Page 55 of Evermore

But instead of stabilizing, Finn felt his consciousness becoming increasingly unstable, like someone had loosened the moorings that kept his mind anchored to the present moment. The laboratory around him began to shimmer and shift, reality becoming unreliable in ways that went beyond his usual episodes.

“Something's wrong,” Finn said, his voice sounding distant even to himself. “This doesn't feel like stabilizing. This feels like everything's coming apart.”

River moved closer, his presence becoming the only solid thing in a world that was rapidly becoming fluid. “Dr. Voss, maybe we should reduce the intensity?—”

“The treatment needs to reach therapeutic levels to be effective,” Dr. Voss interrupted, but her attention was focused entirely on her monitoring equipment rather than Finn's obvious distress. “His brain activity is showing extraordinary patterns. We're getting unprecedented data about TPD neurological responses.”

Data. That's what she cared about—not Finn's wellbeing, not his comfort, not whether the treatment was actually helping his condition. She was using him to collect research data, and his safety was secondary to her scientific goals.

But Finn couldn't focus on Dr. Voss's betrayal because his consciousness was fracturing, scattering across different moments and possibilities like leaves in a hurricane. Instead of anchoring him to the present, the magnetic stimulation was throwing him violently between different versions of his life with River.

Flash: River in their cottage kitchen, older and more weathered, arguing with someone Finn couldn't see about the dangers of experimental treatment.

Flash: River holding him while he cried about losing himself, both of them decades older, their love deepened by years of navigating his condition together.

Flash: River alone in the cottage, staring out at the lighthouse beam, mourning someone who was gone.

“Stop,” Finn gasped, though he wasn't sure if he was speaking to Dr. Voss or to whatever force was pulling him through these impossible experiences. “Please stop, this is too much.”

“The intensity needs to increase for the anchoring effect to take hold,” Dr. Voss said, adjusting her equipment despite Finn's obvious distress. “His neurological responses indicate we're approaching a critical data collection threshold.”

River's voice cut through the chaos, sharp with alarm and protective fury. “He's in pain. Look at him—this isn't working.”

Finn tried to focus on River's face, using his voice as an anchor, but the magnetic fields were intensifying and his consciousness was fracturing further. He could feel his body in the laboratory chair, could hear Dr. Voss's equipment humming with increasing intensity, but his mind was experiencing multiple versions of his relationship with River simultaneously.

The most disturbing part wasn't the chaos—it was how real each version felt, how completely convincing every possibility seemed while he was experiencing it. These weren't fantasies or dreams or false memories. They felt like actual lived experiences, different choices and outcomes bleeding together until Finn couldn't distinguish between what had happened and what might happen.

“River,” Finn called out, his voice carrying across what felt like vast distances of time and space. “I can see you. All the different versions of you. Some of them are trying to warn me about something.”

“Warn you about what?” River's voice was getting harder to hear as the magnetic stimulation reached levels that made Finn's entire nervous system feel like it was vibrating out of sync with reality.

But before Finn could answer, his consciousness scattered completely, experiencing multiple timelines simultaneously with overwhelming intensity that made coherent thought impossible.

In the temporal storm that followed, Finn lived through years of different possibilities in minutes that felt like decades. He saw versions of his life with River that spanned every conceivable outcome—some beautiful, some devastating, all feeling absolutely real while he experienced them.

In one version, they grew old together peacefully, Finn's condition stabilizing through love and patience rather than medical intervention. River's hair went gray, his face lined with years of laughter, and they spent quiet evenings in the lighthouse cottage reading books and watching the beam rotate through their windows.

In another, River became obsessed with curing Finn's condition, descending into research madness that consumed their relationship until River was more doctor than partner, more researcher than lover. Finn watched himself deteriorate while River documented every symptom, every episode, every sign of progression with scientific detachment that replaced emotional connection.

The most vivid version showed River seventeen years older, broken by loss and desperate with accumulated grief. This older River moved through the temporal storm with purpose, manipulating events from outside normal time, trying to prevent something catastrophic from happening.

“Stop fighting me,” the older River said, his voice carrying across impossible distances. “I'm trying to save us both from making the same mistakes I made.”

“What mistakes?” Finn called back, struggling to understand what he was seeing.

“Trusting her. Believing that love could be fixed through science. Thinking that experimental treatment would give us back our normal life.” The older River's voice was thick with years of accumulated regret. “The treatment doesn't anchor you to linear time, Finn. It breaks down the barriers completely. That's how I'm here—seventeen years too late to save the person I loved most.”

The revelation hit Finn with devastating clarity. Dr. Voss's treatment wasn't designed to cure his condition—it was designed to make it worse, to break down his consciousnesscompletely so she could study the results. And this older River had been trying to prevent that outcome by triggering episodes that would drive them apart before they reached this moment.

“You've been manipulating us,” Finn said, understanding flooding through him despite the chaos. “The interference, the episodes getting worse, the emotional triggers—that was you trying to break us up.”

“I was trying to save you from this,” the older River replied, his voice breaking with emotion. “I watched you disappear completely when the treatment broke down every barrier in your mind. I lived seventeen years knowing I could have prevented it if I'd just convinced myself to let you go.”

But Finn felt anger rise through his terror, fury at being manipulated by someone who claimed to love him while actively sabotaging their relationship. “You don't get to decide what's best for us. You don't get to destroy our love to prevent a future that might not happen.”

“It will happen. The treatment will shatter your consciousness completely, and I'll spend the rest of my life mourning someone who's still alive but no longer accessible to anyone who loves him.”

“Then I'll take that risk,” Finn said, his decision crystallizing despite the chaos surrounding him. “I'd rather risk everything for love than accept safety without it.”

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