ANNOUNCER
This episode is dedicated to Sierra Rush. The world is so rich and vast and beautiful, and you are here to share your beauty with it. There are many small moments in life, but they are quilted together to be you. You’re going to be amazing.
[Intro Theme]
ANNOUNCER
Rusty Quill Presents: The Magnus Protocol.
Episode Twenty-Six – Catching Up.
[Music]
[O.I.A.R. microphone slowly whirs to life]
[Typing noises]
CELIA
How we looking?
SAM
Pretty much there. You?
CELIA
Close enough.
[A bit more typing; a pleasant computer beep]
CELIA
Right. Let’s go, before anything more comes in.
[The two of them begin to pack.]
SAM
…Did you just categorize that last one as, “dog”?
CELIA
Got a problem with that?
SAM
No.
CELIA
Good.
[They pack for a bit longer]
SAM
(stopping again) It’s just… “dog”? That’s it?
CELIA
(audible shrug) It was about a dog.
SAM
Not cross-linked with, like, “teeth,” or…
CELIA
(amused huff) All dogs have teeth.
SAM
I guess, but –
CELIA
Look, do you want to go and meet Helen? Or, do you want to stay here and discuss dogs?Because either way I’m happy.
SAM
Yeah, all right, all right.
[More packing]
CELIA
…You okay?
SAM
(stops again) Ah, you know me – this stuff makes me nervous.
CELIA
(low) Yeah, me too.
SAM
Really?
CELIA
(deliberate inhale) So, anything particular that you’re worked up about?
SAM
No? …Yeah. Not sure.
[Footsteps approach as he continues]
SAM
I just don’t think I can face another dead end.
CELIA
Hey Alice.
ALICE
Planning another daring heist?
CELIA
…The Crown Jewels aren’t gonna steal themselves.
ALICE
Oh, that’s good to hear. I was worrying for a moment that you were Magnussing.
SAM
Uh, “Magnussing”?
ALICE
Magnussing, verb: to insist on poking around stuff to do with the Magnus Institute, despite Alice’s continued efforts to stop you getting yourselves killed.
[Beat.]
[Sam sighs, exasperated.]
CELIA
Alice, we’ve been over this…
ALICE
No, you’re right… it’s fine. You know how I feel, but you’re both grown adults. You can make your own choices.
Just make sure you take protection, okay?
SAM
(mortified) Jesus Christ…
ALICE
Like a big knife or something!
CELIA
Don’t worry:
[Unzipping noise]
[Something large and metal and sharp is pulled out of a bag]
ALICE
Oh, wow! That’ll do it!
…Okay, then. Maybe don’t get it out at work, though?
CELIA
(as she puts the knife back) We’ll be careful, Alice. I promise.
[Alice sighs in resignation]
ALICE
Fine. Off you go then… I guess.
[Celia and Sam head off]
CELIA
(calling) See you tonight!
SAM
(less enthused) Yeah, see you later.
[Door opens as they exit]
SAM
(distantly) Celia – are you sure that thing’s legal?
CHESTER
Witness Statement of Alexander Rumins
Date of Birth: 10th September 2000
Occupation: Accountant
Address: 17 Gransden Avenue, Hackney
Dated 14th April 2024
My name is Alexander Rumins. I’ve… I’ve never done one of these. So I’m not quite sure what I am meant to say here.
I’m 23. I’m male. I’ve lived in London my whole life. I have two sisters, one older and one younger.
My dad died when I was 15, and my mother still lives in the house I grew up in.
And yesterday…
God. Even saying it makes me feel horribly nauseous.
I saw someone die.
I saw someone die, right in front of me, and there wasn’t a single thing I could have done to help.
The worst thing is that I know him. Knew him. How long does it take until I speak of him in the past tense?
I knew him. And now… I don’t anymore…?
The dead person is – was – Jarrod Smith. He was an athletics coach who trained young runners. I know because I was one of them. At a very young age I realised I could run faster than anyone. It was like I could take a deep breath that spread into my chest, my legs, and shot through me like an arrow.
