Chapter 1; We'll Meet Again

Heard from someone you're still pretty
And then they went on to say
That the pearly gates
Have some eloquent graffiti
Like, "We'll meet again!"
"Fuck the man!"
"Tell my mother not to worry!"

-Iron and Wine, The Trapeze Swinger

June 3rd, 1978

In many ways, the worst part about living forever was that she always wound up staring at her own stupid, freckled, teenage face again. It was like the buzzer on a game show denoting a wrong answer; the jingle when Mario died; the wah-wah horn of her failure. And fail she had, or she wouldn't be here again, at the start of another loop. Standing halfway up the Arcadia Bay lighthouse stairs, looking out the high windows at the path down the hillside and at her own reflection in the glass.

She peered outside at the pathway between the trees, looking for movement. They were gone. They were always gone. She knew they would be. She had run after them dozens of times but never even caught sight of them. They were gone. Everything was gone. She was gone.

Why she still looked for them every time she would never quite understand. It was a habit she couldn't quite break, a tick she could never catch before she did it. Focusing back on her reflection she looked herself in the eye, "You were so close."

In the image in the window, brown eyes squinted back at her beneath a furrowed brow.

"Everything like before. No fucking around this time."

October 22nd, 2013

In many ways, the worst part about Chloe's death was that it was almost entirely eclipsed by Rachel's. In the end, Max had needed to do very little herself. Nathan Prescott was in police custody for less than an hour before he snapped and told them everything. The dark room, Rachel's overdose, Mark Jefferson. Max called in one anonymous tip about the location of Rachel's body and that was it. The rest took care of itself. It turns out there's a limit to what money can buy you, and it does not include getting away with the very-public murder of two teenage girls. Especially when one is the daughter of the District Attorney.

But for most of Arcadia Bay, Rachel's death was the one that mattered. She had been the perfect high school princess, killed as part of some perverted art project. Chloe had been a drop-out and a criminal who wound up as little more than another school shooting statistic; a footnote. Most of Blackwell only went to one funeral that weekend, and it wasn't the one Max attended. The girl with the blue hair who choose to sacrifice herself so they could all escape death by tornado was forgotten, and Max couldn't take it. She stopped attending classes. Stopped eating. Stopped responding when anyone tried to talk to her. After a few days and multiple requests from her friends, her parents came to collect her and took her back to Seattle.

A week later, she was still there. Ryan and Vanessa Caulfield had started to gently encourage their daughter to return to school or seek counseling, but how could she? The events of that week, the real events of that week, were now hers and hers alone to live with. Or without.

Max's mother had called her daughter four times before finally going up to Max's room and shaking her to get her attention. Max had been writing again. Her name was Chloe and she mattered! over and over on a piece of paper. Vanessa forced herself not to look at it, and tried to sound chipper as she announced, "Max, you have a visitor!"

Max looked back and forth between her mother and her paper, reading her mother's pained expression and bracing for another argument about therapy. It took a moment for her to realize she'd been addressed, "A visitor?"

"Do you remember a Stephanie? From Arcadia Bay Elementary?" Max just stared blankly. She had long since run out of tears but her eyes were still red and sunken. Her thick, brown hair unwashed and only barely combed. She wore the same clothes day after day, a black t-shirt that used to belong to Chloe and whatever pair of jeans she first came to when she got out of bed. Vanessa Caulfield tried hard to hide her motherly concern and continued brightly, "I think she was a year ahead of you. In Ch-"

"In Chloe's class," interrupted Max.

"Why don't you come down and say hi?" offered Vanessa. The question hung for a minute in the still air before Max finally dragged herself to her feet.

"OK."

Max didn't really remember Steph Gingrich very well, so to say she looked different wasn't really accurate, but still, not quite what Max was expecting. Steph was small, even smaller than Max herself, sporting a buzz cut under ball cap with a green creature on it (A goblin? Max wasn't sure. Something like that.) and a black fleece pullover that hid any trace of her figure. Her features were traditionally pretty, but she had eschewed make-up as part of a seeming effort to downplay her femininity. While waiting for Max, Steph had been occupying her time with a small book. A script perhaps? She was making notes in the margins, but stopped when she noticed Max come down. She quickly stashed the pencil behind her ear and stood in greeting, "Hi, Max!"

