Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

When Martin’s mother gave birth, she knew her son would never be welcomed into the sea as one of its own. Every inch of him was his father, from his freckled skin to the exact curl of his hair to the bridge of his nose. He had been named after his grandfather and would shrink away as salt of the ocean stung his oh-so sensitive eyes that would someday require glasses to see just a few inches from his round, smiling face. In every sense, a little boy who was every bit as human as the man who fathered him.

And so he remained, even as he grew taller and fuller in frame. Even as he became the only man in the household at the age of nine, when his father left only to return every day in mirrors.

Martin Blackwood was not his father. No constitution for a fisherman, no particular skill at anything but caring for his mother as she seemed to drift further out and away to sea, so to speak. And even then, only skilled in that he did care. He also stumbled, mumbled, burnt the food, forgot the mail. It was a shame, his mother once thought, that he would never hear the sea. There, his faults would be nothing.

Instead, he took on the useless parts of his father: his hair, his eyes, the roundness of his face, the softness of his voice, the parts that could hurt. Anything else, apparently, her husband took with him.

He hadn’t taken her skin. It still sat in the attic where she had left it, neatly folded and covered in cobwebs.

She wondered at the time if it was an act of cruelty.

-

The Blackwood home was a small but sturdy building. Overlooking a rocky shore and overlaid with thick fog more oft than not, it was hidden in a way that Martin’s mother appreciated. Martin did not like it so much, that and the overwhelming smell of ocean that hit his nose as he left home and started his walk up the cliffside, a light drizzle pattering against his coat. 

The fog thinned just enough up the incline to give Martin’s eyes a break as he looked for the familiar turn and took the stone path up and up and up, until finally he was out of the trees and walking between the squat buildings of what was technically a downtown area.

His destination could be seen from anywhere in town. A lighthouse, one right out of the poetry he probably shouldn’t like as much as he does, but despite going to one almost every day, the charm of the idea of a lighthouse rang true to him, just as he still loved poetry describing the ocean’s majesty despite it really being a horrible pile of water that stung his eyes if he got too close. 

The poetry he read (and wrote) also excluded the stench of fish. What’s the harm in romanticizing your own town?

Martin walked through the center of town as he always did, silent and keeping his head down to keep the water from dripping into his eyes. He had learned long ago that, while people were awake in the early hours, it wasn’t in his best interest to try a jolly “good morning!” with most folks on drizzling days when people were just trying to make it where they needed to go. Besides, he wasn’t exactly on time himself and knew if he tried to strike up a conversation, he would just get himself going, and no one wanted that. He walked, and he walked quickly, head down.

There was a weird trick when one started from the far end of town and headed toward the lighthouse. It was large of course, but if you continued to look as you approached, it seemed to grow taller at a rate that felt incongruent to how quickly you were going so that, by the time you reached it, the sheer size of the building made you dizzy. The effect made Martin’s eyes cross themselves. Head down, don’t talk, don’t look up until you reach the dark stone steps. Easy enough. He reached the steps and made his way to the entrance, fishing the keys from his pocket and letting himself inside.

It was entirely empty today, as he had expected. His boss, Peter, was scheduled for a regular boating trip, with his cheesy captain’s hat and a beard that was just slightly too well-kept to be seen as a sailor’s. This left Martin with a very empty building and acoustics Peter once cheerfully described as like “having the perfect conversation partner”, following it up with a loud “hello!” that echoed for so long Martin almost lost his patience. Once, he dropped a pencil and got a headache from the sound. He stepped lightly, not wanting to disturb the stillness.

As he waited for the water to boil in the small ground floor kitchen, he checked the calendar. Peter said he would be back sometime after the weekend was over and as usual gave nothing more specific, as it wasn’t like he needed to be there for Martin to get his work done.

It was expected, and therefore Martin did not feel disappointment. He did not miss Peter. He simply finished making tea for himself, walked to the small work station Peter had had set up for him, and began the menial accounting that took up most of his days. In the middle of the day, he knocked an eraser off the desk with his elbow, and the dull thud managed to echo up and up and up into the darkness.

It didn’t give him a headache, but the thud sat in his chest until hours later when the paperwork was done and he was to walk up and up and up to the top and follow his list of duties. There were switches and pulleys, and every evening he would press or pull them in the same order, never being told what any of them actually did. Martin assumed it was something to do with the lighthouse’s actual functioning, and it made him nervous to think about messing it up.

The list being done, he walked back down, down to the ground floor. Out the door, locking it behind him, and down the dark stone steps, down the street and down, down, down to his home. The door handle was cold in his grip.

“‘M home, mum,” Martin said, closing the front door against the same drizzle he had walked into that morning. He could hear the old tv and peeked his head into the doorway to find his mother asleep in her chair. Waking to the gentle pressure of his hand on her shoulder, she grumbled the normal amount and then asked after dinner. 

“Why wake me when you haven’t even started it?” she asked, training her eyes on the program in front of her. 

“Sorry,” he winced. “It shouldn’t take long.” Martin shuffled off to the kitchen to prepare something quick for them both. After their nightly routine of a helplessly tasteless dinner, he helped his mother to bed and went to his own room. He lit a small, old lantern (he had an electric lamp, but it wasn’t as fun), took out his cheap notebook, and laid back against his headboard, scribbling words and scratching them out, something about the sun, something about waves, until his eyes began to itch and droop.

It was an all right day, he thought, placing his glasses on the small nightstand. He had managed to finish more work than he’d planned, so tomorrow he’d get done quickly and have even more break time with no one to watch after him, to see his laziness. Maybe it would even be sunny at some point. That would be nice to see when he reached the top of the lighthouse, much better than dreary gray skies. He drifted off, hoping the words and phrases scattered in his mind would push the idea into existence.

Chapter Text

CHAPTER TWO

Martin, big as he was, didn’t get much mileage out of umbrellas, especially when the rain decided that falling straight down would be too convenient. There was just too much of him to cover, and as he walked his way up the cliffside that morning, umbrella in hand, he considered turning back and leaving the day’s work for Saturday. It wouldn’t be so terrible, skipping a day. With no one to check in on him, he had every right to finish things up later. 

He thought of his home on the rocky beach and kept moving upward. Already soaked through, there wasn’t much point turning back, now was there? And he had already made it through the worst of the muddy path anyway. He would just hang his jacket up somewhere in the kitchen when he got to the lighthouse, maybe his shoes too while he was at it. 

The walk was loud with the rain and splashing footsteps of the usually morning passerby. The weather gave Martin ample reason to keep his head down, and if it hadn’t been for a loud crack of thunder making him jump and peek up at the sky, he wouldn’t have looked up at all. The lighthouse was stark white against the storm clouds, and in the small lot tucked to the right side of the building, were several unfamiliar cars and one very nice familiar one.

Martin groaned. “Peter.” He mentally patted himself on the back for not giving into his lazier impulses. Of course Peter changed his plans with no notice. He was so rich that the concept of people having time for anything other than his use probably never occurred to him. Hopefully this time it wasn’t another weird congregation of his fellow old rich men from the next town over. The last time Peter had had to postpone a boating trip for business, it had left him in a foul mood for weeks, and Martin was the one to deal with it. 

The other cars in the lot didn’t read as particularly nice, but Martin didn’t know much about cars and couldn’t judge on a clear day, nevermind one like this. He considered using the back entrance, but he was already tired and wet and ready to make himself some tea. Up the dark stone steps, he found the main door unlocked and quietly let himself inside, hoping that Peter and whoever his guests were had already-

“Martin! A bit late, aren’t we?” Peter’s voice rang out through the building, making Martin wince. Martin closed his umbrella and looked across the main room to see Peter and three distinctly not-old-men individuals staring at him. They looked somewhere around his age, though at his ripe age of twenty-nine, it was hard to tell between early twenty-somethings and those pushing forty. “Hope this doesn’t mean I have to figure out a clock-in system. You know how bad I am with such things.” Peter was smiling in a way that told Martin instantly just how pissed he was to be dealing with whatever this was. Great.

“Oh, um. Yes, the rain made the walk up a bit- sorry. Um, what’s going on?” Martin stumbled through with his usual grace, wanting to shrink down and die with the way the four of them were staring. “You were-”

“Supposed to be on the boat this morning, yes,” Peter said through his teeth. 

One of the strangers, the tallest and by far the best-looking with perfectly styled hair despite the rain, raised an eyebrow and shared a glance with a short woman with dark, curly hair pulled back into a half ponytail. Next to her was the shortest of the three, a man with dark skin and even darker, shaggy hair that was just turning gray at the roots, who looked at Martin for a moment before apparently deciding that there was nothing of interest there and impatiently turning back to Peter. 

“Some quick introductions and then I’ll be on my way,” said Peter, moving around the three newcomers to walk towards Martin and the door. “One of my beneficiaries, Mr. Bouchard, has requested at very little notice to have some of his own come here for a week or two for research purposes. Incidentally, I will be out for that exact time, starting in a few minutes! Your work documents will be delivered as usual. Just let them do their work, stay in your space, and it’ll be over before you know it.” Before Martin could utter a sound, Peter brushed past him and said, quietly, “Stuffy academic types, the lot of them. Very judgmental I’ve heard.” And then he was out the door. Martin watched him leave and then turned back awkwardly.

“Um. Hi?” Martin waved stupidly, feeling the horrible burn of their gazes. The good-looking one smiled brightly and brought up a hand in friendly recognition.

“Y’know, he said he’d do introductions, but last time I checked my name wasn’t ‘work documents’,” he said, coming forward and putting a hand out, which Martin shook in a daze. The woman behind him snorted. “My name’s Tim Stoker. Behind me is Sasha James, hereby dubbed ‘research purposes’, and our head leader man, Jonathan Sims.” Tim put up a hand in a secretive manner. “A bit longer title, ‘It’ll be over before you know it’, but it fits all the same.” He winked, and Martin laughed despite himself. Jonathan rolled his eyes and walked over to the folding table to sift through his work bag. Martin saw this and wanted to kick himself. 

“I’m Martin Blackwood, Peter’s assistant. You’re all researchers then? What-” and at that moment, Martin sneezed. “Oh, gosh, excuse me. I’d better at least stop dripping all over the place.” Martin sheepishly walked past Jonathan to the kitchen, shedding his damp coat to hang in the corner. He could feel the wetness in his shoes and socks and for a moment resented his unexpected company but shook the thought away. Taking stock of the cupboard in his mind, Martin popped his head back into the main room.

“I’m making tea if anybody would like some,” he offered. Tim and Sasha were receptive and followed him back to the kitchen, taking off their own coats to hang next to his own and sitting down at the uncomfortably small table.

“Is this thing made for people to sit at?” Tim asked, his long legs bumping against Sasha’s. 

“One person, maybe? God, it’s like a university desk.” Sasha replied, purposefully bumping her knee into his to make him move and laughing when we gave an exaggerated noise of pain. Martin smiled a little to himself as he placed the kettle on the stove. Sasha leaned onto her elbows and looked up at him. “So, Martin. Does anyone else work here?” He frowned, keeping his face away from them.

“Oh, um, no. Just me,” He drummed his fingers on the counter. “Peter keeps a pretty small staff and they work in other buildings, so. Yeah. Just me.” Martin could feel the awkward pause coming and continued, turning to lean next to the stovetop. “So, researchers! Can’t think of why you’d come to a big old lighthouse. Is this some sort of, I dunno, architecture thing? Testing saltwater? Coming to find a sea monster?”

“Actually, not a terrible guess!” Tim tilted his chair back and linked his fingers behind his head. “Probably not a sea monster, though it would be pretty cool.” 

“We’re researchers looking into the supernatural,” Sasha interjected in a more serious tone. “The three of us were sent out here to take some statements and do some investigating into local occurrences. Usually it would just be one of us, but Elias, the Mr. Bouchard Peter mentioned, wanted us all on the ground for this one.”

“It’s ridiculous.” Martin jumped at the sound. Jonathan stood in the doorway, keeping his displeased look trained on the paper in his hands. Tim glanced at Martin in a way that seemed to say here we go. “Just one of us would be good enough to take some statements and be on our way. It’s just a waste of resources.” It was Sasha’s turn to roll her eyes. The way Tim and Sasha seemed to include Martin in this small moment of exasperation made him feel equal parts warm and ashamed at taking humor at Jonathan’s expense. 

Sasha replied, “Look Jon, the fact that we were all sent out means there’s probably something really interesting about this place.” Jonathan snorted, finally looking up at her.

“Sure, because Elias has never wasted our time.” He looked back down, content with leaning against the doorway. “We’ll talk to some locals, get some childhood campfire stories, and leave knowing a little bit more about local culture and not much else.” There was a lull in the conversation as Jonathan seemed to check out, satisfied with his point.

“What do you think, Martin?” Tim asked eventually. 

“What?”

“Any weird things in this town? Spooky hauntings? Creatures of the deep?” Tim asked further. Before Martin could answer, the kettle began to squeal and he began his tea preparations. 

“Oh, nothing that I know of, no. It’s a quiet place.” The sea folk here are definitely quiet, he thought, which he knew was unfair to think. His mother didn’t talk much, certainly, but it’s no reason to be mean. “Oh, Jonathan-”

“Just Jon.”

“Oh, um, okay. Jon, did you want any? Tea, I mean?” Jon looked up at him for a moment and then down again.

“Yes, I suppose so. Whatever is fine.” And then he turned and left the room.

“Oookay.” Martin sifted through the decent amount of tea he had collected over the last few months. He asked for Tim and Sasha’s preferences and did his best to follow them. “Anyway, yeah, I’m not super involved in what goes on in town, to be honest. I live down the cliffside by the shore, so local stuff kind of goes over my head,” Martin said, laughing a bit before biting his tongue. What an awful joke. He carried over the mugs of tea.

“Darn, and here I’d hoped you’d be able to make our jobs a bit easier for Jon’s sake. But hey, we’ll let you know if there’s evil lurking around the corner.” Tim sipped at his tea and seemed satisfied. Sasha did the same.

“If you think of anything, let us know. We got a bit of direction, but it’s not much. We’ll take just about anything,” Sasha said. Martin picked up Jon’s mug.

“Hmm. Well, I guess there’s this one weird thing? It’s probably nothing, but, y’know, it could be helpful.” Sasha and Tim looked at him expectantly, and the tips of his ears grew hot. “It’s just, you guys drove in right? Well, if you start from further away and head toward this building on foot, it doesn’t look right.”

“How do you mean?” Sasha asked, her brows knitting together. Martin struggled for a moment to find the words.

“Like. Like the perspective, I guess? It gets bigger but it feels like it’s going too fast, to the point where I can’t look at it when I come to work. Could just be a weird vertigo thing I have going on, but it would be easy enough to check when it’s not, y’know, pouring outside.” Martin looked at Sasha; she didn’t look entirely impressed, and Martin looked away. “Anyway, it’s probably nothing. I’m gonna-” and as he walked through the doorway, Jon appeared with a much larger stack of documents only for Martin to stumble into him and splash tea all over the papers. Jon jumped back and dropped them, freezing for a moment before looking up with such indignation that he couldn’t speak.

“Oh god, I’m-” Martin began, his face burning hot enough that it should’ve fogged his glasses. “I’m so sorry! I didn’t see you coming back and-” And then he shut his horrible mouth at the sight of Jon’s withering glare.

“Yes, well. It’s as Mr. Lukas said.” He bent down to pick up the soiled papers. “‘It’ll be over before you know it.’” Martin looked back at Tim and Sasha who gave him twin pained expressions.

No words left, Martin grabbed a towel to clean up the mess he’d made. He would do as Peter said, then. Let them do their work, stay in his own space, and, as a bonus step, keep out of Jonathan Sims’ way until things went back to the way they were.

-

The three researchers worked together at the folding table, grumbling at the lack of space, though Tim at least stopped complaining when he saw Martin’s tiny tray of a desk tucked away into the corner. 

Martin got through his work, though the extra sounds echoed so much louder than when it was just him, and his pace was slowed a bit as he struggled not to eavesdrop. Still, he finished early as he had intended and began his trek up the spiral stairs to complete the list.

“Oh, are you heading up to the top? I’ve never been in a lighthouse before,” Tim said, stretching out of his cramped position at the table. “Mind if I tag along to stretch my legs?” 

Martin thought for a moment and said, “I guess that should be fine? Though it’s not gonna look like much right now.”

“I’ll take it.” Tim stood and looked at his coworkers. “You coming, Sash’? Jon?”

Sasha stretched as well and got up, elbowing Jon lightly and  pointing her chin towards the stairs. “C’mon, let’s take a break.” Jon stared for a bit before sighing.

“Fine.”

Martin led the way up, conscious the whole way of how slow he walked in comparison to the others. The walk itself was quiet only for the echoes of their footsteps bouncing around the cylindrical structure and the rain battering from outside. Martin kept his eyes on his feet, making sure to use the handrail. Tim, who started the climb up in the middle of the stairs, soon found himself clinging to the rail as well.

“I definitely believe you about the whole vertigo thing. I can feel it just walking up this place, and I don’t even have a thing about heights,” Tim said, doing his best to keep his tone upbeat.

“Yeah, I’d say you get used to it, but I still haven’t after months of this.” Martin let them lapse back into total silence, and when they reached the top, the researchers breathed a sigh of relief. Martin walked to his work station while they looked out the large panes of glass. Jon sniffed.

“Well, Tim, I hope it was worth it to see more fog.” He stepped away from the glass, tapping his foot impatiently. “We might as well start back down.”

“Oh, calm down,”” Sasha said. “We’ll let Martin finish. Besides, we need a break from all the walking.” Sasha walked past the window panes and then squinted as if in thought. “It was still raining, wasn’t it? When we started up here?” 

“Must’ve stopped at some point,” Tim said, looking up in the direction of the sky.

“Yeah, but, there’s no droplets.”

“What?”

“On the glass. There should be rain droplets, right? There isn’t a large enough overhang to block the rain from hitting them.” Jon stopped tapping his foot and came to stand by them. The three looked out into the fog and then back at Martin, who was too busy with his tasks to pay attention to their conversation.

“Martin?” Sasha asked, jostling him from his concentration.

“Wh-yeah?” Sorry, I’m almost done-” 

“That thing that happens when you walk here. Could you show us?”

Chapter Text

Martin managed to convince the others that perhaps waiting until the rain let up a bit would be best before taking them to the other side of town. They might want to take notes, he had suggested, and maybe it would be better to wait until the end of their work day, since they would have to head to the local inn, anyway? 

They conceded, though Sasha seemed antsy after her apparent discovery. Martin couldn’t deny that the questions she had had about the windows bothered him in the same way, but talking about it with no expertise seemed like it would invite something unpleasant. Instead, he led the way back down. Tim kept to the side from the beginning this time, firmly holding the handrail, and when the vertigo hit, he asked the group to stop for a moment before continuing down to the ground floor. At the back of the group, Jon was a different sort of quiet from before. Was he irritated, Martin wondered, or was he taking this as seriously as Sasha? Maybe both. The guy seemed like he could hold a lot of irritation in him. Okay, that was mean, Martin thought. It wasn’t as if there wasn’t something to be rightfully irritated by.

When they reached the bottom, Martin shook off the thought and went back to his desk in the corner to gather his things. He would be ready the moment it was time to leave. The rain was still pounding against the outer walls of the lighthouse, so he was, for the moment, stuck. Once he finished packing up, he headed toward the kitchen to wait the rest of the day out.

Before he could make it there, Sasha said, “Martin, can you bring your chair over here? We have some more questions for you.” Martin shut his eyes tight, opened them, and turned right back around, plastering a sheepish smile to his face.

“Oh, sure. Don’t think I have much else to say, though?”

“That’s fine,” Tim said, taking his own seat. “At this point we’re just killing time.” Sasha shushed him half-heartedly and motioned at the small open space between Tim and Jon. Catching Martin’s concerned look, Jon rolled his eyes and scooched his chair over to make room, causing the knot in Martin’s stomach to tighten. Martin carried his chair over and willed himself to be just a bit smaller to no avail.

“So, Martin, how long have you lived in the area?” Sasha asked, settling her notebook in front of her, tapping the open page with her pen. 

“Gosh, since I was born? Never really been anywhere else unless you count the town over, and only a few times,” he replied, picking at the sleeve of his shirt, holding himself back from looking at any of them. All those years spent in this dreary town, they must’ve been thinking, what a bunch of nothing. He wouldn’t disagree.

“Okay, great,” Sasha said. “How long have you worked in this building? And how did you come to work for Mr. Lukas?”

“Just a few months now. I had been working some smaller jobs when an opening came up here and Peter picked me. He’s supplied the town with a lot of work the last few years since the fishing’s been not so great. Don’t tell anyone I said that, though!” He added the last bit quickly and then coughed. “People get defensive about it? Like-”

Jon interjected, “Yes, I’m sure there are many opinions on the subject of the local economy, but these details are unnecessary.” Martin flinched.

“Right, sorry. Um, yeah, I applied for the job and I guess it was a good fit. Kept me on this long, right?”

“Right,” Sasha said, her mouth twitching a bit as she gave Jon a look. Martin felt very much like there was a silent conversation happening that he was not privy to. “All right, next. Martin, if we could get an official statement regarding the… strange attributes of the lighthouse, that would be very helpful. Just something quick so we can get an outside description.”

“Yeah, yeah, I can do that.” Martin adjusted himself in his chair as Jon dug out an old tape recorder. “Wow, that’s-”

“Very old, yes, we know,” Jon said, his tired voice echoing a sentiment they must’ve received a thousand times. “Speak into this part here. Statement of Martin Blackwood, regarding the lighthouse where he works. Statement taken by Jonathan Sims, further questions by Sasha James. Statement begins.” 

“R-Right okay, well. The first time I noticed it, I was still quite young, maybe nine or ten? Somewhere around there. Anyway, I had walked up to grab something for- yeah, it was when I started grabbing groceries for my mum. I had walked up the hill and made it to the top, at which point I see the big old lighthouse on the other side of town. A really easy landmark for me to follow. I walked down the street as usual, but this time around, I watched the lighthouse as I went. And just like I told you before, as I walked, it began to get bigger somehow. Not like a normal amount, but as if the thing was growing with my steps, and before I could even make it to the shop, I suddenly got hit with this dizziness, and next thing I know, I’m on the ground, being roused by the local florist.”

“And this had never happened before?” 

Martin shook his head. “No, not that I remember.”

“And it’s happened ever since?”

“Yeah, though after a while I learned to just… stop looking? I knew it would make me sick, so why look?”

“And the weather discrepancy at the top of the building, was this something you’d ever noticed?”

“No, not really. I was always busy with work and for the most part the view tended to be pretty much the same. Staring out to sea loses its charm pretty quick, especially since by the time I get up there, the dizziness would set in hard.” Martin looked at Tim who nodded sympathetically. “But it’s weird, yeah, once you pointed it out.” 

“Okay, great. One more thing: Are there any other strange occurrences, related or not to this building, that you know of in this town?” Sasha stared at him hard. The hairs on the back of his neck begin to prickle at the intensity.

“Not personally, no,” he said easily. “Lots of the older folks around town could probably be helpful, though, with stories they like to tell. There are some I could point you towards if you’d like.” 

“That would be great, yeah.” Sasha looked at her notebook, tapped the pen twice on the page, and then closed it. “That’s all the questions I have. Jon, Tim?” Tim shrugged and Jon shook his head. “Okay then. Statement ends.” Sasha nodded at Jon who clicked off the recorder and left it on the table. “Now we wait for either the weather or the day to end, I suppose.” Martin nodded and stood up, finally able to escape to the kitchen.

He had barely managed to get the kettle back on the stove before he heard what seemed to be Sasha’s attempt at a whisper in a place that wouldn’t allow for it.

“Are you really going to pout about an accident this whole week? It’s not like we’ll have to work with him that long.” Martin, who had been about to tell the others about how easily sound traveled, froze.

“We’ve been here less than a day and he’s made it very clear that he’ll be of little help to us,” Jon whispered back, though not as quiet as Sasha was trying to be. “I’ll go along with him leading us to nothing to get it out of the way, but I think it’ll be best if we leave him out of the work otherwise.”

“Elias clearly wants us to check out this place or else he wouldn’t have wanted us working here. Sure, the guy seems pretty simple, but that’s no reason to be rude. Besides, he’s worked here for months. There may be other things he’s forgotten.”

“Yes, ‘forgotten’. He seems to do that a lot, like when I asked him to print something off earlier and he just ‘forgot’. It’s not my fault he’s either forgetful or just plain lazy. I don’t believe for a minute he managed to finish all of his work so early. He might even be making up this extra thing to seem important. We’ve seen the type before.”

Martin didn’t make a sound, electing to pick his nails and keep his eyes on the stove. He knew he had missed something, hadn’t he? Of course it was something Jon had asked for.

“It’s not like he’s our office assistant,” Tim said pointedly. “He seems nice enough. Not his fault we came in here and took the place over.”

“Either way,” Sasha said, “just cool it a bit? He helps us out when he can, we collect some information, and then we’ll be done. We might even get the go-ahead to leave by next Friday if we work at it, and after that you can get back to whatever it is you’re so anxious to get back to. But honestly, I’m going to enjoy doing field research without Elias breathing down my neck.” There was a grumble.

“Fine. But this still feels like a waste of time. All of it.” Footsteps echoed and Jon appeared in the kitchen, making a beeline for his jacket without making eye contact. Martin acted as if he were considering the different tea options and didn’t let up the charade until he heard the front entrance open and shut. He breathed out and then jumped as the kettle brought his full attention back to itself.

He could try harder, really. It’s the least he could do.

-

Martin knew his nerves were plain on his face as he reached the end of the road. Tim whistled.

“So, that climb doesn’t do anything to you?” Tim asked, hands in his pockets, staring down the steep path leading to his home.

“Never. Just makes the mornings a little harder than they need to be,” Martin said in a tone he hoped was lighter than he felt. Sasha and Jon had their gazes set on the lighthouse. 

“Okay, I’ve got a camera running,” Sasha said, holding up an old camcorder. They really didn’t have the latest tech, wherever it was they worked. Not that Martin judged too harshly. He wondered if the recording would feel like a home movie when they finished. “Let’s see for ourselves, shall we?” She said, and began to walk with Jon and Tim close behind and Martin waiting at the start.

“I definitely don’t feel anything,” Jon said, his tone curt and arms crossed. Martin’s stomach churned as he waited for the three to turn and look at him in disappointment. He had wasted their time, of course, with his own stupid-

“Oh,” Tim said, beginning to wobble. “Oh that’s fucking weird.” Sasha and Jon looked at him in confusion and annoyance respectively. Tim stopped, walked himself back a few steps, and then walked forward again, doing his best to consistently look at the lighthouse. “You weren’t lying, Martin, that thing is growing.” Jon snorted disparagingly.

“Tim, please don’t make jokes-”

“I’m not! It’s the same as before, on the stairs! My head feels like it’s, I dunno-”

“Full of fog?” Martin said weakly, still standing back where the others had left him. Tim turned to nod at him in encouragement, and Martin continued, turning his eyes up to the lighthouse briefly before flitting them between the ground and Tim for support. “You stare up at it, but your head can’t make sense of what’s going on, and then you can’t focus at all, and it’s like your stomach is dropping out of you. At least, if you do it for too long.” Sasha and Jon looked at the two of them, and Sasha stopped recording to look back at the video. 

“Oh, shit,” she whispered, pressing a few buttons before handing it to Jon.

“You’re kidding,” Jon said quietly. All Martin could tell from a distance was that, when Jon pressed play and turned the volume up, the only thing coming from the camcorder was horrible static. 

Chapter Text

Martin was already far enough down the cliff side that even if they’d noticed he’d gone, it would be too late to easily catch up to him.

The three researchers had gathered in a circle to view the distorted footage together, throwing out a mixture of theory and expletives as they stood on the sidewalk. Tim was running his fingers through his hair, enthusiasm quashing any signs of dizziness. Sasha had taken back the camcorder, looking for any details that might’ve escaped her. The irritation that had shrouded Jon’s features the whole day had left and been replaced by something looking like curiosity as he stared at the screen. This had left Martin, still standing at the end of the road, to see himself out quietly.

The further he went, the more the excitement of the moment gave way to a thick dread.

“You need this job. You need this job. You need this job,” Martin mumbled, rubbing his upper arms. The rain had left for a time, but he could feel his skin prickling in the cold and knew it would return soon. “So it’s a weird building. It was fine before, wasn’t it? Learning it was a weird thing the whole time doesn’t change anything. You can handle a bit more weirdness. It’s fine. And you have experts! People who know this stuff! They’ll take care of everything, and it’ll all be fine.”

About halfway down, a rush of vertigo hit Martin like a truck. He veered right, feet sliding in the mud, and grabbed hold of a tree until the wave passed. Sneering back at the path behind him, back at a lighthouse that was now hidden from view, Martin choked out, “What, up there isn’t enough now? I have to deal with it when I can’t even see it?” He scratched his head with both hands in frustration and started walking at his normal pace.

“It’s fine. You’ll get home on flat ground. You’ll eat something. You’ll get up tomorrow and only walk up to finish the list at the lighthouse and pick up groceries. Then you’ll do the list on Sunday and nothing else! Just the rest of the weekend off!”

His frantic personal reassurances continued all the way down, until he caught sight of home and forced his ramblings to a halt. “Just keep calm for Mum and get through the night. You can do that at least.”

Martin entered his home, keeping the door from creaking too much behind him. The TV was on and his mother’s eyes were closed. Walking over, he gently shook her shoulder, and as she opened her eyes, the complaint was already forming on her lips.

“You know I hate to be shaken awake.”

“Yes, Mum. I’m gonna make dinner if there’s anything you’d like.”

“I don’t have a preference. Just pick something and leave me be.”

“Okay, Mum.” So he did, scraping together what he could for omelettes. Nothing burnt, and it was tastier than the night before, so he let a small bit of pride slip into his demeanor. His mother said nothing and ate what was in front of her. Afterwards, Martin cleaned the dishes and left them on the rack, turning to help his mother up the stairs.

“I wish to go outside for a moment,” she said, still sitting at the dining room table. Martin could tell without looking out the window that the rain had picked back up again.

“Are you sure? I think the weather tomorrow-”

“Take me outside, Martin.” The quick clip to her voice silenced any argument, and Martin went to retrieve her coat. Keeping his arm out for her to take, Martin supported his mother out the front door, keeping them both under the porch overhang. She took her hand off his arm but left it hovering there for safety in the harsh evening wind.

Martin’s eyes began to water as soon as the sea breeze hit them, but he stood firm as his mother breathed in, held, and out. In, held, and out, again and again, until finally she said, with a weariness that betrayed her stony expression, “I’m ready.”

The walk was slow to her room, and after she was in her bed and he began to close the door, he heard her say, “Goodnight, Martin.”

Martin smiled and kept his face hidden behind the door. There was no shake in his voice as he responded, “Goodnight, Mum.”

Once he made it to his own room, he let out a large breath. He gently closed his bedroom door, changed into pyjamas, and climbed into bed, leaving his old notebook and lantern untouched. In his attempts to get comfortable, he tossed and twisted, the cold from outside still sticking to his feet, but his mind wouldn’t rest until all the day’s mistakes were accounted for.

He should’ve at least said goodbye.

-

The sun was still creeping over the horizon when Martin set out up the path to town. The fog settled in thick around him, and the ground was still muddy and hard to walk on. Nevertheless, he made it to the more solid road without incident, supernatural or otherwise. He went over the numbers in his head, counting the items he needed and comparing his budget for meals this week. It had been nice these last few months, having a constant salary rather than figuring out how many shifts he could reasonably take. The math at this point was more about what he’d like to save each day rather than figuring out what he could afford.

The trip to the store would be quick if he did his math right. But first, he made it to the stone steps of the lighthouse, looked up, and found that the lights were already on. He grimaced, wiped the look off his face, and went inside as casually as he could.

At the table was Jon, reading something intently on a clunky laptop. The sound of his tapping knuckles on the tabletop rang through the building, and just like the night before, Jon’s face wasn’t one of impatience. There was a light in his eyes as they scanned for something on the screen, and Martin, despite himself, stayed very still to look at Jon in mild fascination. He then shook his head and did his best to walk as if his heart weren’t pounding in his chest. Before he knew it, he had made it to the kitchen without any sign Jon had noticed.

He was in the kitchen. Shit. He had walked there out of habit.

Martin looked around a bit before rubbing his face at his own ridiculous behavior. This was his place of work, and he had come to do his job. What was the point of sneaking around? He walked to the stove, filled the kettle, and started making himself some tea, relaxing with the familiar motions. As he waited, he could hear the echoes of Jon’s typing. Was that also a weird thing? Did sound work like that?

The water began to boil and he prepared his cup, but before stepping out, his eye caught one of the mugs drying on the rack from yesterday. Tapping his foot, he took the mug and prepared a second cup of tea with what he thought was a good enough ratio. If his Mum liked it, it would probably work for anyone. With as much confidence as he could have, he carried both cups out and quietly set the second down on the table. Jon jumped and looked first at the mug and then up at Martin.

“How long have you been here?” Jon asked, confused.

“Just got here a bit ago. I still need to take care of upstairs on the weekends.”

Jon nodded. “I’m… surprised you’d still come in after yesterday,” he said slowly, not yet touching the mug. “Learning your workplace may be haunted or, well, something of that nature.”

“Yeah, well. It’s the same as it was before right? And the pay’s the same,” Martin said. He chewed on the inside of his cheek and continued, forcing the words out, “Anyway, I meant to ask, do you still need that print job from yesterday? Sorry about that, it completely slipped my mind!” Jon’s eyebrows shot up in surprise.

“No, no, I took care of it. Tim reminded me that you are not in fact our assistant, so I won’t be asking you for anything else.”

“Oh. Good! Good. Sorry, again.” Martin willed himself to start moving toward the staircase but couldn’t move, letting an awkward silence fill the space between them. Before he could stop himself, Martin added, “Um, sorry, there’s one more thing.” Martin tapped his cup a few times, looking down into his tea. Jon glanced back at his computer for a moment, the irritation beginning to creep across his face.

“Okay, go on then.”

“Sure! Right. I wanted to tell you that, since you’re all doing what looks to be serious research with maybe, I dunno, confidentiality stuff, it would be good for you to know that, well,” Martin drummed his fingers on the cup. “Sound travels really easily, in here I mean. Even whispers make it all over the place. Could be another thing that’s up with the building, could just be the acoustics, but either way, figured it would be good information to share now that it’s confirmed this place is capital-s Strange.”

“I’ll keep it in-” Jon, who had been slowly turning his gaze back to his laptop during Martin’s short speech, froze. He closed his eyes, and his mouth stretched into a pained frown. “You heard what I said yesterday. After we came downstairs.”

“It’s not a big deal! You were right, about some things at least. I’m a forgetful person. It’s why I’m better at jobs like this.”

“Listen-”

“It’s really fine. Just, y’know, keep the acoustics in mind. I’m, um-” Martin’s feet finally got to moving under his command and he headed toward the stairs. “I gotta get my work done upstairs.” His pace was quick, rounding the steps past the point where he could no longer see the researcher fail to find words. Martin would’ve felt some satisfaction if the other man hadn’t looked so genuinely remorseful about the whole thing.

The trip up was quick and uneventful, relatively speaking, and Martin let himself look out the windows for a bit after his list was complete. For once, there was an actual view of the sea in the morning light. Now that Martin had been forced to think on it, he could tell the sea looked wrong, somehow. Further off, maybe? Against his better judgment, he pressed his face against the glass and looked down.

A moment later, he was looking up at the ceiling, the back of his skull throbbing in pain. He pressed into his eyes with the heel of his hands and took in a shaky breath. “It’s still good money. Just don’t look down when the sky looks like that. Maybe don’t look down or out at all. Simple enough, even for you.” For a moment he just lay there, squeezing his eyes shut and hoping that maybe he would wake up at home, having fallen out of bed.

No such luck. Standing up, Martin rubbed the back of his now aching head and started a careful, gradual walk down, his hand firmly gripping the rail. Yes, his place of work was strange. That didn’t mean it was looking to hurt anyone, right? Martin had worked there for months, and Peter never seemed to be bothered by it after all the years he’d owned the place. Perhaps, if he kept his head down, the lighthouse would just continue to function as it always had.

Making him so dizzy that he blacked out wasn’t a great sign, though. Even he could admit that.

Against what he had been hoping for, Jon had not left in the time it took for Martin to return downstairs. This time, Jon noticed him immediately as he came into view and waited for Martin to make it to the bottom before clearing his throat. “Martin, if you’ll wait a moment.”

Martin scratched his neck and continued walking toward the door. “Sorry, I really have to go. Lots of errands, that sort of thing.”

“It won’t take long-” Jon was interrupted by the sound of the front door swinging open.

“Hey boss! Grabbed some snacks for the workday since I figured you wouldn’t think of it beforehand. Martin! Where did you run off to yesterday?” Tim said, and he set a paper bag full of what looked like several bags of crisps and other convenient store grade junk food. “Left just as things got exciting.” Martin, happy for the distraction from whatever Jon was attempting to do, smiled and waved, still heading toward the door.

“Hi, Tim. Yeah, sorry about that. Wanted to get dinner started at home and your work is a bit over my head.”

“And all over your workplace, apparently.” Tim grinned and Martin forced what he hoped was a convincing laugh.

“Hey, if it pays the bills!” Martin winced at his own inane comment and tried to excuse himself, which was when Sasha came through the door, carrying her own set of bags. “Oh, sorry, didn’t-”

“Good timing!” Sasha ducked past him and dumped her things onto one of the chairs. “After reviewing some things last night, it looks like we’ll be wanting to go about town a bit and talk to some locals, get a feel for some of the history of this place.”

Tim chimed in, “Gotta check if anyone died mysteriously or placed a vengeful curse on the town fifty years ago, things like that.”

“You mentioned yesterday that you’d be able to point us in some good directions?” She looked up with expectation, she and Tim both, fixing Martin to the ground. From behind the table, Jon was clearly frustrated but seemed to have given up on his line of conversation.

“Sure, I’m free.” Martin wanted to slap himself. “What do you need?”

-

In no time at all, Martin somehow found himself walking the group through town, passing by the grocery store with a pang of regret. It was still mid-morning, but time seemed to be moving both much too slow and faster than he could handle.

“I think your best option would be Ms. Peterson, the florist. She’s lived here as long as I can remember and loves to talk about old times and all that.” Martin led the three researchers down the street, feeling more at ease. He could talk to old folks in town just fine, and they loved going on about weird old things. It all checked out. “I think I mentioned her when I talked about my incident? Anyway, a really lovely woman.”

Martin found himself chattering, fielding possible questions from Sasha and Tim that ranged from serious queries like “Has your family had close encounters with the Lukas family” to things like “How many undead have you seen at the local grocery store”, respectively. Jon lugged the tape recorder in a bag slung over his shoulder and elected to remain silent.

Ms. Peterson’s place was a standard flower shop, full of shelves with decorative pots and cutesy gardening supplies. When the group stepped inside, a little bell on the door summoned a woman in her mid-70s carrying an empty vase.

“Oh! Hello, Martin. How are you, dear?” Ms. Peterson asked, setting the vase down on the front counter. “And your mother? How has she been doing?”

“We’re both doing all right. The weather’s been bad for her joints, but nothing new, thankfully. The flowers you sent were very much appreciated.” Ms. Peterson smiled warmly and then looked behind him.

“Some friends of yours?”

“Actually, I was wondering if you could help them, Ms. Peterson. They’ve come from out of town to ask about some local history and I immediately thought of you.”

“Yes, of course, what would you like to know?’

Sasha took over from there, getting the necessary permissions while Jon set up the tape recorder. Martin heard some comment about how old the thing was, followed by an almost identical response from Jon as the day before. Martin held back any laughter at Jon’s dry expression, but he couldn’t stop his mouth from twitching.

The statement started off with familiar territory to Martin: the lighthouse had been there since Ms. Peterson had been a child. She had never been inside it, but like many people in town, her mother had worked for the Lukas family for a long time and had gone in once.

“She might’ve been dropping an order off? Oh, I don’t remember anymore, but anyway, she had gone to see one of the Lukas family for matters of business. I was young but I remember her coming home that night, shaking terribly. Stayed in bed for at least two days afterwards and kept either my sister or myself by her side the whole time. It passed, like most things, but it was terribly frightening for all of us.”

“Did she ever tell you what happened?” Jon asked, his tone much gentler than Martin had been accustomed to.

“No, though we never tried to ask her directly. And it wasn’t as if you could peek inside the building with just the tiny little window on the door. I have to say,” Ms. Peterson turned toward Martin. “I was a little concerned about you working there. I even told your mother so when you first started.” Martin felt the heat rush to his cheeks. He looked at Sasha, who just gave a sign to be quiet.

“Ms. Peterson, thank you so much for your statement. Is there anything else related that you think would be helpful to us?” Sasha adjusted herself, ready to give Jon the signal to end the recording.

“Hm, no, I don’t think so. And please excuse me for the last part. I know it’s not much related to history.” Sasha smiled at her and nodded to Jon.

“End recording.” The tape clicked off, and Ms. Peterson turned back to smile at Martin.

“Don’t do too much to make your mother worry, all right?”

“Of course.” Martin smiled back, and Ms. Peterson returned to her work. Once outside, Martin walked toward the next destination, blatantly ignoring any curious looks from his companions.

The next two people were unhelpful for a variety of reasons, including a much stronger questioning of the old tape recorder set up (“Martin, what kind of fringe bullshit are you bringing in here?”) and bad timing that would have to be made up for later. After running around town to find both of them, this left Martin with one more person on his mental list, and then he could finally get groceries before his mother was ready for lunch.

The lack of success in the next two individuals had put a damper on the spirits after Ms. Peterson’s interesting account, and he could feel it dragging on everyone, himself included. And as far as he was concerned, time was running short for his liking.

“I have other people in mind that I can tell you about, but I really need to run some errands today,” Martin said in a sorry tone.

“That’s fine. We can do it another day.” Sasha stretched her arms back to crack her shoulders. “Thanks for leading us around.”

“Yeah, love hearing about how our boss’ boss’ family strikes fear into the hearts of innocent florists,” Tim said, leaning an elbow on Sasha’s shoulder. “We’ll be seeing you tomorrow, then? More running around town, bothering the elderly?”

“Sure, sounds good.” Martin mentally kicked himself. There went his Sunday. “Have a good rest of your day, then.” He waved stiffly and escaped down the street toward the grocery store, where he finally let himself rest for a moment.

Checking his watch, he had just enough time to get his chore done before it would seem strange to his mother, who was accustomed to his being gone for at least part of the day. The actual task didn’t take long, as he had expected. It turned out some of his coupons had expired, costing him some time in juggling worthy expenses, but the trip had left him much more satisfied than he had been.

Even with the disappointment of some of his ideas, the morning hadn’t been bad. Besides the very beginning, it was nice to walk around with people and talk to some folks around town, and in regards to the beginning, it wasn’t so terrible. A bit awkward, yes, but it seemed like he and Jon would at least be able to work around each other for the next week. If Jon had some words to say, he now knew how to say them in a way where Martin didn’t have to hear them.

With the lighthouse behind him and an armful of groceries, Martin was feeling much better, and when he rounded the corner that would lead him on the road home, Jon stood at the edge, arms crossed and eyes darting around, and before Martin could backtrack, it was too late.

“Martin,” Jon said, as if he were letting go of a held breath. “Sorry for cornering you here. I just wanted to finish our earlier conversation and didn’t think waiting a whole day would be good for it.” Martin stared at the shorter man in shock. Cornered was one way to put it, Martin thought to himself, shifting the bag in his arm.

“It’s not really a good time? I need to get back and-”

“I just need you to listen. Please.” Martin felt pinned by Jon’s intense stare. He gaped for a bit as he searched for an excuse, and found none. So he nodded.

“I would like to apologize for yesterday. I was unprofessional and let my own stress and irritation affect my behavior.” Jon seemed to struggle with where to put his hands and settled for re-crossing them in front of his chest. “We were as surprised as you were at the situation. I think Elias may be the only person who actually knows what’s going on, but that’s beside the point. The truth is, we were sent here during a project I was very invested in, and I was being childish about the whole thing. I hope you can forgive me for it. You’ve been very helpful, and I hope we can all continue working to solve whatever it is that’s going on in your workplace and my boss’ head.”

Jon stopped and looked at Martin as if he had helped lift a weight off his shoulders. In strong contrast to the day before, he had a nervous and pointedly not sardonic smile on his face that Martin found incredibly endearing.

Between the obvious stress and the very nice smile, Martin faced the inevitable realization that Jon was, unfortunately, his type.

Feeling his tongue was now far too big for his mouth, Martin could only say, “Yeah, of course! Glad to be working with you.”

Chapter Text

Their business finished, Jon and Martin exchanged a friendly “See you tomorrow” and went their separate ways. Jon turned on his heel and took the first turn out of sight. Martin, still holding his groceries, pressed his head against a nearby building and said under his breath, “God, you’re predictable. Smiles at you once and you’re done for. Must be a record.”

It had been a nice smile, though. Maybe at some point he would get to see a non-nervous one, the kind where the person’s face seems to open up like- No, he was not going to fall into poetic daydreaming, not this soon. Good lord.

He stood up straight, fixing his hair and checking for any witnesses. With the coast clear, he started the long walk home. It was fine. Martin wasn’t a complete idiot. He would accept the good news that Jon didn’t despise him and would roll with it, trying his best not to muck it up with more stupid mistakes. Then, with either their time used up or the investigation completed, all three of them would be gone.

The thought struck him hard, and Martin almost stumbled from the emotional whiplash. It had been, what, a day and a half? Surely not long enough to miss them that much, especially the person who had only just started being nice to him ten minutes ago. But Martin knew himself better than that.

Jon had been nice, just as Tim and Sasha had been nice, and he was going to miss the company when they had to leave. It was natural to feel sad about it, he told himself, but eventually their leaving would be a relief. The one-sided affection would have no room for hoping or growing otherwise. At the same time, he might as well enjoy the company of interesting people. Interesting people who wanted to help him, even! Jon had said he’d wanted to work together to figure things out, so that’s what Martin would try to do.

As long as it didn’t get him fired. As long as nothing they did fucked over any chance of employment. As long as his place of work didn’t eat him out of a hunger for vengeance.

Pushing those sour thoughts deep into the back of his consciousness, Martin focused on the morning’s events the rest of the way home. Plans of action formed in his mind, most of them related to the task at hand, a few needing to be waved away as wishful thinking. There was work to be done.

It took quite a bit of digging through crumpled and disorganized paperwork he’d saved from many unsuccessful attempts at employment, but after lunch, Martin sat on his bed with his original work contract. At the bottom was the signature of Peter Lukas, and in the bottom left corner was the stamped Lukas family crest, which Martin had seen every day on a small plaque adorning the lighthouse interior, right over his desk.

It was a simple and rather generic image of a black and white shield, framed by an albatross and a laughably inaccurate seal that Martin couldn’t help but gawk at years after he’d first seen it. He wondered if the artist responsible had had to work with someone telling them what a seal looked like from memory or if the family just hadn’t cared too much for accuracy. Based on the strange ideas Peter would spout at times of how the ocean worked, Martin would bet on the latter. Maybe the whole family was just like that?

Either way, it was equal parts ridiculous and unnerving as it lurked over Martin’s shoulder during the work day but didn’t have much use to him otherwise. He was no expert on symbolism and there was nothing he could see that would relate the crest to the task at hand.

Martin leafed through the work contract, glazing over benefits and salary before stopping on the section labeled “Employee Assignments and Other Expected Duties”.

“Sec. III. The employee agrees to the following non-exhaustive list of duties:

-Be present at the premises between the hours of 6 am and 4 pm, Monday through Friday, including lunch break.
-Complete bookkeeping for the employer, Mr. Peter Lukas, using materials delivered to the premises on Monday morning. Delivery will always be completed by the employee's set arrival time at 6am. If nothing is delivered, contact the main house for further instruction to procure materials.
-Clean the interior of the premises at regular intervals, including the main entrance, bathroom, kitchen, and upper floors.
-Between the hours of 6 am and 4 pm, complete the maintenance list of the top floor (see Sec. IV). This must be completed once every day of the week, including Saturday and Sunday, between the hours of 6 am and 4 pm. There is a zero-tolerance policy for lack of completion.
-Inform unexpected visitors of the proper procedure for scheduling a paid tour of the premises (See Sec. V)
-Accept packages and sign for if necessary.

Martin looked over the list, biting his cheek. He’d grown lax on staying until 4pm, but with Peter’s general lack of awareness, it had never come up. Otherwise, the duties seemed in line with what he remembered. He looked down to Section IV.

“As referred to in Sec. III, the employee will complete the following tasks during the hours of 6 am and 4 pm every day, including Saturday and Sunday:”

Following this was the list he had long ago written down and taped to his desk. There were no details relating to the purpose of each task, just procedure. He’d kept to the instructions consistently, every switch flipped and seemingly-pointless button pressed, though he’d been very close to missing the 4pm mark on several occasions because of the dreaded walk to the top. This list, again, wasn’t much help. He went over the document a few times then set it aside and flopped onto his back, scattering some loose papers to the floor.

He’d need to find some other angle. Research was a non-starter for him without experience, and as far as his town knowledge was concerned, it wasn’t wrong to call him forgetful in that area as well. It was likely he’d have to accept his part as an amateur tour guide. It didn’t feel like enough, but starting Monday, he’d be back to working and have no time to help anyway, unless their work somehow kept them late into the night.

Jon had been nice with all the working-together talk, but Martin knew he wouldn’t be of much use at all. If he wanted to be helpful, he should begin prepping for dinner.

-

As evening turned to night, Martin and his mother sat at the dining room table in silence, interrupted only by the light clinking of plates and utensils as they finished the pan-fried chicken and vegetables in front of them. Weekends were always better meal days, always leaving Martin feeling more satisfied with his cooking with all the time he had to focus on it. His mother showed no greater signs of enjoyment than eating without complaint.

“Mum, can I ask you something?” Martin ran his thumb against the smooth metal of his fork. “It’s about work.”

Martin’s mother paused from eating another bite of her meal. “What is it?” she asked, frowning.

Swallowing hard, Martin said, “How much have you had to deal with the Lukas family? There’s this research project being completed and it’s involving a lot of history, so I thought since you’ve lived here so long-”

“Long enough, yes.” Martin could see her nostril twitch. “They came long after I did but will most likely stay until the fish run out. Otherwise, I kept to my business and they kept to theirs. No reason to get involved with people who wouldn’t bother walking down the hills on foot.”

“Right, it’s just-”

“I don’t feel like talking, Martin,” she said, her voice cracking slightly at his name. “My throat is too sore.”

“Right. Okay, I’ll get you some more water.” He picked up her glass to refill and bit back any other questions. Next to the sink was his mother’s pill case with the current day’s compartment still full. “We’ll get your meds done now, then. Should help a bit.” His mother didn’t respond, having already returned to her dinner.

Afterwards, she requested to step outside. “The night air is good for my lungs,” she argued as a matter of fact, and with no way to dissuade her, Martin completed their little ritual of walking out the door and standing in the fog-filled night in silence, his own face covered in an old scarf. His eyes watered in the dry, salty gale, and he wondered how much time it had taken for his mother to withstand the sting without any tears.

-

By mid-morning the next day, Martin had finished his duties upstairs. Sitting at the table, he listened to the group’s progress from after he had left them the day before. Spread across the table were photocopies of what looked like legal documents, some of the bare spots between them filled with used mugs of varying sizes.

“We weren’t able to stay there for long before it closed, but we were able to look up some records at the library yesterday,” Sasha explained, sifting through the papers. “Not a terrible archive, all things considered. We’re going to head there again tomorrow morning for a more in-depth look. We didn’t even get to looking for details on the construction of this place.”

“But!” Tim waved one of the copies above his head. “We did get some info on the Lukases themselves. Current residents in town, major stakeholders, that kind of stuff. And-” He pressed the sheet close to Martin’s face. It was a copy (of a copy) of a newspaper article featuring the lighthouse, with some figures standing at the entrance, including one Peter Lukas. “Martin, d’you know anything about the person who worked here before you? He’s one of the younger ones in the family, standing on the left.”

Martin scratched the back of his neck, squinting at the photo. “A bit? Evan Lukas, he was really nice from what I’d heard.”

Tim frowned, lowering his arm. “‘Was’?”

“Yeah, he passed away before I started working here. Peter said it was some heart thing. Runs in the family.” Tim slumped. “Sorry! I’m surprised the records didn’t say so. It was a pretty big deal, really shook people. It made the front page, though I never read the details.”

“Did you ever meet him?” Jon asked, tapping on the rim of his empty mug.

“Sort of? We went to school around the same time and were only a few years apart, which was weird since you wouldn’t expect him to go to a state school with a family like that? Anyway, that was years ago, but even after that you’d hear about him. He was gone for a while, actually, but somehow he ended up in this old place a few years back and, well, y’know.” Martin rubbed his hands.

“Hmmm.” Tim leaned back in his chair, flipping a pencil between his fingers. “Okay, well, that’s one person we probably can’t talk to outside of spookier means. Is there anyone who knew him well?”

Pausing for a moment, Martin said, “I think… no, yeah, he was engaged, but his fiancée left town pretty soon after he died. Don’t know anything about her except she wasn’t a local.” Silence stretched over them as Tim sat in his disappointment

“Well, shit,” Tim let out in an overblown sigh. Sasha patted Tim’s shoulder in sympathy. He grinned at her. “That’s all I’ve got, then. Time to call it a day?” he asked, earning himself a pinch on the ear.

“We’ll just have to go over the items we have until tomorrow,” Jon said, his sigh brimming with exhaustion. “Who knows, we might’ve missed something the first time. Before that, Martin, who was the person we missed yesterday? Would they be worth talking to?”

Hesitating, Martin responded, “Maybe? But if you’ve already got a way to look up historical stuff, it might be better to skip this one.” Jon raised an eyebrow at him and his stomach dropped at the attention.

“It’s just, he’s an eccentric person, difficult to track down, and while he knows the Lukas family pretty well, it’s only because their families do business. His family, the Fairchilds, they’re not a huge family in this town, but this guy, Simon, he’s, well. He’s this small, old man, right?” Martin tapped his foot, looking for something to say to end his babbling. “And you know the cliff behind the lighthouse? It’s got at least 150 meters straight down to sea?” The three nodded, and Martin smiled, his brows furrowed.

“Years ago, he dove right off the damned thing.”

-

Tim gaped over the railing, his breath floating over the edge. Sasha and Jon gaped slightly less, and from a safer distance, though that didn’t seem to save Jon from the effects of the harsh, cold wind that sent him shivering through a nothing of a windbreaker. Far below the cliff’s edge, down past the wind-worn rock and smattering of trees, through a thin layer of fog that cradled the seaside, there waited an incredibly harsh landing of sea and stone.

“But there’s a fuckload of rocks down there?” Tim sputtered.

Martin kept his gaze straight forward. “Yeah.”

“And even if he just hit water, I mean-”

“Made it out just fine.”

“And you were thinking of just skipping this guy? I don’t care if he’s unhelpful, I want to see if he can fly or something.” Tim stepped from the safety rails, giving one a good pat.

Sasha crossed her arms, eyeing the drop. “Do you know where we can find him?”

Martin scratched his face. “Most of the time he comes here to see Peter for business. Peter absolutely hates it since it’s usually out of nowhere, and Simon always claims he does it because he likes surprises, but I think he just likes to be irritating. Otherwise…” Turning to look at the lighthouse, Martin said, “I do know where Simon lives, and while I can’t guarantee he’ll want to speak to you about anything specific, he definitely loves to talk.”

“Is there anything he’s said to you about the Lukas family? Or the building?” Jon looked at Martin intently, clearly doing his best to not shiver.. “Anything that might’ve seemed like nothing more than gossip or reminiscing?”

With Jon staring at him, Martin’s brain sputtered to a stop. “I-I don’t think so? Like I said, he’s eccentric, so it’s hard to pick apart anything he says as being sincere or as a joke. He told me he was once a firebreather, and I still don’t know if I believe him. Sorry, I know that’s not super helpful.” Martin rubbed the back of his neck.

