When I get into storage today, it occurs to me that I have even more company than usual. I hear the sound of someone's weight shifting around in the distance. They can wait. I fold my coat up and tuck it into a corner, setting my gloves on top of it. I turn one of the many corners of this labyrinthine storage room to see the new Sasha examining one of the mirrors. "Can I help you?"

"This is a silly thing, isn't it." You tell me. It's Strange, just like you.

"You don't often come down here, Sash, do you need something?" I don't really like the new Sasha. I hold for a moment a distance between us, watching her. Her distorted reflection may be truer than those glasses. Why wear glasses? It's not like anyone remembers Sasha needs them.

"I was actually looking for a table. I heard you moved it."

"The ugly one? Yeah, I can show you." I walk over to her, rearranging the other mirror I had set up near it to face it once again. "I had it moved because I found it took up more space than it provided. Unsightly old thing."

I take her down a couple wrong turns on our way to the table. She clears her throat softly. "I think we went in a circle."

"Ah, my apologies. This place is just so big, you know?" I love these games that we play, I suppose I will bring it to an end though. I am not really who I used to be anymore. It was just some old fun. I moved it the other day because I felt like it. It wasn't in anyone's way. I know she's been sneaking down here to see it, so I wanted to see what she would do.

"Here it is!" I dust the table off and she looks in my direction. She looks, but she does not watch. "Would you like me to stay, or can you manage leaving on your own?"

"You can leave."

"I was just thinking about how you hated it here, so I figured you might want some company."

"I'll be alright. I remember my way around." Well then, that's the last time I try to help you.

I return to the area my colleagues and I have delegated as mine. Just my luck, I have more company. How many people will I have to dodge today? This is quite uncomfortable if I am being honest. I do not feel in the mood for these antics in particular. Sasha is touching my things, and now Jon is too. Rude.

"What brings the Archivist here?" His fingers twitch. He is more than a little bit jumpy, he tries to hide that he was messing with my things, pretending to be looking at the report I have paperclipped together on my desk. There's a few I have to bring to Elias soon.

"Your labeling doesn't make much sense on these." Wow! I cannot help it but be a little bit insulted by the venom in his voice. He really does talk like that to everyone!

"Sorry?"

"I, uh, nevermind. You wouldn't happen to have found any old tapes down here? Some got misplaced during the whole Jane Prentiss incident." The Sasha tapes.

"Things that get lost here have a tendency to stay lost. I'm sorry." I would assume this strange one destroyed them. If they possess any intelligence at all, they must have.

"My labeling system makes enough sense for Elias, you know." It is a little bit disorderly, but it makes more sense than Jon's numbering system for taking statements. Meanie.

"You, report directly to Elias?" I may have just made myself a person of interest to him. Maybe I should have demonstrated restraint.

"Don't you? He is your boss." Oh, I might as well go all in then.

"Our boss. Yeah, I guess." We have a bit of awkward small talk before he finally wanders away. Shortly after he leaves, Sasha does as well. She has been waiting for him to leave. I think she should have given it a little bit more time.

I have to finish up this last report before tea.

"Is something bothering you, Helen?" I do not have the patience for Martin today. I do not have it in me to deal with all this. Can't he just go be sad somewhere else? I just.

"Only Jon. What's his problem?"

"Oh, not you too!" Martin scampers around my space, a flighty bird searching for a place to land, occasionally dusting off a box before deciding it intimidates him. He does his best to look busy in a place he is not quite familiar enough with. "Look, Helen, I am so sorry for whatever happened. Do you think you could just forget about it? There's just some things he's struggling with after the attack, and–"

"It's fine," look at Martin making excuses for Jon, "I understand." I do. Jon is going to fall apart so many times before everything.

He sighs. What a ridiculous man! He holds a small book-shaped object wrapped in old newspapers. Oh! He came here for work this time. "So, you have a little experience with Latin, right?"

"Something like that. I am not sure how much help I will be."

"It's okay. It's okay! I just, I found this, and I was hoping you would take a look at it for me? Jon was actually going to ask you I think, but he forgot to leave it here. He asked me to come here instead." Right. Because Jon makes Martin do things he thinks suck. Okay.

I pull up a chair for Martin near my desk, giving the seat a pat. He sits like an excited puppy, and I motion for him to give it to me. "Oh, you're in work work mode now." I untuck the wrapped corners of the newspaper, careful not to tear it. The crinkling movements of the paper fills the quiet room. The clock ticks.
It is old and well-loved. The cover bears no indication of the contents of the book. It did at some point, but it was lost to Loneliness. This is one of mine, and not just any. How did they find this?

Arma virumque cano…

"Martin, this is the Aeneid."

"Really?" No, Martin. I am not sure. Actually, I think it's the King James Bible. Ugh, sometimes I just cannot stand people. It is not that I want to be alone, I just don't want to listen to people saying stupid things.

"I am certain."

"Where did you guys find it?"

"It was brought in by someone who gave a statement." The girl. I remember her.

"Is there anything you can tell me about it?"

"This book belongs to Asteria."

"I knew it!" There's an eagerness in his eyes, a hunger for knowledge that so many of them share. They revel in the mysteries, embrace the unknown. An insatiable curiosity burns bright.

"Maybe it has some supernatural power, but I do not think it is anything of concern." This book saved her life. She only found her way out because she had my book. I let her go because my fun was over, and it would upset my mom. I never thought it would make its way back to me.

"Okay, thank you!"

"Is that all?"

