Fanfiction by Kieran 🐢

Captain Lukas was as hard and stern as ever when Salome opened the door to her hotel room, and she was more than a little surprised to see him standing there in the hallway; normally he would send someone else along to pass whatever message he had for her.

“Michael Shelley is gone,” was all he said.

            No combination of words could have stolen the air from Salome's lungs the way those four did. “What… do you mean…?” she asked breathlessly, silently begging, pleading to have misheard her estranged uncle.

            The captain huffed, clearly uncomfortable to have to be the one delivering this news. “I don't know the details. The archivist and her assistant left the Tundra, and a few hours later, the archivist came back alone.”

            “…Oh.” Salome's eyes fell to her feet from the doorframe that her gaze had been firmly fixed on, rather than her uncle's stony face. Then she shook her head and spoke softly to herself. “No… No, he promised to be safe. To come back. He promised he'd come back.”

            Peter just shrugged. “Take it up with the archivist. I’m just passing along the information.”

            Then Peter was gone, and Salome was alone.

The Distortion lay on its side, one of its arms folded beneath its head like a makeshift pillow as it stared at the emaciated young woman curled into a fragile ball on her bed. Its eyes narrowed as it studied the woman's sleeping face: pallid flesh, dark circles beneath her closed eyes, sunken cheeks, and a smattering of fading freckles across the bridge of her nose half-hidden behind overgrown and unwashed hair, which the creature saw was unnaturally beginning to turn white.

            Though the creature did not yet know why, the Distortion was drawn to this woman. Suh-low-mee Lukas. Sal. Sallie. The monster tilted its head as it stared at her unbreathing and unmoving form. Was she dead? The monster rather hoped not; there wasn't much fear to be reaped from a corpse, after all.

            The monster reached out and flicked a lock of Salome's hair out of her face, and it watched with unfamiliar eyes as the girl's lashes twitched. Alive after all.

            “What are you…?” the Distortion mused, not doing much to keep its voice down. “The memories are… unclear…”

            Salome Lukas's sunken eyes were the pale gray color of fog when they fluttered open. “You're alive…” Her voice was quiet and cracked, as if she hadn't had a glass of water in a long time.

            The Distortion laughed quietly, and Salome's dregs of life died along with the rest of her; the creature knew what she was now.

            “No, he is not,” it cooed. “He is gone, and I am all that's left. Poor little mourning dove,” it said darkly as the woman shook her head and moved away, passing through her bed like a ghost, and pressed her back into the corner of her tiny cabin only two or three feet from the edge of the mattress. The creature laughed its strange laugh again, feeling a rush at the muted pain, fear, and confusion oozing from the All-Alone. “Sad, pretty thing. Do you know what I am?”

            She nodded.

            “Say it.”

            She swallowed, her throat clicking dryly. “…The Twisting Deceit.”

            The Distortion's smile was a twisted thing, a perversion of the look that it knew Salome wished so badly to see again. “Part of it. Look at me.” It was in front of her now, one hand holding her chin in place. Though its fingers looked normal, the ends of them drew blood. “The part of me that was Michael Shelley ties me to you,” it jeered, glaring into Salome's wide and empty eyes. “What the Spider has planned for us, if anything at all and it is not simply pointless leftover emotion, I do not know. Had I my way, I would take you into myself and consume you until nothing remained but your fear of me.”

            The woman said nothing. The creature studied her for a moment before it wrapped its arms around her in something approximating a hug, crowding her into the corner as she froze in its crushing, bony embrace that did not match its outward appearance.

            But she did not try to escape.

            “You're confused, aren't you, poor thing,” it mocked softly as it pressed its cheek to the top of the head of the human manifestation of Forsaken. “Poor strange, sad Salome. What will she do now…?”

            Salome closed her eyes, allowed her head to rest against the creature's chest, and very quietly asked: “…Where is the archivist?”

            “Oh?” The monster tilted its head in curiosity. Then, its expression twisted into one of sadistic delight as it pulled away from the cruel embrace. “I can bring you to her, although I cannot go very near to her myself; she has taken measures to protect herself from me.”

            The Distortion watched something pass through Salome's hollow eyes. “Not me?”

            The creature's gleeful smile sharpened. “No,” it agreed. “Gertrude Robinson underestimated your relationship with Michael Shelley. She will not think you are a direct threat to her.”

            Icy fog spilled from Salome's mouth as she hissed: “…Take me to her. Now.”

The archivist looked up from her notes as icy sea fret curled and spilled around the edges of the door to her office, her archive. Without taking her eyes from the door Gertrude Robinson reached down, opened a drawer in her desk, and drew out the pistol that she kept hidden from Elias. She was quickly beginning to realize who was approaching.

            The door burst open, apparently due to the sheer force of the All-Alone’s billowing fog. “Miss Lukas,” the old woman remarked by way of a greeting, and surely, there stood the remains of Salome Lukas—gaunt, her dark hair beginning to turn unnaturally white, deep circles beneath her fog-gray eyes, and a gun of her own in one hand. “Why are you here?”

