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The first time a letter arrived, Jonah thought it was a trick. A silly play on his sentiments, perhaps orchestrated by the main Fairchild or even Rayner. Not Peter, it wasn’t his style and the man ought to be way too busy to write him anything, really. If his semi-voluntary imprisonment wouldn’t be both this ironic and – honestly – quite humiliating, it could have been almost funny. In the same way, the celebratory ‘get better soon’ card Annabelle Cane had sent to a certain confounding medical wonder had been his type of humor. Georgina had of course both torn it to shreds and burned it after confirming that none of the archival assistants had left it there. It had been a tasteful joke that never quite found its target – and probably wasn’t supposed to if he looked both at the sender and the audience. It could be seen as a subtle wink of somebody in on the plan. A punchline that could have turned embarrassing in hindsight and, of course, gentle confirmation for himself. He was on the right path and now that Jon had woken up, he was also one step ahead in his plans.
The letter, though, was an entirely different matter. Someone hinting at knowing his past, maybe even a hilariously inept excuse for blackmail. A misguided idea and confrontation in a game that Jonah – quite frankly – excelled at. So, there wasn’t any reason to do anything but chuckle at the attempt.
That was until he realized who the letter actually came from.
It was that moment that he realized: the joke was truly at his expense. Maybe it was a simple coincidence. A fluke of remarkable luck. In what direction, though… that was yet to be discovered.
At least Jon hadn’t made the mistake of putting his own address on the thing. Maybe Jonah would have actually thrown it away. If not out of suspicion, then because of the insulting thoughtlessness that single action would have shown. But at least one lesson in caution had been learned. The work was still sloppy, of course. The handwriting on the envelope was easily recognizable and the smell of dust, old paper and long forgotten secrets were too prevalent to ever ignore. Jonah could not deny the desire to inhale deeply and physically take in the little part of his institute, that he could now cling onto – even if he denied himself in the end. It felt a little too indulgent… and perhaps also a tiny bit too dangerous. This hint of the past, spec of the present and promise of a glorious future. By all accounts, it could have been another statement and update on the archive and its Archivist. Wouldn’t that be a treat?
Was there even another option but to answer the call? Jonah could hope so, might even almost believe it but he hadn’t really noticed when he tore through the envelope and got the thin printer paper out. No official form, no stamp of the institute. Just a sole piece of paper.
So it wasn’t a statement. That should have been a disappointment, if it wasn’t piquing his curiosity in a completely different way. The letter was hurriedly written with big and fast strokes, penwork, not even the impersonal typing of a laptop, that Jonah himself started to prefer in recent time. There was the charm of picturing Jon’s fear to use the institutes printer and risk being found out by one of his… confidants. Or maybe he had another reason for his discretion and tried to avoid being noticed by Jonah’s own gaze. Did he write this in the tunnels? That would explain his own surprise. His inability to see the writing process. Maybe it was a trick after all, thought up by the entire mismatched group of misguided wannabe-heroes. Another attempt to use the ever growing power of his Archivist against him. A power, that was gleaming through the ink, subtle, uneven and desperate, but a promise of everyone’s apocalypse and Jonah’s own paradise.
As dreadful as it was inviting.
It could still be a trap but it was also one answer to a thousand uncertainties.
So, naturally, Jonah began to read.
Elias,
I don’t even know how to address you right now. I don’t know if I want to.
Maybe you can tell me why I’m writing this. Not that you would. Don’t ever think that I’m stupid enough to ask you.
Do you even know how difficult it is to get a letter through security? It is a pain reaching you! And here I thought you already specialized in making it seriously annoying to get anything to or – God forbit! – out of you.
That was always the plan, wasn’t it?
Was it also part of the plan to let me die?
“Yes”, whispered Jonah in the quiet of his own cell. The word slithered out of his lips, tasting sweet, with a hint of a sharp and bloody edge on his lips. Jonah noticed with a start that his body had tensed. Slow and steady waves prickled in the same rhythm as his stolen heart. His eyes were glued to the page and through all the worry, suspicion and blessed fear, Jonah couldn’t have been any more proud.
You could have at least had the decency to leave this place in a better state. Lukas? Really? Why? Was it the money? Or just vindictiveness?
“Neither, really. Though both reasons are a bonus. There is a certain elegance in getting rid of multiple problems with one solution.”
Jonah’s mouth was still moving on its own. Almost dreamily. Maybe even longingly. It was a rare and rather pleasant rarity to speak one’s mind so openly. Even if forced by letter.
Not that it could lead to anything significant. This was a private little moment after all. Nothing wrong with enjoying it. There was nobody but him to witness his confessions.
Which… almost made this entire ordeal sad again… didn’t it? It would have been quite the sight, to have Jon stand there in front of him. A true avatar… if not actually fully realized quite yet. But still a sight to behold, Jonah was all too eager to admit. He could picture them in the same back and forth with him sitting at his old desk, sharing a little moment together. It would have been worth it, if only to see the other man’s exasperated frown and eager hunger. Jon’s willfulness to devour every word and any scrap of information he could tear from his boss and captor.
But it was not to be. Give an inch and… who knows what Jon could take from him now?
