Chapter Text
It had been a while since Jon had a cigarette. He’d stopped smoking not long after he started working at the institute, about 5 years ago. And now here he was, having a goddamn smoke.
In all honesty he had forgotten how much it burned; it was a good burn though. A much-needed burn after what he’d learned.
He flipped the black lighter between his fingers, tracing the engraved edges of the web design with his thumb. Spiders. They turned up often enough during statements that he was sure they must be related to one of the entities. Not to mention how he had received it. This lighter was definitely gifted by one of those things, those “gods”, those manifestations of whatever these beings were supposed to represent.
Why was it given to him? What purpose or significance could this possibly have?
“There's still so much I don’t know yet.” Jon said to himself, looking out into the dimming evening.
From where he stood, on a small designated smoking balcony on the first floor (there were only a few of those in the building, none anywhere near the archives of course. Elias didn’t like fires near the archives.), he could see people moving through the streets below him, chatting with each other, or taking a peek at their phones. All of them so utterly unaware of the strange things going on in this world. Would one of them come knocking on his office doors a few weeks from now? Telling him tales of the supernatural? Of whatever horrific thing happened to them? Would one of them die at the hands of one of those things before they could ever even reach the institute with their story?
He took a deep, long drag from his cigarette, letting the burn seep deep into his lungs.
He wanted, no, needed to know more. Part of him desired to immediately go back inside, ask all the questions he still had left to ask. To understand in agonising detail what was going on. Another part of him was smart enough to realise that his mind needed a break. Leitner could wait, what were the chances of something going horribly wrong in the short amount of time it took him to take his smoke?
Apparently, they were quite high. He’d only been gone for a couple of minutes, twenty at most. Yet by the time he re-entered his office, the floor was painted a scarlet red, and there, in the middle of a pool that reeked of iron, lay what remained of Jurgen Leitner.
The walls of his office seemed to close in on him as he forgot how to breathe. His vision becoming blurry at the edges, his skin crawling, as if the worms were trying to burrow themselves back in. He knew that happened months ago, Jane Prentis was dead, that chapter was over. But that didn’t matter to his body.
How long had he stood there? Seconds? Minutes? Hours? It felt like hours. His legs not knowing whether to stay in place, collapse in on themselves or start running.
Leitner was dead. Someone — or something — had killed him. The scene was brutal, whoever had done this clearly wanted no chance of him surviving. He needed to get out of here, he needed to get away, before the same would happen to him.
He hadn’t seen anyone on his way back in. Who knew where the murderer was? Or who it was? Elias... It had to have been Elias. Or maybe... No, that not-Sasha was trapped, he saw it being trapped. Could it have escaped? Was it here now? Watching him, stalking him?
Unaware of his own movements, he heard a slight squelching sound. The feeling of a thick, slippery fluid under his shoes finally managed to snap him out of the trance he was in.
Forcing himself to move, Jon turned around and ran towards the streets of London. The light had almost completely gone by now, the cold February air seeping deep into his bones. He barely noticed it. He was too preoccupied with making sure he wasn’t next.
By the time he reached his street in South Chelsea, another cigarette had been used up. His mind was filled with nothing and yet everything all at once. Fumbling through his pockets, in search of his keys, a sudden realisation struck him. If someone were to come looking for me, my flat would be the first place they’d look. I can’t be here. I need to go, go where? Somewhere, anywhere. His head hurt.
Would Elias… Can’t risk it. I’m NOT going to end up like Gertrude.
Before he knew it, his feet were already dragging him somewhere else. Further into the night.
He wasn’t sure where he was going, or how long he was walking for. His mind was taking him in circles. What reason could Elias have for killing Jurgen Leitner? What reason would anyone have, really? Sure, he had been a terrible person but Leitner was old, and practically harmless now, wasn’t he? Not to mention he could have helped me! He could have explained things, given me answers. Surely Elias must have known? Is he trying to keep me in the dark? Why? What is he trying to achieve by any of this?
He turned a corner, nearly walking into some tired-looking man and his dog. Could Martin and Tim be in danger too? Are they part of it? No, not Martin. Tim should be at home, I sent him home. he shook his head, trying to clear it. They’re not involved. I know they aren’t involved. Do I know they aren’t? Do I just not want them to be? What if-
Before he could finish his thoughts, the distant sound of a police siren popped something else into his head. There is a dead body at my desk.
His colleagues and Elias might be the least of his worries.
He needed to be off the streets. Sooner or later, they’d come looking for him. Of course they would! It’s his office. Where would I go, where can I go?
The street lights made him uncomfortable. It felt like there was a spotlight shining down on him. It made him feel watched, was he being watched? He did… belong to The Eye, didn’t he? Was it watching now? Following his every move? Where even was he going? Would it matter where he went?
