Javert opened his closet door and stared. His greatcoat hung there, as it had the previous night, but the deep gashes it had acquired from his run-in with the undead cat had vanished. He touched the intact sleeve, frowning thoughtfully, then shrugged and changed into his usual clothes. It probably wasn't worth wondering about. Stranger things had happened in this place.

Quickly he dropped his journal, keyring, and a pen in the greatcoat's spacious pockets. He was reaching for the radio when the intercom came on.

He stayed frozen for the duration of the broadcast. His first instinct was to dismiss Landel's words as mere fiction, but the doctor's words had a curiously flat tone to them that made Javert suspect the man wasn't lying. Javert had never had the chance to meet Doyle - had literally been a few steps away last night - but he had appreciated the man's help, even if he hadn't ever trusted him.

He let his hand fall, picked up his bat and flashlight, hesitated once more, and finally picked the radio up and dropped it in another pocket before opening the door and striding down the hall outside. Whether it was out of sheer stubbornness or a silent refusal to believe what was probably the truth, even he didn't know.

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