There will be a time and a place, Jonah had to soothe himself. A new world where all the cards were laid bare and everything gained that could have been gotten out of their carefully planned dance.
It’s not even like the man knows how to keep us safe. Not that you ever did. Did you know that we were attacked again?
“Yes”
Do you even mind at all?
“Yes, but not in the way you would think.”
Why do you not even want to see me? What did I do wrong?
“Nothing. You are doing perfectly well. Spectacular even.”
But there was no one here to say the words to. They were swallowed by barren walls, the aftertaste still lingering. Dull and meaningless, after all.
“What would you do if you knew?”, Jonah wondered aloud, his own question reaching absolutely nobody. The letter continued:
I should probably burn this page. I’m making an absolute ass of myself, aren’t I?
“Only a little bit.”
Well, at least I can hope that you suffer, too. I hope you’re having a shit time. I hope that Lukas rearranges your furniture, too, and throws all of your favorite pens into the garbage. It would serve you right.
Oh, Jon had absolutely no idea!
Just prove me wrong and write something back! Maybe I’ll change my mind. Maybe I won’t delete all your Microsoft projects. Don’t think I can’t Know the password to your cloud!
Kind regards,
Jon
The second time a letter arrived, Jonah was less suspicious but more… sentimental. One could hardly call this an exchange. Three times makes a pattern after all and a conversation usually involved the two parties talking to each other but… This had a personal touch. There weren’t many visitors, aside from a certain detective, and some spare updates from Lukas who obviously was very keen on organizing the institute in private. And when was the last time he got a correspondence via letters? It simply wasn’t useful anymore.
But it had its charm. There was always nostalgia. Jonah couldn’t deny that he missed the physicality of paper. There was, after all, a reason, that he had continued collecting written statements for as much and long as it was reasonable.
Apart from the trouble digital outlets had with the supernatural. But it’s not like Jonah couldn’t control the flow of data. He would have figured something out if he really had wanted to.
But holding onto something with your hands, was rather pleasant. Even if it was completely futile. No matter what you kept – memories, notes, bones – the person behind them would vanish. Watch them leave or watch them die, what was the difference in the end? There was barely any reason to fear one above the other. The guilt would fade in time.
Jonah planned to always be the one remaining. He accounted for it.
Well… with one exception. But even then… he did expect Jon to follow his namesake and leave the moment he got the full picture of Jonah’s own attitude towards other people and the world at large.
Even when Jonah did not quite know what eternity and Jon’s curiosity would bring. How long he could be strung along with a hint of secrets and maybe even companionship.
It was still reassuring that he could keep a memento that was entirely his.
This time he opened the letter more carefully, all in the name of preservation. His new treasure was contained by the same kind of printer paper, but the writing looked even sadder than it had last time. There were entire crossed out lines, most of them scribbled out multiple times like someone really tried to hide them from Jonah’s eyes. The rows of text were uneven and the paper looked like it had been balled up with a fist at one point. But even if there definitely was the familiar pull to the paper, Jonah didn’t even need the incentive.
Dear
Elias
Do you need a formal invitation? Is there a codeword one has to send, to get you to reply to your own damn letters? What is the codeword, then? What is it? Where can I find it? I can’t even say I’m disappointed. For that I would need higher expectations.
Only meeting Basira and excluding me is ridiculous by the way. And insulting. But we are past that now, aren’t we?
“Definitely”
Though Jonah couldn’t say that he minded the nerve he appeared to have struck. Jealousy was an unbecoming emotion, but strangely endearing in this very particular case. Probably because it was intertwined with the very familiar urge, to keep all your important sources close to the chest.
Or do you want to make me squirm? Are you simply having fun being completely useless? Do you want me to beg for your help? You do know what’s going on out there and apparently your best idea is to continue being ominous. Are you actually mad because we sent you to prison? You had it coming and you know it. You know everything after all.
“Oh Jon. When have I ever been mad at you?”
Frustrated, yes. Annoyed, certainly. Disappointed, very rarely. But at this point Jonah wasn’t quite sure if anything the Archivist did could make him mad. He was simply too sure that everything would work out well in the end. It was only a matter of patience. Watching events unfold was both of their specialty after all.
I honestly have so many things to do that are more important and time-sensitive than this –
this really shitty mistake this absolute nonsense this exercise in desperation
can you read this? you probably can, you prick
– this correspondence.
But I guess it is better to write the questions out. Maybe that will alleviate some of the pressure. Maybe that will feed me you someone.
What is it like be a servant of the Eye for you?
Ah, there it was! The added pressure building up to a crescendo. Almost true compulsion, without Jon even being present. Jonah couldn’t even remember any other Archivist ever coming this far along. He hadn’t thought it possible.
It was a thrilling realization, that even now he had not been careful enough.
There was an itch reaching from the jaw through his chest and ending at the tips of his fingers. His eyes glanced only for a second from the letter, to the side of his rather small and spare desk, that still provided writing materials.
Enough, to ruin absolutely everything.
But there was always a choice. And always multiple ways to answer.
“A slow decline, along a steep hill. Natural but never entirely unavoidable. One must take the steps oneself.”
