Chapter Text
The evening air was still, making the heat more uncomfortable with the lack of a soothing breeze. It only made Jon’s head swim more as he walked back to his hotel room. The information he was able to get from the hospital and the police station provided interesting details to the story he was chasing, but ultimately seemed to be leading to a dead end. Gerard Keay was dead after all, according to the nurses who remember that night. Whatever Gertrude did afterward is up in the air, still. His last opportunity to find out anything could be in Washington, D.C., but for the moment, Jon was finding that remembering his way back to his room and putting one foot in front of the other was taking all his energy. Even the cane in his left hand began to drag somewhat. He didn’t know what was coming over him, but the longer it went on, the less likely it seemed to be jet lag.
“’Scuse me, sir. Stop right there.” A voice said from behind him. Jon flinched in surprise, not even hearing someone approach. “Hands where I can see them.”
Just as he turned enough to catch a glimpse of the stranger’s face, his heart sped up in alarm. “Shit.” Jon muttered. He’d seen the face of that cop twice before now, and him being this close now meant nothing good. Worse yet, it was dusk, and this part of town was relatively quiet, nobody else was out on the street to see what was about to happen next.
Jon stumbled forward in hopes to break into a run, but he was already too close. The officer wrenched him over by his arm and shoved him face-first into the brick wall next to them, his cane falling out of his grip and clattering to the pavement. Jon cried out in pain as his arm was twisted behind him, limiting his ability to thrash against the cop as he leaned closer to him.
“Got you now, Archivist…” He sneered, laughing to himself. “Nikola did say this would be too easy.” His weight on him seemed to shift as he reached for something, and Jon began to writhe more as he heard what sounded like handcuffs be taken out. No way in hell was this happening again.
And as if some merciful god was looking down on him, something else happened instead. With some heavy force behind it, the cop’s knee folded in like it was kicked, and he nearly crumpled over before catching himself. It gave Jon just enough room to scramble the opposite way and turn to see the sturdy wood handle of his own cane connect brutally to the cop’s left eye. That made him jump again, if not for the solid wall behind him, he probably would have fallen over in shock. His eyes drifted over to the newcomer; it was hard to see well in the fading evening light, as well as it was hard to get a good look while she swung the cane down, hard, three more times. She was in her early twenties at most, and her dark blue hair was cut into a sharp bob. She withdrew the cane, as if admiring the mashed-in pulp of the man’s face on the ground, then reared back and kicked him as hard as she could with a heavy booted foot.
Jon was stunned, looking down at the gore-covered police officer, now lying still on the pavement. On his blood-flecked uniform, he spotted the name ‘Musterman’. Well, that was one mystery he didn’t expect to solve today. He looked back to the girl, who was panting in the effort. She looked to Jon, and suddenly he felt incredibly small.
“Are you done gawking?! It’s time to go!” She snapped at him, shoving his cane back into his hand and pulling him along to run off. With one last glance to Max Musterman, Jon looked forward and put his adrenaline rush to good work, matching the speed of the woman as they ran down the street and turned the corner.
At the end of the block, she fished out a set of keys, and the lights of a beat-up looking Beetle flashed from its parking spot on the side of the street. She beckoned him over and he stepped into the passenger seat, hands trembling as he buckled in. She seemed panicked as well, but put an effort into driving away at a reasonable speed as to not draw attention.
Speaking of attention, it was about this moment that Jon looked down at his hands clutching the bloody handle of his cane. “I—what… what just happened?” He asked, dazed.
“I saved your life, that’s what.” She said, her gaze fixed forward. “Before you start freaking out, don’t worry, that thing back there wasn’t human.”
“No, I… I was sure of that. He’d been following me for a few days, now. How did you know..?”
The stranger gave a vague shrug. “I just know. I get this sick feeling when I see them, and then I notice the wrong bits of them when I have a closer look. It’s usually the eyes.” She paused, looking somewhat puzzled. Jon suspected it was from his question, but something else lit up in her face as she looked back at him. “You know about the Other People too!”
Jon stared back, somewhat doe-eyed. Her terminology wasn’t one he heard yet, but they were undoubtedly referring to the same group of creatures. He nodded carefully. “Yes—yes. I do. Now, who exactly are you...?”
“I’m Coraline. Coraline Jones.” She said, looking forward again. “I have some questions for you. We can lay low at my place for tonight.”
--
‘Does this count as another kidnapping?’ Jon thought to himself, watching the unfamiliar street signs carefully whenever Coraline took a turn. The situation felt eerily similar to the one he was in with Daisy just a few months ago, when she attempted to murder him. This one seemed different, though. While Jon was still very much on edge, this strange girl didn’t come off as threatening despite bashing a face in only fifteen minutes ago. Enough people out there have been wanting to kill him, and they all had the same look in their eyes that she didn’t have.
