An Appointment
[NOTE: VOICES IN THIS EPISODE WHEN IN THE TUNNELS CARRY THE DISTINCTIVE ECHO TO VARYING DEGREES]
[CLICK]
MARTIN
So this is it?
Just up those stairs?
GEORGIE
Just? You’ve seen how tall that tower is, right?
ARCHIVIST
I don’t have much of a choice.
MARTIN
Yeah, but still, it’s just walking, though, isn’t it? And god knows we’ve had enough practice. How come you haven’t had a look yourselves?
GEORGIE
Keep watching.
[MOVEMENT ON GRAVELLY SURFACE]
You see those?
MARTIN
What – Oh. Oh… ah. Are those… corpses?
GEORGIE
I wish. Watch.
[THROWN PEBBLE RATTLES DOWN STONE CORRIDOR, ELICITING NOISES OF A FRANTIC RESPONSE]
[MARTIN REACTS IN ALARM]
GEORGIE
Shh!
[AFTER A FEW MOMENTS THE NOISES SUBSIDE, BUT REMAIN UNCOMFORTABLE BACKGROUND SOUNDS]
MARTIN
Right. So these are the, uh… ‘former archivists’ you were talking about, John?
ARCHIVIST
Yes.
MARTIN
I don’t like them.
ARCHIVIST
No.
MARTIN
So what do we do? How do we get past them?
GEORGIE
Dunno. It was never worth risking it.
MARTIN
Wait, seriously? I thought you had this whole ‘invisibility cloak’ thing going on?
GEORGIE
Sure, but I’m not exactly keen to test it against the eyeball tower guardians. I don’t know the limits of our ‘invisibility’, and it seems pretty dumb to saunter up and hope it works on them.
MARTIN
Right.
GEORGIE
Look. I’ve taken you this far. Beyond this point you’re on your own, alright?
MARTIN
No advice at all?
GEORGIE
I… I dunno. Believe in yourself?
MARTIN
Wow. Thanks.
ARCHIVIST
It’s alright, Martin. They’ll let us through.
MARTIN
You’re sure?
ARCHIVIST
Yes.
MARTIN
I thought you weren’t so good at knowing down here? What if, what if you’re wrong and then we’re absolu–
ARCHIVIST
I’m not.
Trust me.
Thank you Georgie.
GEORGIE
Sure.
Good luck.
ARCHIVIST
Thank you.
And tell Melanie… Tell her I’m sorry.
GEORGIE
That’s… not what she wants to hear from you.
ARCHIVIST
Well, then… what does she want?
GEORGIE
I don’t know. But… it’s not going to be another apology.
ARCHIVIST
Fine. Tell her I –
GEORGIE
[With a touch of humour] Look. Tell her yourself when you get back down, okay? I’m not your bloody P.A. Anything you’ve got to say to me, that can wait too.
ARCHIVIST
Okay.
Let’s go Martin.
MARTIN
Bye Georgie.
GEORGIE
Good luck.
[FOOTSTEPS AS THEY START WALKING]
[STATIC RISES]
ARCHIVIST
Ceaseless Watcher, see your servants approach. Herald their arrival and bid them welcome into your sanctum.
[STATIC FADES AS THE WATCHERS SUBSIDE AND CEASE THEIR NOISES]
MARTIN
Er… yeah… excuse us.
[CLICK]
[CLICK]
[FOOTSTEPS RING AS THEY CONTINUE CLIMBING THE STAIRS; LABOURED BREATHING FROM MARTIN]
MARTIN
Okay, okay, hold… hold up. H-Hold on. Hold on, hold on.
[THE ARCHIVIST’S QUICK FOOTSTEPS CONTINUE]
Oi, John!
ARCHIVIST
[Softly] Oh, right.
MARTIN
Just wait a sec– Christ, I just need a moment to… catch my breath.
[THE ARCHIVIST RETURNS TO MARTIN]
ARCHIVIST
Of course. Sorry, I uh…
MARTIN
It’s fine. Just… this is a lot of steps.
ARCHIVIST
It’s a very tall tower.
MARTIN
Is it? Oh, thank god I have you ‘All-Seeing One’, otherwise I might have completely missed that fact.
ARCHIVIST
Yes, alright.
