Bette: ...
Bette: The "Storm" ...
The memories of that day keep looping in her mind.
She desperately wants to make sense of it, but her thoughts are blocked, like a fly slamming up on a window over and over again.
Bette: ...
Bette sits up, flips her pillow to the foot of the bed, then dives into it, burying her face entirely within the plush.
Bette: ...

Bette: Hah—!
She flips onto her back, gasping for air.
Bette: I can't sleep! What is this? I feel like I did the night before my first audition! Even then I got sleep ...
Bette: What are the symptoms of insomnia again? Memory loss, muscle atrophy, poor focus ... If I can't sleep, then tomorrow I might mess up on set—
Bette: There's no set to mess up on ...
She lets her eyes drift up to the unreachable ceiling. The clock ticks away valiantly as it erodes through the past, present, and future.
Until now, she never realized it.
Bette: It's too quiet. No snoring. No crying. No creaky beds or shouting matches through the walls.
Bette: Cheap motels have got more life than this ...
Bette switches on the TV in the corner of the room.
Inside the glowing silver box, a cowboy gallops across the American frontier.
Wearing the bravest grin and wielding the quickest six-shooter, caught in the peak of his heroic moment.
Bette: I guess it doesn't matter the era ... Whether it's big or small, there's always a square world to escape into.
She falls back flat on the bed.
Voices, gunfire, the pounding of hooves, and other sounds she can't quite place echo in her ears.
Bette: So lively.
The noise is familiar to her. Comforting noise brings the promise of sleep.
The TV screen flickers erratically against the dark room, dialogue dissolving into a blur ...
Smooth jazz replaces the voices. White credits roll up the screen and brighten the room, but Bette is already fast asleep.
???: Bette, Bette! Over here!
In the cluttered alley, a child's voice calls out from beside her.
Bette: Tom?
Tom: Here!
The voice buzzes from inside a pipe beyond the weathered wall.
Tom: Did you forget how to get in?
Bette: I remember!
Bette: Climb onto the trash bin and slip through the old storage room's tiny window.
Bette: Then head to the third screening hall. The staff door is never locked. We can sneak in there.
As soon as Bette thinks it, she finds herself standing beneath a movie screen.
Tom: Ah, my neck hurts from craning like this. Heck! Why does the usher have to sit at the back today?
Bette sits cross-legged in the front row chair, tilting her head all the way back, engrossed in the movie.
Up this close, the screen is slightly warped, but she isn't bothered in the least.
A train speeds through the Western desert. The heroine is held at gunpoint.
Bette: No!
Seeing the heroine in danger, Bette covers her eyes.
Tom: Keep your trap shut! Or the ticket guy is going to figure out we're down here.
She nods, sliding her hands over her mouth instead.
Cowboy William staggers from a gunshot, red spilling out from his body.
Then, miraculously, he gets back up and pulls out a pie—baked rock-solid at the bottom by the heroine—from his vest.
He knocks the villain flat with the pie and saves the heroine.
THE END
A happy ending.
Bette: I wouldn't mind a slice of that pie.
The word "END" flickers on the screen, but Tom isn't paying it any attention.
Tom: That was keen, wasn't it? A real cowboy! Wish I could be that guy! Pew pew!
Bette: You're so childish.
Tom: If I were a real big-shot cowboy, I'd keep the entire town safe as houses. And the saloon keeper would save the best seat at the bar just for me.
Tom rubs his frostbitten feet; the motion reveals a stolen piece of black bread that juts out from his coat pocket.
Bette: But Cowboy William is in Creekwood Town. There won't be any danger left. You'll have to find another place.
Tom: Obviously. I'd never go to Creekwood—that place ain't even real.
Bette: Not real? But the movie is—
Tom: It's just a made-up story with actors on a fake set. There's no such town as Creekwood and no Cowboy William. You don't really think everything in the movies is real, do you, dummy?
Bette: Oh ... so that's how it is ...
But instead of disappointment, she looks somehow even happier.
Bette: That just means it's a place I really can reach.
Tom: What? Don't you get it?
Bette: Yeah, it's a fake world. But that means I can create my own world too.
Bette: A world without unemployment, without poverty, without hunger, without cold ...
Bette: Where everyone has enough food in their bellies and a warm, soft bed at night.
Bette: It'd have music playing endlessly, the summers would always be bright and sunny, and the winters cozy and cheerful.
Bette: It'd be a place where people can forget the pain and regrets of reality—to laugh or cry for someone else, even just for a while ...
Bette: A square world that protects people, a picture of beauty and hope.
Bette: That's the world I want to make for me, and for everyone else too.
Sunlight pours in, and the white curtains ripple gently with a faint breeze.
Music floats out from the television; notes flowing with time, over and over—second movement, third movement—twisting, looping, intertwining ...
Bette: ...
She lies still on her back, trying to hold onto her dream.
But it fades from her mind like sand slipping through her fingers.
Bette: Why did I remember something from so long ago ...
Bette: Tom ...
Tom died on a winter's day, years ago. His father, laid off and unemployed, had clung on to him as he perished beside a coal stove.
Bette had forgotten his face until last night.
Thinking back on last night's dream, Bette returns to the lost-and-found section.
A few people are milling around in the section, the two clerks behind the counter are chatting away.
Bette: Hi, I'm here to collect this camera.
Bette hands over her documents to the clerk.
Foundation Staff Member II: Oh wow, you made it!
At the woman's exclamation, a few warehouse staff peek out, eyeing Bette with curiosity.
Bette: You know me?
Foundation Staff Member II: Of course! Everyone is talking about you two! A lady with half her face soaked in blood was found dragging you with one arm and clutching a camera with the other. How is she doing?
The surrounding employees nod in unison, vividly describing the scene.
Bette: She survived.
Bette: You mean that Jones saved me?
Foundation Staff Member II: She did, and that camera too. At first, we thought this thing might be some kind of Awakened. But it's just an ordinary old thing.
The staff have already fetched the camera from storage. They chat excitedly about Bette, Jones, and the camera, marveling at the bond between them.
Watching them, Bette pictures a white figure in her mind, smoke swirling above her head.
Bette: Laura doesn't belong to any era anymore. She's just a heartless bastard who doesn't care about emotions ... She'll never understand.
At the tail end of their conversation, the woman looks regretfully at the camera before handing it to Bette.
Foundation Staff Member II: Tsk, tsk ... What could be inside this thing that's worth so much trouble?
Reaching over the counter, Bette takes the camera. There are still splotches of dried blood on it, but she holds it close to her chest.
Bette: Outside that square box, I can protect your dreams too, Jones. You'll wake up, and we'll finish this film together.
Bette: This is the very last movie of the 1930s.

Open your eyes to see the future that we know?

A Cry Across Time