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Her shoulder throbbed. Warmth trickled down her arm. When she looked at it, she was almost surprised to see a thin line of blood tracing a path down the skin. When had that…?
Oh, right. The man.
No. Not a man. The…
She shook her head. There had been something she meant to do.
Ah, yes, right. The police.
She took her phone out of her pocket, glancing over at the wall where the body was-
Where the body was not.
She blinked.
But it had been…
Michael was gone as well.
She stumbled a little where she stood, disoriented and unstable on her feet.
Should she just call the police anyway? Surely they ought to be informed that Timothy Hodge was dead.
But, then again, she had no proof. And she was standing in an abandoned pub that was probably supposed to be locked shut, in the middle of the night, with no good excuse for being there. Technically, she was trespassing.
So, maybe not the police.
But then what?
Dizzy, dazed, and not entirely aware of where her feet were taking her, Sasha wandered out into the night.
~~~~~
Martin woke up.
He blinked into the darkness of the document storage room, bleary-eyed and confused. Insomnia was no stranger to him, to be sure, but he usually slept pretty soundly once he managed to fall asleep.
He fumbled for his phone, checking the time. Way too early for his alarm to be going off, or for any of his coworkers to be in.
Then he heard the thump outside his door.
A rush of adrenaline rocketed him upright. He sat up in bed, clutching the sheets to his chest, his heart racing.
Thump.
Could it be Jon? But no, Martin had seen him out the door at a reasonable time last night, and even though he’d been coming in earlier and earlier recently it wasn’t even 3am yet.
Thump.
The noise was getting closer.
Oh, god.
Dread pooled in Martin’s stomach, nauseating and familiar. She’d come back, then.
It had been a nice respite. A few more weeks to live, a chance to share his story with the others. Despite the discomfort of living in the Archives, he’d truly appreciated the opportunity to get to know a new side of Jon, and to learn that there was a protective, caring man under his harsh exterior. And he’d had time to spend with Tim and Sasha too, lunches and tea breaks and even, once, after-work drinks.
It had been good. Martin wouldn’t change it for the world.
But it was all over, now.
Prentiss had found him.
Martin trembled, clutching the sheets just a little closer.
Thump.
No. No, he wasn’t going to die cowering and hiding in bed like a scared little child. He’d done that for too long already. If she wanted to kill him, she’d have to fight him first.
With a new sense of determination, Martin grabbed his knife from under the pillow and stood, blade held ready in the air in front of him. Maybe he would die, but he wouldn’t make it easy for her.
Martin approached the door cautiously, peeling back the edge of the curtain over its small plexiglass window. There was a faint light coming from outside, the motion lights from the main office bleeding down the corridor and giving everything a faint, ghostly appearance.
There was a figure shuffling down the corridor toward him, its steps uneven and slow. Its sideways lurch carried it across the hall at an angle until it staggered, unbalanced, into the wall.
Thump.
Then it rebounded in the other direction, heading for the opposite wall with those same slow, uncertain steps. As it did, the faint light from the office caught its face.
“Sasha?”
Martin yanked at the door handle. It was locked. With a curse, he chucked his knife behind himself to land on the bed and fumbled with the lock, finally getting the door open and throwing himself out into the corridor.
“Sasha! You alright?”
She glanced up at him, a puzzled frown on her face. “Huh? Martin? Where…” Her words sounded fuzzy, almost concussed. She swayed where she stood.
“Jesus, are you-” He took a step toward her, concerned. “Did you hit your head?”
“No, I’m, um…” She pressed a hand against her head, took another shuffling step, and stumbled. He rushed forward, catching her in a half-hug before she could fall.
“What happened?”
“There was… uh…” Sasha’s words trailed off again. There was a dazed look in her eyes.
Martin bit his lip. “Look- look, it’s okay, you’re safe now,” he said, hoping it was true. “I’m, um- I’m going to call Jon, alright?” He didn’t know if Jon would actually be able to help, but he knew he would feel better if the other man was there.
“Hmm…” Sasha said. Martin didn’t think she’d heard him.
He shifted his stance, supporting Sasha with one arm while he fumbled in the pocket of his sweatpants for his phone with the other. Jon’s number was top of his recent contacts list; he hit the call button and raised it to his ear.
Jon picked up on the second ring.
“Martin? What is it, what happened, are you hurt?” His voice was urgent, worried. There was also the slight slur of sleepiness to it that told Martin he’d woken Jon up.
“No- no,” Martin said, reassuringly. He was gratified by the concern, though. “It’s, um… it’s Sasha?”
“Sasha’s hurt?” Far from sounding reassured, Jon’s voice rose with growing panic.
“No!” Martin said. “No, it’s just- she’s here in the Archives? I don’t know what happened, she’s fine but… I think you should probably come by?”
“Right.” Jon let out a huff of breath, sounding marginally calmer. “Right. I’ll be there soon.” He hung up.
~~~~~
The sound of his phone ringing woke Tim. He groaned, peeling his sleepmask back from his eyes to glare at the screen.
Jon’s name flashed bright and cheerful across the display, along with a clock readout that told him it was an absolutely ungodly time to be awake.
He considered just ignoring it, then sighed, and answered right before it could go to voicemail.
“Jon? What the hell, man. It’s the middle of the bloody night.”
“Martin called me.” Jon voice crackled over the phone line, urgent.