[MARTIN GATHERS HIS BREATH, AS THE ARCHIVIST SHIFTS AROUND]
MARTIN
Not keeping you am I?
ARCHIVIST
S– No, I – it’s just, I, uh…
MARTIN
What, you’re not tired?
ARCHIVIST
Oh no, believe me, I am. It’s just, uh… It’s kind of difficult not to keep climbing.
MARTIN
What, like… you’re being called?
ARCHIVIST
More like pulled. Gently, but very definitely upwards, towards the top.
MARTIN
That could be a bad sign.
ARCHIVIST
Probably. Too late to bail now, though.
MARTIN
True.
You seem less nervous at least?
ARCHIVIST
[Breezily] Oh god, no. I-I’m far more scared than I was down there, but, I-I don’t know, I feel… giddy. Powerful. Coming up from the tunnels into the tower, I-I can See again and… It’s just a bit of a rush, you know?
MARTIN
Sure. Just… just try to keep it together, okay? The last thing we need is you… wigging out.
ARCHIVIST
I’ll do my best.
You ready?
MARTIN
[Wearily] Ah, sure. Lead on, Macduff.
ARCHIVIST
It’s, uh, “Lay on –”
MARTIN
[Frustrated] Sh– I know, I know! I know. Go. Just go.
[THE ARCHIVIST HEADS OFF AT A QUICK PACE; MARTIN FOLLOWS WITH A FRUSTRATED SIGH AT A SLOWER PACE]
[CLICK]
[CLICK]
[DOOR GENTLY CREAKS, AS FOOTSTEPS RING OUT]
MARTIN
So.
This is it. The big boss. One last set of unnecessarily ominous doors and then –
ROSIE
Good morning! Do you have an appointment?
[STARTLED NOISE FROM MARTIN]
MARTIN
R-Rosie? What, what are you doing here?
ROSIE
[Unrecognising and slightly stilted] Hello, I’m Rosie. Assistant for Mr. Magnus.
Do you have an appointment?
ARCHIVIST
No.
MARTIN (BACKGROUND)
Wh–?
ARCHIVIST
We don’t.
ROSIE
Oh, I see. Uh… well I-I’m very sorry, but I’m afraid he’s booked up for quite some time.
You may need to try again another day.
MARTIN
Rosie, are you alright? It’s, it’s us. It’s, it’s okay, we’re here to help.
[ROSIE BACKS AWAY]
ROSIE
Sir, please calm down.
MARTIN (BACKGROUND)
I’m not –
ROSIE
There’s no need to get worked up, I’m only doing my job.
MARTIN
Rosie, I’m not going to do –
ARCHIVIST
Jonah Magnus will see us. Please inform him we’re here.
ROSIE
I really don’t think that’s a –
ARCHIVIST
I insist.
[ROSIE SIGHS]
ROSIE
[Softly] Your funeral…
[INTERCOM BUTTON CLICKS ON, A SORT OF SWIRLING STATIC STARTS]
ROSIE
Excuse me, sir. Two gentlemen here to see you.
ARCHIVIST
The Archivist. And Martin Blackwood.
ROSIE
The Archivist. And, uh… an ‘associate’.
MARTIN
Ouch.
[STRANGE ELECTRONIC SOUNDS COME FROM INTERCOM]
ROSIE
Yes I –
Yes, I-I understand, I jus–
I – Sorry to interrupt.
[INTERCOM CLICKS OFF, SWIRLING STATIC FADES]
[Firm, but with a slight tremor] Like I said, unless you have an appointment there’s nothing I can do.
ARCHIVIST
I understand.
ROSIE
Now, I’m sorry, but if there’s nothing else, I’m going to have to ask you to leave. I’m very busy.
ARCHIVIST
Of course.
[FOOTSTEPS AS THEY WALK AWAY, TO SPEAK ASIDE]
MARTIN
What’s she doing here?
ARCHIVIST
She’s his assistant. So The Eye put her here.
MARTIN
Did she… choose it?
ARCHIVIST
Did any of us?
MARTIN
So, what? She’s just gone? She doesn’t remember us at all?
ARCHIVIST
To a degree, but –
[DISCOMFITED NOISE FROM THE ARCHIVIST]
MARTIN
Are you alri– Oh.
ARCHIVIST
I-I’m sorry.
