Chapter Text
“Elias.”
The man in question stood, unfurling from his high backed leather chair, looking for all the world like a classic Bond villain, all upperclass slime and grace. “Hello Jon. What a pleasant surprise.”
Jon glared at him.
Coming here was a mistake, one that would almost definitely get him yelled at by Tim, but Jon didn’t care. He was tired, sick to the teeth of whatever game Elias and Lukas had been playing. Elias had told them about the ship, he knew that Lukas was a murderer, he knew about Martin, about whatever stupid plan Lukas had for him.
“It’s rather late, Jon, I’m afraid we will be closing soon. Can this wait? It is polite to make an appointment, after all.”
“What have you done?”
Elias raised an eyebrow. “What a loaded question. I haven’t done anything. That's rather the point. Plausible deniability, and all that.”
“But- Martin-”
“Ah, so I was right.” Elais took a few steps and suddenly he was around the other side of the desk, leaning back on it languidly. “You know, when Peter noticed his little pet project going missing, he didn’t believe me that you were probably involved. He’s always been so naive about these things. He never had the nerve for it all. I’m impressed that he made it as far as he did.”
Jon took a step towards him in a way that he hoped was threatening, but knew deep down made him look ridiculous. In his hurry to escape the flat while the others had been distracted, with Georgie asking Martin pointed questions about what being a ghost was like, Melanie sleeping off the previous night, and Sasha occupying Tim’s entire focus as she infodumped about her most recent Wikipedia deepdive, Jon had forgotten to grab anything even remotely close to a weapon. He’d even forgotten his lighter, which blew holes in his mumbled excuse that he was going out for a cigarette. It was a lie he had almost believed himself until he found himself standing in front of a horrible Georgian building in Chelsea, its brickwork painted a sickly grey in the early evening London light.
He’d ignored much of the staff that he had marched past, brushing off the receptionist who tried to call after him as he stormed up towards Elias’ office, hands trembling with anger and fear, mind focused on the singular task of getting answers . He needed to know , the what, the who, the horrible, all-encompassing why. Why Martin, why the ship, why any of it? What possible motive could there be?
If he had to, Jon would wring the answers out of Elias himself.
“I have questions.”
“I’m sure you do, Jon. What would you like to know?”
Jon blinked. He had expected more pushback. “The Tundra. Peter Lukas.”
“So you followed my breadcrumbs. I was wondering if you would.”
“The crew-”
Elias pushed off the desk and wandered towards a painting on the wall, a ship stranded in the middle of a stormy sea. “Rather ingenious, wouldn’t you say? It was Peter's idea. He’s not really a ‘people person’,” Elias said, marking out the quotation marks in the sky with his hands. “But when people are afraid of you, they learn to accept their lot. An excellent quality in a workforce.”
“Why? You killed people. ”
“Please, I was barely involved. Peter did most of the actual, how to put it? Murder.”
Elias was too nonchalant. Jon felt dizzyingly sick as he looked at the man he had trusted, looked up to, respected, discuss murdering an entire workforce of people as if he was remarking upon the local newspaper. Jon remembered nights spent hunched over notes for his class, desperately trying to get the best grade that he could because he wanted to make Elias proud. He had wanted to see the man smile and clap him on the shoulder and say ‘Good job, Jon.’. He had wanted to follow in his footsteps.
“It doesn't make sense.”
Elias spread his hands. “The dead are easier to control.”
“So all of this was just for money?” Jon asked, incredulous.
Elias shrugged, expression bored. “Money was one reason. Power. Fear. Take your pick. Peter and I had a deal.”
“Over people's lives?!”
“People die every day, Jon.” He wandered back to the desk and sat back down in his chair, steepling his fingers in front of him. “But you’re completely missing the point. Peter needed some lives for his ship, and I was curious to see how far he would take it. So he agreed to let me watch, so long as I occasionally nudged certain individuals in his direction.”
Jon took a shuddering breath. “Like Martin.”
“Precisely.” Elias said with a sickening smile.
“But Martin isn't on the ship.”
“No. And now he isn't at Moorland House. In my defence, when I offered Martin to Peter, I really didn't think he would kill him quite so soon. I thought he might follow in my footsteps until he got bored and left the boy to rot.”
“Why tell me all of this?” Jon demanded. “What possible purpose could that serve?”
“Why not? What could you do to me? The police won’t believe you. You don't have it in you to kill me, and even if you did, it wouldn’t help. I’ll just leave this body and find a new one. Maybe yours.”
“ What? ”
“Oh come on, Jon.” Elias stood again and crossed to stand in front of him. “You're smarter than that. Elias always thought so.”
“Elias- What?”
“ Think , Jon. Use that brain that you claim is so rational. Apply logic to all of this.”
“I don't-”
Elias took a step forward. “He had such high hopes for you. He always thought you would make it so far.”
“You're-” Jon stumbled backwards.
“Go on, Jonathan.”
“You're not him. You're something else, you-” Jon didn’t realise that he had been sinking to the floor until Elias was stood over him, silhouetted by the lights, a smirk on his stolen face.
“Elias was a convenience. He was disposable.”
“ Who are you? ”
Crouching down, Elias bought their eye level equal. “I’ve had a lot of names. Elias is just the newest. But I suppose you aren’t asking about the names of the faces I wear. In that case, you may call me Jonah.”
A short, sharp knock came at the office door. Jon flinched, stumbling backwards, scrambling to his feet. Elias- Jonah- stood, smoothing the wrinkles out of his suit.
“Come in.” Elias called.
The door opened. In stepped a police officer, a short stocky woman with a scowl. She looked at Jon briefly, before focusing her attention on Elias.
“Mr Bouchard, you’re under arrest.”
“I beg your pardon?” Elias asked, and for the first time since their reacquaintance, Jon saw actual surprise in his expression.
“For the murder of Martin Blackwood, as well as potential links to other missing people, you are being placed under arrest.”
The police officer cuffed Elias, reading out his rights in a growled Welsh accent, steamrolling over his confused protests with her words.
She jabbed a finger at Jon. “You. Name.”
Jon blinked at her. “Jon. Jonathan Sims.”
“Right.” She marched out, Elias in tow.
Jon followed dumbly, feet automatically following. He’d gotten his answers- barely. His head was spinning, sleep deprivation and confusion mingling into a haze that lay heavy over his eyes as he watched Elias be escorted out of the large, ornate doors at the front of the building.
“Is there anything else I can do for you?”
Jon looked over at where the receptionist was standing, shoulders tense, lips pursed, professional to a fault. She’d just seen her boss be arrested, but she was refusing to crack under the pressure. It was almost impressive.
“No, thank you.” Jon shook his head, not trusting himself to say anything else.
“I’m afraid that it seems Mr Bouchard will not be available for any more meetings for the foreseeable future. Would you like me to pass on a message?”
Jon looked up at the large portrait on the wall behind her, and at the shiny nametag just below it. Jonah Magnus.
He left the building without another word to the receptionist.
Outside, Tim was leaning against the side of a taxi, arms crossed with barely contained anger.
“Hey Tim.”
“Just get in the fucking car, Jon.”
Jon got in the car.