keep trying until something works. I'll never give up as long as I still have these powers!

Having convinced herself this is the best chance she has to defeat her overwhelming depression and reunite with Chloe, Max focuses hard on the March selfie until her world fades away to be replaced by the past.