MARTIN
Oh Christ, go on…
[STATIC RISES]
ARCHIVIST (STATEMENT)
[PAPER RUSTLES AND A CLOCK TICKS… TOCKS… TICKS…]
“Nosy Rosie”, he had said. The words had been soft, hidden behind the CV he was examining, but she heard them clear as day.
“What did you say?” She tried to hide the hurt and disbelief, the sudden impact of a childhood nickname she thought she had long since left behind.
“Sorry?” His voice was light. “I don’t think I said anything.”
There was a long moment as Rosie stared at her interviewer. His expression was a pure, friendly, confusion, a light sort of innocence that gave nothing away. But she had definitely heard it. Was he just going to pretend it hadn’t happened?
Apparently so.
She studied the face of ‘Elias Bouchard’. He seemed far too young for the role he had apparently found himself in, with an old-fashioned haircut that seemed to accentuate the image rather than lessen it. How was he already the head of an academic institution? No doubt mummy and daddy had something to do with it… The thought leapt across Rosie’s mind before she could stop it, and with no small amount of bitterness.
His eyes, though, were different. There was something in them that unsettled her. They didn’t match the rest of his face. They were cold and grey, and somehow so much older.
“So why do you want this job, Ms. Zampano?”
‘Because I need money to live, you pompous ass,’ she didn’t answer. ‘Because I let my imagination and paranoia wreck my marriage, and now I’ve got nothing. And if I don’t get a job, I’m just sitting around an empty flat staring into space.’ Instead she smiled.
“I guess I’m just curious to know what goes on in a place like this.”
[OFFICE SOUNDS CEASE; DOOR CREAKS, FAINT SOUNDS OF SCREAMING IN BACKGROUND]
From up here she can see all of it at such a distance. She can hear the distant screams, spot the occasional gout of blood, smell the burning flesh wafting from far below when the wind is right. Should she be doing something? Her hand hovers over the intercom. Mr. Bouchard isn’t to be disturbed; Rosie is certain of that, but what else could she do? She chokes down her unease and smiles again, just in case anyone might be watching.
[SCREAMING CEASES; DOOR CREAKS, ADMITTING SOFT FOOTSTEPS]
They weren’t actually Cockney, she knew that for certain. They might as well have been asking to take that table up the ‘apples and pears’. Some kind of practical joke being played on her? She said nothing, though she glanced around in case anyone was watching from a distance, snickering. The pair of them loomed over her with identical expressions on their identical faces. Expressions of gruff impatience.
Rosie looked over the delivery form.
[PAPER RUSTLES]
‘Jonathan Sims’, the name read. She knew him. Well, knew of him, the things they said about him in the break room, the sort of things that passed across Mr. Bouchard’s desk about him. She hadn’t been snooping, exactly, but maybe a little bit curious. Rosie had liked Gertrude, Sims’ predecessor. The old woman had always talked to her as though she was in on something, even though Rosie had never understood half the things she had told her. Sims was different. He was insecure, aggressive, desperate to be taken seriously. Of course, having seen his file, Rosie kind of understood. Why on earth Mr. Bouchard had given him the job at all was a mystery to her, but it didn’t make it any easier to talk to him.
He was *in the building, and she really should have called down, gotten him to come up and sign off on the delivery. But if he dragged his feet, that would have left *her here with these two weird impressionists. And no doubt when he finally did arrive there’d be some drama or other. No, she’d just sign for it, and pass it on to Martin. He’d get it sorted out.
Besides, she was kind of curious to see what was in the package.
[PAPERS MOVE, FOOTSTEPS AND DOOR CREAKS; FAINT SCREAMING RESUMES]
It is him behind it all. She’s certain. The words and noises that sometimes leak out of Mr. Bouchard’s office are enough to convince her of that. Should she still call him Mr. Bouchard, knowing what she knows now about what it is that lives inside him, through him? She doesn’t really need to call him anything, of course. He hasn’t spoken to her since she clocked into the building. And there haven’t been any visitors. She still smiles, though. Just in case.
[SCREAMING CEASES; DOOR CREAKS, FAINT SOUND OF FIRE ALARM AND AGITATED PEOPLE, KNOCKS ON DOOR]
He didn’t even look up from his desk.
“Everyone else is evacuating,” she yelled over the din of the fire alarm. Mr. Bouchard just smiled.