Did it hurt you? How did you stop caring?
“Distance helps. Abstraction is also a viable option. There are many ways to control your own mind.”
Why did you choose me as head Archivist?
“Coincidence, honestly. You were available and fit the criteria best.”
Do you regret your choice?
“Not one bit.”
Did you ever mourn someone who you thought you knew but didn’t?
“Hm… I don’t even think I can imagine that conundrum.”
Will you answer me?
“One day, hopefully. It would be nice, to talk again.”
Am I selfish for wanting to talk to you?
“Maybe, I wouldn’t know. Why would that be a problem? There is no reason not to be selfish in your situation. People make such a fuss about it, when your actions are simply a reasonable response to your fear.”
Well, I’m off to rummage through all your cabinets.
Have a pleasant view into my mind and life. I’m sure it’s all very amusing to you.
Jon
When Jonah was allowed to put the letter away again, his back was damp from sweat. His hands were still slightly trembling, as he pushed the letter under a pile of books. The moment it left his fingers, he wrung them together and walked a few steps, trying to get as much distance as possible from his desk. Jonah could still hear his own breath stuttering in his lungs, in shallow and fast breaths.
When was the last time he had felt this alive?
Jonah should have anticipated the danger, when the third letter arrived. Even if there was nothing special about it. Its page was contained in the same non-descript and cheaply produced envelope that one could find in any office space and made out of the printer paper Jonah now had a strange fondness for. If anything, the handwriting was less frantic, almost curtly drawn with precise and careful lettering. That should have been the hint that tipped him off. Nothing was ever carefully crafted on a first attempt or without careful consideration.
But Jonah had become accustomed to these lovely little missives too quickly. They had become something to look forward to in this surprisingly tiresome chapter of Jonah’s life. It seemed dishonest to go through the song and dance of careful suspicion. Jonah already knew that he would open the latter. That he would take another chance. Knowingly leap into an abyss he did by all means promise to stay away from.
Jonah had always been proud of his remarkable self-restraint. But it were the little things, weren’t they?
Dear Elias,
Sometimes I wish I could see you. The same way you are definitely watching me, I mean. Knowing, seeing, experiencing, understanding, you know that they are all very different things.
When I stay up at night – trying to keep the nightmares to a minimum as if that would help anyone – I remember that I don’t know you at all.
Maybe that is the missing piece. Maybe knowing that would fix me. Maybe this is the one last piece of information and then I will be satisfied.
It won’t be. But I have to dream somehow.
God, I’m so tired. When I’m awake, I don’t want to sleep. When I’m asleep I don’t want to wake up anymore.
The others don’t trust me. I don’t trust myself either. And why should I? I know what I have done. I do not know, what I’m capable of.
Am I still human, Elias? I know, I already asked you. I’m not even expecting an answer. I’m expecting nothing.
Even if it would be meaningless to know. Can I even call myself anything but a monster in any way? Is there something else for us but misery and fear?
Don’t answer that one, if you ever find the time or will to write back. I don’t need your opinion. I don’t even want to know, how I feel about it.
Maybe I’ll figure it out one day, either way. I’m good at finding things out that I never wanted to know. And who knows, I could like the answer one day.
Wish me luck,
Jon
This time there was no holding back. There was barely a question to reign in and to answer of Jonah’s own accord. Maybe that did the trick. It couldn’t have been the cry for help that he had never once been willing to answer. But only moments later Jonah was sitting at his desk, pen in hand, scribbling away. And it did feel like the right thing to do. Like Jonah’s life had finally come full circle. Like he finally came back home or at least had found a new one he could rest in. It would feel disconcerting later, if not terrifying, but in this very moment Jonah didn’t think about that. He could barely think about anything at all, while the words were drawn out of him and onto the page.
Dear Jon,
I am seeing you. And I believe all answers will come in time. You have managed to see so much for yourself! While I can’t provide guidance, I can provide my full confidence in you and your abilities.
You already know that I do not like categorizing your very being in such vacant words as human and monster. But I want you to know that you are beautiful to me. You are everything to me, my biggest hope, prize and archievement. Even your sharp edges are cut into perfection.
If this is the world in which you cannot rest, then maybe it is time for a new and better one.
With love,
Jonah
He burned the letter.
There was no way he could keep it, even when his gut and nerves screamed at him for the sacrilege of destroying the horrible truth. Jonah was too careful to let damned evidence get to him now.
It simply couldn’t be. Even if the sadness sat solemn and foggy with him, long after the ashes of his work hat burned cold. Even if he had lied: Some experiences would always hurt. Some attachments were simply unavoidable.
Jonah could only tell the truth in one awful way. One last true missive, equally glorious as devastating. One letter that would leave no page unturned and require no further explanation. One statement, that would leave the world an empty shell.
No matter the pain, there would be no more letters. Because they had been a joke and a trick and maybe the only thing that could still harm him. Maybe this Archivist wasn’t the only one good at picking themselves apart.
“Don’t worry, Jon. You will hear from me in time”, he whispered into the empty space between them. Until then he would watch and wait. At the very least, they were both good at that.