The Calm

"It was a special kind of magic; no tricks, no illusions. Just people."

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The Calm

Site-43 — September 8th, 2019

Heather Garrison trailed her hands along the uneven concrete walls of Site-43 in an attempt to do anything but think about what today would bring.

It wasn't going well for her.

I still feel like I don't belong here, Heather mused as her fingers danced across the cold concrete. I guess I never really made this place a home, did I?

Heather thought about Lillian Lillihammer, her dear fiancé; she had stalked these halls for years, the evidence of her presence clear in the wake she left behind. She thought about Harry Blank, toiling away in the dust, dirt and debris; the footsteps left in the archives, ones that would not be seen again for decades, stood as proof that he had lived. She saw William Wettle, crashing through the halls, blood stains and bruises marking his life in injuries; though his wounds would heal, the memory of him would not fade.

Site-43 was a place that created its own mythology. It was a Foundation facility that demanded a legacy in every beating heart that filled these halls, pulled nostalgia and comradery to the forefront, the struggles of the greater world insignificant within these hallowed, hollowed halls. Though the people working here would slip into living myths, they remained, toiling and changing their story; Site-43 gave you the power to make a legacy, and offered the chance to remake your fate.

It was a special kind of magic; no tricks, no illusions. Just people.

It's everything I want SITE to be.

Heather's distraction had worked.

"—ven hearing me?"

Perhaps a bit too well. As she properly tuned back into reality, an annoying din filled the air; Heather winced as a screeching voice said something she couldn't quite make out.

Probably not relevant, she decided, a bad habit she had picked up from her other half. Trying to be polite, Heather turned, flashing a smile and looking at the source of the clarion calls. Of course, it had to be Karen.

Karen Elstrom, Chief of Admin and Oversight had not stopped talking since Heather had noticed her — unfortunately, Heather had still not started to listen.

"— tening to what I'm saying? God, you're worse than Lillian. At least she has the decency to—"

"Hi, Karen," Heather said, in an attempt to smooth over her obliviousness. "I didn't mean to get in your way, I'm just here to see Allan."

"Great! As I have told you countless times since you stepped into this room, he is busy." Karen crossed her arms, as her nose turned up instinctually. "Did you forget what day it is?"

"How could I forget?" Heather stood her ground, challenging Karen. "It's not like my fiancé is in mortal danger, or anything, right?"

Karen might have given Heather a soft smile, had she been anybody else. The slight loosening of skin around her eyes was close enough, Heather decided, and smiled back.

"I heard about that," Karen said casually, the confrontation no longer relevant. "Congratulations. I never thought I would see the day when Lillian would settle down."

"Neither did I."

The clocks in the room ticked, as Heather considered why Foundation facilities had analog clocks. Is it just to make silences more awkward?

"Okay, well," Karen continued, having returned to her cold, not cruel demeanor. "You can fuck off now."

Heather nodded, knocking on Director McInnis' door and twisting the handle.

"Are you fucking joking? Heather, I do not care if you are a Director, I will personally—"

"Karen," Director McInnis said, his calm, crisp voice cutting through Karen's shrill. "It's okay, I will see Director Garrison now. Thank you for looking out for me, but it is not needed here."

Heather looked over her shoulder, daggers staring back at her — Heather's impulse got the best of her, unfortunately, another trait that Lillian had only amplified. Heather stuck her tongue out at Karen, and entered McInnis' office, the heavy oak doors soon muffling Karen's continued protestations.

"Director Garrison," McInnis said with a well practiced warmth. "It's wonderful to finally speak with you face-to-face."

"Can you believe this is the first time?" Heather shook her head, taking a seat in front of McInnis' desk.

"I can, actually." Allan tented his fingers, resting his arms on the tabletop. "Lillian has a tendency to…"

"Do her own thing?"

"Quite."