“I wouldn’t worry about it, Rosie.” He shuffled his papers. “Just a little incident down in the Archives. It’ll be dealt with soon enough.”
Something was wrong. He hadn’t had any calls. No-one had come by. There was no way for him to know what was going on. But he said it with such confidence. She turned and slowly walked back to her desk.
[FOOTSTEPS AND PAPER RUSTLING]
Something was going on, and Rosie wasn’t going anywhere until she knew what it was.
[RUNNING FOOTSTEPS]
When Sasha James barrelled past her without even glancing in her direction, Rosie knew she’d been right to wait.
[FAINT SOUND OF ELIAS AND SASHA TALKING]
She moved quickly to the door, listening, looking around the edge. What were they talking about? Worms? Like that weird infestation they had down there? How is that an emergency?
Behind his desk, without missing a beat of his conversation, Elias caught her eye, and suddenly she was a child again, creeping towards the rotten board in her parents’ attic, burning to know what lurked behind it, [FLOORBOARD CREAKS WARNINGLY] unsuspecting of the squirming nest of half-dead insect bodies she was about to reveal.
[INSECTILE AND SQUIRMING NOISES]
Then she was back in the office. Mr. Bouchard was still smiling. And Rosie turned to run.
[RUNNING FOOTSTEPS; DOOR CREAKS AND FAINT SCREAMING RESUMES]
Maybe she could help, stuck here at the top of the impossible tower. She could just buzz him, ask him what was going on, tell him to stop.
Her finger hovered over the button. Her hand was shaking. What if he got angry? She couldn’t afford to lose this job. She couldn’t. Rosie put her hand down and started smiling again. She was getting very good at it by now.
[SCREAMING CEASES; DOOR CREAKS]
She had waited for the gunshot. Her whole body felt like it was made of glass, locked in place but ready to shatter at any moment. Mr. Bouchard had told her explicitly, ‘Do not phone the police.’ But that woman, she’d been dressed as police. And she had a gun. A-and Sims, she’d been practically dragging him. What was Rosie supposed to do, except wait for a gunshot that never came.
Then the others arrived; Tim and that new girl.
[FOOTSTEPS AS THEY ENTER THE OFFICE; FAINT SOUNDS OF TALKING]
She wanted to warn them, to tell them something was wrong, but… what if it made Mr. Bouchard angry? Why did the thought of that terrify her so? He was just a man, and he’d never been anything but cordial to her. Did she need this job that badly?
At the back of her mind, her curiosity urged her to get closer, to try and hear what was being said. But this time fear locked her into her seat. When the other police did come, and Mr. Bouchard’s voice came through the intercom, so light, so in control, she sent them away, and watched as the others filed out of his office so slowly, so defeated…
[FAINT VOICES STOP; FOOTSTEPS FILE OUT]
That was when she no longer suspected. She knew. Finally her paranoia had not been for nothing. She was working for evil. Not someone misguided, not selfish, but truly evil. And she knew she was going to sit there and ignore that fact. She knew the sort of information he had on everyone, and now she knew what he was capable of, what he might do if he thought Rosie might be a threat. She was just going to sit there, watch, and hope to go unnoticed. And a small part of her, almost wanted to see what was going to happen.
[DOOR CREAKS AND FAINT SCREAMING RESUMES]
Why doesn’t she do it? She knows he’s in there, she can hear him occasionally. And he likes her, Rosie’s pretty sure of that. She is perhaps the only person on Earth in a position to help, to at least ask what is happening, to ask why. But now all she can do is sit there and smile, waiting for the intercom.
[SCREAMING CEASES; DOOR CREAKS, FAINT BUZZ OF VOICES OVER A POLICE RADIO AND FOOTSTEPS]
There should have been relief, when they led him out in handcuffs. A weight removed, a tightness loosed from her chest. But there wasn’t. Mr. Bouchard had smiled at her as the inspector marched him out. He wasn’t even surprised. She hadn’t smiled back. She hadn’t smiled in a long time, except for that painful customer service grin she had forced onto her face when Mr. Bouchard had visitors. Visitors like…
[RISE AND FADE OF LONELY STATIC]
Of course. The floating unease settled into shape as soon as she saw Mr. Lukas. Rosie knew what he was going to say before he even opened his mouth.
