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Martin says goodbye.
Georgie does not, and neither does Jon. She thinks carefully about the words she speaks, now that she knows their power. Jon appreciates this, here at the end.
There are Archivists (colleagues) in their path, blocking their way. They’re you, they’re what you might become - but they aren’t, because Jon’s managed to do what none of them could. He is the Archive and they are shadows and dust, forever doomed to guard the tower and never truly know the favor of their God. And they will heed his call.
Ceaseless Watcher, see your servants approach. Herald their arrival and bid them welcome into our your sanctum.
They move. Jon and Martin start their climb.
It’s dizzying, their ascent. Jon can feel the power thrumming heavily in his veins as they grow closer. The tunnels, while not so cut off as Upton House, were so numbing. He felt pitiful, mundane, sapped of all energy. And this is his world, isn’t it? He should never have to feel that way. Jon feels guilty for this thought, of course. He’s felt guilty all his life, that will never change. But now he feels powerful, and that is altogether different.
He answers the call, accepts the gentle but insistent tugging. It speeds his steps and devours his fear and it feels so terribly good. There’s a voice but it’s distorted by a familiar static; if he focuses hard Jon thinks he hears Elias’s Jonah’s voice, but he can’t be too sure. It’s all the same now.
Martin calls to him, tells him to slow down. He tempers his excitement, tries to keep it light. Corrects his Shakespeare. He feels guilty for enjoying this, despite his terror. Martin’s his reason. Martin keeps him grounded. Martin’s right behind him- no he isn’t. Jon pauses.
The door that bars them from Elias’s office is the same as it always was, but on a nightmare scale. His fingers itch to reach out, he’s so close, he wants to see but then- of course.
Rosie.
She’s always barred his way. From his time as a researcher, to his promotion as Head Archivist and even now, trapped in a hell of her own making. He regards her with a strange mix of pleasure and pity; she doesn’t deserve this, none of them do. But the familiarity soothes him.
They need an appointment. Martin scoffs, tries to get through to her. Jon insists. She buzzes Jonah with some reluctance, and where Jon expects to hear the crisp, clear voice he knows so well, there is nothing but static.
But Rosie understands this static. Is Jonah even speaking to her? Or is she hearing an echo of times past, an eternal chorus of ‘Send him right in’ or ‘We’ll need to reschedule.’ It would be fitting.
She refuses them once again. Jon relents, drags Martin away. The Eye has a gift for him, one last statement before he sees what could be the face of his God made visible. He never thought much of Rosie, never really knew her.
But now he will.
Jon sees her- a woman fast approaching middle age with nothing but the ruins of a failed marriage and a need to start over guiding her hand. Elias, young but so very old, staring down with cold grey eyes.
So why do you want this job, Ms. Zampano?
How strange. Even after all this time, Jon never knew her last name.
She needs money, she needs something to do, she instead says she’s curious and tells herself it’s a lie but is it, really? She’s always had a wild imagination. Her mind goes to the strangest of places and yet she does nothing, nothing about it.
Jon watches as he enters the picture. So young, he thinks, but then again it had only been two years ago, hadn’t it?
The things they said about him in the break room.
He knew of it peripherally, but it didn’t make it hurt any less. Snickers when he passed by a room of former colleagues in an ill-fitting suit, hair gelled within an inch of its life. He remembers he bought new shoes when he got the promotion. They didn’t match any of his clothes. Everyone knew what a fool he was. Once, an email went around, forwarded to him by accident (or perhaps not). The first few replies left a sour taste in his mouth, and he deleted it before finishing. He buried his head in the sand, in more ways than one.
The sort of things that passed across Mr. Bouchard’s desk about him.
Jon wonders how many complaints Elias ignored. He only concerned himself with the most important ones, god forbid they anger the donors. But now he sees the stack filed away in a folder that will never be opened. In a strange, perverse sort of way, Elias was the only one on his side. The only one who wanted him. How sad.
Insecure, aggressive, desperate to be taken seriously.
I don’t want to hear this- but he does and he speaks it for his God to hear and perhaps Martin, only steps away. It sounds like a confession Jon doesn’t mean to make. He knows how pathetic he was, he can’t change it or take it back. Just a bark with no bite, Martin told him in those precious few weeks at the cottage.
He watches as Sasha- that’s Sasha, the real Sasha, scared but brave and angry as she rushed down the corridor. That’s her voice, not clouded by the static of a tape but just in the other room, if only Rosie would open the goddamn door he could finally see her-
But the Eye gives, and the Eye takes away. This is Rosie’s story; not his, not Sasha’s. The worms come, Sasha is gone, Daisy drags him past Rosie and he feels her pang of sympathy more than he sees it; Rosie keeps her face impassive, even when paralyzed with terror. Melanie and Tim- Tim, angry and whole- pass by for but a moment, and Rosie watches, waits, perfect servant of the Eye that she is, perfect backup plan. Nosy Rosie.
Peter Lukas is here, smiling his empty smile but now Peter Lukas is dead, Jon made sure of that. He thinks he understands what Daisy felt; the call of the blood, the satisfaction behind a finished hunt. The thrill of his first kill soon replaced with fear and loathing and oh god, what have I done?
And now here they are. Rosie sits and waits for guests that never come until they do, now there’s two monsters on her doorstep side by unholy side. But Rosie knows monsters well.
Mr. Sims, was it?
Yes, yes! That’s his name. Sometimes he’s shocked to find he still has one. Martin’s Jon is not the same. Sims- that was his father’s name. His mother’s name. His grandmother’s. He can’t put a face to any of them anymore but he wants to hold on to that remnant of his childhood, lonely and sad as it was. His name is Jonathan Sims, and he’s here to see Jonah Magnus.
Jonah Magnus sees. Jonah Magnus can do nothing but see now, forever tangled in his own web of fear made manifest again and again and again, a perpetual cycle, an exquisite agony. It’s a sickness, like Jordan Kennedy said, but it’s a sickness that Jon would weep to have if only for a moment. Jonah got what he wanted, but for all of his Sight he could never know what the outcome of that desire would be. He’s one with the eye now.
He’s won.