It was only by the time he turned the corner of Lansdowne Way and South Lambeth Road that he realised where he had wandered off to. He stood in front of a narrow brown-grey converted house. He had been here before, a few times. During his… “investigations” into his coworkers these past few months.
He wasn’t sure how good an idea it would be to… drag him into this. He wasn’t sure if he’d even be willing to help after… He shouldn’t help him, if he was smart.
Martin certainly wasn’t who he’d expected himself to turn to, but who else did he have? Sasha was… Sasha is dead. No point in trying to deny that any longer. Tim would definitely report him to the police if he showed up at his flat again, before he’d even have the chance to explain himself. And he didn’t really have any family living nearby. He also didn’t really have any friends. Not ones he’d talked to in the past 3 years at least. He chuckled to himself, a bitter one. I don’t have anyone. Figures why Elias picked me for this job. Who would even notice if I disappeared, other than my closest colleagues. And in all honesty, at this point would they care if I disappeared?
His mind briefly wandered to Georgie, they hadn’t left on the best of terms but, she might still be willing to hear him out at least. He sighed, last time he checked though, she lived in Newham now. Maybe if he had thought about it earlier, he could’ve caught a bus, but at this hour, that was no longer an option. He could always call a taxi, or drive himself. He had a car, after all. He grimaced at the thought of how traceable he’d be. Not the best plan of action to take, if he wanted to avoid having the police breathe down his neck.
Martin really was his best option, for now at least.
He walked up to the front porch, ringing the bell of his coworker’s flat. No answer. More urgently, he rang again. Still no answer. It was quite late, and hadn’t Martin mentioned something about the wiring for his doorbell being faulty a few days ago? At what point would it be appropriate to just enter the building?
Trying the handle, he was surprised when the old wooden door slowly gave way, creaking open. It hadn’t been locked, apparently. All the better for him –the last thing he needed was a warrant for breaking and entering on top of being a murder suspect. Besides, he didn't have a hairpin on him, so picking the lock would have been quite difficult either way. He would have done it, if he needed to of course.
He made his way to the staircase at the end of the tight hallway. The walls were plastered with an honestly poor choice of yellow wallpaper. Each floor had up to three flats, four floors in total, including the basement. Martin lived on the first floor, in a small flat facing the street. His windows were covered with cheap blinds that were slightly see-through, and looked into what was most likely his living room.
That’s information Jon really shouldn’t know, given he had never been invited over, yet knew anyway.
The stairs themselves were an absolute safety hazard. They were too far apart and the paint was chipping away, leaving bare splintered wood visible. He was pretty sure one of the steps had started to rot as well. He needed to take note of that, wouldn’t want to fall down if things went south.
As he got to Martin’s flat, his stomach did this weird flip. He hated being in this position, asking Martin of all people for help. He had to give him credit where credit was due though, he really had been less of a nuisance since the Prentis incident. And… had been quite useful for investigations as well.
He reminded himself that he didn’t really have any other options, and took a deep breath as he knocked. The flat was silent, eerily so. What time was it? Would he be asleep?
He was pretty sure Martin should be home, in order for his plan to work he couldn’t have his archival assistants near the institute. Of course his idea to destroy the table was terrible to begin with, but that was besides the point. Martin didn’t really do a lot outside of work, from what he’d observed. So he must be sleeping. Should he keep knocking? See if maybe it wakes him up?
And remind him of Jane Prentis keeping him locked in for nearly 2 weeks? He shuddered, even he could understand how terrible that idea would be. And how much it would lower his chances of getting the help he needs.
He could always… He tried the handle, naturally, this one was locked, and if he actually wanted Martin to help, he really shouldn’t break in.
So what now? Look for another solution? Wait for Martin to wake up? Better make himself comfortable then.
Jon sank to the floor, leaning his back against the wall, keeping his eyes locked on the door to Martin’s flat. Exhaustion was coming over him, as the adrenaline was slowly leaving his system. How long had he been awake? He hadn’t really slept last night, he couldn’t. Or… the nights before that. He couldn’t drift off though.
Have they found Leitner by now? Is the police already looking for me? What if they check here, or come to question Martin? Am I even safe here? Is anywhere safe? Are they watching me?
His mind brought him back to the place it had been in for the last few months, as he sat there, waiting. The world minding its own business as the night slowly crawled past. Waiting for his coworker to wake up, to save him from this mess he’s in. Unaware of the two men running for their lives through impossible, winding corridors. A place where time stops working, where the senses stop functioning as they should. Exhausted and famished, not sure if they’ll ever make it out alive.