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Chapter 1136: A Tragic Fate

It seemed as if everything was finally back on track—

Tommy. Keller. Lanny. The lady next door and her baby. Crocket.

Everyone had found happiness, each discovering their purpose and focus in life. The world, at last, seemed to return to its proper course.

Except for him.

So, as long as he disappeared, everything would be perfect, right?

Perhaps, that was the simplest solution of all.

Evan lay in the bathtub, turned on the faucet, and watched the icy water flow, inch by inch, submerging him.

He took a deep breath, closed his eyes, and let the water envelope, submerge, and consume him. The world faded into endless darkness.

But things were never that simple.

Buoyancy pushed him to float, his body refusing to sink entirely. As the bathtub began to overflow, he resurfaced.

He tried holding his breath to force himself under again but kept struggling.

That’s when Tommy walked in. Spotting Evan floundering in the tub, Tommy rushed over and pulled him out.

Tommy didn’t think much of it, assuming it was an accident.

Evan, disheartened, admitted he had been trying to end his life.

Unexpectedly, it was Tommy who comforted him instead. This strange reversal broke Evan further, “I can’t even manage to kill myself properly.”

Tommy hugged Evan tightly, offering silent companionship. Despite the bitterness, despite the struggle, Tommy forced himself to stay strong.

"I need to get you out of here, or visiting hours will be over," Tommy said.

Visiting hours?

For what?

Before the audience in the theater could process their confusion, the film revealed the answer—

Andrea. Lung cancer.

Once so vibrant, Andrea now lay gaunt and lifeless on a hospital bed, reduced to a shadow of her former self.

Evan froze.

So did Nicholas.

On the big screen, a face appeared—haggard, disheveled, despondent. Scruffy facial hair, messy hair, dark circles, and chapped lips highlighted his pallor. Worst of all, his brilliant blue eyes had lost their light, replaced by weariness and despair.

Those eyes stared blankly ahead, flickering with emotions—panic, fear, timidity, anger—all tangled in a web of helplessness and exhaustion.

He couldn’t scream, couldn’t cry.

The helplessness and confusion overwhelmed him in an instant.

And it overwhelmed Nicholas in the audience too.

Nicholas opened his mouth slightly, trying to say something, but no coherent thoughts came. Those blue eyes dragged him down like a free fall, plunging into an endless abyss.

“Ever since I blew myself up, have you been a smoker?” Evan muttered softly.

Andrea was taken aback.

Tommy tried to soothe Andrea, “Sorry, he’s been acting strange lately.”

But Evan wasn’t paying attention. Lost in thought, he murmured, “I can fix this.”

“Fix?” Andrea asked.

Evan spoke to himself. He needed his journal. But then he realized—he didn’t have hands in this timeline. How could he find it? What could he do to go back?

Evan’s panic grew. His memories jumbled, timelines colliding, cause and effect spiraling into chaos.

Andrea watched Evan sink further into his turmoil, tears rolling down her cheeks. “You… you’re just becoming more and more like Jason…”

Andrea’s voice broke with despair, but Evan didn’t notice. His mind clung to one thought: Save Mother.  

With Lanny’s help, Evan found the only journal left in this timeline. Before the mailbox explosion, before Crocket’s death, he had no choice but to return to the moment he first began writing the journal. He discovered a solution:

If he destroyed the detonator early, none of it would happen.

Evan rummaged through the kitchen and found a knife. Just as he prepared to leave, Andrea saw him.

Before he could act, Andrea stopped him.

Suddenly, Evan snapped back to the present. Nothing had happened.

And then, Evan returned to that fateful afternoon in the basement while filming the movie. He rushed to find the detonator and destroy it, but George, trying to stop Evan, accidentally lit the fuse, tossing it.

Keller picked it up.

When Evan woke again, he realized he’d ended up in juvenile detention. From there, his life spiraled—drifting, falling into despair, and ultimately winding up in a psychiatric hospital.

Evan tried to find his journal again, but the doctor told him it never existed.