            When Salome responded, more of that bitter fog spilled from her chapped and purplish lips. “You took him from me,” she hissed, her broken voice a struggling whisper. “You… …t o o k… Michael… from me… …Going… to k i l l  y o u…”

            And she meant it, the archivist knew. “You wouldn't be the first to try,” the old woman replied coolly, “and you won’t be the last.”

            “S h u t  u p.” The young avatar lifted her gun, but the old woman was faster. Three shots to the torso, and Salome dropped her gun and doubled over; instead of blood, however, more of that icy fog oozed from her wounds. Gertrude Robinson realized then that she had underestimated the dependency that the dregs of Salome Lukas's humanity had had on Michael Shelley.

            The All-Alone's head snapped back up to glare at Gertrude Robinson, pale eyes full of hatred and something close to what the archivist recognized as The Slaughter, when a terrible, familiar voice spoke from behind her: “No.”

            A free-standing, dark, yellow-painted door closed around the All-Alone, taking her into its hallways. And then, just like that, the young woman was gone, and so was the door that was never there.

            The archivist sat back down and addressed her whirring tape recorder, her brows knitted. “…So, that’s that. I misjudged the effect that Michael’s death would have on the Lukas girl. For her sake, I hope the Spiral consumes her quickly. However, given her history with the thing and how… strongly attached Michael was to her… I rather suspect the Distortion is going to toy with her...”

[CLICK]

ELIAS I understand your concerns, Salome—

SALOME (sounding like her uncle for a moment) Do you?

[SILENCE]

ELIAS As I was saying, I understand that you are concerned, but I am doing all I can to track down the archivist. Furthermore, I called you up here because—

[ELIAS’S OFFICE DOOR OPENS]

MELANIE Elias, you wanted to see me?

ELIAS Ah, yes. Melanie, I believe you’ve met Salome, the archivist’s wife and one of his assistants. Salome, Melanie will be joining the archival staff beside you and Gerard to make up for the backlog while Michael is… away.

MELANIE Ah— Right, Salome. I’d, uh… Uh, Melanie King. I used to run Ghost Hunt UK. And now I’m here… I guess.

SALOME …Salome Shelley. I like music. Don’t insult my husband again.

[RECEDING FOOTSTEPS, AND ELIAS’S DOOR CLOSES]

MELANIE Not much for conversation, is she?

ELIAS It runs in the family.

MELANIE Protective of her archivist, too.

ELIAS That is unique to her, I’m afraid.

[CLICK]

[CLICK]

[SOUNDS OF SOMEONE HUMMING WHILE SORTING THROUGH PAPERS]

[THE DOOR TO THE ARCHIVES OPENS]

ELIAS Salome.

[SALOME SIGHS]

SALOME Yes, Elias?

ELIAS I must admit, I am quite impressed. Shielding yourself from Ms. King's memories and perception not once, but three times? Very impressive indeed, if a bit… (he chuckles once to himself) …lonely.

SALOME …Did you want something?

ELIAS (suddenly businesslike) Have you seen Gerard? I need to speak to him.

SALOME I think he’s taking a smoke break.

ELIAS If you see him, tell him to come to my office.

SALOME Right. Sure.

[ELIAS WALKS AWAY, CLOSING THE DOOR BEHIND HIM. SALOME IS ALONE]

SALOME …Where are you, Michael…?

[CLICK]

[CLICK]

GERRY Sal, you look awful. When was the last time you slept?

SALOME …I’m fine. Don’t worry.

GERRY Hey, no, don’t do that. When was. The last time. You slept?

SALOME …I haven’t had a full night’s sleep since… Well…

GERRY The corridors.

SALOME Yeah.

GERRY Shit.

SALOME Mm-hmm. …Oh, Elias wanted to see you. He said to tell you to go up to his office.

GERRY Oh, great, a summons from His Royal Pain in the Arse. He can wait a few more minutes. Probably. You take your coffee with milk, yeah?

SALOME That’s right, just a little. You didn’t have to make me a coffee.

GERRY I know. But your hands are shaking; you might’ve spilt it and gotten burnt if I’d let you do it yourself.

SALOME …Thank you.

GERRY Eh, what’re friends for. Have you met the new girl yet?

SALOME I have. She’s left statements here before. She seems angry.

GERRY I got that, too. A YouTuber, huh? I wonder why Bouchard hired her. Then again, neither of us have any sort of credentials, either.

Think he’d notice if I burned a few of his precious statements?

SALOME Oh, don’t; I think he can… do things. I don’t like how it feels when he looks at me. It makes my head feel strange. He knows things. About me…

GERRY Well, he is at the head of this place; I’d be more surprised if he didn’t have freaky eyeball powers.

[SALOME MAKES A VAGUE, NONCOMMITAL SOUND]

GERRY Hey. We’ll find Michael, alright?

SALOME …I know. I just… (the words sound stilted, as if the vulnerability doesn’t come naturally) I just hope we find her before that detective does…

[THE BOOKBURNER IS QUIET FOR A CURIOUS MOMENT]

GERRY Drink your coffee, Sal. I’d better go see what Bouchard wants.

SALOME Yeah. Have fun.

[GERRY SNORTS]

[CLICK]

A/N 2: And the Web's plan is about back on track. Yay, or perhaps oh no, for everyone involved!