"Hey?" offered Max, uncertainly turning the statement into a question.

"You probably don't remember me. Um, I had hair back then!" she lifted off her cap and ran her hand across her downy buzz. "I was in... I was in Chloe's class. Stephanie Gingrich? It's just Steph now."

"I think so," offered Max. "I didn't know too many people in Chloe's class." She made her way to the table and sank into the seat across from Steph. She could see the cover of the book now. It was a script after all. 'Rosencrantz and Guildenstern are Dead.'

"We knew you!" smiled Steph. "Well, we knew you and Chloe. Like, as a unit. Kind of like these two guys.", she patted the cover of the script. "Everybody thinks of them sort of collectively, even themselves. It becomes hard to imagine one without the other."

Max adopted a wry expression and gazed at Steph's hand on the script cover. "Yeah," was all she could manage to say.

"And a couple mutual friends were worried about you, so I wanted to come and see how you were doing," Steph reached across the table for Max's hand. Steph's eyes glanced at the white flame & lighter logo on Max's t-shirt. Firewalk. Slightly faded. Too big for Max. Was that Chloe's shirt? It did seem slightly familiar. "And maybe... I don't know. Swap some stories. Chloe was a good friend. It's hard to believe she's gone."

Max seemed to be still in something of a fog, a few sentences behind, "Mutual friends?"

"Dana and Juliet. We've been talking on social media after I couldn't make it down for the funerals."

"Funerals plural? You knew Rachel too?"

"We were friends, and ... well, to be honest, I had a huge crush on her. I'll even confess I got a little stalkery. There's not a lot I don't know about Rachel Amber!", Steph smiled wistfully and sighed.

"I only know her by ... reputation," Max muttered, looking down at the table. "What was she really like?"

Steph's brow knit and she smiled a melancholic smile, "Like a force of nature! I used to like to joke that the sun would come out when she smiled and the wind would roar when she was angry. Rachel Amber was like nobody else, Max!"

"Nobody else? People tell me we look alike."

"No," said Steph flatly and immediately. "Sorry. Don't see it."

Max shrugged demurely. She'd never really seen the resemblance either, but then she only knew Rachel from photos. She was about to change the topic when she noticed Steph staring at her and tilting her head to the side. "Actually, Max, now that you mention it.", said Steph, leaning to view Max from different angles. "There is something. I can't quite put my finger on it."

Max squirmed under Steph's gaze and said, "It sounds like she meant a lot to you."

Steph nodded, "She did. I'll be honest, when she and Chloe first got together I'll admit I was super jealous..."

"Hella jealous?" suggested Max, with just a hint of a weary smile.

"Hella jealous," laughed Steph, "But, you know, those two were so good together, in the end it was hard to be anything but happy for them."

"Good together?" spat Max, rising suddenly from the table, "How can you say that? Rachel was..." she cut herself off. Her opinion of Rachel was not high. Rachel the cheater. Rachel the liar. Rachel the gold-digger. She huffed indignantly and pulled her lips tight. To be fair, all Max ever knew of Rachel was filtered through the lens of Chloe's anger. Max wondered if Rachel had a similar opinion of her. All Rachel would have known of Max Caulfield is that she's a terrible friend who abandoned Chloe when Chloe needed her most. Either way, she couldn't quite bring herself to recite the litany of Rachel's misdeeds at this time to a grieving friend. She was sorely tempted to do it anyway and rewind, just for the catharsis, but no. She sighed, "It didn't end well, Steph."

"Well of course it didn't!" shrugged the smaller girl, leaning back in her chair, "It was a high school romance! They had two good years together Max. Two good years. Two! Do you have any idea how rare that is? I haven't dated anyone for two months, let alone two years. Have you?"

Max slumped back into her chair by way of admitting that she had not. Steph continued, "Whatever came between them at the end doesn't erase what brought them together."

Max smiled weakly. Her own view of Rachel aside, it made Max glad that Rachel and Chloe had been happy together. "What brought you two together? You and Chloe I mean."