“Rosie, right? I’m Peter Lukas. Elias asked me to look after the Institute while he was away. So, I guess that makes you my assistant. Right?”
She knew all about Peter Lukas, of course. Bouchard had always been very careful to leave his files in conspicuous enough locations for her. She knew he’d been preparing her. She didn’t want to let him down. Or did she? Rosie didn’t even know anymore. At the very least, he’d never lied to her, never failed to validate her suspicions or indulge her snooping. As afraid as she was, he seemed to understand her. And as much as she disliked this temporary replacement, she knew she was going to stay.
[DOOR CREAKS AND FAINT SCREAMING RESUMES]
People have come to see Elias. No. Not people. Not anymore. They stare through her, and she knows that she was never going to help. She smiles at them, and politely informs them that Mr. Bouchard isn’t seeing anyone without an appointment. Her face aches, and her teeth buzz in her gums.
[SCREAMING CEASES; DOOR CREAKS, FOLLOWED BY FOOTSTEPS]
Where else could she have gone? Mr. Lukas was dead. Mr. Bouchard was missing. So many friends and colleagues dead. The violence, the gunshots. The old man and his… daughter? Their murderous joy. She couldn’t stop thinking about their faces. How they had looked right past her as they ran through the building.
Over now, of course. Weeks ago. Too early to forget but too late to act. Wasn’t that always the way? Her flat was empty and silent. All her friends and family now so distant as to be almost strangers. What else could she have done except come in to work? She didn’t know who for or why. She had simply sat at her desk and waited for the phone to ring. She waited and she waited.
[CHAIR CREAKS]
And it got dark. And it got light. Over and over, and still she waited. All she knew was that something still needed to happen. And she couldn’t bring herself to leave until she knew what it was.
[BUILDING STARTS TO CREAK, GROWING LOUDER AS IT WARPS]
[SOUNDS OF ALARUM AND BELLS]
Not until the sky began to change, and the screaming began. And Mr. Bouchard returned to his office.
[SOUND OF BUILDINGS CRUMBLING AND FLAMES RISING IN THE DISTANCE]
By then it was too late. In many ways it felt like it had always been too late.
[STATIC RISES]
ARCHIVIST
S-Sorry.
[FOOTSTEPS AS ROSIE APPROACHES]
MARTIN
[Softly] Oh Rosie…
ROSIE
Mr. Sims, was it?
ARCHIVIST
Uh, yes?
ROSIE
I believe you have an appointment. Mr. Magnus is waiting just inside.
ARCHIVIST
Oh. Right.
[FOOTSTEPS]
MARTIN
Is there anything we can do to help her?
ARCHIVIST
If there is, it’s on the other side of these doors.
ROSIE
Head right on in, he’s ready for you.
MARTIN
Okay.
[DOOR OPENS, LETTING A WASH OF STATIC AND DISTORTED SPEECH FLOW OUT]
[NOTE: ELIAS’ SPEECH UNDERSCORES THE REST OF THE CONVERSATION, AN UNBREAKING NARRATIVE OF FEAR AS HE FLOATS AND WRITHES IN PERPETUAL PERCEPTION]
JONAH (BACKGROUND)
– he screams his pitch is low and black as night that flows and chokes his withered throat and hacking cough that sounds like death is here for him who always knew and feared that this indecent end would carve its bitter name full deep inside his soul and burn within without a ceasing seeing moment more than screaming ones who howl and hide from fates that crawl towards on nails that scratch and creak like rotten boards might warn you of your severed pains approach to pull your skin like sodden cloth and drag it tearing from the now that is no longer even close to what the when just might have been if there was time enough to run and hide from rancid deaths –
ARCHIVIST
[Aghast] No…
MARTIN
Can he hear us?
ARCHIVIST
I…
MARTIN
Does he even know we’re here?
ARCHIVIST
I don’t…
MARTIN
[Calling] Elias!
Jonah, Jonah Magnus!
Oi! Dickhead! Come down here so we can kick your arse!
ARCHIVIST
[Sadly] He can’t hear you, Martin.
MARTIN
Yeah I got that. What’s wrong with him?
ARCHIVIST
Nothing. Nothing’s wrong with him.
He’s the pupil of The Eye.
MARTIN
Meaning?
ARCHIVIST
He won.