Day 44: Arts and Crafts Room, 4th Shift

[ryuuzaki]

The day had been slow for L so far, slower than he required: the events of the previous night were traumatic, but they did not outweigh his need for information and a useful way in which to apply whatever he might learn.

When the nurse shepherded him from the cafeteria, through the Sun Room, and over towards the door of the Arts and Crafts Room, he experienced a small internal wince: this was the room where it had happened the night before. Unpleasant, yes, but likely to be irrelevant in terms of my own welfare, except in terms of what I can learn from it, he reminded himself.

He had the impression that he could avoid the room if he wanted to, but there were several convincing reasons to push past his reluctance: his meeting with Lunge was necessary, the opportunity to see the room in more usual circumstances might be valuable, and he did not want the staff to see that he had been affected. He wasn't sure how they were tied to the events of the previous night, but the buzz of information around the Institute suggested some kind of strong connection.

As he stepped into the room, feet feeling imprisoned in the slippers that the staff kept insisting that he wear, he avoided the area where he had collapsed. Instead, he turned to the right and proceeded as far into the room as he could, then left, then took a seat in the back corner.

If the nurses pressed him to be more creative, he would take up painting. However, he expected to express his creativity in other ways.

[For Lunge.]

Comments

[ryuuzaki]

"What did the two of you speak about?" L asked, his tone cool, belying his interest. "And your other meetings... how did they go?"

That Lunge had found Wayne unreadable was not a comfort to L; as serious and even talented as it seemed the other investigator might be -- How easy it is to think of him as an investigator in earnest, after only a day -- he was not, could not be, a detective of L's caliber. Yet he had the impression that Lunge would be one of his favorite consultants if he knew him in everyday life, although perhaps not completely amenable to working as L's subordinate. All of that aside, L was still disappointed by his own inability to profile Bruce Wayne with as much facility as he might have. He moved on to the other topic.

"Dr. Jones found a town in the woods to the east of the Institute -- ruined, but perhaps not as ruined as it should be. He says that the artifacts seem to date from about the 1920s, yet there is a church full of skeletons which have no obvious signs of injury -- he described them as 'perfect enough to look like lab specimens.' Paper, also, has failed to deteriorate in an expected way. Structures are mostly intact, yet there is definite evidence of upheaval: smashed windows, broken furniture. 'YOU WILL BOTH BURN' is painted on a wall."

He picked up the black marker, holding its end with his fingertips, and began to draw a triangle on the paper in front of him, then to mark equidistant dots on each of the sides of the shape. His intention was to draw parabolic arcs with straight lines.

"It's interesting," he concluded, mild and conversational. "My first thought was that it might have been staged in some way. Then, the question is: why?"

[herr-inspektor.livejournal.com]

"Last night, albeit very briefly. We spoke for what was less than five or ten minutes." Not nearly as long as he would have liked, and not nearly long enough to make a fair assessment of either his personality or his motives. Damn.

Well. He would have timed to correct that. Lunge moved on. "My meeting with Edgeworth has been postponed. Apparently he was affected last night. My nurse deemed him unfit to speak with me." Fancy that. It was unfortunate that he happened to be in a position where, for once, he couldn’t force his way through anyway. "Instead, I spoke again with another police officer here by the name of Inspector Javert- he’s suspicious of me but I wouldn’t expect any less. Nonetheless he's sharp and, in my mind, trustworthy. He should be a worthwhile contact." And finally… he shifted in his seat. "I walked away from Lamperouge with his notes, but little of his insight. He was sedated at breakfast and could barely stay vertical, let alone share his thoughts. I'll be reading through his journal tonight, however."

With that out of the way, he listened carefully to L’s description. A town? And not, he presumed, the neighbouring Doyleton either. Broken buildings, death… the first chords of chill remembrance began to play up Lunge’s spine, and for one blindingly clear moment he didn’t hear another word L said over the rain and silence of another time. And then, just as suddenly, it was gone- L was speaking and he was silently pressing down the moment in the back of his memories, out of sight and out of mind. As far as he was concerned, it hadn’t happened.

"The most obvious reason would be as a red herring," he said when L had finished, taking up the red pen and idly sketching out a long, curving line. “But since it would be careless to write them off without seeing them first hand, I would propose a firsthand investigation. I’d particularly like to get a look at that message.”

You will both burn. Written in a firm, confident tense, it will happen. The inclusion of ‘both’ placed emphasis on two individuals; leaving it at an ambiguous ‘you’ obviously wasn’t enough. Burning brought with it connotations of hell and of sinning- it would be interesting to see whether they was literal or not and whether there was any evidence of fire in the town.