"She used to join our tabletop games sometimes," Steph said, tapping the green thing on her hat. Okay, so it was a goblin, and not some sports team mascot Max had missed. She noticed now there was text around the brim. We be Goblins, you be food! "Chloe was a half-elf barbarian named Calamastia. She spent most of her time threatening everybody."

Max managed a smile, "That sounds like her."

Steph tilted her head wistfully, "She would keep getting killed over and over and I'd have to really jump through hoops to come up with ways to bring her back." That hit a little on the nose. Max just sat there with her mouth open, struggling for a reply.

Steph started awkwardly, "Um, anyway, it was a good time. One game we..." until she was suddenly cut off by Max saying, "What if you could do it for real?"

"What? Like, go all Parson Gotti inside a game world?"

Max shook her head. She didn't get the reference, but she knew it wasn't what she meant. "No, bring her back. Chloe. Or Rachel. Would you jump through the hoops?"

Steph sat back and adopted a concerned expression. The exact one Max was afraid she'd get from anyone if she tried to convince them of the truth, of her powers, of her adventures with Chloe in the week that never was. "Max..."

"I'm serious. Would you do it?"

"Gaming... the theater... my whole world is heroes and villains. If I had a chance to... be the hero, for real? If I thought I could save Chloe and Rachel? If there was anything I could do for them but cry? Hell yeah, I'd do it. Of course I would. I'd never stop."

"What if it was hard? What if nothing went how you thought? What if other people got hurt because you kept fucking it up?" Max could feel herself started to get emotional and animated. She stood and paced as she spoke, "What if you didn't know what to do, and you broke everything over and over and you weren't even sure you could keep hold of your own sanity? What if you had to weigh the worth of one person's life against another?", Max turned while pacing and suddenly Steph was in front of her. She clasped Max by the shoulders.

"We love who we love, Max. Worth doesn't enter into it. And look, I'm a gamemaster. I believe in the struggle. If my players aren't bloody and broken even in victory then I haven't done my job," Steph was starting to mist up herself now. Max's sudden energy was infectious. "If it wasn't hard, it wouldn't be heroic."

October 23rd, 2013

The next morning, Max sat in her pajamas surrounded by upturned boxes and a scattered mass of old photos that used to be stored within. Her parents had both gone to work, so she was free to spread them around without worrying about interruption. She had maybe a hundred images, all from around the same time, and slowly inspected each in turn, rejecting them. She could feel her eyes start to go blurry, but she kept hunting. Each photo posed the same problem. If Max went back to warn Chloe, or Rachel, the tornado would come. Or something worse. She shuddered remembering Chloe in her wheelchair; the reality where she had been paralyzed as a direct result of Max's attempts to change history.

"If it wasn't hard, it wouldn't be heroic," She repeated to herself and finally one photo caught her eye. It was of Max herself, on her 14th birthday, holding up her freshly unwrapped, first-ever smartphone. Her first birthday after the move. Her first without Chloe.

"Maybe I can't save you, Chloe. But while I still have these powers, I'm going to use them for you, even if all I can do is the simplest thing... the thing I should have always done."

She inhaled through her nose and focused deep within the photo. The image began to flicker and pulsate. She could hear faint strains of her parents singing happy birthday, distant and echoey. She forced her way past the dull ringing that filled her ears, through the blurry glare that clouded her vision. Soon, she could almost taste the cake, smell the matches and candles. With a flash and a hum, the focus was complete, and the photo in her hand suddenly changed to a brand new iPhone 3 as Max was transported back in time once again.

September 21st, 2009

Somehow, it felt easier than before. Maybe whatever batteries her powers ran on had recharged after a week's disuse, maybe it was practice. Max rankled at the thought she was getting good at this.

Gathering her thoughts, Max gazed at the phone in her hand. Looking back, she realized her parents probably gave this to her specifically so she could keep in touch with Chloe long distance, but she never called. Not even once in 5 years. She had sent Chloe, what, maybe four texts with it? All excuses. Well, that was going to change!

Eagerly, Max activated the phone and began dialing. "Who are you calling, sweetie?" asked Max's father with a smile, from behind the camera. Max replied with only a grin, and then said into the phone, "Hi Joyce it's Max! May I please speak with Chloe? Ha ha! Yeah! It does feel like it's been years!"

