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Tim was gone. Martin was gone. Basira… well, she hadn’t left yet. But like Martin, she might as well have abandoned her, running mysterious errands and leaving her alone in the Archives with frustrating frequency.
Melanie was spending too much time in her head. Stewing on bad decisions, becoming increasingly angry at the position she was in. She might as well have been right there with Elias, stuck behind bars as she paced in her enclosure. It was like Tim what had told her one night when Jon had run off to play stalker and Martin was off brewing tea.
“You can’t quit, you know,” he’d said. “Works bollocks all if you try.”
“Yeah, right,” she’d scoffed. He’d scowled and stomped off.
She should have listened.
And screw it, maybe she was a bit lonely. She wanted to rely on Georgie more, but she wasn’t about to pull Georgie down to her level. Let her have her peace, even if Melanie felt the burn of cold dread and even colder frustration.
It was evening, and she really ought to have been away, but Georgie was off at a thing and Melanie had nothing better to do. She wasn’t doing work, but she was in the Archives anyway, glaring at a folder like it might do something. Maybe record itself—why not? Ghosts were real enough.
“Hey, Archives Ghost,” she said. “Finish these transcripts.”
She felt stupid, then a bit scared as she heard the creak of wood. A good scared, the kind that drove her to investigate the paranormal in the first place. When she didn’t see anything when she looked around, she just felt stupid again.
For a moment, she hoped Martin would pop in and offer her some tea. He was kind of annoying, and she suspected he was less a pushover than he seemed. She knew full well what emotions could be hidden behind a smiling façade from her time on the media circuit. Adding what Basira called “spooky” to the mix, all bets were off.
Not that Martin was spooky. Probably would be later, once the Lonely got him with its foggy bullshit. They were all marked in some way or another, inescapably chained to a dread power.
Even her.
She stared at her fingers. A half-moon of bare nail was visible under the dark purple polish. With a sigh, she stood, aiming to head to the kitchenette to make herself some tea. Instead, something caught her eye. The door to the tunnels.
“Hm.”
She probably shouldn’t. It was supposed to be safe from the Eye, but did that make it safe from the rest of them? But Melanie’s brain was boiling, something about this night getting under her skin, and she thought, “Why not?”
So she headed to the tunnels with a torch. When she looked around, it was the same as ever, just as the Archives were the same as ever. Maybe that was part of the frustration—everyone left, and everything was horrible, and nothing ever changed.
A flash of yellow caught her eye. She spun, the light of the torch revealing a door. Melanie’s heart sped up; that door should not have been there. She debated knocking before it swung open.
“You,” breathed Melanie. It was still so strange that her mind registered it with surprise, even when she knew full well she stood before the Distortion. Jon had ranted about her readily enough.
(Jon was gone.)
“Well, well!” Helen said. Her voice hummed, layers of voices stacked upon one another in a way that gave Melanie a sense of vertigo. She shook her head clear, Helen smiling widely as she did so. “To what do I owe this visit?”
Good question. “I’m not going inside,” Melanie declared.
Helen held up her long-fingered hand to her chest, pursing her lips in a mock pout. “Is that what you think of me?”
“Yeah.”
“A pity. I thought we could be friends.”
Melanie snorted, even as a part of her wanted just that. A stupid part, but why else was she in the tunnels, alone, talking to a monster? “Jon said I shouldn’t trust you.”
Helen’s teeth were sharp behind her smile. “But…?”
“I don’t trust easily.”
“Very wise.”
“Besides,” Melanie continued, “I don’t listen to gits.”
Helen laughed like tinfoil toothpaste. “I think that’s a marvelous rule,” she said. “With so many around, you hardly have to listen to anyone!”
“Mm,” hummed Melanie noncommittally.
As long as she was careful, this was fine.
She was fine.