By the time I was 10, I could outrun most teachers, and all the older boys in the big school next to my primary. It became a bit of a game for them.
No one could ever catch me. Except Mr Jarrod. I only knew him as my PE teacher then. The new PE teacher, who had started in my final year of primary school. That was the first time we had athletics rather than football or rugby or gymnastics.
I won, of course. I was faster than anyone, no matter how many times he asked me to race again and again, until finally, he placed himself next to me, and simply shouted:
“Go!”
That shot of adrenaline went through my chest, my legs pumping faster and faster until I realised – Mr Jarrod had passed me. And no matter how much faster I tried to push my legs… I lost.
Afterwards, spitting and sputtering, I managed to say: “Can you teach me to run faster?”
It wasn’t easy getting permission from my parents. They didn’t understand why I needed to train after school, and they certainly didn’t have any money for special clothes or shoes. But Mr Jarrod had a spare pair of training shoes, and he promised he would bring me home every day after training. So my parents, exhausted by their double shifts at Tesco, agreed.
And that’s how it started. Three times a week, Mr Jarrod would meet me at the playground outside the gymnasium, with the track already marked and his stopwatch at the ready. If it was raining, we moved inside. If it was cold, I’d wear an extra layer. But we never, ever missed a session.
It was just a few months later that I ran my first race. Only my sisters were there to watch me win.
That was the first time I remember feeling… proud of myself.
It’s not a feeling I’ve had for a long time.
Despite seeing each other almost every day, I knew very little of Mr Jarrod. All I knew was that he was there at the track three times a week, and that he knew how to make me faster.
First, I became the fastest in my borough. Then I won the London Athletics Meet. I was the youngest to ever win the Meet, and the sponsors were salivating all over themselves, but Mr Jarrod told me to ignore all of them and just to focus on running.
The next year, just before I was due to run the Meet again, to come back and defend my title – my father died.
I had just completed a personal best at the hundred meters. I turned and saw my older sister standing at the edge of the track. I will never forget the look on her face. Her eyes, always so brown, looked darker than ink. And her face was almost entirely slack. I’m not sure how she managed to say the words, but I heard them nonetheless.
“It’s Dad. We have to go home.”
I ran. The streets were a blur as I barely dodged cars and pedestrians, as if by running, I could reach my father and he’d be alive.
I honestly don’t remember the following days. The funeral came and went. My sisters went back to school and to college. My mother picked up more shifts at Tesco.
But I stopped running. What was the point? Running didn’t do anything to help my dad.
Mr Jarrod came to visit once, a few weeks after the funeral, before I went back to school. He knocked only once, and spoke to ask if he could come in. I didn’t answer the door, and he didn’t knock again.
That was the last time I saw him. Until yesterday morning.
I… haven’t run for such a long time, you see. I’ve been working as an accountant since I graduated. Don’t get me wrong, it’s an incredibly boring job, but now my mum doesn’t have to work at Tesco, and neither do my sisters. I like to take walks in the morning, before work. Just – stretch my legs a little. Not run, though. Never run.
I went this morning as usual. Nothing strange about that. Until I saw him! Mr Jarrod. I recognised him instantly: his stride, his dark skin glistening with sweat, his pace. I couldn’t believe it. Seven years since I saw him, but I still felt that old thrill at the idea of racing him.
“Mr Jarrod!” I shouted. “Mr Jarrod, it’s me, Alex!”
But he didn’t stop. He didn’t so much as slow down. He thundered past me, his legs moving smoothly.
I’ve never been a superstitious person, but – for some reason, when I looked at Mr Jarrod run faster than I had ever seen him, a cold and slimy shiver went down my back. He seemed to be running for his life. I don’t have any explanation for why I think that, but… he seemed more frightened than anyone I have ever seen.
I could smell the fear coming off his skin as he thundered past me again. His shirt was completely soaked, as were his shorts, and you could see the flecks of sweat fly off his face and arms, even at a distance. Even at the speed his legs were moving. He wasn’t being chased. I looked around, but the entire park was completely deserted. It was only moments after 5 in the morning! There was no one to ask for help, and I had a sudden thought that if I took my eyes off him, something truly awful would happen.
