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damned_institute2009-12-02 09:42 am
herr-inspektor.livejournal.com) wrote in damned_institute2009-12-02 09:42 am
Nightshift 45: Outside the Institute- East
[from here]
On this side of the Institute the milky-blue glare of the moonlight caught them completely beneath its chandelier of stars, eerie and oddly distressing. Out here they were exposed completely, little more than victims of the chill and dark of the night. Lunge would have turned off his flashlight were it not for the mist (strange, given that there had been no trace of mist in the recreational field, but he let it slide) and the faint nagging feeling in the back of his mind that, beneath the blanket of silent, a Something was waiting.
Further out east he could see the beginnings of a forest segueing into the uneven patchwork of rock and field, but he had no interest in getting lost in such an enclosed area. Glancing back to make sure that Laurier was still with him- of course he is, he has no real personal stake in tonight and therefore is simply ghosting along after me for the sake of it- he continued along the wall, silently counting off Institute landmarks as he moved. There was the greenhouse, as before...
"It's just occurred to me," he suddenly said, putting his mind on autopilot, "that you haven't told me anything about yourself yet." Now was as good a time as any to do a little digging. He conjured a smile for authenticity's sake. "I could write a book on what I don't know about you."
On this side of the Institute the milky-blue glare of the moonlight caught them completely beneath its chandelier of stars, eerie and oddly distressing. Out here they were exposed completely, little more than victims of the chill and dark of the night. Lunge would have turned off his flashlight were it not for the mist (strange, given that there had been no trace of mist in the recreational field, but he let it slide) and the faint nagging feeling in the back of his mind that, beneath the blanket of silent, a Something was waiting.
Further out east he could see the beginnings of a forest segueing into the uneven patchwork of rock and field, but he had no interest in getting lost in such an enclosed area. Glancing back to make sure that Laurier was still with him- of course he is, he has no real personal stake in tonight and therefore is simply ghosting along after me for the sake of it- he continued along the wall, silently counting off Institute landmarks as he moved. There was the greenhouse, as before...
"It's just occurred to me," he suddenly said, putting his mind on autopilot, "that you haven't told me anything about yourself yet." Now was as good a time as any to do a little digging. He conjured a smile for authenticity's sake. "I could write a book on what I don't know about you."
no subject
A moment later, he huffed out a resigned little sigh. "You want to know what became of L." His pace slowed, as if introspection was causing him to lose some interest in the world outside of himself, and his tone, when he spoke again, was flat, dead. "He is... irrelevant."
He noticed that he was beginning to lag, and picked up the speed of his slouched, loping gait. It would be embarrassing to have to tell his whole story to Lunge, the only person to whom he'd revealed much of his constructed identity; he could remember thinking that it was a matter of necessity and credibility to do so. If Otto Jung's story was anything like the story Lunge presented, there was every chance that he was the sort of person Daniel admired. Describing his own failure in concrete terms would be the cherry on the heap of his humiliation.
An attempt at a subject change was in order. He made a conscious decision to adopt a manner of speaking which was, for him, airier -- in the sense that a cave with only a crawlspace as an opening was airier than a sauna. "It's strange that so many people were out of their rooms tonight. I've slept well here, apart from some dreams."
no subject
Laurier was another story.
I wasn't asking about 'L', and yet you immediately relate back to him. This is difficult for you, Laurier. Painful, embarrassing. You're a clever young man, you've told me as much, and you want to clean your own slate of this blot. You refer to 'L' in the third person in an effort to distance yourself from him... but you can't quite bring yourself to sever all ties, can you? Change the subject all you like. I'll get my answers.
"That's somewhere to start," he answered amicably. "Dreams? What kind?" In all honesty, Lunge could almost predict what Laurier was going to tell him. Dreams of a man dressed as a superhero climbing the walls of the Sun Room, or dreams of creatures appearing in the Institute's hallways in the dead of night. It would, however, be interesting to see if his hypothesis was correct.
no subject
"I dream that I am here at the Institute, but it looks... different, as if it has fallen into disrepair. Also, there is an element of danger; sometimes, the feeling of being pursued. Frightening things, in the dark. It must be common among patients, particularly when we are all in... hmm!... an unstable psychological condition."
He continued to trudge along beside the wall as he spoke; his pace was good. "Have your dreams been memorable, Mr. Lunge?"
It didn't sound like a targeted question; rather, his tone was one of guileless curiosity. It might have been an attempt to bounce the conversational ball back to his companion. But Daniel believed that Howell's dreams accorded, in some way, with his own, and he wondered how similar Lunge's might be.
no subject
"My own dreams?" Hesitation passed across the man's face for less than a moment before being replaced by idle thoughtfulness, as though he were trying to reel in a distant memory. In reality, he was still formulating an answer. He was the one directing the questions. It wouldn't do to answer more than he asked.
"I can't say I've had any, personally," he admitted in a non-committal voice, "I've been up until dawn most nights. Then again, I've never had nightmares, either." An outright lie this time, but a necessary one in order to move back into his own line of question- a need that was becoming as apparent as the edge of the forest up ahead, beyond which would, presumably, lie the ruins.
His own nightmares... they were irrelevant. They occurred far less frequently now- be it through exposure or cynicism or what have you; and, at any rate, he had found means to cope with them in the art of dissection. Cutting imagery to pieces until they became little more than vague Freudian symbols and fading photographs from old case files was satisfyingly clinical, therapeutic in its detachment.
Ruhenheim was the exception.