Jon relaxed his gaze, his corner of his mouth quirking down just a little. “It’s all right. If we can get a hold of him, we’ll ask him some simple questions and hopefully sift through any confusion. Right now, we can all stop giving ourselves vertigo and get back inside. It’s freezing out here.” Jon made a show of shoving his hands under his arms and walked back to the lighthouse.

“Poor guy’s circulation is shot, honestly. Could get hypothermia walking into a basement,” Tim teased behind his hand, not bothering to lower his voice as he leaned toward Sasha and Martin.

“Ha. Very funny.” Jon sent a withering glare over his shoulder and slipped indoors. They followed him back inside, and while the other three sat to discuss possible interview questions, Martin got another round of tea going. He had to have some of those to-go paper coffee cups somewhere in these cupboards, but no amount of looking revealed them. Instead, he managed to find one lonely travel mug and contemplated his options.

Would it be too obvious? Would Jon consider it him joining in on the teasing? At the thought of Jon stubbornly standing outside in a too-thin jacket, Martin resigned himself to whatever reaction he would receive. Either way, he'd get something warm in Jon’s hands so the little pang in his chest would go away.

When Martin brought him the mug, Jon looked suspicious but didn’t complain.

Chapter Text

The sun finally peeked through the clouds as they walked across town. Things began to warm up, but Jon kept his hands firmly around the mug, sniping back and forth with Tim about appropriate attire for weather conditions. Martin and Sasha walked some paces ahead of the bickering pair.

“Hey, Martin, can we talk?” Sasha said, hefting the recorder bag more securely on her shoulder. “Jon told me about the conversation you two had yesterday.”

Heat rushed to the tips of Martin’s ears, and he thanked the cold for making his face pink. “We did, yeah. So... you know everything?”

“Yeah, I know that the lighthouse can’t keep secrets. I also know that, despite everything you heard, you’re still able to work with Jon and help us out, so thanks for that. It’s not something you have to do for us.” Sasha twisted a dark curl of hair with her finger. “And, sorry. I know I said some not so nice things myself. Might as well get that out there, too.”

Martin blinked, then laughed a little. “It’s-It’s really fine. I can’t say I’m not curious about all this, and with Jon, I get it, lots of stuff going on. Apologies accepted all around.” That earned Martin a grin.

“Good. Don’t want the week to end with you not thinking I’m a delight. The others, you’re free to make your own judgments.”

Martin snorted and looked back at Jon and Tim, who were still going at it. “Do they do this all the time?”

“Well, with this particular topic, Jon is notoriously terrible at dressing for the weather. I think Jon thinks he can handle more than he really does? Or wants to seem like he can? Me and Tim could never tell if he’s doing it out of stubbornness, or just not thinking ahead.” Sasha laughed, her voice full of genuine affection.

“I mean, he’s never been here, right? So I suppose he could’ve, I dunno, seen a bad forecast or misread something,” Martin argued weakly.

“Trust me, he doesn’t need your excuses. He’ll have to accept his low heat retention eventually, and even then he’d just say it was fine. Maybe keep that mug filled so he remembers not everything is supposed to be freezing.” Sasha lightly knocked her elbow into his arm.

The idea squeezed his heart a bit. “Will do, unless Tim’s jokes ruin the taste of tea for him.”

“Hasn’t happened yet! Don’t worry, this’ll be forgotten whenever we get to the next big thing. It’s just how they work.”

“You’ve all worked together for a while then?” Martin asked. “You all seem pretty comfortable around each other.”

“You think so?” Sasha looked back again and caught Tim’s eye. He stuck out his tongue. She smirked and turned back to Martin. “We’ve been on the same research team for a little while now and worked around each other for even longer. Jon being our boss is still pretty new. I don’t think he’s sure what to do with the idea.”

“He seems… stressed on principle?” Martin offered. “He also said something about a project that all of this took him away from, so I can’t imagine that’s helping anything.”

“Yeah, he has his own pet research on top of our other work. Couldn’t tell you what it is though,” Sasha said, shaking her head. “He keeps anything about that with a tight lid. Not that I haven’t tried.”

Martin’s shoulders slumped. “Ah, okay. I thought you might know…”

“Nope, sorry. Being close coworkers only goes so far. Maybe he’ll tell you if he likes you enough. Me and Tim might be too much of a risk as scientific peers.”

“You think it’s like that?”

“I think this kind of research is hard to get through to peer-reviewed journals. If you have something good, you need to be at least a little paranoid. That’s how I feel, anyway.” Sasha looked back and said, “Can you two hurry it up? We’re almost there.”

Tim and Jon stopped in the middle of their squabbling. Something up ahead caught Tim’s eye. He whistled. “That seems right.”

Their destination was a mansion tucked into the wooded outskirts of town. It was wide and sturdy with looming columns and sloped shingles. Taking in the building’s massive size, it was almost impossible to detect the slight tilt of the structure, but it was enough to make Martin’s eyes go screwy trying to compensate as the path curved up toward the front gate.

The gate swung open as they approached, and standing in the front doorway of the house was a short, very pink man with a pleasant smile. From there, he waved at his guests. “Martin! Peter hadn’t told me anything of your coming. Everything is all right, I hope?”

“Yes, Simon, everything’s fine. I’ve brought some associates of Mr. Bouchard, one of Peter’s beneficiaries. They’d like to speak with you.”

Simon’s grin grew wide. “Of course! Love to have guests. Simon Fairchild, as I’m sure Martin here has told you. Please, come this way.” They followed him inside, where an attendant took their coats. The interior of the home was even more grand, and up the center stairs at the back of the foyer was a large, stunning mural of the sky.

The painting only stopped when the bordering walls forced it to, and even then with reluctance. The variations of blue gave it an incredible depth despite the lack of clouds or celestial bodies. It pulled the eye up and away from the horizon line and, at the bottom left corner, there was a minuscule silhouette of the town, only recognizable for the lighthouse sitting at its edge. It was too small to anchor Martin for long from the expanse that stretched the full length of the wall, but just big enough to give a sense of scale.

“Nice, isn’t it?” Simon asked, noticing Martin’s stare. He continued, leading the group toward the staircase. “While I consider myself in good health, painting something so large nowadays would wreck my wrists, I think. It may not seem like it, but the details do need to be just right or the whole thing doesn’t work.”

Martin nodded in vague understanding and made a pointed effort to not stare at it. If there was any more vertigo sneaking up on him, he wouldn’t fall for it that easily. “It’s really nice. Very, erm, deep.” From behind him, Tim barely choked back a laugh in his throat. Martin smiled sheepishly at the old man. “Sorry, I don’t know much about painting.”

Simon waved his hand as if brushing away a fly. “No need to worry. It seems you’ve got the big picture, and that’s all the compliment I could need.”

He led the four of them up the stairs, past the mural and up another flight, and then another, and another, until finally to their relief they entered some sort of sitting room. The far wall was all glass sliding doors leading out onto a balcony. Simon sat in a comfortable chair facing the doors, and they sat around him. “It’s good to have a view of what inspires you, though I won’t make any of us sit out in the cold. So, tell me, what can I do for you all?”

“Well, Mr. Fairchild,” Sasha began, “We were hoping you could help us. We’re doing some research on the history of this town and of the Lukas family-”

Simon clapped his hands together. “Ah, yes! I’d love to help, though, of course,-” Simon sent a knowing glance toward Martin, who winced. “Peter will owe me a favor for it. I could start with Peter for fun. Plenty of stories of him as a surly young man. Or-”

“Actually, we did have some questions to start, Mr. Fairchild,” Jon said, pulling the equipment bag to himself. “Do we have permission to record this conversation? For archival purposes.”

“Someone is impatient. Simon is fine, and yes, though I hope you’ve brought enough tape.”

Jon scowled and kept his head down as he set up the recorder. “I’m sure we have enough.”

“I’m ready when you are, then.” Simon settled into the back of his chair, interlocking his fingers in front of himself. Once the recorder was set up, Jon turned it on and began.

“First thing’s first, how long have you lived in this town?”

Simon was fairly straightforward in his answers to start. Though not born there, Simon was a long-time resident, stretching all the way back to before his substantial wealth accumulation later in life. He’d found inspiration in the locale and decided it would be his home, starting with a small house on the very property where the mansion now sat.

“It’s the way the town sits, you see. From this point, despite how much you may try, you can’t see the ocean, and so once you look past the edge, it’s all sky.” His eyes glassed over, a dreamy look overtaking his face. “I’ve only been able to capture this feeling when on one of Peter’s larger boats on a cloudy night. You would look up and there was nothing above, and there was no light to shine on the sea below. Quite a wonderful experience. To have a home feel that way all the time? I am a lucky man.”

“Have-” Jon tried to say.

“Peter’s lighthouse as well, to an extent. Love to visit the place. I can’t imagine what it’s like to be there so often, but I can only bother Peter so much at a time before he gets touchy.” He gave Martin a conspiratorial wink.

Jon tried again. “Actually, we did want to ask about the-”

“The lighthouse, of course. It was here long before myself, if I’m remembering correctly. I wanted to know all about the thing when I first arrived. Even painted it at some point, though I could never get it quite right. How can a painting capture that sound?”

“Th-”

“And the view from the top! I could look at it for hours, if Peter weren’t so picky about me being there. Martin, you really must ask the man to relax. You put him in a room with one person and he’s so-”

“Do you know who might’ve built the lighthouse, Mr. Fairchild?” Jon raised his voice, and Simon raised his eyebrows in delighted surprise. Jon coughed awkwardly and seemed to calm himself. “Since you were so interested in it, perhaps we could hear about it?”

“Hm, yes, I’m sure you could, though really, I’m not sure you all are asking about it for the right reasons. I told Peter the same, but his family has always owned it, so maybe I’m not one to judge in this matter.” Simon eyed the group. “So, what is it that interests you all about the lighthouse? Historically, I can’t be of much help. Nothing I read was of interest to me, so I forgot it all.”

Tim leaned forward in his chair. “You’ve read other things about it, then? It’s a strange building, and surely you’ve noticed its... idiosyncrasies.”

Simon sat for a moment, pressing his fingertips together. Despite the gentle tone of his voice, his eyes were steel. “You’ll have to be more specific, I’m afraid.”

Martin rubbed his thumb into his opposite palm. “I think what Tim is asking is if you’ve read anything about the way it was built. How it looks, it’s not... normal? Like an optical illusion. It doesn’t look right.”

“But it does. Is that not how it should look? The way it always has?” Simon glanced across each of their faces and shrugged. “I don’t see a problem.”

“It made me dizzy looking at it, and not in a metaphorical way,” Tim said.

“Hmm, I’ve never had that experience. Must be a personal problem, and I can’t help with that, unfortunately. I love it as it is, in all of its strangeness, just as I love my little spot over the world. That’s all I can say on the matter, that and my personal experience which has been nothing but lovely.”

Tim struggled to find a response.

Jon rubbed the bridge of his nose. “You said you read about it. Can you at least point us to where you found that kind of information?”

The corner of Simon’s mouth twitched. “Not in the public library, I’ll tell you that. The information is out there I’m sure, if you want it that badly. But I can’t help you.” Simon stretched his skinny arms above his head. “Anyway, I believe you wanted to ask about the Lukases. I’d love to discuss them.”

Any other questions they had were drained from the sudden dead end. Simon spoke about Peter and his predilection toward avoiding people. He talked of his business relationship with Peter, and of Simon’s tourism company that often lined up well with the Lukas’ investments in real estate and travel options. The Lukases were an old family, and Simon had lived there long enough for people to forget he was new money. The Fairchilds weren’t even much of a family as they were an interconnected group of people Simon liked to associate with.

Everything past that was more than Martin cared to listen to. Time dragged on to the point where Martin zoned out entirely, and his eyes wandered over to Jon, who had run out of his more energetic irritation from earlier and had settled into a valiant attempt at taking notes about whatever tangent Simon had veered onto. At least he was trying, Martin thought. He let his gaze settle on a piece of hair that dangled in front of Jon’s angular face and imagined how Jon would look if Martin were to reach over and tuck it back into place. Probably weirded out, like Martin now felt after thinking about it.

It was Tim who eventually nudged him back to the present.

Simon looked at the wall clock as it chimed the hour. “It’s been a lovely time chatting, but you all must have quite a lot of work to do before the day is done.”

“Yes, well,” Sasha said, rolling her shoulders. “Thank you for speaking with us. It’s been very helpful.” Martin marveled at how sincere she managed to sound. Jon clicked the recorder off and began to pack it away. Getting up from his chair, Simon nodded to himself.

“I’ll have one of my own see you out, but before that, I’d like to have a word, Martin. It won’t take long.” He gestured for Martin to follow him out the door. Shooting a look at the others that he hoped expressed the horrible feeling in his gut, Martin followed.

They walked three doors down to a room with a small writing desk pushed under a large window, where Simon began to write something on a small piece of paper. Once he had finished, he held it out for Martin to take.

Martin approached with blatant confusion and accepted the note. “What-”

“Some things should remain off-record, I think. And perhaps it would be best if Peter doesn’t know you came here. You’ll have to deal with the burden of owing me a favor, unfortunately.” Simon smiled with his teeth. The paper had an address on it. “Take a look there if your curiosity gets the better of you, and if you stop by, I’d like you to pick something up for me.”

“I... what?”

Simon lowered his voice. “You see, I made the mistake of placing a bet with Peter a long time ago, and I ended up losing something. An old sketchbook of mine, to be exact, with my name written on the inside cover. If you all can get it for me, I’d very much appreciate it. Do be careful with it, though.”

“What-”

“Now, now. I’m done with your questions. You’d do well to keep from asking too many of them. It’s worked for you so far.” From over Simon’s shoulder, the sky seemed to grow past the window frame, folding around his entire field of vision in the deepest blue. Martin felt himself falling with a drop in his stomach, and Simon’s voice grew distant. “Good luck! I look forward to hearing from you.”

The blue was too much, and he blinked.

He opened his eyes and was doubled over, bracing himself against a wall and staring at the hall carpet. The door to the strange little room was shut, and from behind him came several sets of footsteps.

“Martin? Is everything all right?” Jon asked, stepping just into his periphery. “Did something happen?”

Martin groaned. “It’s fine. It’s all fine.”

Chapter Text

“You sure you don’t want to head home for the day?” Tim asked, picking at the grass beside him. He and Martin sat with their backs pressed against the cliff railing, facing away from the steep drop. The lighthouse loomed in front of them, barely casting a shadow as morning ticked closer to noon.

“Yeah, I’m okay,” Martin replied. He rested his arms on his knees, his chin buried into the fabric of his coat sleeves. “I don’t really feel like walking down the hill yet? I’ll at least wait for the others to get back.”

“Well, they should be here soon, unless the place Simon pointed us toward is yet another weird building that makes you feel like you’re falling into a big hole.” Tim squinted up at the sky and immediately seemed to regret it, leaning forward to drop his face between his knees. “Ugh, the Fairchild place was almost as bad as here. I’m surprised we survived the walk back down. If we didn’t have someone leading us out, we’d probably be swallowed up by the carpet! Sorry to say, but I think your whole town is fucked. Or any place owned by the weird old guy club, I guess.”

Martin grimaced. “I don’t get how Jon and Sasha seem so unbothered by it. If it were just me, I’d chalk it up to stress or something, but, well.”

Tim nodded in solemn understanding. “‘But, well’.’” He lifted his head and squinted in the sunlight. “It could be they’re faking it and I’m the only one willing to ‘fess up. If that’s the case, they’ve been really good at pretending their stomachs haven’t been dropping straight into the sea all weekend. But, between you and me, Jon can’t act for shit.”

Martin’s shoulders bobbed with silent laughter. “He seems very easy to read, yeah.”

“Oh yeah, I don’t think he’s ever successfully lied in his life, unless you count avoiding a subject altogether.” Tim smiled and leaned back against the railing, brushing a hand over his hair. “Glad you two are getting on, by the way. I’m sure Sasha already talked to you about it, but the turnaround really was impressive. I was concerned he’d just be pissy this whole week over some spilt tea.”

Martin buried the bottom of his face a degree further into his coat. “Please don’t remind me. Anyway, I’m sure having something weird to chase after helped. Means this place wasn’t a total waste of time for you.”

“Hey, it wasn’t gonna be a total waste. I can’t speak for him, but I for one love to make new connections.” He waggled his eyebrow, making Martin snort and turn a brighter shade of red. “Really, though, you’ve been a lot of help. If the walk home is that bad, you should just stay up where the sun actually hits for a while. None of us will mind if you hang around, and I need someone here to prove that my dizzy spells aren’t just me being ridiculous.”

Martin’s mouth sunk into a frown. “No, once they get back I’ll head home. Lunch won’t make itself.”

“What, don’t want to grab something with us nerds?” Tim asked, smiling broadly.

“N-No, I just, y’know, I bought groceries yesterday, and if I eat out too much, I’ll end up wasting some of it, and-” Martin searched for more excuses that wouldn’t bring his mother into the picture and failed.

Tim scrunched his eyebrows together in thought, then took out his phone and asked, “What’s your number?”

“What?”

“Your mobile? In case we need to reach you. And so I can send you dumb shit in my down time that I’ve already sent to Sasha.”

For a moment, Martin sat in stunned silence. “Um. Okay?” He said, his voice cracking in the most embarrassing way possible. Then, slowly, he took an old phone out of his coat pocket, technically a smart phone but just barely. They exchanged numbers, and Martin stared at the new contact before slipping the phone back into place.

“There, now you’re stuck with me. I’ll keep you updated if Sasha and Jon do in fact decide to do something stupid that gets us all disappeared. Speaking of,” Tim said, shading his eyes with a hand. “Here they come now, and Jon looks especially irritated.” They both stood up, grasping at the railing and sharing a weary look.

“Come on, guys,” Sasha yelled from the bottom of the steps. “Break time’s over.”

Back inside, the four of them sat around the table. From the looks on their faces, Jon and Sasha had been disappointed by their short venture. “So, how are you two doing?” Sasha asked. “How’s the nausea?

“Oh, just fine. We can almost get up without losing breakfast.” Tim said. “How was the place?”

Jon crossed his arms. “Unsurprisingly, Simon Fairchild sent us to an inaccessible piece of private property owned by the Lukas family. We couldn’t even get anyone to come to the door. For now, it may be a dead end.”

“I could try to get Peter to let us in?” Martin suggested with little enthusiasm.

Sasha looked at his obviously pained expression and shook her head. “No, bad idea. Simon was pretty clear on Peter not knowing we went to his home. I’d guess that extends to any of us going into this other place. If what you said happened back at the house is true, I don’t want that kind of risk. We’ll have to try it later and hope for an answer.”

Martin let out a relieved sigh and stood. “Good, good idea. I’ll be going then. I guess if you need me for… questions? Updates? Tim has my number.”

Sasha raised her eyebrows at Tim in amusement, while Jon rolled his eyes and scowled. With a lopsided smile, Tim shrugged and said, “What? The guy lives at the bottom of the world. We can’t drag him up and down that hill all day.”

Perhaps quicker than necessary, Martin excused himself and walked out of the building. The last bit of conversation he heard was Jon complaining about a lack of workplace professionalism, followed by Tim making a mocking comment that Martin couldn’t quite hear.

Once he had walked a little ways away, he relaxed. They really did balance each other out, the three of them. He could imagine Sasha breaking them apart in a little while, then getting them on task like before.

His hand brushed against the phone in his pocket, and he felt a little pang in his throat. He pushed the sensation down. Chances were, they wouldn’t need to call him, and it would be best to pay as little attention to his phone as he always had.

--

After the usual walk home, Martin approached his mother in front of the television. There was one of her Christian programs playing, the kind with the television preacher. “Hi, Mum.”

“You took much longer than usual,” she said stiffly. He could see her attempting to swallow and went toward the kitchen.

“Sorry, work ran long today. I’ll get lunch going.” He began to look through the fridge, considering his options.

“I’m not hungry. Just want a glass of water,” she said, her voice hoarse. Martin winced.

“One second.” He quickly filled a glass from the tap and brought it to her. “You will need to eat something to get your medication down. I’ll make something for both of us and we’ll see how you’re feeling then.”

She huffed in response, taking a sip of water and clearing her throat. Once food was ready, she did eat enough for her medication and then some, setting Martin at ease.

“It’s sunny today, if you’d like to sit out front,” he suggested after cleaning up the tray in front of her. She sniffed and otherwise stayed silent. “Okay… let me know if you change your mind. The fog even cleared out a bit-”

“I am not going outside today.”

“Okay.”

Martin left her alone and went back to the kitchen and set some chicken in the fridge to defrost. His future self would thank him later, he thought, and he went upstairs to figure out the rest of his Sunday.

The first order of business was to lay down and sleep for a while. Two busy mornings in a row and he was exhausted, the muscles in his legs finally catching up to all of the extra walking. As he lay down, he thanked his walls, bed, and windows for staying in place and gently drifted off to sleep.

Several hours later, Martin woke to find the sun had retreated back behind clouds and a familiar layer of fog. He reached for his phone on the bedside table to check the time. 4:30 pm. It was almost time to get dinner started, but before he could move to set the phone down, he saw there was text notification. Without his glasses, he had to squint and hold the phone close to his face. The brightness stung his eyes. The messages were from about fifteen minutes ago.

Tim: hey
Tim: what do these weird knobs and buttons do anyway

Attached was a distorted photo, apparently of the upstairs console in the lighthouse.

“Shit,” Martin mumbled, tapping out an answer.

Martin: dont know, peter never told me. work the lighthouse i guess, make sure the big light is running.
Martin: also what does all the static mean

Almost immediately, he got a response.

Tim: is that how lighthouses work?
Tim: means its weird shit. weird shit hates digital

Martin: its the only lighthouse ive ever worked in, your guess is as good as mine
Martin: oh good

No response came for a bit, and Martin took the pause to get out of bed. Halfway down the stairs, his phone buzzed.

Tim: update, stairs still bad
Tim: arseholes who don’t get spooky vertigo club

Attached was another photo, still fuzzy, this time of Jon and Sasha walking ahead with Tim’s hand just barely in frame, clutching the rail. Jon was looking at the camera with a stern expression, his mouth open in the middle of saying something. Martin laughed quietly and continued walking.

In the time it took to prepare the chicken for baking, his phone vibrated in his pocket a few times. With his hands coated, there was no way to check until he slid the chicken into the oven twenty minutes later.

Tim: dont think anything stupid will happen tonight
Tim: no one’s gotten too desperate yet but tomorrow is a new day
Tim: will let you know if we end up getting arrested in the middle of the night for trespassing tho

Martin: haha, very funny

Tim: give it until tuesday

Martin’s eyebrow twitched, unsure of how seriously to respond.

Martin: please dont get me fired?

Tim: no promises! ;)

It felt like a lighthearted enough response to put Martin at ease. Tim liked joking. Martin knew that by now. If Tim was saying it, then it was a joke. Plus, it was clear Sasha and Jon were very by-the-books. If Jon would lecture Tim about texting, he certainly wasn’t the type to do anything illegal.

Still, the number of times Tim had joked about it made Martin irrationally nervous. That and Simon being cryptic and threatening. And the buildings trying to make him sick. And Jon-

Sliding his phone into his back pocket, Martin distracted himself with preparing the rest of their dinner. It wasn’t the time to spiral. He had chicken in the oven and vegetables to steam.

Dinner was made and eaten within the hour, and Martin’s phone stayed silent for the duration. When his mother asked to go outside after dinner, he did his best not to be outwardly irritated at her change of mind and did as she requested, covering his face to protect himself against the night wind.

It wasn’t until later when he had just about settled down for bed that Martin checked his phone, under the pretense that he was setting his alarm for the morning. There were no unread messages, so he set his phone down onto the side table to charge.

The fog rolled outside his window, illuminated by the weak light of the front porch. When sleep eventually took him, he dreamed of nothing.

--

When 6 am came, Martin found himself in an empty lighthouse. Under his arm was the expected box of documents he was to work with for the week, which he set on his desk. He then dragged his chair back over from the folding table, which was still littered with loose papers and three used mugs.

“Right, right. Library day. They could’ve at least remembered to clean up a bit.” Martin brought the dirty dishware to the kitchen and placed them in the sink to soak, then looked around for something clean to use for himself. He managed to find a kitschy one he’d always liked, with a tiny, smiling whale on the side.

“Looks like it’s just you and me.”

His voice echoed through the building, the final ‘me’ stretching on much too long.

Martin glared out into the main room. “Yeah, yeah, I’m alone, laugh it up.”

Again, the last ‘up’ lingered and drifted up the stairs, and he wanted to slap himself for walking right into that one. There was no point in talking back to a possibly haunted building.

He settled on silently making himself some tea, then dove into the week’s work. It was mind-numbing, as expected, but after a while it grew to be calming and familiar. The weird ache in his chest gave way to distraction, and hours ticked by without interruption. Martin began to feel normal, or his version of normal before things started to be poked and prodded. Before he knew it, he had eaten lunch and was on his way to the second half of his shift.

“...up.”

Martin jumped, almost knocking over his tea. That had been his voice. Just a single noise that hung in the air with no echo to be heard. No, he thought, no, no, no, he was not going to take any bait in this place. He righted himself in his chair and reached for the pen he had dropped.

“Me. Up.” Even with his original tone resting in those syllables, the new sense of urgency was unmistakable.

Against every part of his brain screaming at him, he took a step toward the stairs. Before he could go any further the front door swung open.

“Hey, Martin, we’re back,” Sasha said, carrying a file folder. “We- woah, are you okay?”

Martin stopped and stared at her, his jaw clenched to the point of pain. “Um. Define okay.”

The three researchers stopped and shared a concerned look. Sasha walked over to set her things on the table. “Okay, okay, clearly something happened.”

“What’s going on?” Jon asked, looking around warily.

Before Martin could open his mouth, his voice came from above. “Up.”

Everyone froze, holding their breath for a moment. Jon was first to break the silence, his voice filled with disdain. “Good. It can record us now.”

“Up. Now.”

“Oh, shut up.”

Tim gripped Jon’s shoulder and gestured insistently to the front door. They all vacated the building and stopped on the front steps, finally letting out a collective breath.

“Have you all, um, dealt with ghosts? Directly?” Martin sat on the bottom step, rubbing his hands over each other. “Ones that take the last word you said?”

“We don’t know if it’s a ghost, but no, not personally,” Jon replied, sitting a few steps up and typing on his laptop. “Can’t say I really believe in them, either.”

Tim snorted. “Yeah, sure, definitely not a ghost in there.”

“I’m inclined to suspect something more concrete. Somehow, the lighthouse was trapping the sound of our voices. According to Martin it only used the last words he uttered, and the same happened with me. With only a few things to work with, it wouldn’t be hard to-”

“To accidentally order us up the creepy staircase of the creepy lighthouse.” Tim stood, hands in his pockets.

“If it’s using ‘me’, ‘up’, and ‘now’, what else could it say? Otherwise, there was just ‘back’ and okay’ as far as I can tell.”

They continued to go back and forth, Jon being much more stubborn about the whole thing than Martin would’ve expected from a paranormal researcher. Maybe ghosts were an especially contended subject? It didn’t seem like it from Tim and Sasha’s reactions, but Martin was out of his depth. People turning into seals was a far cry from specters and mind-bending architecture.

Still, it being a ghost sounded right. There were meaning and intent behind the words repeated back to him, he was certain of it. If that was the case, maybe there was someone or something in this place trying to talk to him. That’s what ghosts did, right? Reach out to the living?

“Then we’ll just have Martin stay outside for a bit,” Jon said, closing his laptop decisively.

Martin found himself back in the conversation. “What?”

“We’re going to try the place Simon pointed us toward again. Hopefully, we’ll be let in this time and get some answers. The library didn’t have much in terms of useful information, I’m afraid.”

Sputtering, Martin replied, “So, what, I’m just going to wait out here? I still have work to do!”

Jon stared at him and sighed. “Bring it outside then. It shouldn’t rain today, and we don’t want to risk anything now that we know something is… active. You’re sure nothing like this has ever happened?”

“No, this is... new.”

“Then the safest thing is to avoid whatever is going on. It’s for your own well-being, and since we’re probably the cause of it, I don’t want to be in the business of putting people in danger.” Jon said. Martin was at a loss for arguments and nodded. “Good. If our luck hasn’t changed, we’ll be back soon. Otherwise, I suppose Tim will text you the good news.” There was a slight, acidic turn to Jon’s voice near the end that Martin couldn’t place.

Martin pushed himself onto his feet. “Okay… good luck? I guess? I’ll go get my work, then.”

Apparently satisfied, Jon placed his laptop into its case and motioned for the other two to follow him. As they left, Tim shot Martin a worried thumbs up.

When Martin walked back inside, he stopped halfway to the desk, eyes glued to the staircase.
He had told Jon he would get his things and go outside.

“Hello?” Martin waited and got no response. “If you’re a ghost, now’s the time to say so.” Still nothing. He let out a noise of frustration. “Say something? Please?”

“Hello? Up. Please?”

Taking a glance back at his desk, Martin bit his tongue and internally berated himself. No use giving the place a name to call him. He really was an idiot, he thought, creeping up the staircase as if the ghost might hear his footfalls. Why had he taught it to be polite?

Chapter Text

Communication ceased once Martin began his ascent, and with every step he felt more and more like an idiot. This was some sort of evil trap, and now that he had fallen into it the thing had no more reason to talk to him. All it had to do was wait for him to reach the top. And he would go, if only because of some natural connection to the sound of his own voice.

This is what he got for talking to himself through objects. How often had he spoken aloud to those silent walls, secure in his belief that no one could be listening? If he returned from this misguided venture intact, his words would remain safely on paper, where no one could snatch them.

Martin could still turn around, but then he wouldn’t know what it was. From then on, he would have to sit in the lighthouse, forever convincing himself that sound just ‘traveled weird here’. If he wanted to keep his job, Martin would have to face whatever it was and not let it scare him out of a good paycheck. And if the thing turned out to be a long-dead person reaching out for help, then turning around at this juncture would be a horrible trick to play.

Above all, the others had come here to figure out what’s going on. He and Jon had agreed to work together, and Martin had no intention of slacking on his end even if he wasn’t exactly an equal in this field. So, he climbed the stairs toward the unknown creature luring him upwards with his own stupid voice. Then, he paused.

“Yes,” he said, waiting for the sound to fade. Nothing followed after it. “No.” After a moment, he started walking again. He noticed immediately that his footsteps were deadened. “Oh, um, thanks. I-I figured those would be useful for whatever you’re leading me to. May I ask some questions?”

“Yes.”

Martin took a deep breath. “Am I safe going up to the top?”

He didn’t receive an answer until his voice had ceased to echo. “No. Me. Okay?” The sound ended with Sasha’s upward inflection.

“Oh. Well, um. That’s not okay? Or not very encouraging?”

“Me. Okay.” Only his own voice rang out this time.

“You… okay… You are okay? You specifically are safe?”

“Yes.”

Martin sighed in some small relief. “I guess I have no choice but to take my own word for it.” He chuckled. The close space amplified his discomfort. “I knew already that upstairs wasn’t safe anyway, so dumb question on my end. You… are you the lighthouse?”

“No. Now.”

Martin found himself at the top of the stairs. The room looked as he had left it. “Okay, I’m up here. Are you gonna, I dunno, show yourself?”

A long silence followed before he got a response. “Please? Questions?”

“What do you-Oh. Oh, you need more words. Okay, um… Are you a ghost?” Another moment of silence.

“No.”

Martin deflated. He had been rather hoping for a ghost, if only because he had some context for them. If this wasn’t a ghost… “Sorry if this is a rude one, but are you a person?”

“Yes. Me. Yourself?”

“What? Yes, I am? Obviously, I- wait, can you see me?”

“No. Me. Yourself?”

There was something Martin wasn’t getting. He let out a frustrated grumble. “Okay, look, you’ll have to keep it to simple yes-or-no answers. I know it’s difficult, but if you’re a person, then I’m trying to help.” No answer followed. He looked about the room. “You wanted me to come up here. Did you want me to look outside?”

“No. Help. Me. Help. Please?”

“I-” Whether the desperation was genuine or just leftover from his own voice, Martin’s heart was in his throat. “I don’t know how. You have to tell me.”

“Help. Me. No. Outside. Please? Questions?”

“I don’t know what else to ask!” His head began to throb with the barrage of words. “W-Why haven’t you spoken before?”

“Top? Happened. Top? Help. Me.”

Letting out a groan, Martin leaned back against the wall. “You just said I didn’t need to see outside! I don’t think I can even go up top? Unless there’s something on the panel that does it.”

“Before? Before? Before? Yes.”

“Now you’re making no sense at all. Shit, this isn’t working.” Martin eyed the stairs.

“Working. Yes.”

“No, it’s definitely not.” Martin pinched the bridge of his nose, letting the word be absorbed by whatever he was speaking to. “Maybe I’m not the person for this. Hell, maybe you’re not even here.”

“Me. Here. Help me. Please? Yourself? Working. Before?”

Pressed against the wall, he sank to the floor. The ache in his head had developed into a full migraine. “Just- just be quiet.” The word filled the room, then subsided. No sound came after. “I’m… I’m sorry. I am trying, but talking to you hurts. It feels like my brain is going to split in half.”

After a few minutes, at a lower but still head-splitting volume, he heard himself speak. “Yourself? Outside? Lighthouse? Me. Here. Okay?”

Martin groaned. The thing was trying to comfort him. He was so incompetent, his own disembodied voice was telling him to take a breather. He dropped his head onto his knees. “No, no, I’m fine. Sorry. Let’s… let’s try again. Did you want me up here for something outside of the lighthouse?”

“No.”

“Okay… Is it in another room of the lighthouse? Downstairs?”

“No. Here.”

“Is it… shit, I’m stupid, is it the panel?” Martin pushed himself off the floor, straightening himself out.

“Yes. Yes. Panel.”

In a few strides, he was standing in front of the many switches, dials, and pulleys. Everything was in order, just as he had left it the day before, except- “This was messed with. Tim, he asked me about it, did he…”

“Yes. Top. Happened. Panel.”

Top. Top happened. Out of habit, Martin twisted the misaligned dial back into place. “You there?” The reverberation on the final word didn’t stretch on as expected, and he received no answer. He turned it back to where it was.

“No. No. No. No. No. No. Please.”

“Sorry! Sorry, I wanted to see if- Sorry, I won’t do that again. Right, okay, um-” He examined the panel, willing himself to have a sudden epiphany of which button did what. Everything was as unmarked as before. “Okay, okay. Question: when Tim messed with it, why didn’t you say anything then?”

“Then? Think. Not. Working? Now. Working?”

Speaking of, Martin’s head was about to tear itself apart. “Okay, you couldn’t for whatever reason. Fine. I’m-” A buzzing came from his pocket. Tim was calling him. “Oh, shit, wait, let me take this. Sorry.” He pressed the answer button. “Hello?”

From the other end, he could hear Tim over heavy static. “Hey, it’s me. Bad news. No dice on the Lukas place, and Jon and Sasha are not happy about it. How’s it going over there?”

Martin paused for a moment, eyes glued to the panel. “Oh, y’know. Getting work done?”

“Great! We’ll be back soon to figure out your ghost problem. Also, wow, the sound quality is fucked just being outside of the place.”

“Yeah, there must be an area around that it affects.”

The sound from Tim’s end became more muffled, as if he had covered the receiver with his hand. After a bit, he said, “Oh, Jon wanted to reiterate that you should avoid contact until further notice. Don’t want you getting replaced by a doppelganger or something-”

Jon spoke from somewhere off to the side. “I never said-”

“We all know you meant it, though!” Jon mumbled something Martin couldn’t hear, then fell silent. “Anyway, see you in a bit!”

Martin’s throat ran dry. His voice came out hoarse as he responded, “Yeah, see you soon.” The other end cut off, and Martin quietly placed the phone back into his pocket. The panel loomed in front of him, making his blood run cold.

“Hello?”

He jumped, the tension in his muscles releasing like a spring. “Y-Yes, I’m still here. Don’t worry.” Keeping his voice even, Martin reached toward the dial and froze. “Hey. Do you promise you’re not going to hurt me? Or the others?”

“Yes. Please? Help.”

Swallowing hard, Martin grabbed the dial. “I’m really sorry, but I have to go. I don’t know who you are, but I’ll come back soon once I know more. I promise.”

“No. Please? Please? Help. Me. Help. Me. H-”

Martin turned the dial, and the room went silent.

--

By the time Tim, Sasha, and Jon returned, Martin was working on the front steps, doing his best to use an old clipboard as a flat surface. His hand was shaking too much to write, but it was enough to look busy.

“Tim said things didn’t go well?” he said, not lifting his head as the three approached.

Jon snorted disdainfully and sat on one of the lower steps to Martin’s left. “A person did come to the door this time, but of course the place we're trying to get into, some sort of storage building, is ‘only open to family members’.” Martin could see Jon using air quotes in his periphery. "Now I’m sure they ignored us yesterday and hoped we wouldn’t come back.”

Tim and Sasha sat on either side of Jon. Tim leaned back and settled his elbows on one of the upper steps. “I could’ve tried my usual method of entry, but the lady who answered us could’ve killed me with that look of hers. Froze my heart solid.”

“I don’t think anyone in that place would be responsive, no. Also, Martin?” She turned to face him. He kept his head down and raised his eyebrows. “Did anything happen when you went back inside? To grab your things?”

“What? Oh, nothing much. It… it did speak to me again. Said to go up.”

Sasha’s stare bore into him. “Martin… did you do what it said?”

Martin’s head shot up. “No! No, I mean, you all said not to, so I didn’t.”

“You’ve been avoiding eye contact, and when Tim called you it was full of static. Did you go upstairs?” she asked, her expression curious and composed.

Tim and Jon turned to stare at him in alarm. Martin’s eyes bounced between all three of them.

“I-I didn’t, I swear! It just-”

Jon raised an eyebrow at him, and Martin’s brain stumbled to a halt. Was there a point to lying? Why had he jumped to it so quickly?

“I… I thought it might be a person.” From there, he couldn’t stop his mouth from running off without him. “And they said they were a person, and I know what you said about me being snatched up, but I think they need help, and I think I know how to help them, but Tim’s call freaked me out so-”

“Martin!” Sasha exclaimed, putting a hand on his shoulder. “Calm down. It’s okay. We’re not mad.”

Jon grimaced. “Just-”

“Please don’t,” Sasha said, putting a finger up to Jon’s face. “It was… not a smart thing to do, obviously, but it’s over now. Come on. Tell us what happened.”

Glancing behind him, Martin let his shoulders sag. “I talked to them for a while. They don’t have a lot of words, but when Tim messed with the panel, it allowed them to communicate through the echoes.”

Sasha and Jon turned their attention to Tim, and Martin looked at him apologetically. Tim gritted his teeth and said, “Martin didn’t have any answers on what the things do, so I figured it couldn’t hurt to-”

“To what, fiddle with delicate instruments that help stop ships from crashing?” Jon asked, crossing his arms.

“Look, we all knew they probably had nothing to do with a big light spinning around! And I could’ve sworn I left it in its original position,” he said, looking up at the lighthouse with uncertainty.

Martin shook his head. “It’s a dial I’m not directly instructed to touch, and it was definitely wrong from what I remember. When I turned it to the correct position the voice stopped, and after turning it back, they seemed panicked? Like it was unpleasant to be cut off.” Martin felt his chest twinge in guilt.

“They said they weren’t a ghost, but they’re not the lighthouse, either. Not now, anyway? That part was unclear. They wanted me to do something with the upstairs panel, to help them somehow. I was going to try, but then Tim called and said the doppelganger thing, so I turned everything back to normal. They… they were really upset.”

Once Martin finished, the other three shared a long, intense look he couldn’t parse, then stood. Sasha said, “Give us a minute.”

He nodded, pulling his knees close. They walked off toward the cliff’s edge. They were talking animatedly, but Martin could hear nothing of their conversation. With no energy left, returning to work was a fool’s errand. The familiarity no longer brought comfort, and his thoughts kept returning to the panel he had worked at every day for months.

Had he been hurting someone this whole time? If so, did they just want his help, or did they hate him for what he had been involved in? Had Peter put him in charge of keeping something dangerous locked up? Is that why the list had to be completed every day? If he had failed it just once, would something terrible have happened? Or-

“Okay.” Martin shook himself out of the panic spiral and looked up. Sasha stood directly in front of him with Tim and Jon following behind. No visible disappointment or anger from her or the other two. That was a plus. “We have a plan for our next step. Hopefully, it will lead to some answers about whatever that thing may be.”

“It’s more of an idea than a plan. I will say, I argued against it,” Tim said, plopping himself next to Martin with a weird grin. “Also, my estimate was a bit off.”

“What?” Martin glanced at the other two in confusion. “What are you thinking?”

Sasha smiled the calm and confident sort of smile Martin knew was meant to be reassuring, but Jon’s sheepish look away all but undermined the effort.

--

With the voice temporarily silenced, Martin finished the rest of his day indoors and completed his panel list, bile rising in his throat as he did so. He left the dial untouched.

Sleep did not come easily that night. Between what had happened and what was to come, all the possible consequences clattered around his skull in a restless cacophony. He wanted a plan. A plan required information, which he wouldn’t be getting that night. There was no point in brainstorming when he had no idea what he would be working with. He couldn’t sleep without a plan. So he spent his night falling in and out of sleep, the line between thoughts and dreams melding into a slurry of stress.

He spent the next work day in a mental fog, split between completing his duties and planning for the night ahead. Supplies, meeting spots, goals, contingencies, crude drawings of the target, the three researchers were a blur as they plotted. At one point he was left alone as the others scouted their target location, and he fought the urge to run upstairs. There would be time for it, but not yet.

When they returned, Martin replaced his glasses to hide the fact that he had been napping at the kitchen table.

“Taking a break?” Jon walked in to hang up his jacket.

“Yeah, just a quick one. Lots of things to keep in my head today. How was the place?”

“Good. No real security as far as we could tell. It might as well be a backyard shed.”

It was said so matter-of-factly that Martin had to scoff. “Is this really something you’ve done before?”

Jon sputtered for a bit. “It’s not something we’ve made a habit of! It isn't as if I drove into town planning on this sort of thing! But sometimes there’s an abandoned flat or closed down shop, and we need to get into them. This place will just be a bit more… active.” Clearing his throat, Jon sat at the table across from him. “Besides, this matter calls for urgent action. If you have your doubts you’re still welcome to excuse yourself, but we’ve made up our minds.”

Martin sat for a moment, picking at his nails. “No. No, I want to help. Things are wrong here. I knew that before you all started poking around, but I’d lived with it so long. I guess I just got used to it?”

“But you told us, and that’s what mattered.” Jon took a deep breath. “I understand if you’re afraid, but I can promise that ignoring it won’t do anything. I’ve definitely tried.” He laughed weakly and rubbed the back of his neck, then settled himself. “These things don’t go away when you stop looking at them.”

Silence hung in the air after the final echoes faded.

Martin spoke again, slowly. “The things you study, are they all like this? All incorporeal and mind-bendy?”

“For the most part, yes. There is a subsection of… beings that I would consider more physical, more concrete, but they don’t generally fall under our group’s purview. I doubt we’ll be running into them. That particular category is notoriously hard to track down because they know it’s more difficult to hide in plain sight, if that makes sense. Things like the-” he waved a hand vaguely upward. “Like them. They can hide by staying quiet. Others aren’t so lucky. If one can’t blend in, it’s better to avoid people altogether.”

Before he could stop himself, Martin said, “Unless they could, I dunno, make themselves look like people!” His laugh was hollow to his own ears. What would possess him to even bring that up?

Jon stared at him as if he had turned inside out. “...I suppose, though I don’t think that’s a problem here.” Shoulders tensing, he leaned toward Martin. “Unless you’ve remembered something else? Something strange in town?”

“No, nothing. Just another thing to be irrationally paranoid about, I guess.” The lie went down smooth, and Martin cursed himself for making it necessary.

This seemed to relax Jon enough for him to back off. “Good. Best to focus on tonight. If things go well, we could have a resolution to all of this in a matter of days.” He lifted his hands, seemed to forget what he had planned to do with them, and laced his fingers together instead. “And don’t worry. We have everything under control.”

--

Martin returned home after swinging by the general store for extra food stuff and batteries. Dinner was a quick affair, and his mother did not require time outside in the clear evening. After she was settled for the night, he went to his room.

On his bed, he laid a torch, some old knit hats, a new first aid kid, and a crowbar he had found in the storage room. Once he’d shoved everything into an old backpack, he stared at his phone, willing it to give him a signal that everything was called off. By 11 pm, he had elected to take a short nap. A little before 3 am, he had changed into a jacket that softened his movements and was walking out the front door.

“This is really fucking stupid,” he said, starting his trek up the cliffside. This wasn’t his first time walking on the path after sundown, late work nights had seen to that. He appreciated having a proper torch to lead the way, rather than relying on the weak light of his phone. He would have to remember that for the future. Into the darkness surrounding him, he said aloud, “This is bad, right? I shouldn’t be doing this.”

No reassurance or agreement came from the night. “It felt so reasonable when they explained it, and now I’m trundling up to town with a crowbar. ‘We have everything under control’. How is this having things under control? We’re going to get arrested, maybe worse. Sure, yes, I’d like to know what’s going on, but-”

But he might’ve subjected a person to something horrible, and if he didn’t do something soon, it would eat at him until he died and became a lighthouse-haunting ghost himself. If he had to do something reckless and stupid, at least he had others with more experience in doing reckless and stupid things. Breaking into old haunted houses felt less intense than their current objective, but according to his co-conspirators the logistics were about the same.

He reached the treeline, turning off his torch before the brush cleared. The town was pitch dark under the cloud cover save for sparse corner lights keeping the night at bay. That, and the intermittent shine of the lighthouse that scanned over his head like a searchlight.

Martin took the long way around, keeping to the edges in an attempt to avoid anyone like himself that might be out in the dead of night. Before reaching his ultimate destination, he ducked into an alleyway where three figures sat against the brick wall. One of them, Tim if he had to guess, waved and pointed across the street, back toward the trees.

Through the dark, Martin could just barely see the outline of a short structure with a flat top, nestled into the foliage. Around the property was a wire fence, just tall enough to be worrisome.

The three stood, adjusting their belongings. Martin handed them one knit hat each. Jon grunted and put his on to cover all but the very ends of his hair.

In the tiniest whisper he could manage, Martin said, “I have to repeat that I would like to not be fired.”

“That could change depending on what we find,” Jon said with a smirk. “And I assume the regular vertigo isn’t exactly a thrilling experience.”

Martin crinkled his nose. “No, no it isn’t. Not that you would know.” Martin bit his tongue, shocked at himself.

Tom snorted, and Jon squinted at Tim in confusion. Martin’s mouth quirked up. He continued, swerving away from his bad decision. “Yeah sure, I’d like to not be dealing with it, but I’d prefer to get that fixed and keep my job?”

Jon gave Tim a suspicious glare. “Of course. We’ve taken every precaution.” He adjusted his gloves and focused back on Martin. “You’re more than welcome to not be involved in the act, but you’ll have to make your decision now.” Jon looked at him, waiting.

He had wanted a way out, and Jon had one for him. All he had to do was take it, but the thought made his tongue dry. They wouldn’t need him, not really. He would bungle it up and find himself in jail, or worse. “Is there any reason I should go in the first place? Me specifically?”

Jon thought for a moment. “You have your own questions. Are you prepared to go looking for answers?” He crossed his arms and held Martin’s gaze.

The sheer expectation in Jon’s eyes hit Martin like a truck, and Martin knew his response. “You know what, fine. Yeah, I’m going.”

Letting out a breath, Jon smiled. “Good. I’d expect nothing less after the stunt you pulled today.”

“I’ll take that as a ‘good to go’ all around?” Sasha asked, slipping a pack over her shoulders and eyeing them both.

Martin nodded, the red tips of his ears quickly hidden under a hat. He mentally addressed the circumstances that had led him so rapidly to the point of breaking into his boss’ family storage house. What day was it, Wednesday? Barely five days and he’s possibly robbing a place with these people?

He felt a hand on his shoulder. Tim smiled, his teeth shining. “It’ll be fine. Just follow their lead. I’ll be out here keeping watch so you idiots get out safe.” Despite everything, it was oddly reassuring.

As he snuck off with Jon and Sasha, Martin felt a ridiculous warmth in his chest. The situation remained the same, he told himself. They were climbing a fence in the dead of night, on their way to do something incredibly illegal. Being in a group referred to as ‘you idiots’ shouldn’t have made him happy in any way.

Well, fuck. It was nice to be included all the same.

Chapter Text

“These locks haven’t been replaced in years,” Sasha mumbled. She was on her knees, gently poking and prodding the old padlock that secured the storage house’s back door. “Should be easy work, but it may take some time to avoid breaking it.” Unrolling a bag, Martin could see thin, metal tools with different heads and lengths.

Jon and Martin kept themselves pressed low against the wall. Every once in a while, Jon would check his phone for any warnings from Tim, careful to keep the light covered with his hand. Martin kept his eyes and ears trained on the woods nearby.

It was largely useless, as Martin couldn’t see shit. There was security to that, in a ‘he couldn’t see them, they couldn’t see him’ sort of way. The others hadn’t been concerned about things like night vision goggles or cameras. Something about wealthy families being tightfisted and how Martin’s salary was a miracle. In the dark they would be secure, unless a bear chose to join the party.

With every second that ticked by, tension grew in Martin’s stomach. The tiny clicks of Sasha’s instruments were an alarm in his ears with nothing to cover them. His eyes wouldn’t adjust in the thick dark surrounding them, and eventually he screwed his eyes shut to stop his vision from shifting and swirling. 

“Ha!” Sasha said, setting the lock beside her and stowing away her tools. “Okay, careful now.” With a gentle pressure, she turned the handle and pushed open the door. The three waited, listening for any disturbances in the darkness of the storage house. When nothing happened, Sasha motioned for the others to follow inside.

“All right,” Jon said, his voice low. “Based on the outside, we should head to that side area. The far door should go into that room connecting to the front entrance.” 

“Should? Didn’t you check this place out before?” Martin asked, his voice jumping up a register.

“Of course we did! But as mentioned previously, getting inside was-”

Sasha said with gritted teeth, “We can go over our planning abilities later. We need to get moving!”

Martin continued forward but added quietly, “Wow, very reassuring.”

From both of his companions, he earned a resounding “Shut up” that would’ve hurt if it weren’t for their perfectly matching inflections.

Keeping their torches off, they let the wall lead them to the entryway. Through it, a few windows to their left were just visible by the small amount of light that periodically entered with the turning of the lighthouse beam. With this small illumination, Martin could make out the edges of large shelving units. 

Sasha and Jon set themselves to work, taking thick blankets out of their packs and hanging them over the window frames. “Don’t worry, we tested these with our phone lights.” Sasha said, covering the last window. She hesitated, then added, “Well, probably best not to point your torch directly at them, but otherwise they should be fine.”

With their torches (mostly) safe to use, Martin could now see the room in full. Tall bookshelves sat in several rows facing the entryway. In the nearby corner was a small set of drawers. The wall was lined with filing cabinets, and all the way in the back right corner sat a small number of wooden crates. 

Martin pointed in the direction of the crates. “I’ll check those out, unless either of you want crowbar duty?” In response, Jon slipped between the bookshelves. Sasha smiled and waved her tools toward the cabinets. He sighed. “Right. My fault for volunteering.”

Before heading over, Martin went to the drawers up front and found some nails of different sizes, perfect for covering his tracks. Pushing them into the wood with a crowbar would be slow going, but it was better than risking the pounding of a hammer in the middle of the night.

Sasha swore as he walked by. “Some of these are locked. It’ll take some time if I try to open them all.”

“Do what you can with the unlocked ones for now. I’ll look for some sort of catalogue,” Jon said, and Martin heard what he judged to be the most academic sniffle. “If these people bother with a proper filing system.”

Sasha snickered. “Don’t worry, I’m sure the Lukases have thrown everything around willy-nilly just to vex you.”

“And yet it would still be better than our own archive. If you ask me, Elias prefers the mess of it, as if it helps us any for him to know where everything is.”

“God, you’re bringing this up now.”

On his way to the crates, Martin peeked at Jon who was scowling at the shelves. “So, what, you just have to ask him where anything is? What happens if you can’t reach him?”

Jon grimaced. “You spend several hours getting stabbed with the edges of old, misfiled reports on haunted petunias.” 

Sasha laughed, and Martin continued to the back corner, accepting that he must’ve missed some inside joke. Bending over the first crate, Martin braced himself on the side of its lid and checked for labels. All he found was a small series of letters and numbers. 

“Fuck.” He straightened and went for the bookshelves, walking back and forth along them to scan for anything obvious. What would a file directory look like? A bound book? A file folder?

After a couple of frustrating minutes, he heard from the other side, “Try looking for a binder. Easy to remove and change organizational data. I haven’t found anything on my end yet.”

“Oh. Thanks,” Martin replied, his face burning. “Not exactly familiar with this sort of thing.”

With new direction, he located a low shelf with several binders, and tucked between two dusty tomes was his target: page after page of a coded file system with labels and descriptions, split into different storage types. He let the others know, and Sasha looked through them until she found something of interest in the cabinets. 

Flipping through the pages, Martin located the proper entry and walked back over to the crates.

It was some personal belongings of an N. Lukas, some long dead relative. Nothing jumped out as important, so he dismissed it and went to the other crates. He had to climb on one to get a proper look at the one sitting on top of it. Checking the entry, he huffed out a small sound of curiosity and slid the crowbar out of his bag.

“Found something?” Jon said, peeking from behind the shelf.

“Yeah, I think so. Time to learn about my predecessor.”

With as little sound as he could muster, Martin slid the crowbar under the wood and used his weight as leverage. It was difficult from where he stood on the other crate, but eventually there was a sharp crack. Everyone froze, but after a moment of nothing they returned to work. Carefully pushing the top, Martin peered inside.

The contents were sparse considering the size of the crate. A sturdy leather jacket was neatly folded in a corner. A stack of documents in a file folder were held together with a red rubber band. Finally, in a small plastic bag, he could see a worn wallet and a mobile phone. 

“There we go.” Opening the bag, he took the phone to examine. Dead, of course. He turned it over to check the charging port. “Does anyone have a charger for this? It uses one of the older universal ones.”

“Check in my bag. I’ve almost got this,” Sasha said, hands still busy with their lockpicking.

Digging through the pack, Martin found the charger and plugged it into a nearby outlet. It would be a few minutes before Martin could learn its usability, so he started flipping through the banded-together papers. There were some school transcripts, job and school applications, and other documents that felt strange for a family to be holding onto, but Martin couldn’t judge sentimentality.

Tucked in the back of the file was a newspaper clipping from the date of Evan’s death. It was as Martin had heard before: cause of death was an “unspecified congenital heart problem”; died on his way home from work; found by his mother on the day of; vague mention of a nameless fiancée.

He checked the phone again, which seemed to be charging at a slow but steady rate. Another crate would have to do in the meantime. With its lightweight cargo, Martin managed to move it to the floor and check the one underneath. Nothing of interest, same with the one stacked on top in the corner. He enlisted Jon in lifting it up off the one below, then checked for the latter’s entry in the book.

“Oh thank goodness,” Martin breathed, feeling a weight lift off of his shoulders. “It has to be in here.” Removing the lid, he found himself staring at a treasure trove of what the entry had referred to as Peter’s “personal collection”, a vague term for a disorganized mess. 

The items varied wildly, thrown across each other with no care or preservation. Some of them were, to Martin’s untrained eye, seemingly precious artifacts belonging on display in a museum, not rotting away in an old crate in the middle of nowhere. Many were books bound in different styles. He tried to be gentle with the older ones as he looked across the covers and set them aside one-by-one. If any of these items were lost in a bet like Simon’s, the person involved must still be kicking themselves.