I had only one choice.
I’m nowhere near as fast as I was. I was gasping before 20 metres had passed, and sweating by 50 metres, and I just couldn’t keep up.
“Mr Jarrod… please, stop!” I begged, as my legs started to seize up.
But in all the years we trained together, I could never catch Mr Jarrod. And today was no different. I grasped at the air as he pulled further away, missing his T-shirt by inches. I stopped again. I felt as if I would never take in enough air.
That’s when I realised that he was running laps of the park. I didn’t need to catch him. I just needed to meet him. So I turned and ran the other way. I drew closer, and closer, and suddenly I was knocked completely off my feet. Mr Jarrod ran straight over me.
(faintly incredulous:) I think he ran through me.
I tried to stand up, but had to sit down again, a dizzying rush of pain swooping through my body.
I called to him, but of course he couldn’t hear me; I don’t think he could hear anyone. A few moments later he ran past me again, his breaths gasping and heaving, as if it was taking every ounce of strength and energy to keep his body moving.
His face was contorted in complete terror, and that’s when I could make out that his mouth was moving. Words seemed to tumble out in a cascade, like he was telling some awful story. But they were lost under his laboured breathing.
Our eyes locked for a moment, just as he stumbled, and fell. Was there recognition? I don’t know. He hit the ground head first, and even at that distance I could hear the sickening sound of his skull splitting open.
Every step sent a shard of horrible pain through my head, but I ran until I reached him. Mr Jarrod’s forehead had a horrible cut, with the blood freely flowing into his eyes. Even so he was struggling to get up, to continue running, and his mouth kept forming words.
I dropped to my knees, trying to stop him from moving. Bloody and shaking, he pushed me away, weakly trying to get up again. But he barely made it to his knees before he fell over again. And all the while, he kept muttering.
I could make out a few of the words now. (rhythmic, monotone:) “They’re coming now and getting close so very close and when I slow and when I stop they will catch me and they will hurt me.”
There was more, but I didn’t hear it, because I saw that we were no longer alone in the park. I don’t know how it came up so close without me seeing it. A figure. Tall and thin and still in shadow even in the morning sun. I couldn’t make out its face, but I felt it… looking at me. Looking at me from everywhere.
It was holding a tape recorder to Mr Jarrod’s mouth, like it was trying to catch his dying words.
“Who are you?” I asked it.
“An archivist,” it replied.
I wanted to ask more questions, to confront it, to strangle it for what I knew it had done.
But that was when he screamed, his mouth tearing wide open. I screamed too. I screamed for a very long time.
And when the paramedics finally brought me to my senses, it was gone.
[Beep.]
[Typing noises fade in; for a while, no one says anything.]
ALICE
(disturbed) Hmmmm…
GWEN
Hm. I don’t remember the last time I saw you bothered by a case.
ALICE
And I suppose you’re just cucumber cool about yet another visit from your murderous tape-recording pal, is that it?
GWEN
(emotionless) There are plenty of dangerous monsters out there, Alice. It’s not worth obsessing over one of them.
[Gwen keeps typing as she speaks]
ALICE
(defensive) I’m not obsessed! I’m just irritated because there isn’t a code for “Archivist.”
GWEN
So? Collector, librarian, eavesdropper… Just pick one of those.
ALICE
(annoyed) But it said Archivist.
[Gwen sighs in exasperation]
[Beat]
ALICE
(realisation) It said “Archivist.”
GWEN
I heard you, Alice, I just stopped caring.
ALICE
(softly) It was us.
[Gwen finally stops typing.]
GWEN
What?
ALICE
The Institute, the – the Archive.
That’s why it’s so interested in us. We set it loose…
[She stands abruptly]
ALICE
I need to call Sam.
[Dial tone starts up: a phone recording]
CELIA
How you holding up?
SAM
(not okay) I’m okay.
CELIA
Yeah? I heard you and Alice on the phone. Sounded bad.