October 23rd, 2013

They only spoke for about 15 minutes. Any longer and Max wasn't sure she could maintain the focus, and she couldn't imagine how confused poor Chloe would have been if Max had suddenly become a different person halfway through a conversation. They'd talked about school and friends, movies and music. Max told Chloe to say hi to Steph for her.

She'd had to ride the brakes hard to prevent herself giving Chloe some sort of warning of about the future. She wanted to, more than anything, but couldn't shake the fear it would somehow unleash the tornado again and Chloe's sacrifice would have been for nothing. After all, she was up against destiny here. Chloe had gone to meet her fate. For whatever reason, this is what the invisible hand on the wheel decreed must be, and to defy that had only brought pain and suffering.

For now, all Max wanted was new memories with her best friend. Surely the universe could give her that much without breaking, right? To make sure, she reached for her journal and flipped through. Not much seemed to have changed from what she remembered. There were fewer self-recriminating entries about being a bad friend and failing to stay in touch, but everything else was the same. Rachel, dead. Chloe, dead. Max, having to make the same awful choice on the lighthouse cliffs.

She supposed if she really had changed anything of consequence she would have been able to tell immediately, because when she got back she wouldn't have been still sitting in a ring of old photos trying to figure out the best way to contact Chloe.

Max wasn't sure whether or not to be relieved. On the one hand, she hadn't broken anything. On the other, she kind of wanted to. She hunted through her old photos for another good focus candidate. If she couldn't see Chloe in the future, she'd see her in the past. And the universe could suck it.

"You're an idiot, Maxine Caulfield," called the figure in the doorway. "Didn't you learn your lesson by now?"

Max whirled in shock, knocking over her stack of empty photo boxes. Framed in the doorway of her room was the figure of a woman, her posture weary and hunched.

"You keep doing this and you're going to wind up just like me," she said, approaching. Instinctively, Max threw up her right hand and clenched the part of her brain that engaged her rewind and... nothing! The woman continued to approach. Max's mind raced! Were her powers broken? Lost? Was she just rusty?

As if in answer, the stack of boxes suddenly flew up off the floor and arranged itself just as it had been before. The rewind was working, just not on the other woman! As she got close enough to light, Max could make out her features. Matted brown hair, shot through with gray. Weather-beaten skin, bruised neck, dirty sweatpants. The homeless woman from behind the Two Whales! Except now, she carried herself with a sense of purpose; sharper, more alert. Her voice had lost the tired country drawl Max remembered.

Max could only manage to stammer, "You! Why are you... how did you get in?"

The woman cocked her head to the side, "The door was unlocked."

Max glared, "No, it was locked! I locked it myself."

"You're not listening, kid," the older woman stopped and lowered herself awkwardly to the floor, sitting opposite Max. "It was unlocked. Now look, we've got a lot to get through. I'm sorry I didn't say something to you the other week, it's just... well, it took me a while to realize what was going on. This is the first time this has happened, you know."

Max's mind was racing a mile a minute, unsure what exact mix to feel of threatened and confused. The homeless woman had always seemed harmless, but that was behind the Two Whales. Now she had apparently followed Max home to Seattle and broken into her house and was talking nonsense. Max decided to play along for now and asked, "First time what happened?"

"You! This!" she replied, gesturing to the photos. "Time travel! Oh, don't be surprised. You and I have a lot in common. That's why you can't rewind me. I couldn't rewind you either." She offered Max a smile as she began to dig something out from her pocket. Max couldn't quite see, but it seemed to be some sort of plastic card. "I'm here to help you. I don't want to see you repeating my mistakes."

Max stared back at her, "Are you saying..." and stopped, looking the woman over. She had to admit, there were similarities. Shape of the face, the hair, the build. But differences as well. Her eyes were a different color. The nose was all wrong. Still, there was only one thing she could be driving at. "Are you implying you're an older version of me?"

"No," she replied and slid an old, faded, laminated card across the floor for Max to read.

Blackwell Academy Student ID
Issued September 1, 2012
Jane M. Caulfield
Born February 9, 1996

"I'm actually slightly younger."