[ryuuzaki]

L gave his head a single quick, disappointed shake. "So, you did not have much more time with him than I did. At some point, perhaps when we know more, I think it would be advantageous to arrange another meeting with him."

As they spoke, he picked up a nearby bottle of glue, then used it to draw lines, which were more or less straight, between various sides of the triangle. "If it is possible, I would like to read through Lamperouge's journal myself; if not, maybe you will share a summary... how it differs from what he has posted on the bulletin board, for example. Although I suspect that if he is allowing you to read it, it will present the same face.

"Also, how would I recognize him?"

He set down the glue, then retrieved some sapphire-blue glitter and began to shake it over the lines. "I will try to speak to Javert. -- Did you have any indication that he might be under the delusion that he is, ah, that Javert?"

L's interest in literature did not go beyond what he needed to use in his work; he rarely had time to read for pleasure. When the leisure presented itself, other activities were often more attractive. However, given his profession and predilections, it had been nearly impossible for him to avoid awareness of Victor Hugo's invention -- a relentless and vengeful detective, fictional, but not, in the end, entirely dissimilar to him.

Then again, the name could be a coincidence. In the event that the man did believe himself to be the same Javert, perhaps there was no point in mentioning it: threatening his constructed identity would not help L, or anyone else. It might be possible to make a subtle approach to the topic, by asking about Javert's current work. Because this line of thought distracted L, he decided to disregard for the time being. There is no point in making a decision until it becomes relevant, he thought.

In response to Lunge's proposal, L gave a slow nod. "It will be dangerous; perhaps not so much the town itself as the attempt to reach it. Last night it was difficult for three of us to move from our rooms to this one, and that isn't a long trip.

"In terms of the ruins being a red herring, I thought -- there have been rumors that there was a purge of the entire patient population in the past, several months ago. Dr. Jones did not think that the skeletons might be related to it, but I would like to examine them myself, to be sure. There is nothing to say that anything we see or experience from a distance here is not in some way an elaborate performance, and either way, I believe that learning more about the motivations of various... players... is crucial."

As he spoke, he lifted the page and shook the glitter onto the top of the table, careful not to send any in Lunge's direction. It could be passed off as ineptitude, or inexperience with the sort of craft supplies that were usually reserved for seven-year-old girls, and it gave him a faint flicker of pleasure to think of one of his jailers having to clean it. All of my blood is gone now; they are efficient, if nothing else.

He was struck, suddenly, by an inconceivable thought, and a troubled, startled look passed over his face: Is it possible that the evidence of my "death" was removed by the same process that caused me to see momentary changes in the structure of the walls last night?

The potential implications of this were unsettling, questions that went to the nature of reality itself. He wanted to think them over in detail before bringing them up with anyone, if he ever elected to do so. The moment was gone as soon as it came, and he picked up the conversation after only the briefest pause, eyeing what Lunge was drawing.

"The message... it may be related to what you heard the night before last. Someone felt that it might refer to Martin Landel and to Alec Doyle, because they were once partners and because Landel is allegedly responsible for Doyle's recent death." He added in a more thoughtful tone, "In some ways, I think Doyle might be the key."

[herr-inspektor.livejournal.com]

Lunge nodded. “Of course. He’s said he wants it back by lunch tomorrow, but I’d be happy to prepare a summary of sorts for you.” As for how to recognise him… it may have barely ghosted across his face for a second, but the twitch to the inspector’s mouth would have been obvious to someone as observant as L. “Young. No older than eighteen. Tall, dark hair, pur- violet eyes.” It was hardly a lie, and there was nothing wrong with rationalising the impossible.

Just as he was certain that they had wandered back onto more sure territory with Javert, however, L’s questions took a… very strange turn. “That Javert?” He pressed his fingertips together lightly, mildly perplexed and more than a little irritated that he had apparently missed something obvious. Was the man an important historical figure? “I hadn’t heard the name before. However, he claims that he is from the nineteenth century.”

Claims. Had he not been so very aware of every word that passed his lips he would almost have missed that important little distinction. As trustworthy as the man had seemed to him (and as he would have liked to have thought he was), Javert was still under observation when it came to his perception of reality. More troubling, however, was that his story was becoming more and more plausible with every second he spent in this place.

Hmm.

He nodded as L explained his own ideas on the town, carefully storing them away with his own theories. “A purge?” Well, that was something new. He sat up a little straighter, leaning in over his art. “What do you know about it?”

“Looking into Doyle is one of my top priorities. Unfortunately, there isn’t much information about the man in circulation, but I’ve been told he was hardly an angel.” Javert again. “Given that his was the voice IDed as Landel’s attacker, I’m inclined to believe that. I’m also inclined to believe that he was possibly behind last night’s events.”