SAM
It is. She thinks one of the Externals, the one with the tapes, the “Archivist,” she thinks we might have let it out. Or at least got its attention, brought it down here.
If she’s right… that would mean all those people… they would still be alive if I hadn’t insisted on poking around.
…
How are you?
CELIA
(quietly) I don’t know. Something’s off.
SAM
You can say that again.
CELIA
No, I mean, something isn’t right. The External, the Archivist, it’s not acting how I would have expected.
SAM
Got a lot of experience with killer tapes, do you?
CELIA
I just mean that –
[Footsteps approach]
[Celia gasps despite herself]
HELEN
Hi! Sorry to keep you waiting!
CELIA
(to herself) Helen…
HELEN
That’s me! I’m guessing you’re Celia, so you must be…
SAM
Sam. Hi.
HELEN
Pleasure. So, can I get either of you a cup of tea? Coffee?
SAM
No, thank you.
HELEN
How about you, Celia?
[Silence.]
SAM
Celia?
CELIA
(a little rushed) Uh, no. I’m – fine. Thank you. …Helen.
HELEN
Allll right then. Well! Straight to it! (faffing with brochures) So, there’s a few likely properties that have just come on the market, and luckily there’ve been some rather nice new builds that haven’t even been listed yet, so your timing is excellent.
SAM
Oh! Er… (unconvincingly) good!
HELEN
Obviously, we’ll need to know a little bit more about your budget, but before that, are there any big no-no’s we should know about? Like, “heavy traffic,” “eco-warrior neighbors,” that sort of thing?
SAM
Well, I mean I don’t really have an issue with –
CELIA
(tense) We’re not here for a house.
SAM
(confused) …We’re not?
HELEN
(gently) Maisonette?
CELIA
No. We’re here, because –
Well, we’re looking into the Magnus Institute.
[Beat.]
HELEN
I’m… sorry, I’m a little confused.
SAM
(a defeated sigh) You haven’t heard of it.
HELEN
Oh no, no, I remember it very well! I just thought they closed up shop years ago after the fire. Some sort of academic outreach thing, wasn’t it – bit of a… quango?
CELIA
Something like that, yeah.
HELEN
Yeahhh, mmm. I remember I found them a few commercial properties back when I was, you know, first starting out. Surprised anyone’s still interested, though. Can I ask what this is about?
SAM
We’re, uh… making a documentary.
HELEN
(intrigued) Oh really? A proper one? Who for?
SAM
Uh…
CELIA
BBC.
HELEN
Oh, marvelous! Well, why didn’t you just say? Do I need to sign anything, or, er…?
CELIA
(alarmed) No! We’re just in the early research stage at the moment. Might not even go anywhere.
HELEN
(enthused) Oh, well, as I recall they did have some odd requirements, bloody big basements, security options, that sort of thing.
SAM
Do you have any kind of contact details we could maybe follow up on? Anyone specific you used to talk to?
HELEN
Eh, I’m not really meant to give that kind of information out, GDPR rubbish – you know how it is.
CELIA
…Of course.
HELEN
Best I can do is tell you it’s been a long time since we’ve had contact. Twenty-odd years at least. Any details we still have are all very much out of date, so wouldn’t be much use to you.
SAM
(downcast) Right.
HELEN
Tell you what, though, I think I still have the old listings filed away somewhere! The ones I sent through to them. Would it maybe help your research to know what sort of properties they were buying?
SAM
(perking up) That would be great.
CELIA
(more cautious) Didn’t you say something about GDPR…?
HELEN
(conspiratorial) Of course. You’re right. I have no idea where your production team could possibly have got those files.
SAM
You’re an absolute gem.
HELEN
Just remember that, if you need any talking heads for the documentary, deal?
CELIA
Deal.
HELEN
And make sure you come to me if you’re ever, you know, actually in the market for a house, eh?
[She laughs. It’s very reminiscent of The Distortion. Celia is unsettled. Sam laughs nervously.]
[More modern-ish whirring sounds – this is a laptop recording]
JACK
Baaa, bah bah.