He almost missed it. In the corner of a book, Simon’s neat, tiny signature was etched into the leather. The urge to open it made Martin’s hands tingle. He took off his scarf and wrapped it around the sketchbook, placing it carefully inside his bag. Curiosity had pushed him far enough that night. Whatever might’ve been going on with that book, Simon was threatening enough for Martin to use extra caution.

Using his crowbar, he lightly tapped a nail into the already-made hole. It wouldn’t be strong under scrutiny with the splintered wood, but from the outside, it looked good as new. 

A small hum came from between the shelves. “Anything interesting?” Martin asked.

Jon coughed. “Possibly. Information on some of the industries the Lukas family are involved in. The list is… extensive. I think they might’ve also destroyed the local fishing economy, but that’s just conjecture on my part.”

Sasha sighed from the cabinets. “I’ve found a little on the lighthouse, but nothing on its origins. I can’t even find where the Lukas family would’ve purchased it from. However-” She waved a sheet of paper. “Turns out, Simon Fairchild made an attempt at a joint ownership of the place years ago. Rejected, of course, but I wonder what he wanted from it, besides another nice view.” She took a quick photo of it and replaced it in its file.

Martin enlisted in Jon’s help once more to re-cover the crate of Peter’s collection with the other crate. As they finished, the phone beeped from the floor, and the two swung around at the noise. “Okay, okay,” Martin jogged over and swiped at the screen. “Shit, of course.” 

While it hadn’t been wiped completely, all email, phone, and text messages had been erased, along with any photos or videos. No record of Evan’s days at the lighthouse, or why he had come back in the first place. Shaking off the disappointment, Martin looked through Evan’s contacts. 

His many, many contacts. 

Sure, he had been a popular guy in school, but he’d spread himself out in the years away from the little town. It took all of Martin’s will not to scroll quickly through the myriad of names. With the sheer number, it seemed Evan had resorted to leaving notes on them. To avoid mixing people up? Most likely, considering he had at least four Daves listed.

Evan had kept track of a lot of people. Many had clearly been his friends from his little notes about them. Where he met them, or who he knew them through, or little things that Martin could only assume were inscrutable inside jokes.

The mere thought of talking to Evan had sent a younger Martin running. The intimidation factor had been so strong in the moment. It felt stupid now, and Martin sat for a moment to take in the volume of people who hadn’t let something like fear stop them from talking to a genuinely nice person. 

It was no time to regret dumb social decisions from his teen years. He continued scrolling until a contact jumped out at him. Cheesy little hearts trailed after the name. 

Naomi Herne. 

He looked up at Sasha, who was thumbing through the binder. “Sasha, could you check something for me? A name, Naomi Herne. I think it might be Evan’s mystery fiancée.” He noted down her number along with Evan’s just in case.

“Sure thing,” Sasha said. 

Martin finished scrolling and failed to find any other pertinent names. The fact they hadn’t been erased felt odd, but when no explanation came to him, he turned the phone off and placed it back inside the plastic bag. Along with the stack of documents, he dropped the bag back into the crate, sealed it shut and climbed back down to the floor.

From behind him, he could hear Jon back between the shelves, mumbling to himself. His phone camera’s flash reflected off the finished wood of the bookshelves. Martin was about to ask Jon about his findings, but Sasha made a noise of recognition.

She focused on an entry, then walked over to one of the cabinets. “Huh. Guess not everything is locked.” She sifted through the folders and slid one out to browse its contents. It was heftier than Martin had expected.

Sasha’s eyes grew wide. “Oh. Ms. Herne was very busy.” 

“What?” Martin walked across the room to read over her shoulder. Sasha’s current focus was… a restraining order?

“What the hell?” Sasha said. She flipped through some more papers. “There’s… there’s location info. Looks like they’ve been keeping tabs on her. And here, some kind of documentation of her movements in town months back.”

The wheels turned in Martin’s head. “They didn’t want her in town. Maybe she-” 

There was a small thump from the bookshelves, and Jon ran toward the windows. “We need to go. Now!” Jon hissed, pulling down a hanging blanket.

“Shit.” Sasha looked at Naomi’s file and placed it in the drawer, shutting it tight. The three of them grabbed the blankets and stuffed them into their bags, and through the window, Martin could see the smallest hint of light near the street. Sasha slipped toward the exit. “Quick, out the back door!”

Doing their best without light, the three snuck down the hall and out from where they had come. Martin heard the door across the hall being opened just as they slipped outside. Jon was quick to slap on the padlock, and the three bolted into the dark wood.

“Oh fuck, oh fuck,” Martin gasped, refusing to look behind him. He heard footsteps close by, and from near his shoulder he could hear Jon’s hoarse, quiet breath. “If we go this way, I-I think I can keep us off the road.”

“As long as they didn’t see the blankets get torn down, there won’t be any other signs we were there,” Jon said, managing to get a bit ahead of Martin despite his shorter stature.

“You’d better be right. Sasha, was there another meeting point?” Martin asked.

No one answered, and Martin’s blood went cold. The only steps around him were Jon’s. “Fuck. Fuck fuck fuck. Should we go back?” 

Jon hesitated, then said through his own panting, “If something happened, w-we can’t stop now. It’s possible she ran in another direction. Going back wouldn’t be of any help. We need- we need somewhere to wait and hide. Once we have that, I-I’ll text Tim something innocuous in case something happened outside.”

Martin felt sweat running down his neck under his many layers of clothing. From where they were, he charted a course in his head. “Okay. I think I know a way to avoid town altogether.”

Using the distant beacon of the lighthouse as a reference point, the two ran through the forest. Every once in a while Martin would make a sharp turn, causing Jon to stumble after him. Trees jumped into their path, slowing the pace considerably, and after a few minutes the ground began to dip downward. 

There was no running on the slope without risk, and Martin slowed them both down to stop and listen for the sound of pursuers. As they waited in silence, holding back gasps for air, Martin could feel tiny scratches on his cheeks from branches that had caught him unawares. The only sounds were the screeching of insects and the beating of his own heart.

“Okay. No more running, but keep moving down,” Martin said, willing the blood in his ears to be still. 

--

The sun still had some time before properly rising, but exhaustion slapped Martin in the face as he stood on his front porch, fiddling with his keys.

“...You really think this is a good idea?” Jon said, straining to keep his voice low while still maintaining an appropriate level of incredulity. A yawn crept in at the end, lessening the effect.

Martin shushed him, unlocking the front door. “They have no reason to look down here. The woods are thick, and the path I took us through is weird enough that we could’ve gone in any direction. If anyone ever was following us.”

Jon grumbled and checked his phone again. He had texted Tim once they touched the stone-covered beach with no response, and grew visibly more worried with each passing minute. 

“You all have plans for this sort of thing, right?” Martin asked, one hand on the door. “Covered your bases?”

Swallowing hard, Jon said, “Y-yes. I’m sure Tim and Sasha are fine. They’re resourceful people.” He checked his phone one more time, then stuffed the phone in his pocket. “I have full confidence in them.” 

Tim had been right. Jon was a terrible actor, avoiding eye contact and letting his voice falter when he should’ve kept strong. Of course Jon was worried about his friends.

Martin cleared his throat. “Good. I’m sure we’ll hear from them soon. If we managed to escape, there’s no way Sasha got caught.” 

It took a moment, but Jon took in a deep breath and nodded. “Right. We’ll hear from them soon.”

Martin ushered him inside and toward the stairs. “Mum is a heavy sleeper, but still, be quiet please. We’re heading to the attic. She can't get up the stairs on her own, so there's no risk of her finding you.”

They walked up the steps and kept a slow pace across the upstairs hall. Martin pulled a rope at the end, releasing a ladder he just barely caught and set against the ground. Jon crawled up and into the small space.

“I’ll be right back,” Martin whispered. “Gonna stuff some things back where they’re supposed to be.” He left to replace his supplies into their proper drawers and boxes. 

After most of his things were put away, he took the sketchbook, still wrapped in a scarf, and slid it into the drawer of his nightstand, underneath his small notebook of poetry. He would have to figure out a good delivery method another time, when he wasn’t exhausted and filled with dread.

Before returning to the attic, he checked his own phone. He had also received Tim’s warning text, a simple “Time to go!”. It didn’t look like a message sent under duress. If Sasha had gotten into trouble, Tiim would’ve been around to help, and vice versa. Chances were they had all made it out okay, and the other two were being careful on their way back to their hotel. 

Martin climbed up the ladder to the attic. “Any news?” he asked, pulling the ladder up behind him.

From the other side of the room, Jon faced away from him and knelt in the corner. “They’re fine. She took a different route and met up with Tim. They’re at the hotel now.” There was a tremor in his voice.

Martin’s heart squeezed in his chest, and he shut the small trap door. “That’s good. Are you doing okay? I know it got bad at the end there, and-”

Jon stood and turned. His face was contorted with confusion and fury, and clasped in his grip was the limp, dusty skin of a seal. 

Every muscle tensed in Martin’s body as all but the thing in Jon’s hands faded from sight. Martin barely choked out, “Why-”

“You’re going to explain what this is doing here. Now.”

Chapter Text

“Please… put that down.” Martin stared at the seal skin in Jon’s arms, early dawn light bringing out the pattern of dark spots scattered across it. His voice came out strangled, and Jon’s furious expression would’ve stopped it completely if Martin could look straight at him. “You don’t-”

“No. No, you don’t get to tell me to do anything, not until you explain yourself. Until you explain this.” Jon gestured towards the skin, still keeping his voice low. 

Slowly rising from his position on the floor, Martin said, “You don’t understand. It’s-”

“I think I understand perfectly.” Jon stood to his full height as well. Martin reeled at the vitriol dripping from his voice. Where was this all coming from? Jon took a slow step to the side, his eyes trained warily on Martin. “But a confession would be appreciated.”

Martin took in a laborious breath, never looking away from his mother’s skin. It was covered in a thick layer of dust, but it still had a sheen where the light hit it. He could almost feel the sting of the wind, the pricking of tears in the corner of his eyes. Had it been sitting here this whole time, just out of sight? It looked so unexpectedly fragile on its own, and Jon’s grip was so tight around it.

Measuring out his voice, Martin said, “You know this was a fishing town years ago, and that skin is very old and delicate. Just set it down, and-”

“Don’t lie to me!” Jon snapped. “And don’t you dare lecture me on its proper care.”

Martin flinched, praying Jon hadn’t been loud enough. “Please be quiet! My mum-”

“It’s hers, isn’t it?” It wasn’t a question. Again, Jon moved a bit to the side, eyeing the trapdoor. “You said it yourself. ‘She can’t get up the stairs on her own’.”

“What are you implying?” Martin’s mouth went dry. A terrible heat crept up his neck. “You don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Then enlighten me.” Jon hissed, “before I do something drastic.”

Martin felt his resolve begin to crumble, but he clung to the remains. “Put it down. Please.”

“Not until you admit it. What this is. After everything this week, after everything tonight, you owe me the truth.”

“I...okay. Okay, just-” Pressure welled behind Martin’s eyes, the beginning of a headache. “What do you think it is?”

“A selkie skin. Or a silkie skin, or a seal folk skin, whatever you may call them here.” Jon’s voice, still shaky, took a weirdly proper tone for the circumstance. “Used by their owners to shift into seals. But you knew that, didn’t you? You’ve been hiding it, haven’t you? Keeping it up here, where she can’t reach it. You-”

“I didn’t even know it was up here!” Martin yelled, then slapped a hand over his mouth. He and Jon froze for a moment, listening for signs of a disturbance downstairs.

When there was no sign they’d been heard, Martin let himself drop to the floor, pulling his knees to his chest. His voice shrank to barely above a whisper. “I haven’t seen it since I was a kid."

Jon lowered his shoulders, his dark eyes still cautious. “And you expect me to believe that?” 

Martin scoffed, running a hand over his hair. “...Yes? I’m not imprisoning her, she’s my Mum! That’s a thing weird guys do to marry them or whatever. If the skin was up here, it’s because she put it here, probably when my dad left because I haven’t seen her change since then. There, is that believable enough?” 

Jon opened and closed his mouth a few times. A small burst of satisfaction quickly faded as Jon failed to respond. Great, Martin thought. In a pinch, he could strike someone silent by oversharing. Why had he even brought that last part up?

Desperate to pivot as far from this line of conversation as possible, Martin glanced at Jon with a miserable expression. “How did you know what it was, anyway? It just looks like seal skin.”

Jon’s face fell, and any indignation was replaced with something unreadable. He looked at Martin as if searching for something. 

Martin’s patience had run thin. “Look, you’re the one who demanded honesty, so if you don’t-”

“Fine! Fine.” Jon sighed, loosening his grip. Without looking at Martin, Jon lowered himself to the floor, the skin bunching in his arms. He smoothed out some of the ridges with a gentle hand. “I...I study them. The research I was working on before all of this, it’s focused on selkies. And beings like them, of course.” 

Martin squinted at him. “You’re not planning to take the skin, are you? For your ‘research’?” He was too drained of energy to ask with any real conviction.

The shock on Jon’s face was answer enough. “That’s not- I have no intention-”

“Good. Please set it down then.” Martin watched as Jon, still looking uncertain, gently placed the skin next to himself. “Thank you. Now neither of us are touching my mother’s skin. And… to me it was always ‘sea folk’, not ‘seal folk’, so. Put that in your notes or whatever.”

Jon raised his eyebrows. He coughed, pulling at the sleeves of his jacket. “You can’t blame me for being alarmed at the implications of all this. Not with what you seem to know.” 

Silence fell. The distance of the floorboard between them felt like a mile, and Martin’s stomach churned from the unexpected stress. The skin lay still on the floor like a bomb ready to detonate, and all Martin could do was stare at it.

“...You call them ‘sea folk’?”

Martin jumped. “What?”

“‘Sea folk’. I hadn’t heard that specific name for them. ‘Selkie’ is the most common in my experience, and the most preferred.”

“...Yeah. It’s what Mum would say, though I suppose she said ‘selkie’ as well.” Where was Jon going with this? “How… how did you know it wasn’t mine? Or, how do you know I’m not one?” 

Tapping the floor beside him, Jon said, “I suspected it to be yours at first, but it’s not large enough. Even with its supernatural properties, a selkie skin still follows some basic rules regarding how big it has to be compared to the selkie themselves. A skin of this size would not be able to cover your full height, therefore it would not be yours. As for the latter, I, um.” He looked away, avoiding Martin’s eyes. “I took an educated guess, based on your characteristics and the situation I’d observed.”

“Seriously? That’s all you had?”

“You-” It was Jon’s turn to squint. “Are you one?”

Martin rubbed his eyes. “That’s not really your business, but no, I’m not. In fact, the sea hates me.”

Jon looked puzzled by this. “I don’t believe that’s how it works. It’s a body of water. Yes, it can call out to selkies, but it’s not-”

“Who cares! It’s weird magic shit and sea salt hurts my eyes!” Martin kept a tight hold on his knees and clamped his mouth shut.

For a minute, they sat in complete stillness. Eventually, Jon squirmed in discomfort and attempted to rearrange his legs into a more comfortable position. “I have to say, this isn’t what I expected to find in your attic.” He scratched his face, then lifted his hand and didn’t seem to know what to do with it. It landed in his lap. “I, um. I apologize for jumping to conclusions. Seems I’ve formed a habit of doing so.”

“It’s… it’s okay? I guess? It makes sense, if you’ve mainly heard the stories.” Didn’t mean he had to freak out about it. Martin clicked his tongue. “Have you collected a lot of them? Selkie stories.”

Jon brightened, and it got Martin’s stupid heart going. “Yes! I mean-” Jon cleared his throat, adopting a more professional demeanor. “I’ve tried my best to find accurate accounts, but as I explained earlier, tracking down authentic cases is difficult. Nevertheless, I’ve managed to collect several that I’ve found to be believable.”

“Like what?”

“Um.” Jon stared for a moment, then collected himself. “Well, it depends on where you look.”

Martin rested his chin on his knees and listened to Jon explain some of the things he’d found in his research. Regional differences, preferences toward salt- or freshwater, even some social rituals Martin had never heard of. He was struck by the sheer volume of concepts he didn’t know that he didn’t know.

Slipping between some of Jon’s many thoughts, Martin asked, “Would most selkies know these things?”

“What?” Jon blinked and refocused on Martin, shaken from his ramblings.

“It’s just, Mum never really talked about any of this? All she’d ever mentioned was vague things about the sea and how it ‘feels’ about things.” 

“I...I suppose my research wouldn’t necessarily be of interest to all selkies. Many humans don’t care all that much about interesting human facts.” 

“Fair point.” Martin picked at his fingernails. “Does that sound like something you’ve come across, though? How the sea ‘feels’? You said that’s not how it works, but you also said something about a ‘call’.”

Jon furrowed his brows and chewed on the inside of his cheek. “It’s… difficult to explain. Descriptions of it are always highly subjective and rely on everyone involved in the conversation having the experience themselves.” Jon must’ve read something in Martin’s face, as he quickly continued, “I can tell you what I’ve heard, though. Just know that it may be a bit… esoteric. Whatever I say is a small part of maybe half the picture.”

When Martin nodded, Jon took in a breath. “While the sea doesn’t seem to ‘feel’ anything like we would, it does have a way of bringing selkies back to it, giving the impression that it wants them. It isn’t something that appears while in the water, but after some time out of it, no matter how far inland, selkies experience what some describe as a voice, or a tug, or some other inexplicable sensation. Through this, a selkie can be… not compelled, but intensely drawn back to the sea.” 

“When that happens, the emotional intensity can be enough for some to abandon everything they might’ve built for themselves, at least for a while. It’s not a permanent state as far as I can tell, and for those who regularly return to the water it rarely becomes more than a background noise, if it happens at all.”

“What if they don’t return?”

“I… I don’t know.” Jon glanced toward the window, though nothing was visible save for the slowly lightening sky. “It’s unclear why it happens, or what causes it, or if there are consequences beyond the strange pull not going away. I’ve considered it being a sort of genetic homesickness, but that’s as much of a guess as the sea being sentient.”

Martin sighed. “That’s… yeah, that doesn’t clarify much. I guess I was hoping there was a more solid answer than ‘sometimes the sea calls to them and we don’t know why’.”

Jon smiled sheepishly. “I understand the feeling. If I ever find the answer, I’ll be sure to let you know.” 

Martin smiled back. Most likely an empty promise, but it was a nice thought all the same. 

Jon straightened his back. “In the meantime, if you have other questions, I’d be happy to answer them to the best of my ability.”

“Sure, yeah. Um… any idea how the skin works? It doesn’t exactly have a zipper.”

As Jon dove back into his explanations, he was incredibly animated, as if the strained beginning was now far from his mind. It only took small prompting, a question or comment, to get him going whenever he started to lose momentum. With his head still swimming, Martin let his brain go on autopilot. He was listening, but half his enjoyment was watching how much Jon seemed to be enjoying himself.

Midway through a tangent, Jon scooted closer so as to speak in more hushed tones. “-but instead of removing clothing and other items, the skin simply encases everything on their person. Within reason, of course. They can’t swim with luggage or another person tucked in their pocket.” Jon paused as if waiting for something, though Martin couldn’t imagine what.

When nothing seemed to happen, he continued his thought with expressive hand gestures. “There’s a small lack of physical reality to them, even if they’re about as corporeal as they come, and it makes them better suited to their natural, dual lifestyle. It differentiates them from some other similar beings who, as I’ve mentioned, would have to constantly hide.”

Martin yawned, titling his head onto his upper arm. “Is that why you picked them to study?”

Jon thought for a moment. Seeming to choose his words carefully, he said, “I mean, yes, and as far as I could tell, no one else was seriously looking. Their relationship to humanity is... complicated. I wanted to explore that. And as I said, I like things that feel more real, rather than ‘mind bendy’ as you’d put it. For example, while something like the mystery surrounding your workplace is intriguing, it’s not an area I like to be heavily involved in.”

“Why?”

“Most of the time, it turns out to be… unknowable. Forces that can’t be understood, that just are.” Jon frowned at him apologetically. “Whatever we find, you should brace yourself for a job search.”

Groaning, Martin dropped his head down into his arms. “I don’t want to think about it.” Raising his head, he checked his phone. “Speaking of, I need to get ready for work. It’s already five.” He pushed himself off the ground.

“Really?” Jon checked his as well, his face fully illuminated by the phone screen. He grimaced at something.

“What is it?”

“What? Oh, nothing. Something Tim sent me after he’d finally confirmed that Sasha hadn’t been arrested.” He put the phone away and stood, scooping up the skin and holding it out in front of him. It absolutely swamped his thin arms, and without the backdrop of intense conflict, his attempt to carefully lift it was ridiculously endearing. Blinking, Martin took it and held it to his chest. It smelled of brine and was much tougher than he'd expected.

Jon fidgeted, lacing and unlacing his fingers. “You should give it back to her. Whether or not she can use it, being without it is… It’s an important part of her that she should have. Being trapped without it is one of the worst things a selkie can go through, and it is being trapped, even if the place is somewhere they want to be.”

With his thumb, Martin wiped away some accumulated dust from the skin, and watched as it shimmered in the dull light that crept through the window. He could see it now, how someone like Jon could recognize its unusual nature. It’s the same way he would’ve known his mother from any ordinary seal as she dipped easily between the waves, like she belonged with them. Like she was happy with them.

He squeezed it tighter to himself and nodded. “Okay. I’ll give it to her tonight. I promise.” 

“Good,” Jon said with a relieved smile, making Martin’s heart jump. “I’ll leave it to you, then.”

--

“You know, you really should go sleep at your hotel. It’s not like you have to be there at six,” Martin said as they reached the edge of town. The sky grew brighter as they walked, which would have been lovely if he wasn’t fighting his eyes to stay open.

“Our window of opportunity may be limited. Sleep can wait,” Jon explained. Martin didn’t have the energy to argue, though it sounded like a sign of another bad habit.

It was a much easier walk with someone to talk to. The time he would’ve spent purposefully not looking at the lighthouse was taken up with idle chatter and occasional complaints from Jon about the weather. It felt like even the vertigo was more bearable, but perhaps he was just busy looking elsewhere.

Following another poorly-hidden shiver of Jon’s, Martin said, “You know, you could just wear a better jacket. They have them in stores and everything.”

Jon scowled. “Don’t you start. My coat is entirely serviceable, no matter what Tim or Sasha say. Besides, I have a hat.”

“That I gave you!”

“And I have it, don’t I?” Jon adjusted the hat to fit better over his ears. “Thank you, by the way. Though, remind us to give them back before we leave.”

Martin nodded, reigning in a frown. “Have you heard anything about that, yet? Whether you’re all leaving on Friday?”

“No, not yet. Elias may be waiting to hear what we’ve found before he settles on a proper extension, but he hasn’t reached out to me.” He tucked his hands further under his arms. “The original timeline was loose, so I’m expecting we’ll be here at least another week, especially with the information we’ve been able to find so far.”

Another week. It was more than Martin had dared hope for. “Oh. Good! Good, that’s good to know. Less stressful than having to figure it all out in the next two days.” 

“Yes, and if we leave on Friday, there’s no doubt that Elias will be wanting more follow up on this place. It may even end up being a longer project, but-” Jon scratched the back of his neck. “If it does, I can’t guarantee the three of us will be involved. Everyone has their specialties, and you know mine.”

“Right. Of course.” He could hear the disappointment slide into his voice. Perhaps, if Martin looked up, the lighthouse would be nice enough to send him flying into the sea. “If that ends up being the case, it was nice working with you all. It’s been a lot less quiet.”

“Can’t imagine it helped with your actual work, but we’re happy to help.” Jon looked down at the ground and opened his mouth to say something else, but instead let out a surprised grunt. Martin felt an elbow around his neck that nearly dragged him off balance. 

“Morning, all!” Tim said mid-yawn, his arms looped around Martin and Jon’s shoulders. “Hope everyone had a decent night’s sleep, uninterrupted by chicanery.”

Sasha leaned around Jon’s side to look at the three of them. “Good morning, you two. Hope everyone is ready for a busy day!” As far as Martin could tell, she’d managed to shirk off the exhaustion that Martin felt in his bones.

“Could we start with a power nap?” Tim asked. “Look at these two! Bet they didn’t sleep a wink from how concerned they were for us.” He ruffled Jon’s hair. Jon managed to wriggle free and stand on Sasha’s opposite side.

“As I told Martin, we have a potentially small window of opportunity,” Jon said, smoothing down the sections of hair that Tim had disturbed. “Now that we’re all together, it’s best we go over what we’ve found and cross-reference our library records.”

Sasha nodded. “Then, when it’s not six in the morning, I believe we have a phone call to make.”

Chapter Text

Martin resigned himself to a day of catch up. The recent circumstances hadn’t been the most conducive to completing his work tasks, but he was employed for the time being. He would wait for the right time to reopen the can of worms upstairs and in the meantime double down on the figures in front of him. The others went to work as well, going through the records they recovered from the library and verifying some information from the storage house.

After some time, he heard Sasha ask, “Martin? This place used to be a bigger fishing town, right? Before the Lukases showed up.”

Martin thought for a moment. “I don’t think it was that great to begin with? I’m sure they didn’t help, but the problem started long before I was born. There may be some people old enough to remember when things were a bit better, but it’s always been a shaky business despite the proximity to the sea.” He paused, then asked, “Is there a reason you’re looking into this? Doesn’t sound very ghost-related.”

Sasha tapped her pen on the table. “It helps to get a timeline of major events. Even if there are coincidences, a broader historical picture often helps with places where the phenomena are… far reaching.”

“What, did the lighthouse eat all the fish?” Martin laughed, but it quickly died as he continued to think about it. “...Could it do that?”

“Doubtful,” Jon said, keeping his eyes glued to his laptop. “It’s possible the family saw an existing, natural decline in job prospects and swooped in to create an even bigger vacuum they could then fill. Nothing supernatural, just horrid people finding a  good opportunity.”

Tim snorted. “While they just so happened to buy and operate a possessed lighthouse?”

Jon looked over his screen. “People can have multiple motivations. For example, Peter Lukas apparently enjoys boating and taking the possessions of others for the fun of it. The two aren’t necessarily related.” His eyes dropped back to his task.

“Fair enough. Maybe someone in the family won it in a bet, then? Swiped it from some evil lighthouse keeper.” Tim wiggled his fingers.

Martin laughed silently through his nose and went back to work, assuming his part of the conversation was completed. If he’d learned anything from the situation earlier that morning, it was to quit before weird personal details about his deadbeat fisherman dad came out and ruined the mood.

The three continued to debate possible motivations and causes, eventually trailing off and lapsing into a focused silence. The scratches of pen on paper mingled with the tapping of the keyboard. It created an arrangement that echoed over itself in a round, filling the space and tunneling upward along the staircase. Despite himself, Martin strained to hear anything that felt out of place, but he could feel no intent in the repetition. It was loud, but it was the normal, unnerving loud he’d become accustomed to over the last few months.

There wouldn’t be anything, as long as he kept the dial in the correct position. Not anything he could perceive, anyway. Were they listening, even if they couldn’t stockpile his words? Were they seething at his decision? Were they-

Martin gritted his teeth, willing himself to focus on the page in front of him. The group would call Naomi soon, and if she responded they would be one step closer to confirming his suspicions. For the time being, he would sit with his churning insides and wait. 

Relief came at eleven with his lunch hour, which the others were considerate enough to wait for. He barely tasted the sandwich he’d thrown together that morning. There was a heightened atmosphere spread across him and the others, a buzz of excitement. After hours of necessary but tedious paperwork and discussion, it was time again for action.

Sasha dialed the number and waited, drumming her fingers on a pad of paper in front of her. “Available number,” she mouthed, giving a thumbs up. A few seconds passed, and she frowned and ended the call. “But, of course, it is no longer her number. I would change mine too, if people were tailing me.” 

They all slumped in their chairs and braced themselves for a long, slow afternoon as Sasha looked at her pad of paper and dialed the first number on the list of many, many Naomi Hernes. 

Some answered with varying levels of politeness, mostly responding with “never heard of the place” or “the name doesn’t ring any bells”. Otherwise, she left a short, scripted voicemail giving little information other than Evan’s name in hopes that Naomi would take the bait. She kept their institute out of it entirely.

When asked why, Sasha explained that this part of the investigation would have to be off record. Evidently, the Magnus Institute encouraged thorough research until it involved digging into its own benefactors. Unless they discovered a lead that didn’t implicate the Lukas family, they would be on their own.

The minutes ticked on, dragging more and more with the lack of success. After thirty minutes of fruitless calls, Sasha said, “It may take a while. We don’t know her schedule or if she’s even on this list. I was able to go off her last recorded location, but that’s about it.” Sasha leaned back in her chair, stretching her shoulders.

Jon pulled his laptop back in front of him. “We’ll need to give her time. If she’s aware of the Lukases keeping tabs on her, she’ll probably be wary of us. Keep going through the list. Tim and I will continue with the rest.” 

Martin sat around for the rest of his lunch hour, losing hope with each passing call. He ought to have considered how long it could take to reach her, or that she might not answer at all. Why would she? What reason did she really have to trust a bunch of strangers?

He looked down at his phone, mindlessly flipping between apps before settling on his notes. Under Naomi’s old number was the one for Evan’s mobile, locked safely away in the storage house. Running his thumb up and down the side of his phone, he peeked up at the others through his bangs.

“I know we’re waiting to hear back from Naomi, but-” They looked at him, and he swallowed hard. “We know who it probably is, right? We have something he would know, and we could even-”

“Sorry, Martin, but that’s a big ‘no’ from me,” Tim said, crossing his arms. “If it’s him, he can wait a bit longer. If it’s not, then there could be something bad on the other side that we’re not ready to deal with, something that might even pretend to be him given the opportunity.” 

There was an edge to his voice that made Martin shrink sheepishly in his seat. Tim’s face grew soft. “You want to help. I get it, but we should play it safe for now. Once we’re certain of the situation, we’ll do the heroic thing and release his trapped soul or get him out of the sound booth he’s locked himself in or whatever it is that needs to be done.”

Martin nodded glumly and looked back at his phone. After a moment, a notification popped up on the screen.

Tim: and if we get him out and hes as hot as they say he was, then who knows ;)

All the tension in Martin’s shoulders was released with a high-pitched snicker that his hand failed to stifle. The other two turned their gazes on him. Martin’s ears turned beet red at the attention he’d brought upon himself. Jon shot a suspicious glance at Tim, whose broad smile denied nothing.

-- 

By twenty minutes to four, there had been no sign of the person they were hoping for, ignoring  one response by someone who thought they were being hilarious. Martin had only one task remaining before it was time to leave, and once his things were carefully packed away he walked over to the stairs and placed a hand on the rail. From behind him came the sound of chairs squeaking against hard tile.

Looking over his shoulder, he saw the three had all risen from their seats and were shooting surprised looks at each other. 

Martin sighed. “I’m just going up for my normal work stuff. I won’t be touching anything I’m not supposed to.” Not that the thought hadn’t crossed his mind, but if he’d wanted to do anything there in secret, which he didn’t, there was no point in doing so when other people in the building could hear every amplified word. 

“Well, I’ll be coming up anyway. Might as well get a better look at what buttons you’re pressing.” Tim jogged over, waving a hand at the other two dismissively and calling over his shoulder, “Don’t worry, I’ve got this. Keep an ear on the phone and text us if something comes up.” Jon and Sasha, who’d clearly been about to walk over and join them, sat down despite their visible apprehension. Tim started up the stairs, leaving Martin to trail behind. 

Before long, Tim began to rely more and more on the handrail to keep his balance. About halfway up the stairs, he held up a hand for Martin to stop and dropped his head. 

“Okay,” he said, flexing his grip on the rail. He took a moment to breath. “Okay, I’m good. Damn this place, though.”

When they reached the top, Tim faced the stairs and, at a regular speaking volume, said, “Hello? Tim Stoker to Boss Man.” He waited, then checked his phone. “Huh. Guess sound does have limits in this place. Good to know.” Tim smiled at Martin. “Let’s see those switches, then.”

Martin could see that Tim’s eye was just as drawn to the dial as Martin’s as they approached the panel. Martin slowed down his process, taking care to show Tim what he was doing with the different buttons and knobs, and Tim seemed to be taking notes on his phone.

“If it would help, I have a list of everything I do up here on my desk. My handwriting isn’t the best, but it’s legible.” Martin continued to complete the steps without thinking, allowing muscle memory to take over. “Not that I’ve looked at it super recently. I also have the version in my work contract? But that would have to wait ‘til tomorrow.”

Tim nodded, shoving his phone in his pocket. “Sounds like a plan. Who knows, maybe there’s a hidden ‘I cede my right to file a claim against any injury due to imprisoned spirits’ clause or something in the fine print.” Martin laughed weakly but said nothing. Leaning on the side of the panel, Tim looked at him. “You really think it’s the guy? Evan?”

Martin’s finger slipped, missing a button entirely. “...Yeah. I can’t think of anything else it could be? And I get it, there are some things I don’t know about-”

“Lots of things, actually. Look,” Tim stood up straight, crossing his arms. “I’m not usually the lecturing type, but you seem like a well-meaning guy, and this thing could very well be taking that from your voice and turning it back on you.” There was an unmistakable discomfort, though Tim was doing his best to look authoritative. “You’re not used to this stuff, but most of it ends up being not so nice.”

Resuming his task, Martin looked down and asked, “Have you ever… studied something like that?”

From the corner of Martin’s eye, he could see Tim shift a bit and lean against the panel again. “They’re something I’ve worked on, yeah.”

After a final flip of a switch, Martin looked back at Tim whose gaze was firmly centered on the window. Martin rolled his fingertips on the surface of the panel. “Any personal experiences or advice? For my benefit?”

Tim took some time to think, and without taking his eyes from the window responded, “If you can shut them up, make sure they stay that way.” Tim let out a breath through his nose. “And if someone’s got by one, chances are they won’t be kept alive. Once a copy is made, there’s no reason to keep the original.” 

The bitter twinge in Tim’s voice warned against the questions forming on the tip of Martin’s tongue. If Tim was talking from experience, the specifics were none of Martin’s business.

“Oh.”

“Yeah.” Tim shook his head. “So, since I was the one who turned the dial, do me a favor and keep away from it?” When Martin nodded in agreement, Tim uncrossed his arms and pushed himself off the panel. “Good. It’s a deal then. Now, when we get back down, we can pretend to have had a riveting talk about how fish hate your town.”

--

Once they were back on the main floor, disappointment washed over Martin. “Was it too much to expect anything back so soon?” He looked through his bag, making sure he hadn’t forgotten anything.

“You get used to it.” Sasha paused from collecting some papers to watch him sulk in his corner. “Can’t tell you how many follow-up calls I’ve made that led to nothing.”

“Or all the numbers we’ve gotten that were for takeout places,” Jon grumbled.

“I dunno, I’ve been pretty lucky with numbers.” Tim winked at Sasha, who shoved some of the papers into his arms.

Martin smiled, though Tim’s comment reeked of forced levity. He zipped up his bag and walked to the door. “Let me know if anything comes up?”

“Of course.” Jon pushed himself out of his chair and walked at a brisk pace to meet him. “Could I have a word with you, before you head home?” He opened the door and gestured outside. 

“Oh. Sure?” He avoided Tim’s very pointed eye contact and walked through the door. Jon followed behind with his arms wrapped around himself, his thin, long-sleeved shirt doing nothing for him in the cold. “Do you need to-”

“I’ll be back inside in a moment.” His stubbornness did nothing to protect him from the shivers. “About tonight.”

With all excitement and distraction gone, the weight that had been balancing precariously in Martin’s chest dropped to his stomach like a lead ball. “Is there a way to make this not horrible?”

Jon frowned. “I don’t know the full circumstances, but ultimately, I believe you’ll be doing the right thing.” He placed a tentative hand on Martin’s shoulder and gave it a stiff pat. He immediately retracted his hand and wrapped it back around himself, keeping his eyes on anything but Martin. “You know her better than I do. I’m sure you’ll be able to handle it.”

Martin clung to that confidence and the feeling of pressure from Jon’s hand. “Okay...” He took a large breath. “Okay. I should get going then. No point in putting it off.”

Jon nodded his head and hurried back inside, leaving Martin to walk home with more courage than he’d managed to gather for himself. As the sun drifted closer to its exit, Martin latched onto that little encouragement and thought of what to say.

“Hi, Mum. I found your skin? No, that sounds weird-”

“I know there are things I don’t understand, but-”

“Mum, I found this in the attic. I know it’s yours. Do you want to-”

“A guy from work said to give you this? Wait, no-”

And so he continued, muttering under his breath all the ways he could broach the subject without it being a complete disaster.

This could change things. 

Would she scream? He’d never heard her truly scream. It wasn’t her way, but this could unlock something so much worse than he’d known. How dare he bring this to her if she’d hidden it for a good reason? That seemed a likely reaction.

Would she talk to him about her time in the water? Would she reminisce about a time before things went wrong, when he would watch her from the porch? Too hopeful to consider, but nice to think about.

Perhaps she would tell him to return it to the attic, and it would never be spoken of again. Things would be as they always were, just with a new secret to hang over them both. Another weight on their shoulders, another little barrier keeping them from being anything but what they had been for decades now. 

Jon had said it would be the right thing to do. He would know about these things more than Martin, right? His word had to be worth something. No matter how she might react, this had to happen sooner or later.

The walk home sped past like nothing. The front door was before him, and then closed behind, and he felt more than ever like he was on a track, being moved from place to place without any consultation of his will. The night proceeded like clockwork, dinner prepared and completed with only his voice and the occasional terse response from his mother for filler noise. It wasn’t yet time.

The fog had rolled in thick as evening turned to night, and they looked out into it from the front porch, her breaths steady and bracing. Through his barely open eyes, Martin saw a hint of rolling waves before the salt brought out the tears and washed away his vision.

He walked his mother back inside and helped her prepare for bed. Once she was settled against the headboard, Martin coughed and began in a low, gentle tone. “Mum. Can I talk to you about something?”

She frowned, tired contempt rippling across her face. “Must you now? You’ve had all night to talk.” 

Martin clenched and unclenched his teeth. “It’s important. Please, it’s...it’s about something I found in the attic.”

His mother froze, her hand gripping the quilt on her lap. Annoyance gave way to a wide, blank stare that brushed just over his shoulder. “I did not ask you to retrieve anything from there.”

Martin shrank back. “Yes, I know. I just went up to make sure there hadn’t been a-any issues with the roof after some of the rain recently since we keep some things in storage up there, and I wanted t-”

“Bring it to me. Now.” Her voice was quiet, almost too quiet for him to hear. 

“Oh. Right. Of course.” Martin stood too quickly, grabbing the rickety bedside table for balance and causing a loud thump as one of its legs slammed into the ground. The dim lamp on top of it wobbled, creating unnerving shadows on the walls. He winced. “Sorry. I’ll be right back.”

He left the room and let himself breathe. Okay, he thought, this was a good thing. He walked up the stairs two at a time with his long legs, speeding down the hall while keeping his footsteps as quiet as possible. She wanted him to bring it to her. He would do as she ordered. Everything would be okay, he told himself, ignoring the strange sinking feeling in his gut. 

It was where he’d left it, folded loosely in the corner to avoid any possible creasing. It pressed heavily into his hands, and he brushed off a little more dust as he walked back down the stairs. At his mother’s door, he paused and adjusted it one more time to a position he felt was the most dignified. Then, he entered the room.

She was looking out her window, through the misted glass and into the fog that surrounded their home. Her hands were limp over the quilt, one placed gently on top of the other. When the door clicked shut behind him, there was an almost imperceptible turn of her head, though he couldn’t see anything but her clenched jaw.

“Mum? I’ve brought it. Do you want me to place it on the bed? I-” 

His mother turned to face him fully, and as her eyes locked onto him a torrent of pure fury slammed into his chest. He stumbled, the selkie skin almost escaping his large, clumsy hands.

“Give it to me.” Her rasping voice made Martin’s throat hurt, and her neck seemed to throb with effort. When he failed to move his legs, she forced out, “now, you stupid man!”

He tripped forward, and when he was within reach she snatched the skin from him. She clasped it to her chest just as Jon had that morning, with the same smoothing motion over its surface. Unsure of what to say, he became a statue. Every muffled intake of air burned down into his chest.

Taking in a shuddering breath, his mother whispered, “Leave.”

“What?” There was a painful crack in his voice. 

“Leave me alone.”

--

The only thing he could see were his own near-faded footsteps as he climbed up the cliff side, the fog doing well to obscure the surrounding foliage.

He needed to be out of the damned fog. That’s why he’d fled the house, and the beach, and the crashing waves. That’s all it was down there, a house adrift in grey nothing, and he was too loud of a presence to truly give her solitude with his tramping feet on the floorboards upstairs.

It was past sundown when he reached the end of his climb, and the corner lights looked as much as they had the night before. As they had on any other night he’d spent wandering the dark, emptying streets. Pulling his coat more tightly around himself, Martin marched forward, drawn to the only other place to which he had a key.

He looked up before he could think too hard about it, and the sky bore down on him until all he could do was fall back into the gaping pit waiting just behind his heel. Had it felt like this before? Yes, it had, hadn’t it? A giant emptiness in the ground waiting to swallow him whole, and as he had seen it, so from it the vertigo had come. Only now it was polite enough to slow down and let him see the horror below. 

He woke up on the ground with a groan, just outside of the florist shop. It was closed for the night, and there was no one inside or out to stare as he lifted himself out of a puddle, the arm of his coat soaked through with water. He was halfway through trying to regain some semblance of focus when he realized his glasses had fallen from his nose and were now lying on the ground beside him.

Relieved that his impaired vision was no worse than usual, he reached over to pick up his glasses. As he did so, he glimpsed at the water’s surface, and for just a moment the blurry vision of his face looked just enough like someone else. He gasped, snatching his glasses and scrambling to sit on the curb.

She’d never called Martin that. She’d had other ways of showing her frustration with him, but that… that had been for someone else. Of course. He hadn’t even thought to warn her of his re-entry, so he had gone into her room and with just that lamp by her bed the doorway must’ve been so dark-

The pounding in his head grew more fervent, and he curled into himself until he faced the ground, head between his knees. As the minutes crawled by, the pain began to subside, and eventually he was able to stand, even if there was a slight shake to his legs. 

“Twenty years and still you don’t learn.” 

He continued without reason, thankful for the empty road ahead, his arm going cold in its dripping sleeve.

Chapter Text

Shit. The lights were still on.

The small, illuminated window of the front door had stopped Martin in his tracks. Why had he come here? Certainly, talking to Jon about what had happened was something he should do, but that hadn’t been on his mind at all.

No, he knew the reason. He berated himself on Tim’s behalf.

Martin looked about, his eye catching the railing that blocked off the cliff. It was as good a spot as any for moping. He.made his way over to it and leaned his elbows on the flat top of the railing, careful to keep his eyes toward the dark horizon instead of the thrashing sea below. 

Stupid. He had been lucky they were late workers. They’d unknowingly stopped him from throwing himself at some voice-stealing horror. What had he been thinking? That he would figure things out on his own? As if he could fix everything by running straight toward the danger and- and what?

Well, he certainly wouldn’t be doing anything that night. “Just be patient,” he muttered, rubbing his eyes. “It’s gonna be fine.”

“Y’know, you’re taking this whole process a lot harder than I’d expected.”

Martin jumped, gripping the railing with white knuckles. Sasha walked up and leaned against the railing to his left, tilting her head to look at his face. He stammered out, “When-”

“I’d come out to grab something from the car and stretch my legs a bit. You didn’t hear me walk over?” She raised an eyebrow at his tense state.

“I… Yeah. No, I mean I didn’t hear you. Sorry.” His voice came out more raw than he’d expected, and he cleared his throat. “Would’ve appreciated more of a warning, though?”

She smirked. “Noted. Though I wasn’t exactly trying to sneak up on you. Sounds to me like you were talking a bit too loudly to yourself.”

“Oh.” Well, he supposed that was a reason to stop talking to himself outside the lighthouse as well. What a week for learning embarrassing things about himself.

“So, Martin. Were you just planning to run upstairs for a quick chat?” 

Martin tried to respond, but she didn’t give him an opening. “Clearly you didn’t come up here to talk to us.” She looked out across the sea, letting her smile falter. “I respect how much you want to figure this all out, but Tim definitely won’t be happy.”

Martin flinched. “No, you’ve got it wrong. I hadn’t even been thinking about it when I walked back up here, and once I saw you all were still working, I figured I’d leave you be.” He paused, then added, “And Tim really doesn’t need to know I was out here. He’d just get the wrong impression.”

With a curt laugh, Sasha readjusted herself onto both elbows. “I suppose he doesn’t. I wouldn’t let this happen again, though, if I were you.” A moment passed as she stretched her fingers. “What brought you up here, then?”

“I mean- that’s sort of personal.” Martin leaned away to get a better look at her, but her expression was unreadable in the dim light. 

“Unless you have reason to believe the lighthouse compelled you, I have to assume there was some other reason you wandered up here, especially with that newly-soaked jacket sleeve?”

He laughed nervously. “Oh! Oh, I just tripped on the way, and with all the puddles-”

She cut him off. “Please don’t try that with me. It wasn’t a terrible deflection, but if you think I’m going to take a ‘personal reasons’ defense for you returning to your dangerous place of work past sundown when we might not be here-”

He held his hands out in front of him defensively. “It’s not like that! I just needed some air, and-.”

“And then you came here after a rather nasty fall.” When she saw Martin’s bewildered expression, she tapped a finger to her temple.

Lifting his hand, Martin lightly touched his own forehead and found a slightly raised lump just under his bangs that stung with the contact. 

Sasha sighed. “I don’t want half-truths, which you seem to enjoy giving. Just tell me what happened.” She crossed her arms. “I want to understand what’s going on, same as you, but if you don’t trust us, we can’t trust you to make safe decisions.” 

Martin scoffed. “Sure, yeah, like you all make ‘safe’ decisions.”

For a minute or so, they stood in silence against the rail and looked across the water. Turned away from the lighthouse that peered over their shoulders, Sasha’s features were obscured. She seemed to be waiting patiently. He took the offered time to think.

She wouldn’t need to know all the particulars of why he’d left home. Getting defensive when she had no reason to suspect anything other than the very real weirdness of the night was just digging him into an unnecessary hole. 

“I wanted to get some time out of the house for myself.” Yes, that should be enough for that bit. “When I got up top, I looked at the lighthouse without thinking and I blacked out. Maybe part of me thought I could figure things out by coming here, instead of sitting around doing nothing.” 

He took in a shaky breath. “But I’m not trying anything tonight, obviously. I wasn’t thinking straight, that’s all.”

With this, some tension left her face. “I don’t doubt it considering the bump on your head, though coming here without thinking is concerning in and of itself. Did anything about tonight’s blackout seem different from what you’ve experienced recently?”

He nodded. “The vertigo, it usually just... happens. I look at the lighthouse, or down from its weird window, or sometimes just down the hill, and it hits like a brick. Tonight, though…” he swallowed, but the dryness made it an effort. “I saw something. A huge, black pit right behind me, like it was always there.” 

There was a wobble to his voice, but if Sasha noticed, she didn’t react. “And when did the vertigo hit?”

“I’m not sure? It happened so fast, it was like the sky was pushing me into it. I think... it was when I finally looked down into the pit that the feeling came.” Martin twiddled his thumbs. “Then I came to, and the pit was gone.”

“Hm.” Sasha tapped on the railing and looked at him. “Has anything changed for you between this incident and the ones earlier this week?”

“No. I don’t think so.” The lie felt bad going down, but there was no helping it. “I was stressed about everything going on, I suppose. Thinking about upstairs.”

She seemed to accept this with a nod. “That could do it. Stress works well with a lot of phenomena. If you think of anything else, let us know. Tim has been trying to keep track of his experiences, but I think it’s hard for him to keep his thoughts straight about it.” Her brows crinkled with concern.

Martin frowned. “There was a moment on the stairs where he wasn’t doing well.”

She sighed. “Yeah, it’s been a rough week for him. Luckily, he’s not one to hide this sort of thing when he doesn’t have to.” That would’ve felt pointed if she didn’t seem so genuinely worried. “Not that he never does. Everyone has personal business. But he knows that right now it’s best to be up front about any issues, because it means we can try to solve the problem.’ 

She purposefully locked eyes with him. “You get that, right? We all want this to be settled so everyone can be okay, and that means honesty.”

She could tell he was hiding something. Or she was just throwing whatever at the wall just in case he was lying. Or she was just concerned about Tim and himself? 

Shit, he wasn’t in a place to figure out what anyone was thinking. “I know. It’s important to have all of the facts. That’s why we’re waiting for the phone call, right?”

“Yep.” Sasha tucked some loose hair behind her ear. “Tim said he’d talked to you upstairs, about what the thing probably is.”

Martin huffed in frustration. “I know, but I’d still rather do something. He- they begged me to help. I know it was my own voice, but-”

Her hand landed gently on his shoulder. “But it felt like a person?”

Another hard swallow. “Yeah.”

Sasha tapped on the railing again, then looked back at her car. “I should go get the thing I came out here for. You should come inside, too, to tell the others what happened. Maybe they’ll have some insights.” She offered him a half smile, and as she turned more toward the light, Martin could see the bags under her eyes. “Honestly, it’ll be a welcome excuse for all of us to stop going over historical documents and our own bad handwriting.”

“Not super successful, then?”

She smiled with more than a hint of pain. “More like success is hard to track in these circumstances.”

Once Sasha had grabbed a file folder from her car, they walked back into the lighthouse. Martin kept his eyes down, unwilling to look at Tim or Jon for very different reasons.

“Look who showed up with some new info regarding magical nausea.” Sasha took a seat at the table next to Tim. 

“Great!” Tim said, closing a binder with a decisive snap that made Martin’s head shoot up in surprise. “Love to learn more about terrifying phenomena that affect me in unpleasant ways-Oh, wow. That’s a nasty one you’ve got.”

Martin set his slightly damp jacket on the back of his chair and sat next to Jon without making eye contact. There was no chance Jon wasn’t connecting some dots about his reappearance, and even if Tim and Sasha weren’t present, Martin had no desire to discuss anything related to selkies for a long, long while.

--

“That’s certainly… something,” Jon said, once Martin had completed a more thorough retelling of his fall. “Does that sound anything like what you’ve experienced, Tim?” 

Tim seemed to contemplate this. “I haven’t had it bad enough to pass out, and a big hole in the ground doesn’t ring a bell. It doesn’t feel wrong, though.”

“How so?” Sasha asked. She had her elbow on the table and leaned her head against a closed fist.

“I mean, when I’m walking up those stairs, it’s hard not to feel like you’re about to fall into something. That’s where vertigo usually happens, right? On the edge of a big drop, like the one outside.”

Jon looked up at Tim, then back down at his pad. “Yes, though it can also be caused by an issue of the inner ear, a cause we shouldn’t throw out just yet.”

Tim snorted. “My ears are fine, thank you very much.” 

This earned him a pull on the ear lobe from Sasha. After he grunted with some dramatics, she said, “Yep, seems fine to me. I wonder, Martin, if the change was brought on by your time with Simon Fairchild. He also sort of ‘pushed’ you backwards, right?”

“Huh. Yeah, actually. It was a lot like that.” Of course it was. How had he not thought of that? “Sorry. I guess it’s hard to think about either of those experiences too much.”

Jon tapped his pen on the table, seeming to look for the right words. “That doesn’t explain why it didn’t happen until tonight, when you’d been on the stairs hours earlier. Considering Tim’s response, I would’ve expected yours to be worse as well.” 

Martin made the mistake of looking up to see Jon’s concerned face. Yes, Jon had an idea of what had changed between then and now and was doing a terrible job at hiding it from the others. “Maybe it was frustration, then? When I went home, it was after hours of nothing happening. Maybe that made me look up longer than normal, and everything with me is fine.” Please, he begged, please stop looking as if you know something.

Before Jon could respond, Sasha said, “We could test it.”

Grateful as he was for the distraction, Martin stared at Sasha in confusion. “...How?”

“We go up the stairs and supervise. If things are the same as they were before tonight, then we have new knowledge about how this place works. If the pit reappears, we can dig further into why this seems to be your current condition.”

Tim spoke up with an unexpected edge to his words. “And when you say ‘go up the stairs’, you mean do that and come right back down, right?” 

Sasha turned to him. “We could, but-”

Tim slumped in his chair, massaging his temples. “No. No, we talked about this, and it’s a bad idea.”

“It’s also a bad idea to wait until time is up.” She lowered her voice, reaching a hand out toward Tim’s shoulder. “Look, we’ll all be there, and we won’t spend too long talking to it. I promise.” 

Tim swatted her hand away. “You agreed to wait for the phone call! It hasn’t even been 24 hours.” 

“What if it doesn’t come? What if she never calls back, and we waste the rest of our time and end up returning to the Institute with nothing?”

With some irritation, Jon said, “There’s a change Elias will extend the project-”

“Oh, I don’t believe that for a second.” Sasha waved her hand dismissively. “If anything, his weird radio silence this whole week makes me think he has no intention to do so. Has he responded seriously to any of your update emails?”

Jon opened his mouth to speak, only to come up with nothing.

“Yeah, that’s what I thought. Nothing but ‘excellent’ and ‘thank you for the report’, if you receive a response at all. If we can’t find anything that doesn’t make our digging into the Lukases painfully obvious, we’re going to get pulled from this place, leaving us with no answers or solutions. I don’t think Martin would be very happy with that outcome. I definitely wouldn’t.”

Martin kept his mouth shut, not daring to enter the argument. His eyes flitted between the three researchers, a horrible emptiness filling his chest. So that was it. Unless Naomi gave them something to work with, or they figured out whatever was going on in the next day, that could be it. They would be gone, and he’d be on his own.

Tim glanced at Martin, his face layered with exhaustion and a sort of dread. “...Guys.” 

Jon’s eyes were still trained on Sasha with uncertainty. “I don’t think we can make a call-”

“I think we can! We can ask it a few questions, alternate who asks something so it doesn’t get too much of anyone, then stop once we’ve got something we can use-”

Tim’s gaze lost focus, and he shot out of his chair. Before the other two could respond, he stumbled across the room and into the toilet, slamming the door behind him.

“Shit,” Sasha said under her breath, walking after him. She pressed an ear to the door, then grimaced. “Tim, are you okay?”

Jon sent him a brief, nervous look. “Just… give us a moment.” Jon pushed himself out of his chair and joined Sasha. 

“Er.” Martin ran his thumb over his knuckles, eyeing the exit with increasing desperation. If Jon hadn’t said anything he would’ve quietly excused himself, but as things were, Martin remained glued to his chair. 

The walls betrayed any attempt at whispering. “Tim.” Sasha knocked lightly on the door. “It’s okay. We won’t do anything tonight, I swear.”

She winced at something Martin couldn’t hear. “Oh, that doesn’t sound good,” she muttered, turning toward Martin. “Can you get some water?”

--

After about ten minutes, Tim stumbled out of the toilet, finished glass in hand. After looking at his chair, he elected to sit on the floor with his back against the wall. 

He sighed, placing a hand over his eyes. “Don’t get how you’ve worked here for so long.”

Martin scratched his face. “It’s-”

“‘Good pay’, I know.” Tim dropped his hand and played with the empty glass, narrowing his eyes at Sasha and Jon. “God, stop hovering and get down here. Stop making me look up.” They did as they were told, Sasha with legs pulled to her chest and Jon with an elbow resting against his one upright knee.

Tim waved a lazy arm up at Martin, who had returned to the table. “You too. Everyone on the floor.” 

“Oh. I, um, I really should get going, actually? It is a bit late, and-”

Tim’s glare was feeble at best. Still, Martin got the message and sat on the floor as well, crossing his legs in front of him with all the grace he could muster, which wasn’t much at this point.

Satisfied, Tim dragged a hand down his cheeks, pulling at the skin under his eyes. “Well, then. Martin. How are you feeling right now?”

Martin leaned back. “Excuse me?”

Tim rolled his eyes. “You came here after hallucinating a giant pit and hitting your head. How are you feeling?”

The sincerity of the question hit Martin like the pavement. “I’m… I’m fine? The bump only stings when I touch it, so...”

