I could just pretend nothing is wrong. I have bigger things to worry about. It's just that in the remainder of my time at home, my mother left me 4 more voicemails, each one longer than the last. My mother never had things to say to me before. It's not even worth asking how she got my number. Despite being sent home to be away from the attack, I do not think I have returned to the Institute unscathed.
I sigh, none of this is usable. I have barely written anything. I am going to hurt myself on an artefact with the smallest of attachments to the End of all things, the least terrifying fear in my own opinion. This is just poor form.
A shiver runs down my spine. I have so much to be afraid of at this point in time. For one, my mother. I mean, yes, Elias did say he would deal with her but, the Eye is not known for getting involved. What does dealing with her even mean in this context? On top of it all, despite all my obedience and quietude, I am terrified that I will come to the end of whatever purpose I serve. Sure, he helped me with the Leitner the other day, but what happens when I no longer serve a use. I cannot let that happen. I have to become something better, something stronger, someone worth keeping around. In the end, I really am that which I do, and I am completely useless at work right now. This is pathetic.
I pull the pen back out. A pen that writes people's deaths, their ends.
I should stop. This is dangerous. I should really think of something else, like Sasha. Poor thing. I really did think she was nice. Nice doesn't last once you find yourself in this world unfortunately. A part of me wishes I got to know her better, but another is glad I did not. It is easy to let go of something unknown. I do think I will enjoy messing with this new Sasha though. I do love a good game like this one.
This is the only way. You have to keep playing, and this is the corner I backed myself into. Everything will work itself out.
This stupid pen must be broken. It won't write anything.
"Sometimes the simplest answer is the correct one."
"What?"
"Occam's razor, Helen," Elias explains with a hint of impatience. I must have been really out of it if I didn't even notice the click of his shoes against the floor as he approached.
"Razor, I hardly know her." His gaze lingers on me like usual, appraising me or seeming to. I meet his eyes, the subdued lighting casting shadows that dance across his face.
"Helen, what are you doing?" He approaches me at my corner. He does not tear his eyes away from me, but he does not corner me either.
"Making a joke?" I offer, a half-smile playing on my lips. The atmosphere is heavy with unspoken truths. Elias, however, doesn't seem amused. I will get something out of him one of these days.
"We need to talk." The air tightens around us, and I can feel the weight of the Institute's secrets closing in around me. Here it comes. "Why did you listen to them so many times?" Ugh, he is so demanding.
"Listen to what?" I resist the urge to roll my eyes. Elias's scrutiny can be unnerving, his gaze a probing force.
"The voicemails."
"I did no such–"
"Helen, the truth."
"I was trying to decide if it was worth asking for your assistance, or if I should face her myself." I am far too aware how little order there is to area down here at this moment. All this trouble to hide diminishes my space.
"I already said I would." Kill me for believing a promise from his lips was not genuine.
"I know."
"Then why."
I glance away–it would seem I have lost–the room's dim lighting softens all the sharp corners of this area. The truth, a creature lurking in the corners of my consciousness, threatens to break free.
"She's my problem," I admit. It feels like it is just me and him at this moment. The artefacts that usually whisper and cry out to me grow mute.
"And you mine, it would seem." I swallow hard, and I am suddenly reminded of the stunt I pulled to fake my poor health. "Put that thing away. I'll make you a cup of tea." He tosses the pen into one of my boxes. Then, pressing a firm hand against my shoulder, steers me out the room. My feet move with what sureness they can. I cannot help but struggle against a feeling of impending doom.
The path to his office is bright compared to the feeble lighting of my workspace. Everything seems too sharp now.
"How is your throat doing?" Time is slipping by me lately. When did we get here. I watch him stir a dark cup of tea. Time passed by so slowly in the Lonely, but so little actually happened. Now, the world races by me. I am desperate to keep up.
"It's fine." His ever watchful eyes keep me glued to my chair. Why do the chairs in his office have to be so comfortable? He placed the cup of tea in my hand, and his fingers passing briefly over mine are warm. The cup scalds my fingers. It is no hotter than it usually is. It is my fingers that are the problem. This is a game. I know it is, but it's a much kinder one than she ever played. If I play my part well enough, maybe I can fool myself into believing everything is genuine. It certainly feels real. I know it isn't, but still. It would certainly help if I knew my part, however.
"You're not disposable, Helen." My tea today is far too sweet. He never makes it too sweet. Did I become attuned to bitterness in my time away? Everything feels like it is changing. Where is my place? "Your place is here if that is what you want."
"What I want?"
"You never had a choice before. You do now." His words drift before me. They are so pretty.
Oh. I think I understand now. I do not believe it, but I understand. With this acknowledgement, I am able to peel another layer back. "I want it."
The smile that splits his lips is exhilarating, a look through a kaleidoscope. "Wonderful."
He had to have known I would say yes. Why ask at all? He is so much better than I at this game, but then again, he has been playing it for much longer. An unpleasant and muffled ringing cries out from Elias's pocket. That's my ringtone.
He presses a finger to his lips as he answers my phone. "No. This is Elias Bouchard. Yes." When did he take it? It could have been anytime between my workspace and his office. He had been all up in my personal space earlier too. I can't believe he got past me like that. "Miss Solomon, Helen is no longer within your reach. Your interests and hers no longer align, and I assure you, you don't want to cross certain lines." His tongue is forked and sharp, his teeth drip venom, and he never misses. "Yes, that is a threat, Renee." He hangs up. He holds out my phone to me.
"Can I go back to work now?" I hold onto my phone with both hands as if he will take it from me again. I didn't miss it, but I am still astonished. He can be a little bit scary. I wouldn't want to be on his hit list.
"Helen, how much do you know?"
"Like…can I do calculus and speak three languages? Or, how much do I know about the end, and not like the end, but our end," I did my best to inject my words with nonchalance. I would like to highlight the effort that pretending to be a blabbermouth requires. The creativity needed for all the lies is also pretty steep if I dare say.
"I figured you knew, but you managed to keep it a secret from me. That is why you're special." That's why he always watches me! Man, I thought he liked me, or was pretending to I guess. I was kind of into it if I am being honest. I like being wanted. That's why he looks at me that way; it really wasn't curiosity or feigned interest.
"Don't be ridiculous. I just like to keep myself entertained," I shrug, downplaying everything.
"Do you feel ready to return to work?"
"Will you be watching me?" It might be a bit ridiculous of me to find such comfort in the Eye, but it must surely make me a stronger agent of the Eye, to revel in its company. I just, I don't ever want to be alone again. I was far too alone, and the company Elias offers has rounded edges.
"Obviously."
"Then, yes." Don't look away for a single moment.
