Chapter 2
There are moments where one goes through a section of life in a daze, unable to perceive reality as they glide through the step-by-step process they regularly abide by.
Jon didn’t quite know when he ended up at the hospital, nor did he entirely remember the journey there. He had grumbled something to the nurse on the phone about how he probably wasn’t the best person to take someone from the hospital, which was shut down when he couldn't give a valid reason why.
So now he stood in the elevator on the way up to where Elias Bouchard, possibly Jonah Magnus, who should technically be dead.
As the doors opened, the pit in his stomach dropped deeper while nausea wrought his head. Nurses and doctors hurried past a cacophony of patients screaming and crying, family members soothing and weeping and telephones ringing.
A fervent energy overtook him as his fingers rapped against his thighs. It could be Jonah Magnus in there. The Jonah Magnus he had thought for the few hours between the end of the apocalypse to the present as finally dead. Maybe he should have called someone. Told them what was going on. However there was no one to call. Georgie and Melanie most likely wouldn’t pick up, Basira would tell him not to show up, and Martin…
It wasn’t worth thinking about.
He had to backtrack when he realised he had passed the room with the possible Jonah Magnus inside. Even then, it took all of Jon’s willpower to move from standstill and actually knock on the door.
“Decent.” Was called out in the voice that caused his hands to shake, the rotten smell of bile choking his mouth and nose. Still, he had to push on.
The door whined as a nurse and a figure lying down was revealed.
The nurse turned to him.
“You must be Jonathan Sims. We talked on the phone.”
“Jonathan Sims? Who the hell is that?” Moaned the figure in the bed. “I thought you said you contacted someone from The Magnus Institute.”
“He is,” Nurse Sean frowned. “Records say he’s Head Archivist.”
“No, I know who the Head Archivist is and it is definitely not ‘Jonathan Sims’. Look, why don’t you call up James Wright, he runs the whole thing, he hired me and I doubt he would want trouble from the Bouchards.” It was said so matter-of-factly it was almost… sad.
Jon cleared his throat.
“Gertrude Robinson… quit. Recently. I’m her replacement.” Why was he doing this? He didn’t need to. He could’ve just said he only worked in research like he used to, or that he had quit working at The Magnus Institute himself.
The man in the bed opened his eyelids.
“Shit, I forgot.” His face clenched and flushed with … anger? Embarrassment? Either way, Jon’s sudden gasp was definitely heard.
“You don’t have eyes.” Jon blurted out. The man frowned.
“Really?” He said with sarcasm dripping from every syllable. “I hadn’t noticed. What would I do without you, Jonathan Sims?”
“R-right. Sorry. I just… you really are Elias Bouchard aren’t you?”
It was probably the wrong thing to ask considering he got glares from both people in the room.
Thank god for Sean, who had decided to ignore it. “Ok well, we just need the release forms signed and then he should be good to go.”
———
The awkward silence was only broken when who was quite possibly the real Elias Bouchard asked, “What the fuck did you mean by ‘You are Elias Bouchard, aren’t you?’” In the cab to Jon’s apartment.
Jon shuffled in his seat. “It’s, uh, it’s a long story.” He decided on, “I’ll tell you when we get to my place.”
It was nowhere near the answer Elias wanted, that much was obvious without the agitated huff. However the world was only just beginning to work again and Jon did not want to regale a cab driver, who probably had just been through horrific torture, with the gory details on how the apocalypse had come to be.
“Can’t believe Gertrude quit, though. Old hag seemed like she was staying in the goddamned archives forever.” Elias sighed.
“Oh. Uh. She, uh, didn’t quit.”
“Excuse me, what.”
“It’s a long story.”
Elias managed to hit Jon in the shoulder.
“You do not get to say that again, especially since the only reason I’m allowing you to be roommates with me is that you said she quit!” He seethed.
“Fine! She didn’t quit, she died. I moved departments to replace her. Happy?”
“No.”
Jon rubbed his shoulder. God, was he babysitting a bratty toddler or something? He could remember the statement about Elias Bouchard when he has first reached the Panopticon and it had understated how much of an arrogant ass he was.
The cab stopped abruptly and it wasn’t too long before the unlikely pair was sat across from each other in Jon’s apartment.
“Tell me everything.” Elias’ brows furrowed, lips pursed. Jon exhaled.
“Right. Okay.
Technically it started when Jonah Magnus founded The Magnus Institute. The Institute was for research on these otherworldly beings known as The Fears. There’s fourteen of them, but for the sake of simplicity, I’ll just tell you about The Eye, or The Ceaseless Watcher, considering it was the patron of The Institute. Jonah’s goal was to bring The Eye into our reality. If he could do that, he could live forever.”
“But he didn’t.” Elias interrupted, “Why is this relevant?”
“I’m getting there,” Jon pinched the bridge of his nose.
“Basically, Jonah figured out how to hop between bodies. He wasn’t the only one doing so, but he managed to do it for two hundred years.”
“Christ, imagine having your body just… stolen like that.” It took more effort than Jon thought to stifle a snort.
“About that, his most recent body was yours and as you he killed Gertrude Robinson, Jurgen Leitner, probably a few more and also used me to orchestrate the whole apocalypse.”
The silence lay heavy in the air.
“Jonathan Sims, you’re fucking with me.”
“I am certainly not fucking with you. The apocalypse just ended a few hours ago.”
Once again, the silence.
“I gotta piss.”
The change in subject managed to startle Jon for a few seconds longer than he would like to admit.
“I’m sorry, what?”
Elias stood up, tracing his hands along the table, feeling his way towards the wall.
“I gotta piss. Where’s your bathroom?”
“Uh, second door to your left. Do you-“
“Fuck no, you’re not helping me piss.” Elias glared in his general direction. The knock on the front door was not a moment too soon.
Jon scrambled to get the door.
It was Martin.
“Ok, Jon, I’ve had some time to think,” He started before Jon could get a word in, “And it’s not really about you going behind our backs for the plan literally everyone else vetoed, it’s that you broke our promise to take care of yourself, and I know. I know how biased that is coming from me, but I want to get better and I want you to get better.”
“You’re right. And I’m sorry. I know it wasn’t the right decision to make now. It was wrong of me to force my choice onto the rest of you and it is within your rights to be angry.” It was a weak apology. Brutally pathetic.
But Martin’s shoulders relaxed a bit. “Thanks. For recognising that at least. Look, can I come inside and we can talk a bit-
A crash.
“Ow! Motherfucker!” Jon’s eyes widened at the sound of Elias Bouchard crashing into his table. Alternately, Martin’s eyes narrowed.
“Jon,” he asked ever so calmly, “Please tell me you do not have a somehow alive Jonah Magnus in your apartment.”
Jon swallowed, “I do not have a somehow alive Jonah Magnus in my apartment.
“I have a somehow alive Elias Bouchard in my apartment.”