"Sorry to bother you today, Director McInnis, I just wanted to stop by and drop off the report on Noospheric stability, before, well, you know." Heather began to leaf through a seemingly empty manila folder, pages appearing as she flipped through translucent tabs. A moment later, she pulled a page out, placing it on his desk. "To summarize, we've added additional ontological anchors around the stability complex for SCP-5243, which should make things a bit safer — everything should be good for the reenactment later today."

"Thank you for this," McInnis said, taking the proffered page and glancing through the details. It was a casual skim, at best, but he trusted Heather by proxy. Plus, Lillian would have said something if things weren't looking copacetic — he was not worried, despite the stakes.

A quiet fell in the office, as Heather remained in the seat. She fidgeted, twisting a ring around her finger, as McInnis watched with a practiced calm.

She's nervous, he noted, as if that were a surprise. She just wants somebody to talk to, he concluded, a plan formulating in his mind. People were just like puzzles to him; Allan could tell what the image was, even without all the pieces.

"Congratulations are in order, I hear?" McInnis nodded to Heather's hand, where she continued to expend anxious energy.

"Yes!" Heather said, her anxiety buried for the moment as she displayed her ring. "I'm still in disbelief."

"As am I." McInnis beamed. "I never thought I would see the day when Lillian was, for lack of a better term, tamed by another. To think, she proposed first…"

"Oh, she's definitely not tamed. She's still the same Lillian I met when I first arrived, but that's just the way I like her."

"I'm so happy for you both." McInnis watched as Heather's nerves slowly crept back in. It's not about Lillian, then…

"Thanks," Heather said, absentmindedly biting her lip as she checked the time. "I didn't mean to take up so much of your time, I'll just—"

"Oh, don't worry about that. Genuinely." McInnis smiled, his calmness exuding through the room. "I'm not nervous, my role is easy and there is plenty of time left."

"Right." Heather bounced her knee, biting a nail and looking anywhere in the office but at Allan. "Can I get your advice on something?"

"Of course." McInnis rolled his shoulders back, consciously opening his posture to her. "What about?"

Great fucking job, Heath, you dumbass. Heather fumed internally, as she kicked herself for having dropped her mask so readily. What the fuck is wrong with me today? One word answers? Jesus Christ, what am I, a fucking teenager? Heather, just figure your shit out.

Heather locked eyes with Director McInnis, as she tried to gather her composure, a futile effort at best. Sighing audibly, she caved and did away with the pretense.

"It's about being a Director." Heather tapped her foot, anxiety pushing her body into involuntary movement. "How… how do you handle it?"

"Which part?" Heather's face must have betrayed her confusion, as McInnis continued. "Are you struggling with the administrative side of things? I know that it can be a bit overwhelming, but—"

"No, not the boring stuff. That's… that's whatever." Heather swallowed, bile rising in her chest. "How the fuck do you… how do you cope with the responsibility? How do you keep so calm, despite the fact that all of Site-43 is looking to you for answers? I know how to look after myself, but…"

"But you didn't realize how much pressure you would feel? How obligated you feel to ensure that everybody is cared for, thought of, has a chance to make their mark and call the site home?"

"Yeah, exactly." Heather snorted. "It's almost like you're a Site Director, or something."

"Or something," McInnis said in a wistful tone. "The good news is that you are already a better Site Director than many I have met."

"Oh? I bet you just say that to all the Site Directors."

"Ha." Allan stood, walking around his desk and taking a seat across from Heather. The boundaries between them were shattered, the dynamics changing with each step he took.

He knows how to control a room. I should be taking notes.

"The fact that you are asking me this question," McInnis continued, "is proof that you care about the people who live at SITE. Directors are not always chosen for their leadership; many are promoted because of raw talent, expertise, political connections and other ephemeral reasons. Those Directors are no less effective, but their priorities focus on results. They push containment, research, progress to the forefront, expecting their staff to rise to the occasion. They will give the Foundation results, no matter the cost."

Heather nodded, listening to his calming timbre.

"I do not like those Directors."

Heather burst out laughing at the bluntness of his statement, as McInnis continued without pause.