“I’m taking a long detour home, but we’re almost there.” Coraline said. Jon looked over a second later, barely registering what she meant in his trance. “He’s probably not dead, but he didn’t get a good look at me, or see my car. Just in case, though, you know?”
“Oh… yes. That’s a good plan.” He said, nodding along. “Thank you, I… don’t know what I would have done if you weren’t there.”
“Don’t mention it. It was your lucky day, I just happened to be sitting in my car when that thing passed by. When I realized he was following you, I had to do something.” She explained. Jon looked down to her hands on the wheel, and could see her fingers trembling. “You got a name?”
“Y-yes. Jonathan Sims. Jon is fine.” He replied, looking forward. She had begun to slow down, turning the car into a driveway somewhat hidden by the willow tree above it, and turning the key.
“Here we go. Let’s get inside, my door’s around back.” She said, opening her door and coming around. Jon followed suit, stepping out and then suddenly gripping his door to keep his balance. “Shoot—you okay? Are you hurt?”
Jon took a breath in, willing the disorientation pass. “No, I… I’m just a bit dizzy. I’ll be fine once we’re inside.” He muttered, closing the door and leaning heavily onto his cane. Musterman only roughed him up a little, but every joint ached after that and the running he did. Whatever illness he was dealing with on top of that wasn’t helping things.
She stepped back, turning to open the back gate and let him through, then lock it again behind them. She led him down cement steps, and unlocked the door to let them both inside. The cool air of the basement was something of a relief as Jon stepped in. As she turned the lights on, Jon saw a cluttered space, with potted plants and books scattered on almost every surface. On the coffee table in front of the sofa, various loose papers and thick textbooks took up most of the surface.
“Sorry ‘bout the mess. Finals are around the corner.” She said, kicking her boots off. Jon barely registered the mess as an issue at all; if anything, it was a healthy dose of nostalgia of what it once felt like to be a normal person. “There’s a bathroom around that corner if you want to clean off your walking stick.”
“Thank you, Coraline.” Jon said to her, slipping his shoes off. She started to chuckle, and he looked to her curiously.
“Oh— it’s nothing.” She waved him off. “Nobody gets my name right the first time.”
He nodded, smiling. “I’ll uh—be right back.” Jon said, following her vague directions from before and closing the door behind him.
He set to work washing the now-sticky mess of the lacquered solid wood handle, and cleaning off his hands at the same time. He’d gotten the cane from Georgie—her gift to him once he got his own flat again after his recent stay with her. She could easily tell that moving and walking for long periods was painful for him, the small circular scars along his body had gone quite deep, resulting in nerve damage in some areas. His mobility discomfort only intensified after being held captive for nearly a month in the clutches of The Circus. While his skin had never been better, being tied up for most of that time had caused further damage that noticeably affected his walking. The pain was dull on the good days, but it was constant, which was enough to wear him down. He was apprehensive of the idea of using it and how he may be perceived as vulnerable for needing it, but he was convinced to accept the gift when Georgie suggested that it would be a handy self-defense tool as well. He started keeping it around for that reason at first, but not long after he found himself glad to have it around to help him, and prevent him from being completely sore and exhausted by the time he clocked out at work.
He examined the rest of his cane, and made sure his clothes were okay before exiting again, looking sheepishly over to Coraline who was cleaning off her own hands in the kitchen. She filled two glasses with cold water after, placing them on the coffee table in the living room and taking a seat on a beanbag chair pulled up close. She gestured to Jon to sit, and he sat at the sofa across from her.
“Sorry for swinging that at him. I was trying to act quick.” Coraline said, eyeing his cane leaning next to him.
“Oh—no, don’t be. It’s half the reason I have it, actually.” Jon started, “It helps me move better, save energy, and it’s, uh, sturdy enough to do what you just did back there.”
“Multi-functional. Pretty smart.” She said. “So, I’m guessing you’re not from town?” She asked, grabbing her glass and sipping at it, then spoke again in a rather bad attempt at a British accent, “Across the pond?”
Jon gave a weak laugh, nodding. “Yes. I’m from London.”
“Well, welcome to Pittsburgh. It’s normally way more boring. What brings you out this way?”
“I, um. I’m here for work. Investigating. For the Magnus Institute.” Jon explained vacantly. It clearly wasn’t enough, because Coraline only leaned forward with an inquisitive look. He took a drink of water, hoping to clear his head before elaborating. “We study the esoteric and the supernatural, collect artifacts, take statements of personal experiences. I’m the new archivist, and… I’m trying to follow up on whatever my predecessor left for me. It taken me to some strange places.”
Her eyes were lighting up with interest by that point. “That’s— that’s a lot of wild concepts at once. And it has to do with the Others?” Coraline asked.