His expression didn't change. "That reminds me. You never told me how you found your way here in the first place."
no subject
He must entertain the same fantasies as Howell. He has not come to terms with the fact that he is Otto Jung, and given how he seems to have accepted the more ridiculous rumors about the Institute... does he lie in the dark imagining horrors? Coming up with nightmares because... because they seem appropriate to his circumstances, and his brain does not generate them on its own?
The logic of the situation didn't quite come together, and Daniel felt a cloud of frustration settle around his head. Apart from the knowledge of his own recent failure, he was troubled by his inability to put together a story that made coherent sense, the way his mind seemed to reject every attempt to do so, and the fact that he was proving to be a questionable judge of character after all.
He was more aware than anyone that someone could have an initial appearance of sanity, and actually be far from it -- his life was a demonstration of it -- but far from striking him as an unreliable man prone to wild fantasies, Lunge seemed grounded. If he hadn't known better, Daniel might have considered Lunge an oasis of rationality.
But that was what I thought before... when I was more unwell than I am now. With clarity, the cracks begin to show...? Yes.
His hands were cold. Between the clear, bright moonlight and Lunge's torch, Daniel hadn't needed to turn his flashlight on, but the heaviness of the mist to their east suggested that he would probably have to do so soon. Making the decision to warm his hands, he put the light into one of the pockets of his coat, then put his hands in his pockets, too. The end result was that one hand began to warm up in no time at all, and the other was chilled by the body of the flashlight.
He pressed his lips together, then shivered, wishing he had a cup of hot coffee or tea.
As they trudged along, it became apparent that his attempt to change the topic hadn't worked. Should I have expected it to? He sighed again, only just managing to refrain from shaking his head in annoyance. No, he wants to know, and he will always come back to it.
"No, I didn't." He was tempted to leave it at that, see what Lunge would say in response, but doing so seemed pointless. He had been shocked and off-center earlier in the day, but was no longer in anything resembling a confessional mood. "To be honest, I am still not entirely sure. If you mean the question in a larger sense, I think I have told you enough that you can put it together.
"If you had to tell me my own story, what would you tell me?"
They had reached the end of the wall. Without bringing it up, he broke to the east.
no subject
Laurier, meanwhile, seemed to be doing his level best to neither lie nor tell the truth, if his non-answers were anything to go on. Redirecting the question again. You're a difficult man, Laurier. I do not appreciate it. Obviously this wasn't something he was willing to let go without a fight, and as much as he hated the idea of the man taking a mile, it looked like he was going to have to give him an inch or two.
"Even before tonight you were never exactly forthcoming," he said, but a lack of information had never stopped Inspector Lunge before. Clearing his mind, he opened L's file and began to extract a loose profile for what Martin Landel would deem a suitably fitting alter ego. While his left hand gripped his torch, the other was busy typing. What kind of a man would create an L for himself?
"You had an upper-middle class to upper class upbringing, but with an emphasis on educational rather than social benefits- you are, after all, an educated man, and you pride yourself on your mind." It was a shaky start and he knew it, and the rest was not so much silence as white noise. "You're naturally curious. A thrill-seeker, but not an adrenaline junkie, with an interest in mental gymnastics over physical ones. You drew yourself into a particular exercise that you could not unravel yourself from. Those 'consequences' you spoke of earlier... this is your last chance to prove you weren't crazy, isn't it?"
Vague, vague, vague. How irritating. Still, he was not at a total loss, he reminded himself; reticent though Laurier was, Lunge consoled himself with the fact that his partner was keeping up surprisingly well with his own lengthy strides. It had at first felt like fate had conspired against him tonight- L was missing in action and the night was cold and dark enough enough to put off anyone without any real resolve. And yet, somehow, here they were.
Something smelled strangely fresh and crisp amid the haze of the fog. Running water? A river? It was likely that the town had been built close to a water source; they were homing in. He glanced at L, curious in spite of himself. "How close am I?"
no subject
Daniel had no intention of correcting Lunge on the one point he'd missed: this wasn't his last chance. Rather, this was the result of having botched a chance or two past what should, by all rights, have been the last one. When he'd thought of his father, through the day, it was not with resentment, but with remorse and what affection was in him; his father had sent him to Landel's to help him rather than to punish him. His father did not think that he was a lost cause.
The ground was irregular, and at the moment they seemed to be mounting a slight incline. He could not see far ahead. At this point, he took his flashlight out again, leaving his other hand in its warm coat pocket.
As they walked, he weighed Lunge's claim: "The doors open at night." So he has probably been sleeping, but he can't remember it; he is like the others who insist that their dreams truly happened. I wonder if he will remain reliable if this constructed identity begins to crack. Now that they were outside in the middle of the night, cold and alone, the idea was unsettling, but at this point, the easiest thing to do would be to complete their agenda.
no subject
He looked back at Laurier, who was studiously avoiding returning his gaze. Pressing him any further would be meaningless, now that he'd learned what he wanted to know about the type of persona constructed by the Institute. If his vague profile had turned out to be correct for L, it was likely that most people's 'real' personalities were going to follow a similarly simple, predictable line. Good. That knowledge was bound to make dealing with any more patients like Laurier all the easier.
"I'm sorry," he said, with an impressive degree of sincerity. "I didn't mean to bring up any unpleasant memories."
They were approaching the top of the incline. Under his feet the ground was becoming gradually more and more even, with the grass becoming more sparse between the darker patches of rock and dirt, until finally they reached the edge.
There was a road, at the head of which they stood. And, at the end of the road, lay the town.