Work Text:
MAG026 – Resident SASHA JAMES – “A Correction”
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KEEPER
… And you’re sure this happened?
SASHA
Yes! I’m sure, I’m sure. I’m not crazy Jon, OK??
KEEPER
Could’ve had me fooled.
SASHA
Shut up!!! Shut up, Jon, you’re the one who always wants things recorded. This is a courtesy I’m doing you.
KEEPER
You’re right. I’m sorry.
Shall we begin?
SASHA
Shaaaall. Shall, shall, shall. We shall begin, yes!
Say your words, Jon.
KEEPER
… Interview with Sasha James, regarding a series of unusual events and an encounter with one M. Shelley. Recorded on April 2nd, 2016. Interview begins, whenever you’re ready.
SASHA
Ready.
I’m sure you know that I was sceptical of Martin's little… divine intervention… when it comes to his story about Silverworm. I mean. Really now. Blackwood's got quite the deathwish, and frankly, even if "Prentiss” had shown up at his door, I’m not sure he would’ve gotten up to get it. So I figured he was never actually late stage, you know? Silly boy probably just had a freak out over a couple of coughs. But, I figured, you know, just to make sure if he had or hadn’t, I could go to his flat and see-
KEEPER
Sasha, for the love of god, please don’t tell me you were going to break into his house to find tiny worm carcasses.
SASHA
… Define “Were going to”, Jon.
[Very disappointed silence]
I’m kidding! I'm kidding.
Anyway, it's been two years since she stormed out, and I figured she would’ve been dead by now. Magic pigeons or otherwise. I know she’d made a habit of curing people, but I was there when she diagnosed herself with the disease, and she seemed pretty convinced she was wormfood. Pun unintended.
But… That said, I mean… There was one thing that I wanted to. Y’know, talk about. That I guess, if I were insane, might lend Blackwood's fever dream some credit. Something like… I don't know, magic?
KEEPER
… Go on.
SASHA
I'm getting to it, give me a second.
I'll start with the first thing I noticed, up by where I live. It's a messy, old, broken-down house, up near Finsbury Park. Nobody lives there but me, and that's how I like it. But as much as I love that little house, with its stale spooky architecture, and its dark halls on the way to my room, there's one spot that… I don’t like. The windows are refurbished, I think. I mean, they had to have been, glassmaking is kind of a recently refined science, so old windows always have these weird sorts of distortions.
I’ve never seen anyone come by to clean them, but they’re always so clear. And I don’t like that, not at all. I like things fuzzy, and dark. But as I’m heading up the stairwell to my room, I always catch one of the stuck-ups outside, going about their day, as they always do, carrying around groceries, reading their magazines, smiling their fake smiles, frowning their real frowns… but as I was heading up the stairwell to my room the day before yesterday, I caught something through the window. One of the clear, crisp figures below, was… too clear. It was like… It was like seeing the only unblurry part of a blurry photo, except, the rest of the world was also unblurry. Like seeing a real photo imposed over an oil painting. Like… (laughs) Like HD on top of 480p.
The thing’s hands were normally sized... yet I felt like I could see the bright nailpolish it had applied to them from miles away. Its limbs and body were stable, and clear, and rigid. And everything about it made me feel…
[SILENCE]
KEEPER
… Yes?
SASHA
(Unconvincingly) …
Uhm. Disgusted.
KEEPER
(Unconvinced) … Really?
SASHA
… No. No not really. It made me feel all… weird I guess. In a way I didn’t like. It was just out of place, and so bright and clear, and I didn’t like that, I didn’t like it at all.
I blinked once or twice, and then suddenly the crisp, clear, perfectly visible creature, had blended back into the crowd. I saw now that the creature was just… A guy. Just a normal, everyday guy. Tall, and with long blond hair, sure, but… normal. Not an angel, or a monster, just a person. So I thought my brain had made the whole thing up, until I blinked once more, and saw the all-too-clear man, standing out in the crowd. Now, as you know Jon, I’m a fan of… (voice uncertain, somehow) the macabre. I love horror. I ride roller coasters, when I’m over in the Republique. I’m probably the bravest person in this Institute. So of course this creature didn’t scare me, you know? I mean, (forcibly laughs, like she’s trying to prove it to herself) why would I be frightened of this thing, supernatural or not, when the only thing it did was… be clear?
… Anyway, I watched it for about ten minutes, until the blond man bought a single white lily and walked into the crowd. Once he was gone, his strange clear-as-day counterpart was gone as well. I headed down into the street, over to the silly little gardener he had bought the thing from. She was smiling her fake smile, looking down at her flowers dreamily. Pissed me off, frankly. Then, she lied to me that there was nothing unusual about the man who'd bought the flower. So I walked off.
I was already late for work- then again, you know as well as I do that that's always the case- but I figured there wouldn't be any harm in watching out for the all-too-clear man. Sure enough, I spotted him at the bakery where I usually get my food. It's a nice place really. Dark, never crowded, and given that I'm the only frequent customer, I can get pizza there for only 23 pounds. Anyway, its my place, and seeing him sitting there in the window made me…
It...
KEEPER
… It made you what, Sasha?
SASHA
Shut up, Jon, I'm… I'm trying to…
… It made me feel weird , okay? Sure, we'll go with that. Cuz it wasn't nice or scary . It was just weird , okay, Jon??
…
He was sitting by the bakery window, and the window was clean. The windows are never clean, they're always dusty and grimy because the place isn't ventilated and the oven smoke leaks. And he thought he could just… change all my windows. My windows, Jon.