“It’s just part of the fantasy your brain created to cope with the guilt of accidentally killing Keller Miller,” the doctor explained.

“Think, Evan, think. You invented an illness that doesn’t exist, bouncing between the university, prison, and your paralyzed self’s imagined world.”

The doctor told him he was insane.

Evan didn’t believe it. “I want my journals. I know you have them. Give them back to me. Stop lying!”

Evan’s eyes burned red as he screamed, roared, and begged, his sorrow overflowing uncontrollably.

Nicholas was utterly stunned.

For a moment, he almost believed the doctor—that everything had been Evan’s delusion, a story born of a fractured mind.

Or was it?

Deep down, another voice held firm, insisting the events of the film were real, beyond ordinary comprehension.

So, what was real, and what was illusion?

And more importantly, what was “normal,” and what was “madness”?

When they looked at the patients behind bars in the asylum, they assumed they were mad, dismissed their words as nonsense, and locked them away to preserve order.

But who, then, was truly mad? And who held the truth?

(End of Chapter)

Chapter 1137: The World's End

Despair. Anger. Madness.

Finally, those emotions evolved into a kind of plea—a desperate, sorrowful plea. The brokenness in those eyes pierced through the screen, striking directly at the softest part of the heart.

The world quieted down.

All the noise and clamor faded away, with every bit of attention drawn to those blue eyes. A bitterness spread slowly across the tongue.

Until the doctor sighed deeply, a look of helplessness on his face, and spoke.

"You remind me of your father."

Gasp.

The entire theater drew in a breath, but a second later, it was collectively stifled. Everything clicked together, forming a perfect circle.

"He would always shout for those photo albums, even though they never existed."

"Sorry."

Evan stood there, stunned, muttering to himself, unable to accept reality.

Then he paused. “Photo albums?”

He remembered.

But the next second, he collapsed unconscious to the ground.

The doctor scanned Evan’s brain again. The damage was severe and irreversible, signaling a death sentence for Evan.

Evan stood quietly outside the doctor’s office, listening to everything in silence.

When the conversation paused, Evan pushed open the door and walked in.

“Mom, did you bring the old family videos?”

Andrea nodded, “Yes, I did. They’re right here.”

A faint smile lifted the corners of Evan’s mouth. “Great. I really love watching them.”

With a slight nod, Evan left the office, leaning tiredly against the door. Inside, he could hear the doctor recommending that Evan be transferred to a specialized hospital for treatment the next morning.

Evan stood there, staring into the distance, his eyes losing focus, as if piercing through time and space to see an unknown far away.

Then, his gaze hardened, determination shining through the pain and sadness.

He turned to look at the doctor’s office, casting a deep glance at Andrea through the door’s gap.

Taking a deep breath, he walked away without hesitation.

So, what was he planning to do? Or rather, how was he going to do it, considering there was no diary left?

Night fell, and Evan crept down the hallway, sticking to the wall—

Wait, wasn’t this the opening scene at the hospital?

It was.

Evan snuck his way toward the doctor’s office without alerting anyone; but the door was locked. He had to kick it open, triggering the alarm. He blocked the entrance with a sofa and hid under the desk, buying himself some time to leave one final message.

Before the guards broke into the office, Evan turned on the TV.

It played the family videos he had requested.

Bang, bang, bang. Bang, bang, bang.

The guards pounded on the door, some even smashing the glass to get in.

Time was running out for Evan. He glanced at the flashlight beams outside and then looked back at the faintly glowing TV screen. Determination shone in his eyes.

In that instant, time seemed to freeze.

Nicholas froze, too: what was he planning? An idea flitted through his mind, horrifying and heart-wrenching, so unbearable that he used every ounce of strength to banish it, terrified that thinking it might make it real. That fear gripped his heart.

On the screen, Andrea lay on a hospital bed being wheeled to the delivery room, her face glowing with happiness as she joked with Jason, who held the family camcorder—

She was about to give birth.

Her cheeks shone with joy, her whole being radiating light.

Then, the world shook, and the image began to crumble.

Evan disappeared.