“Not quite what I meant. It’s been a weird week. I’m wondering how you’re doing, considering all this.” He gestured the glass toward the general surroundings. 

“I-” Martin looked to the others, but all he got were similar questioning looks. At least they weren’t holding up pens and notebooks, and they didn’t have a look of scientific interest. They just... wanted to know how he was doing. “Okay, yeah, it has been a weird week. Whatever is going on, the dizziness is way worse than it used to be, and I don’t know if it’s from us snooping around, or unusual amounts of stress, or something else entirely, but it’s not great.”

To his right, Jon grimaced and pulled his upright leg closer to himself. “I apologize. We’ve been relying on you for much of our investigation, but I hadn’t checked to see if you were all right with it all.”

Martin shook his head. “I wanted to help. It was my own decision to be involved like I have been. It’s my job to keep track of how I’m doing.”

Sasha exhaled through her nose. “True, but we could’ve been more upfront about the methods and risks.” Sasha twisted a lock of hair around her finger. “You’ve been helpful to us, and we’re thankful, but that doesn’t excuse ignoring the effects our work could be having on you. It’s a lot to deal with if you’re not prepared.”

“Yeah, no kidding,” Martin chuckled. “This is your job, though. How the hell do you deal with it?”

Tim snorted. “Apparently I haven’t been. This past week has knocked me right on my arse.”

Jon frowned. “It’s not always like this. For the most part, we just stay at the Institute, taking new statements and praying we can find a rational place to store them in the ancient filing system. Which we’re still dealing with despite working on it for two years now.”

“God, please no, not the filing system again,” Tim groaned, unable to hide a smirk.

Jon soldiered on, bitterness dripping from his voice. “It’s an absolute mess. Statements are dated, but nothing is organized by date! We’ve only just started to have a usable database, and by the time we enter everything into it, we’ll be haunting the place ourselves.”

“So, to answer your question, we deal with it by doing paperwork and complaining,” Sasha said with a fake brightness. Her shoulders slumped. “I know it’s been rough, but this is the part of the job I live for.”

“Normally I’d agree, if I wasn’t being terrorized by literal hostile architecture.” Tim landed hard on his t’s, jaw clenched. Then, he relaxed and shrugged at Martin. “Otherwise, yeah, field work is great. Get to see new places, and most of the time it’s just a nice trip out of the city.”

Jon rolled his eyes. “I do wish we had a better vetting process for these things. I understand the budget currently allows for field trips, but I’d rather not be sent out for pranks and tricks of the light. And, well-”

“It could stop you from being an arse every time Elias sends us off?” This earned Tim an annoyed scowl.

Jon stammered out, “That is not fair-”

“And that’s enough of that, I think.” Sasha stretched out her legs. “We’ve all learned a lesson and made friends.”

“If Martin hasn’t decided to delete my number the moment this is taken care of,” Tim said with a wide grin. “Wouldn’t blame you, mind.”

Martin raised his eyebrows, heat rushing to his ears. “Hey, I’m not-”

Tim waggled a finger. “Don’t say anything you’ll regret. I’m a very avid texter.”

“I’m- it’s not-” Martin took a quick breath to gather himself. “It’s been nice, actually, having you all here. Even if it’s ended in me banging my head against a curb.”

Jon cleared his throat. “Though that is a… nice sentiment? We do still have tomorrow. And though Sasha thinks it to be unlikely, I’m still expecting an extension, especially after your incident earlier.” He nodded as if reassuring himself. “Yes, I think it will be fine.”

“Just don’t go falling over again,” Tim said, pointing a firm finger in Martin’s direction. “I for one plan on keeping my eyes shut the whole walk to the hotel, forcing Jon and Sasha to lead me away from potential danger.” 

Ignoring a dirty look from Jon, Tim’s face softened. “Just take it slow on the way home. Maybe take one of us with you in case the hill ends up being a lot. I’d go myself, but it might end with both of us tumbling into a bear.”

Martin laughed. “I don’t think we have- Anyway, I don’t think that’s necessary.”

“You did say something about the hill giving you trouble,” Sasha said. “Jon knows where you live, right? He can make sure you get back fine, and I’ll stop Tim from tripping into a bin.”

“Yes, that’s good thinking,” Jon said, using the table to pull himself to his feet. 

Oh no. “Um-”

“It was our fault for not checking in with you.” Jon offered a hand to Martin. “The least we can do is make sure nothing else happens tonight.”

The walk was terribly long. He was already feeling much better. Jon would have to walk all the way back afterwards. Really, he’d be- 

“All right…” Martin grabbed Jon’s hand, accepting the help. “Only if you’re okay with it.”

Chapter Text

By 11:30, Martin had locked up the lighthouse and walked out into the night with the others. It was a nice walk to start. Tim was set on distracting them both by having Martin guess between real and made-up work stories, with a few of them even involving the supernatural. It was almost enough to settle the anxiety bubbling in Martin’s stomach, but every time his eye caught on Jon the feeling would surge and keep him from being more pleasantly occupied.

Eventually, the group split for their separate destinations and said their goodnights. Tim warned Jon to get Martin home safe like a parody of a television father, and all too quickly Martin and Jon were the only ones left on the road home.

Whatever confidence or wishful thinking had possessed him to let Jon walk him home, it had abandoned Martin entirely.

Several blocks went by without conversation. Martin refused to look at anything but the ground, because how else would he avoid a fall? That was the whole point, right? Forcing his eyes down and away from anything else was obviously the safest way forward. So was keeping his mouth closed, can’t go wasting his breath, and if he just kept quiet for long enough-

Jon cleared his throat “So. You came up to get some air?”

Martin squeezed his eyes closed. “Yeah, I did.” 

“Is there any particular reason or-”

“Okay, I know what you’re getting at so, yes, I- what we talked about, I did it.” Martin opened his eyes and focused on the road. “It’s done.”

“Oh,” Jon breathed out, as if he’d been holding it in. “Good. You, um, you did the right thing.”

With Jon apparently satisfied, or at least with nothing else to say, a more companionable silence stretched between them. Well, that was nothing, he thought. He’d worked himself up for what ended up being a simple transaction. Of course Jon wouldn’t need to dig into the emotional details of the event when his interests lay elsewhere. 

Martin’s relief was short-lived as his foot snagged on a pothole. He only just managed to stop himself from plummeting face-first into the pavement. “Shit! That was-”

“Are you okay?” Jon asked, grabbing Martin’s elbow. “Was it the-”

“N-No, no, I’m fine! There was a hole in the street.” His heart pounded from the adrenaline. He shook his head, trying not to think too hard about Jon’s hand tugging him upright. “Just zoned out and didn’t see it.”

Jon frowned, releasing his grip. “You’ll want to ice your head when you get home. Probably should have before we left.” The last part he muttered to himself like a curse.

“My head is fine. No fuzziness or anything, I swear.” 

“Hmph.” Jon eyeballed the mark on Martin’s forehead, unconvinced. 

They resumed their walk, and Jon began to sweep his eyes across the street ahead of them. The turn of his profile was stern, almost comically absorbed by this new preventative measure. His fingers laced and unlaced themselves with a strange energy, most likely to keep warm.

The corner of Martin’s mouth twitched upward. The man was so ridiculously, unintentionally endearing. It really was unfair of him. 

Finally, Martin’s heart returned to its normal speed. He laughed, the day’s events settling into his bones. “I hope this was the last of the excitement for today.”

Jon smirked. “Sure you wouldn't like to run a marathon tonight? Maybe hunt down a local vampire.”

“No, I’m completely exhausted,” Martin replied. He wasn’t ready to do anything until he got a good night’s rest.

Jon’s face fell slightly. “I was- Right, no, I’m sure it’s been a lot.” He scratched at his neck. 

Ah. Martin had missed something, hadn’t he? Whatever it was, there was no figuring it out now. In front of them was the end of the road and the start of the cliff side descent. 

“I think I’m feeling all right. It’s been long enough,” Martin said. “You should head back to your hotel. It would be-”

“A long way back up, yes. I recall from this morning.” Jon glanced into the trees with disdain. “But that would go against the whole point of me being here. If anything is going to give you trouble, it’s a twisting downward slope.”

Martin opened his mouth to argue, then reconsidered. With Jon’s stubborn posture, all folded arms and rigid shoulders, arguing would just mean forcing an ill-equipped man to stand outside longer. 

Seeing he’d won, Jon nodded. “Let’s continue on, then.”

Down they went, the gentle curve leading to the main path. Jon held his mobile out in front of him to light the way. Every once in a while, he would point out some obstruction and give warning. This, paired with Jon only seeing the way once in the light of day, made for an incredibly slow process. Eventually Martin had to beg him to just please keep walking. 

However, without Jon’s interruptions there were only the sounds of crunching footsteps and whistling wind, hollow whispers through the trees that Martin’s ears couldn’t parse. The ground sloped down into the waiting dark like a tongue dipping into the throat of a beast. Martin was no longer moored by the view around his feet as it swerved and sloped ahead of him. Instead he clung to the visual of Jon’s outline, glowing in the light, steady and consistent.

Halfway down Jon paused again, but before Martin could urge him forward, he turned around and asked, “Is everything all right?”

Martin braced himself for whatever this was. “...Yes?”

“Are you sure there isn’t something you’d like to discuss?” With the mobile illuminating their feet, Jon’s face hidden save for the flash of his eyes and outline of his jaw, but his voice gave away his frustration. “When you showed up earlier, I thought maybe-”

“Like I said, I just-” 

Jon talked on, running his fingers through his hair. “Because if something happened that you’re confused or worried about I can try to-”

“Jon?” 

“-help, given I was the one who told you to do it in the first place. If there’s-”

“Jon.”

Jon clamped his mouth shut, waiting.

Martin dragged a hand down his face. “It’s… It was a lot for her. She needed some space, that’s all.” 

With some hesitation, Jon asked, “But she… did she know about it?”

“Yeah.” Martin stuffed his hands into his pockets and kicked at a rock. “Yeah, she knew.”

“Oh.” Wrapping his arms around himself, Jon stared at his feet. It was almost imperceptible, but a shiver passed through his shoulders. “That wasn’t the scenario I’d expected. I’m sure it was an intense moment for both of you. If I’ve... pried too much, I apologize.” 

“It’s… it’s okay.” Martin exhaled. “If you hadn’t pried, she wouldn’t have it now. That’s worth something, I think, but at this point, it’s just… it’s family stuff.”

“Right. I understand.” Jon rubbed his forearm. “If there’s anything you’d like to know or talk about, though...”

“You’ll be the first and probably only person I’ll ask.” With nothing left to add, Martin began to walk ahead. Jon seemed to get the message and was quick to put himself back in front, dutifully shining his light ahead onto the dirt. “Jon?”

“Yes?” Jon didn’t turn or stop walking, keeping to his task with renewed determination. Stupidly endearing.

Martin opened his mouth and then closed it again. He smiled to himself. “You really should get a thicker coat.”

His reward was slumped shoulders and crotchety grumbling about Tim’s bad influence.

--

They reached the treeline without any problems. Perhaps low light had helped, or having Jon’s back to fixate on. Whatever the case may have been, Martin was blessedly close to being off his feet and in his own bed without further incident.

Jon, however, would have a long, lonely walk back to his hotel. Despite the reassurance that it had all been no trouble, Jon’s hunched posture betrayed how poorly he was doing in the night air. At least his head was covered.

Tapping his foot, Martin stared at his home. There was… a lot, there. On any other night his mother would be fast asleep. There was no light on in her bedroom window, but that didn’t necessarily mean things were the same as usual. 

From Martin’s left, Jon coughed. “I should get going. If anything happens, be sure to text the details to Tim so we’ll all be aware.”

“Sure. Thanks for walking me down. I think it helped,” Martin said, his mind already halfway up the stairs.

Jon nodded. “Good. Glad to hear it.” There was an extended, empty moment before Jon moved to leave.

At the sound of Jon’s steps, Martin shook himself to the present. “Wait a minute. You should at least warm up inside.”

With a scowl, Jon said, “Listen, while I understand you’re part of this inane inside joke-”

“No! No, it’s not like that. You’re just… you’re shivering, as we speak.” As he spoke, Martin saw Jon stiffen. “As long as we’re quiet, it should be fine. Frostbite isn’t a joke.”

Jon glared at the rocky beach, where the fog had already settled in thick. “...Fine.” 

Martin raised his eyebrows. It had been much less of a fight than he had expected. A small grin spread across his face. “Great! Let me just make sure everything is okay first.”

He led Jon to the front door, then stepped inside. Keeping his steps light, Martin inched over to his mother’s slightly open door, just as he had left it. Through the crack he could see the rising and falling outline of his sleeping mother still tucked into bed. Martin carefully closed the door and exhaled.

Like nothing had happened, he thought, ignoring the jelly sensation in his knees. What would he have done if she had been awake? What would she have said about him leaving the house so late? Would she have said anything?

There were other things to think about. He walked back to the door and let Jon inside, leading him to the kitchen. Neither of them spoke, but the tension seemed to seep out of Jon’s shoulders as warmth returned to them. 

Jon kept his hands tucked under his arms, eyeing one of the kitchen chairs. He kept his voice to a low whisper. “Thank you for inviting me inside. I won’t need to stay long.” 

A pity. Martin bit his tongue at the thought. “You’re welcome. Feel free to sit down.” With some reluctance, Jon took the offer and sank into one of the wooden chairs. In spite of himself, he relaxed just a little. 

With that out of the way, Martin glanced at the doorway and asked, “Actually, could you wait here a moment?”

Before he got an answer, he slipped back into the hall, toeing off his shoes before making the climb up the wooden stairs. Once he’d crept into his room, he faced his skinny chest of drawers with a sudden determination. There had to be something.

The first articles of clothing were definitely wrong, both too big and not the right material. Everything would be too big, really, but he could at least figure out the best options for blocking out the cold. 

After some sifting, Martin fished out an old thing of stretchy fleece that had managed to retain its size better than some of his other pullovers. Still very Martin-sized, but that meant it would fit over other clothing just fine. On top of that, it was a dark grey material, nothing so bright as some of his other windbreakers. He could at least spare Jon from his own very retro fashion choices.

When he returned, Jon was standing near the kitchen window and staring out into the night. Without looking away from it, he said quietly, “The fog is much thicker down here. Is it always like this?”

“Not always, but it’s pretty normal? Mum likes it.” Martin fidgeted with the pullover in his hands. With every passing second, he was losing time to throw it out of sight and forget the idea ever came to mind. “Makes it sort of eerie, sometimes, like it’s just the house.”

“Hm. My mobile light should still be fine, I suppose.” Jon pivoted away from the window, and his eyes landed on the thing in Martin’s hands.

Just get it over with, his mind desperately hissed. “I found this upstairs and figured it might be helpful. It’s, um, it’s a bit big, but it should slip over what you’re wearing just fine.”

Instead of responding, Jon stared at the pullover, sparing a single glance for Martin’s face before returning to the object in question. 

“You don’t have to use it, obviously,” Martin said, squeezing the fabric. “I just thought, since you came down here because of me, it was the least I could do. But, yeah, it’s probably too much? I’ll-”

“Okay.” 

Jon seemed as surprised by this was Martin, whose feet were now rooted to the spot on the kitchen floor. 

“Um. Good? Good.” Martin held the pullover out in front of himself, his elbows locking him into a position that begged Jon to just take the damn thing.

Jon walked over and pulled it to himself. With almost robotic motions, he slid the garment over his jacket, pushing up the sleeves so they weren’t flopping over his hands. Gosh, it absolutely swamped him. It reached down to his mid-thigh in a way that might’ve been considered fashionable when worn with something other than work trousers and scuffed formal shoes. If Martin hadn’t been stricken with a lead tongue he would’ve let out an inappropriate giggle. 

“Well. It’s not as if Tim is going to see me,” Jon sighed. “Thank you. Now I really should get going.” 

Though attempting to put on a veneer of calm formality, Jon was clearly distracted by some thought as they walked to the front door. He couldn’t seem to stop pulling at his sleeves. Martin should’ve been thankful for the silence considering the awkwardness of the whole exchange. If Jon never brought it up again, it would be a boon to them both.

Once Jon had exited the house, Martin held the door halfway open. “Careful on the way up. Maybe have Tim text me when you get there?” Or Jon could just text him, if they exchanged numbers. Martin stomped that thought out of existence. No, there was no way he’d be able to ask for that when he’d just barely survived the pullover situation.

Before replying, a weird look crossed Jon’s face. Something between irritation and intense concentration. “Yes, I’ll let him know to do so. Good night, Martin.” And he was off, shoving his hands into his new pockets.

Martin shut the door. That was that, he thought. Jon wouldn’t freeze to death, and the day was finally over. As if a string above him was snipped, Martin slid against the front entryway and sat on the floor. What a familiar location. Who needed chairs?

It was a few minutes before he could will himself up and forward, his legs barely cooperating. As he passed his mother’s door, the urge to check inside, to see if she still clutched the skin to her chest or if she’d thrown it aside for reasons beyond him, it itched in his hand and begged him to turn the knob. The door stayed shut, and with the last of his energy he reached the top of the stairs and stumbled into his room.

His bed was before him. Without changing, he flopped forward onto the mattress, ready for sleep to take him, but it came so achingly slow he was still awake to see the flash of a notification on his mobile.

Tim: boss said to tell you he made it back

Tim: at this rate youll have him wearing long johns by friday 

Ah. He pressed his face into his pillow. Tim had caught Jon in the pullover after all. 

At least he’d kept it on. With that thought, Martin’s mind finally showed mercy, and he slept.

--

No dreams made for a quick jump to morning, and Martin was unfortunately awake.

Checking his mobile, he found that his barely awake self from the night before had responded to Tim’s text.

Martin: just in time for you all to run from the cold weather

Tim: i wouldnt say its much warmer in the city

Tim: and hey were still here

Tim: so i hope youve got some oversized fuzzy socks to complete the set for our brave leader

With a snort, Martin pushed himself upright. It hadn’t been enough sleep, not for the day he’d had, but there was no helping it. He got ready and began collecting his things together, including his work contract and the sketchbook buried in his bedside drawer.

If nothing else worked out, he would make sure this thing was out of his hands with Peter none the wiser.

Chapter Text

She was still in bed.

Martin breathed out his nose. This was normal, what with the early hours he kept. Still, as he shut the door, the smallest amount of tension left his shoulders. His mother would wake up in a few hours and go about her day as usual with what energy she had. Things were normal. 

He pressed his forehead to the wood.

She hadn’t been holding her skin.

Stowed it away, perhaps, to keep it close and secure instead of sitting in the corner of a stuffy attic. Tucked out of sight, as if it had never been there. If this was what she wanted, fine. He would leave it. He stepped away and continued with his morning, leaving the silence undisturbed.

His routine dragged on, and yet before he knew it he’d sped through the whole thing. Teeth, shower, some small nothing of a breakfast that he barely managed to get down. Pill box set on the counter, the previous day’s dose empty. Some dishes left in the sink that he hadn’t gotten to the night before quickly rinsed and set aside. Then, before he felt any time truly pass, he was slipping on his shoes.

His bag felt heavy as he lifted it from the table, though the sketchbook inside was no physical burden. This would be over soon, he told himself. It made no difference to his nervous insides.

He should’ve gotten more sleep.

It had been a mistake to stumble out of the house the night before. He could’ve complied with his mother’s demand for solitude by simply leaving the room and going upstairs to his own bed. Instead, he’d had to be walked home late at night like a drunk after last call. And above all, he was up earlier than usual, the final nail in his sleepless coffin. 

Martin rubbed away some of the exhaustion from his eyes and hefted the bag more securely onto his shoulder. Upon exiting his home he was met with a dreary, drizzling morning that sprayed his glasses with tiny droplets. Before long he would have to wipe them, but he kept his umbrella stored away.

“No reason to look up,” he muttered to himself, turning his back on the sea. It churned and scattered itself over the rocks. “Nothing but water in your eyes.”

It was easy enough to focus on the path as it sloped upward, and when he reached town he turned to walk on a street perpendicular to his normal route, that towering thing clawing at this periphery. He had another destination to avoid eye contact with first.

On the way he passed the storage house, doing his best to look like an uninterested pedestrian. It was hard not to stare. So quiet in the early morning, the building could’ve been unused for years if Martin hadn’t known better. 

He shook his head. There was no more business to be had there, at least for the moment. If none of them had been tracked down by the police (or worse), it wasn’t worth worrying about. No, the only person who knew about their little investigation was ahead of him, and like a fool Martin had to trust that he would keep this whole thing quiet.

The house was probably the same as it had been. Martin couldn’t tell, as he kept his eyes away from its large frame and numerous windows. The front gate was open and inviting, the mouth of a whale waiting for the tiniest specks of sea life to float inside.

A woman in a neat suit stood at the front door, apparently waiting for him. “Martin. Simon told me to expect you. No problems, I assume?”

“No.” Martin sifted through his bag and handed her the sketchbook.

“Wonderful. I’ll deliver this to him for you.” She lightly brushed at the cover, lips parting in a smile. “Also, Simon wished for me to tell you that the view from up high later today won’t be one to miss.”

Her face said to be excited, as if she were telling him discreetly of a meteor shower or a fireworks display. A fun, secret end to his family vacation that wasn’t mentioned in the brochure. She tucked the sketchbook under her arm, never letting the friendly grin drop.

“Have a nice day,” she said, through her sparkling teeth. The door was promptly shut in his face.

Backing away, Martin almost looked up at the windows overlooking the front of the house, then snapped his head back down. There was nothing for him up there but dark glass and rainwater.

--

“That’s…hm.” Jon grimaced in his chair. “It’s certainly ominous.”

Martin sat at his small desk making a modest attempt at getting his work done. “Yeah, I don’t think I’ll be looking out the windows later.”

Jon nodded. “Yes, that would be for the best. I am concerned, though. The possibility of that book being something more significant hadn’t crossed my mind with everything else going on. If I’d had more time to think, I would’ve asked to take a look at it.”

Across from Jon, Tim was flipping through Martin’s work contract with some intensity. Without looking up, he said, “Well, there’s no helping it now. It probably would’ve just given you a headache, or worse. Martin, is there a list of- oh, wait, I found them.”

Sasha leaned over to look at the pages in Tim’s hand, chewing on the inside of her cheek. When Martin had come in for the day, the three had already settled into their workplaces with a strange energy about them. Sasha in particular had been on edge, seemingly unable to sit for too long. 

When he’d asked about this, her only response had been, “Elias hasn’t contacted us yet.”

Jon had argued that it was early, that he had sent out an email the night before and Elias might not have seen it, but there were lines of worry etched in his forehead and at the corners of his eyes. 

Or perhaps he was also in need of a better night’s sleep. If Martin had to guess, none of them were running at full capacity. If combing through his incredibly boring work contract helped Tim and Sasha them feel productive, so be it.

“Well, whatever the book was,” Jon continued, “when you go upstairs later, make sure to take Sasha or myself with you. We’ve been largely unaffected by this place, so if anyone is to follow up on Fairchild’s… tip, it should be one of us.”

“He’s the type to rile people up for fun. Maybe it’s nothing.” Martin couldn’t even convince himself.

“Not worth the risk, what with the symptoms you and Tim have exhibited.” Jon glanced at the other two, who did not look away from their reading. He cleared his throat. “Better to be safe in this circumstance, I think.”

The group fell back into silent work, Martin at his desk, Jon on his laptop, and the other two scanning line after line of employment agreements and mind-numbing blocks of text Martin probably hadn’t read before signing. When he’d gone over it days before, there had been no secret clauses or double meanings. Maybe they would have more luck.

Tim eventually spoke up. “Huh. Martin, have you done any of the cleaning bit since we’ve arrived?”

Martin raised his eyebrows. “What? Sorry, did I leave a mess in the sink or-”

“No, no, that’s not it.” Tim tapped the back of his hand onto the page in front of him. “Says here you’re basically the janitorial staff. Something about having to go through the place and clean everything.”

“Oh. Right, yeah, it’s part of my job since no one else works here.” Heat crept up his neck. He’d completely forgotten in the week’s excitement. He muttered to himself, “Shit. I’d better get that done today. If Peter comes in tomorrow and sees it’s a mess-”

“Don’t worry, we won’t interrupt. Just tell us if we need to move anything.”

Martin nodded and pushed himself out of his chair. “Thanks for reminding me. It’s not a priority most of the time since it’s just me, but at the very least he’ll notice if the floors are bad.” And with all the weather and the people, they absolutely were. Goodness.

Tim clicked his tongue. “Can’t have him thinking of us as an intrusion, not if we want to keep the work going.”

“God, I hadn’t even thought about that.” Martin walked over to the closet and began to pull out cleaning supplies. It would have to be the kitchen first, then the floors…

Before long, he’d settled into his cleaning routine. All of the dishes were properly washed instead of just rinsed out, not that the tea stains would be coming off anytime soon. He did his best to mop the main area without disturbing the researchers. Besides some lifting of feet, there were no interruptions on his part.

He would have to go over some spots later, but there was no helping it with all these people about. With so many shoes on the tile and all the rotten weather, the place had gotten dirty and slick. He really would need to get a better mat for the front door if people were to come in more often, especially once it started snowing.

Pushing that thought gently aside, Martin walked toward the stairs with his mop and bucket full of sudsy water. 

“Wait, you really have to lug that all the way up?” Sasha asked. 

“Yeah…” Martin sighed and started climbing. “There’s nowhere to fill a bucket up there, but people go up just enough that it gets dirty.” 

From behind him, there was the sliding of chairs on tile. He looked back. Sasha led the other two toward him and said, “With what Fairchild said, it’s best not to risk anyone going up there alone. Besides, I want another look at the windows before it goes weird.”

“Okay… Just don’t look too far down when you do.” He glanced behind her. “Tim, are you sure you don’t want to-”

“Oh, I’ll be staying nice and safe in the center of the room where I can keep an eye on everyone.” Tim smiled with at least some humor. “Besides, you were right. The contract was a terrible read.”

Martin shrugged and continued his ascent with everyone trailing behind. He wouldn’t bother with the stairs until he was on his way down, in part due to safety but also because it was the biggest pain to keep the bucket balanced. 

Halfway up the stairs the shoulder pain kicked in as it usually did, near his neck and right between the shoulder blades. He knew it must’ve been from holding things wrong in some way. Maybe the shifting weight of the water messed with his muscles, but no matter how he held himself he had always managed to get at least a crick in his neck.

“Martin?” Jon said, sounding distant at the back of the line. “Is everything okay?”  

Martin hummed in response, stretching his neck. He didn’t work with proper posture, so that was almost definitely a factor. Setting a timer could be helpful. How often were people supposed to stand and move when sitting for a long time? Every thirty minutes? That seemed a bit too often, but he was no expert in muscles or spines. 

He wasn’t an expert in anything, really, but in this case he could at least google it. How often had he told himself he would google ‘when should you get up sedentary job?’ without doing so? Was thirty years when things started going wrong with your back? Martin was a tall man, and his back had never been great, not with his lifestyle or all the lifting he sometimes had to do at home, but he knew being tall could really mess up the spine. Herniated discs were apparently-

“Martin!” Sasha’s voice snapped, echoing up into the stairwell.

The sound of steps behind him had stopped. Martin paused and looked over his shoulder to find Sasha’s hand on it, giving it a shockingly forceful shake. The three of them seemed to sag in relief. Tim was gripping the handrail and leaned his head against the wall, while Jon just looked at him with his hands raised as if to prod Martin’s arm.

With a nervous laugh, Martin flicked his eyes between them. “W-what’s going on? You look like you’ve seen-”

“Martin, what just happened?” Sasha asked. Her fingers continued to dig into his shoulder, keeping him in place.

“We… walked up the stairs? I carried a bucket?” He lifted the bucket up as evidence, then stared at it. “Sorry, did some of the water splash out and make the stairs slippery? I tend to overfill it, but-” 

Jon cut him off. “Let’s just- we’ll talk when we get upstairs.” He glanced behind himself with some alarm and hurried to the front of the group.

Martin was about to argue, to say that no, if something happened he deserved to know- but one look at their faces was enough to shut him up as they resumed the trek upward. He gripped tight the bucket and mop. 

It became clear on the quiet walk that the others were waiting for something. Sasha kept lightly squeezing Martin’s shoulder as if to push him forward. Only once did they stop for Tim to get his bearings, after several instances of Tim waving off his own stumbles as nothing.

From the front Jon regularly looked over his shoulder, usually at Martin but occasionally past him down the winding steps. Martin attempted to catch his eye more than once to raise an eyebrow at him, but the man was distracted by whatever it was that had everyone all in a tizzy. 

Besides those tiny moments of confusion, it was easy enough to settle into the now familiar headspace of focusing on Jon’s back and not thinking too hard about it all.

Finally, thankfully, they reached the upper floor. Bright morning light filtered through the panes of glass, a startlingly intense change from the stairwell. Despite this, Martin shivered. If he dared go near the windows, he thought, would they be at all warm?

Sasha’s hand guided him to a small, faded couch in the corner. He set the cleaning supplies onto the floor, sat with his hands together in his lap, and waited.

Sasha began, “So, I’m sure that was… strange for you.”

“I mean, yeah?” Martin replied. He started rubbing a thumb into the back of his hand. “Clearly something happened that I don’t know about.”

Sasha looked around at the other two before fishing her phone out of her pocket. “Well. Before we get into that, there’s something you should hear. Late last night, I received an interesting voicemail.” 

Martin’s eyes grew wide. “Wait, she actually-”

“She didn’t actually claim to be anyone. Understandably suspicious.” Sasha looked at her phone and pulled something up on it. “Nevertheless, she had some… advice.”

She tapped the phone, then held it out.

A tired, irritated voice came through, muffled with static. “I’m not interested in talking, not if you’re involved with those people, that family. They’ve harassed me, stalked me, who knows what else.” 

There was a quick sigh. “But you found my number and just... called me. No one would blow all that work on such a weak lie unless they were being sincere. I guess. Or it’s just easier to hope that someone else sees that something is wrong.”

“So, before I realize this is a bad idea, tell this to whoever they got to replace him: Don’t assume incompetence. They know how to get away with things. It’s all making you ignore what’s right in front of you because, no, of course it must be a mistake or a typo. It’s about getting away with a lie without actually lying.” Another sigh. 

“That’s where he went, or where they took him, I know it. When he came out from- from wherever the first time, he found me losing it on the stairs after he-.” The person laughed, just barely. “Almost dropped the stupid water bucket when he saw me there. He was always- no. No. If you’re really trying to figure things out, then best of luck to you. You’re probably fucked, but either way, don’t… don’t go in alone. You’ll just get lost. Don’t bother calling this number again.” Click.

For a moment Martin stared at the phone. Her voice had been cracking near the end, and he pushed down the bile that rose in his throat. “This is, um… So, she saw something, and that something was…”

Tim nodded, fishing a folded page of the contract out of his pocket and giving it over to Martin. “She was right. It’s the smallest detail. No one would think it’s anything other than a mistake.” 

Slowly, Martin unfolded the page listing his general duties. It took him a moment, but after scanning a few lines he found it. His stomach twisted. “‘Upper floors’. There’s only the main floor and the top floor, nothing else.”

“Apparently not,” Jon said, sitting on the arm of the couch. “Because about halfway up the stairs you disappeared straight into a wall.”

Chapter Text

“No! No, this isn’t okay!” Martin paced a few feet from the others. 

Saha frowned. “We thought saying something might mess with how things worked normally-”

“So that makes it okay to not tell me at all? I could’ve disappeared completely!” Martin turned and pointed at Tim. “And you tricked me into doing it with all the ‘oh, aren’t you supposed to clean’ talk!”

Tim took a step back. “I thought we could pull you back before anything happened. You were walking slowly, but it all just-”

“Oh, yes, that makes me feel much better!” 

Tim winced. Out of the three, guilt was the most plain on his face. “I’m sorry.”

“It was my idea,” Sasha interjected. “I convinced them this was the best way to get results in the time crunch we have. And I still think it was, for what it’s worth.”

Martin looked away from her, crossing his arms. “Good to know where we stand, then. Glad I could be a data point for you.”

Back by the couch, Jon said, “This is to help you. We had no intention of letting harm come to you-”

“Who said it didn’t?!” 

For a minute the others said nothing. Martin filled the silence with large, shuddering breaths. That was a thought, wasn’t it?

Eventually, Jon rubbed the back of his hand and asked, “Are you… do you feel any different?”

“How should I know? Apparently this has been going on every week for months.” The final break in his voice was horribly audible. Martin laughed, dragging a hand down his face.

Months. How much time was wiped from his memory? Where had he been going? Were there other places he would’ve disappeared to if they hadn’t stopped him midway? God, his skull was splitting itself in two.

“You should sit back down.” Jon placed a hand on top of the couch, his brows knit together. “You’re right. We should have told you beforehand.”

Martin saw Jon’s sorry face and faltered despite himself. Still, he glowered. “Yeah. You should have.” Glancing at the other two, he retook his place on the couch and threaded his fingers together. 

Sasha sighed. “I just thought it would be our last shot at finding something and getting more time. You need this figured out more than any of us.”

“Very convenient for you, then,” Martin spat, leaning his elbows onto his knees. He looked down at the scuffs on his boots. “I get it. It’s not okay, but I get it. Now I know… something?” 

“We know more, certainly, though I can’t say it’s all that much.” Jon leaned back against his arm of the couch. “One moment you were walking up the steps, but then instead of turning you walked straight into the wall. Ten minutes pass, you come out and continue up as if you hadn’t noticed anything.”

“Which I didn’t, because I have no memory of any of it.” Martin rested his chin on his fist. “God, ten minutes.”

“You’re telling us,” Tim said, taking the other couch arm. “Listen, don’t think we weren’t freaking out the whole time.”

Martin snorted disdainfully. “Great. Clearly I’m in safe hands.” 

“Hey, we really did try, but the wall was solid just as you went through it.” Sasha shoved her hands into her coat pockets. “My idea just needed more time for workshopping, time we don’t have.”

“Well, if this doesn’t get your boss invested, he definitely has something else going on,” Martin said. “Impossible spaces with invisible entrances that lure people in for a weekly cleaning can’t be that common.”

“You’d be surprised at how mundane impossible rooms can feel.” Jon tapped his knee. “But the lack of intent or memory on your part is too much to ignore, even if we leave out the, ah, contractual obligations.”

Martin accepted this with a tired nod. “Okay, so, what next? Do I just… I’m not going to have to try and go back in, am I?”

“Oh no, absolutely not,” Tim said. “That’s for later, when we hopefully have more time and resources. Trying to mess with the… the normal processes of this place, that’s something we aren’t going to try yet. Observation first, then theorizing, etcetera.”

Sasha hummed in agreement. “But we did discuss Naomi’s message before we came in today, and we all agreed that with her testimony it would be less of a risk to try the panel. With everyone present of course.”

Martin perked up. “Wait, really? Tim, you’re okay with this?”

“Not quite the word, but I’m leaning much more toward the ‘trapped person’ theory than my mimic idea. At the very least, I think…” Tim seemed to struggle for words, then set his jaw. “I think Naomi needs the truth.”

--

“The plan is to minimize the time spent communing with it,” Jon said, gathering his notes. “The yes-or-no method was a good start. We’ll see if it retained the echoed words and work from there, using questions we prepared ahead of time.”

Sasha chimed in. “We think alternating speakers will keep any side effects from getting to one person too quickly. There are also a few words we might attempt to, well, feed it, if necessary for communication.”

They continued half-explaining, half-talking to themselves. Martin got the impression that they were attempting to keep him present, as if zoning out was even an option for him anymore.

Soon enough, Jon’s hand was on the panel. Tim stood nearby and alternated between crossing his arms and flipping a pencil between his fingers. Sasha sat waiting in a chair with an old handheld camera (“Can’t put it on mobile recordings. Only ancient techniques allowed for this stuff”). Through the viewer, Jon and Tim were just in frame with the panel in the center.

Martin didn’t know what to do with himself and chose to keep his hands in his pockets and stand by Sasha. 

“Let’s hope they wake up faster this time.” Jon waited for Sasha’s nod, then twisted the dial. A moment passed in the silence, and then- 

“HELP?” Martin’s voice boomed, the edges of it rough and distorted, morphing the question into an unbearable scream. No one answered, the overwhelming sound bouncing around them with such force as to make Martin’s eardrums want to burst.

Again, as the reverberations began to wane, “PLEASE?”

Just as Martin could feel another boom coming, Jon gripped the panel and shouted, “Can you hear us?!”

And with that, no other outburst came. Jon’s voice echoed in that strange, elongated way until there was nothing left but the breaths Martin refused to release.

In Martin’s more true-to-life tone came a simple, “Yes.”

“Much better,” Jon gasped out. He straightened, making a show of brushing himself off. “We can get on with things, then, if you don’t mind.” 

Picking up his notepad, Jon began, “We are researchers investigating on behalf of the current lighthouse employee with whom you recently made contact with. We believe we know your identity, but we would like to confirm some personal information as a precaution. Is that amenable?”

As they waited, Tim and Sasha composed themselves. Between this and Jon’s calm demeanor, Martin suddenly felt very silly about how quickly his conversation had spiraled into panic and confusion.

Actually, no, being stuffy and professional at a possible ghost was silly. Incredibly so,  and the longer Martin watched the harder it became not to interrupt the process with snickering. Jon especially was making such a bold attempt to not only sound but look serious to a person who couldn’t see him. 

“Yes.” Martin chose to believe the being was just as dumbfounded by how this was going so far.

“Excellent.” Jon then began to list numbers 0 to 9 in order, allowing each one to be fully absorbed by the lighthouse walls. “If you’ve got all that, can you please tell me the number of your mobile phone?”

Sure enough, Jon’s voice recited a series of numbers, familiar enough by now that Martin was convinced after only the second digit.

Tim slumped, though whether in relief or something else Martin couldn’t tell. “Well, sorry for making you wait, but you can’t judge us for being careful. We can’t talk for long periods of time for safety reasons, but we’ll try to get a lot out of this first go.”

Tim sifted through some of his notes as his echo faded. “Your vocabulary is limited, so for now we’ll stick to yes and no. First: are you in a location that can be described using words?”

“Yes. Quiet.”

“Okay.” Tim scratched the answer down. “So the place is quiet. Can you tell where we’re coming in from?”

There was a longer pause. “No. From? Up. Downstairs? Outside? Here.”

Sasha clicked her tongue. “Rules out a more physical location. Not surprising. As far as you can tell, do you have a physical body?”

“Half.” A moment, then quickly, “Now. Yes. From? This.”

Martin leaned back, his voice falling to a whisper. “He doesn’t mean like… this, does he?”

“If talking helps give him corporeality, it’s a good sign that he’s telling us up front,” Tim replied, his reassuring tone not quite matching the look on his face.

Martin spoke up, unable to stop himself. “Hi? Um, sorry for leaving you like that, but I’m not really a professional at this? Anyway, earlier today I learned that when I go upstairs for cleaning I unknowingly walk into a secret room? Do you know anything about that?”

“Yes. No. No. Me. Worry. Then?” After a few seconds, the thought continued, “No. Me. No. Me. Okay? NO. ME.”

From across the room, Tim dropped his pencil, letting it roll until it hit the wall. “He’s-”

“Yes, I understood,” Jon said, tapping his foot with a new energy. “You mean Naomi.”

“Yes. Naomi. Naomi. Okay? Worry?”

“Well, yeah, of course she’s worried!” Tim half-laughed out. “I mean, yes, she’s okay. We got a message from her yesterday. She’s the reason we ended up talking to you.”

“Okay.” The being who was almost certainly Evan Lukas paused. “Okay. Questions?”

The shift in mood caught Martin off-guard. Jon had started to pace. Sasha was scribbling something down with her free hand. Tim had changed gears entirely, scooping his pencil off the floor and flashing Martin a thumbs up. 

It (probably, definitely) wasn’t a monster according to the professionals. This wasn’t part of the horror house that was his workplace. They were doing something.

Sasha remained seated, keeping the camera as steady as she could while flipping through her own notes. “Okay, so. Thank you for offering up extra confirmation. Back to a previous topic, the place on the stairs. Naomi mentioned experiencing the moment you went in. Did you ever attempt to go in with any sort of recording device?”

“No. Here. Before? Think. It.”

“Okay, safe to assume that’s all you know about that part. Would you say you ended up wherever you are by accident?”

“No.”

Martin squeezed his eyes shut. He had assumed as much, partially to take comfort in Evan’s fate not being a random happenstance of bizarre construction that could happen to him, but-

“Someone did this to you.” Sasha continued.

“Yes.”

Before responding, Sasha lowered the camera and switched it off. “Your family did this. I assume it was Peter.” The final word sank into the quiet.

“PETER.”

Everyone covered their ears as Sasha’s voice was thrown back, twisted and loud and furious. The table shook, papers scattering off its surface in the shockwave. Jon stumbled away from the panel and tripped backwards onto the floor. Shaking off the buzzing in his head, Martin hurried over to help him to his feet, Tim joining him a moment later.

Sasha walked to the panel and placed a hand on the dial. “Look, Evan? We will help you, but if you keep doing that we’re going to shut the channel off.”

“...From? Here?”

“Yes, that’s the plan. But you yelling is much louder for us and gets you nowhere. Save it for when you have someone worthwhile to scream at. Understand?”

“Soon. Please?” Martin’s voice implored, disjointed and quiet.

After being pulled to his feet, Jon legitimately brushed himself off and fixed his tie. “I’m not sure if time means much where you are, but yes. We will help you as soon as we can.”

“But,” Tim said, rubbing his temple. “We’ll probably need to break for now. Even without the shouting, something about this place messes with your head, and talking to you is no exception.”

As Tim spoke, Martin finally paid attention to the stabbing pain behind his eyes. “Ah, right, I forgot this was part of it.”

Predictably, Jon and Sasha just looked at the other two with concern. Jon cleared his throat. “Yes, perhaps now that we have a baseline of communication, it would be good for all of us to think about next steps.”

Tim nodded. “Evan? We’re going to turn the dial off for a while so the echoes don’t break our skulls open. Sit tight, and we’ll be back soon to cover what you remember, all right?”

“...Okay.”

And Tim turned the dial. 

--

After all the excitement and goings-on, it was only ten in the morning by the time they made it downstairs. 

For the sake of a complete observation, Martin finished his normal janitorial duties. The air was thick with tension as the others kept watch for changes in his demeanor or direction, but nothing happened. Before long he was stowing his supplies into the closet downstairs and collapsing onto his desk.

Tim leaned against the table. “If it makes you feel any better, we won’t tell if you slack off.” 

“Yes, you’re all very good at not telling people things.”

“Hey, from now on it’s full disclosure. I promise, I’ll never let Sasha convince me of anything ever again.”

Sasha rolled her eyes and looked past Tim from the far end of the table. “I am sorry, whether or not you believe me. If something like that comes up again, we’ll find a way to handle it differently. But like you said, now you know.”

“Yeah. Now I know.”

Across from Tim, Jon sat at his laptop quietly typing away as the conversation unfolded around him. There was a twinge of irritation at the back of Martin’s mind, but his head was killing him and, well, there were more important things for all of them to be thinking about.

The numbers swam in front of Martin and he pushed the paperwork aside, folding his arms under his head. He probably wasn’t going to have his job much longer.

“So, once your day is about done and the headaches clear, we’ll check in with Evan and see if the sky is messed up. Two-for-one,” Tim said with little enthusiasm. “My bet is we’ll look out the window and see Simon Fairchild falling past us like a screaming ragdoll.”

At some point, Martin did just fall asleep at his desk. Every once in a while, he would wake up to see another hour had passed with the three researchers still seated at the table. He managed to stay up long enough to eat his lunch around noon, but after that he was out like a light. His cohorts may have been used to the sort of hours and excitement of the past week, but there never seemed to be enough sleep for him.

They were nice enough to leave him undisturbed. 

--

“Sorry, let me see. You went to work that day. Peter was there, and at some point he took you upstairs for some reason?” Sasha said, writing something down.

“Yes. He. Needed. Something.” The mix of voices had an almost computer-like quality after a while now that they’d started getting proper sentences. 

They’d been working for a bit, trying to fill in some word gaps while probing Evan’s memory. Martin and Tim sat on the couch, facing purposefully away from the windows. Sasha was back in her chair, while Jon stood nearby and kept an eye on the outside.

Martin’s shift had ended about ten minutes before. Apparently whatever it was the woman had alluded to, it was meant to be happening ‘later today’, but both up- and downstairs so far had been… nothing. The same gloomy sky down below, the same bright expanse up above. It was as normal as things could’ve been. 

“And what was it he needed?”

“He. Needed. Me. Working. Upstairs? Something. Off. Smug. Bastard.”

“God, he is.” Martin chuckled. Did Evan count as a coworker? This felt like a coworker thing to talk about.

Sasha tapped her pen to paper. “Did he say anything else once you actually went upstairs? Anything about plans or reasoning?”

“Family? Disappointed. Normal. Stuff.”

“And then what happened? Were you pushed into something? Did you see anything before things changed?”

“No. Smug. Talking. Then. Here.”

“Were you facing the windows, or toward the panel?”

“Windows. Not. See. Panel.”

Martin would have to get home, soon. Should he have been running home the moment he had the chance to make sure his mother was all right? What if this thing happened while he was still at work? He should’ve called earlier that day, now that he was thinking about it, but now it was too late. He wasn’t about to walk downstairs alone for some privacy.

Would asking the others to come home with him after this be weird? Yes, that would be weird. He could text Tim if there was a problem. If it was big enough of an event, them being around wouldn’t make much of a difference anyway.

Would a timetable have been so terrible? A nice ‘Simon said look at the sky around noon-ish’?

As Tim and Sasha alternated with questions, Jon kept glancing out the window and clenching his jaw. Even if Martin was still miffed about that morning, the sight made his stomach twist in sympathy.

If Simon had some sort of plan, Martin wished he would get it over with already. 

Chapter Text

Nothing happened.

The sky was unchanged in every way but for the time that had passed. They had bid Evan a good night (“Oh, right, it’s evening now? Should probably give you some idea about time when we talk.”), and Martin stood at the front entrance to stare through the small window. It was grey and downright gloomy out there. Nothing new.

“D’you think Simon and that woman just wanted to mess with me?” Martin said. “Like, say some spooky stuff to make sure I stay quiet about the whole thing?”

“It’s possible,” Jon said, exhaustion clear in his voice. “But there’s still a sky, which is good news, I suppose.” 

“And not everything is sky,” Sasha added helpfully. “That seems more Simon’s speed than getting rid of it.”

Tim stretched his arms above his head. “Either way, keep an eye out for a warning text before we all become professional skydivers.”

“At least I’ll have a job lined up?” He wanted to muster up some more concern but after a day of waiting the suspense had run out. If something was going to happen, there was nothing he could do. “Well, goodnight. And don’t stay here too late! You all won’t make it another day without getting proper sleep.”

His eye landed on Jon, who huffed a little. “Yes, yes, we’ll all get a proper rest. Unlike the others I don’t do coffee. Though, let me walk you out. I’d like to get another look at the sky.”

It wasn’t the smoothest transition to accompanying Martin outside, but lack of sleep didn’t make for good excuses. Martin nodded and walked out with Jon in tow.

Once outside, Jon folded his hands together and seemed to consider something. “I think I’m a bit of a broken record at this point, but I wanted to apologize for earlier. I had become concerned about the lack of response from Elias and wanted to get it all back to him before too long.”

Martin looked at him carefully. “So… you think it’ll be enough?”

“Yes. It might even be overkill, but now that I’ve promised multiple people to help fix things, it’s better to be safe than sorry.” Jon let his hands fall to his sides. “The apology still stands, though.”

“Well, with you staying longer I’m sure I’ll find a way to even out the apologies between us. There are always papers to scatter.” Martin smiled sheepishly and adjusted the bag hanging from his shoulder. “But it would be nice if you didn’t have something to apologize for in the first place.”

“Yes, I recognize that.” Jon rubbed his arm. “I’m trying. I hope that much is clear.”

Martin sighed, the final piece of irritation drifting away. “Yeah, I know. I do accept it, the apology. But maybe try to go without needing to? For like a day?”

Straightening, Jon nodded. “I can do that. Or try, at least.” 

“That’s all I ask.” All of that out of the way, Martin relaxed. “I guess I’ll be going. Big day tomorrow, right?”

“Yes, it will be.”Jon stood there as if about to say something else, stopping himself several times. Finally, in earnest, he said, “I’ll… I’ll do as much as I can, to help.” 

“See you tomorrow, then.”

As Martin walked away, he glanced back and saw that Jon had remained on the front steps, turning his gaze upward with a frown. If this had been a trick, Martin thought, it had done its job quite nicely. He almost regretted bringing it up to the others. They all shouldn’t have had to worry about nothing.

No, that wouldn’t have worked. One of them would’ve picked up on it. Sasha probably, though with that kind of intuition she also should’ve known better than to keep Naomi’s warning a secret from him.

But she apologized, and had only wanted to help. And she had been right about the results. There was no arguing that. It didn’t make it less upsetting, but putting it behind him wouldn’t be difficult. They were all going to be around each other, after all. Martin wanted to enjoy that.

He passed the place where he’d fallen. There was no sign of the event of course, no crack in the street or mark of a skull hitting concrete. No one had been there to witness it, either. 

The sky was getting darker still, the street filling more and more with chill and emptiness. Ahead was the wooded cliffside that split his home away from the rest of town, and Martin dearly wished he had someone to walk home with.

--

The TV was on when he returned home. He slid off his jacket and damp boots by the door and stayed there in his wool socks. There was a numbness to his knees, a soreness to his throat that he couldn’t swallow away. It was getting colder outside, and the sea air always got worse as the year crept closer to winter. 

Tea would fix it, once Mum was off to bed.

A sore throat meant talking less, which is what she preferred anyway. He nodded to her once in her chair, then went into dinner preparations. Something warm, something hearty, and something simple. He grabbed the container of beef stew and a cylinder of dinner roll dough from the fridge. Simple and, even better, fast. 

Before long there were steaming bowls of meat and vegetables on the table with rolls for dipping. He thanked his past self for thinking ahead as he and his mother ate in silence. 

She said nothing, did nothing but her usual routine. There was no going outside with the intense chill that had settled onto the beach. Instead, she went straight to bed without a word spoken.

A tingling in his throat kept him from uttering a single goodnight. He turned out her lamp and closed her door, returning to the kitchen to wash the dishes and make himself some tea with honey. While waiting for the water to boil, he checked his phone and saw a text from earlier.

Tim: got home alright?

Martin: sorry. yeah i made it fine

He hoped his response hadn’t come too late to be worrisome, but Tim responded rather quickly.

Tim: gotcha. no tumbles?

Martin: no nothing

Tim: good. ill let the others know

Tim: so i guess tomorrow is gonna be interesting. its a bit weird to get a project really started on a friday but i was thinking we could all get food afterwards tomorrow, maybe get some drinks

Tim: usually jon skips out on that sort of thing but on trips its easier to get him since he hates making food choices in new places

Tim: you in?

Martin’s thumbs twitched over the phone keyboard. When was the last time he bothered sitting in a restaurant instead of getting takeout? Or went to a bar?

He would have to get his mother settled in with dinner and everything. Her usual bedtime was early, but they were late workers so maybe it would be fine? Would it be fine? Would he be fine?

Shit, he needed to respond.

Martin: sure that would be nice. what time?

Tim: probably later evening, since we’ll be settling work stuff. thinkin 8 or 9 if that works

Martin: yeah that’s perfect actually

Tim: great, see you bright and early! 👍

Martin: have a good night!

Slumping against the counter, Martin looked over the short conversation a few times (perhaps more than a few) and then pocketed his phone. 

This was fine. It was getting some food with some people. He would be fine.

The kettle whistled and he nearly jumped out of his skin. Tea, he was making tea for himself. So he did, adding honey and milk to his liking. It was too sweet for his mother or anyone else he knew, but this was for him.

He took the steaming mug in both hands and looked out the window. The sky was still there, as were the beach and crashing waves though he could barely see them. His house still stood around him with the lights on and heat running. 

Savings were something he’d finally managed to have in the recent months after years of low-wage customer service positions. He and his mother could survive without income for a little while. Getting through the whole of winter would be a stretch, but his spending habits were fairly restrained and his mother’s medication would still be covered. In the meantime there were other avenues for making money, so this job wasn’t the end-all-be-all.

God, it had been nice though. Martin would hold onto the pay for as long as he could during the whole saving-Evan process, but after that he would have a lot to figure out.

Draining the rest of his mug, he rinsed it out and set it into the sink. The tea had done its job in soothing his throat. The extra warmth in his hands was a blessing as well. He wondered if Jon would be keeping warm at all, though he suspected the truth would be disappointing.

No matter. If the others were working there a while longer Jon would have to adjust to the weather eventually, or else deal with Martin pushing hot mugs of tea into his hands until he learned. Maybe he’d toss in a scarf to complete the set.

With one last glance out the kitchen window, he walked out into the hall and up the stairs, turning off each light as he went. Once in his room, Martin slipped into his pyjamas and reached into the drawer of his bedside table. His poetry notebook had gone ignored for several days, and that needed rectifying.

Where would he even start? The last page he’d written seemed like it was from years before, not a week. Now he had a whole swirl of worries about the future he hadn’t had to deal with since he was in school. Worries and fears and-

And a silly, one-sided thing that while completely hopeless was a nice thing to feel all the same. So just like school, except he had people to meet on a Friday night. 

Looking out his window a final time, Martin sat in his bed, bent over his notebook, and began to write. It was clunky at first, the words getting stuck somewhere in his pen or his throat. Part of his mind kept drifting to his mobile on the bedside table, wondering if Tim was still available to talk a bit more about the day ahead. Tiny things to fill a text log, like food options or how Martin would meet up with them. For a moment he even considered asking Tim for Jon and Sasha’s numbers, in case of emergencies.

Better to have that conversation in person, he thought, pulling his attention back to the page. Soon after he was writing short couplets at a quick pace, scraps of rhyme and feeling, until he checked his phone and found an hour had passed. Sleep, he thought. He needed sleep.

It was almost disappointing to have the writing go by so quickly, but there was no helping it. The poetry notebook was placed neatly into its drawer, his glasses were set onto the table, and Martin, wrapped in a thick blanket, stared out into the night until his eyes were too heavy to hold open.

--

It wasn’t his alarm that woke him the next morning but his ringtone. When he checked the screen, he found notifications for several missed calls from Tim and hurried to answer.

“Tim? What’s-”

--

One by one, files and folders were packed into car trunks. 

He’d wasted no time in getting there, booking it all the way across town, but when he arrived Martin could say nothing at all. Standing near the stairs, he could only watch as the three researchers marched out of the lighthouse with their work things. 

Sasha kept the most calm of the three, nodding at Martin as she walked past him. Her fingers tapped furiously on the side of a box, nails making dents in the cardboard.

Something between misery and confusion pulled at Tim’s mouth. More than once Martin worried he would keel over with nausea, but he stayed upright as if out of spite. He met Martin’s eyes a couple of times with a friendly smile, but it never stuck for long.

Jon was stone faced, though his jaw kept clenching and unclenching. He had only looked at Martin once, keeping that neutral expression to the best of his ability but unable to mask his frustration. Whatever he wanted to say, it wouldn’t be said there.

Behind Martin, Peter Lukas stood with his hand gripping the railing, equal measures tired and irritated and making no attempt to hide how much he didn’t want to be there. No, none of them would be saying anything except their goodbyes.

“Thanks for having us,” Tim said, shaking Martin’s hand. “I’m sure you’ll be happy to have a quiet workplace again.” 

“Right. Have a safe trip.” It was the easiest thing for Martin to say, his mind not yet caught up. 

Tim backed away to join the others who simply waved or nodded their goodbyes. Something in Martin’s chest twisted 

“Yes, I’m sure you’ve seen now that it’s a poor environment for multiple employees. The acoustics make it unbearable.” Peter smiled something empty. “Tell Elias I will be unavailable for communication for the next few weeks, at the least.” 

Jon opened the door to his rental car and said, voice dripping with acid, “I’m sure we’ll speak with him very soon.”

