Page 53

Deadline

Marsh arrives in her bedroom yet again, this time right near the bed. No, over it. She’s floating in the air, lying prone, as if she’s supposed to be sleeping in the bed but has materialized a few feet above it. She gasps, and the duvet lurches, a flickering, glitchy burst of color. Suddenly it’s draped over her, but before she can grab it, it disappears and reappears below her again, spread neatly across the sheets, as the Bubble shudders between trying to correct its error and accidentally creating more of them in its place.

She screams as she drops, but the mattress catches her and the briefcase with a cushioned thump.

SharpTruth516: Marsh, something’s wrong

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SharpTruth517: It’s even more unstable this tim—

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“No kidding,” she whispers, scrambling free of the covers as they twitch and blink beneath her. Once on the floor, she turns around, but the bed is normal again. She can see now that she landed on top of piles of clothes, once neatly folded but now a mess. On the rug beside her, two empty, open suitcases wait, along with a pair of clear zippered pouches and a smattering of travel-sized toiletries.

She and Ren haven’t even left for their Tahiti vacation yet, she realizes. They’re preparing for it in this scene.

She’s gone back as far as she can go.

“Okay, let’s try this again,” she murmurs, as one of the suitcases shivers ever so slightly, then snaps back to stillness.

“All I’m asking is for you to consider it,” Ren is saying as he comes out of the closet holding two pairs of swimming trunks, but he comes to an abrupt halt as he sees the disturbed clothing.

Marsh rushes to think of an excuse, but before she can, Ren’s demeanor changes. It’s just some clothes, but suddenly, he looks frustrated, or upset. His brows knit together as he walks over to the bed and sets his swimwear down on the pile, and he takes a breath to steel himself before turning to her.

“Are you really that upset?” he finally asks.

What’s going on? Marsh wonders.

Are we in a fight?

“Upset about what?” she asks carefully.

“About the pills,” he replies.

YanYan242: Oh no, it didn’t work!

Marsh sets the briefcase down on the dresser and puts her head in her hands.

No matter how far back she goes, it’s never enough.

Ren is always writing about Chrysalis, and will always try the pills.

“I know it’s risky, but this idea I have is really huge,” Ren says. “It could change everything for us.”

“Oh, I think it already has,” Marsh replies. Her throat is tight, whether with sadness or anger, she can’t tell.

“This article is so valuable, the research has to be airtight. If I can get my hands on a prescription, and try the pills myself, it might—”

“It doesn’t matter what I think,” Marsh cuts him off. “Why even ask me? I think you’re going to take the pills, no matter what I want.”

Ren frowns, confused at that response.

“Why would you think that?” he asks her. “That I would take them without asking you first?”

Because you already have, she doesn’t say. Every time.

“Because you want to. This article is too important to you.”

“It’s not more important than us,” he says.

Marsh hesitates. Something’s different about this scene, but she can’t put her finger on it. It’s still an argument over the pills, but where she’s upset, Ren is the opposite now. As they talk, he’s watching her with what almost seems like fascination. His eyes are glittering, the way that a child might study a magician at a magic show.

“Really,” he adds. “If you’re sure you don’t want me to take them, just say so.”

March arches a skeptical brow.

He waits, but Marsh holds her ground. Her eyes drift down, to the nightstand, and Ren’s gaze follows hers. Slowly, he walks over to his side of the bed, opens the drawer, and pulls out the bottle.

He already has them. Again.

“Hm,” she sighs pointedly. “See?”

But this time, Ren turns the cap, and a sharp crack echoes—the bottle was still sealed.

He hasn’t taken any yet.

That’s a surprise.

“I told you, I want to make this decision together,” he says, his eyes locked with hers.

Notamackerel: Is it just me or does Ren look like he’s... smiling?

SharpTruth519: Marsh, something’s very off here

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“What is Chrysalis?” Marsh asks shakily.

Ren cocks his head. “What?”

“What is it?”

Ren steps closer to her, and his expression is concerned, placating, again.

“Do you trust me?” he asks her.

“It doesn’t matter,” Marsh repeats. “You’re going to take the pills, whatever I say.”

“Please, trust me,” Ren begs. “I wouldn’t do this if I didn’t think it was worth it.”

Marsh closes her eyes, and lays her exhausted head against his chest.

She doesn’t know what to do. She doesn’t want to leave this loop without figuring out what Chrysalis really is, but no matter what she tries, he always seems to have the pills, and always takes them.

Monsterrific: How is she going to make this right by the finale?

“I’m doing this for us. I can make all of this right, if you let me.”

Ren rattles the bottle softly.

“I know I can.”

Marsh pulls back to look at him. The dread is a cold weight deep in her gut, like she’s swallowed a chunk of ice.

“You can’t know that,” she replies.

“Yes, I can,” he swears. “I do.”

“How, exactly?” Marsh asks.

Behind him, she sees the dresser where the briefcase is resting go fuzzy and vague. For a moment, it’s just pixels, then yawning, empty space.

SharpTruth520: Marsh, get out of here

SharpTruth520: It’s glitching

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“How do you know?” she insists.

“Because I’ll never stop trying,” Ren replies. “No matter how long it takes.”

The emptiness expands, the dark void growing. Around the dresser, the wall starts to warp.

“I mean it,” he insists as Marsh lunges.

She reaches out, her hand plunging into the gap, desperately grabbing hold.

“I’ll do whatever you want. Anything for us. And what the hell is with that briefcase?!” he snaps furiously as he sees it in her hands now, yanked back from the void.

Her grip on the handle tightens protectively.

“Because I’m a lawyer,” she says.

Ren shakes his head. “But why that briefcase? Why that one?”

She doesn’t answer. As if in response, the rug twitches, then becomes transparent.

“It’s mine,” she says.

The floor starts to dissolve as Marsh backs up, but Ren doesn’t seem to notice.

“It’s not even in style!”

“Ren,” she whispers. “The room—”

“You want a briefcase?” he asks, ignoring her. “I’ll get you a briefcase. Any one you want.”

“The room ,” she repeats, staring, but he doesn’t seem to be able to break out of his role.

SharpTruth521: Marsh!

SharpTruth521: We can’t wait

SharpTruth521: I have to—

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“Fine, I’ll let the article go again,” he says at last, throwing up his hands. “Would that make things perfect?”