Chapter Text
Death marches.
That’s what these were: Death marches. Adam Murray, at least once a week, barged headfirst into literal death. And somehow, every single fucking time, he came out mostly unscathed, and every time, Jonah Marshall tagged along, like he’d be any help if things went south. Jonah didn’t know how he and Adam kept getting so lucky on their investigations. Adam wouldn’t agree that it was luck, of course, that they’d never really encountered an alternate, but Jonah was certain that if they ever did the two would both wind up dead by the end.
This, however, was supposedly a typical, run-of-the-mill, good old-fashioned paranormal investigation. No creepy shapeshifting death monsters or face-stealing shadow demons. Allegedly. Jonah wasn’t entirely convinced, but there was no way Adam was going to back down from something like this, and there was no way Jonah was going to waste energy trying to dissuade him when they’d need that energy for running for their lives later.
The caller, some kid Adam had the contact info of, swore he was hearing TV static in his room at night, even though he lived in an apartment and had never owned a television. He said he didn’t know if it was alternates or not, but still wanted it checked out. And since he was a follower of their social media, who else was he to call for aid but the Bythorne Paranormal Society themselves?
Jonah sighed, shifting in his seat. “So, what do you think?”
Adam didn’t glance over at him from his place in the driver’s seat. “What do you mean?”
Jonah rolled his eyes. “I’m betting, right now:” -Praying, you mean- “-no alternates. The kid’s just paranoid. Everybody is. Last night my bed creaked when I sat on it and I nearly had a heart attack.”
“I’ll take that deal,” Adam replied, grinning. It was his classic smile, the one that showed a few too many of his teeth and unsettled most people. Jonah had figured out long ago that Adam’s face wasn’t used to showing positive emotion, so when it did, it always seemed a little off. He personally thought it was endearing. “Let’s say… ten bucks?”
“It’s a bet,” Jonah agreed. He hoped, for both their sakes, that he’d be able to shoot Adam a smug grin as he shoved ten dollars into his pocket when this was all over.
They pulled up to the apartment complex a few minutes later and talked with the boy, named Noah, who explained the situation and gave them a key. He said he’d be out of town for the week, so the apartment was all theirs. Adam and Jonah set up their cameras and spent the night watching the feed from the car.
“Hearing anything?”
“I can’t tell if this is regular background noise or if it’s actually something important,” Adam took his headphones off and hummed in irritation. There was barely a beat before he made up his mind. “I’m gonna go in.” Jonah let out an exasperated sigh, as this was a classic Adam move.
“I’ll come with. Just this once,” he added quickly. “Don’t get used to me striding into death traps with you.”
“So says the one who bet ten bucks it wasn’t an alternate.”
“I said it wasn’t an alternate, I never said it couldn’t potentially kill us.”
Adam rolled his eyes, pushing open the passenger door and sliding out of the car. “Okay, c’mon.”
The two slipped quietly into the apartment and Jonah flicked on a light switch, causing Adam to flinch and blink rapidly. Immediately the duo was hit by a wall of sound, TV static combined with… was that a clock chiming?
Jonah rubbed his eyes, squinting. The entire apartment suddenly looked like he was viewing it through an analog television with the contrast turned way up, grainy and pixelated and black-and-white.
“What the fuck,” Jonah whispered, and for once, Adam remained silent.
Am I high? Jonah wondered. Did I take drugs and forget that I took drugs? Did someone give me drugs without my noticing?
“You’re… definitely seeing this too, right-?” Jonah turned around and immediately froze to the spot, eyes wide. There was a man standing nearby, one who was definitely not Adam.
“H-how did you- what are- where did you come from? How did you get into my room?!”
Jonah staggered back a step, eyes trained on the barrel of the gun pointed at his head, then shifted his attention to the man holding the firearm, momentarily unable to speak. Wasn’t he in the apartment a second ago? Who was this guy?
Hold on a second, isn’t that..?
And then it clicked. Jonah would’ve laughed, except this really wasn’t funny.
“…Mark Heathcliff?”