“Perfect. Well, you’d best be going. Wouldn’t want to keep your workplace understaffed any longer.” With that, Peter glanced at Martin and jerked his chin to the front entrance before walking inside.

As Peter disappeared from sight, Sasha’s calm face twisted into furious determination. She nodded at Martin again, then stepped into the driver’s side of the rental and closed the door behind her. Tim sighed, holding up his phone and mouthing “later” before entering the passenger’s side.

Jon gave Martin a familiar look before slipping into his own car. Both vehicles left the lot, vanishing into the fog.

--

“What did I tell you? Academics,” Peter said, picking some lint off his sleeve. “Now, before I go, there are just a few things.”

It took all of Martin’s will not to drag his feet on the way to his desk. The folded table was gone, but dirty footprints littered his newly-mopped floor from where it had been. He focused on the different shoe sizes and shapes in the mud and slush.

"They certainly made a mess of the place, didn't they? You'll have to redo this floor, of course. The upstairs can wait until next week. Just keep to the usual schedule there."

His desk was still littered with papers he’d pushed aside before his nap the day before. 

"You've fallen behind on paperwork as well. Understandable with all the blustering from those three, I really can’t imagine. Ah, well, it's nothing a few extra hours on the weekend won't take care of." 

Martin dropped in the chair he’d sat in for months, overlooked by that crest and its ridiculous seal, eyes dead and glassy.

"Oh, and I’ve made some changes to your workload. It's all written down here.” Peter placed a piece of paper on the desk. “Pretty straightforward. I don't imagine that any of it will be a problem for you."

With a dull nod, Martin dragged the page toward himself without looking at it. An updated part of his work contract. More things for him to accomplish that weekend most likely, as if it was all a punishment. 

Peter breathed in sharply through his nose and clapped his hands together, looking much more refreshed. “I did miss the sound of this place. I have other business, of course, so I’ll leave you to it, hm?”

Not waiting for a response, Peter strode away and out of the building with a decisive click of the door. Martin was left to himself in that wide, empty space, spending five, ten, fifteen minutes just staring at nothing. 

Stupid. If their boss had meant for them to stay longer, they wouldn’t have gone through more extensive measures the day before. They should’ve known better than to make plans that were never going to happen.

Or he had just been so clearly desperate for help that they played it cool until it was time to get out. 

No, that wasn’t fair (though he wasn’t ruling it out entirely). Tim’s invitation the night before would’ve just been cruel if that were the case, and Tim didn’t seem like the type to pull something so mean. And none of them seemed happy about Elias’ decision, especially with all of the work they’d put in. Sasha certainly wasn’t close to dropping anything.

And Jon had made a promise, even if he had a hard time keeping them. 

Eventually, Martin looked down at the page in front of him.

--

Up and around he ran, panic and dizziness squeezing at his skull and threatening to pull him backward off his feet. 

Stumbling into the upmost level of the lighthouse, Martin whispered through haggard breaths, “No, no, no, no-”

He hurried across the room, placing a hand on the dial and giving it a twist. “Evan? Evan, can you hear me?”

He waited for familiar voices with no success. Again, “Evan? It’s me, Martin. Peter left already, so just say something.” 

A perfectly ordinary silence washed over him. He sank to the floor, his hand still brushing against the dial as if it made a difference. From his other hand fell a brand new set of panel instructions. An extra note was left at the bottom, something about the importance of proper lighthouse management to landbound ships. 

Through the windows morning continued to break over the ocean, familiar cliffs just visible through the fog down below.

Chapter Text

“Just- what am I supposed to do, wait for you all to save up for a holiday?”

Martin felt silly, pacing back and forth on the beach and yelling into his phone. A whole day spent too nervous to say anything in that horrible building and there was no keeping it down now, even for his mother. So there he was, outside and cold and freaking out a bit.

Tim sighed. “Look, we’re working on it, but when we got back here we had a mountain of work waiting for us. It’s not the first time this has happened, but if I were the paranoid one I’d say Elias is trying to keep us busy.” 

Pinching the skin between his eyes, Martin said, “I know, I know, it’s not your fault.” Except for all of the stress they’d caused him, all of it for nothing- “Where does it all leave me, though? What can I do?”

“Stay put and do what you’ve been doing. We’ll work things out on our end, but if Evan is… missing, then it’s best you keep your head down. Maybe that’s what he’s doing now that Peter’s back.” Tim paused. “I suppose taking a quick holiday isn’t in the cards?”

“No, not really. Besides, I’d like to still be there in case, I dunno, something happens? Be the man on the ground?”

Tim snorted. “Well, ‘man on the ground’, do your best to stay there. We still don’t know what all that Fairchild business was about, either.” 

“Right. Yeah.” Martin took a moment to tilt his head up at the sky, almost entirely dark. “So, you’ll be the one to contact if things start going sideways?” 

“Seems like it, though I’ll see if we can set up a group text or something. We used to have one for the three of us, but for reasons I will not explore here it was unjustly deemed ‘superfluous’.” Tim seemed to cover the receiver for a moment. “I stand corrected. According to Sasha, it was ‘a gratuitous distraction that only served to flood our notifications with garbage’.”

“...Was it?”

“Oh, absolutely.” Tim’s grin was so audible to be infectious.

Martin laughed a little. “That’ll work. Just in case you can’t be reached.”

“I’ll let you go for the night and give you the details on that once I’m done with all this homework.” There was an exaggerated sound of papers rustling. “Really, I can’t describe the amount of work he’s piled on us. It almost loops back around to Elias being normal Elias.”

“Sure. Good luck.”

“Same to you. And sorry again for the raincheck on dinner!”

“It’s fine. Nothing you could’ve done.”

Click.

Pocketing his mobile, Martin rubbed his face with both hands and willed himself to calm down. It was unfair to be angry at them for needing to do their actual jobs, but if rent needed to be paid then they shouldn’t have promised anything. All he had at that moment was the hope that eventually, long after he was thrown in with Evan, one of them would have the courtesy to come back and record the event for posterity.

“Statement of Ms. Blackwood, regarding the disappearance of her son at his place of employment,” Martin mumbled, kicking at some stones on the ground. “Ugh, that’s morbid.”

Martin looked out over the dark sea, but all that served was to sting his eyes and push his mood down even further. What a horrible habit. Look from the lighthouse, look out to sea, for there is no-

Best to keep his eyes down for the foreseeable future. Unless he’s high up, at which point he’ll keep his eyes anywhere but down. And if he’s stuck in some secret, impossible room, well, he won’t remember which way to look anyway.

--

He was at the table, microwave steamed vegetables and some leftover something or other plated in front of him. Across the table his mother ate in silence save for the dull chewing sounds no one could possibly help. At that moment they were making Martin’s teeth grind. 

A quiet meal could be so aggravating with the wrong person. The tiniest sounds, chewing, breathing, sighing, a cacophony of what should be inoffensive signs of life grating on the ears. 

He’d often heard about the bad effects television during meals could have on family. There had never been one visible from the kitchen, but he could think of many reasons why having one would’ve been a blessing in that house. Even if the one they had could be heard from the other room, there was still nothing to look at but his own plate, the terrible window view, and his mother.

“Is it a porch night?” Martin asked, poking at a sad-looking slice of carrot with his fork. “It’s gotten colder, and darker. Before long it’ll be dark before I get home each day.”

His mother took another bite, a sigh escaping her lips. “Yes.”

“We can’t stay out long,” he warned.

One of her nostrils twitched, but she said nothing. 

“I mean it. You never cover your face.”

“I know what’s best for myself.”

“So do I. It stings my eyes.”

“You won’t outgrow that sensitivity by avoiding it.”

Martin scoffed. “I don’t avoid it.”

This earned him a dainty sniff. “If that were true it wouldn’t sting anymore.”

“Would you-”

“Go get tea started. You’ve let your mouth run enough for one night.”

Martin stood with a sudden force that made him feel like an incensed child who hadn’t gotten his way. He bit his tongue and did as he was told, leaving her to finish her meal. 

The filled kettle was placed gently onto the stove with shaking hands. After switching the stovetop dial, Martin stood with his back to the rest of the kitchen. Tea was made and served in quiet, the tremor still clinging to his hands. The warmth of the cup did nothing to quell the shakes, but if it was noticeable she made no remarks.

Now it was the low sound of her blowing on her tea. The loud sipping noise as she tested the taste. Lip smacking, fingers tapping, everything dragged at the back of his skull, why do people make such noise when they do things?

Finally, he was able to take the cups, his own almost entirely full, and fill the room with clattering and the rush of water out of the sink. It would be enough to rinse for the moment. There would be plenty of time to wash things at any other time.

When the time came, her hand just barely touching his arm, they prepared themselves and went outside. Her breaths were long and loud, in and out through her nose. Though Martin covered his face as best he could, his eyes watered all the same. 

How could she enjoy this?

The walk back indoors, the removal of shoes, the slow movement to her room. Martin just barely stopped himself from slamming her door behind him after getting her to bed, though he had no doubt she’d make a comment on his impatience the next day. There was nothing left but to turn in early himself. What else could he do?

The staircase towered before him, each step upon it harder than the last despite his long legs, but he didn’t look up. Martin could learn from his mistakes if he tried, and he was trying. 

Could she hear him taking his sweet time? Did every creak of the steps set her teeth on edge as she tried to fall asleep?

Martin made it upstairs eventually, and to his bedroom after, though by that point he knew sleep wasn’t coming for him just yet. Checking his phone, he found no new messages or calls, as if he hadn’t kept the thing on vibrate to be alerted of anything new. He dropped the thing on his bedside table after flipping his alarm off. There was work to be done the next day, but he didn’t owe Peter an early start on a Saturday.

As Martin sat on the edge of his bed, the day washed over him and he slumped forward, forearms pressed against knees. He gently tugged his hair out of its elastic, not that it had been all that held back by the end. Running fingers through it, brushing it back and scratching at his scalp, Martin let himself sulk for one more horrible minute.

If they’d stayed, he probably wouldn’t have been able to go out to dinner with them anyway. Irresponsible to have thought otherwise, really. Now there was no reason to worry about it.

Apparently this was what the evening would be: Martin Blackwood feeling snappish and awful.

He would apologize the next day, he thought. His mother, while not helpful, hadn’t actually done anything to make him cross besides exist nearby, and Tim certainly didn’t deserve to be on the receiving end of Martin’s panic and frustration. Only one person deserved that, but chewing out Peter was a sure way to get himself disappeared. So, the options were limited.

He was lucky Jon wasn’t the one who had to call him. How was he not supposed to be angry after Jon worked harder than anyone to convince him that things would work out? The man had outright promised to help Evan even though they had no real plan on how to do that. Sure, it had been heartfelt and sweet, and determination did nice things to his face-

Martin groaned, pulling down at his cheeks. No, anything but that. He wanted to be angry and petty and upset about his possible upcoming death, not disappointed that his one-sided thing was even more doomed than before. Sure, after a bit he would get over it, but it had been a while since he’d fancied someone a little. It was a nice feeling. 

It was even better writing material. Perhaps that would help, writing. At the very least it could prevent another weird scene at the dinner table. What was that line that popped into his head earlier? Could be the start of something cathartic, even if it ended up being complete rubbish.

Reaching down to his nightstand, Martin jumped at the sound of his phone buzzing against wood. From his hunched position he could see an unknown number. He grimaced. Of course he’d get a weird spam call during all this. He let it ring and grabbed his notebook and pencil. There had been a thought earlier, some lines that had a nice cadence despite being off the cuff. A bit boring, but perhaps they could be worked with. Look from the lighthouse-

“Hello, Martin. I’m calling- right, this is Jonathan Sims? From the Magnus Institute? I had Tim give me your number but I’m realizing now that he might not have told you yet. I-”

Scrambling for the phone, Martin dropped the notebook right onto his toes. “Shit-” 

“-wanted to discuss some things with you. Let me know if-”

Finally, Martin managed to press the right button and answer the call. “Sorry, hi, it’s Martin. I didn’t-”

“Oh- yes, hi. Am I interrupting, or-”

Quickly, Martin said, “No, no, I just don’t usually answer unknown numbers, so-” 

“Right, right, I thought that might be the case. Glad I caught you, then.” Jon cleared his throat. “So, how are you, ah, holding up?”

He thought he could sense an attempt in Jon’s tone to be casual. Martin’s mouth quirked downward. “Fine, I guess. Still here.”

“Good. Tim said you’d had some concerns, so-”

“Not much anyone can do about them, is there?” Jesus, could he not be snippy at someone for five minutes? “Sorry, it’s… it’s been a long day. Tim told you, then?”

“Yes, he did. We’ll do our best to get at least one of us back there soon, if not the whole team. Elias wasted no time getting us back to work. For now, phones will have to do.” 

Martin waited for a few seconds, but there was nothing after. “So… is that what you called for? To go over what Tim and I talked about?” 

“What? No. I thought we could... Well, we have some other business that would be best kept between us. Establishing contact felt like the best next step on that front.” Again, there was a strangely long pause, but before Martin could think of anything to say, Jon continued. “And because the goodbyes were relatively abrupt this morning, I didn’t have the opportunity to apologize.”

Sighing, Martin rubbed his eyes. “Well, you didn’t say it for twenty-four hours, so I suppose you get half credit?”

Jon huffed. “I misread the situation and Elias. I hadn’t expected him to downright deny us an extension without discussion, and I certainly never pegged him as the type to have us pack up and leave with barely any notice. We were as shocked as you this morning.”

Not likely. “So, what now? How long do you think…”

“Honestly, I don’t know yet. I want to keep an eye on Elias after all of this strange business, but of course he’s not here.” Martin could feel the scowl on Jon’s face. “It may take some time for any of us to make a trip out there outside of work. I’m afraid you’ll be on your own for the next couple of weeks.”

“Oh.” Closing his eyes, Martin let himself fall back onto the bed. “Okay.”

Quickly, Jon said, “Not much longer than that, I hope. I tend to work on my days off which should cover the extra assignments more quickly, and Sasha or Tim may be able to make a trip out there sooner than I could.” At the end, Jon’s reassuring tone dropped into an irritated grumble. 

Martin smiled a little and fought back a yawn. “Worried they’ll fix things up before you get here?”

“That’s not- I wouldn’t say- I’m sure they’re capable of doing so, but that doesn’t mean I’m going to enjoy sitting on my hands while real work needs to be done,” Jon said, recovering from his indignant sputtering. “I’ve only looked at some of the new assignments, but most of them are guaranteed to be either misunderstandings or blatant lies.”

“You can’t know that just by skimming them.”

“You haven’t had to read some of these things,” Jon said with a tinge of disdain. “No, people love to waste my time and keep me both from my personal research and more pressing situations like your own.”

Martin looked up at his window. “Okay, but mine would probably sound fake on paper though, right? ‘Oh, the lighthouse I work at is tall and makes me dizzy, also I think an old classmate is trapped in the walls?’, or something like that. I wouldn’t believe it.”

“But it’s demonstrable,” Jon said. “And if you’d chosen to put more time and effort into it, you’d have put in the more compelling details. Not that we don’t get statements like that. Some read like a trite pitch for the script someone is workshopping rather than a true paranormal experience.”

“And that’s what’s keeping you busy now.”

“I’m sure you’re glad to hear that important things are happening while you wait. If by the time we return you’ve already been trapped in an impossible lighthouse prison, we’ll have plenty of entertaining material to refill your vocabulary.” A silent, awkward moment passed between them. “Right, okay, not funny.”

“Not really, no.”

“Sorry.”

“It’s… fine.” It really wasn’t, but Martin wasn’t in a state to argue anymore that day. “What kind of fake stuff is it, then? That’s so important you just had to be back?”

Jon groaned. “Don’t get me started. There’s one from a man who claimed to be seeing the same strange fellow at the park everyday, as if he doesn’t also visit that park everyday and by his own logic could be a supernatural creature himself.”

In a way that Martin felt must’ve been some breach of confidentiality, Jon proceeded to lay before him complaints of monsters (“Particularly loud raccoons”), doppelgangers (“Plenty of people look like other people”), and other phenomena that Jon found particularly ridiculous. They were so unconvincing that Martin had to wonder whether Jon was leaving out the spookier details. 

But that was fine, Martin found. Why would he want to hear about anything other than people in ordinary circumstances when his own were decidedly not? And if Jon was happy to talk Martin’s ear off about frivolous things, it worked out well enough for both of them. 

Like before, it didn’t take much to keep the man going. In the middle of a peculiar story of shifting room layouts, Martin asked, “Okay, but there could’ve been something weird about the building, right? Probably not, but-”

“Well, we gave her the benefit of the doubt and Sasha looked into it. It turned out the woman had confused her own flat with the one next to it and unwittingly trespassed through an unlocked door. She was happy enough to drop the whole thing in embarrassment.”

Pushing his glasses up, Martin pressed a hand over his eyes. “Oh God, I would’ve died on the spot.”

“Ultimately she was happy to not have wandered into an alternate universe. I believe Sasha also saw to it that the neighbors practiced proper lock safety without giving the whole thing away.” 

“Happy ending, then.”

“For now. Can’t say it won’t happen again, but it won’t be our problem.” From the other end, Martin heard a muffled voice.  “Sorry, hold on.” 

“Sure.” The call was put on hold, and Martin checked his screen.

Oh god, they’d been on the call for over an hour. When had that happened? Had he been loud enough for his mother to hear him this whole time? What had he even said for that long? He must’ve been saying something. 

Jon’s voice came through again. “Sorry, I’m staying late tonight to get a head start on things. It seems Elias is back, so I’m going to have to let you go. Thank you for your understanding earlier.”

Internally, Martin let out a thankful sigh. “It’s no problem, really. Thanks for checking in.”

“And about the other issue. If there are any questions-”

“It’s fine. We’re all fine here.”

Jon cleared his throat again. “Good. Good night, Martin.”

“Night.”

The call ended, and Martin found himself in the weird place of adding a new contact and staring at the slightly longer list of names. 

Jon had asked for his number. 

For the purpose of talking about Martin’s mother, obviously, but that had only come up two times. The rest of the conversation had been primarily an outlet for Jon’s work frustrations. It hadn’t exactly been a professional call, had it?

No, no, no, that was enough and he was going to bed immediately.

Chapter Text

After months of near constant solitude and a week of above-average social interaction, Martin had to deal with an unhappy middle: Peter, with no warning or pattern, would appear at the lighthouse at whatever time seemed to suit his fancy. Bright and early one day, late lunch the next, twice already on Thursday, all for reasons Martin couldn’t wonder aloud at for fear of seeming too curious. 

No alone time meant no poking his nose around. Not that he was supposed to, keeping his head down and all that, but sitting around wasn’t doing his nerves any favors. 

It was easy to imagine Peter hiring someone to tail him home, so Martin never dared to take a new path or turn for that whole week. When he got home he stayed home. When he got to work he stayed at work. And when he walked in either direction he most certainly never took the sharp turn toward the Fairchild home, no matter how intensely curious he got.

So, once the group text was actually formed early in the next week (Tim: it was a promise not a threat!), Martin had taken part in the first of many nearly identical conversations. They boiled down to:

Martin: peters been weird, cant predict when he’ll be around

Sasha: we’re still pretty locked up, will let you know if things change

Jon: Elias has been elusive but I’m working on it.

Tim: can’t keep us busy forever

Besides some scattered thoughts and jokes primarily from Tim that got Martin through the more tedious aspects of the work day, the messages were all vague statements telling him “soon, we promise” and random tidbits from him of Peter being weird. The whirlwind of progress from the week prior was over. Waiting and sitting on his hands was all Martin had left.

Well, that wasn’t entirely true. 

Jon had a lot more to say over phone calls than text. That much was clear by Tuesday night as Jon called to elaborate on his frustrations with Elias and continue other topics they’d discussed the conversion prior. The burden of starting the call and coming up with a topic was blessedly off Martin's shoulders, and it made the idea of regular conversations seem more possible.

While it was a relief to still talk to someone at length, Martin knew he would run out of things to say before long. He had no stories from the university he never attended, and Jon had been witness to Martin’s strangest place of work. The more he could deflect personal questions and get Jon to talk about himself, the longer it would take for Martin to be revealed as... well. Dull. 

Still, he hoped that Jon would call again soon. If Martin was around for it.

It was Thursday. Peter had been around twice already with no warning. It was getting to be mid-afternoon and he still had a duty to perform. That part of his contract hadn’t changed. 

Martin groaned into his desk. It wasn’t fair to have his most mindless and daydream-conducive task twisted into something horrifying. Some little part of him hoped that Sasha’s reasoning from the week before would hold some water, that his knowledge of what was coming would somehow keep him aware of his surroundings. 

There was one way to find out, as much as it made his stomach squirm, and the thought of doing so with Peter around was enough to propel Martin out of his chair and toward the cleaning closet. 

He began to mop the main floor with a fervor. If Sasha was right and he managed to avoid getting sucked into a wall, Peter absolutely could not witness it. He would have to move fast, even if it scared the shit out of him. And really, was it so scary? It wasn’t something he remembered, and it never hurt him. Probably. He would at least feel pain if something had happened, right?

He had always been fine. A bit sore from lugging things up the stairs, but otherwise nothing had harmed him as far as he knew. What was he afraid of? A person that could watch him as he went about his work in a haze? Or the wall refusing to release him after he entered, trapping him without ever releasing his mind from-

Oh, no, his heart was racing, his hands shaking more by the second. Swallowing had become more difficult, dry throat and a tongue that felt three times too big. Martin walked toward the stairs, trying to keep water level in the mop bucket. The water level was the only evidence that he’d lost time, and he wasn’t going to do this without something to show for it.

Letting out a breath that sent shivers down his arms, Martin placed the mop down and took out his phone.

Martin: so im going upstairs now? to do the mop thing?

Martin: gonna try and use an old analog tape recorder like you all said. any final thoughts would be appreciated

He waited, growing more concerned by the second that he would get no answer, but finally someone responded.

Jon: Sounds like you’re all set. Be sure to send a message here once you’ve gotten back out again, or if you don’t go in at all. 

Tim: yeah any situation where your feet are on solid ground really

Jon: You said before that Peter was around. Is it safe to assume he’s left?

Martin: ok will do. he’s not here now so im getting it over with so he wont see anything weird

Jon: Okay, good luck and let us know when you’re out.

Martin: thanks

Sasha: if things start to seem off, retreat back downstairs and call us immediately

Tim: ^^^

Martin: okay, talk to you all soon

Before Martin pocketed his phone, he saw Tim leaving a string of thumbs-up and broom emojis, and as he began up the stairs the occasional vibration in his pocket revealed that something was happening past his goodbye. It wouldn’t be good for the recording if he kept it on like that, but he had no intention of silencing the phone or the people on the other end. He clicked on the tape recorder, placed it in his pocket, and began his climb.

The bucket and mop were as unwieldy as ever, and for not the first time he thought about how nice an elevator would be for his knees before shaking his head. This was a time for focus. Drifting thoughts were a one-way ticket to lost time in a much more literal sense than usual. 

He was walking up a rather repetitive staircase, but every once in a while there would be an imperfection that reminded him of where he was in space. A crack here, some chipped paint there. Looking around there were plenty of place markers. His feet were on stairs that were the same as they always were.

About a quarter of the way up, this method began to make his stomach flip. Once, he looked too far ahead, too much up. So he kept his eyes down. He’d been keeping to the inside of the stairs, but his gaze drifted too far and oh, no, another spiral leading down which was worse.

This building, he thought, didn’t appreciate him looking too hard. Fine. He could stay present without a visual anchor. There was still buzzing coming from his pocket, thought less often than before. At least they were still around. If anything happened, they would know quickly and be able to do something. Sure, he hadn’t seen them solve any problems yet, but there was enough confidence between the three of them that they had to have some level of competence.

Martin looked down at the bucket in his hand and held back a scream.

Instead, he hissed at the thing, “When?! We aren’t even halfway up! I let myself think for two seconds and- oh, dammit!” He dug into his pocket for the tape recorder, but it was nowhere to be found.

Martin turned toward the wall, any fear being quickly replaced by petty indignation. “Hey! I paid for that! You can’t just- as if you even need to pick my pockets when you’re a big, stupid voice recorder all on your own!”

Besides the echo of his own voice bouncing up and away from him (mocking him, probably) nothing bothered to respond. He had half a mind to toss the bucket and mop down the stairs for the sake of his aching arms, but he resumed his walk with a quickened pace. If Peter hadn’t come back yet, and it didn’t sound like he had, Martin would do something while he had the time.

At the top of the stairs, Martin opened up the group chat just long enough to type one message.

Martin: lighthouse stole my tape recorder 

Then he stuffed the mobile away and made a beeline for the horrible machine he’d been faced with every day that week. His phone buzzed with incoming messages, the motion in his pocket slowly becoming more of a reassurance.

First, he took the time to look at it as a whole. The back couldn’t be reached with it pressed up against the inner wall. Did it make sense for it to be put there? Unsurprisingly, when he’d finally looked up how lighthouses were supposed to work, the panel itself was nowhere to be found as part of the process. What a surprise!

When he’d started the new order of button pushing that past Friday, he’d tried to listen for the mechanisms behind it, but he didn’t know enough about normal mechanics let alone whatever this was to make any judgments. He’d cursed himself then for not paying attention and asking more questions at the start, but there was no helping it.

Really, the fact that he’d been hired at all should’ve been a dead giveaway.

The dial that had once allowed Evan to speak was entirely cut out from the process, a disconnected thing that gave no feedback after being twisted. Did that mean the entire cause was lost? Or had its function been moved to another piece, or a series of pieces-

“Ah, Martin, thought I might find you up here.”

Martin was going to die.

It was a thought that came unbidden, the only clear thing in his head as he turned to find Peter Lukas climbing the last stair without a sound coming from his less than newly polished leather shoes. The soles should’ve made a clicking sound.

Peter looked at him and smiled. “Scared you, didn’t I? Always been told I have quiet feet.”

“Yeah, you did. Wasn’t very nice.” He couldn’t keep the slight shake out of his voice. His hand reached out and grasped the mop’s hand.

“Not for you maybe, but the look on your face is very funny.” The smile grew just a little more cheerful. 

“Sure. Well, I’m-”

“Cleaning, right,” Peter said, pressing a hand to his forehead as if remembering something. “Glad to see the last smudges from them wiped away, if I’m honest. More people, more mess for you to clean up later.” 

“I suppose, yeah. Need to clean anyway, though.” To emphasize his point, Martin began to clean the floor around and away from the panel. “Did you…”

“Oh, no, nothing really. Just wanted to check in a bit more after all the... disruption from before. And to make you jump a little. Need to make my own fun, sometimes. The week has been dreadful, Martin.”

And you’re spreading the feeling around. “Hm,” Martin replied, as dismissive and uninterested as he could muster.

Martin could hear the smile in Peter’s voice and knew he’d failed to dampen the man’s strange energy. “Yes, well, I’ll be off. When-” And then Peter was interrupted by a prolonged buzzing in Martin’s pocket. “Need to answer that?”

Shrugging, Martin continued to mop and kept his eyes to the ground. “Weird spam call, probably. Mum wouldn’t call my mobile.” 

“Mm, good answer. Company time and all that.” With an odd stretching motion, Peter glanced out the window. “Oh, and what were you doing when I came up?”

“Stretches,” Martin replied abruptly. He coughed and evened out his voice. “The walk up is terrible.”

“And that’s why I have you do it for me!” Peter’s laugh came out rough and strangely quiet, a noise that settled under Martin’s skin. The old man’s face twisted into an unreadable smile, something that underneath the mirth felt like a taunt. “But enough of that. Don’t know if I’ll be back again today. And keep that thing quiet if you’re not expecting work calls. Nothing worse than being contacted from anywhere in the world at any time, truly.” The smile seemed to sink into a genuine, almost childlike frown, and Peter slinked back down the stairs without another sound.

After about five minutes of mopping, Martin released the hand and collapsed on the couch. Stupid, stupid, of course he would come right as he was about to fiddle with things. 

The prolonged vibrations had ceased some minutes ago, and Martin finally opened the group chat to see what he’d missed. There were several messages from earlier in which Tim and the others had continued to chat. Then his message and general confusion and concern which Martin had expected. Finally, a missed call from Sasha, followed by a text.

Sasha: do we need to get over there?

Blinking, Martin considered the message. Was that an option?

Martin: no everything is over

Martin: peter came in, had to lie about it being a spam call

Jon: of course he did

Sasha: well, call when you think it’s safe 

Tim: and maybe check your pockets

Immediately, Martin patted himself down, though nothing seemed amiss. His phone was of course still on him, and there was nothing new. 

Martin: everything else is the same. the lighthouse wasnt nice enough to trade something for my tape recorder

Tim: :( 

Jon: Sasha is right. We’ll do better if we talk over the phone later when you’re sure to be out of Lukas’ sight. Keep inventory of your things and call us when you can.

Hesitating for a moment, Martin looked down at the winding stairs.

Martin: if you had to get here how long would it take

Sasha: about two hours if i’m driving

Martin: right

Martin: okay. ill call you soon

--

The same conclusion was made as before, only moreso. Martin would keep his head down with exactly zero poking around. The lockscreen of his mobile would show no notifications to mitigate the risk of eavesdropping (what if his phone was stolen by his evil workplace?), and unless there was some sort of emergency no messages or calls were to be made during his work hours. 

Peter certainly knew something was going on. There was no point in pretending otherwise. Martin would have to hope they were both committed to playacting their routine for as long as the others needed to get back and do something. 

The thought dug a pit in his stomach. Pretending that everything was exactly the way it had been was just... being alone for most of the day. He’d enjoyed receiving random messages at work and the sudden movement in his pocket that meant someone was around. It was a normal thing for people, texting when they’re supposed to be working. Pity he’d mucked it up so fast. 

Long after he’d prepared for sleep, Martin sat on his bed with mobile in hand. His contact list was so short that he didn’t even need to scroll to find Jon’s name. It was right under an old manager he’d never deleted from his contacts.

His thumb twitched over the call button. He wasn’t going to do it, but it was a nice thought. They’d already spoken at length today, with everyone showing enough concern that Martin had needed the alone time afterwards to breath. 

That being said, enough time had passed for him to be itching for any conversation he could get, and he wanted to talk to Jon because he still didn’t quite get Sasha, and conversation with Tim tended to run short because Martin didn’t know how to keep things going after he’d dumped all of his grievances on the guy the week prior.

And he liked talking to Jon. And maybe it was because Martin understood a topic Jon cared deeply about, but Jon seemed to like talking to Martin, too. 

There was no call that night, and he was out 20 pounds for that tape recorder from the resale shop. 

Chapter Text

Technically, there was no call that night.

Martin had had months to familiarize himself with the strange predawn that added a little color to the sky each morning. His home was on the western coast, so of course he didn’t see much of it until he’d made the trek uphill. With some cloud cover and dense fog, though, the light would scatter and cast a cold blanket of grey light over his corner of the world.

Early on he found it sort of nice, seeing the world ‘wake up’. He’d even started to get up earlier than necessary, just to make himself some tea and look out the window for signs of birds or other creatures who made their lives at dawn and dusk. There were some lines of poetry about it somewhere in his notebook, something about the magic of a quiet morning in solitude.

He’d lasted about a week with that. Turned out his life was already quiet and full enough of contemplative solitude, and warm blankets were much better than cold kitchen tile against his feet.

It was during this little sliver of morning when his mobile, vibrating against the wood of his bedside table, dragged him back to consciousness. 

“No…” he groaned, nuzzling into his pillow. It could only be one person. “Don’t make me come in early. Don’t make me come in early, you prick-” 

He reached over (god it was cold) and grabbed the offending object, keeping as much of himself under the blankets as possible and slipping the mobile back under with him. The screen was bright and painful in his cozy darkness. His eyes adjusted, and on his lockscreen the time read 4:06 a.m.

Before he could convince himself to let the damned thing ring itself out, he glanced at the caller ID. If anything it should’ve given him even more reason to let the call go, but Martin’s finger was already pressing the answer button. 

Attempting to whisper, his voice came out rough and croaky. “Jon?”

“Martin. Glad you’re still up,” Jon said in that distant way of someone paying attention to another task entirely. Keyboard clicks could be heard in the background. “How are you doing?”

Still up? Bleary and confused, Martin replied as if he’d just run into Jon at the store, “Fine, I guess? How are you?”

“I’ve successfully whittled down my assignments enough to have personal research opportunities.” There was a weary but nevertheless triumphant edge to his words. “If this is some sort of test of my abilities, I’d say I deserve a raise.”

“Impressive,” Martin yawned. “Does that mean anything for me, or…”

“No, not yet.” He could feel Jon deflate on the other end. “I’ve only just started looking, and Elias is still acting rather blasé about what we found. I hadn’t pegged him as the type to put business relations over the mission statement, but if that’s the case then-”

“Why send you out here?” 

“Precisely.” Jon clicked his tongue. “So I’m going to pry in that direction while digging through old reports. I assume the others will do the same once they’re caught up.”

Well, progress was as good as anything to wake up to. He reluctantly pulled the blankets from over his head and peeked out at his window. The frost was just visible at the edges, its frigid hands creeping across the glass. Perhaps a little while longer under the covers.

“Anyway, I’m glad I caught you,” Jon continued, filling the space Martin had left empty. The keyboard taps had ceased. “I’d decided to give you some breathing room, but you were quiet during the call with everyone and I thought- well, I wanted to make sure you were okay. As much as can be expected.” 

A small, halfhearted smile found its way onto Martin’s face. “Thanks. I appreciate it.”

“So… are you okay? I know you said you were, but it sounded like you were being polite.”

Martin looked up at his ceiling. “I mean I was being polite, but… Yeah, I’m okay. As much as can be expected, like you said, but okay.” 

“Hm.”

“Hm?”

“What? Nothing, it’s good. I’m gl- I’m happy that you’re… doing okay.” Midway between this thought, Jon seemed to switch the mobile from one ear to the other. “If you aren’t, I just hope you know that you can tell me if something is going on. Sometimes there are emotional aspects that contribute to an event-”

As Jon spoke at length, Martin noticed a distinct tumbling feel in the way Jon spoke, like his thoughts were coming faster than his mouth could follow. Not alcohol, surely? No, a different idea had been bothering Martin since Jon had first called.

“-can’t speak for Tim or Sasha about hours, and if you’d rather just talk one-on-one, I’m sure-”

“Right, hours. Jon, I don’t mean to pry, but have you slept at all?”

The stream of consciousness halted in its tracks. “What?”

“You seem a bit… out of it? Have you checked the time recently?”

A moment passed. Then another. Then- “That can’t be right.”

Weakly, Martin replied, “Good morning to you, too.”

“I-” Jon began. He then made a small, irritated noise. “I woke you up.”

Martin ran a hand over his face and pressed it to his upturned mouth. Into it he mumbled, “You really need to sleep.”

As if the hours had finally come crashing down upon him, Jon’s voice dropped low and soft and properly tired. “I could’ve sworn it was earlier.” 

“I mean, in a sense-” 

“You know what I mean.” A yawn finally broke through, but he fought it back down. “I hope it wasn’t too much earlier than your normal wake-up time?”

“Nah. You’ve seen how early my day starts. Besides, my alarm isn’t the most pleasant thing to wake up to, and you could’ve been Peter calling me in early.” It was like getting up to enjoy the morning, but he was still in bed and someone else was there (sort of). As far as he was concerned, the pros outweighed the cons. 

“Then I’ll hold my apology for a later date, if you don’t mind.” He spoke bluntly, but possibly in a way that was meant to be funny. Martin was still working out when Jon was being blunt in a rude way or in a friendly way, and his gut pushed him toward the latter. “I also won’t apologize for my work ethic. I work better at night, without distractions or other people.”

Rubbing the bridge of his nose, Martin asked, “Okay, I can play along with that, but when do you sleep?”

“We have a cot.”

Martin scoffed. “What, at work?” An image of the three researchers finding different corners in some dark back room to snooze on company time was almost too much.

“Working after-hours is implied in the description of any academic job. If we didn’t steal some of the day back to sleep, we’d all have dropped dead by now.” For a moment his voice strained as if he was stretching, dipping into the background before returning to normal. “Though this past week has been a bit more extreme due to circumstances. I’m not always up until dawn, calling people in a stupor.”

“First time for everything?” Martin said helpfully, pushing down weakly against the rising guilt. “I know it’s a bad situation, but I’m sorry you all have to work so hard.”

“No need for that. I can choose to sacrifice a few nights for something important.” 

Slowly, very slowly, Martin pressed his burning face into his pillow. Maybe it was too early for him after all, to handle anything approaching concern. The heat was surely enough to melt the ice right off the window. Ignoring the ridiculous reaction happening in his cheeks, he turned his face back upwards and mumbled, “Thanks.”

There was a small rustling of papers. With the same damned softness, Jon continued, “I’m sure Tim and Sasha would say the same.”

A quiet thing clung deep in Martin’s throat, and in his nose, and he imagined a version of himself from the night before, scared and powerless and ready to dump any and all his feelings on the first person who would speak with him. Would that have been something Jon was prepared for, if he’d called at a sensible hour? Or if Martin had called first? But it was nearly morning, and he was well rested, and eventually the thought fell away in his wakefulness. 

Without a response to go on, Jon said, "I’m not going to be as… outwardly optimistic as before, but…”

“You’re making progress,” Martin finished, coughing lightly. “I know. I’ll be patient, and careful. It’s hard after the weird stuff we did last week, though.”

“I’d like to say it was all due to extreme circumstances, but we are just like this.” 

“There go my hopes of you all getting proper rest when this is over.”

“S’not impossible, but terribly unlikely.”

Martin sighed, checking his screen clock again. Still some time left. “Is it safe to assume you won’t be sleeping at this point?” 

“Won’t be long until I can go to the archives. I’ll wait until then and avoid being groggy on public transit.” A pause. “Also my last energy drink is still working.”

“Mm.” Letting his forearm fall across his eyes, Martin gave up that particular battle. “Anything new set off your ‘fake’ alarms recently?”

“You’re in luck. Just yesterday a man came in to tell me about his experience with ‘spy birds’ that even you can’t devil’s-advocate your way through.”

“I’ll be the judge.”

It was a tough sell, even for Martin whose own situation made a lot of things seem possible. Midway through he even began to resent the person for wasting time better spent solving Martin’s problems, but that was an emotional rabbit hole for another time. By the end he had to concede that it was more of a conspiracy than a supernatural encounter, if they were going to get into the semantics of it. Still, Jon made it easy to be contrarian.

“When we’re not busy with all this,” Jon said, accepting that Martin wasn’t yet ready to forgo the benefit of the doubt, “I’ll be happy to sit outside and film birds all day for the sake of science, but the man finds perfectly normal birds unsettling.”

With a silly kind of bullheadedness, Martin replied, “Plenty of seabirds around here. Maybe that’s what I’ll do while I wait for something to happen.”

Jon snorted. “I expect a full report by Monday.”

Before Martin could respond, his phone made an all too familiar and dreadful noise. He really should’ve picked a song or something, he thought as he dismissed his alarm. “Well, it’s that time.”

“Yes, I should be getting along with my morning as well. Good luck with your birdwatching,” he said with joking scorn.

“Have fun sleeping on the bus.”

“Ha ha. Goodbye, Martin.”

“Bye.” 

Dropping his arm onto the bed, mobile in hand, Martin ignored the numbness in his fingers and considered how invested he was in writing a fake report about birds just to see the reaction it would get. Maybe he would text Tim about it.

The idea sat in the back of his mind as he got dressed, as he made breakfast, as he put on his shoes and coat and hat. When he opened the door to meet the cold that had settled in overnight, he couldn’t help but wince at the extra bit of sting the wind delivered, but he clung to his fanciful little idea all the way up the hills and through town. 

Creative writing had never been his strong suit. It was debatable if poetry was, but he’d reached a point where it was more of a comforting activity than a skill. Still, as he got to work in the blessedly empty lighthouse, he thought of the little notebook he’d stashed into his bag. If it all came to nothing, he could end up with scraps of text to rearrange into poetry someday.

It was a mess of a book. Technically bound, it was still cheap with some pages starting to come loose from his handling. He’d long ago given up on the idea of a nice looking notebook, especially as it had become personal enough to count as horribly embarrassing. It was inevitable for any poetry notebook of his to become more akin to a scattered, flowery journal of sorts, and this one was no different. 

It was also a step up from previous ones in that it wasn’t some spiral-bound school notebook he’d found in the discount section of the general store. No, he had found it in a bookstore discount section. The stiff cover even had sort of a nice texture before he’d beaten it up by shoving it into a drawer a million times.

The day crawled by with no interruptions, leaving Martin on edge. Peter hadn’t come by once. Perhaps he’d assumed Martin had had any boldness scared out of him, an aggravating thought. He had the will to act. He also had some amount of self preservation left in him, that was all.

By lunchtime he was itching to talk to anyone, but texting the others was off limits and it was so dreary outside that going out to eat was a non-starter. He supposed he could stop by the grocery store. He knew some of the people from when he’d worked there. Most of the ones he’d worked with had also left, but maybe…

No, that was a stupid idea. He wasn’t seeing anyone unless they came to him.

No one did.

So in his time off the clock, he stared at his little notebook and hoped his brain would think of anything to say.

--

The weather had taken a more miserable turn by the time he’d left work in the evening. He only saw a few birds struggling in the gales, none of them particularly watchful. If he had to guess, they didn’t care much about what anyone was doing. Not great material for a report, but maybe for a poem when the feeling hit.

The streets were largely empty as people avoided the high winds and mist that sprayed against Martin’s glasses, making it a challenge to see anything around him. He had half a mind to just stow them away, but there was going to be water in his eyes no matter what he chose to do. Just another little thing to make his day worse that he couldn’t change.

Part of him considered that the weather often matched his mood, but it wasn’t hard for bad weather to pair with sour thoughts. Nearly all weather was bad and nearly all moods were sour. Correlation, etcetera.

As much as he’d wanted to check his phone as soon as work was over, the others could wait until he’d stopped feeling so damned sorry for himself.

And he did feel awful, though there was no inciting incident. It had been a long, tedious day where the words wouldn’t flow, the world was grey, and any residual happiness from his conversation with Jon had been slowly eaten away by the loneliness of the present. Why was it so hard to hold onto those good things? A good start was supposed to make the day better, not make the rest of the day look worse.

It had to be everything at the lighthouse. He’d always been moody as a person, but the stress had to be getting to him. His head shouldn’t have been hurting from holding back tears when nothing had happened.

God, the squinting wasn’t helping, either. He knew where he was going, of course, but the streetlights were barely helping. The sky had decided to paint itself over everything, a dark, grey blob of water and concrete and fog. The walk down the hill was going to be a slippery pain, even in his grippy boots.

Had he passed by the florist? He probably should have by now, but the main road hadn’t ended yet.

And even when he got home, oh joy, it would be to sit at a table and eat with his mother, and based on her tastes she would love to stand outside in the misery of it all even though it would be terrible for her health. What was the point of trying when another person wouldn’t even listen-

He’d been walking for too long. 

The road continued on, no longer heading into the surrounding trees but stretching itself past the point of impossibility. And at the end, in a place where it should not have been visible through the colorless mist, was a large, familiar house.

Ah, Martin thought. Someone had decided to talk to him today.

Looking behind him, the lighthouse was just barely visible. Looking to either side was a fool’s errand, as everything had been consumed by the grey.

He slipped the mobile phone out of his pocket and bent over to shield it from the rain. The screen lit up at his touch, but as expected any and all communication was blocked. Nevertheless, he opened the group chat and began to type.

Martin: i think simon wants to talk. everything is fog and i cant go anywhere else. hoping my phone makes it out so this makes it 

He pressed send, then mustered up whatever hope he had and added:

Martin: talk to you soon

Chapter Text

When Martin passed the front gate the world behind him disappeared, replaced by cold, grey mist and stone.

Staring back the way he came only made it harder to remember what had been before, and his head felt the pressure of distance with no point of reference. Something deep inside him knew the perils of walking anywhere but the path leading him to the Fairchild house; to step anywhere else would see him tumbling out and away from the only landmark he had left.

Waiting for him at the front door was the woman who’d taken the sketchbook from him, this time without the veneer of professional courtesy. The hooded jumper, worn jeans, and disinterested wave announced to the world an interrupted day off. If his damp, miserable self was an affront to her sensibilities, she wasn’t showing it, so the wet jacket stayed on.

In his nerves he hadn’t really registered her appearance during their first meeting, too focused on getting rid of the evidence of his crime. She was older, maybe in her 60s, with long grey hair tied back into a low ponytail. He hadn’t seen her about town before, had he?

They walked inside without any chitchat, so Martin glanced about in silence. The interior felt right if his memory served, the same skinny halls and windows stretching from floor to ceiling. The most striking aspect still was the mural at the top of the central staircase. The rest of the house was dwarfed by it, as if the grand building was no greater than his hometown’s silhouette tucked into the corner of the canvas. 

Approaching it, the colors were more. More intense, more bold, all the brightness stolen from the world outside siphoned into an impossible sky. Maybe anything would look that much more  when contrasted with where he’d been. He was at the top of the stairs standing at its center wondering if there was any distance that could give him a proper view of the whole. 

From behind him the woman cleared her throat, though she didn’t seem irritated. He pulled himself away from the spot where he’d stopped to stare, leaving slippery footprints in his wake.

Glancing up at the mural, she only said, “Some things demand attention.”

She led him to the same room from his first visit with its outward wall of glass. Across the room sat Simon, his back facing those large, unbelievably clear windows that now overlooked the fog-covered landscape. Martin heard the woman’s retreating footsteps and the click of the door.

Martin breathed out, keeping a few feet between himself and the old man. He waved stiffly at the windows. “It’s a bit late. I was expecting this to happen last week.”

With that pleasant smile unmoving, Simon motioned for Martin to sit in the chair across from him. “Don’t be ridiculous. That event will be much more exciting. I wanted to put this meeting together, and needed a good mix of quick and fun.”

“Starting to question my understanding of ‘fun’,” Martin mumbled. He took the seat offered to him and crossed his arms over his chest, the rainwater he carried in seeping into the plush fabric. “It seems like I’m always on the losing side of someone else’s.”

“Yes, yes, of course,” Simon hummed, leaning back comfortably in his chair. “So you’d prefer something more exciting in your invitations, so you’re not left out? Did my little errand turn you into a thrill-seeker already?”

“No.” A shiver ran through him, not of fear but of an awful, biting cold. The wet of his hair sapped the heat right out of him and pulled his ponytail down heavy onto his neck. “What do you want?”

“Oh, a bit moody today, aren’t we?” The smile was still sitting idly on Simon’s face. “Peter’s been around more often, I can tell. He does that to people, sucks all patience and goodwill out until they’re… well.” He flicked his eyes over Martin with something like pity.

Martin pressed his arms tighter into himself. “So what, you push people into the sky, and he does that?”

Simon laughed without a hint of shame. “Goodness, no. Peter is just like that, no strangeness needed. I’ve often left his company feeling completely drained and irritable, though I’ve found ways to ensure the feeling is mutual.”

“Good friends, then.”

“As much as he can have them.” Simon leaned forward, no hint of bitterness in his voice or expression. “A very close-to-the-chest type, I’m sure you’ve noticed.”

With a sharp exhale, Martin said, “Look, if you’re going to ask me for a favor I’m not-”

“Now, now, I’m not one to drag on a favor forever, and you’ve paid in full. Besides, Peter is much too jumpy right now for anything to be done.” Simon turned his gaze toward the window. “I’m afraid all any of us can do now is wait.” 

A jolt of disappointment shocked Martin to silence. All of this dramatic nonsense just to be told to wait and see? He hadn’t had any specific expectations, but deep down he’d believed Simon to be plotting something soon. That even if it was a horrible outcome Martin wouldn’t be left in suspense from every angle of his life. 

Whatever shoe was meant to drop, it hadn’t, and it wouldn’t for some unspecified amount of time.

Simon regained his easy tone and continued, “And I greatly dislike this weather, all of these things clouding my view. Soon I’ll be going weeks without a clear day, and it can feel so… so claustrophobic. So little to work with on a day like this.”

He wasn’t the one who needed to walk in it. “You’re not going to explain anything, are you?”

“No, I’m not. You know how these things are. Business.” Reaching into his pocket, Simon pulled out a small envelope. “Speaking of, like a pouting child Peter has been avoiding me, and as far as I can tell you’re the only person who actually sees him.”

With a deep sigh Martin leaned forward, elbows resting on knees. Not only was he getting nothing out of Simon, but- “This is all so I can be a messenger boy?”

“Just the one time, if Peter can be reasonable.”

“I don’t- Wait. Why not trap him like you did me? Just force him to your door.”

With a sudden laugh that made Martin jump, Simon replied, “Not everyone is as easy to find as you. And anyway, it’s not wise to do that to friends, is it?” 

It wasn’t a way to keep friends, no, and he took the message from Simon without further comment. On the other side of the room, the door opened to reveal that woman. Not needing prompting he stood, looking back one more time at the other man.

Simon remained seated and swung one more friendly smile in Martin’s direction. “You’ll be seen out, then. I must thank you for your previous help, Martin. The personal significance alone can’t be overstated. It’s not my only sketchbook, of course, but several of my best works had their beginnings in it.” Was that glint in his eye one of creative pride, or was there some joke Martin was missing?

The tiniest desire to stay and hear more itched at the back of his mind, but the dismissal was clear and he let the woman lead him back through the house. Once outside he saw the weather had taken a turn for the worse into a complete downpour. The high wind would certainly blow his hood down, making for a wretched walk ahead of him.

“Ah.” He’d been taken to the Fairchild house on an impossible route, but the way home was entirely real. “I have a long way to walk.”

“Inconveniences all around,” the woman said, shutting the door behind him.

Once he was alone he ripped the phone from his pocket and and bent over it to delete his dramatic messages before they could be seen, replacing it with:

Martin: talked with simon (didnt really have a choice), dont think anything will happen with him for a while

Martin: said all we can do is wait? really cryptic

Then he pocketed it once more and walked out the front gate into the reinstated town.

The greatest relief was finding other unlucky pedestrians doing their best to stay dry along with him. Even without the ability to stop and talk he felt the silent commiseration. It wasn’t joy in the suffering of others but rather the knowledge that other people were there at all to share in the cruddy weather. He could see where a person ahead of him was avoiding puddles, and found residual warmth in the lights of nearby shop fronts. It was the kind of melancholy atmosphere that could make rain a little more bearable.

The walk down the cliff however was designed to kill him, the slope slick with mud and abandoned by an early setting sun. No waterproof phone, glasses blurred and splattered with droplets, Martin made his slow way home in the cold, in the dark. More than once he stopped to make sure he hadn’t gotten turned around by forces supernatural or otherwise, but then the ground flattened and he could finally hear the sea over the rain beating against the ground.

He was late of course, but besides some comments about tracking water into the house and forgetting his umbrella his mother had left him well alone, and even took his word when he described the weather as unsuitable for her health. He was grateful. After the last few days anything worse might’ve sent them into a screaming match to surpass any bouts they’d had in years. Maybe the day had taken as much out of her as it had from him.

Instead, after a necessary change of clothes on his part, they ate dinner and watched television, her in her chair and him on the couch. It was some old game show he vaguely remembered, not something that aired in his childhood but that he’d experienced first as reruns, the saturated colors and fuzzy image granting it a multilayered nostalgia. Someone on the screen had just answered a question and was hoping their spouse would come up with the same response.

In his pyjama pants and old t-shirt he felt little, his feet tucked under him because he hadn’t wanted to waste another pair of socks. It was as if he’d just come out of the bath with his wet hair and drooping eyes and was waiting to be told he was up too late. As if he wasn’t responsible for watching the clock himself.

His phone vibrated in the middle of the program, but if his mother noticed she chose to ignore it. Tapping the phone awake, Martin saw a notification from the group message.

Tim: ok check-in time what the hell 

Tim: just saw this 

So they hadn’t seen his initial messages. He breathed out in relief and typed out a reply.

Martin: some weird stuff, but everythings fine. simon made it so i had to go talk to him

Martin: whatever simon mentioned before its not coming yet. seems like he isnt in control of when whatever it is happens? also peter is avoiding him so i need to give him this letter

Tim: weird but

Tim: good? more time for us

Sasha: one less thing to worry about. glad it went okay.

Tim: ^^

He’d successfully avoided any panic or weirdness that his original messages most definitely would’ve caused and patted himself on the back for a job well done. No one needed that as a distraction.

Martin: oh right weird topic change but jon mentioned it, do you really all use a cot at work

Tim: oh yeah lol love that thing

Tim: jon is on it right now actually will pass on simon info when hes awake

Martin: youre all still there??
 
Tim: oh martin dont you know weve Never Left

Tim: we should get going soon tho now that you mention, will drag jon out of the archives while passing on simon info

Martin: good idea

Tim: and keep those eyes down!

Martin bit his cheek and looked past his phone at the television screen. No doubt it was karma for his rash behavior at the lighthouse, having “just wait!” shouted at him from all corners. The universe was making itself very clear. Simon could’ve just been telling him to let something terrible happen, but even if that was true Martin wasn’t in a place to stop anything.

But it was a great quality of Tim’s, rounding them all up and trying to save them from regrettable decisions. The least Martin could do was make that job easier and stay out of trouble. It was also the most he could do, as much as it irked him.

Martin: dont need to tell me twice! 

And with that Martin pocketed his phone, accepting his fate of inaction.

When he finally put his mother to bed the goodnight between them was not warm, but it was closer to normal. If he’d been told that one of the most pleasant parts of his day would’ve been watching the telly after dinner with his mum, he would’ve… well, it wasn’t that strange. Really it emphasized how bad the rest of his day had been.

Meanwhile the most pleasant event felt fake, even when he checked his call logs to confirm it. What a strange start to a day, he thought as he laid in bed. At least it made up for Jon not being around that evening, that and knowing Jon was getting some sleep. The man clearly needed some prompting during an intense work period to take care of himself, and Martin silently thanked Tim for doing something about it when he couldn’t bring himself to initiate a phone conversation. He knew it was ridiculous for him to be so nervous about the idea, but…

But.

Hopefully Jon didn’t think he was rude. It was one thing to chat in person, but calling without a specific topic to discuss while the others were hard at work? Because he was bored? Best to let Jon reach out when he felt it necessary, even if it meant being woken up at odd hours on a work day and otherwise sitting on his hands. Eventually this would all be behind them and he could stop being racked with guilt over the thought of making a social call. 

Martin’s stomach twisted. Yes, things would be dealt with, and he would move on from this strange period in his life.

He moved to place the phone down for the night when it buzzed in his hand, with a message in another, private chat.

Sasha: we should talk more later about what simon told you specifically. if something big is coming having someone on the inside of things might not be the worst. not saying you should seek him out, he seems perfectly of capable of contacting you, but if it happens again it could be an opportunity

Martin: you think he could be on our side?

Sasha: i think letting people say their piece can lead to understanding, even if the other person is the worst. something is going on between him and peter lukas and the more we know the better

Martin: right…

Sasha: again not saying to run into anything. wait for us etc etc but trust your gut

Martin: so your opinion on staying put?

Sasha: sometimes you cant, thats all im saying

Martin: okay, i think i get it

Sasha: good. now get some sleep, weird things tend to drain you

Martin: goodnight

Sasha: night

Well, she wasn’t wrong. He didn’t believe that Simon was a good person, not with how he’d treated Martin thus far, but that didn’t make him evil, either. And his advice was the same as what everyone else had already been saying: stay out of trouble as best he could and wait for the right moment. Even Sasha still conceded to it being the best option for the present. If Peter told him to wait as well, then Martin would be truly lost on what to do, but until then he would follow the advice of all the people who knew more than he did.

And if Simon called him to his home again, he would try to be less… difficult. And he would buy a better jacket, just in case. 

--

The next morning, he listened to a voice message left shortly after he’d fallen into a blissfully dreamless sleep.

