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The first time the hunters summon him, Gerry makes a mistake: He is helpful.
Such an obvious misstep, in retrospect. If he’d thought about it for even a second, weighed the pain of his new existence and the nonexistent time between death and summoning, he’d have realized that the worst thing a dead man could possibly be is useful. But he is still disorientated, and he can’t stop thinking about Gertrude. Where is she? Why did she do this to him? Is she dead, could these two have killed her?
The hunters promise to tell him how they got the book if he can give them useful information in return, and at the time that seems a small price to pay. He aches, as his soul, his spirit, his memory, whatever, struggle to exist in a world no longer meant for him. But he’s well-used to pain, and he needs to know—
They found the book in a police lock-up, a pile of old evidence. They never so much as saw Gertrude.
And then, before he can process that, they dismiss him.
Gerry braces himself for oblivion, but it never comes.
He blinks, and he’s in a different room. The hunters are still there, and now they have a new set of questions, and Gerry hasn’t had time to think about how the book wound up in an evidence locker and why the hell Gertrude bound him into the book in the first place. He certainly hasn’t had time to think about the lack of time between dismissal and summoning.
Again, he answers their questions without paying mind to the implications.
It isn’t until the fifth or sixth time they summon him that he starts to realize the hell he’s trapped in. It’s clear that months have passed, if not a full year, but for Gerry it feels like only an hour or two. A continuous hour, no time at all between summonings. Not a moment of rest, not a moment of respite from his deep, endless pain.
No end in sight.
That’s when he starts to feel afraid.
He tells the hunters to stop summoning him, but he’s already proved himself a useful resource. Why would they give that up?
He tells them that he won’t help them anymore. They try to bargain. This will be the last time, if you just answer our questions. Gerry isn’t stupid. He knows they’re lying. He doesn’t say anything.
But they keep summoning him anyway. They try to interrogate him, threatening that they won’t dismiss him until he cooperates. He tries to explain that it doesn’t matter, that there is no difference for him.
Blink. Another monster.
Blink. Another kill room.
Blink. The same two hunters.
Never a moment of quiet, never a moment of rest, never a moment free from the pain.
***
Blink.
Someone new is holding the book.
Gerry feels a bloom of hope rise in his chest. The hunters couldn’t be convinced to free him, but maybe someone else—
No. Gerry stamps down hard on the feeling, killing it before it can drag him down with it. He asks if the hunters are dead. The man says no. They’ve just lent Gerry out to a friend, like he’s a goddamn library book.
He says his name is Jon.
He says that he’s the Archivist. Gertrude’s successor. She’d dead.
There’s no grief in the revelation. How can there be? Gerry is dead too.
Jon is trying to stop the Unknowing. Gertrude hadn’t managed it before she died, so now Jon has followed her trail to America. To Gerry, who is perhaps the only person in the world who could help him, who could tell him exactly where to find Gertrude’s storage locker. An irreplaceable clue in a fucked-up mystery.
All at once, Gerry understands why she did it. She’d been anticipating her own death for months, recording tapes for the benefit of her successor. Why not also include in their welcome packet some supplementary materials, an experienced undead assistant to tell them how to carry out her plans?
No matter the suffering it would cause Gerry. The entire world was at stake. It was a necessary evil.
(Not necessary enough for her not to leave him behind—)
Jon asks for Gerry’s help like the fate of the world should matter to him. But he’s tired of this, tired of existing as a pawn for people who don’t give a shit about him. He’s already dead; it shouldn’t be too much to ask to stay that way.
He refuses to tell Jon anything unless he helps him. Jon is terrified of the hunters, but he’s more terrified of the end of the world. Having his page ripped from the book hurts, enough that it would probably send Gerry to his knees if he had real muscles, but then it’s done.
True to his word, Gerry tells Jon everything he knows. It isn’t much, but it’s enough, and a bit of the tension in Jon’s manner relaxes. Gerry finds himself relaxing too. He likes Jon, oddly enough. There’s nothing of Gertrude in his demeanor, nothing cold or calculating in his voice as he talks. He isn’t trying to manipulate Gerry for his own means. He just sounds… tired.
Gerry can relate.
Jon asks if he wants to give a statement, and Gerry agrees. Why not? He tells Jon about his mother and about Gertrude and all about his shitty life. And then he tells Jon about the entities, the details of how it all works, and with a sudden surge of protectiveness, he thinks, How have you been kept in the dark this long?
And then he realizes that he’s made the same mistake, again.
He’s made himself useful.
It would be incredibly stupid of Jon to burn his page, now. Gerry is too valuable a resource, a well of explanations much more comprehensive than scattered statements could provide. Better to keep him as part of the archive, available at any moment to answer Jon’s questions and help him figure out how to stay alive, moment after moment after moment after moment of deep, exhausting pain.
He thinks he’d cry, if Jon did that. He couldn’t hold it against Jon for prioritizing his own life over Gerry’s undead suffering, but it would be evidence that no one would. That Gertrude’s callous, utilitarian cruelty wasn’t unique. That Gerry’s suffering won’t be over anytime soon.
He would honestly prefer that Jon left him behind. That would hurt less. Gerry doesn’t like the hunters, but that’s the point. If he doesn’t like them, he doesn’t expect them to care about him.
He likes Jon, and he knows that doesn’t mean anything, but still he can’t help the rise of desperate hope in his chest when Jon says, “I dismiss you.”
And—