SAM
(imitating Helen) Yes, young Jack, should you ever have need of a modest chateau or a cheeky little palace, do give me a call. Jolly good!
[Jack laughs happily]
SAM
(fondly) Do you like that?
JACK
(delighted) Heh heh, heh!
SAM
Ohhh dear. Bad news, Celia.
CELIA
(distracted) What?
SAM
Your baby’s a Tory.
JACK
Nyeh, nyeh.
SAM
…Celia?
CELIA
Hmm?
SAM
Everything all right?
CELIA
Sorry, yeah, it’s fine. I just –
[Footsteps as she walks over to Sam]
I felt like we were being watched for a moment.
[She sits.]
SAM
We’re okay. We were very careful not to be followed. It’s just late – well, it’s early but you know what I mean – and we’re both tired.
JACK
Buu, buu bah.
CELIA
Yeah. (a breath; brighter:) Yeah, you’re right.
Would you like a drink while I put Jack down for his morning nap?
SAM
(awkward) Um, is that a good idea? I mean…
CELIA
(amused) I said a drink, Sam, not a piss up.
SAM
(chuckles) Right, yeah. A drink sounds great.
CELIA
Beer’s in the fridge. I won’t be long. (picking up Jack) Come on, goblin. Say bye bye to Sam.
SAM
Bye bye Jack! Reexamine your political views!
[Jack coos in delight. Celia chuckles and heads off.]
CELIA
(to Jack) Come on.
[Jack continues making baby noises]
CELIA
Okay. I know you’re sleepy, you’re not gonna…
[Her voice fades into the distance]
[Sam stands, heads over to the fridge and pulls out a beer]
[He opens it and takes a sip]
[Footsteps approach:]
CELIA
Out like a light.
SAM
You’re welcome.
CELIA
(sitting) You’re very good with him.
SAM
I’m just the cool new toy.
CELIA
Well, cool’s a strong word…
SAM
Ouch.
[He yawns.]
CELIA
Maybe I should be putting you to bed?
[Sam laughs, then they both realize the connotation.]
[Beat.]
SAM
Um – (serious) Celia, I realize I haven’t really said thank you.
CELIA
You don’t have to!
SAM
I do. (shifting to face her) Even after we knew how dangerous this might be, you still stuck around. I know you have your own reasons, but…
CELIA
I have a few. But you’re one of them.
(audible smile) I like you, Sam.
SAM
I-I, uh, I mean, y-y-you know, I like you too. But that’s, um…
[Pause.]
SAM
I should get going.
CELIA
(flirting:) You don’t have to.
SAM
(uncertain) No?
CELIA
(closer) Not if you don’t want to.
SAM
(closer) I don’t.
I think I want to stay.
CELIA
Good.
[They kiss. Sam knocks over the beer, but neither of them notice.]
[Music]
ANNOUNCER
The Magnus Protocol is a podcast distributed by Rusty Quill and licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution Non-Commercial Share-alike 4.0 International License. The series is created by Jonathan Sims and Alexander J Newall, and directed by Alexander J Newall.
This episode was written by Muna Hussen and edited with additional materials by Jonathan Sims and Alexander J Newall, with vocal edits by Lowri Ann Davies, soundscaping by Tessa Vroom, and mastering by Catherine Rinella with music by Sam Jones.
It featured Billie Hindle as Alice Dyer, Shahan Hamza as Samama Khalid, Anusia Battersby as Gwen Bouchard Lowri Ann Davies as Celia Ripley, with additional voices from Jonathan Sims.
The Magnus Protocol is produced by April Sumner, with executive producers Alexander J Newall, Dani McDonough, Linn Ci, and Samantha F.G. Hamilton, and Associate Producers Jordan L. Hawk, Taylor Michaels, Nicole Perlman, Cetius d’Raven, and Megan Nice.
To subscribe, view associated materials, or join our Patreon, visit rustyquill.com. Rate and review us online, tweet us @therustyquill, visit us on facebook or email us at mail@rustyquill.com.
Thanks for listening.