Jon’s groggy voice drifted from the mobile. “Hi, sorry I missed things. Wasn’t expecting Fairchild to be so forward, and my sleep schedule has never been- anyway, Tim convinced me to go back to my flat, but since I slept at the institute earlier I’m currently following a few threads to see if they lead anywhere helpful. I think I’ve reached something, but time will tell.”

He continued after a brief pause. “Seems you’re already asleep, as you should be, so I’ll let you go. Let me know if you have any questions about our other… shared interest. Good night. I hope things stay quiet.” 

Chapter Text

In the second week on his own, Martin delivered the envelope to Peter.

It took until around lunchtime on Wednesday for Peter to make an appearance, leaving Martin to stew in his own stress for four days. If Simon was right about Martin being one of the only people to see him, Peter might’ve been locking himself away from the world for days on end. Not out of character, but it left Martin in a tough spot. The moment the envelope left his hand the weight of the sky was lifted off his shoulders.

“So he’s resorted to this,” Peter said, splitting his look of annoyance between the unopened delivery and its messenger. “At least it can go in a shredder.”

Martin shuffled over to his desk and sat down to continue his work, his task complete. Whatever happened next, it was out of his hands.

From across the room, Peter stuffed the envelope into his jacket pocket, muttered, “Persistent little bugger” under his breath, and then left without another word. Huh.

It was no use expecting anything, Martin decided, or guessing what might happen next. Every time he let himself get worked up and anxious about the future, it did absolutely nothing. He still worried, of course, but he was making a valiant attempt at reining himself in.

Once Peter had been gone for a few minutes he took his lunch break on the front steps (the weather was almost pleasant for once) and pulled out his little notebook. While he hadn’t entirely given up on a bird idea, he didn’t know nearly enough to mimic an academic paper in the way he would’ve liked. All that was left was to eat his sandwich and scribble down some poetry to relax. 

When he’d found himself lost for the right word he sketched a tiny bird into the corner of a page. It was nothing, just a round little body on tiny stick legs, with a mouth open wide like the screaming seabirds that wouldn’t stop demanding some of his meal. 

He managed a few lines here and there on how he’d felt being forced into Simon’s home, but nothing coherent enough for a full poem. Eventually he’d drifted to more pleasant things until he’d gone too far in one particularly sappy direction and slammed the book shut, skin burning hotter than the beams of sunlight bursting through the clouds. 

That night he told Tim and Sasha of the uneventful delivery, and they filled him in on their own progress, little as it seemed to him. But what did he know of academia? It seemed a bit petty from what he’d gathered, petty and tedious. Perhaps he would fit right in.

Jon didn’t make an appearance, hadn’t called since that voicemail, but Sasha mentioned how busy he’d been. 

Martin: has he been getting sleep

Sasha: who knows. seemed to be getting more rest in the backroom recently, but i think he subsists exclusively on those sugary energy drinks

Tim: guy loves the stuff. its probably 70% of his blood by now

--

“You’ve been on that phone too often,” his mother said.

With a grimace, Martin put the phone away. “Sorry. Work stuff.”

“Hmph.” 

--

In the third week on his own, Martin took the time to lay out some of his feelings.

It was hard not to ask after Jon. At times it was easier to think that Jon was just avoiding him, but from what he could gather the man was working hard, even harder than before if the others were to be believed. It left Martin feeling conflicted, bits of gratitude mixed in with intense guilt and worry. But, no, he knew Jon wasn’t just doing this for him.

God, right, what was he supposed to feel with every passing day? He could sit around, keep his eyes down, get his work done and then go home, but every time he started to feel all right about the lack of excitement he remembered the much higher stakes involved. Were they moving too slowly? Had the silence Peter inflicted on Evan been enough to make him disappear completely? Or was he just a button push away on a slightly altered console? Was every day wearing him down until there was nothing left-

And then Martin would feel sick and stop thinking about it as best he could. There was nothing he could do without risking any chance they had of helping Evan or himself except occasionally talk out loud and hope it assisted in some small way. It was easy to fall back into the old habit as he was left alone for longer and longer chunks of time.

“Okay, next I need to finish these records. What was the name of that group?”, he would say, pausing a little while before continuing, “Right, right, Simpson. How could I have forgotten?”

Or he would make tea for himself, listing the options and giving each one careful consideration. He was almost tempted to make two cups at one point, but Evan wasn’t… he probably wasn’t a ghost. And even if he was a ghost he wasn’t there, not really. He was somewhere that wasn’t, up and down and inside and outside and somewhere and nowhere. And if he was to be believed, up until a random turn of a dial Evan had been next to nothing, no conversation to make him feel real.

Lunch breaks were easier to take outside.

Writing poetry helped fill the time and untangle his feelings on those front steps. Really, he should’ve thought to bring his notebook to work months ago, but he’d been worried about it being spotted by someone after years of keeping it in a drawer only he ever opened. 

Lately, though, it had become more difficult, possibly because he was doing it so much. There were only so many words to describe a feeling. And how long could someone write about a feeling before it turned into just words with no emotion behind them? Was something still genuine when it’s been kept up through repetition and not spontaneously felt? Did he still feel things after he’d written about them for weeks and forced them into words that went well together? 

His feelings hadn’t dulled per se. It was more like they went to sleep, and then he would think of where he was, or the job he performed. He would look at his notebook or listen to that short voicemail and...

When the words wouldn’t come he made the corner of the pages into a crude little flip book of the bird flapping its wings. It made him chuckle, at least.

Jon didn’t keep up with the group message and hadn’t for a while. Really, Tim was the best at it and had the right energy for text conversations, and maybe Jon didn’t feel the need to participate when someone else had it covered. After all there was no need for all three of them to ask Martin about another boring day and then send him some memes he sometimes understood.

One after the other the days passed him by and on each one he gave the all clear regarding spooky encounters. Maybe it meant he’d gotten better at avoiding trouble, but it left him with nothing to say. On the bright side, less funny business on his end meant more time for the others to get their own work done.

Still, it did sting a little as the week passed and Jon didn’t call. But neither did Martin, so fair was fair.

--

“You make a lot of noise when you’re on that thing,” Martin’s mother said from her chair, keeping her eyes on the screen in front of them. “Even if you’re not watching the program, I am.”

“Sorry. I didn’t realize.”

“Be more self-aware.”

--

In the fourth week on his own, Martin didn’t have many words to write, in poetry or prose. Instead he forced out phrases, snippets, even scribbles, anything that could express whatever it was he was feeling.

The weather had abandoned the idea of sunshine, and so Martin stayed inside the lighthouse until the end of his shift each evening. On Monday he walked upstairs early in the day to stare at the panel as if it would reveal some secret to him. A mark left by Peter’s hand, a sign that something had changed from the last time he’d looked.

He couldn’t look out the windows anymore, even from a distance, a change that had come about gradually over the last few weeks. Before then he could at least glance from a few feet away, then a couple of meters, and now he kept his eyes firmly glued to the ground as he would when he walked to and from that horrible, impossible building. 

Tim and Sasha were well into research pertaining to his case, though he didn’t get specifics. Something about finding equivalent cases and looking through storage for relevant artifacts, and while the latter sounded interesting, he chose to let them get on with it rather than pester them with questions. There would be time later, he told himself.

The radio silence from Jon hurt no matter how many good reasons he thought up for it, because most of the good reasons fell under ‘he didn’t want to talk and that had to be fine’ or ‘he forgot’ or ‘Martin never initiated and it was too late to start’.

He couldn’t delete the voicemail. It wasn’t something he listened to, but it took up the empty space.

Jon got what he’d hoped for. Things had stayed so, so quiet it was enough to burst Martin’s eardrums.

--

Martin made the mistake of scoffing.

“Excuse me?”

“Nothing.” He kept his eyes down.

“I don’t know what is wrong with you recently, but-”

“And what exactly is wrong with me?” Martin asked dully, turning his gaze towards her.

She leaned forward in her chair. “You know exactly what. The slouching and sighing and attitude, as if you’re a pouting-”

“Can we not pick apart every little thing I do?” he snapped. “I don’t need this right now. Everything’s been shit is what’s wrong. Thanks for asking, Mum.”

A silence stretched on between them, Martin’s nose and throat burned, and a tiny sob got stuck in his throat. She stared at him, eyes flitting over him as if something would give her an answer to this outburst. Finally, she leaned back in her chair, staring back at the television. “You can make your point without raising your voice.”

He said nothing, digging his fingers into his knees. 

“This isn’t how an adult behaves.”

He tried to breathe, in, out, in, and out. She was right, of course. What the hell was he doing?

“I can’t change anything about what goes on outside of this house. Take it up with that manager of yours if you’re so upset with your situation.”

What was he doing?

“Otherwise, if it’s some fault of mine, you haven’t said anything up until now and I’ve been entirely consistent.”

He held his tongue. Whatever he had to say on that subject, it wasn’t the time, not with the layers of bullshit swimming around his skull.

Then she looked at him up and down one more time and said with finality, “You’ve avoided the sea for too long. Even it can’t help you like this.”

--

On the Thursday of the fourth week, the day after his mother’s bitter words, Martin didn’t bother with writing. As the sun lowered, he stared out from the little window in the front door. Past the cliffs dark water rocked and sprayed white foam, stark against the grey clouds that threatened to unleash a torrent of fresh water to cut through the salted air.

He was prepared this time with a new, longer raincoat, accepting that the wind wouldn’t allow for an umbrella. The weather couldn’t be controlled. All he could do was prepare, though if he got waylaid by another old man with weird ideas of inviting over guests he was going to start kicking. 

The rain didn’t start until he was near the cliffs, so at least he wouldn’t be seen as he was drenched. While it was a relief to see other people existing, nothing could alleviate that feeling of strangers staring past him as they made their way elsewhere.

He didn’t feel worse than usual, at least for a Thursday. By the time the rain began to block his vision he was already halfway down the cliffs, the ground just barely turning to mud. No, he was… fine. In a bad place, in a place that didn’t give him much comfort, but that was just the normal way of things. How things had been for twenty plus years. How things would continue to be, even after he had to find a new job.

Before the rain had started, he had left his customary message to confirm everything was fine, and he knew it would be a long while before he got anything back. It was just how things were after weeks of repetition. He could take the quiet.

And then he was on the sand and rocks, the rain beating wind-made ridges down flat before him. The house was dark and hard to see, but that did nothing to hide it from him. If he had to guess, he’d followed his own phantom footsteps enough times for it to be his future haunting route. Someday another family would decide to build a house on that horrible sea, and they would see him pass through their kitchen on his way to work. Knowing himself he would try to apologize for the intrusion.

He was in the middle of thanking whoever designed the home for the porch roof that blocked the downpour when he realized that the front door was slightly open.

Had he been that out of it when he left? He’d been a bit more spacey lately. But if he’d left it like that, wouldn’t his mother have noticed?

Martin sighed. A passive-aggressive refusal to fix his mistake, maybe? He wouldn’t put it past her to let the house get a bit more miserable to make a point. If he didn’t mention it, maybe she wouldn’t either.

Shutting the door behind him, he hung up his dripping coat, removed his shoes, and walked to the kitchen. The television in the adjacent room was turned off, leaving the area in darkness save for the sliver of light from the kitchen. His mother occasionally went to her room to nap, though she usually preferred her chair. A pang of concern had him turning to head back to the hall, but he saw the kitchen table and stopped cold.

Lying in the center of the table, alone save for a dirty ceramic cup, was a folded piece of paper.

Holding his breath, Martin turned sharply toward his mother’s room. Another open door ready for him to shove past and find-

Nothing. The bed was unmade from the night before, but otherwise the room was entirely as he remembered, filled with items that had laid in the same place for as long as he could remember. When was the last time he’d dusted in there?

From there he walked to the downstairs toilet and found no one, a single toothbrush still sitting in a cup on the sink. With one final attempt to keep his composure he entered that dark living room and lifted his hand to the light switch. He listened carefully, holding his breath, waiting to hear a previously missed snore, a shift against old fabric, but-

He flipped the light on, and quietly, slowly, walked back to the kitchen. Her medication was still on the counter from that morning, and the breakfast dishes alone sat on the drying rack.

The paper was still on the table, and after sitting in one of the chairs he stared at the thing in silence. Perhaps if he didn’t look at it, they could just not discuss it, like the door. They could continue to build up unspoken things until one of them died.

The letter was short.

I’m taking my leave in a way you must have been expecting. Unless he has reason to return for it, you may do as you wish with the house. I have no need for such an empty place and shan’t be returning to the land.

Martin gently placed the paper back onto the table, stood up, and walked back to the front door.

Outside, the rain continued to wipe away the crevices and indentations of the day, his own footsteps already fading and his mother’s utterly destroyed.

--

He didn’t remember the rest of the night or the morning after, but Peter was there on the front steps when Martin arrived for work.

Before Peter could make any comments on his employee’s rough appearance, Martin said in a dull voice, “I need the weekend off.”

Peter raised an eyebrow. “A bit short notice. And your weekend tasks aren’t exactly strenuous.”

“My mum passed away,” he lied, foolishly hoping it was enough to garner some tiny bit of sympathy from the man in front of him. 

Instead, Peter smiled. “Sorry to hear that, Martin. I remember when I lost my mother years ago. A strange day, indeed, though I can’t say I liked her very much.”

Martin wasn’t sure how to respond to much of anything, especially not something like that. “...Sorry?”

“Oh, she was a miserable woman. Still, you don’t lose someone without something else being taken with them. The risks and rewards of other people are horribly skewed, I think.”

“I… guess.” Martin looked to the side, unsure what to do with this line of thought that made his stomach squirm.

Peter shook his head. “I don’t think I can give you the days off, Martin, especially when the duties are so quick and simple, but if it’s about, ah… emotional matters, I’m sure you know how lucky you are.”

At this, Martin blinked. “How-”

“Well, this place is exactly where you should be! When my mother finally left me, the best thing for it was fresh sea air.” He took an exaggerated breath in, then released it in satisfaction. “It cleans you from the inside, it does.”

“It’s always been unpleasant for me.”

“Then you haven’t spent enough time with it.”

Letting people say their piece can lead to understanding, even if they’re the worst. Swallowing hard despite his dry mouth, Martin muttered, “Mum said something similar.”

A bigger smile. “A smart woman! Don’t think I ever met her, though I’m sure that suited us both fine.” Looking strangely refreshed, Peter opened the front door for Martin. “I need to get going, but my condolences. Consider what I’ve told you. It comes from experience.”

With no desire to argue, Martin walked inside. There was no way to explain to Peter that he hadn’t had this particular experience, thank you very much, but some bitter part of him envied the old man and how he spoke of his mother.

Truthfully he hadn’t expected the days off, and it wasn’t as if there was a funeral to plan. He wasn’t entirely sure why he chose to go with ‘passed away’, but it was easier than explaining how his two living parents had had enough of their son.

--

It took time for him to decide, but after dinner that night he walked down the center of the hall to the front door, his arm itching with the expectation of pressure. No, he wasn’t doing this for her benefit.

He slid on his coat and stepped out onto the front porch, the night crisp and quiet but for the sea rocking with its own force of motion. And with nothing to wait for, he sucked the night air into his lungs. 

Chapter Text

Martin’s footsteps did not ring out against the interior of the lighthouse. The sound did not bounce around and up the spire to return in earnest, filling the hollow space with noise as he walked. Around him the walls absorbed every sound, every scratch of his pen. Or maybe he’d just learned to quiet himself. It was difficult to tell at times.

Whether or not the place had changed didn’t matter. The echoes had become a taunt over the dragging weeks, his own voice hitting the walls and bouncing back to smack him in the face. If there was a ghost in those walls, it wasn’t trying to talk to him.

There had been no sign of Peter since he’d spoken of Martin’s good fortune. Peter had wanted to avoid correspondence, no doubt about that, and the letter had sent him on another boating excursion that very day. If Simon were to send another message, there would be no one to give it to. The satisfaction almost made his mouth twitch. 

The boat trip could’ve been a cover, but Martin liked to entertain the idea of Peter jumping into a row boat and furiously paddling away from the shore just to escape the skinny little man who dared want to speak with him.

He even understood the impulse. It wouldn’t be so bad to sit in a little boat in the middle of the ocean if it meant avoiding the horrible old men in his life. He didn’t have to do that yet, not when he had a perfectly empty spot right where he was. 

The weather had worsened considerably, three days of heavy sleet pushing him home without stopping. If he ducked inside a shop he wouldn’t want to go back out, and he couldn’t hide forever. Therefore, when on that fourth day it was closer to a sprinkle than a torrent, he finally took the time to get groceries.

He recognized some of the faces in the little corner shop, several regulars seizing the opportunity to stock up before worse weather settled in. They walked around diligently, considering their needs for the next week and not risking side conversations that could end long after the rain returned in full force. There was no chitchat or calming music, only the squeak of rubber wheels on the cold tile floor. 

Martin focused on the task in front of him. Frozen foods, mostly. At least there was someone out there pre-packaging things for people like him who came back from work tired and hungry. He'd never had much reason to be ambitious with cooking,  and never terribly good when he did try. No wonder dinners had been such a sad affair, but he was the only remaining judge.

As he selected bags of frozen veggies, it hit him that he’d taken far too much. He stared at the white plastic packaging, frowned, and threw it into his basket. Stocking up on long lasting foods would save him trouble in the long run, and changing the budget would’ve been a pain. 

He continued from aisle to aisle, grabbing what his hands were used to reaching for from the shelves and weaving between people who were too busy browsing to notice him. If someone was blocking him, he could loop back around and let everyone get on with their business.

As he eyed some flavorless oatmeal he heard the tiny bell over the entrance ring. He sighed to himself and wondered how crowded it would get if he stayed too long. The balance between moving quickly and not interrupting fellow shoppers was beginning to grate on his nerves, each go-around making him more and more aware of the ones taking their sweet time. 

He went around again, the same backs turned toward him in different configurations. If he kept circling around other shoppers would take their place while he was gone. If he waited nearby he would look impatient and agitated. If he made the loop again more people might be lined up at the queue when he was finally done and then he’d be stuck standing in line even longer, which could make it even more likely that he’d get stuck in sleet if it returned and he’d spend even more time waiting with everyone else, and if someone started chatting with the woman at the register which was very likely then who knew how long-

Heavy footsteps squeaked in his direction. The person who’d just entered was making a beeline for his aisle. Feeling a tiny jolt in his chest at the approach, he reflexively glanced over to see the older woman from the Fairchild house wearing a sensible coat and some sturdy waterproof boots.

She did live in town, then. Of course she lived in town. The Fairchild house was still part of town. Not that he knew for certain she lived there, but either way she would need to buy food. Someone in that big house had to, right? He’d never seen Simon walking about and couldn’t imagine him running errands. At this point he should’ve expected her to be around town, he thought, as his heart slammed against his ribcage.

He didn’t know her name. Presumably she was a Fairchild, what with the way that family worked, pulling like-minded people into it rather than building outward. Otherwise, she was just a person. Just another someone.

Someone he was openly staring at, and who had finally pinned him with a look of recognition from the other end of the aisle. He gritted his teeth, turned on his heel, and hopped to the aisle over. He had food to buy and no need for more… whatever it was she might do. Really, he’d grabbed enough to last him through the week, so why stay any longer in the stale air?

To his relief the queue was empty. Of course as he walked back to the front with his basket full of microwave meals he recognized the cashier. She was a former classmate’s mother, someone he would chat with on his little trips to the shop. As he placed his items on the counter he recalled that he usually asked after her daughter.

No one really liked small talk, and he was sure there would’ve been no change from whenever it was he’d spoken to this woman last. That was fine. Speech wasn’t going to come easy with the way his lips stuck together. He paid for the groceries, took his paper bag full of food and absconded into the night air. 

It was then that he forced his lips apart to breathe, clutching the bag against his chest and walking down the road. He felt the need to wipe his glasses, but his hands were full.

He had only made it a couple of blocks before he heard a voice from behind. “It’s rude to stare without saying anything.”

He stopped and turned to see the woman a few meters away with her arms crossed. Words failed him, so he said nothing and hoped his confused expression was enough.

“What’s your boss been up to? Slinking around I assume,” she asked.

Holding the groceries closer to his chest, Martin lowered his eyes to the ground.

The woman rubbed her forehead. “Of course. Should’ve expected as much from someone like you.” After a brief pause, she continued, “Look, I’m not sure what your deal is exactly, being so clearly new to all of this, but if you’re this messed up when nothing’s happened yet I suggest you leave.” 

She must’ve seen some twitch or twist in his face, as she said, “Fine, do what you like. He must pay really well to make you stay this long.” Then she shoved her hands into her coat pockets and walked back toward the shop.

He felt like he should’ve yelled something back, let her know exactly how much her unsolicited advice meant to him. Tell her to piss off, or to jump back into the sky or whatever it was her stupid group did. 

But of course he couldn’t say that, not then, not with how he was sure he’d sound. It would have come out cracked and raspy, as if he were a teen trying not to sound petulant. And he knew better than to try and argue with a person like her who knew that she knew more.

Instead, once he’d walked far enough that she couldn’t possibly see him, he considered what little she had said. Was this Simon’s idea, using her to push him in some direction that would agitate Peter? Or was she acting of her own will and giving him what she thought of as useful suggestions from one person working for an evil company to another?

If she really wanted to be helpful she could’ve said something informative instead of being vague and weird about it. Who knew what any of these people were thinking? It wasn’t his fault they all wanted to be cryptic. And no matter what she thought she knew about his situation, there was no leaving for him. He could feel it in his gut, in his throat, as easily as he could feel the ice beginning to pelt him from above. 

Leave, she said. What would leaving look like? Being chased down because he knew too much. An empty stretch of road leading him to rooms full of strangers. Leaving someone behind.

The worst was how she looked at him when she said it. He could list out to her all his reasons for staying, but somehow she would know he was full of shit.

--

Sasha: so there’s a wrench in things that’s taking longer than expected to fix, can’t get into the details but we’re working on it

Tim: should be back on track before you know it! 

Tim: so dont go making things exciting over there without us

Sasha: sorry to be cagey, it’s hard to explain

Martin’s mobile sat on the weathered wood of his front porch, his only light source besides the cracks around the front door. Giving the notifications a once over, he released a slow breath through his nose. It burned less than before, much less now that it had been a few days, and he’d come to an understanding that soon it would stop altogether. His own stubbornness exposed.

She couldn’t say she told him so. That was a sort of blessing.

When the light of his mobile winked out, everything was still but for the waves and the creaking of the old house. His old house. Its joints strained with the high winds and plummeting temperature, but it was built to last through such things. Each evening those noises greeted him when he walked through the front door and went with him to sleep, jolting him awake in the middle of the night with a loud snap as if the building had cracked its spine. The house persisted, but that didn’t mean it wasn’t going to complain about it the whole way.

Tim: in the meantime let us know youre still breathing

Tim: i know i ran out of material weeks ago but that doesnt mean you get out of pretending to think im funny

With a sigh, Martin picked up the mobile.

Martin: im fine

Martin: not much happening still

Tim: think the boredom will get you first?

He considered the message and then set the mobile back down next to him. The meeting with the Fairchild woman had been enough to drain him without him uttering a single syllable. Texting was easier but not by much, and he had nothing in him to keep up with Tim’s lighthearted attempts to engage.

The notebook tucked into his jacket had been the only good receptacle for words recently. His jacket protected the little record of his thoughts from the spray of water that slipped under the porch roof and misted over his glasses and hair and cheeks, blurring his vision and sucking the heat from his skin.

He found himself in a little bubble outside of time where clouds blocked out the sky and any hope of telling time with it. Fog hid the path up and away from his home, no entrance or escape from where he sat but for the wide expanse of salt water ahead. 

When was the last time he’d seen a boat on those waves? The trek down the cliffs would’ve made dragging one to the shore a pain, and there were no other homes left down on the rocky beach. Had they owned a boat when he was younger, some small thing never meant to fit more than one person but forced to fit two and a half? Did he remember something like that happening?

He sighed and pushed the false memory away with her inside of it, but the obstinate thing sailed right back into his mind. He inhaled and then let a sharp breath out through his nose. 

With some effort, he pushed out, “Stupid. She wouldn’t have needed to go out in a boat.” What a grating sound.

It wasn’t as if his house had a place for a boat. There wasn’t even an overhang to drag a dinghy under in a lazy effort to protect it from the elements. 

Had there been one once, though? He couldn’t see much from where he sat, the fog creeping in from the sides and obscuring his view to his right and left. That and his glasses made seeing his stiff hands a miracle.

His mobile lit up the space beside him.

Sasha: it won’t keep us much longer though. it complicates things, but waiting won’t do any good. 

Sasha: so sit tight and we’ll have a plan of action soon

Tim: seriously though even if nothing happens you should still tell us youre fine

Tim: a quick thumbs up or a ‘hey im good’ is fine dont need to start a whole conversation if theres nothing to report

Tim: but saying nothing implies a worst case scenario. i know everythings sort of come to a halt on your end but we dont know when something will happen

Tim: so text us after work

Tim: or at least respond same day

A new lecture, from Tim of all people. He’d forgotten to respond to the others for a couple of boring days in a long string of boring days and he was being told off. His day to day life wasn’t any of their business. He’d needed the time to himself, away from his phone and all that. And they knew he was mostly off on weekends.

At least Tim confirmed that all they needed was proof he wasn’t dead. He could keep that in mind in the future.

He wasn’t being fair to Tim, the one who at this point still attempted to talk with him when he didn’t need to. Of course Martin not responding would look bad- he was lucky they hadn’t broken down his door by day two. But at the end of all things the problem was him. The problem was his. 

Martin: i will

Tim: good

The rain began to pick up a little, splattering the screen and forcing him to pocket his mobile. It was as good an excuse as any to ignore more messages. He’d agreed to not leave them in suspense about his safety. It was all he could give them.

Pushing himself off the front steps, he stood just outside of the porch roof’s reach and inhaled. It did still sting, but that seemed to be the point of the exercise. It opened things up, cleaned him from the inside and washed it all away with an exhale. It was no wonder his mother had been so insistent with how much he found leaving him with every breath. 

He looked up into the sky with eyes squeezed shut for a few moments, then looked one more time at the black water ahead-

A thrashing in the water cut the silence in two, forcing a yelp out of his chest as he caught himself on the porch railing. Past the fog, just barely visible against the dark backdrop of sea and sky, was a figure hunched and formless and slowly shuffling out of the water.

Martin stepped backwards and half-fell back under the porch roof, wiping the rain from his glasses. The fog had grown so thick as to obscure the figure of any distinguishing features, and as he continued to back toward the front door he squinted hard to get a better look at the- the person? The thing? The-

It couldn’t be. No, it wouldn’t- she wouldn’t come back. It wasn’t possible. But if it had come from the sea (where else could it have emerged from so suddenly?), then there wasn’t another explanation.

His throat went taught with panic. He grasped at it, using his other hand to fumble behind him for the doorknob and hold it tight. He wanted to run. Run away, run up the hill, run straight at her and scream until his voice left him entirely. Anything but stand there rigid against the reality creeping toward him. Damn it, when had this fog rolled in so thick? What time was it?

The figure stopped, its crunching footsteps giving way to the sound of waves and pattering droplets. Martin held his breath and waited for something to give, whether it be his mother’s patience or his own two legs.

Then the footsteps resumed, more certain and definitely faster than he’d recalled his mother ever being. Right, she had always needed to be careful of her knees. The sea couldn’t just fix a history of osteoporosis.

This wasn’t a comfort. As the figure grew near and gained definition to its stick legs and shifting, asymmetric middle, Martin could only stand there frozen in terror with his hands gripped tight around the doorknob and his own neck.

An uncertain voice shouted over the drizzle. “Martin? Is that you? This fog is-”

Wait.

No. No that didn’t make any goddamned sense. He didn’t hear that.

And yet, out of the grey shroud, hair sticking to the sides of his face, walked a stiff and mildly embarrassed Jonathan Sims. He stopped just short of the porch steps, and then Martin couldn’t register anything else, his vision narrowing to the thing clutched to Jon's chest.

“Ah. Hi.” Jon adjusted the awkwardly folded seal skin in his arms and cleared his throat. “May I come inside?”

Chapter Text

As the seconds ticked by and Martin failed to respond, Jon adjusted a small bag slung across his shoulder. “It’s um- I understand this might come as a shock. I hadn’t meant for my entrance to be so dramatic, but this place seems to insist on a particular atmosphere.”

Martin heard the words as they slipped past on the wind, the skin drawing his full attention. It wasn’t like his mother’s, dusty and worn and so very old. No, this seemed to shine in the rain and seawater, but his chest constricted at the sight of it.

Despite Jon’s efforts to conceal it, a shiver ran through his shoulders. 

“Right, sorry,” Martin croaked out, then coughed until his throat behaved itself. He found his hand still gripping the door knob and gave it a twist. “Sorry. Yeah, come on in.”

Jon’s stiff shoulders dropped, and with some eagerness he walked up the stairs to escape the rain. “Sor- Thank you. It’s not the best night to be out dressed like this.”

He wasn’t wrong. Warm light poured out from the doorway onto the front porch, illuminating Jon in his soaked-through fleece jumper and jeans, a far cry from the waterproof seal coat in his arms. It was no wonder that Jon was quick to enter the house and leave the damp, cold night behind. With one last look outward, Martin dipped inside and shut the door behind him. 

Jon seemed uncertain where to go next and stood next to the coat hooks, leaning from one foot to the other. 

“Do you want to...um, put it down? You can hang it up in the shower if it’s still wet,” Martin said, placing his own coat on a hook as casually as he could manage. “I don’t know if hooks would be, um, good for it?”

With a nervous glance downwards, Jon nodded and slipped his shoes off. “Right. That makes sense. I guess it is dripping everywhere.” Yet he continued to stand on the front rug.

Ah, right. “If you don’t want to lose sight of it, that’s-”

“It’s not- I’ll go hang it up now. Is it down the-”

“Second door on the right.”

“Right.” And Jon stalked down the hall into the toilet and closed the door, leaving Martin by the front entrance.

Martin wasn’t going to scream and freak Jon out right off the bat. Not that Jon worked too hard to give him the same courtesy.

Jon was a-

Shit. Martin pressed a shoulder against the wall and forced himself to breathe. It was fine. It made sense, right? Jon’s interest in selkies was bound to come from somewhere. He was knowledgeable in a way that would’ve required access to a selkie directly, and finding one couldn’t have been easy. 

There was a twisting in his upper chest, but he heard the door down the hall open and straightened himself out. Jon came out in a plain t-shirt and different trousers, evidently leaving his other clothes to dry. 

He rubbed his upper arms. “An explanation is probably necessary.”

Martin took a good look at him, all skinny limbs and uncertain glances. Bags much deeper than before dragged down under his eyes and without the extra layers hiding him away it was even harder for Jon to hide how much he was shivering.

“You-” Martin pushed up his glasses and rubbed his eyes. There was no helping it. He walked to the living room and motioned for Jon to follow. “I’ll make some tea.”

In spite of himself, Martin found it in him to fuss. He ushered Jon onto the couch and pulled the old blanket down from where it lay over the top just so it fell behind Jon, resisting the urge to pull it snug. At first Jon lifted a hand to wave him off, but as he sank further into the seat he let out a weary sigh and leaned forward onto his knees.

“Thanks.”

“Mhm. Be right back.”

Martin strode toward the kitchen in a way that he hoped didn’t look like bolting and escaped Jon’s line of sight.

A kettle. There was a kettle on the countertop. It was… technically not washed, not for a few days. Good. That gave him some time. He got to work, scrubbing at it much longer than necessary to settle his thoughts. As if there would ever be enough time for that.

So. Jon was on his couch after revealing himself to be one of the sea folk, looking cold and tired and very uncomfortable with the circumstances. That was all he had to work with, that and the cheap tea bags he tossed onto the countertop. 

He’d gotten groceries for two. That would be the polite thing, to offer food. 

If Jon intended to stay for more than an evening. This might be one rest stop on the path to elsewhere, land or sea. He certainly wasn’t packed for an overnight stay with that tiny bag he’d apparently managed to fit with him inside his coat, a train of thought Martin had no desire to follow. Maybe he’d even eaten… on the way? Hm, no, that wasn’t a great place, either. Whatever, he might not be looking for much more than a place to sit a while.

And then the tea was ready and poured out into two mugs, one with a pastoral scene of some sheep and the other a faded logo of a long-gone tackle shop. He’d run out of time.

The two mugs lent warmth to his hands as he walked back to the living room, catching himself before he tripped on his own feet. On the other side of the room, Jon had chosen to bundle himself up at one end of the couch, legs and all tucked into the blanket. It was all Martin could do to offer him the sheep mug without making eye contact and pray that the lamp light was too dim to reveal the red across his face.

Thankfully Jon didn’t seem to notice Martin’s awkward demeanor as he slipped his hands from under the blanket to curl his fingers around the mug. “Thank you, again. I’m sure you have questions.”

He would, wouldn’t he? He had several a moment ago, but unfortunately with all the heat emanating from his ears it seemed every question had risen right out of his head. Instead Martin sat on the other end of the couch. “You’d know better about where to start.”

From under the blanket Jon squared his shoulders. “Right. I don’t think there’s much to explain on this first point. I’m a selkie, or sea folk as you once said. I hope it explains the intensity of my… concern, regarding your mother.”

Martin squirmed a little. Jon's anger at the possibility of Martin holding one hostage took on a much more personal bent in hindsight. It must’ve been like a horror movie to find the skin there. “Yeah, I got that part.”

“As for my showing up here today, I…” Struggling somewhat with words, Jon took a sip of tea and gave a small noise of approval. “Okay, from the beginning. The day I’d finally finished with all of the extra work piled onto me, I’d settled on digging further into Elias’ connection with the Lukases. Possible overlap in goals, reasons for why the three of us were sent to this town, etcetera.”

He continued. “There wasn’t much. If I had to guess, it’s all largely in financial records that I have no access to, but I’d hoped that other strange happenings connected to the Lukases would explain something.”

“But they didn’t,” Martin said.

Sighing, Jon said, “No. So I changed direction and focused on Elias’ goals. If it wasn’t the lighthouse he wanted us to look at, then there were two options: either he just sent us out there to look at nothing, or he thought we would find something else of interest. Or that I might find something I’d been looking for.”

Martin’s heart could’ve stopped. “You don’t think-”

“He of course knew of my research into selkies. It’s the main reason I was eager for this position, all the resources he offered. I kept my more… personal motivation quiet, of course, stuck to how it was ‘underrepresented in our field’, which is entirely true and I could- anyway, I thought I was careful.” Quickly, he turned toward Martin as if he’d realized something. “And I was, with regards to you and your mother. I promise I never said anything about what I found. That secret isn’t going anywhere.” He rested the mug in his lap, tapping his fingertips on the white ceramic.

“But?”

“It appears I wasn’t doing a good enough job hiding myself. He always knew.” His mouth set into a grim line. “When we first got back I thought something was off about my flat, but the workload had gotten so high and there was so much to think about that I brushed it off.”

He gripped his knee through the blanket as it bounced with agitation. “I know someone came into my flat while I was gone. I know this because the day after your incident with Simon Fairchild it happened again, and this time he was sloppy.” 

A tremor had crept into Jon’s voice, just enough to be heard, though it wasn’t for the cold or for fear exactly. Anger? Irritation? 

“I was sent to check on something outside the city, not far but enough that I was able to get reimbursement for a night’s stay. It wasn’t the first time I’d been sent off without warning, obviously-” Jon motioned in the general direction of the town. “-but something was wrong. I could feel it, just like I could feel that someone had been in my flat.” At this point Jon stopped and leaned over to rub at his forehead, his shoulders rising and falling with long, deep breaths.

“Jon?” Martin said. He lifted his hand and then placed it on the back of the couch.

The tired man shook his head, “I’m fine. Just let me finish.”

“So I went back late that night. Didn’t tell anyone, didn’t cancel my hotel. And when I entered my flat, what did I see but a figure in the dark rifling through my things. A familiar one at that.” A sardonic edge snuck into his voice. “Never expected Elias to be the type to get his hands dirty in a work sense, let alone an illegal one.”

“There was a struggle. I rushed at him without thinking, and when pressed he eventually admitted to knowing what I was. I knew what he was looking for then, didn’t really need to ask, and so I… ran.”

Martin’s hand twitched, but he kept it in place. “That sounds… awful. I’m sorry.”

With a shaky inhale, Jon said, “I-I ended up staying with an old friend of mine for a few days, outside of town. When I initially got the job she’d agreed to keep my, um… my skin, while I was in the city. So Elias was never going to find it by looting around my things, on either attempt.” He smiled, eyes empty and humorless. “Paranoia pays off sometimes.”

“Sounds like you have a good friend, then,” Martin said, looking down at his barely-touched tea. “Why’d you leave?”

“Because three people and a cat take up a lot of space in a one-bedroom?” Jon replied with a small but genuine laugh. “My friend, Georgie, she lives with her girlfriend. Her girlfriend and I don’t get on at the best of times, and cohabitation while I’m a terrified mess is not the best of times. The cat didn’t seem to mind, though.”

“I figured the next safest place would be in the water, while traveling at least. I couldn’t take much with me, but I wouldn’t need much either. My main goal was to just stay hidden as best as I could.” He looked back at Martin sheepishly. “Which I hope is a good enough reason for my number being unavailable.”

Martin nearly dropped his tea. “What?”

“What?” Jon frowned, brows knit together in confusion. “Oh. Um, yes, I deactivated my account. Maybe a bit more precaution than necessary, but at that point I was too nervous to take any risks. Tossed my mobile as well.” 

A horrid wave of guilt hit Martin right in the stomach. The number wasn’t reachable, which he’d have known if he’d just called. Stupid, of course Jon had a reason for not calling. How much more of an ass could he be, assuming things when Jon had his own worries to deal with? Not everything had to be about himself and his problems.

“Makes sense,” he said, hiding his own unhappy mouth behind the mug. 

“Anyway, I left the land for… an amount of time. It was hard to keep track. And it’s still the wilderness, so it wasn’t safe. Eventually I decided being stuck surrounded by wild animals wasn’t going to help me and figured this was the best place to go next.” He leaned back. “I couldn’t exactly see Tim or Sasha for updates, though they know to pretend to trust Elias for now, thanks to Georgie. Once I see them in-person, it’ll be safer to explain why I’d disappeared on them.”

And in the meantime pretend that Jon was off to the side, too busy to bother with a group text. He might as well have been asleep the whole time with how obvious it all was. And there he’d been writing Jon off without evidence instead of feeling concern. Horrid.

Jon took a deep breath. Some of the tension slipped away from his forehead, smoothing the creases into faint lines. 

“Had a harder time than expected finding this place considering the lighthouse looming over everything. I think I got turned around after losing sight of the coast and the fog certainly didn’t help. But things cleared up enough, and now I’m here.”

Martin withdrew his arm from atop the couch and leaned away into the arm rest. “And now you’re here.”

There in the present, they sat on their respective sides of the couch. Jon settled further back into the cushion, pressing both hands to his mug of tea and enjoying the warmth it brought to his skinny fingers. 

The man needed to sleep. It was clear in his struggling eyes, his voice, his shoulders obscured by the blanket’s folds. How long had he been at it, swimming mile after mile until he found his way here? How much further was he planning to go?

“Are you okay?” 

Martin started, ripping his eyes from Jon’s face. “Fine, yeah. Just, just taking it all in I guess.”

Jon rubbed the back of his neck. “I know it’s a lot. If you wouldn’t mind, though, I wanted to ask if anything else happened here since I left.”

Martin replied, “Not much. I delivered the letter for Simon a few weeks ago. Peter has been spotty ever since and has been on a boating trip for a few days.”

“The only way to avoid Fairchild, maybe. Until he goes out on his own yacht. Or flies there.”

Martin snorted and took another sip of tea. 

“And nothing else has changed?”

In the grand scheme of things? “No. Not really.”

“Good. I’d worried about getting here- well-”

“Too late?” Martin said with a rougher edge than he’d intended, and he saw Jon flinch. Quickly, he continued, “I’m fine. If anything you didn’t have to deal with weeks full of nothing like Tim and Sasha.”

It was Jon’s turn to snort. “That would’ve been preferable, I think. Being so out of the loop, not knowing what to expect when I managed to get back. It wasn’t pleasant.”

“So, what now?”

Jon chewed on the inside of his cheek. “I’m not entirely sure. There isn’t anywhere else for me to go now. But since you asked, there was something I’d been considering."

Twisting in place, he faced Martin directly with a nervous expression. “Truth be told, I don’t know anyone else like me, not personally. The sea might as well be the woods or the mountains for all I know on how to navigate them. If anyone was going to be able to help me with my particular situation, I figured it would be-”

“My mum.” The words came out throttled. 

The room shifted, the sides of his vision blurred until all he could see was the dead television. If he stared at that point long enough, he could almost see the burnt-in images of something he’d left on pause for too long.

From beside him, he heard the rustling of the blanket.

“I- yes, th-though if that’s too much trouble I understand. I would never want to make you or your mother’s lives harder by getting her involved with me. I know I’m a liability to her safety just coming here, but I’d at least wish to speak with her, ask if there’s anywhere or anyone she knows that could help if she herself is unwilling. She’s already asleep I assume, so I could wait until tomorrow-”

“She’s gone.”

His words cut through the air with a swiftness, the quiet settling in so deeply that he could almost hear tv static as his mind tried to fill the gap. With nothing to be heard and his vision so caught by the television, Jon might as well have vanished into thin air.

But he hadn’t. With something between wariness and disbelief, Jon muttered, “...Gone.” 

“Four days ago.” Martin blinked away the tunnel, looking down at his own hands. “Took her skin and nothing else.”

“That’s… Did she say when she might come back?” 

Without answering, Martin stood up and walked to the kitchen. When faced with Jon’s protestations he placed a hand up, signalling for the man to wait, and from the kitchen table plucked the unmoved note. Then, wordlessly, he handed it over to Jon and sat on his own end of the couch. 

The note was short enough. “...That’s it?”

“Yeah. Sorry I can’t be of more help.”

“That’s- you don’t need to apologize to me. I imagine it’s been difficult.” A pause as Jon set the note on the side table, and then, “You did the right thing.”

Something pushed upwards in Martin’s throat, something bitter and harsh and awful, but he clenched his teeth and kept his tone even. “It’s for the best.”

“If there’s any… If you have any questions, I’ll do what I can to answer them.” As Jon spoke he was plainly starting to regret it. “But I suppose you would know her better.”

Martin frowned and said nothing.

“Right… right. Family business.” Jon drained the rest of his mug and then dragged his fingers down one cheek. “If you’re all right with it, I’d like to spend the night here and figure things out tomorrow, when I’m feeling more myself. I’ve sorely missed sleeping somewhere dry and horizontal.”

“You really slept that way with your face sticking out?” The image of a little seal head popping up out of the water fast asleep came to mind, a welcome distraction. He let himself smile a little and leaned a cheek into his knuckles. “You seem a bit drift-y, yeah.”

“I hope that’s not meant to be a pun. And sleeping in the water is difficult,” Jon replied, deadpan. “So I have permission to co-opt your couch?”

“Knock yourself out. I need to get to bed, anyway.” He pushed himself back up off the couch and grabbed both mugs. As he walked back to the kitchen, he looked back at Jon. “... She left her medication here. Does that mean anything?”

Jon shook his head. “She’ll be fine. She won’t need them unless she returns to a human form, according to my own, er, experimentation.” 

Martin nodded and waved goodnight with one of his full hands, making his way back into the kitchen one final time to place the mugs in the sink. Every motion reminded him that he too was tired, so tired, so they would be washed another time along with the plate of whatever it was he’d made for himself. Had he offered Jon something to eat? No, but the man was capable of asking for things.

One thing had been helpful. He looked at the half-empty pill bottles that sat undisturbed on the counter and with one swift motion tossed them into the bin.

Chapter Text

Martin took great care to not make too much noise as he walked down the stairs. He still avoided the creakiest steps, and down he went as quiet as the house would allow.

He didn’t wonder whether the night before had been a dream. His dreams weren’t like that, so vivid and specific. They weren’t narratives he could make sense of, if he remembered them at all. On waking, he was usually left with the anxious certainty that he had made a horrible mistake or had forgotten to do something important. But that night had been real.

Still, when he made it to the ground floor he peeked in the downstairs toilet to make sure Jon’s clothes were hanging on the shower rod along with the small bag he’d been carrying. Those items were present. What he didn’t find was the seal skin.

Martin continued to the living room door. Curled up into a tight ball, Jon remained buried in the blanket and couch cushions. Martin let loose the breath he’d been holding. He continued on to the kitchen to make his breakfast in silence.

It was nothing to dwell on. Jon must’ve stowed the coat somewhere while Martin was asleep. They hadn’t known each other that long, so it wouldn’t do to keep something so important openly hanging in the shower when Jon had had such a scare with the thing. He’d trusted Martin enough to tell him the truth. It didn’t matter that Jon had squirreled the skin away in the dead of night.

Had Jon believed what he’d said about his mother leaving? Was it suspicious that she was gone?

Toast popped up hot and ready, making him jump. He looked back into the living room, checking if the noise had been enough to wake Jon, but the man was sound asleep in his little cocoon. Perhaps all of the caution wasn’t necessary with someone who was sleeping well for the first time in weeks. Longer, if his habit of calling without any thought to the time was any indication. 

He should’ve checked on Jon. Even if he hadn’t had reason to suspect anything it’s what he would’ve appreciated in Jon’s place. Just because he hadn’t felt like making the effort-

Would it have helped, though, if Tim and Sasha were ready to cover things up? What excuse could they have given except that Jon had lost his mobile or switched numbers and hadn’t given out his new one yet? He hadn’t had a real reason to pry into Jon’s business. A barely established friendship didn’t count.

He could have tried anyway. Hopefully letting Jon stay would make up for it, even if there was no bed to offer.

While he wasn’t against letting him use his own bed in theory, Martin knew he was too bloody tall to sleep comfortably on the old couch all night. If things went on long enough it could be discussed, but it was better for both of them to get sleep.

Hers didn’t count.

Thinking that far ahead wouldn’t do any good, so he pushed his mess of thoughts to one side and focused on eating breakfast and scribbling onto a small piece of paper.

‘Jon,

Help yourself to food. Be back in the evening.

-Martin’

Martin considered the note for a moment, then scribbled his number at the bottom. 

‘For emergencies.’

What emergencies he could help with he couldn’t say, but he left his number all the same. The chance of Jon having it memorized was slim to none and it wouldn’t have been fair to keep Jon with no contact at all. It was the best excuse Martin could hope for.

He gently laid his plate in the sink in one final attempt to keep the silence, and got ready to leave.

--

Jon didn’t call him at any point that day. And rightly so, following prior agreements of safety and secrecy. It was fine, no calls meant no emergencies, but as the hours passed it was easy to forget the outside world and its greater goings-on. The window on the front door wasn’t much of a reminder, not with how tiny and far away it was, and not with the crappy weather blocking any light other than what could seep through the endless grey. 

The wall clock was placed in an awkward location from where he sat, so timekeeping felt like guesswork. He’d stopped checking the clock often to avoid the disappointment of finding himself only five minutes closer to leaving. It could be any day of the week if he kept his mobile out of sight. 

But he could feel lunch time. He could feel when he was to climb the stairs and complete his tasks by muscle memory. And he knew in his bones when he was meant to leave.

In the dark of the evening the timelessness clung to him. It wasn’t until he got to the bottom of the cliffs and saw the windows lit up from the inside of his home that he felt himself settle back into the present. There was a person in his house, and for a while he stood back by the forest path and stared at the little square of light that was his kitchen window. 

He felt like an intruder, a spy peering in through his own kitchen window from afar, and it took a particularly large gust of rain-splattering wind in his face to get him moving again.

It was his house. There was just a person in it other than himself.

The smell of cooked food was the first thing he noticed when he walked inside, even before he saw the small and scuffed brown shoes on the rug, or the thin jacket on the end hook he normally used. Something was being cooked, fried, and he spent a minute on the front rug not knowing how to proceed.

From the kitchen, he heard a tentative, “Martin? Is that you?”

“Oh! Yeah, it’s me.” Finally placing the damned coat somewhere, he slipped off his shoes and walked toward the kitchen. 

Jon peeked his head through the kitchen doorway, wariness falling from his face as he saw Martin for himself. “Barely heard the door open over the wind outside. How were things today?”

“Fine, I guess? What’s-” Martin looked over Jon’s head and saw a pan hissing on the stove, alongside a boiling pot of water. “What’re you making?”

“Something easy and not made of fish,” Jon replied, heading toward the stove top. “Hope you don’t mind, I used some of the chicken in the freezer and box pasta. Should be enough for the both of us.”

Head running on empty, Martin could only nod and take a seat at the kitchen table, threading and unthreading his fingers in front of him. It felt wrong to be sitting there in his own kitchen without a task, but Jon had already put in the time and effort to make dinner. Still, his hands were painfully idle in his lap.

He said quietly, “Smells good.”

From the stove, Jon raised an eyebrow but kept his eyes on the pan in front of him. “I’d hope so. Can’t go much more basic than this.” He lifted the pan to show breaded chicken frying away.

“Still, it’s nice of you. Thanks.”

“Mm.” He flipped the stove off and went to strain the noodles. “Anyway, now that I’m awake, thank you for letting me stay the night. Hopefully this helps make up for my sudden appearance.” 

“It’s no trouble. Would’ve liked more warning, though.”

Jon frowned. “Well… I would’ve called if I could.”

It didn’t feel like a purposeful accusation, but it stung anyway. “Can’t change things now. Speaking of calling, though… Did you want me to get in touch with Tim or Sasha about this? I know you said you wanted to wait until they were here, but I don’t know when that’ll be.” 

“No, not yet.” Jon placed a strainer full of noodles back over the pot and leaned against the counter. “Call me over-cautious, but I don’t trust anything traceable right now. I’d considered calling Georgie over your phone line to pass on a message, but I don’t think her going in a second time would fly under the radar.”

Chewing the inside of his cheek, Martin said, “So until they get here…”

“Until then, I’d like to stay here. We can explain things to Tim and Sasha, figure out your situation, and then-” His face fell. “I’m not sure what comes after that.”

In the silence that followed, Jon busied himself with assembling two plates of food, turned in such a way that Martin couldn’t see his expression. It was an uncomfortable quiet that ate away at the composure he’d managed to pull together throughout the work day. 

When Jon set the plate down in front of him, he jumped in his seat.

Jon’s brows scrunched together. “Are you all right?”

“Just… tired, is all.”

“Right. So-” Jon set his own plate down and sat on the other side of the table, a perfectly natural choice of seating. “We didn’t talk for long last night. I know part of what you’re going through isn’t- it’s not by business, but if I’m going to help then I need to know if you’ve noticed any changes, with the lighthouse or with- with other things.”

Martin stared down at his dinner. It was plain, breaded chicken with noodles. Smelled a bit of lemon and garlic. 

“Everything’s fine. Nothing’s changed besides what you already know.” 

It was fine. The taste was about what he would’ve expected from the smell, and it was better than anything he’d been planning to make with his remaining energy. It was a nice thing for Jon to do. He forced each bite down through the sting of his throat.

“It tastes all right?” Jon asked casually. 

Martin nodded with a raise of his eyebrows, taking another bite of chicken.

“Good. I’m not out of practice.” 

After that, the only sounds remaining were those of clinking silverware and the beating of rain on the kitchen window.

It should’ve been nice, but as Martin ate the pain in his throat only grew, spreading through his head and upper chest. It was nice that Jon had made dinner, and he’d kept it simple enough that even Martin could pay it back in the future. Something as tiny as this shouldn’t have made him feel anything other than full. Instead his head pounded behind his eyes.

“You… You don’t have to eat it,” Jon said. When Martin looked up he was met with an expression of mild exasperation. “It’s fine if you don’t like it. I’m not holding you at gunpoint. Though if I’m going to be living here we should probably settle what we each don’t like.”

“What?” God, that wasn’t a pleasant sound, especially with food still in his mouth. Martin swallowed down hard, realized he had nothing to drink, and stood up. “I need some water. You?”

Thrown off somewhat, Jon sputtered, “N- Well, yes, but-”

“Great.” Martin strode across the kitchen and grabbed two glasses from the cabinet to fill in the sink. As he held one under the faucet, he noticed there were no dirty dishes underneath.

From behind he could hear Jon shift in his chair. “It’s really not a big deal if you don’t like it.”

With two full glasses he returned to the table, taking a sip of his own and then setting them both down. “What is? No, right, yeah, dinner tastes fine. Don’t know what you’re on about.”

“Martin, that’s not very convincing when you were just staring at it like it was a lump of mud.”

“I wasn’t-” He took his seat and reached internally for some excuse with no luck. What kind of faces had he been making? Reaching for his fork, he said, “It’s fine. Good. It’s good.”

“There’s something else, then.”

“I… The food is good. It was very nice of you to make it.” His throat went tight and he said no more.

Frowning at his meal, Jon said defeatedly, “Okay. If you say so.”

The rest of the meal passed in silence. If he made any other sour faces then Jon ignored them, and Martin did his best to be more aware of what his eyes and mouth were doing while eating as quickly as he could manage. 

It wasn’t soon enough, but he finally finished and put his plate in the sink. God, he’d barely gotten home and was ready to run upstairs and hide away for the night. Was eating dinner with someone always so exhausting? The answer came easily to mind, but this felt worse than meals spent with stubborn silence or bitter exchanges. 

Jon had wanted to be nice, and-

“So, we should discuss… things. Not the food-” Jon said from directly behind him, dirty dishes in hand. He inched around Martin to place them in the sink. “-but we need to talk about how it’s going to work, me being here. I don’t want to be a nuisance.”

Martin cleared his throat, taking a step to the side to give Jon some room. “You’re not a nuisance. You didn’t have much of a choice in this, if any.”

“And you didn’t ask to have me knocking in your door. Here, let me-” Jon rolled up his sleeves and got to work scrubbing the dishes.

Martin bristled. “You don’t have to-”

“I’m the one who made dinner.”

Martin’s face scrunched. “I don’t think that’s how it works. You made dinner, so I should clean up.” He watched with some irritation as Jon continued his task.

“Next time, then. I already got a head start this morning.”

An even better reason for Martin to be the one to wash up after dinner, but that ship had sailed without him apparently. 

“Look, I’m-” He pushed through the tightness in his chest. “I’m glad you’re here, all right? Better than you getting eaten by a shark or something.” 

Jon squinted at him. “So… we’re fine?”

“What? Yeah, ‘course we’re fine!” In spite of everything, a laugh crept into Martin’s voice. “Why wouldn’t we be?”

A troubled look crossed Jon’s face. “No, you’re right. The last few weeks got to me I think, not seeing people.” 

With some hesitation, Jon continued, “If it makes you feel better, I’m glad to have something to do.” He paused, sudsy glass in his hand. “Sitting around all day doesn’t come naturally to me, and I’ve been all but useless for weeks.”

Ah. Martin felt the indignation seep out of his jaw and shoulders, leaving him rather deflated all of a sudden. All that bristling on his part and Jon had only been bored to the point of doing chores.

“That’s... not your fault,” Martin replied quietly. He leaned back against the counter top and tapped his fingers on the rounded edges. “But okay. Sorry.”

Resuming the job at hand, Jon kept his eyes down and stayed quiet. There wasn’t much to wash off of the plates, but he was diligent in scrubbing down the frying pan until not a speck of grease remained. His fingertips began to prune.

Eventually, he spoke up. “As I was saying before, we should talk about me staying here because of situations like this. If you have… particularities with housekeeping, I should know.”

Martin rolled his eyes. “It’s not a- whatever, do what you like. I suppose it’s better to live with someone who keeps clean.”

“As much as the average person,” Jon said, rinsing off the last bit of soap from a plate. He reached out to grab a hand towel. “Don’t expect me to always be this eager for chores.”

“What, is the excitement wearing off already?” He’d been aiming for a light, teasing tone but ended with dry judgment.

“You know me, always looking for the next thrill,” he deadpanned.

Martin leaned back on the heels of his hands. “Jon, you’re a professional ghost hunter.”

Jon tossed the towel back onto the sink. “I am not. I research the paranormal and complete necessary field work.”

