1.7
Taylor called Lisa in one timeline, walking home in the other. For the third time. It wasn't easy working with Lisa, trying to get answers and find that one little stitch in the works, because Lisa
always knew. Half the time it was just a wash; the other half, it was just trying to verbally debate Lisa.
That was a good idea. Getting down into the mud with a pig who was more intelligent than you and knew how to smirk and have it be heard over the phone.
Real fun. She wanted Lisa here, right now. Taylor considered heading over to their little loft-hiding-place thing, but she was pretty sure she couldn't take on Bitch and Jean-Paul-Alec whatever his name. Lisa couldn't seem to decide. She babbled a lot when—
well. At least one of those was his name, Taylor was sure. Lisa wouldn't have lied to her.
What
could she do?
She split the timeline again, calling Lisa once more. It was sometimes a matter of trial and error, so she'd just find the right way to address things. Lisa always knew at least
something, and gathered information off of that. If she pissed off Lisa too fast, or tried to dig too deep, too quickly, she'd get more hellfire and brimstone. '
You're just a guilty bitch who can't even talk to their father with real compassion because you're too scared,' or
'All those people you've killed really fucked with your moral compass. It doesn't matter if they existed or not, because you're—' Taylor hadn't actually
heard the end of that one, she'd been too busy doing something else, like suddenly needing to go use the bathroom, but she felt better. Much better!
Yeah! Yeah.
Ri-"Yeah?"
"Hey, Lisa. I killed Shadow Stalker. She killed Brian, so I
killed her." Taylor struggled to keep that smile on her face, because she was talking about something that made her happy! "What else should I take care of?"
There wasn't a response. Hey, she made Lisa speechless! That was a first. That was a good thing, right? "I'm sorry. You must have the wrong number."
She hung up. She couldn't
do that, it wasn't
right, it left everything on hold, a fucking
tease, Taylor needed
something she wanted to hear something, anything— her fingers hit those buttons, and she redialed. She listened to it ring, until it told her that
this person's voice mailbox hadn't been set up yet, please try again later.
Taylor threw the phone at the wall, watching it crack, watching those components fall to the ground. It was
funny. Because it wasn't really happening, and she'd close the timeline right
now.
--
Taylor sat on the bench. In one timeline, she got up, throwing a rock at Armsmaster as he came out on his cycle. She began fighting him, lasting about five seconds before he subdued her in containment foam.
She closed the timeline, reopened it, got up, threw a rock, started again. Two seconds; Armsmaster just tased her, and she felt her body twitch, the muscles moving beyond her control, flexing, pulling, jittering. Taylor closed it again, getting up and walking home.
Scattered thoughts and impish whimsy drove the use of Taylor's abilities; the flickers of time spent doing
whatever she wanted were an odd sort of catharsis. Every intrusive thought was indulged; why not?
She kissed that guy who worked in the grocery store that she found kind of cute. Brian was dead, after all. The guy leaned back with an expression of distrust and disgust, so Taylor punched him in the solar plexus and watched him on the ground.
Timeline closed, "Thank you, sir."
Walk out, energy bar, drink in hand.
She opened another timeline, used the can to break a car window open, deciding there was no better time than the present to learn how to hotwire a car. Taylor had to do
something, figure out
what she was doing and
how she was going to do it because nobody else was going to help her and screw them she didn't need their help.
And she couldn't get this car hotwired, and people were yelling for her to get out of the car. She slammed her head into the horn, keeping it pressed there.
Breeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee—
Taylor continued to walk home.
It was easier if she just kept splitting off, doing things like kicking something nearby, like the tire, fence, or wall; she bled off the valve that kept getting stuck in her head, a bunch of things that just kept building up.