Nicholas held his breath, stunned.

Andrea screamed, “Ah!”

The blood-curdling scream pierced through the screen, gripping Nicholas by the throat and dragging him into a bottomless darkness.

Andrea panicked, and so did the doctor. The world spun into chaos.

“You have no lifeline, no soul. You should never have come into this world.”

“Before you were born, I had three miscarriages. From that moment, I thought you were my miracle baby.”

No!

Andrea’s anguished cries echoed in the theater for what seemed like forever.

On the screen, the unborn baby floated in the amniotic fluid, its own umbilical cord wrapped around its neck, cutting off its breath.

“I can’t bear my dad, but if I move in with my mom, I’ll never see you again.”

Beep.

The heart monitor’s beeping stretched longer and longer.

Stillness. No more beats, as sharp as a blade stabbing into the heart—

He had finally killed himself.

Perhaps only by destroying the root of everything could things go back to normal.

“No!”

Andrea’s protest and grief, so desperate and painful, were ultimately consumed and disappeared. Everything cruelly returned to silence.

It was over. Completely and utterly over.

Nicholas sat paralyzed in shock, collapsing into his seat, his strength drained, slumping as if pulled from water.

Yet the movie wasn’t over.

Nicholas: ???

The camera shifted. Andrea lay on the hospital bed, lifeless and hollow, turning to look at the newborn baby in the next bed. She wanted to cry but couldn’t, frozen like a puppet.

Time trickled by.

Tommy and Keller moved away from George to their mother’s new home, finally enjoying a happy childhood.

Andrea left Jason, met someone new, started over, and eventually had a new miracle baby.

Lanny grew up without being bullied, surrounded by his parents and friends, making it safely to his thirteenth birthday.

Keller went to college, met the right person, and got married, a smile of happiness spreading across his face.

Everything was perfect.

Except, Evan never existed. Not a single trace.

The movie ended.

The Wilshire Theater fell into darkness, a murky gloom where credits began to roll, not pitch-black but illuminated faintly enough to trace the silhouettes of the audience.

Yet Nicholas found it blinding.

He tried to close his eyes but somehow forgot how, staring blankly at the dim light ahead, thoughts and feelings tangled into chaos, suffocating him.

So, the movie was like a Disney fairytale, ending with a perfect, cliché happy ending—except for the main character.

In this world, everyone except the protagonist found happiness.

So, was it a comedy or a tragedy? And what defined a satisfying conclusion?

Nicholas waited, holding his breath, for a twist, a post-credits scene, a reversal of fate.

But he was disappointed.

(End of Chapter)

Chapter 1138: *Brainstorm*

The audience waited patiently, silently, as the entire theater remained enveloped in an expectant hush.

Yet, even as the credits rolled to their end, the anticipated twist never came—

Click.  

The theater lights gradually brightened, momentarily piercing Nicholas's eyes, forcing him to shut them reflexively. He thought he might find himself overcome with tears, yet none came.

On the contrary, his eyes were unbearably dry, stinging as though he had pulled three consecutive all-nighters. The discomfort made even closing them an ordeal.

Thoughts surged through his mind, waves crashing one after another.

But how could he describe it?

For once, Nicholas found himself at a loss for words, unable to articulate his feelings precisely.

Almost everyone has likely pondered this at least once in their lives:

What if things could start over—would everything turn out perfect?

What if those moments of sorrow and pain had never happened—how much happiness and joy would remain?

What if changing just one thing could bring completeness to life?

The "what if" question, inherently hypothetical, carried with it a storm of emotions—regret, remorse, greed, desire, frustration, anger, and resentment. People cannot help but imagine that, given another chance, they could make better choices, prevent tragedies, and rewrite their destiny.

However, only a rare few are willing to accept this truth:

Pain and suffering are as much a part of life as joy and triumph.

Without sorrow, there is no appreciation for happiness. Without challenges, triumph loses its depth. Victory gains meaning only through the trials of defeat.

Everything is relative.

Perfection does not exist because everything exists in duality. Denying one side risks annihilating the whole.