“By looking for static in recordings and breaking into buildings.”

“That’s not- your situation is a special case. I assure you, my regular days are based almost entirely around paperwork and fact-checking.” He walked into the living room and with a scowl plopped onto the couch. After a moment his mouth untwisted into a small frown. “They were, anyway.”

Martin followed behind and looked at him, looked at the lines on his forehead and under his eyes, at his bouncing knee. He looked better than he had the day before, but it would take more than a single good night to make up for weeks of wandering and disconnection. Another apology sat behind his own lips, but he let it die as the useless thing it was. 

There was one thing he could help with. Walking over to the ancient desk in the corner, he picked up a bulky old laptop from the drawer and brought it over to the couch with him. “Probably should’ve mentioned it in the note, but I do have wi-fi. Technically.” 

The laptop was old. He’d bought it for himself years back but with the weak signal he got it wasn’t easy to deal with, and in his mind the very concept of social media was never going to work for him. So, it was largely a clunky and underused alternative to his phone. It sat heavy on his lap and he remembered why he rarely bothered with it.

Jon’s eyebrows shot up, and he scooted closer on the seat. Voice dripping with relief, he said, “I’m shocked you can get a signal down here.” 

The sudden proximity made Martin’s heart skip. He opened the computer on his lap and focused on the screen. “Mind you it’s not good wi-fi, but it should help pass the time. Still has a disc drive as well.”

It took far longer than he would’ve liked for the thing to boot up, but against all odds it reached the desktop with its default background and sparse folders. He really hadn’t done much with the thing, had he? Perhaps when everything was done with he could sell it.

For the time being, though, Jon was clearly itching to get his hands on it, so after a quick check that it still connected to the internet he passed it over. 

It shouldn’t have been a surprise that he immediately hopped onto a site for sifting through journal articles, but Martin stifled a laugh. Whether pushed by professional diligence or personal interest, Jon was too engrossed to notice. 

With a small sense of accomplishment, Martin pushed himself onto his feet and moved toward the hall. He made it halfway across the room before he was noticed.

“You’re not going to bed already.” 

The tone of the sentence sat between incredulity and a statement of fact, and it gave Martin pause. When he glanced back, Jon was still looking at the laptop screen. 

“I mean… no, I was just going to get into pyjamas?”

“Okay. There was a short documentary on architecture I found when I was still doing research at my flat. It might be helpful to our ends.” He typed something and made a face. “It might also be complete bunk, but I should be able to track it down while you’re upstairs.”

It was enough of a dismissal that Martin could only say, “Oh. Um, all right?” Then he left the room in a hurry, as he apparently had things to do that night.

Back upstairs he went with a new if unexpected purpose to change out of his work clothes, still skipping the loudest steps as best he could.

Around the time he’d managed to slip on some flannel pyjama pants and an old t-shirt, tears had leaked from his eyes and then ceased almost immediately. There were no sobs to choke back, just streaks of warmth on his cheeks that dried as quickly as they’d formed.

He rubbed his face with the back of his hand, grateful that his eyes wouldn’t be red and puffy, and then walked back downstairs.

Chapter Text

The documentary, if it could be called that, was absolute bunk.

Littered throughout were vague interviews and wild assumptions on the part of the very on-screen director, all tied together with a final push for people to purchase a very specific brand of smoke detector. And the low quality of the video couldn’t be blamed solely on Martin’s internet.

They watched the thing from start to finish, though, and by the end of its 70-minute runtime (“I should’ve guessed by how short it was,” Jon had grumbled partway through) their viewing had turned primarily to Jon taking the piss out of it. Academically, of course.

On Martin’s end the film itself was bad in an enjoyable way, and while he didn’t have the context for all of Jon’s complaints it was easy for him to listen. He’d even made some jokes that got Jon to snort.

He did have to sit uncomfortably straight to keep from leaning against each other. Jon had turned it a bit so they could both see, but when viewed from too hard an angle the picture looked even worse. So, Martin did his best to give Jon space and not let the effort distract him from the screen.

All of this being true, Martin was grateful for the horrible film. Nothing filled silence better than movies and television, so the nights following they settled into a routine. Someone would make dinner (with no further… outbursts) and then they would find something to watch. Afterwards they would say goodnight and Martin would escape upstairs to decompress with his little notebook.

Jon’s original idea had been to find something related to their goals. However, after another let down on night two involving a very old retrospective on the mid-century fishing industry (“Wrong century,” Martin had said about five minutes in), Jon dropped the idea, thus opening up a whole new world of cable television and old vhs tapes on night three.

“You bought yourself a laptop but never had a dvd player?” Jon yawned, getting comfortable on his side of the couch. 

“We sort of… skipped it?” Martin dug through a box of tapes for something worth watching, sifting through sappier options and 80s action flicks alike. “Dunno how, but we never got one. The laptop ended up being the first thing I ever had to play dvds, but the telly is too old to be hooked up to it. S’fine, though. I like tapes.”

“And you never get bored of it? Flipping between tapes and whatever’s on at a given time?”

Martin rolled his eyes. “I have a phone for other stuff, obviously. To be honest I don’t watch a lot to begin with, nothing new anyway.”

“Hmph. Same for me,” Jon conceded, sinking further into the couch. “Feels like there are other things I could be doing.”

“Except for now?”

A wry smile. “Special case.”

Martin’s stomach did a flip. He didn’t feel guilty, per se, but he wished he had something for Jon to work on to stave off the boredom. Everything had been so quiet with Peter gone and Simon’s waiting that no new leads had popped up. It wasn’t fair that Jon had to sit around doing nothing after wandering about in the sea for weeks. The least he could do was provide some entertainment.

“Hm. Right, how about this one?” Martin looked back and waved a vhs set. It was some old fantasy series with a group of children on the cover standing in a hallway. “Haven’t watched it since I was a kid, but I remember liking it.”

“Two tapes’ worth?” Jon glanced up at the ceiling. “It’s in episodes, right?”

“Yeah, though if you’d rather find something else…?”

Jon waved his hand. "No, I can’t spend the whole evening making up my mind. If we don’t like it, then we can find something else.”

With that settled Martin popped the tape in and took up his seat. On the other end, Jon sat with the blanket pulled to his chest. He wore a new set of pyjamas Martin had picked up at the shop along with a few other things to save Jon from having to wear the same clothes day and night. 

The show was a simple series meant for children, easy enough to follow in plot that some side chatter didn’t interrupt things too much. Honestly, Martin was glad they weren’t paying a whole lot of attention. He hadn’t watched it in years and wasn’t looking to be embarrassed.

A few minutes in, the children from the cover were running up the stairs to explore a large house. “Safe to assume you don’t have siblings?” Jon asked.

“Hm? Oh, no, it’s just me. You?”

He snorted. “Even if my grandmother wanted another child running around, I was enough to deal with.”

Martin raised an eyebrow. “What, were you a terror?”

“I’d use the word ‘adventurous’, but she would’ve agreed with that description. If we’d been in that house,” Jon gestured toward the screen, “she would’ve been in trouble. Until it ate me or something.”

“I don’t think that’s how it goes?” 

Jon frowned. “That’s- No, I mean if it were real it would probably mean harm. Supernatural houses aren’t trustworthy entities outside of fiction. In fiction they’re mischievous at the least.”

“Can’t imagine that, a building that likes to mess with you,” Martin said, grimacing. He really didn’t remember much about this story. Maybe that was how it went? “I’m sure they’ll be fine. I wasn’t into spooky things back then.”

“I’ll take your word for it, but I’m not letting my guard down,” Jon said. He watched as the children walked up a spiral staircase. “Would you have wanted siblings?”

Martin considered this. “I can’t imagine having them? But an older sibling would’ve been nice. Someone to know better and help me with things.”

“I think any other child would’ve found me irritating, older or younger. Best to keep to myself,” Jon said dryly. “Anyway, what was I saying? Oh, yes, you can imagine the additional worry of raising a child who could explore the ocean like it was the woods. It’s not like she could follow me in.”

“I bet… She wasn’t like you, then?”

Turning back to the television, Jon said, “No. She was from my father’s side.”

“Oh.” He couldn’t tell if the question was wrong to ask, so looked back to the show. It was luck of the draw, then, whether someone was born with a selkie skin. Perhaps there was nothing to do with genetics in circumstances like this.

Back on the screen, one of the children had chosen to wander outside into the beginnings of a snowstorm with no thought to the cold. Outside the real world window it had begun to hail, and Martin realized how frigid it had become both outdoors and in.

“Well, at least this story is right for the season,” Martin said, standing up. “I’m gonna grab another blanket.”

With a start, Jon looked at him and held up the one he was under. “Do you want this one? I don’t-”

“N-no, that’s fine!” He walked briskly out of the room, feeling rude and stupid. All Jon had offered was for him to use the damned thing, not share it. And it wouldn’t have fit both of them even if he had meant it that way!

Opening the hall closet, he tried to calm down. He peered at the pile of folded sheets and blankets, lifting each layer to search for one he liked. There was a flannel one somewhere, deceptively warm for how thin it was-

Oh.

Tucked far down into the pile, far back enough so it was hidden if the one above wasn’t lifted, Martin saw something dappled and grey and out of place amongst the linen. Jon had left it to dry completely beforehand, so the surrounding fabric was unwrinkled. Considerate. And in a decent hiding place all things considered. It was a shame Martin had gone and ruined it.

He sighed, grabbing one of the blankets at the top that he’d initially passed on. Once he reached the doorway to the living room, he stopped and stared at Jon who was doing his best to seem unperturbed.

“So, I saw it,” he started, squeezing the blanket in his arms into his chest. “I use that closet a lot, if you want to put it somewhere else.”

Jon winced and stood. As Martin let him pass, he mumbled, “Right. I’ll just-” 

And then Martin was left to sit back on the couch and wait, pausing the tape out of courtesy. 

When the skin had disappeared from the shower that first morning he hadn’t considered anything but Jon hiding it, and there was an awful satisfaction in knowing he was right. He rubbed his arm and stared at the blanket in his lap, still neat and folded. 

After a couple of minutes, Jon returned empty handed and resumed his seat. Pulling his blanket back up, he said, “It’s nothing… personal.”

“I know.” He took a deep breath and pressed play on the old remote, letting the child continue their new solo adventure. “I figured you hid it.”

“I appreciate that you told me.” His voice was stilted and unsure. “That you found it.”

“Sure, whatever helps.” Unfolding the blanket, he pulled it up to his shoulders and leaned on the arm rest. He could feel Jon fidgeting in place, turning the blanket so it faced the right way and making it tuck under him in the right places. Martin kept his eyes ahead.

Finally giving up on any further adjustments, Jon slouched into place. “It does help. I know my caution can come off as distrust, but genuinely I just… I need to keep it hidden. I need to know where it is and to be the only one who does. For now.”

“You… don’t need to justify anything.” Martin sighed and had to fight back a yawn. “It’s your coat.”

A grunt of frustration. “No, you don’t- It’s not a rational thing. I trusted you enough to tell you the truth, and yet I was barely into my first night here before I panicked and stowed it away.” He sat upright and let the blanket fall to his lap, quiet distress written across the lines of his forehead.

Grasping for words, Martin said, “You still haven’t known me that long. It’s not wrong to be careful.”

“That’s not the point,” Jon replied quietly, resting elbows on knees. “It hasn’t been all that long in the grand scheme of things, but a lot has happened. I consider you a friend. And yet I can’t stop feeling like everything is about to go wrong if I’m not careful.”

The hail continued to slam against the window, almost overpowering the sound of the television and the faun describing the witch’s plans. On the far side of the couch, Jon remained hunched over his own knees with his face bent in irritation. 

A wave of shame broke against him, but there wasn’t time to dwell on it. Carefully, Martin scooted over just enough to reach out a hand. His trembling fingers hovered just an inch away, brushing against the fabric of Jon’s shirt before coming to rest on his shoulder.

“I’m sorry,” Jon whispered, massaging around his eyes with his fingers. He reached his free hand up to tentatively cover Martin’s, giving it a tiny squeeze. “Thank you for understanding.”

“Do you… want to keep watching?”

Jon nodded, shaking himself out a little. Martin released the gentle grip on his shoulder, though he didn’t move away. They both settled into the back of the couch and watched.

The child had gone back inside with the shivers, but no one was to be found. Around the halls she wandered, calling her siblings’ names with indignation that slowly turned to concern and then to fear. Eventually she was running, and it wasn’t until she was on the upper floor that one of her brothers popped out to scare the living daylights out of her. 

Deep down he remembered this part making him cry. Perhaps siblings weren’t worth it with how cruel children could be. 

Martin coughed. “You explored the sea as a kid, then?”

Jumping slightly, Jon said, “O-only a couple of times. And not far from the land. And it’s not as fun when you can only grab one thing at a time, with your mouth. I sorely missed my pockets and picking up sticks.” As he spoke, he resumed the more casual tone from before with modest success. 

“You thought checking out the sea with no real limits was too much of a hassle?”

With a roll of his eyes, Jon said, “It wasn’t entirely that. Eventually my grandmother warned me away from it. Told me about dangerous animals that absolutely weren’t native to the coast where we lived.” 

“Great white sharks?”

“Surrounding our seaside village on every watery side, ready to eat hapless little seal boys who didn’t listen to their nans.”

Martin chuckled, relaxing further into his seat and listening to Jon go on about all the ways his grandmother had tried and failed to reign him in. He could see it, a younger, scrappier version of the man next to him stomping around the woods and climbing fences. 

The instinct wasn’t all that relatable to someone like Martin who’d kept to the front porch on nice days, but it sounded like an adventure. Maybe it meant he was less likely to get eaten by an evil wardrobe out of the two of them. In his position he could only hope that was the case.

They called it for the night when, out of nowhere, a man suddenly appeared at half opacity screen and let out a screeching noise to close out an episode, making Jon laugh in a way that only could’ve been from exhaustion. 

Martin lingered downstairs for a while after they shut the television off. It was Friday, after all. For many reasons they couldn’t go out to a pub, but without the need to get up early he could afford to stay up a little longer and listen to a sleepy Jon talk over the tapping on the window panes.

--

Tim: not next weekend, but the one after i think. finally time to call it on preparation and get down to business, if this is something we can be prepared for

Martin: encouraging

Tim: look its been rough over here, alright? 

Martin: i know, sorry. itll be easier to talk once we’re all in one place 

Tim: yeah

Tim: things are ok over there, then? youre sounding better

Martin: ?

Tim: it was starting to get scary if im honest, how quiet you were

Martin: oh, sorry. things are fine, just didnt have a lot to say

Tim: yeah, i get it. its hard to fill the space. dont be a stranger though. in a few weeks we’ll be there to get you out of this mess

Martin: looking forward to it

Sighing, Martin looked from the private chat to Jon, who was ignoring his breakfast to type away at the laptop. “Sounds like the others are making plans to get here.”

Jon looked up briefly. “Good. It will be… nice to see them.”

“And show them you’re not dead?”

Ignoring this, Jon said, “How is Tim doing?”

He glanced back at his phone. “Worried. About a lot of things, I think.”

“Thinking of how he’s going to break my disappearance to you, no doubt,” he said, taking a sip of his tea. He avoided Martin’s eyes. “That’ll be resolved soon enough.”

Martin poked at the eggs on his plate. “He… lost someone, didn’t he?”

It was only for a moment, but Jon froze in the middle of setting his mug down. He seemed to struggle with an answer.

“It’s fine if you can’t say, but he implied as much,” Martin said gently.

With a frown, Jon shut the laptop. “Sasha knows more than I do, but yes. His brother, a few years ago.”

“Oh. That’s… really sad.” He leaned back in his chair. “He seems like he’d be a good brother.”

“I’m sure he was. He certainly looks out for us.” Jon took a bite of his toast.

“As best as he can,” Martin added sheepishly. 

“Once this is all finished he’s earned a vacation.”

Yes, they’d all given poor Tim their share of heart attacks. Martin had managed to several times in the last month. But at least when the time came Tim would see that both of them were alive and themselves and able to apologize for making his and Sasha’s lives just a bit harder than they needed to be.

Once it was all finished.

Chapter Text

The weather got worse.

A clatter of ice on window panes had broken through their quiet breakfast. Heavy sleet battered the house in waves, assisting the wind in its quest to tear the building from its foundations. Based on previous experience Martin wasn’t concerned. The house would see far worse once winter truly rolled in.

After breakfast Jon had returned to his side of the couch, hunched over the laptop and ready to work in spite of the noise. On the nearest side table, he had replaced his cold empty mug with a fresh cup of tea. 

It hadn’t been a particularly cozy scene in the moment, the laptop casting Jon’s thin face in a cold, pale light. But as Martin made it to the top of the hill with his head bent forward to avoid the ice, it seemed downright cheery. He wouldn’t have minded joining Jon on the other side of the couch. But he’d have bolted at the first opportunity.

While not a full day of work, this was one more Saturday indoors that he’d willingly sacrificed when signing that contract. When was the last time he’d stayed inside and enjoyed the gloomy weather from a nice, warm distance? 

Had he ever done that? He had had days off with past jobs, but then-

At least his work day would be short. He just needed to complete his evil button-pushing and get back without twisting his ankle in the mudslide that would be his way home.

Keeping his eyes firmly on the ground, Martin walked down the empty sidewalk. Not a soul passed him by or blocked his path, and he wondered if the other side of the street was just as barren. He didn’t bother to look up.

It made things easier, not having anyone to run into while he kept his head down and dry. And knowing the way meant not needing to think. One step after the other. Light from above blocked out by the stiff hood of his jacket as he turned away from the elements. The pattering sound of ice against plastic. Nothing to do but walk and breathe and consider other things.

Maybe he would pick up lunch. At least once during their time in town the others had grabbed food from a local sandwich shop that Martin was quite familiar with. What was it Jon had ordered? Something off the basic menu. Sasha went for a soup combo. Tim had a very specific order that Martin couldn’t quite pick apart just by looking. He was positive Jon had gotten the turkey sandwich at the bottom of the board. 

A weird point of pride, but he’d been very good at this sort of thing when he still had coworkers. That and birthdays. Sure, he could call and ask Jon, but doing so would make it seem like there was an emergency. Before he left Jon had even asked him to call if anything happened, weird or otherwise. So calling without something happening would only give the man an unnecessary heart attack. 

It was a nice gesture even if Jon couldn’t really be on call for emergencies, what with the distance from home to the cliffs and, well, what could Jon do? If Martin came against something he couldn't handle alone, he would tell Jon to leave as soon as possible, no arguments. Morbid, but practical.

All too soon came the lighthouse steps and he submitted himself to its empty walls. The storm raged on against its sides, and he was glad for the sound as he walked up the spiral steps. Eventually, though, it gave way to a silence that filled his ears to the point of popping.

He opened his mouth to speak, then coughed into his sleeve.

It was a boring affair. Checking his pockets every so often, he made it to the top.  The work began without much thought, hands already moving in the new pattern as easily as they had for the old one.  He knew deep down that if he tried for one experimental twist of a knob, Peter would manage to appear over his shoulder and catch him in the act.

Peter. Martin had assumed the man was back on his boating trip, continuing to desperately avoid Simon Fairchild. But he’d returned just to, what, revel in Martin’s bad mood and then leave? There must’ve been something else to bring Peter back to land that Martin couldn’t see.

Still, he wasn’t a fool. Elias knew about Jon and what he was. He likely sent Jon to this town with the knowledge that another selkie was around, to keep Jon busy or flush him out. And he would’ve had to learn that from someone.

Maybe Jon was sidestepping that part because it didn’t matter anymore, what with Martin’s mother... out of the picture. But Peter didn’t seem distraught the last time Martin saw him, as if some grand plan had been foiled. In fact, he had seemed downright cheerful. If Elias’ goal had been to flush Jon out using another selkie, it hadn’t been Peter’s ultimate goal. Jon had been gone for weeks when Peter appeared to tell Martin how lucky he was. 

So… what? Did they think he was one? If so, he looked forward to being another disappointment. 

It didn’t make his house the best hiding place, though, did it? 

He sighed, finishing his task and heading back down the stairs. It wouldn’t be a fun conversation. He didn’t intend to kick Jon out after weeks lost at sea, but they needed to talk about it, right? Jon needed to be safe, and as much as he’d needed someone else to fill the silence Martin wasn’t going to put that above doing the right thing.

Something loosened in his chest. Yes, while Jon wanted to help with the Evan situation, it made much more sense to think about the bigger picture. Martin had seen enough weird shit from one of Peter’s fellows to believe the man himself capable of anything.

Jon might argue at first. It was that damned earnestness, and not a little guilt if Martin had to guess. Of course he would want to help, to throw himself into Martin’s problems and keep his promises. He was at the house right now, scrabbling for anything that could make him useful, putting his own goals to the side to do so.

The most wistful sigh escaped him and he wanted to bang his head on the side of the stairwell. 

He would talk to Jon about it later, before he lost his nerve and got too used to the company. But what would he say? That Jon needed to prioritise his safety? He’d seen enough to know that line of reasoning would only work on Tim. That whatever Elias and Peter wanted wasn’t worth the risk? He didn’t have proof of what either was planning, but Simon had put him so on edge with cryptic nonsense and casual kidnapping that he expected the worst.

That it was only a matter of time before it got weird to be around each other all the time? Well, no, that wasn’t something to bring up with Jon. But it was a reason.

He went back and forth with himself like this for a while, taking the long way back through town to let himself think. The drumming of sleet blocked out everything, a wonderful white noise that no one around would break, and it was a good deal later when he came around to the sandwich shop. 

Stopping at the front of the building, he focused on the door and tried to be present. He knew his order and what he would get for Jon. Nothing special or difficult to remember. A quick stop, in and out.

The place was empty, more or less. A single employee sat on a stool behind the front counter, eyes trained on her phone. The storm seem d to have discouraged people from bothering the place, as the floor was almost completely dry. His shoulders dropped in relief at the lack of a line. It would be even faster than he’d hoped. He wiped his feet on the front mat and walked across the room, ready to get this over with, but about halfway across the woman looked up and jumped in her seat. He jumped in response, stopping in place. 

The woman looked at him fully, her brows scrunching together, and he quickly looked away under the scrutiny. His eyes landed on the menu directly behind her, as if he hadn’t rehearsed the order in his head. 

Shaking her head, she smiled and said with a small amount of forced customer service geniality, “Hi, what can I get you?”

It took him a bit to remember what he meant to say. What did he want for himself? Shit. He continued to look at the menu over her shoulder, avoiding her eyes. “Give me a minute.”

“Okay, no rush,” she said. From the corner of his eye he saw her shudder. “It’s, um. It’s awful out there, huh?”

Just say the order. Don’t make her stand there and wait. He’d ordered there a hundred times for himself, and Jon’s sandwich was just a number on the board. “Sure.”

After a moment her mouth twitched. She looked over her shoulder and said, “Well, um. Take whatever time you need. I just need to check something in the back?” And she nearly sprinted through the door to some sort of back room, leaving Martin alone and entirely dumbfounded.

The hell was that about?

He shouldn’t stay. Somehow he’d managed to bungle a simple lunch order before he’d gotten started and she was clearly weirded out or going through some things. She didn’t need to deal with him as he remembered how to talk to people in shops. He was usually better at this sort of thing. She had given him the easiest thing to fill the silence. Anyone could talk about the weather! 

But it was later than he’d expected and he’d told himself he would get a sandwich for his temporary housemate, so… he waited. The woman came out and took his order without issue, her eyes on the till and his on the menu, and he exited the sandwich shop with a plastic bag tucked inside his jacket and no intention of ever entering that sandwich shop again.

From that point on he’d put all his focus into getting home and not slipping to his death on the way back down the cliffs. What a horrible location for a house. No wonder it ended up in his hands.

Before opening the door, he checked the time and frowned. If Jon had already eaten it was Martin’s fault for wandering around in his own thoughts, but that meant Martin could have lunch to himself to think about what he would say.

He wouldn’t be bringing up any hard topics with Jon that day, for both their sakes. 

But he was done stalling outside his own house and walked inside, shedding the jacket and mud-stained boots. 

“Jon? I’m back,” he said just below a shout and walked toward the kitchen. “Grabbed some lunch if you want it.”

After a moment he heard from the hall bathroom, “Be there in a minute.”

So he probably hadn’t eaten yet. That made it all feel a bit more worth the trouble. All that was left was to see if his memory served and Jon liked it enough.

Nodding to himself, Martin turned into the doorway and stopped.

Resting over the top of one of the kitchen chairs, dripping wet, was Jon’s coat. Martin let out a tiny strangled sound and nearly dropped the food bag in his haste to back out of the room. 

To his right, the bathroom door opened. “Is everything all right?” Jon asked, his dark hair wet and brushed back from his face. 

Martin just looked at him and then at the kitchen, waiting for something to click in Jon’s expression. 

Jon’s shoulders relaxed, and he walked toward Martin. He said with a kind of forced levity, “Yes, sorry, I left it there.” Then he stopped short a few feet and looked at Martin as if waiting for something.

“Um… why?” 

Scratching the back of his neck, Jon said, “Well, I needed to take a shower and it needed to hang dry for a bit.”

“You, um… You took it out then? For a…”

“A swim, yes. I knew you’d be gone for a bit and needed some time outside of the house.” 

Beneath the matter-of-fact tone something was off, but the day had already been so much in such a short amount of time, and Martin was just about ready to keel over. But he didn’t. Jon’s coat rested in front of him, and he could not move, and he could not speak for the bile that rose in his throat.

Seeing something in Martin’s expression, Jon quickly walked past and picked up the coat. “I’ll go ahead and hang this up in the shower. Don’t want to, um. Don’t want to warp the wood.” He tapped the chair and walked back down the hall in what Martin interpreted as a hurry.

Martin slumped in one of the chairs, setting the sandwiches in front of himself and the chair that Jon normally sat in. 

Before long Jon returned and looked at the food in front of him with recognition. “Ah, right, this is the shop not too far from the lighthouse, isn’t it? Thanks for picking it up.”

“It’s no problem,” Martin responded, finally pushing the heart out of his throat. “Hope it’s something you like.”

Not needing further encouragement, Jon took a bite and after a moment nodded in approval.

In spite of everything, pride swelled in Martin’s chest. Incredibly silly and a bit pathetic, but it was something. He had remembered what Jon liked, and it had made Jon happy. It didn’t dislodge the image of the look that woman had given him from his mind, but it pushed the memory aside for the moment. It didn’t do anything about his concerns, but those could be brought up later. 

They ate lunch, and the weather got worse.

Chapter Text

After lunch Martin collapsed onto his bed, muscles complaining from the long walk he’d taken around town. They didn’t ache; he’d made the walk up and down those cliffs enough to have built up some stamina. But he was tired, tired enough to place his glasses on the side table and try for a lie down.

Jon had gone out to sea. 

It was good news. A few days of rest and Jon was comfortable going back in the water. Maybe it wouldn’t be so hard to bring up safety concerns if Jon was diving back in of his own accord. Maybe it wouldn’t take much convincing for Jon to find a safer place to hide.

Then there would be no need for Jon to worry about the skin or pretend he was ok with Martin seeing it.

Martin frowned, rubbing small circles into his forehead and cheeks. It would’ve been nice to pretend that Jon was genuinely all right with his coat lying around for Martin to see, but there was no getting around the tightness around the man’s mouth as he’d taken the skin out of the room.

Not that Martin had made the situation any better, freezing up at the sight of the thing. He’d managed to calm down enough for polite conversation during lunch, but there he was, holed up in his room in the hopes that sleep would carry everything away. It wasn’t pleasant, but there was nothing else to do in his agitated state but retreat upstairs and try to relax.

So he lay there, turning from one side to the other, unable to stop himself from peeking at his phone and confirming that it had only been minutes since the last time he’d checked. For several hours he did this, groaning each time the clock refused to tick forward more than a quarter of an hour. All he wanted was for time to pass while he wasn’t looking. Why couldn’t it play along for once?

It was while reaching for his phone yet again that there was a knock on his door.

“Martin?

The phone dropped to the floor, and Martin cursed. “Yeah? Sorry, give me a minute.” He reached down after it, squinting into the shadows between his bed and the side table.

From the other side of the door, Jon said, “If this is a bad time-”

“No, no, it’s-” Martin sighed and finally grabbed his glasses from the end table. Tightening his ponytail back to a presentable state, he pushed himself off of the bed and opened the door. “It’s fine. What’s going on?”

Jon looked up at him, fingers lacing together. Then he looked back down, warm light from the hall casting his face in shadow. “Nothing. The trip outside left me more tired than I’d expected, so I’ve given up on research for the night.”

“Oh. Okay.” He wasn’t sure if it was the sudden brightness or his failure of a nap, but Martin found himself slow to respond. “Glad you’re taking some time to rest?”

“That’s the idea. I hope I didn’t interrupt you.” He looked through the doorway into the dark.

“You did? Sort of. Wasn’t going well, though.” Martin said, running a hand along his forehead and combing a bit of his bangs that had flipped up against his pillow. “Can I… Do you need something?”

Jon scratched his head. “Er… not really. It’s getting a bit late and I thought we could eat and continue that show we started yesterday. The one with the old house?” 

Late. He had started his nap with some light through his window and when he dropped his phone he couldn’t see a damned thing. Of all the rude things.

“Sorry, sorry, I didn’t realize how late it had gotten-” Martin walked past him and down the stairs. “I should be able to get something made up.”

With a placating gesture, Jon said, “Martin, you don’t have to-”

“It’s fine! You’re a guest and yesterday…” At a sudden new smell Martin trailed off, following the scent to its source. “Oh.”

It was rice and chicken with fried vegetables. Two bowls were set on the kitchen counter, ready to be filled from the large pan on the stove. Simple enough, anything would have to be with Martin’s grocery choices, but there had been a clear increase in effort from the night before.

Damn it, he’d slept too late. He should’ve been up an hour ago, not wallowing in bed while Jon made dinner again. He wasn’t thrilled at the idea of Jon eating his cooking, but it would’ve been less embarrassing. Absent-mindedly he tried to smooth a different area of his hair.

Coming back to himself, Martin glanced at Jon who had already started filling up his own bowl. 

He would not make another meal weird. Not for the third time in a row. He stood back and waited for his turn.  “It looks great. Thanks for cooking, again. I guess I was more tired than I thought.” 

“You grabbed lunch. Fair is fair.” Jon turned with his food and gestured toward the living room with his elbow. 

Dinner and drink acquired, they walked past the empty kitchen tabled into the living room and settled into their respective sides. Because that was how things were, with Jon on the right and Martin to the left. Routine. Or Jon preferred having a side table to his right. 

Not much was said as they resumed their watch, Jon clearly trying to keep stone faced at the strange yelling man they’d left off from in the young girl’s dream. It was too early to let himself laugh at something that silly, apparently. The adventures of the younger sister continued with empty halls and one incredibly mean older brother. Not in a particularly intense way, but the way siblings could be in shows. Martin hadn’t had any experience in that vein, but he hoped actual siblings weren’t actually that awful to each other.

Nevertheless, the girl went on exploring the house and the surrounding grounds, this time with a proper coat and boots. From over a hedge, a child from a neighboring house told her of local superstitions related to her family’s new home and then was called home by a woman off screen. 

“I wonder if that’s all he was for,” Jon said, taking another bite of chicken. “Walk on-screen, say something cryptic, and then disappear forever.”

Martin thought for a moment, swallowing his current mouthful. “Don’t remember him, honestly.” 

With a sigh, Jon raised an eyebrow at Martin and said, “Well, there are worse ways of getting information across I suppose.” Then he turned back to the television.

This would happen every once in a while, Jon making some comment or other with the tiniest of nit-picks and looking at Martin not for agreement but just to have someone to say it to. He wondered if Jon would say it out loud with no one else in the room. It was easygoing, though, and with Jon happy enough to fill the space, Martin didn’t have to use much of his brain to enjoy himself. 

At one point the girl made her way into an attic space. Jon wondered aloud if the strange man from before would ever come back or if it was just another one-off character when suddenly the camera turned with the man’s face in the window.

Both men jumped in their seats, Jon with a startled yelp. His fork fell to the ground and he scowled at it. “Shit.”

Martin smiled sheepishly and said, “I do remember being a bit scared of this show now that I think about it.”

Clearing his throat, Jon scooped up his fork and strode over to the kitchen. “A cheap jump scare, that’s all. It would startle anyone.” 

He didn’t mean to laugh, but a little one slipped out as Jon left the room. Hopefully Jon hadn’t heard him. The man was already bad enough at hiding his own embarrassment, and he didn’t want to come off as mocking. Even if he was, a bit. 

It didn’t seem like Jon took teasing too badly, though, if past conversations were any proof. He huffed and did his best to explain himself, sure, but he wasn’t the type to linger too long before moving onto other topics. Given the opportunity he might even tease Martin back.

This was stupid. This was a stupid thing to think about and Martin’s ears were starting to burn.

He rubbed his forehead and let out a breath through his nose. It was all right. With the limited time Jon would be staying, it wouldn’t hurt to enjoy his evening and be a bit easier on himself. What did it matter if he had the tiniest, softest feelings as long as he kept quiet about them?

Jon returned after a minute or so with a clean fork and a suspicious glance at the television set.

Not having bothered to pause the show, Martin said, “The man’s face disappeared when-”

“When she looked again, I heard,” Jon replied, waving a hand. 

“Sure you want to keep watching?” Martin asked, the corner of his mouth twitching upward.

Nodding gravely, Jon glared at the screen. “Yes. Next time he appears I’ll be ready for him.”

Unable to stop himself, Martin snorted and then kept his face down towards his dinner bowl until the scene was over. From the corner of his eye, he saw Jon relax into the back of the couch. Maybe he even smiled a little. From that angle it was hard to tell, and at that point Martin was incapable of looking directly at him without exposing the absolutely gone look on his own face.

It only took him weeks of knowing the guy and several days of living with him, but Martin had finally noticed that Jon often tried to be funny in a flat sort of way. Pity he had to deal with someone who didn’t pick up on the joke half the time.

Jon was trying. Trying to be a good house guest, to fix the mess they both had found themselves in, to help people he barely knew. To make their cohabitation bearable.

So Martin laughed a little through his scorched throat, hoping it was enough.

--

When Martin returned from his walk to town the next day the skin was hanging up in the downstairs shower, dripping wet. A better place to see it, for certain. Martin had the hall to himself when he jumped at the sight and could scurry up to his room to let his stomach untie itself before Jon noticed he was home. 

Once his breathing had caught up with him he had the space to wonder if the trips out to sea had been happening this whole time. Maybe Jon’s trepidation was all in Martin’s head, another baseless excuse to put off the inevitable.

--

He tried to bring his concerns up that night at dinner (whipped up by Martin at his own insistence, unfortunately), but Jon really got going on the topic of irregular hauntings and it seemed a shame to-

--

He’d taken notes on what to say.

Once lunch came around on Monday he sat himself down and started to write in his notebook. The notes were scattered, barely legible with how fast he scribbled, but the pen chased his thoughts as best they could. The notes weren’t a letter or speech and couldn’t be relied on as such. Pros and cons, the numerous risks Jon was taking, that sort of thing.

He wasn’t kicking Jon out. He wasn’t exactly inviting him to stay either. He was asking Jon to break a promise not just with Martin but with Evan as well. He was asking Jon to let Tim and Sasha handle things, not because Jon wasn’t capable-

God, what was he writing, a notice of termination?

Jon could leave. Should. Absolutely, Jon needed to think ahead and not assume his own personal selkie hunter’s colleague wouldn’t sniff him out eventually.  If he was lucky Jon would be on board with the idea. Not so lucky, though. He didn’t need Jon running out the door.

Martin had already asked Jon to let him make dinner again, and this time he would plan something better than his usual, easy meals. Nothing fantastic, but more effort than he’d bother to put in for himself. When he got back Jon would be tapping away at the laptop, where Martin could, well… corner him, basically. They would have the conversation, and once things were settled he could cook for Jon and assuage his own overwhelming dread by keeping his hands busy.

He looked at the winding steps and was halfway out of his chair when he saw his break was over. Nothing for him to do but work.

--

The walk down the cliffs was unbearable, and he wished he could go right back up and up and up to the lighthouse and up once more.

No one was making him do this. The conversation didn’t have to happen that evening, or any evening. Jon was an adult who wouldn’t appreciate someone nagging about safety. Probably.

But that just meant Martin had to be stubborn about it. Plant himself firm and make his case for why Jon needed to leave forever, immediately, for both their sakes. Because it was dangerous. Because the situation had changed since Jon made those promises. Because Martin couldn’t do this. He couldn’t have someone watching while he waited for the worst to come.

So Martin was going to kick Jon out of his house before he had the chance to break down and embarrass himself. Could he be more of a selfish arse?

Jon’s safety was the priority. Not his pride, or Martin’s helplessness, or how the house wasn’t so painfully quiet while Jon was there.

Jon’s safety. That and ripping the rug out from under Elias’ plans. That would feel good, even if he was never going to meet the man.

Breathing in sharply, Martin slapped his cheeks and brought life back to cold-numbed skin. He squinted at his house through the rolling fog. Light shone through only the living room window, fuzzy through the mist on Martin’s glasses. His hair had begun to stick to his forehead unpleasantly, so he stalked towards the house and left his stupid arguments behind. 

“Jon?” he said, a little too loud for the empty front hall. He hung up his heavier jacket on the hook. “I’m back. It’s nasty today, isn’t it?”

The silence he’d tried to break stood firm, the tiniest reverberations of his voice hitting him like a brick. 

So he walked lightly, gently, down the hall, passing the living room to peek inside the dark toilet. Nothing hung from the shower rod. 

Something rose like panic in his chest, and he shoved it down. Backtracking, he reached the living room and found it empty. No long-forgotten mug on the side table, the blanket once crumpled now folded politely, and the laptop sitting closed on what had become Martin’s side of the couch. 

He backed into the hallway and turned his head towards the front door, careful not to look into the kitchen. His wet tracks formed a path outside for him to follow.

Starting at the base of the front steps were footprints, smaller than his own and faded to almost nothing. And they went straight towards the water. Martin couldn’t see where exactly they ended with his field of vision limited to ten, maybe fifteen feet at most. So Jon wasn’t kidnapped. That was something.

Right. He should go make dinner.

It wasn’t the plan, but they could eat first. Jon would probably be back soon, and he imagined swimming was physically taxing no matter what form the man took.

Air filled his nostrils and his shoulders went slack. A few minutes to breathe and let himself calm down in the night air would do him good after all the pointless worrying he accomplished that day. He sat on the top step, damp seeping through his clothes from the wooden porch. It wasn’t as cold as he expected it to be, especially after the walk down. It was almost pleasant.

He leaned forward to rest his forearms on his legs and tried looking up at the overcast sky and saw nothing at all. He breathed in, and out, and the remaining panic seeped out of him on the exhale.

Jon wasn’t in the living room, waiting to listen to Martin’s slapdash presentation on why he would be better off anywhere else. Why would he be where Martin expected? What reason did the universe have to follow Martin’s stupid little notes?

What plans could he possibly put into motion? The world moved without him, and as he looked up, time didn’t seem to move at all. The clouds didn’t move across the sky, backlit by the moon. It was just the grey, the mist, the fog. Not the kind that pushed him to Simon’s house of threats and mockery. This was Martin’s home, where the air burned his lungs until he was clean.

He wondered idly whether he would be entirely smoothed out from the inside if he stayed there long enough. He didn’t think so. His mother had come out so often for so long and, well, he didn’t know what was in her head. He didn’t know her at all. But she never became smooth and calm from sitting in the night. The cold was too much and she had been so sensitive to it.

But he was younger, and stronger, and she had run off somewhere he couldn’t. Wherever Jon had run off to. How much later was it? Certainly late enough to assume the best. Now he didn’t have to put effort into dinner, or argue with himself. Jon made the right choice, thankfully. He was a smart man, a smart and funny man who was nice enough to keep Martin company in the days after his mother left. 

When did the breaths stop burning? He wanted to be angry about her being right, but it wouldn’t do anything. It wasn’t as if he was going to shout, or get up and stomp around like a child. 

How much would it take to skip ahead and find out if Tim or Sasha could save the day? Could he sit there until the time came? Would they come to see him? To say goodbye? Would Jon go to them when it was safe? He hoped so. They must’ve been so worried about Jon those long weeks while Martin assumed the worst in his well of self-pity. And Tim didn’t need another missing person in Jon.

His shoulders began to shake. He wasn’t laughing, or crying, all the moisture on his face coming from the air and sticking to him like dust. It clung to his glasses now, and dark shapes slipped away from focus beyond the lenses. It was disorienting, and he frowned, trying to blink away the images.

They refused, coming just a bit more into focus and merging together into one mass, moving his shoulders with a force that threatened to push him onto his back if they let loose their grip-

“-k at me, okay? Did something happen? Can you- no, he can’t, of course he can’t, shit-” Something cold rested on Martin’s face. “Okay, since you’re sitting up you might be able to stand? No, that’s stupid, I’m not nearly strong enough to pull him onto his feet. Um-” 

Martin blinked hard, a droplet of water slipping into his eye at the wrong time. Instinctively, he reached up to rub it and bumped against a bony hand that had been pressed against his cheek. Before him, Jon jumped at the sudden movement and released Martin, bag and seal skin nearly slipping from their place around his shoulders.

Looking around, Martin found himself completely soaked and surrounded by new puddles on the ground. His loose ponytail sagged under its new weight, hair tie pulling double-duty to keep things together. Above him, clouds drifted past a thin sliver of moon.

His mouth felt oddly dry as he tried to speak. “What’s going on-”

“I’d like to know the same thing, but first-” Jon stood from his kneeling position and tugged Martin up by the elbow. “-we need to get you inside. For once I’m better equipped for the weather.”

Martin looked down at his jumper that worked wonders for layering and not much else. A shiver ran through him like a breath released. “Oh. Yeah, okay.”

Keeping a hand on Martin’s arm, Jon led him out of the cold. 

Chapter Text

Jon’s grip stayed firm on Martin’s arm up until they’d reached the stairs to the next floor, his words as scattered as Martin’s thoughts. Martin caught some of his mutterings, things like hospital and unnatural and shit shit shit, but he couldn’t quite follow with how sharp the light stung his eyes and kept him squinting. Without Jon’s guiding hand he would’ve careened right into a wall on his way to wherever he was going.

That hand released him, slow and hesitant, ready to grab onto him if necessary. Did Martin look like he was about to fall over? Despite his muddled senses he stood firm, solid. The cold placed its own sort of ache in his bones, but his eyes didn’t fall shut from exhaustion. If the bloody lights weren’t so bright he would’ve been able to see just fine. He was a normal amount of tired from a long day, the kind of tired that made it hard to focus unless he tried very hard. Whatever Jon was saying, he could piece together later when he wasn’t so cold-

Bathroom. That was where he was supposed to go next. Take a shower, warm up. That would clear his head. Without support he managed to walk up the stairs into the blessed darkness of the upper floor.

Before he made the turn towards the upstairs toilet he glanced down at Jon, but the lights flooded his senses and blocked out whatever movement or expression Jon could’ve been making. Probably the same one he’d had since he found Martin on the steps, a tight sort of concern that Martin didn’t need to see again lest his stomach flip from the guilt. 

He almost didn’t turn the light on. There wasn’t yet a migraine, but the potential of one pushed behind his eyes. Recognizing the hazard he settled on looking away from direct sources of light while stumbling to the shower, shedding his wet clothes. Then hot water hit his back, battering the cold out of his skin. After a time the dim light filtering through the shower curtain ceased to sting, and once dry he dressed in the warmest pyjamas he had on hand. 

In the dark of his bedroom Martin felt that he should cry. Embarrassment alone should’ve done him in. Or fear.

Instead he sifted through his closet for a relatively dust-free duvet and folded it under his arm. He wasn’t particularly cold, but it felt like the right thing to take with him.

When he wandered downstairs, still dazed but able to feel the passage of time, the sound of tap water cut off sharply to his left. Jon burst through the door of the downstairs toilet with wet hair slicked back from his forehead.

It was a good look, all things considered. If Martin was less exhausted he might’ve reprimanded himself for the thought, but he could look around without getting a splitting headache and would take the win.

They stood there for a moment, Jon’s hand still on the door knob. “You… How are you feeling?” His voice pitched up just a little too high at the end, as if to ask Is this a stupid thing to say?

“Um. Fine, I guess,” Martin said, rubbing the back of his neck. “Tired, mostly.”

“Tired.” Jon pressed his fingers into his cheek, dragging down the skin under his eye. With a sigh, he said, “Go wait on the couch. I made something quick since clearly neither of us have eaten.”

“Er-”

“And don’t apologize for not making anything. I promise I’m putting in the least amount of effort. Uni level stuff.” Jon walked past him into the kitchen.

“I wasn’t- Right. Okay.”

Martin did what he was told, settling into his side of the couch and resting the duvet squarely in the middle. In a few minutes he was holding a plate of rice and beans with leftover veggies, simple as promised but still good to fill up the stomach. On the other side, Jon set his own plate on the side table and ignored it completely.

“Martin?”

“Hm?” he said, mouth full of food.

“I think your town is cursed.”

Martin choked on some broccoli and reached for the glass of water Jon had set out for him. “That- That seems like a bit of a reach? I know I zoned out a bit, but-”

“One, I would not consider that ‘zoning out’.” Jon looked at him, then frowned and looked ahead as if in embarrassment. “Two, this is definitely bigger than a single building. Case in point, I just spent several hours swimming in circles, past sundown, and only got back through a wall of fog through pure luck.”

Martin’s brows shot up. “Wait, you got lost?”

All at once Jon came into focus. The heavy bags under his eyes, the way he pressed into the back of the couch like all the world’s gravity weight on his limbs, his fingers digging into the fabric underneath like a lifeline. And one of his arms wrapped tight around him in a desperate bid against the cold. 

“When did you leave to- to go out today?” Martin set his plate on his own side table and shoved the duvet closer to Jon. “And throw this on, before you get yourself sick.”

Jon looked to protest, then shut his mouth and reached for the offering. With a languid effort he dragged the duvet across his lap. “Thank you. And sometime after lunch. I’d prepared for a moderate swim, but then the fog rolled in and there was no way to tell which way was which.” 

“Fuck.”

A smile managed to slip its way onto Jon’s face. “Agreed.”

“Well…I appreciate dinner, but it would make me feel better if you ate some of it yourself,” Martin said. 

“I think I’ve looped back to not feeling hungry, but I get your point.” He grabbed the plate and poked at his own meal. Glancing sidelong at Martin, he said “Hope it didn’t seem like I was kidnapped.”

“Can’t say it didn’t cross my mind? But, no, things were too neat and I saw the footprints. It’s not like you have a curfew,” Martin said. He tried to smile, to laugh a little, but it rang hollow. The frown lines only grew deeper on Jon’s face. Martin’s stomach twisted. “Are you… do you want to talk about it?” 

“What else is there to say? I got lost in the fog, then found my way back,” Jon said. With a hard look, turned toward Martin. “I could ask you the same thing. Do you want to talk about what it was you were doing out there? If it wasn’t for everything else I’d have assumed a stroke.”

Wincing, Martin said, “Sorry.”

“That’s not-” Jon rubbed the bridge of his nose, then pinned him with a sincere look. “Okay. What do you remember from your… experience?”

This felt familiar. He could almost hear the tape recorder whirring. “I… I remember coming home. You were gone, so I checked outside and saw the footprints. Then I sat down and just… thought about stuff.” No need to explain further. “Next thing I knew I was sopping wet and you were there shaking me out of it.”

“And you didn’t notice the freezing rain? Without a coat?”

“No,” he said, heat creeping up his neck. He tried a laugh again, with more success. “Guess I can’t bother you about wearing a jacket anymore?”

“I’m sure you’ll slip up and do it anyway.” Jon placed his plate back on the side table, ignoring Martin’s look of disapproval. “But the matter at hand. Your town, something is wrong with it. Or, if the lighthouse is the root cause, it’s not confined to that space.”

“Or to the top of the cliffs.” As if that was a meaningful distinction. Why would some unknowable force stop at a legal boundary? Yet he’d felt safer with the distance. “What can we do, then? I can’t say for certain what happened, but you-”

“Returned in spite of the weather making a hard case against me. Might have to let it win the argument and stay inside for the time being.” Jon squeezed his eyes shut, letting his head drop against the back of the couch. 

Something sank in Martin’s chest. “I don’t think- I mean, wouldn’t it be the other way around?”

Jon’s brows scrunched together, eyes still closed. “How so?”

Shit. Okay, well, he was doing this now, notes be damned. Taking a break and staring hard at the wall ahead, he began, “I mean… Well, if there’s weird stuff going on, wouldn’t it make more sense to get ahead of it rather than-”

Jon warned, “Martin-”

“I mean it!” Martin said rather forcefully. He sighed and lowered his voice. “If there’s some sort of weird line of fog that makes it hard to get into town from the sea, maybe it works the other way and could stop you from leaving. You’d end up stuck, right? Stuck where someone like Peter could find you, where he might be looking for you under Elias’ orders right now.”

There, opening arguments. It hadn’t been too difficult. But when he finally chanced a look, he was met with such a look of stubborn indignation that he recoiled. 

With some great amount of restraint, Jon breathed out and said stiffly, “The concern is appreciated, but I’m not going anywhere.”

He tried to choke out a “But-”

“That’s the end of it. If I have to avoid the water for a while longer it’ll honestly be a blessing. Besides, the way I found you-”

“You shouldn’t force yourself to stay here for my sake. Or anyone else. I know, I know, you promised, but that was before Elias tried to- It’s not fair for you to be stuck here when-”

A hand landed firmly on Martin’s arm, gripping him just below the elbow and stopping his tongue. With an insistent tug Jon spat, “I’m not stuck here.”

Despite all of the reasons Jon was horribly wrong, Martin wanted to forfeit then and there. Of course Jon was stuck there. No one could want to be in that house, in that bleak little town with nowhere to go. Jon was either lying to himself or trying to make Martin feel better or both, and Martin wanted it to work. 

So he kept his mouth shut and let Jon talk.

“I’m also not the only person putting himself at risk being here,” Jon continued, relaxing his grip and bringing his voice down to that softer register that made Martin squirm. “I hope you understand that by now.”

“Of course I do,” Martin muttered. “Even if I’m a bystander in some weird scheme, something’s… happening. To me. Has been, I think, for a while now.”

A sudden rush of pain ran up his chest and throat, but he greeted it only with a clench to his jaw. Saying it aloud was no great relief.

Martin kept on, swallowing hard. “But it’s not your responsibility to fix it.”

“I…” Jon removed his hand, leaving a cold space on Martin’s skin. He threaded his fingers together. “I’m not going to lie to you, or make more promises I can’t keep. Whatever is happening in this place, I don’t know how to fix it.”

“Then why not go?”

“Because I’m not dying to wander around in the abyss?” Jon said, clearly more spiteful than he’d intended. He breathed in through his nose, a calm, centering act, but something cracked in his expression. “Martin, I… don’t have a good answer for you. I want to believe I can be of more use here, but if I’m being honest, the research side of things has not been going well.”

Martin frowned. “That’s not your fault? I mean, you… you don’t have a lot to work with.”

“But with years of experience I should be able to come up with something.” Jon gestured in front of him sharply, empty air between his hands. “But all I found were useless documentaries better suited for- for social time than facing down a supernatural threat. And now that I’ve decided to use my one remaining ability, that’s blocked off as well.”

“What, swimming?” Martin asked. “I mean, you can do that still-”

“But I can’t make my way back freely, not for sure. What’s the point of any of it if I get lost?”

Wherever the thread was, Martin had certainly lost it. “Isn’t the point to be out there? You know, in the sea? Get out of the house?” 

“Not if I can’t keep track of where I’ve been.” Jon clenched his jaw as if holding words back, but it didn’t last long. “I’m not just swimming for the fun of it. I have a purpose.”

Deep down in Martin’s chest a hollow pit opened, and he refused to ask the obvious question for fear of it being answered. But Jon was very good at filling the space.

“It wasn’t something I wanted to bring up until I had concrete results, but I thought… I thought since it hadn’t been long since she departed, that I could find your mother and- and speak with her. Like I’d planned to.”

Martin deflated then. He slumped against his armrest and muttered, “My mum?”

Jon put his hands in front of himself in a placating gesture. “I thought if I could speak to her, that maybe she could help me- help us understand-”

Hands shaking, Martin folded them on his lap. “So that’s still the plan?” he asked, pushing through the pain in his throat. 

“Yes, I… I’m sorry. I know what you said, family business, but you can’t go out there and I can, so I thought…”

A wave of calm came over Martin, soothing the panicked buzzing of his mind. “Jon.” 

Like a child caught in the act of stealing from the kitchen, Jon shrunk back. “Martin?”

“Jon, she’s been gone for days. You’re not going to find her if you end up looping back here after a few hours.”

Jon’s shoulders sank. “But if she-”

“I know my mum, Jon,” Martin said, folding his arms and sliding down a little in his seat. “If you’re looking for answers or information on where she’s gone off to, you won’t find it by staying here.”

With no response from his right, Martin sighed. He looked ahead at the television and felt a pang of petty satisfaction above the disappointment. Jon had come there looking to speak to Martin’s mother, and that goal hadn’t changed. The argument was won. 

And then he heard Jon laugh, humorless and muffled. Martin glanced over and saw Jon, running his hands up and down his face. Too tired to question the fit, Martin sat and waited for the other man to concede.

“Then what else can I do?” He asked. The word lost again came to mind. “If I can’t find her, then how do I fix this?”

With a renewed confusion Martin looked to the side and was met with eyes that begged for an answer. But there was nothing he could give.

Jon looked at him sharply, jaw clenched as if keeping words at bay. “Don’t give me that look. You know what I mean. It’s been written all over your face since you found my coat in that closet.”

“I… I don’t know what you’re talking about.” He stumbled through the lie and knew it couldn’t be saved.

“Yes you do, Martin.” A wet lock of hair swung down onto his forehead as he spoke. “At first I thought it was in response to me, my behavior, my squirreling it away. I thought that if I could keep my coat around more often, try to push past my own anxieties about it being seen, that I could prove my trust in you. But I know now that it’s not enough, so I’ve been swimming out to the middle of nowhere to- to fix things. To get answers, understanding, closure. To get us back to where we were before everything went to absolute shit.”

For the first time that evening, Martin heard the rain tapping on the window panes as it filled the thick, awful silence. He wanted to be angry, to spit out nonsense about privacy and family business, but instead in front of him sat a good guy who desperately wanted to help and kept being blocked off at every turn. 

He thought he had done the bare minimum of keeping up appearances, keeping his stupid emotions contained. He was supposed to be better at lying. And all Jon got was a housemate who plotted to get him out of his hair as soon as possible. Jon had been going out on his account all because he thought Martin… hated him? Resented him? 

Did he?

“I-I didn’t realize.” He should’ve known better than to open his mouth, but there had to be a way to turn things around. “You… shouldn’t go looking for her, unless it’s for yourself. Anything she had for me, she left behind. It’s done.”

His voice didn’t crack once under the strain on his throat. In the moment he was proud of himself for not flinching.

Another laugh, sudden and full of relief. “Okay.”

Here it was, after all this talking in circles. After his hours of pointless plotting, this was the part he knew he could handle. 

“I won’t, then.”

And in his utter lack of preparation for this, Martin could only sputter out another ridiculous, “But-”

Jon gripped Martin’s shoulder, and for the first time that night he looked awake. “Listen to me. Your mother… she had every right to do what she did. And you, you did everything right, and you didn’t deserve to get hurt, but you did get hurt and I’m sorry.” 

Shit. Shit, shit, shit-

“And you’re right. I won’t find her if I stay here. She’s out there, the one person who might be able to give me a sense of direction about myself, and here I am going out for a few hours each day and then running back here to sleep on your couch. I take up space, trying and failing to make myself useful but unwilling to do the hard part.” Near the end was an almost hysterical lilt to his speech, laughter bubbling up through his words. He leaned forward and butted the top of his head into Martin’s shoulder. “In all respects I’ve failed to make things better.”

