Page 51

Story: All This and More

Deadline

Marsh appears into the scene like she’s still in the earthquake. She stumbles forward and grabs the edge of the dresser for balance, her feet scrabbling for purchase, until she realizes that nothing is moving in this new setting.

She’s in her bedroom. Through the windows, the Hong Kong midnight skyline glitters.

Marsh lurches upright and stares.

Everything is just like before. The city, their apartment, their life. Leaning against her closet door is Dylan’s briefcase, stuffed full of her court papers.

SagwaGold: Whoa, she actually did it! She made it back to the beginning of the episode!

Now she just has to get to Chrysalis.

There’s the sound of water turning on, and light splashing. Marsh glances toward the bathroom and catches sight of Ren’s pajama-clad leg at the sink. Then she turns to his nightstand.

As she reaches for the little brass handle, she sees it fizzle slightly—as if for a moment, it’s not made of metal, but something else. Then it’s normal again.

SharpTruth509: Marsh, the Bubble’s not stable here

[Automatic security filters have deleted this account]

SharpTruth510: Be carefu—

[Automatic security filters have deleted this account]

Marsh hesitates, and then grabs the edge of the duvet. With it wrapped around her hand like an oven mitt, she gently tugs the drawer open.

The pill bottle stares back up at her.

“What do you think about going to the film festival this weekend?” Ren asks as he comes out of the bathroom, but then he stops as he sees her crouched over his nightstand. “What are you doing? Are you... spying on me?”

“What is Chrysalis?” Marsh demands, quickly reaching into the night stand. Even if Ren doesn’t know what’s really going on, in their Hong Kong path he’s her closest link to Chrysalis, and has been pursuing it doggedly for his article. He has to know what it is, even if he doesn’t know what it is.

But Ren just blinks. “What?”

“Don’t lie,” Marsh says. As she stares him down, refusing to break eye contact, her hand shuffles through the drawer, searching for the bottle. “What is Chrysalis, really?”

“What are you talking about?” he asks, either confused or pretending to be.

“This new medication, for the big profile you’re writing,” she replies, irritated. Finally, still not able to find the bottle by feel, she turns to the drawer. “You’ve been taking the pills in secret, as part of your—” she starts to say, and then stops.

SharpTruth511: Something’s wrong

[Automatic security filters have deleted this account]

She stares into the drawer.

TopFan01: Wait, I’m confused

TopFan01: I could have sworn...

All the usual things are there. Ren’s second pair of reading glasses, a set of earplugs, his bookmark, some extra cash.

Everything but the pills.

She saw them. She knows she did.

They were just there.

But they’re definitely not now.

“What are you talking about?” Ren throws up his hands. “Yes, I’m writing an article, but what pills?” He steps closer, more frantic now. “Are you going through my notes? Marsh, that breaks the journalist’s code!”

SharpTruth512: I don’t know what happened

SharpTruth512: We might need to—

[Automatic security filters have deleted this account]

Marsh continues to stare at the empty drawer as Ren demands to know what’s going on.

What if I try again? she wonders, as he gesticulates in the periphery like a TV show on mute, his pleas barely reaching her ears.

Chrysalis was ready for her here, and managed to outsmart her once—but two can play at that game. Ren was already taking the pills by this point in the Hong Kong path, and must have hidden them somewhere else, but what if she stopped him even before this? What if she went back to before he tried the pills for the first time, and forbade him from using himself as a human guinea pig? Maybe if Ren never took the medicine at all, he’d never get close enough to Chrysalis to ever write the feature that would introduce their drug to the world.

Finally, realizing that she isn’t really listening to him, Ren stops his barrage of questions.

“Whatever’s wrong, I can fix it,” he says. “I promise.”

“No,” Marsh replies. She picks up the briefcase and clutches it to her chest, a protective talisman. “I can.”