While L reached for the glitter, Lunge drew in a few more curves, blots and lines, mirrored it on the other side of the page and blocked in the colours. There. Filling in the last few spots, Lunge laid down his pen and held up his new makeshift Rorschach ink blot with a hooded smile. “What do you see?”

[ryuuzaki]

Given the information about Lamperouge, L sighed. "Yes, I would appreciate a summary: anything that seems like it might be useful, and everything that seems like it will not. We cannot be sure. As to Javert -- I have heard the name before, but it must be a coincidence." The more he considered the topic, the less important it seemed. What was important was, as usual, Javert's potential value -- in terms of knowledge about the Institute, and in terms of any plans they might make in the future.

The conversation turned to the possibility of a past patient purge. "Lamperouge mentioned it in the timeline that he put on the bulletin board yesterday -- an allegation that a large number of patients were replaced about three and a half weeks ago. From our point of view, it is impossible to say what might have happened to them. We were also told that some of yesterday's visitors were former patients.

"That past abductees might in some way comprise the skeletons in the woods is a worst-case scenario, and it would involve methods of preparation that would leave definite signs -- the better, more subtle methods take a little longer. But it should still be considered." He assumed that they both knew that the chances an abductee would be returned, particularly when it did not seem that they were being held for ransom, became vanishingly small as time went on. The odds were always worse for children, but never really favorable for anyone.

Still, if the goal were to dispose of people, it would be easier to bury bodies in a pit or burn them in a furnace than to process them with care and use the remains as props. The number of insects needed to clean a church full of skeletons in a week or two is dauntingly large, unlikely to go unnoticed. It all suggests a different motivation behind the conditions in the ruined town.

"As to Doyle, the best idea I have at the moment is to attempt to find people who were here when he was alive. There may not be many, and even if they are willing to come forward and discuss him, the information might not be accurate."

He nodded at the suggestion that Doyle might have been behind the events of the previous night. "Yet... if he is dead, how? He seems to have reappeared the night you arrived, when the dead were walking, and as I said, the whole situation fits the concept of collateral damage.

"I mentioned clumsiness earlier. Death could certainly make someone clumsy" -- his soft, low voice took on a hint of exasperation, caused by the fact that they were now discussing something as absurd as the hypothetical actions of the walking dead -- "but in that case, I would want to know how he did what he did, why it affected a number of people in the building. It might be reasonable to assume that it affected everyone who was capable of being affected by it, even if the only real target was Landel himself."

The words had been pouring out of him, but at this point, his thoughts on the topic came to a halt.

As Lunge held up his "art," L widened his eyes, then replied in a cool, ironic tone, "To be honest, I can't see much of anything. A dermestid beetle, perhaps."

It looked like nothing of the kind.

[herr-inspektor.livejournal.com]

It wasn’t long before L suggested the thought that had crossed his own mind at the mention of the purge. He nodded. “Even if it a logical conclusion to draw, it still leaves far too many questions unanswered. To go from body to skeleton in three weeks is virtually impossible. But we have no reason to rule anything out until we’ve seen the dump site firsthand, especially not when the Institute is so liable to throw a curve ball when you least expect it.”

Dump site. How unfortunate that they couldn’t say ‘scene of the crime’ with any real certainty; walking in the footsteps of a killer was easiest when the footprints were fresh. But whether or not the skeletons belonged to the vanished patients, Lunge wasn’t sure how appropriate the term ‘abductee’ was. Abducted they had been, but give the Institute’s track record he didn’t much like their chances of still being alive. ‘Victim’, even in all its ambiguity, seemed more probable.

And then there was the fact that deciding on a COD from corpses as old as L was suggesting would prove challenging for a master pathologist, never mind someone untrained and without resources, and without any obvious injuries the jury would still be out. Well. At any rate, seeing the skeletons with his own eyes would shed a little light on the town. Simply walking amongst the dead- and alongside the ghost of the man or even men that put them there- had the potential to be an enlightening experience. Ritualism would be the key thing to look for, even if signs of post-mortem posing would be the only thing he could look at in any real detail.

“I discussed Doyle with Javert on my first day,” he answered. “According to him, his broadcasts were usually accurate from what he’s seen, but apparently there was more to him than met the eye, if you’ll excuse the expression.” His eyes glinted dully as he leaned forward in an almost furtive manner, as though shielding his words from outside of the world that was their discussion. “Javert didn’t trust him- said he was “of the impression that he was using the patients for his own ends”. It isn’t hard to imagine that, were that an accurate observation, such a man wouldn’t hesitate to let the prisoners here take the fallout from an attack on Landel”

As for whether or not said attack was even possible… Lunge sighed, flexed his fingers thoughtfully. “That hinges on whether or not the dead were capable of speech on the night they appeared. One witness described them as typical ‘movie’ zombies. If she was right and they could not speak at all…“ He smiled emptily. “… you can see where I’m going with this. But, yes. Working out how such a large-scale attack was carried out is vital. From what I understand, Doyle used to work with Landel; I wouldn’t be surprised if the man was well-versed in the Institute’s inner workings.”