Frozen, confused, and unable to voice his disagreement, Martin begged that by some grace Jon wouldn’t feel the thundering of his heart.

Jon sat up and snatched Martin’s gaze, speaking faster as he went on. “I’ve been flailing about trying to keep my promises when I can’t, and I threw myself into the sea hoping that maybe I could find something to give you closure, to make things hurt less, to salvage whatever goodwill you had for me before I left you to deal with things on your own. At this point I’m banking on Sasha and Tim to swoop in with a plan because I certainly don’t have one.” 

All this man did was try and try and try-

“So with all avenues of being helpful closed off, the only argument I have left for staying is that I want to.”

Mouth twitching at the corners, up or down Martin couldn’t tell, Jon lifted a shaking hand toward Martin’s face. Martin leaned into it without thinking, without saying a thing through the fire in his ribs. Why bother when one sentence beat him so thoroughly?

So he melted into the hand that held him, dipping his head forward, and Jon met him in the motion, pressing his mouth to Martin’s and eliciting an embarrassing squeak. Pulling back, Jon looked for something in Martin’s face with such a painfully hopeful expression that Martin was ready to toss his whole book of notes into the sea, all evidence of his crime destroyed in the spray.

Whatever Jon was looking for he found and surged forward to take. He pressed Martin into the armrest, threading fingers through still-wet hair and bracing an elbow against the couch cushion while he made himself familiar with Martin’s mouth. It was already enough to make Martin dizzy, and he placed a hand on the back of Jon’s neck to regain some semblance of control, of balance, brushing his fingers against the soft ends of his hair.

For a moment Jon broke off the kiss, adjusting his bony legs so they weren’t digging right into Martin’s thighs, and then diving back down to resume his business of driving Martin absolutely mad. He grabbed Martin’s free arm and dragged it behind him until Martin got the hint and wrapped it around Jon’s waist, then pressed kisses to the corner of his mouth, brushing his way up the line of stubble right to his ear and finally pausing against Martin’s cheek. 

“So I, ah-” Jon’s voice was giddiness laced with nerves, breath hot against Martin’s skin. “I hope this is a good enough excuse?”

Unable to get a single word out of his stupid throat, Martin nodded.

“Good,” and he took Martin’s lips again, slower this time, lifting both hands to hold Martin’s face nice and still. A sigh of satisfaction escaped him, slipping into Martin’s mouth and down into his ribcage. 

It was unfair, seeing up close how long Jon’s lashes were, how deep and dark his eyes. It was unfair for this to happen now of all times, when things already felt so temporary. Unfair, unfair, his mind cried as the rest of him happily surrendered all of his arguments of safety and sense. He was being kissed, and kissed well, by someone who knew better than he did.

Jon pulled away again after a few minutes of deliberately slow kisses that had Martin close to whining. “I mean this in the most innocent way possible, but would you mind if we moved from the couch to your room? For my back’s sake?”

“W-what?” Martin said, breathlessly. He laughed without thinking. “Was that the plan, kiss me into submission and then steal my bed?”

With a paper-thin glare Jon kissed him again and bumped their foreheads together. “It’s not stealing if we’re both there.”

Martin opened his mouth to reply and found nothing at all. He simply couldn’t keep up and had lost grip of the situation several minutes ago. “Um-”

“Sorry, too much?’ 

Jon pulled back and Martin could look at him properly. The man looked a mess, an incredibly endearing mess with a worried forehead that Martin wanted to smooth out as soon as possible. 

Oh. Oh, fuck it. “No, no, that’s… fine. If you want? It’s not that big.”

That got a smile. Jon went limp against Martin’s chest, squeezing him around his middle. “As long as you’re fine with my bony elbows getting in the way.”

Martin leaned his head back and looked up at the ceiling, chest burning, dizzy and confused. His tongue moved on its own with the familiar eb-and-flow of their evenings. “And all of my warmth being stolen?” 

“Naturally. As everyone loves to remind me, I need to be better equipped for the cold.” As Jon leaned in again, his stomach loudly protested and he froze. “Hm.”

Martin forced them both upright, half-heartedly untangling their limbs. “You also need to eat something.” And he needed time for his face to regain its normal color.

Rolling his eyes, Jon reached for his plate while moving as little as possible from his new spot on the couch. “Trading one scolding for another, then?” He was clearly going for deadpan but was too tired to stop the grin from spreading across his face.

“Shut up and eat your beans.” 

He did, quite comfortably in his newly-acquired space against Martin’s side. Quickly, too, as both found their appetites much easier to wrangle after that unprecedented level of emotional honesty. Perhaps too quickly. Once they were both fed Martin stood up and stretched without much thought at all, then turned to see Jon reaching out a hand.

So he pulled Jon up, letting out a small ‘oof’ when Jon leaned into him like it was wholly normal for him to do so. And he supposed it was if he chose to see it that way.

Martin could’ve felt something more like embarrassment, or bashfulness, but he was tired, and 29 years old, and it was easy to follow Jon’s lead in skipping to the part where they’d always been like this.

By the time they collapsed onto the bed, run ragged from forces unknowable, it was no surprise when Jon threw a skinny arm around Martin’s torso and immediately fell asleep, Martin not far behind.

Chapter Text

Break the surface, wriggle onto the rocks, bounce pathetically out the spray, into the rain, and finally, finally, stop moving. 

Jon let out a whimper through his nose, flippers limp and body heaving from exertion. A fool’s move, wasting energy on a frantic search for a coast, not conserving what he had. But he’d made it. By some mercy from the universe the all-encompassing grey released him onto the shore. He wanted to sleep. He wanted to sleep on the ground and inexplicably wake up in a bed. But he wasn’t so delusional from exhaustion yet.

The ground shifted slightly beneath his shifting weight, firm enough to brace against as he changed.

An arm split through first, always first. A calibration. Long ago he’d started with his head and almost vomited. Perhaps he would’ve adjusted with time, perhaps that was the proper way of doing things, but this process was what he had. He dragged himself forward, twisting himself round with his eyes closed until his face flattened (Separated? Traded places?) and he could no longer smell the wet rats scrabbling close to the tree line. Skinny fingers dug in between the rocks, grit slipping under his nails, rain stealing whatever warmth he’d managed to salvage under a thick layer of blubber.

The rain was light but before long it would seep into his clothes. Too late to stop now, a leg appeared followed by another, and Jonathan Sims was on his hands and knees, coat lying damply beside him. 

Fuck, it was cold. Tim would’ve laughed at him, oh that Jon, what’s it prove to go out in shit weather like it’s June?

He wished Tim were there, Tim and Sasha. Reliable. Comfortable with telling him off. Inviting him to the pub every once in a while (not always, he was certain they complained a good deal about him in the same booth where they all complained about the Institute). Sometimes Tim was funny. But they weren’t thinking of him now. Too busy, and if Georgie spoke with them they’d think he was doing all right. 

No matter. They couldn’t help if they wanted to. Shit, it was freezing out.

He should’ve kept his phone.

Carefully, he pushed back onto his shaking legs and grabbed his coat. There. He could get through this. Martin’s house was nowhere to be seen, but he’d headed north initially, so based on that he should walk south with the sea to his right. Or if he’d overshot during his search, maybe north now? The tree line looked familiar, he thought weakly. The clouds dark and low did nothing to help him, not that he knew anything about navigating by stars- 

And then, north of him and high above, visible against the overcast sky, a light. It drifted faintly across his view, never reaching him down below the cliffs. 

The cold gripped him deep in the stomach. It could be nothing but the lighthouse, a good sign of where to go next. A landmark is what he’d needed  and here one was sweeping its gaze across the sky like a hawk searching for vermin. A warning for ships, for sailors, for fools that come near, do not come to this shore as you are not welcome-

One leg back, then another. The pressure lifted with each shaky step back towards the surf. 

He was a small man. It would crush him. Something was going to crush him into the rocks if he didn’t escape now. He saw it, suddenly, the knowledge so huge and absolute to fill his mind to the brim, barely held together by tension. Lapping at his heels, the waves crashed impatiently. He stopped short of soaking his shoes, the coat in his hands slippery with rain and saltwater. 

He could slip it back on and disappear, he thought. He wasn’t responsible, wasn’t culpable for anything, and why had he come here if not to help himself? To be free, go where he pleased, he had run for the sake of being able to run. That was the point of his existence, the point of all his wandering, the endgame. Escape, leave it all behind, leave him behind-

What was he doing?

Jon shook his head vigorously, blinked a few times, and then walked in the light’s direction. The pressure increased in his chest and he scowled, trudging on despite it. Not a dream, he was awake by all definitions, but his mind was ripe for manipulation. To leave with no word, no destination or person knowing where he was, that idea couldn’t have come from him, not now.

He’d messed up the scale of things. The power they were dealing with, it could be constantly enveloping the whole town with that sort of range, Martin’s home included. Part of the ocean, too, if the fog wasn't a coincidence. 

It wasn’t. Jon knew it wasn’t, and that the- the thing was fucking with his head. He wasn’t so callous as to leave Martin behind.

So no, he was staying out of the water, out of that directionless abyss. Martin’s home would be ahead with food, and a couch, and fuck, Martin was probably worried sick. The guilt weighed heavy, pushing down even harder in his chest, but warmth spread across his face. To be worried after, to return to a place of rest and have someone wonder where the hell he’d been, dinner was made hours ago, let’s get you into something warm and dry and-

If not for the ache in his muscles (even his legs, which seemed unfair) he would’ve picked up his pace. Damn embarrassment, just minutes ago he thought he was going to be lost forever in the bloody ocean, forsaken and doomed to wander until something ate him. 

Hopefully Martin wasn’t too worried. After the stunt he’d pulled in the kitchen, leaving his coat out so brazenly, it seemed anything related to it could give the man a heart attack. 

A worry for later, he thought. That night had been exciting enough.

--

Blood rushed to Jon’s ears as he pulled away from the kiss, Martin’s face still pressing against his hand like a reassurance. Tired eyes looked down at him, dazed but not displeased, and after all of the confessions and condolences and apologies they both seemed out of words. Martin’s eyes shifted, opening wider, waiting for something, and Jon acted before all his nicely-considered plans of taking things slow this time could stop him.

The pressure in his chest was gone. For a split second he wondered whether the fog lingered in Martin’s mind, but then Martin’s fingers brushed against the back of his neck and-

--

It had been several years since Jonathan Sims shared a bed with another person.

He’d been drowning. Or not breathing. Somewhere dark, and deep, too deep for him to swim upwards even with flippers. Or did he have legs? What was he moving with? Was it water pulling him down, or gravity? 

All that in a moment, and then he was gasping for air in a tiny, dusty room on a rainswept coast, arm wrapped around Martin’s torso as far as he could reach, pressing his face against his soft chest. Once assured the air was going nowhere, he held it in and waited for Martin to wake, but the man seemed to be having dreams of his own, eyelids twitching.

There was no telling what time Jon woke up, sky still dark and window spattered with rain through half-closed curtains. For the past week he’d had a clock on the mantle visible from his place on the couch. It had ticked away through restless nights illuminated by a light from the hall. Here it was dark, quiet, and so, so warm. If he felt like reaching outside that comfortable space he could take a look at Martin’s phone clock.

Alternatively.

Under the duvet he and Martin lay in a pocket of their own body heat extending all the way down to Jon’s toes. Where Martin’s pyjama pants had rolled up Jon could feel the hair on his calf, ribbed socks scrunched down to his ankles. The duvet came up past Jon’s shoulders and shielded his nose from the cold. Martin’s arm was the only limb to escape their nighttime cocoon, tucking the fabric against Jon’s back. Good lord, he’d missed lying next to someone else, filling their negative space.

It had been several years since Jonathan Sims shared a bed with another person, a relationship’s end in sight. That night he’d been as aware of Georgie beside him as he had been their first night together, those jitters of something new long replaced by quiet dread. It was all over the next day, both of them agreeing on distance rather than friendship. Plenty of missed opportunities to fix things, opportunities neither was interested in taking. 

There was no missing the rise and fall of Martin’s chest and stomach. There was no missing when Martin shifted in Jon’s hold and nuzzled his face into the pillow, the stretching and settling of a body that sought comfort without consciousness. Small movements that could jostle someone awake from their own thoughts and dreams if they lay close enough.

Jon was awake. He’d been awake the night before, technically, as he dragged himself out of the water and laid bare his failures and kissed Martin senseless and crawled into his bed. Not entirely dissimilar to the beginning of that last relationship. 

He shoved his face into Martin’s side. 

It had been easy over the phone where contact wasn’t an option and Jon could simply enjoy the attention Martin provided. But after several nights of sitting on distinct sides of the couch all he could think of was the gap between his left knee and Martin’s right. When Martin squeezed his shoulder a few nights back it was all Jon could do to not lean into his chest, go in for the hug he sorely needed. Knocking his head into Martin’s shoulder the night before had felt like breaking a seal on something. A dam destroyed by a feather. Felled over time by a kind hand and a too-big jacket sitting in his flat, abandoned.

Martin was a large man, at least a head taller than Jon and bigger than him in most ways. The arm at Jon’s back was thick and substantial, a much-needed weight, and if not for the risk of waking the other man Jon would’ve tugged it further around himself. Clearly he had no problem doing so during a kiss, so why not in bed? Good lord. He wasn’t making future conversations on boundaries any less confusing for either of them.

Given they had the time to talk about such things.

He looked up and pressed the back of his hand to Martin’s cheek as gently as he could, brushing back sections of long blond hair that had escaped their tie. No clamminess. No shivers. Restless, though his heart beat steady under Jon’s hand. All good signs. A far cry from the distant stare he’d met on the beach. Not the concern he’d hoped for as he escaped the fog.

His chest squeezed with guilt. Martin had no reason to think him lost at sea, and Jon couldn’t have predicted something ensnaring Martin at his own home. And once Martin had learned what happened his only worries were Jon’s safety and freedom. Sure, there was a level of… of baggage they had to contend with, but with Martin’s blessing Jon was free to lay the topic of Martin’s mother to rest. No more excursions from that grey wasteland of a coast until he knew he could find the way back. 

Better to pursue the new direction of his research where he could keep an eye on things. In the morning. First bed in weeks. First bed sharing in years. Warm. For the time being-

A dreadful beeping filled the room and let him know exactly what time it was.

“Can’t be time already,” Jon croaked, throat dry and unused. “Need to shut that thing up.”

Martin shifted beneath him, arm moving toward the phone and stopping short. Despite the speed of their… whatever this ended up being, they hadn’t reached the point where Martin would shove Jon off of him. 

“Ah. Sorry, let me.” He twisted around and reached far enough out of the comfort to snatch the phone and dismiss Martin’s alarm. Back under the duvet again, he propped himself up on one elbow. “What’s the point of going in this early?” he asked, glaring at the glowing digits. 

“Ask my contract?” The response had a rough time coming out, breaking on the first vowel. The cold was doing a number on both of their throats it seemed.

Unfortunately, without Jon weighing him down Martin was able to sit up and scoot towards the foot of the bed, leaving Jon with more space than he’d had in weeks to stretch his arms. Reaching forward, he caught Martin at the elbow. Martin froze, face forward and unreadable from that angle. The phone screen turned off, plunging them back into the dimmest of light.

“Before you get on with things…” Jon started, releasing his grip, “How are you feeling? Did you, um… Did you sleep well?” 

“Fine, all things considered. Not sure anything would’ve woken me up.” He looked down at his fingers. Quietly he asked, “You?”

“Yes. Thank you for, um… for indulging me. The last few weeks destroyed my sleeping habits.” 

Martin snorted and in the dim light of the window gave him a look so incredulous and achingly knowing that Jon almost dragged him back for a kiss. Instead he nudged him with his foot. No excuse for the well-rested to act like teenagers. Even so the casual contact had him feeling bold.

Jon continued, “Quiet. I’ll have you know my old sleep schedule made perfect sense for the job.” It was cheap bait, but effective.

Martin turned more fully toward him, leaning back on one arm. “Doesn’t mean it was good for you.”

“I didn’t hear complaints when I called you at four in the morning.” He leaned forward, resting his elbows on folded legs.

“Oh, shut up. I was already awake,” Martin mumbled. 

If only it weren’t so dark Jon might have seen some color rise to Martin’s freckled cheeks. Without thinking he pressed his hand on Martin’s but felt him flinch under the touch. Jon pulled back. “Sorry, was that-”

“S’fine,” Martin said, barely above a whisper, face turned forward and out of sight.

“I just-”

Clearing his throat, Martin continued, “‘Said it’s fine. Reflexes.” The hand remained palm down, and he wiggled his fingers.

With some hesitation Jon rested his hand again, loosely threading his fingers through Martin’s without resistance. “We should talk about… well, everything, when you get back, but for the record last night wasn’t out of nowhere. My embarrassing phone call probably makes more sense now.” He laughed, squeezing Martin’s hand. 

Martin’s fingers curled in, barely touching Jon’s fingers. He still looked away. “Yeah?”

“It wasn’t the first time I’d called someone instead of sleeping, but yes. I, um. I like talking to you.” Especially when half-asleep, when words came easy. He coughed. “But you should get ready. Unless today is the day you’ve decided going in isn’t worth it?”

“Better not shake things up further,” Martin said, gently sliding his hand from Jon’s. In its place was the cold of sheets long empty. Martin lingered at the edge of the bed, hands in his lap. “Thanks, though. For last night.”

A pleasant tightness wound around Jon’s chest, and with full consciousness of his actions Jon crawled forward, placed the phone in Martin’s hands, and touched his shoulder. “Of course. Call the house if anything happens today.”

Martin turned to meet his gaze and nodded. With all the slowness Jon could muster he reached for Martin’s cheek, waiting for a flinch that never came. His fingertips touched skin that should’ve been warmer. Another nod and Jon kissed him until it was. 

With all the excitement and terror of the night before he hadn’t considered much of anything past kissing the man until all the bubbling emotions inside him were properly externalized and understood. He wasn’t sure if he succeeded as there was still plenty ready to burst out of him as Martin pulled away and began his morning routine, changing in the bathroom and waving at Jon to stay where he was, no he didn’t mind, etcetera. Then the final goodbye passed and Jon was alone.

Jon remained in bed, the unoccupied space going frigid beside him. Upstairs was supposed to be warmer, he thought. Grasping the pillow he’d forgone in favor of Martin’s chest, he wrapped the duvet more tightly around himself.

He would figure things out. His awful experience had given him a better grasp on the situation, a new perspective. And they were both fine. He’d found his way back in time and saved Martin. He could still figure this out. He had to. Someone had to before one or both of them was pulled away by an unstoppable current.

He hadn’t understood the way Martin talked of the sea as if it had opinions. As if it could hate someone. He still didn’t believe it, but until the night before he’d never thought it possible for it to be part of something sinister. It couldn’t purposefully keep him from somewhere he wished to be. In his mind it was too big to be manipulated even by supernatural influence, but for a short while it had become a prison, an accomplice to something cruel.

It had been several years since Jonathan Sims truly cried, but as sunlight reflected dully against the sky he saw the sea and wept. 

Chapter Text

“So, what do we know?”

Jon sat upright in bed and typed into the old laptop. It didn’t have a built-in microphone, or not a working one, so he’d been making do with a word processor. Still, old habits left him chewing on the inside of his cheek and muttering to himself.

“The lighthouse seems to be a central structure to whatever power, or powers, exist in the vicinity. Several groups are invested in this power including Peter Lukas and his family, possibly Simon Fairchild as well?”

“Separately, this area has also been inhabited by at least one selkie, which I’m certain Elias knew about and sent me here to investigate. His sending me here could have been a ploy to root through my belongings, but it’s not likely to be the only reason. In the middle is Martin Blackwood, both the target of this power and the son of a selkie. No abilities, human in all respects. And these things are… related. Somehow.”

He rubbed his eyes. Not his most confident assertion. He wasn’t sure if he really wanted those two ideas to be connected.

He coughed. “The lighthouse causes vertigo in some individuals with no clear reason as to who. Martin is a long-term employee, no surprise he feels it, but why was Tim affected while Sasha and I were fine?” Jon tapped the empty space below the keyboard. “And now I’ve been targeted without stepping foot in the lighthouse for weeks. Residual effects from Martin’s time in the building? Or the radius is much larger than I’d feared and has the ability to… focus on someone.”

The house didn’t offer an explanation. It creaked in the cold and allowed his voice to travel but otherwise remained empty of answers. Martin’s room especially was…

It wasn’t much. It was the bedroom of an adult that once belonged to a child: a small space, some leftover posters of movies he’d never seen, a bed that technically did its job but hadn’t been intended for a man of Martin’s size or age. It certainly wasn’t meant for two full grown adults. The bedside table lamp was decent and warm-toned but clearly as old as the wood furniture.

Maybe he’d expected more than two small shelves of books. More knick-knacks, or something.  

And the dust itched at his nose a little. The whole house had a layer of it on just about everything. Not something he would normally notice, but the days had been long and his eyes needed to look at something that wasn’t a dim laptop screen. 

He cleared his throat and drew his eyes back to the word processor. “But why did Peter allow us inside? He was never pleased about us being there, so it had to be a favor or some joint scheme. And Simon, why does he involve himself in this? If it was about the sketchbook his part would be finished, but clearly he knows something. To drag Martin to his home-”

He sighed. If he’d learnt anything from the past week it was to stop prattling on about questions he couldn’t answer with the information at his disposal. He placed the laptop to his left and swung his legs over the side of the bed, the cold wood sending a small shock through his feet. 

Across the room the squat bookshelves called to his curiosity. Out of the whole house it was the only shelf he’d seen that wasn’t for banal home decor or unused cutlery, and clearly it was to Martin’s taste only. What did the man like to read in his spare time? For all the intense rush of feeling and time spent together, reading hadn’t come up all that much. Jon had had enough silence in the last few weeks. To sit alone with a book when he finally had another person around to talk to seemed a waste.

Not that they couldn’t read together. Jon liked to read aloud. It certainly made his job less mind-numbing to fill the silence with his voice.

He let himself drift over to the bookshelf and squat down onto the balls of his feet, scanning the lowermost shelf first. Mostly thin, worn paperbacks, some notebooks that had been shoved unceremoniously onto one side and stuck out well past the published material, and required reading from school that Martin never tossed. Expected but not particularly exciting. It could be the sign of someone who didn’t read much, but libraries were a possibility. Audiobooks? E-books? How much did a bookshelf really-

Oh. Hm.

On the second shelf up, taking up a decent amount of space, was more than one collection of poetry. Keats, a bit of Coleridge, and presumably more modern writers he’d never heard of, these worn and well-loved volumes stood in stark contrast to the pristine and dusty copy of Hamlet nearby. 

Jon rolled his eyes. He hadn’t pegged Martin as a poetry-type, certainly not a capital-R Romantic. Obviously it wasn’t a deal-breaker, but he hoped Martin wasn’t the type to try and convince him of poetry as a medium. He’d had enough of trying to understand it at university, being dragged along to one subpar slam poetry night that left him with such terrible secondhand embarrassment that Georgie forced him back outside where the poets couldn’t hear his complaints. Not his most shining moment, but if poets could express themselves out loud for all to hear then so could he. 

His gaze flicked back over the notebooks, spiral bindings bent and squashed from being stuffed into bags over the years. Best not to ask. He’d ruined too many conversations with his strong opinions on the subject and he had no interest in making that much of an ass of himself about Martin’s hobbies while staying in his home, his bed, for free. Sure, he hadn’t given Georgie and her girlfriend that courtesy, but they knew him too well for him to bother.

He also wouldn’t be able to lie about looking. 

The rest of the house, well, he’d already done a bit of snooping around in his paranoia-fueled first days. Based on what he knew, the empty feeling wasn’t unusual. Perhaps he’d hoped for Martin’s room to be different, illuminating even, but it was more of the same.

The room wasn’t entirely bereft of personality outside of the bookshelf. No figurines or such like, though Jon didn’t know why he’d expected them, but on the nightstand there were scattered unsent postcards of cozy outdoor scenes pinned down by a mostly picked clean subscription box of forest-themed stationary. A cardboard coaster printed with a cartoonish shop logo sat with indentation lines across its surface indicating a good amount of use.

Not a lot to leave behind. Even Jon had some photos in his flat, the kind his friends with a fixation on physical media would sometimes give him back in his university days. One of his grandmother. None from the last few years.

Jon stood next to the nightstand for a minute, eyes resting unfocused on the coaster.

The mattress accepted his return with a thump. There was actual research to complete that didn’t involve meditating on personal decor. He couldn’t get distracted like this, no matter how tired he was of talking in circles. It would certainly be easier if it wasn’t him alone doing the talking, but Martin was gone for so much of the day and by the time he returned at night neither was particularly enthused about discussing the dire nature of their circumstances. And as self-sufficient as he tried to be, his own voice wasn’t enough.

Throwing his phone into the ocean hadn’t been his smartest move.

He didn’t have Sasha or Tim’s numbers memorized. Not a huge problem since Martin had Tim in his contacts, but he would’ve expected more from himself for the sake of practicality. He’d been on enough solo trips to know that his mobile phone couldn’t always be relied upon. Still he’d never put their numbers to memory. In an emergency he would’ve called the Institute and had Rosie at the front desk transfer him to the Archives. Professional and just distant enough for comfort.

Not very comforting from a secluded room on the coast with nothing but a landline and Martin’s number written on a scrap of paper. For emergencies. Tedium and cabin fever didn’t count. 

There was so much to explain, more than he’d ever intended to tell them. His assistants were damned good at their jobs, but what did that mean for secrecy? Weren’t they all at the Institute in the interest of uncovering the strange?

But something in his gut had trusted them enough to have Georgie deliver a message to them. They already knew he was somewhere else. And they weren’t- it wasn’t- hadn’t they done enough together to earn the benefit of the doubt? They weren’t some unapproachable, unknowable entity that would crash him against the rocks. 

He gagged on the bile pushing up his throat. No, they were just Tim and Sasha, reliable and ultimately… he couldn’t say they were his friends, but they’d signed up for weirdness and he needed help. Too much rode on their success for him to be overcautious.

He wouldn’t let that spotlight in the sky chase him into a hole. 

--

“For what it’s worth, I think it’s a good idea,” Martin said. 

Jon stared down at the mobile in his hands, open text message blank and waiting. Something like panic tugged at the back of his mind.

“Do you need me to-”

“No- no, I can do this.” Jon’s face twitched and he looked up at Martin. “I won’t tell them everything.”

Martin nodded encouragingly.

“They need to know I’m here, that we need to combine what we’ve learned and expedite the investigation as much as we can. As for why I’m here, I’m not sure how much they’ll need? I could pin it on Elias being involved with whatever is going on but it wouldn’t explain why I left so suddenly-”

With some visible hesitation Martin reached out and squeezed Jon’s shoulder. Without much hesitation at all Jon collapsed against his side. For a split second he felt Martin tense at the contact, but an arm looped comfortingly around his shoulder to dismiss any worry about overstepping. To say things between them had ‘worked out’ wasn’t the right phrasing. Still, he wasn’t unhappy with the physical space he occupied in that moment. Perhaps there was more benefit to impulsive decision making that people gave it credit for.

He stared at the phone for a moment and then pressed the call button in the corner, holding the mobile out between them. From beside him Martin raised his eyebrows in question but said nothing.

After two rings Jon heard Tim on the other side, talking as if carrying something unwieldy. “Hey, was gonna text you but things have gotten really backed up-”

“Hello, Tim. It’s Jon. I hope things aren’t too disordered with my being gone,” Jon said, wincing.

“J-” A large thump came from the speaker, followed by cursing. “Where the hell have you been?”

“I-”

“I guess I know the answer to that, Martin,” Tim hissed, papers rustling in the background. “Unless you broke into his house and stole his phone, which I’m not above assuming.” 

Martin grimaced and leaned in close to the mobile. “No, no, I’m here. Sorry, Tim.”

“Unbelievable. How long has he been there?” He seemed to be walking at a brisk pace.

Jon sighed. “About a week. Before then- listen, we need to talk to you and Sasha while you’re not in the Institute. Things have… escalated.”

“So no word for weeks, we’re buried in paperwork by Elias who is acting weirder by the day, and you just-”

“Tim, please,” Martin interjected, his plea failing to break through the exhausted expression on his face. “We want to give you and Sasha an explanation. If now’s not a good time-”

“Oh, now is a perfect time-” The sound of a door opening. 

From some distance away, he heard Sasha begin, “Hey, did you find-”

Sasha grunted in surprise, and Jon and Martin sat there as Tim made various comments about workplace boundaries and the importance of breaks in a strained tone. Eventually they both stopped talking altogether.

Martin put his hand between himself and the mobile and whispered, “I thought we were going to text first?”

“I was going to lose my nerve,” Jon replied weakly. “And no amount of pre-planning would stop them from being angry if that’s how they feel.”

“Correct,” Tim muttered, then went silent again.

This time Jon set the mobile to mute, wondering if Tim would do the same. “They should be able to find a safe place to talk nearby.”

“Tim seems really angry.”

“As expected. I’m sure Sasha is as well, for different reasons.” Jon stared at the mobile, his leg shaking. “They’ll listen, though. I’m sure they’re as curious as they are livid.”

“Prerequisite for the job?” Martin asked, hugging Jon a little more tightly.

“If you’re looking for a new position I wouldn’t recommend it, even if you have great potential in the field of sticking your nose in other people’s business.”

Martin grimaced. “I’ll make sure to put that on my resume for when I’m back to working the till.” 

“No doubt I’ll be somewhere similar,” Jon muttered, slouching further into Martin’s side. It was good, though, to hear Martin speak of the future, if with very little excitement.

There was a clicking sound from the mobile and a rush of wind. Above the din, Tim said, “We’re headed to a nearby park.”

Sasha added, “This had better be interesting for all we’ve been waiting. What’s going on?”

“Can you even hear-”

“We have headphones. Start talking, bossman,” Tim said. 

“Fine, as long as you’re not in the Institute,” Jon grumbled. “I’ll explain more about my absence later-”

Sasha scoffed. “I’d rather we not skip over that part-”

“-but last night Martin and I both experienced malicious, supernatural incidents. A dense fog that messes with your perceptions, keeping you in place or maybe keeping you away from something? I was hoping to get your insight on this along with an update on your own investigations. Frankly I have no resources beyond searching the internet which nowadays is as useful as yelling at people on the street.” 

There was a brief pause. Then Sasha spoke. “Martin, what you experienced, was it like when Simon grabbed you?” 

Jon glanced at Martin, who shook his head and said, “No, no, it was nothing like it. It sort of… I lost track of time? It felt like I was lost in thought, but Jon had to shake me out of it. Before that I sat outside for hours.”

“During a cold rain, mind you,” Jon said. “Mine was closer to the experience with Simon, I think. I was fully aware of myself, but I’d become completely lost with no direction. I think it was trying to keep me from the town as a whole, since I’d been investigating something on the outskirts.”

Sasha continued. “If we’re working on the assumption that these two events are connected, then it sounds like you both were caught in a barrier of some kind. Like anything inside stays in and anything outside stays out? Unless you think it’s more targeted.”

Jon paused, the creeping gaze of the lighthouse filling his mind. “I… I don’t know. It’s difficult to tell when you’re inside it, but I think it was specific to us. We haven’t exactly asked around town about it. I was hoping one of you could check the archives-”

“It does sound a little familiar, actually, what Martin described,” Sasha said. “I went digging after the Simon incident, but what I found didn’t seem worth mentioning at the time since it wasn’t all that similar to what Simon trapped him in. A few people along the coast reported an unexpected urge to sit outside in a fog by the sea no matter how bad the weather, way beyond some fancy for nature. Apparently, one woman got a nasty thump on the head during a hailstorm.”

Next to him Martin went rigid, eyes darting to the pitch black window across the room. 

Jon replied quickly, “Was there any other follow-up? What allowed people to leave that state?”

“Seems like you stumbled on the solution already. Every time, another person had to pull them out of it. Not always someone they knew, but they were always outside the effect but could see the fog around them. That woman I mentioned was found by her daughter after she’d gone missing for two whole days,” Sasha said. “Besides that, one person died of pneumonia, and the only other living one I tracked down moved further inland and hasn’t seen anything since.” 

Tim added, “And from what you said that last one is considering moving back which- Look, I know some people have a thing about the ocean but if it were me-”

Jon’s heart thumped in his throat. “And this wasn’t centered anywhere? No specific sources or locations?”

Sasha paused. “Not really. The coast is the only real connection I could find besides the fog.”

“The whole ocean can’t be haunted, can it?” Tim asked.

“It doesn’t necessarily come from the ocean-”

“Then why not stalk the streets of-”

“With our sample size we don’t know that it doesn’t-”

With some frustration Jon interjected, “-and right now we don’t have time to figure out if it does. What we need are connections. The Lukases, the Fairchilds, Elias-”

“Speaking of which, you haven’t told us anything about him, either,” Tim said. “He said you were taking some ‘unplanned time off’. Been a lot more around ever since.”

“All things considered I can’t believe he hasn’t fired me and done away with the whole thing,” Jon said with a dull laugh. 

“Jon.”

“Right… Right. Without going into all of the details, I returned early from my last work trip and  caught Elias breaking into my flat.”

A comically synchronized “What?” came from both of his assistants. 

Jon tried to push on. “After that I came here to lie low-”

“Oh no, you do not get to say Elias robbed you and then move on like it’s nothing!” Tim exclaimed. Sasha shushed him, and Tim continued with gritted teeth, “How am I supposed to not shout about that? We should be calling the police-”

“What exactly was he looking for that you wouldn’t just call the police?” Sasha asked. 

Jon’s stomach dropped. “It’s-”

In a conspiratorial whisper, Sasha asked, “Did you take something from artifact storage?”

“What? No! What-” 

Tim scoffed. “Don’t act like that’s out of the question. Look what we roped Martin into!”

Beside him Martin didn’t quite relax, but he lifted his eyebrows slightly and mumbled, “Not wrong-”

Sasha butted in again. “What was he trying to get at, then? You can’t expect us to believe he’s randomly picked up robbery on the side-”

Jon’s eyes flitted about as if the living room held the words that would bring this conversation to heel. All he received was an unhelpful and decidedly unsympathetic shrug from Martin whose gaze remained firmly on the window. Jon saw nothing but mist gathering across the glass.

“-so if you want us to help-”

With a grunt, Jon leaned forward and out from Martin’s hold. He spat out, “Let your own bloody curiosity motivate you, then! I’m not discussing this further until we’re all several hours from the Institute, especially if Elias is keeping his eye on both of you. If you have something useful, get here as soon as you can so we can finish this. Then you get your answers.”

Tim started, “Oh, fuck off, you can’t-”

“Fine,” Sasha said, cutting him off. “We’ll scrape together what we can and get there by this weekend.”

“Really?” Jon asked, glancing at an equally shocked Martin. “That’s- yes, if you think that’s enough time-”

“But we get a full explanation the moment we get there. And Jon?”

“...Yes?”

“This is why he gave you the job, isn’t it?”

Jon deflated, mouth curling into a scowl. “I don’t see how that’s relevant-”

“You wouldn’t,” she said flatly. “Anyway, try not to get spirited away before we have a chance to interrogate you.”

“Yeah, lie low and, I dunno… stay indoors?” Tim paused. “Probably already doing that. What Sasha said. Don’t get kidnapped.”

Jon sighed. “We’ll put in our best effort. And if-”

“And if we think of anything for you to use immediately, we’ll let Martin know since you can’t be bothered to use your own mobile,” Tim said accusingly.

“I threw mine into the ocean weeks ago.” It wasn’t what he’d meant to say, but he wasn’t sure what was supposed to have come out of his mouth in its stead. “Hope that helps.”

There was a long pause, to the point where Jon wondered at being muted again. Tim finally answered, “Right. It does, I think? We’re… we’re gonna go now. Apparently we’ve just promised to do double the work we expected this week, didn’t we, Sash?”

“We did. Good luck out there, boys. We’ll be in touch.”

And the call ended. Jon held the mobile in his hand, staring at the thing as if more information would come out of it. Instead it silently switched back to Martin’s home screen and he was met with the gaze of a small beagle puppy. 

The weekend. Depending on what that meant, he could have anywhere from three to five days before-

“They didn’t seem too angry, all things considered,” Martin mumbled. When Jon held out the phone he took it and returned it to his pocket. “You think they’ll have something?”

Looking ahead at the blank television screen, Jon said, “I don’t know. They wouldn’t rush to get here without the beginnings of a plan?” He fell back onto the couch. By then Martin had retracted his arm and now worried at the back of his hands, cracked and dry from the cold air.

“What’ll you tell them? When they get here?”

“I don’t know... Whatever feels right. The only thing that matters is that they’re coming.”

Help was on the way. They had only a few days to wait instead of a week and a half. They would do what they could for Evan, and for Martin. The larger issue with Elias was… It couldn’t be dealt with until he spoke to his assistants in-person, gauged their loyalties and however much surveillance might be on them after his departure. He could say all of this aloud. Despite the day being as uneventful as either of them could have hoped, Jon was very, very tired.

So tired that when he next opened his eyes it was to the sound of the front door closing down the hall. He rubbed his face and rolled his aching neck. Blinking in the light of the living room lamp, he saw the blurry outline of Martin standing between him and the kitchen.

“Looks like the call took a lot out of you,” Martin said, resting a hand on the door frame. “Wanted to make sure the front door was locked before heading to bed.”

Was Martin’s hair wet? Jon blinked a few more times, pushing the sleep from his eyes with his fingertips. No, the lamplight was playing tricks on him.

Jon reached out a hand and asked, “Still willing to share?” 

In a few slow strides Martin was pulling him onto his feet, a hesitant smile on his face. “Do you still want to?” he asked in turn.

Was his hand colder than usual? What did he know about what was usual when they’d only touched hands a few times, mostly under dire circumstances? How cold were his own hands? 

“Mm.” Jon looked at Martin’s fingers loosely curled around his own. “Martin?”

“Yeah?”

“I don’t do much more than what we’ve already been doing. Physically, I mean.” In spite of himself, he yawned. He yawned in the middle of this. “I usually bring it up before crawling into someone’s bed the first time around.”

“Oh. Okay,” Martin said and gave his hand a small squeeze. Even in the dim lamplight he knew Martin’s ears were darker than before. Warmer. “So…last night was fine?”

“As was this morning, though that should be obvious,” Jon replied, gently tugging Martin towards the stairs.

“...Cool.”

If the man was a poet, he kept to the written word.

Chapter Text

Jon woke to the shock of an empty bed.

It couldn’t have been long since Martin left. Of course without the mobile on the nightstand there was no telling the time, but dull morning light hadn’t yet dragged itself through the cloud cover to reach the bedroom floor. Considering their physical arrangement, Martin must’ve taken great pains to let Jon rest. Had it involved gently prying Jon off of him, scooting quietly to the edge of the bed, leaving Jon to sleep off the previous evening in peace?

A kind gesture if so, but the sheets beside him held no leftover warmth. 

He slipped out of bed and walked rather hurriedly out of the room, passing the upstairs toilet. Dark. If it weren’t for the still air of that house he might’ve assumed it to be the dead of night, but no, as he made his way downstairs Jon didn’t hear anyone shuffling around the kitchen. He didn’t hear much of anything as he approached the foyer, ignoring the downstairs toilet and its neighbor, both shut tight.

Jacket and shoes were gone. Bag too. He’d gone to work, obviously.

Cracking open the front door revealed the beach. Jon shivered as he scanned what he could see of the horizon, dark strip atop dark strip, finding no still figure in the mist. Yes, Martin had gone to work, or had made it far enough that Jon couldn’t see him. 

He closed the door, glaring at the beach through the protection of solid wood. “No point in getting spirited away,” Jon muttered and circled back to the kitchen. 

Without switching on the lights he approached the kitchen window. It took a good amount of squinting, but he thought he could see the trail winding up between the trees. Maybe. Or his eyes were filling in what he knew to be there, just out of reach.

He couldn’t go back to sleep, too aware of the cold that already seeped through the bedsheets. Turning, he looked into the dark mouth leading to the living room. It didn’t give a perfect view, but similar to the kitchen its window gave him a way to watch for anyone coming from the cliffs once the sun decided to show its face.

Which was hours away.

Jon walked onto the worn carpet and paused. The thought of bringing the laptop down for what had become a mockery of research made him want to bang his head against the wall. Should he watch something in that collection of tapes by the television? Dull his mind for just a moment with whatever reruns of game shows he could find flipping through channels? Should he draft his whole life story so when Tim and Sasha came he could hand them a piece of paper with a note reading please do not use this against me?

He rubbed his hands over his arms, barely protected by the t-shirt he’d slept in. Decisions were easier to make when someone was there to tell you that you’d made the right choice. All he had at the moment was a house empty enough to hold every doubt that had him looking over his shoulder.

Hours to fill with nothing but cursory internet searches, doors shut tight for good reason. It was enough to make him claw at the walls. Maybe if he just kept moving…

Back in the hall. Front door would remain shut. As would the downstairs toilet, doubly so. Upstairs to the attic which he’d already rooted through once since he’d hidden himself away. A backroom, again already inspected in a fit of paranoia as he tried to find a suitable hiding place for his skin. Better for Martin not to know the state he’d been in that night.

And the closed door next to the downstairs toilet, unopened since he arrived. He knew what it was, conceptually. He knew who it had belonged to. When he’d learnt of her flight from this place, it had scratched at the back of his mind with frantic visions of a woman he’d never met, dead at the hands of her son and rotting behind a locked door. But it wasn’t locked. He knew this because he’d turned the door knob deep into his first night, cracking the door open an inch before shutting it tight in a moment of clarity.

There was no rot in that room. If he had to take a guess from that quick peek into the dark, all that remained was furniture and dust.

His hand gripped the door knob.

There was no finding her outside, in the sea. Martin didn’t need him to, and he couldn’t afford the risk. But he was without answers and Martin was-

The knob turned without ease or great resistance; the door opened like an ordinary old door, dragging slightly on the carpet. He hadn’t bothered to turn on the hall light in his wandering state and groped for a light switch but settled for the string of a small table lamp.

Dust was right. A bed sat in the middle of the left hand wall, duvet rumpled and retaining the absence of a person. Worn slippers were pushed slightly under the bed next to a discarded bathrobe. Curtains rested half-drawn in front of a window with only half a view of the sea, butting up against nearby trees and that wooden frame deteriorating at the side of the house. The chest of drawers near the door was newer and of lightweight material, as was the side table, but novelty saved neither from the layer of grey.

His flat probably didn’t fare much better in his absence, and at least this place wasn’t ransacked to hell. A few drawers hung open, somewhat full when examined. Jon gently pushed them into place. He’d almost moved to the half-open closet when he saw the very edge of a piece of paper shoved between the dresser leg and the floor. It was a heavy piece of furniture and it was all Jon could do to pull some of it away, tearing it off at the corner.

Divorce paperwork, served to Martin’s mother. The rest of it might’ve been under the furniture, or thrown in the trash years ago. It was difficult to tell if it had ended up in that spot on purpose or was lost in the shuffle of life. 

The skin had remained with her when her husband left for good. Was it a final courtesy to a relationship that had fallen apart? Had he meant to take it with him? Or was it of no interest to him? Unbidden, Martin’s form in the kitchen doorway came to mind, face a mask of shock and nausea.

He shoved the paperwork back under the dresser.

Standing up, he walked to the closet and was met with hanging dresses and jackets now abandoned. By the way his nose itched Jon guessed they’d been untouched for much longer than a couple of weeks. With the steep incline of the cliffs it was a wonder they’d stayed in such a place. 

“Did he not want the house? It’s not a happy place, so it wouldn’t be out of the question that he’d leave it behind as well,” Jon said to the fabric, destined for moths. “You didn’t take any clothes, not enough for a permanent stay on land. Planning to spend your final days in the sea, maybe? Or you had somewhere to swim to.”

It became clear after a few minutes of searching that the shallow closet held no clues. He wasn’t sure he was going to find much about the woman herself, let alone where she would flee to. And what selkie would leave a trace that others not in the know could follow? 

He turned to the bed, crouching to search below. A pair of slippers and a shallow box shoved all the way to the back. Dropping to his stomach, he wiggled underneath and dragged the box into the lamplight.

Papers. It held countless pages and scraps of paper, some stapled together in threes or fours, others left to fend for themselves in a sea of potential papercuts. At least in this he found solid ground, digging through barely-legible notes. A lot barely started, crossed out, a miracle they weren’t tossed. But he had enough of his own useless audio notes to not judge this particular habit. After a few duds, someone asking about another’s day, local gossip, etcetera, he found a letter that started:

‘Paula,
I’m at my limit. He needs someone to set a good example, to make him a good, loyal husband for whatever girl finds him worth her time. But it can’t be me. I can hardly look at him-’

Everything after was crossed out and then eventually torn away. The paper was old, at least a few years, crumpled and tossed in this box, never for whoever Paula was to see. Too old to be useful, and too much to think about. He could ignore it.

Similar notes followed, addressed to the same name. ‘You’ve been a kind ear since he left-’ ‘Seeing him every day, it’s going to drive me mad-’ ‘He’s almost eighteen. None of me in him. What else can I do?’

Over and over, letters without conclusions on a topic he’d been stewing on for the last week, only to find it so mundane and hurtful he had half a mind to shove it all back under the bed. And sifting through, no last name ever came up, just Paula ad infinitum. Someone in town, perhaps? Martin might know, but then how would he explain knowing the first name? Or a person she once knew, the remnant of a former life? He continued his search, tucking the name away for later. At the very least it was someone involved in this whole familial mess.

Then, in between the pleas the writer (Martin’s mother, no point in being coy about it once Martin’s name appeared more than once instead of the boy or his son), a detour. A photo. An old, old photo, yellow and fading.

Two young individuals, one smiling bright, the other subdued but not unhappy. Did the second look like Martin? With winter hoods pulled tight over the subjects’ heads and having never seen his mother, there was no way to be sure. But the rocky beach behind was unmistakable.The first looped their arm around the other’s, pulling their heads close together to fit in frame.  

He stared at them both, resting on his knees. No seal skins in the photo, of course, but… On the other side of the photo, a note read, ‘When you’re ready, I’ll be far north, around the-’ Here, a pen did its job and completely obliterated the word. Jon cursed and almost tore the photo in two out of frustration. Instead, he finished reading, ‘It won’t do well to make me wait!’

How long did they last?

The photo should’ve made him feel something else. A kindred pull, or… But he didn’t know these people. With shaking hands, Jon shoved the photo down to the bottom.

Then, in the middle of another letter, a digression.

‘The cliffs feel so much taller. Could be the aches in my legs. How long has the beach been a bait trap? It wasn’t so when I was a girl. Not when my father made his living.’

Stuffing this note into his pocket, Jon consumed every word of every other note with a manic fury. He reread letters, searched for hidden messages, scoured the box for any other notes in that handwriting and almost came up with nothing. An old woman writing to an unknowing recipient like a diary .One pause just to grab the laptop from upstairs, then he dove back in, taking notes of the most minute references to an old woman’s feeling that something had gone wrong. That something had changed. 

‘The house is empty now, but for us. It doesn’t make a difference.’ 

‘I don’t think I will be coming to town anymore. It doesn’t help, and it all makes my head hurt.’ 

‘When did it stop feeling like my home? My family’s home?’

He closed the box, stuffed it under his arm, and stumbled out the door. 

Back in Martin’s room, Jon opened the laptop and began a new recording. He opened with the small section of writing he pocketed, then continued on, “This is just one of many notes found in Mrs. Blackwood’s bedroom, being the most prominent to the matter at hand. She’d felt something change. Perhaps it was a reaction to her increasingly limited mobility at first, but why a bait trap? Why those words? This feels less old than the others, but with modern paper it’s impossible to-”

He breathed in slowly, then out again. “I don’t like it. I don’t like this place, and I don’t like what it may want from us. We can only hope to make a quick exit once the lighthouse is either dealt with or proven too big for us, property ownership be damned.”

Tapping his fingers on the empty section of bed beside him, Jon glanced out the window. His little investigation had lasted quite a while, but it would still be long before Martin returned. “This was her family’s house. Hers, not her husband’s. Does that mean anything? Is it normal for her family to stay on land for multiple generations? How far back did this start?”

Martin should know about the box. He took it in his hands, felt the light, shifting paper inside and all of its weight. He eyed the metal waste bin nearby.

The notes lingered in his thoughts the rest of the day, all of them sitting under Martin’s bed in wait for their demise or salvation. But it was something he could act on, so it was a good burden for a day. 

His final notes, spoken into the laptop, “Based on context and handwriting, everything outside of the photograph was written by Martin’s mother. All letters, all unsent.”

--

By the time Martin returned Jon already sat at the living room window. Near the end Jon had submitted to the view of grey skies and crashing waves, standing up every ten minutes or so to shake away the creeping sensation of no one at all. He hadn’t seen Martin emerge from the treeline, must’ve missed him when clearing his head, but there he was with hair wet from the evening mist and bag hanging limp from his shoulder.

It wasn’t a happy sight, but Jon breathed out in relief, forehead against the cool glass. He heard the front door open and poked his head out into the hall.

“You’re back,” Jon said.

A slow blink. “Oh. Hi,” Martin said.

“Hi,” Jon replied. “Everything all right?”

“As best as it can be?” Martin said, smiling weakly. He lifted a brown paper bag out from under his coat. “Brought home takeout.”

It was warming at least to share some cheap takeout on the couch, though Martin’s exhaustion was palpable. More than once during their show did he catch Martin’s eyes glaze over or begin to droop. Waiting could be easier, but what were the chances that he would be more awake the night after?

It was after just one episode that Jon spoke up.

“Martin?”

“Hm?” Martin jerked slightly, blinking some of the impending sleep away.

“I have a confession to make. I went through your mother’s things.”

“...What?” Somehow, this didn’t perk him up.

“Her room. I went through her room and found a box of letters and other notes, crossed out or torn or- It’s somewhat personal, but I found a reference to someone waiting for her and something I think might be important to this place, and I wanted to-”

“Jon.”

“Yes?”

“You can burn them.”

Jon froze, hand frozen halfway between them.

Martin continued, “‘S dangerous, right? Even if she crossed things out, it’s better no one has a trail to follow her with.”

It was a sound argument, and matched entirely with Jon’s gut reaction. “Are you certain you don’t want to look?”

“I didn’t go looking for them, did I?” Martin asked. He didn’t snap, was too unfocused to be anything other than calm. “You said there’s something important?”

“I…” Jon looked down at the box. “I already took notes on what felt relevant. A reference to the strange nature of this place, some other things. Otherwise it’s all personal, I-I think.””

“Then the rest can go. I know my mum well enough to guess what she wrote about.”

“We can wait until you’re… more awake to discuss it.”

A shrug. “They’re not for me. Do what you think is right.” 

Jon grimaced. “I…I’ll take care of it, then.”

With a nod, Martin took his plate to the kitchen and left Jon to his thoughts. Too much space for that these days.

Still, it was decided. As he finished and brought his own plate to wash, he hazarded a look at Martin’s face. Impassive. 

Perhaps it was for the best, Jon thought as he trudged upstairs. Once in the bathroom, he sifted once more through the bin until he found for whatever girl finds him worth her time and set it alight. The rest of the paper went together. Finally the photograph was torn to pieces and sacrificed to the flame. None of it was his to keep. This woman was never part of his life and most likely wouldn’t have had an interest in him. Still, he wished this act stirred more inside him, that something could make destroying documents he’d have been desperate for weeks prior less of an anticlimax. 

The smiling faces were gone and Jon walked downstairs to an empty kitchen. An empty living room. An empty toilet, door unopened with no light peeking from underneath. Jon walked to Martin’s mother’s room and knocked, cracking it open to find the same empty space.

Then he bolted to the front door and wrenched it open to find Martin standing, staring with his back to the house.

“Martin?” Jon asked, stepping out onto the wood with bare feet. “You should come back inside.”

He sighed, not turning around. “It’s fine. I just needed a minute.”

“I’m sure it’s been more than a minute,” Jon growled, sending a useless glare out into the night. He grabbed Martin’s elbow and pulled him inside, slamming the door behind them. “What were you thinking?”

He was met with the same blank mask. “I wanted some air.”

Dragging a hand down his face, Jon asked, “Did something compel you?”

“Wh-no, I just-”

“There’s no ‘I just’ here. If I can keep myself inside the whole damned day, you shouldn’t have a problem doing the same for a few hours. So if something feels out of your control-”

“Christ, I stepped outside!” Martin exclaimed. “Maybe I want to stand on my own damned porch without it being the end of the world!”

Jon took a step back, arms crossed. “It’s not that simple and you know it.”

“My mum was fine for years,” Martin said, rubbing his arms.

“You-”

“I know I don’t know that! I-” Shoulders hunched forward, Martin averted his eyes. “I think…I need to sleep.”

It wasn’t a win, but it would have to do for now. He placed a hand on Martin’s back and led him upstairs, kicking himself for not cleaning up after the box and ashes. Martin seemed happy to ignore them, though, completing the nightly routine with no mention of it. 

Once he was done Jon gestured towards the bedroom. “I’ll be a bit, but not long.”

Once he’d sent Martin on his way, Jon stepped into the upstairs toilet and cleaned up any stray bits of ash or paper he’d missed. No notes remained tucked into a corner of the room or the box he’d found. He broke down the box, shoved it in with the trash downstairs,and called it complete. She wouldn’t be found by someone with more clues than him. She wouldn’t be found. 

By the time he entered the bedroom, lights were turned off. Martin sat in bed and stared at his mobile, only looking up when Jon cleared his throat. For the briefest moment his eyes seemed to flash in the hall light and the faintest sense of recognition bloomed in Jon’s chest. Then the moment was gone. 

He’d paused in the doorway long enough that Martin spoke up. “Are you sleeping here or…”

“Yes. Sorry,” Jon said, smiling a little as he closed the door and slid beside him.

Martin scooted over to make space. “You don’t have to, you know. It’s early.”

Jon waved a hand dismissively. “Easier to keep to your schedule. I have plenty of time to myself during the day.”

Martin laid down, fingers laced over his stomach.

Following suit, Jon pressed his face into Martin’s arm and hooked cold fingers through Martin’s elbow. “I wrote down what I thought was important, if you ever….”

“Mm.”

Sleep didn’t come immediately, kept away not by the dread of the outside but by eyes that shone in the light of his torch, and two people smiling into the camera.

--

Jon stood at the edge of the water, his toes just out of reach of the grasping waves. Without glancing back he knew Martin stood behind him, looking past Jon’s shoulder at the choppy waters. 

“Do you think we should get inside?” Jon asked, watching the waves grow larger in the distance. Cold lapped over the top of his feet, and he shivered.

Martin inhaled quietly and said nothing.

“I wouldn’t mind it. It’s too cold out here.”

Exhale.

Jon turned around, the water reaching his ankles. “Martin?”

He still stood just out of reach, eyes blank behind dark frames. The house loomed tall, taller than it ever should be, and empty over his shoulder. A gaping mouth, the front door swung in the gale.

“Let’s go inside.” Jon reached out a hand for Martin to take, but it was left to hover as Martin turned and walked up the rocky shore.

The water brushed up against his mid-calf as he attempted to follow, clinging so hard to his skin that he couldn’t lift his leg.

“Martin, wait, something’s- something’s wrong-” He grabbed at his knee with both hands and yanked upwards. Nothing. The water clung, nearly tearing the skin for the effort he put into pulling. Looking up, Jon yelled again, “Would you-”

The man continued to walk and reached the front steps of the empty house without turning.

Something began to crack in his chest. Another yank, but the water swelled and pulled him down by the hands, forcing him onto his knees. He looked up, sweat and sea dripping down his face. “Please! Whatever is going-”

Martin stopped just short of the empty blackness of his home and turned to look over his shoulder. From that distance Jon could barely see the expression on his face, if there was one at all. It was too far to tell anymore. But he’d stopped. Maybe- 

The water was at his neck. He couldn’t even wrench his hands above the water to flail, but he had to see, had to hear, had to have enough of himself above water for Martin to grab. 

Martin’s mouth moved.

The water dragged him down, filling his eyes and lungs with salt.