I wanted to storm in and tear his content little smile right off of his face. His smile had just the right number of teeth, so bright and white and awful. I hated him, Jon, and I hadn't even talked to him… I...
KEEPER
Sasha are you alright?
SASHA
Yeah. I'm fine. I'm fine.
Anyway, I thought I'd hold back to see if he showed up a third time. If he did, then I'd be prepared to just maul him. Or it. Whichever. Cuz I hated him, lots. I wasn't exactly interested in asking him if he was magic, I knew he was magic, the freak. But I didn't want to waste my time on the thing if he wasn't real. When I got here, I realized you absolutely wouldn't have noticed my absence. Blackwood was busy being all lonesome and tortured in the corner, and you were busy having a shouting match with Tim about the architect guy. What was his name again?
KEEPER
Robert Smirke.
SASHA
Right, yeah him.
So of course, I considered just dipping out to go get some food and shout down the creature waiting in my bakery, since it didn't seem like I'd've missed much. I went through some old medical files for the Mazey family, had my lunch break, listened to Blackwood hack up his guts through the records' doorway-
KEEPER
Would you stop doing that?
SASHA
What?
KEEPER
Stop calling him "Blackwood", stop… Stop acting like the man isn't dying for godssake. He's your coworker, he's my friend, and… and there's a very good chance he could be gone within the year. So if you wouldn't mind. Please.
SASHA
… If you say so.
Anyway, I clocked out early at 4:00, you didn't notice, and I headed straight for the bakery. I saw him again. He wasn't masquerading as a normal person anymore, he- or it- was clear and overdetailed like I'd seen him before. Even from a courtyard's distance, I could see every line in his face, every line in his hands, every strand of his curly hair. So I stormed right in there and- and, and I…
… and we started talking somehow. And he was nice. He said that there was a lot he wished he could tell us, he said that he could see everything The Keeper was meant for, and that it was truly physically painful to be as cryptic as he was being: he didn't like it. And he said that, even if I pretended I didn't, even if I did it as a defense, I didn't like hiding things either.
…
(Frustrated, as if struggling to get the words out.) He said he knew about my sensory issues, and that looking at him was probably troubling, as eye contact with a normal human is already difficult enough for me. So he suggested I avert my eyes. Which I did. And we talked like that for a while, and it was nice. He seemed timid, and shy, and self sacrificing, but… assured. Like he knew everything he said was true, even if he SOUNDED uncertain.
I asked him what he was, and he said that he couldn't answer without ruining my work. I didn't know what he meant, but for once, that didn't frustrate me, because I knew he was telling the truth.
I asked him what his name was. He said it would be more accurate to call him The Correction, but that a large part of him would rather I called him Michael. Michael Shelley. He said he wanted to help.
KEEPER
I’m sorry… to help?
SASHA
Shut up Jon!!! This is hard enough as is without you talking with your STUPID voice!
… I didn’t know what he meant by “help”. He said that he didn’t exactly know either and then he… laughed. It was this soft, ringing laugh. It sounded like a clear and quiet melody- like a bell, or chimes, or a kalimba- being played to the rhythm of his voice. It was… soothing.
His laugh aside, though. He said that it was clear to him that we would need help, and clear that he would be the one to give it, but he wasn’t sure how or why he would give it to us. I said that that seemed reasonable, and that it must’ve felt a bit like anxiety. That feeling that something is wrong but not the knowledge of what. He laughed that soothing, hopeful laugh again, and offered his hand to me for a shake. I usually… I usually don’t appreciate physical contact, but I figured “Why not, he’s an angel.”
I shook his hand, and… it was like holding glass, but it moved like skin. That strange cold smoothness you feel, that perfectly soothing texture of smoothness, mixed with the flexibility of flesh. As we shook hands he said something… weird-ish. “To forgotten anxieties, and remembered reason.” It sounded like a toast you’d find in a fortune cookie over in the Republique, but I smiled when he said it.
I just left, a bit after that. I looked back as I left the building and Michael was gone. My window looked like my window again. I went home.
I started coughing, a bit after that.
…
And…
…
Interview ends, I guess.
KEEPER
… There isn’t anything more that you’d like to tell me?
SASHA
There’s more lies I’d like to tell you. But it’s hard to lie to you. And I don’t like it. Don’t like it, don’t like it, don’t like it.
KEEPER
I- I mean, I suppose, thank you for your honesty then-
SASHA
Shut up Jon. In fact, why don’t you go work in Tim’s office?
KEEPER
Sorry, what?
SASHA
Get. Out.
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KEEPER
… By some truly bizarre miracle, Tim has allowed me to work in his office. I explained that Martin is currently sleeping in the Records Room, and he told me that as much as he dislikes me, he’s Martin’s only real friend around here, and he understands that the man needs his privacy.
… I hate this place.
Wasn’t it enough to worry about Martin? Now I’m forced to worry about Sasha too? She’s clearly hiding something from me, under a mask of bravery and self importance, a mask that she’s too proud to take off. Or… If not proud, afraid.
And I don’t think she hated this “Michael”. In fact, I think she may have enjoyed his presence, if he was truly real. Which, as worried as I am about her, I am not confident he was. That said, I’ll attempt to find the man myself if I have to. Which, considering the fact that one of my confidants is sick, and two more despise me for reasons I don’t understand... I most certainly will.
End recording.
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