“Yes. I’ve heard of them being called the Stranger, or the Circus, as well.” Jon said. At the word circus, he saw something in her recoil. “You said you can recognize them?”
“Yeah, since I was a kid. After meeting the first one, the rest all stood out to me. I’ve never seen one just try to jump someone on the street like that, though. They’re usually… sneakier.” She explained. Jon felt a pang of sympathy. He knew firsthand how a childhood experience with unfathomable horrors could shape someone. His few recent encounters with the Stranger specifically left him scarred in more ways than physical. “I’ll take a guess and say you’re doing a little more than studying them, if they’re out to get you like that.” She said, raising her eyebrow.
’She really doesn’t miss a beat.’ Jon thought to himself. If the Institute hadn’t been revealed to be something just as dark and evil, he’d be bold to say that she’d do well there as an assistant. Even thinking it felt wrong; nobody deserved to be trapped there. “I’m…” He started, trying to articulate how exactly to say it. “Well, I suppose I’m trying to save the world.”
She had nothing to say to that. She frowned for half a second, as if she thought it was some bad joke, then as she saw how serious he looked, her jaw fell slightly.
“The Stranger is planning some sort of ritual—a dance—to remake the world. I was hoping to find answers over here about what exactly it is, and how to stop it, but my only lead was a man who has been dead for a few years now.” He sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. “I’m supposed to catch a Greyhound to DC tomorrow, for one more place to follow up on before flying back to London, but that won’t matter if they catch me and skin me first.”
Recovering from the initial shock, Coraline mustered up the ability to speak again. “Well, we should be safe here tonight. You can have the couch, and I’ll give you a lift tomorrow and see you off. I’ll make sure no Others get on the bus with you.”
He looked at her, shocked from the offer. “I, well… I-I’d be grateful for that.” He stuttered out. “I can pay you for your trouble, of course. I don’t want to put you in danger like this for free.”
“Meh,” She waved him off. “Just save the world, like you said you would, and I’ll call it even.”
“…Thank you.” He said, still dumbfounded by her kindness. Part of him still wondered if there was a catch to this, and that thought would probably have him sleeping light tonight regardless of how his paranoia was disproven. Another sudden idea popped into his head, and he was suddenly aware of the messenger bag still slung over his shoulder. He had a tape recorder on hand, in case the hospital staff had a statement for him. Ended up not being the case, but…
“I… mentioned before that we take statements. I don’t suppose you would be interested in telling me your experiences? I could try and follow up and find out more from it.” Jon asked, careful of how he was phrasing his question. Just in case, he added on, “Only if you want. I understand if you wouldn’t want to share it.”
Coraline pondered his request for a moment, before shrugging. “Sure. Might be kinda nice to tell someone and have them believe me.” She said. Jon couldn’t quite place why he felt such strong relief at her answer, but he promptly dug into his bag and produced the tape recorder, placing it on the coffee table between them. She gave the look that everyone does with it, before looking back to him for instruction.
Jon noticed that his fingers had stopped trembling as he reached to hit the play button. Perhaps the return of some familiar routine had settled him. He cleared his throat.
“Statement of Coraline Jones, regarding her encounters with The Stranger. Statement taken directly from subject, June 27th, 2017. Statement begins—whenever you’re ready.”
She gave him an anxious glance, but shook it off after a moment and began.
“That name you have for them is funny, y’know? ‘The Stranger.’ They always pretend to be someone familiar, in my experience. But it’s the second you realize that they aren’t—that you’re with something dangerous—that’s when they get you. When I was eleven, we made a big move out to Ashland, Oregon. We were renting the largest section of the Pink Palace...”
--
“…I never killed her. Unless she can starve to death or something, she still lives in that house. All it could take is for someone to fish out a weird key from a hidden well, and fall into the same trap that I did. Maybe demolishing the house would do it, but who knows. I thought about burning the house down a few times as a teenager. I could’ve waited for everyone to be out of the house and make up some freak accident, but I couldn’t quite bring myself to seriously plan it. The fact that the house was there was my own personal proof that what happened to me was real. Plus, on the off-chance that destroying the house would release her, I decided it was better to leave it.
“When I was sixteen, my parents were in a position to buy their own house, and we moved out. I had a tough time leaving, it’s hard to move past something like that, but it was much better for me. Gave me room to get away from it and actually process what happened there; as well as I could without professional help, anyway. I could talk to Wybie about it, since he was the only one who believed me, but I didn’t expect him to help me sort out my trauma. For the first three years after moving out, though, I would get these panic attacks and call him, sometimes in tears, begging him to check the door and make sure it was still closed. He did it every time, even a few times in the middle of the night for me. He’s a good guy.