Darkness often serves as the backdrop against which dawn breaks. Without it, light—like the unending sun of polar day—loses its significance.

Paradoxically, the very suffering, trials, and failures we resist with every fiber of our being are what ultimately shape our character and soul, defining who we are. Denying them is, in essence, denying oneself.

And so, in the movie's final scene, Evan used the umbilical cord to end his own life.

Yet, this was no motivational fable nor a tale of triumphant inspiration.

It was a tragedy—a philosophical tragedy, pure and unrelenting.

Evan obliterated his existence, leaving not a trace.

It was a tragedy because Evan believed the world would be a happier place without him, representing complete self-denial.

Do you remember?

Evan had once lived a happy life. He attended college, lived carefree, and grew up healthily without blackouts. But when he tried to play God—correcting mistakes and pursuing perfection—everything began to crumble.

Humans, oh humans, are like that.

Time and again, we attempt to play God, to manipulate others’ destinies or rewrite our own, only to find the outcome unchanged—

Tragedy, tragedy, and more tragedy.

And yet, do we ever learn?

No, we don’t. Humanity continues to repeat the same cycles of despair.

Greed, arrogance, pride—like the "seven deadly sins," humanity remains shackled by its inherent flaws.

Will Tommy, Kayleigh, Lenny, or Andrea ever know that someone sacrificed himself for their happiness?

The answer is harsh—

They won’t.

Because Evan erased himself. He never existed in this world. Only the audience in the theater knew of his fleeting yet impactful existence, his whirlwind of a journey, and his ultimate disappearance.

This is the most sorrowful, despairing part of all.

Perhaps the only way to find true happiness is to face those scars and pains with courage, relinquish the fantasy of perfection, let go of the past, and seize the present to build the future with our own hands.

Heh.  

Such a simple truth—everyone knows it. Do we really need a film to teach us?

But the absurdity of reality lies in this: we often grasp life’s simplest truths only through the most agonizing lessons. Pride and arrogance blind us, making us forget what we take for granted until harshly reminded.

Nicholas exhaled deeply, an action that felt like it drained his entire being. The weariness, rooted in his soul, clung to him, impossible to shake.

In just two short hours, he felt as if he had lived through three lifetimes alongside Evan. Now, he finally understood the sentiment of the child in Yi Yi:

“I feel like I’ve grown old, too.”

In that film, there was a line that went, “I thought living life again would make a difference, but it turned out to be the same. I suddenly feel that maybe, living again, there’s no need for it.”

Who would have thought that after watching The Butterfly Effect, Nicholas would be reminded of Yi Yi, a completely unrelated movie?

Involuntarily, the corners of his mouth curled into a small smile—a sense of contentment.

Watching movies—what a joy.

For no other reason than this simple realization: they allowed him to immerse himself in a world of light and shadow, extending his life and broadening his perspective.

The bitterness and sorrow faded slightly, giving way to a rush of mixed emotions. As his muddled mind cleared, a faint strength returned to his body, and he felt the warmth of his fingertips once more.

A tingle coursed through him.

Finally, he came back to himself.

Nicholas straightened in his seat, glancing around—

What was going on?

No applause was understandable; not all premieres ended with thunderous ovations, especially not at an art house screening. This wasn’t the Toronto Film Festival, after all. Besides, the film's bleak ending wasn’t the sort to leave audiences cheering.

But no one leaving? No chatter? No movement? That was unusual.

Could it be… the audience didn’t like it?

Was this Anson’s first flop? Was the ending simply too dark and tragic?

Nicholas was caught off guard. He hadn’t expected Anson to favor this type of film.

Not just as a producer, but in taking on a role so distinct from the norm, one requiring genuine acting to breathe life into the character. This project was unique, reflective of Anson’s refined taste.

But how would the market respond?

After all, this wasn’t hard sci-fi or an action-adventure masquerading as sci-fi—it was cerebral. Though it had its diehard fans, it was still niche and challenging to promote.

And with this ending… the protagonist vanishing? Wasn’t that too daring?

Phew.  