Taylor walked up the steps. In the other timeline, she slammed her foot against that
fucking step until it broke, her foot went through it— the splinters dug into her leg. She drew her foot back again, stomping it down, breaking more of the step, again, again,
again. Dad was at work, he couldn't come back and see this— she closed the timeline anyway, not wanting to see his face, aghast, worried, sad. "I'm sorry, Dad," she muttered as she walked up those steps, opening that door.
In another timeline, she threw rocks at windows, because the sound of tinkling, crashing glass was better than her stupid-ass— fuck.
Fuck.
Taylor stared into the mirror. It stared back. She punched it. It broke.
She stopped throwing stones in the other timeline, falling down, heavily.
Shit.
Taylor closed the timeline outside, staring at the fracture that vaguely resembled her face. Jagged, a little blood, and stupid. Stupid,
stupid, stupid.
She buried her head in her hands, falling back against the bathroom door.
--
"Taylor? Is there something wrong? You alright?"
No. She didn't know what was wrong and Taylor wanted something but didn't want something
so bad she wanted to fucking
die— oh wait it's the other way around. "Yeah—"
She closed the timeline. She reopened the timeline.
"No, I'm fine, just— had an accident! Broke the mirror. My fault." Taylor smiled, arranging her face properly. "I'll be out in a minute, I'm really sorry about the mirror."
"Oh. alright. I was just worried about you. Don't worry. It's just a mirror, Taylor. It's replaceable."
Okay. Good. That worked. Things were okay, see? Things were going well.
--
School was going well. She was doing well in class. Taylor finished the assignment, and handed it in. Sophia didn't stop her, Madison didn't touch her, Emma didn't taunt her.
Emma still wasn't there, so that made it difficult. Madison was sitting very far away from her in class. A good idea, it'd take Taylor a few more seconds to reach her.
Sophia was dead. She wasn't coming back. Served her right.
Taylor listened eagerly to Mr. Quinlan, as he talked about X and Y some more. Yes, you needed to simplify the equation. That's all you had to do.
Just work through the numbers, simplify things, and move on.
In the other timeline, she walked into the PRT, and asked to speak with Armsmaster.
All she had to do was keep things simple. As long as things were far enough apart, she wouldn't make that mistake again. She wouldn't have to
worry about that kind of shit, or think things through as hard.
Taylor finished her homework before class ended, handing that in.
"Hi. I'm a recently triggered cape, and I'd like to try speaking with Armsmaster, if he's in? I think I'm a thinker." Lying didn't work. They had some sort of in-built lie detector going on. Telling the truth was a lot easier when you were trying to fool people. Just say enough of the truth, clearly enough, and they believed you.
She'd certainly gotten enough practice.
Taylor ate lunch. She also walked down the corridor, following the woman.
She sat in the conference room. She sat in her chair, watching the computer screen, as Knott not naught, talked.
Armsmaster opened the door. Taylor tapped away at the computer, and she tapped at the desk in front of her.
"Hello, Armsmaster," she said, in both timelines. The person next to her glanced at her, oddly. She smiled, in both timelines.
He sat. Armsmaster. Armsmaster was the one who sat.
"Hello." He said, his lips moving, communicating, with words.
"I'm a cape. I'm a thinker, and I'd like to help with the investigation." She said, to him.
Taylor clicked on PHO links, having finished her assignment, a pitifully easy task to just— look up some shit and copy paste it, google search the answer and be done with it.
She tapped her fingers, waiting for his response. Taylor was telling the truth. She wanted to help. She wanted to know
just how far they'd gotten.
Taylor walked out of the classroom, not bothering to close the other timeline, still trying to get details from Armsmaster. It was like talking to a stone who knew how to be an asshole at the same time. She resolved to go home and throw away any Armsmaster memorabilia she might still have left.
Oh well. She lunged over the table and punched him in the jaw, then watched the expression on his face as the containment foam got fired in.
Taylor really didn't feel like being patient. She closed the timeline, sending one to the library, and walking to the bathroom in the other. Splashing water into her face, walking back to class.
She was okay.
She'd be okay.