“Martin’s hurt?” Tim sat up, suddenly feeling much more awake.
“No- no, it’s Sasha.”
“Sasha’s hurt?” He couldn’t keep the panic out of his voice.
“No, she’s fine, but she’s at the Archives. I don’t know what happened. Martin asked me to come in, and I thought you should as well.”
“Damn right I should.” Tim leapt out of bed, scrambling for his shoes. “I’ll be there soon.”
~~~~~
Martin lowered the phone from his ear with a sigh. “Okay… okay. Sasha, let’s get you sitting down, alright?” His arm was getting tired from supporting her.
“I’m fine,” she mumbled, sagging even heavier into his shoulder.
“I know,” he said placatingly, “but…” But you also look like you’re about to fall over and I can’t hold you upright forever.
He did not say this, since he did not think Sasha was listening to him. Instead, he shoved his phone in his pocket and grabbed her firmly by the upper arm, steering her awkwardly around until she got the idea and started stumbling back to the main office under her own power. He stayed by her side to keep her balanced, even though, at nearly a foot taller than him, Sasha was leaning on him rather more than she was leaning against him.
They made it to her desk without incident and Martin helped her sit down. As he let go of her arm and stepped back he noticed an odd, sticky feeling on his hand. Glancing down, he saw that it was stained with red.
“Sasha!”
“What?”
“You’re bleeding!”
“Am I?” She glanced down at herself, then poked at her sleeve, revealing a small gash in the fabric and the wound beneath it. “Oh,” she said, not sounding terribly bothered by it. “I guess I am.”
“But you said you weren’t hurt!”
She shrugged. “It’s just a scratch.”
“But I told Jon you were okay!” This was bothering Martin more than Sasha’s injury. It really did look like just a scratch, but- “Oh, he’s going to be pissed.”
Sasha laughed at his priorities. She looked more lucid than she had when she first wandered in, awareness coming back to her slowly the longer she was away from… whatever had happened.
“I’m fine, Martin,” she assured him.
Martin pursed his lips. “Stay right there,” he ordered. “I’ll get the first aid kit.” He turned and hurried out of the room before she could protest again.
~~~~~
When Jon arrived at the Archives, it was to find Sasha and Martin in the main office. Sasha was sitting at her desk, the sleeve of her shirt rolled up all the way to the shoulder to reveal a long, thin gash running across her arm. Martin was kneeling by her chair with a roll of bandages, carefully wrapping the injury.
Jon stopped in his tracks, appalled. “I thought you said she wasn’t hurt!”
Martin startled, nearly dropping the bandages as he spun on Jon with a defensive look. “She said she was fine!”
“I am fine,” Sasha said, sounding exasperated. “It’s just a scratch.”
“What happ-” Jon began.
“Sasha!” Tim burst into the room behind him.
“You called Tim too?” Sasha rolled her eyes. “Really, this isn’t that big of a dea-”
Tim’s eyes almost bugged out of his head as he spotted her arm. He rounded on Jon. “You said she wasn’t hurt!”
“Martin told me she wasn’t!”
“Sasha said she was fine!”
“It’s just a scratch!”
Martin tied off the bandages in a sharp movement, tucking the end in to hold them secure. “You’re still bleeding.”
“I’m fine.” Sasha turned back to Jon, all nonchalance. “I need to make a statement. I was going to wait until the morning, but since you’re already here…”
Jon’s stomach dropped. Part of him had just been assuming that she had been mugged, or something, but if she wanted to make a statement…
“A-are you sure?” he asked. “You can take some time-”
“Might as well get it over with.” She shrugged, stood up, and strode confidently toward Jon’s office. “Come on.”
Tim stepped forward, holding out a hand to stop her. He looked shaken. “W-wait, Sasha. Are you sure you’re alright?” he asked. “Is there anything I can do, any way I can help…?”
“Uh…” She paused for a moment, thinking. Then she laughed sheepishly, scrubbing a hand over her face and giving him a wan smile. “Get me a coffee? It’s been a long night.”
“On it.” He turned on his heel and strode toward the breakroom, looking a lot more steady on his feet now that he had a clear task in front of him.
Sasha waved at Jon to follow her and then left as well, on the way to his office.
Jon was left in the room with Martin. They looked at each other.
“Are… you alright?” Jon ventured after a moment. Despite the brave face he was putting on, Martin looked pale.
“Y-yeah, yeah, I’m fine,” Martin said, not entirely convincingly. “Just… worried about Sasha, you know?”
“Yes.” Jon took a step toward the door, then hesitated. He stepped back, crossing the room until he was in front of Martin, and clapped him on the shoulder in a comradely, moral-boosting fashion.
If his hand lingered for a moment too long, that was no one’s business but his own. He wasn’t entirely sure if he was trying to steady Martin or himself with the gesture, anyway. There was a reassuring solidity to the man that he found calming, and he wasn’t ready to examine that feeling too closely.
“I’ll talk to her,” he promised. “Find out what happened.”
“Thanks, Jon.” Martin smiled, looking truly relieved. “I’m- I’m glad you’re here.”
Jon blinked for a moment, transfixed by Martin’s open, earnest expression. Then he cleared his throat.
“Me too,” he said, perhaps a bit too softly. He squeezed Martin’s shoulder, returning the smile briefly before he stepped away.
Then he squared his shoulders, mustered his courage, and headed for his office to hear whatever horrors Sasha had to share.