Nicholas let out a heavy sigh, feeling anxious on Anson’s behalf.

He debated whether to start clapping, to stir some energy. Often, it only took one person to lead, and others would follow out of courtesy.

Just then, a faint commotion stirred from the front row.

What was happening?

(End of Chapter)  

*Chapter 1139: A New Approach*

Silence enveloped the entire screening room of the Wilshire Theater. It wasn’t a dead, pin-drop silence, but rather a palpable quiet filled with the uneven sounds of breathing and heartbeats, with a subtle hum of tension and unease in the air. Everyone was lost in their own mental storms, too absorbed to discuss or even fully process their thoughts, exchanging only glances without words.

A silent storm raged on, but no one made a move.

Then—

A voice, hushed and cautious, broke through the silence.

“Jesus Christ, is that it?”

“To him, it was the only choice.”

“But…”

“But we always hope we can save the world like superheroes, only to find reality often backs us into a corner.”

“Maybe he didn’t have to…”

“But he thought he did.”

The quiet whispers and murmurs crept through the room, stirring the heavy atmosphere in the screening room.

Once the silence was broken, it couldn’t be contained.

Turning towards the voices, familiar profiles appeared in the gradually brightening light of the theater—it was Anson and Heath.

Clearly, Heath was unsatisfied, holding his breath as he sat rigidly, glancing at the well-behaved audience around him before swallowing back his words and looking up in frustration, letting out a sigh.

The sight was so amusing it was hard not to laugh.

Next to him, Rachel let out a soft sigh, her profile tinged with melancholy.

“Perhaps this is precisely the most helpless part of fate—he trapped himself, and no matter how he tried to solve it, he couldn’t find the answer.”

“So, do you also think that in the end, everyone could be happy this way?”

Rachel looked at Anson—

What did that mean? A small circle of the audience collectively turned their gaze, their attention captured.

Anson shook his head decisively. “No.”

Huh.

The room erupted with murmurs of surprise.

Anson glanced around, “Hey, the movie’s over. There’s no Q&A tonight, so if you’re ready to head home, you can leave now.”

The way he casually shooed people away drew soft laughter from the audience.

“What about you?” a bold audience member asked.

Anson shrugged lightly. “This is my first time watching the full version too, and I have a lot of thoughts and questions. I need to talk about them.”

Nicholas’s eyes lit up: Bingo!

Now he understood why this moment felt so familiar—it was like a film festival! From the premiere entrance without the red carpet to the free-form post-screening discussions, it was exactly like a fan-centric film festival mode.

It seemed Anson really loved this year’s Cannes Film Festival experience, not because of the Palme d’Or, but because of the time spent in conversations with the fans.

So Anson brought the festival mode to the Wilshire Theater tonight.

Brilliant! Incomparable!

One glance around was enough to see that the audience was buzzing with excitement. This wasn’t the reaction of fanatical superfans, but true film enthusiasts.

And “The Butterfly Effect” was exactly the kind of film that demanded such a moment—not the praise of critics or the push of the media, but discussions driven by individual perspectives.

To return the movie to the audience.

After throwing out this bombshell, Anson didn’t elaborate but turned back to Rachel, continuing the previous topic.

“In my opinion, the story ends the moment Andrea lies on the hospital bed. Everything that follows is Evan’s imagination. He believes that by erasing himself, he can bring happiness to everyone. But that’s just wishful thinking.”

Before Rachel could respond, Heath jumped in, “But why?”

Anson answered, “Jason.”

What?

Who?

Wow?

The murmurs around them grew even louder, the room now alive with chatter.

Nicholas loved this kind of atmosphere; it was different from a premiere.

Post-screening discussions were common, but this was unique.

Film festival post-screenings allowed creators and audiences to deeply dive into the film, with the quality of dialogue depending on the audience’s knowledge and the creators’ artistic insights.

Premiere post-screenings were more for promotional purposes, filled with behind-the-scenes anecdotes or scripted Q&A, essentially a PR exercise.

Tonight, New Line Cinema boldly continued the open format of the premiere, breaking the typical Q&A mold.