"You don't care about results." Heather's expression flipped between pride and annoyance in an instant.

"I don't think that's entirely fair, I—"

"You misunderstand me." Allan leaned forward, a piece of his own mask falling to the wayside as Heather began to see his true self. "You are a good Director because you never stop thinking about the people."

"Well, yeah, of course I do." Heather narrowed her eyes in confusion. "I'm responsible for them, right? Isn't that the point of the job?"

"Exactly. That is the point of the job to you. Not to every Director. You actively chose to put your staff first." Allan beamed. "Did you realize that?"

"I just… what else am I supposed to think? Should I just let them struggle? I accepted the Director position because it finally meant that I could start to change things. I was in control, I could make a difference; for once, I wasn't just a passenger to the system." Heather paused, her mind racing, as she continued without realizing. "It wasn't really a choice for me."

"And that is why you can do this, Director Garrison." Allan leaned back, crossing his legs. "Your staff will be there with you, every step of the way. Your instincts are good, you need to trust yourself."

"Right, 'trust myself'," Heather scoffed, shaking her head. "Because that has worked out so well for me in the past."

"I heard about your hearing today."

Oh god, Heather thought, mortified. "Did Lillian tell you?"

"No." McInnis laughed lightly. "But Directors love to gossip just as much as researchers, and word spreads fast. We felt the effects that day, so it wasn't hard to put two and two together."

"I'm…" Heather felt her heart drop into her stomach, a persistent queasiness returning to the forefront. "I'm fucked, aren't I?"

In that moment, in the split second of genuine anguish, Director Allan McInnis saw another face in Heather.

She is just like him. A Director who is willing to do anything for the one they love… A worried frown crossed his face, the shock overwriting his careful control. No, one mustn't dwell on tragedy yet, their story is yet to conclude and the ink is still wet. I can make a difference still.

His thoughts had taken only a second or two, but as Allan looked at the burden Heather shouldered, he knew it was his duty to lighten the load.

"You know, Heather, you remind me of an old friend."

"Oh?" Heather snorted. "Did you have a friend who survived the wrath of the O5s?"

"In a way," McInnis mused, laughing to only himself. "He would not take no for an answer when it came to making a difference. If the Foundation deemed something impossible, if it could help one person, he would do everything in his power to make it happen. He… He died, still trying to make a difference."

"How did he die?"

The question stung more than he expected. It seems that time had still not healed this wound in full.

"Old age." Allan shed a tear, although it was disguised with a deft hand. "A rarity in our line of work."

Heather nodded. It seemed that something in his musings had struck true, as he watched a courage well from within the wavy-haired ontologist, the panic hardening into resolve. She had found her purpose, whatever that was.

Promises, he thought. They will be kept, one way or another.

It was a good thing he hadn't lost his touch.

"Don't let me keep you for too long," Allan said calmly, rising from his seat. "I'm sure you have another stop or two before your hearing, don't let an old man's ramblings interfere — you will be alright, I am sure of it. You and Lillian both; you always find a way through, even if the answer is not clear."

"Lillian and I…" Director Garrison had stood, coming to a pause, one hand of the door. She hesitated, a momentary lapse in the newfound confidence — Allan watched a shadow of guilt pass over her face, disappearing in a flash.

"Oh, one other thing." Heather was staring at the floor, in a stunning display of her relative youth. "I have… I have a favor to ask."

"If it is in my power," Allan offered with open arms, "then I will grant you the favour."

Heather opened her folder, and without looking, flipped to her target document, removing a plain, white envelope. On the front, inscribed in violet ink, was the word "Lillian".

Allan took the letter with care, placing it within the top drawer of his desk.

"If…" Heather opened her mouth, but no sound came out. "If it should—"

"Okay." The somber nod said it all. "I hope to never deliver this letter."

Director Heather Garrison left his office without another word. They both had a job to do.

Forgotten Memories Book 2: Omnia begins shortly…

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Clouded Judgement

Forgotten Memories Book 2: Omnia (Prologue)

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The Storm

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