The Rorschach print was still in his hands. As if only just noticing it again, Lunge dropped it dismissively onto the table with a smile that widened into what was almost a sneer, in appreciation of L’s answer but also at something that the other man probably wouldn’t quite have been able to place. “Not a butterfly?”

[ryuuzaki]

"No. Perhaps a Death's Head Moth." It didn't much resemble that, either, but gallows humor sometimes came easily to L.

"As to the town -- I agree that we should try to see it as soon as we can," he replied.

"There is also the possibility that the bodies are the result of a purge of patients from the Institute, but not the patients of a few weeks ago that Lamperouge mentioned... they might be months or years old. Perhaps even the cause or the initial effect of the enmity between Landel and Doyle." He sighed again. "What we need is information that will point us in a specific direction. It is difficult to sort out what is and is not important."

Given the details about Doyle, he could do little but listen and nod along. Once he had heart what Lunge had to say, he simply said, "It appears that they are both that sort of man, even if their methods or reasons are different. We shouldn't be surprised that they had common ground in the past. I believe if we learn one thing, we may learn the other: either why they collaborated, or why they ceased to collaborate. One leads into the other, and back."

His hand had strayed back to his mouth as he took in what information Lunge had about Doyle, and now, he found himself biting the tip of his index finger, almost as if fitting his teeth around it was soothing, or as if it helped him think. It was more a habit than anything, though.

"I suspect our time may be growing short. Someone -- Edgeworth, I think -- suggested that we be sure that at least one or two people are aware of the names they are calling us and the rooms they have assigned. For me, it is Daniel Laurier and M26." The necessity of giving away even this kind of information -- patently false but still in some ways personally revealing -- rankled, but he felt Lunge could be trusted as much as anyone else, if not more.

Also, he seemed unlikely to forget what he was told.

[herr-inspektor.livejournal.com]

He nodded along with L’s suggestions, frowning slightly as he sighed. Knowing just where to start was something Lunge had been struggling with himself. As it was, he couldn’t help but feel like a scent hound tracking a criminal in a perfumery. “The town seems like the strongest lead for now, even if only to use as a jumping off point. If it is truly there, it serves a purpose. I’d also suggest finding the document supposedly recovered from the morgue after Doyle’s death, although tracking it down might prove somewhat more challenging.”

"Tomorrow night,” he continued, “among other things, I'll be collecting equipment for gathering evidence at the scene." Scalpels, plastic bags, pliers- anything that could be used to take samples. The message, for example, needed more thorough investigation; the gully between 'looks like blood' and 'actually blood' was immense. "There very likely is someone here with at least rudimentary forensic skills. I’d like to know just how real the town is."

Had they the time, he would have gladly planned every detail of their expedition. But L was right. Out of the corner of his eye Lunge could see his regular nurse beginning to circle the room, like a buzzard waiting for her prey to give up the ghost and collapse. Still, if it bothered him at all he didn't let it show; he continued speaking in the usual calm, deliberate monotone as ever before. One got the distinct impression that, were the world about to end, fate would have to send the two of them a letter of notice two weeks beforehand just to let them finish their conversation.

"I think I may have already mentioned that the name was 'Otto Jung'. Currently, my room number is M50, although given the rate at which patients appear to go through roommates..." Unfortunately, Lunge got the distinct impression that he and Dent were in it for the long haul. How unfortunate for Dent. Hopefully, L's roommate was less troublesome.

But then, not much troubles you, does it, L? He let his mind wander over that for a moment, watching beadily as the man bit lightly on the tip of his finger. The focus on hands was, in a way, almost fetishistic. Freud would call it an extension of oral fixation but, even without the pitfalls inherent in that little theory, you don't seem particularly anxious. The contrary, in fact. How much of that is a smokescreen, I wond-

The thought was left half-formed as, on cue, his nurse descended. Wearing her day-glo smile and perfect uniform like a medal of honour, she epitomised everything wholesome and institutionalised. "I think the shift's almost up now, Mr. Jung. You'd better start packing everything away and say goodbye to Daniel." As she clucked him up out of his chair she picked up his 'art', positively beaming. "What a lovely painting! I didn't know you were a cat person."

'Mr. Jung' grimaced ruefully in L's direction, not even attempting to sell it as a smile.