And this time, the creative team wasn’t there as filmmakers but as audience members, joining in on equal footing.

The vibe was entirely different, light and carefree, tinged with a joyful buzz.

No work pressures, no social expectations, no marketing agenda.

Let the film be about the film.

A simple action that reclaimed the essence of cinema for the audience.

Bold and confident.

Just this move alone meant the “Butterfly Effect” crew had already won.

Moreover, don’t forget that the Wilshire Theater’s audience capacity was double that of the Chinese Theater. Subtract the special guests invited by the film company—journalists, producers, critics, and sponsors—and the true movie-loving audience at the Wilshire Theater might be three to four times larger.

New Line Cinema’s approach was effectively putting the reputation of the film in the hands of the audience.

Tomorrow’s market response would be something to watch.

Interesting, this was truly fascinating.

But Nicholas didn’t have time to dwell on marketing strategies; Anson had his full attention.

Anson continued without pause.

“The film mentioned twice that Andrea suffered three miscarriages before. Evan is effectively the fourth. What does that signify?”

“And Jason?”

“Throughout the previous three, Jason stood by Andrea. So why couldn’t he take it anymore after the fourth?”

“In the ending we see, Andrea breaks up with Jason and later marries a stranger, having a healthy ‘miracle baby.’”

“It doesn’t add up.”

So, Anson believed the picture-perfect happy ending on the screen was just Evan’s wishful thinking.

Rachel caught on quickly, gasping as she looked at Anson in shock. “Jason tried to kill Evan when he was in the mental hospital, to save Andrea.”

First, it showed that Jason deeply loved Andrea.

Second, it implied—

Heath followed the thread. “You’re saying Jason kept going back in time through the photos, eventually losing his mind, trying to save Andrea?”

“Just like Evan tried to save Kayleigh?”

“And Jason failed every time…”

Heath’s brain stalled, unable to finish the thought.

The room fell into stunned silence before someone tentatively, incredulously asked, “Are you saying Andrea’s previous miscarriages were all because Evan ended his life?”

The words sparked gasps and whispers across the room.

(End of the chapter)

*Chapter 1140: A Novel Post-Screening Reaction*

"Oh, God."

"Jesus Christ."

"Damn it."

"This... This is insane..."

"No way..."

Exclamations, curses, doubts, and sighs of amazement.

The Wilshire Theater buzzed like a boiling pot of water, the roiling murmurs raising the temperature of the air.

All eyes turned to Anson.

Anson raised his hands in surrender.

"I might not be right, I’m just sharing my personal perspective."

Heath wasn’t buying it.

"So, what exactly is your perspective?"

Anson could feel the heat on his skin as countless eyes bore into him.

"I think both Jason and Evan are trapped in a vicious cycle."

"Jason realized long ago that he couldn’t save everyone, so he tried to stop Evan from making reckless decisions that could destroy everything."

"Jason knew that if Andrea miscarried, she’d spiral back into depression—maybe ending her own life, maybe smoking herself into lung cancer, or perhaps losing the will to live entirely."

"So, again and again, Jason tried to stop Evan from strangling himself with the umbilical cord."

"But the problem is, Evan was also trying to save Keller. Each of his attempts ended in failure and the same result, so he believed his disappearance was the only solution."

"And so, Evan kept killing himself, and Jason kept reviving him."

"Both of them are caught in a loop."

Gasp!

Shock spread across the theater.

Suddenly, Jason’s words and erratic actions toward Evan all started to make sense.

"Finally, Jason realized they couldn’t make everyone happy or strive for perfection. They had to accept the pain, struggles, and sorrow in life. That’s the only way to find happiness."

One revelation after another, Anson dropped bombshells.

The impact spread, silencing the theater.

It wasn’t a speechless silence—far from it. Minds were racing with thoughts, so many that no one knew where to start.

Heath blinked rapidly and then abruptly turned.

"Director, is that it? Was the ending all Evan’s imagination?"

Right, the director was here. Why were they guessing?