“I still get them sometimes, but I manage better than those days. When I do run into Others, I still always call Wybie to check the door. Obviously, they come from more places than an old house in Oregon. I’ve seen three since then, not including the one today. Two were just walking down the street in New York when I spent a long weekend there, and another was a student at my College once here in Pittsburgh, sitting in the cafeteria. I only ever saw him once, thankfully, and then never again. None of them seemed to realize that I knew, and since they weren’t actively doing anything bad, all I could do was watch carefully and stay off their radar. At least after today, I know I can do some damage to them if I have to fight one.”
Coraline blinked a few times, breathing a bit heavier after speaking for so long, then looked to Jon. “That’s the whole thing. Is… that okay?”
“Oh? Oh—yes. Thank you.” Jon snapped out of his trance, then picked up the recorder, “Statement Ends.” He said into it, before turning it off.
“I didn’t think I remembered it all with that much detail.” She said to herself, shivering. “Sorry if I got a little too personal near the end. Not sure what came over me.”
“It’s alright, it… tends to have that effect.” Jon said, packing the device back into his bag and putting it at his feet. “Thank you.”
Coraline was giving him another hard look. He knew what suspicion looked like. “There are more things out there aside from Others, aren’t there?”
“I…” He looked down, unsure of how to answer. He was only barely grasping it all himself, with no help from Elias, of course. “Yes, there are.”
“Have you seen them?”
“A few, yes.”
"I guessed as much, from all the scars." She noted. She was chewing at her lip, like she was trying to figure out what kind of questions to ask next. “Are you one of them?”
Jon froze, and he felt a twinge of shame knowing that if he said no, he’d be lying. He didn’t know what her reaction could be, but he owed her the truth, after everything she’d done for him today. “I… I think I might be. Is that a problem?” He asked, quieter than before, prepared to leave the moment she ordered him out. Especially on the half-second afterward, when he realized he unintentionally compelled her in his question.
“No.” She answered, too quick to be natural. She seemed to notice it, too. She shrugged. “I knew something was off with you, but I don’t think you’ve been lying about anything. I wouldn’t have escaped from the Other Mother if it wasn’t for the Other Dad and Wybie helping me, so I know there’s… some gray area in all this monster business. I’ll still help you get on that bus tomorrow.”
“…Thank you.” Jon said, breathing out in relief.
“Don’t mention it.” She said, smiling, then stood up from her cushion. “It’s getting late, I think I’m gonna crash out. I’ll grab you some blankets for the couch. What time does your bus leave?”
“Oh, 11 a.m.” He said, slowly standing as well. “I’ll need to go back to my hotel first, to get my bags…”
“No problem. We’ll leave a few hours before, then.” Coraline nodded.
Jon mustered a small smile, gratitude clear on his face. “Thank you.” He said again.
--
The next morning was thankfully calm. It was great, even. For the first time since he got to America, he felt well rested. His disorientation was gone, and aside from some lingering soreness from overdoing it yesterday, he felt refreshed.
The fact that he felt better the night after getting a statement from someone put a bad feeling in his gut, though. His suspicion was confirmed when he picked up a package while checking out of his hotel. Apparently, Elias had mailed him a statement. It included a note, “To tide you over.” it said. Obviously he hadn’t forseen Coraline coming into his path to help him with that issue before getting the document, and also didn’t bother to inform Jon of this complication. Figures.
They pulled up on the street just outside the bus station, and the two walked in together, waiting at the bay as Jon’s departure time drew near. The cop wasn’t seen, but Jon doubted it would be the last time he saw him, but being on a bus with several others around could provide safety, especially if Coraline could confirm that no Strangers were on the bus with him.
“I can’t say how much I appreciate this,” Jon said, “Thank you, again.”
Coraline smiled at him. “Happy to help.” She said. “Hey, maybe I’ll travel to London when I’m done school, if the world doesn’t end. Maybe I'll check out this Magnus Institute you work at. Must be some interesting things there.”
“Oh, there is.” Jon agreed, though his tone was laced with concern. “I’d… recommend against ever going there, though. It’s dangerous.”
“Fair enough.” She said after a beat. “Are they not all as friendly as you?”
Being called ‘friendly’ was a surprise, he almost laughed at that. But at the thought of Elias and his recent schemes and new-hires, his expression remained sober. “It’s just the Head of the Institute I worry about. I don’t want to risk him trapping you there, too.” He explained. “But maybe if we’re all in luck, we’ll have dealt with him by then.”
Concern flashed across Coraline’s face, but she didn’t have time to reply over the announcement for the next departure.
“That’s me.” Jon said, adjusting his shoulder bag and gripping his suitcase in his left hand, and his cane on the right, leaning onto it. “Thank you, again, Coraline. Take care.”
She nodded. “You do the same, okay?”
He smiled, then slowly stepped forward, handing his suitcase to a worker to store for him, and stepped up into the bus. He made eye contact with her again as he found his seat, and she turned to leave only once the bus doors closed.