"Yes, I have to get back to work, but you're a blessing. Is it okay if I have it back?" I hand it back to him. I have a feeling that he will need it.

"Martin,"

"Yes?"

"Keep an eye on it since you're not leaving it with me."

"Okay?" I give him a blank look, and he holds the book close to him. "Yes, yeah, I will." If only he knew how bad things are going to get. Everything has to work itself out. I will keep them on track as best I can. I sit back in my chair. What a morning!

When Elias said my place is here, I like to think he meant in his company for fun reasons. I know there's probably not fun and mean reasons, but it is nice to be wanted. I know where he wants things to go, and I have no reason not to push us in the same direction. At some point it became 'us' before I realized. I do not know what this means for me, but I am happy to be an 'us' if I am being honest. Loneliness, that persistent specter, is held at bay when there's an 'us.' I'll delve into the mysteries, unearth the secrets, and wield the threads of fate to weave an existence that refuses to be solitary. I will do whatever it takes. I will not be Alone. I will not, and I will certainly not die that way. I will see the world crumble before I allow my mother the satisfaction of her own apocalyptic desires.

Elias. Jonah. Things to ponder. As long as 'us' persists, I am resolved to confront whatever lies in wait.

The rest of the day passes without much deviation. On my walk home, I hear the sound of far off footsteps. Is the Archivist following me? It would be so funny if this was one of the days Elias took me home. I catch myself splitting into a smile, and I stop. I must look like a goofy idiot to Jon. I am not sure yet that I would like him to characterize me that way. That Archivist. If I tell Martin, what things will he do to justify and excuse Jon's behavior to me? I pull out my phone and shoot Tim a text.

Helen
Dude. Jon has been freaky weird lately.

Tim
What did he do?

Helen
He's following me home.

Tim
Yeah, he did that to me too.

Helen
Are you joking?

Tim
No. He's probably going to take pictures of where you live and watch you sleep.

Helen

People just don't go to therapy these days.

Tim
Nope. He's driving me crazy. I cannot believe you're getting mixed up in all this too.

Helen
When you say all this…

Tim
Sasha found him scrounging through her things after hours.

Helen
(Okay to be entirely fair, that one I understand, but Tim doesn't have to know that.)
Maybe he was looking for a snack.
Yum yum, pics of Sasha and her boyfriend.

Tim
Ew!
Martin found him with pictures of my house.

Helen
Oh, so you're like serious.

Tim
Did you think I was joking?

Helen
Sometimes I can't tell!

Tim
Well, ditto.

I break away from my phone. I am finally here. It is not that hard to act like I don't know I am being followed if I am being honest. I am used to being watched now.

The lights are on when I get home, and there is a door in a wall that doesn't belong there. A low groan escapes me; even the sanctuary of home is not spared from the peculiarities of the entities and their avatars. Hastily, I secure the entry, drawing the shades tight against prying eyes. Jon must not see Michael; his presence only adds to the growing list of mysteries and potential sources of hostility.

"Helen!"

"Me!"

It seems my place is never truly my own. The mundane act of preparing soup becomes a surreal tableau as Michael perches on my countertop, an unwelcome spectator to my mundane activities. His presence, both amusing and vexing, casts a peculiar ambiance over the room.

In the kitchen, I contemplate the bizarre dynamics at play. Michael, the distorted figure, attempts a strange form of camaraderie, a blend of friendliness and irritation. The act of making soup, once a warm ritual, is now accompanied by the unsettling feeling of being observed by an otherworldly presence. My thoughts swirl in a broth of confusion, the line between the ordinary and the supernatural further blurring in the confines of my home.

"How was work today?" Clawed hands fold over a sharp knee crossed over another.

"I tried to make soup and instead had to deal with an uninvited guest."

They laugh, a dissonant sound that echoes through the room. "Oh, but none of Helen's guests are ever invited are they?"

I don't even bother grabbing a spoon. That would be another dish to clean, and I do not feel like doing more than I need to at this point in time. I am slurping my soup without abandon as he watches me with eyes like a copper wind spinner, catching every movement with eerie precision.

With my soup eradicated and my hunger sated, I clean my bowl. The crackle of Michael's distorted voice sings alongside the running water. "He's a bit old for you, you know."

If there were a camera filming somewhere, this is where I would break the fourth wall. "Aw, I didn't know you cared, darling."

"I don't but, Renee will, won't she?"

I fold my arms over my chest. "My mother? What does my mother have to do with this?"

"Silly, silly, Helen. You know I could ruin everything for you right now. She actually asked me if I would give her a hand with you." I follow the sharp edges of their fingers. That is not a hand I would want if I were her.

"And did you give her that hand?"

His clawed fingers play idly over the countertop as if to emphasize the eerie stillness. "No. I just thought it would be fun to see how you would react," he replies, the words dripping with a malevolent amusement.

"How is that treating you?"

"Not well."

"Thought so."

Their expression warps into another, the playfulness replaced by a momentary glimpse of something else. "It doesn't matter anyway after what Elias said. She knows she can't get you back."

"What do you want, Michael?"

"You don't like my company?"

"Your company is alright," I concede.

He leans back, a strange grace in his posture, yet the unsettling atmosphere remains. "Whatever, you're no fun. I need to eat as well. Goodbye." The abrupt departure leaves behind an enigmatic aura, and as Michael vanishes, its door remains.

There is a knock on my door. Michael's door swings open, and he catches my attention. "I wouldn't get that if I were you." Then he is gone, taking his door with it.