And not just the director—the screenwriter!

If anyone had the definitive answer, it should be them, right?

Eric Bress: ...

J. Mackye Gruber: ...

Tonight’s unprecedented premiere had left the two relatively unknown directors entirely overshadowed by the crowd, denying them their moment in the spotlight.

It was clearly not what they had imagined. After waiting so long for their moment under the limelight, both felt a twinge of disappointment.

Now, with Heath’s direct question, they were thrust into the spotlight, thousands of eyes bearing down on them like predators ready to shred them to pieces. The tension and anxiety were nothing like they’d envisioned.

To be honest, the two directors were introverted geeks. Thrust suddenly into the glaring spotlight, they felt more fear than excitement.

Eric’s knees almost gave out, but then he remembered he was seated. He couldn’t exactly fall down.

Mackye blinked nervously, swallowing hard before squeezing out words from his throat.

"I think it’s better to let the audience discover the answer themselves."

As soon as the words left his mouth, Mackye felt like he was being choked. The murderous glares from the audience made him want to scream for help.

This spotlight was too dangerous. Mackye thought staying behind the scenes might be safer after all.

He hunched his shoulders as if trying to shrink and disappear, casting a pleading look toward Anson.

Unexpectedly, Anson merely watched the drama unfold with an amused expression.

Mackye almost burst into tears.

Noticing Mackye’s distress, Anson decided to stop teasing the directors.

"I don’t think even the directors hold the absolute truth. After all, the film leaves room for open interpretation. Everyone is entitled to their own perspective."

"Hey, even the directors might not be 100% right. Who knows, maybe when they wrote the script, they didn’t think about this at all?"

Eric straightened up, ready to protest. They had spent years refining this script—of course, they had thought it through!

But seeing the audience’s predatory eyes, Eric wisely sank back down and mouthed a quick "Thank you" to Anson.

The audience, however, wasn’t paying attention to Mackye, Eric, or even Anson anymore. Inspired by Anson’s words, ideas began to erupt like fireworks.

Contrasting opinions found their voices, and a heated brainstorming session began.

"No, no, no, that doesn’t make sense. If Jason accepted reality, then Evan shouldn’t have appeared at all. So Andrea might have still left, fallen in love with someone else, and had a child with them. That explains the final scene!"

"Wait, hold on. The parallel timeline theory in Butterfly Effect doesn’t work like that. Jason and Evan’s choices wouldn’t always be identical. Every choice would lead to a different outcome, so how could all the outcomes end up the same? The scenarios should be uncertain."

"True, but what if the ultimate result is still the same? Even if they don’t destroy their lovers, they might destroy their families?"

"That’s... that’s too cruel!"

"Which is why it’s called fate! That’s why Jason and Evan went insane."

"Wait, wait, there’s a plot hole. At the end, the doctor said Jason and Evan were both searching for something that didn’t exist—Jason’s diary and Evan’s photo albums. But why did Evan see those albums at the start of the film?"

"Where?"

"Uh, early on. And his grandfather’s death certificate was at the mental hospital too."

"I think those were in a different timeline. In the first timeline, the albums were still there, and Jason was still sane enough to talk to Evan. But in the final timeline, the albums might have disappeared, and Jason went insane—or maybe he was already dead."

"No, no, no. That doesn’t add up. If Jason stopped trying to save Evan and accepted reality, why would he still be in the mental hospital?"

"I disagree. In this timeline, Evan finally strangled himself with the umbilical cord. That means Andrea would still fall into despair, so I think Jason stayed alive and tried to save Andrea again."

"No! Capital N-O. Jason must have let go, accepted that Evan would always die, and parted ways with Andrea."

The chatter grew louder and more animated.

The discussions were unstoppable, and nearly everyone joined in—no exceptions.

In the Wilshire Theater, nearly 2,000 audience members stayed behind after the film. There were no cheers, no applause, no celebratory shouts, and no post-screening Q&A with the cast and crew. Yet they remained, expressing their love for the film in the most direct way possible.

A storm was brewing.

(End of Chapter)