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damned_institute2009-12-10 09:45 am
herr-inspektor.livejournal.com) wrote in damned_institute2009-12-10 09:45 am
Nightshift 45: Church (Ruins)
[from here]
"What do you see?"
The question was nakedly interrogatory and the inspector made no attempt to suggest otherwise. Lunge knew what he saw: a fair-sized church looming over them, battered but otherwise intact and dark where it stood to block the moon's light, brickwork and stonework from its spire and the sizeable chunks taken from parts of its walls spread about like concrete confetti. The doors, surprisingly, were relatively intact.
No. That wasn't important. What was important was how Laurier perceived it.
He glanced sideways at the man, frowning just a little as he analysed his expression. A little bored, a little exasperated, lacking any evidence to suggest that he was lying at all. And there was no reason to doubt the sincerity in his face, either, because Laurier was far from the expert of self-control that L had been. Not even frank discussion of his mother's death had rattled him in the arts and craft's room, yet he had seen all to clearly the look on Laurier's face at his earlier theory on his past. Besides, he added silently, I can't help but wonder if he had rather hoped we would find something after all, as much as he denies this place's existence.
"What do you see?"
The question was nakedly interrogatory and the inspector made no attempt to suggest otherwise. Lunge knew what he saw: a fair-sized church looming over them, battered but otherwise intact and dark where it stood to block the moon's light, brickwork and stonework from its spire and the sizeable chunks taken from parts of its walls spread about like concrete confetti. The doors, surprisingly, were relatively intact.
No. That wasn't important. What was important was how Laurier perceived it.
He glanced sideways at the man, frowning just a little as he analysed his expression. A little bored, a little exasperated, lacking any evidence to suggest that he was lying at all. And there was no reason to doubt the sincerity in his face, either, because Laurier was far from the expert of self-control that L had been. Not even frank discussion of his mother's death had rattled him in the arts and craft's room, yet he had seen all to clearly the look on Laurier's face at his earlier theory on his past. Besides, he added silently, I can't help but wonder if he had rather hoped we would find something after all, as much as he denies this place's existence.
no subject
"I already told you -- nothing out of the ordinary." He sounded petulant, but it faded from his tone as he began to consider more specific details. "Maybe the ground is a little more level here, but" -- he moved his flashlight in a slow arc -- "the terrain is the same. There are trees to the north. Water, somewhere nearby."
He turned to his right, then walked for a few yards, wondering what might be to the south. Without knowing or realizing it, he had just passed through one of the walls of the church that was entirely invisible to him.
From its interior, he said, "There is more of the same in this direction, except that if there are any trees, they are further away.
"What do you see now, Mr. Lunge?" The question had a doubting, tentative quality. The journey had been useless, more or less, and he was now tired and chilled; he wished again for a hat and gloves, and a pot of hot tea to drink to warm himself.
no subject
The problem was perplexing. How was it that Laurier couldn't see anything at all here? And, more importantly, why? Did it extend simply to the town, or did that mean that he would fail to sense anything out of the ordinary whatsoever- no monsters, no supernatural events, no intercom messages? And-
Laurier walked straight through the church wall.
Lunge could only stare. Stare, and try to comprehend. And then for good measure he stared a little more, as though the laws of physics would simply rewrite themselves if supplied with an adequate level of eyepower.
Logic didn't so much force itself on the situation as tie it down and pounce on it. If he cannot see it, it should not be surprising that he can walk through it. It would go against the point of his brainwashing if he were to suddenly be unable to walk through what appears to him to be an open space. Did that mean that the entire town was an illusion?
That couldn't have been right. Not entirely, at least. He could hear Laurier's voice from inside, echoing emptily around the church.
Well, there was nothing for it. It was time to see just how real this 'illusion' was. Laurier was already beginning to lose faith in him- he had to get in and look around before the man decided he'd had enough of blundering around in the dark. "I see a church," Lunge answered calmly, then pushed the door open.
The bleach-white of bone in the dark glow of the church hit him as soon as he entered. Skeletons, strewn about the floor and draped across pews, clutching with bare claws of hands and twisted around each other. Blood stains underfoot, he realised, stepping slowly aside. Laurier, blissfully unaware, was standing in the middle of the aisle, at the head of which was an altar.
YOU WILL BOTH BURN.
How... fascinating.
"And you don't see anything at all?"
no subject
Nonetheless, the walk back to the Institute would be as long as the first stage of their wasted trip, and Daniel wanted to rest before making it. This made a decision necessary: the ground was cold, and while sitting on it would certainly chill him faster, there was nowhere else to go. When we are moving, I'll warm up again soon. Both choices presented some disadvantage or other to his aching leg.
He sat on the ground, his feet sprawled in front of him, oblivious to the fact that one was sharing space with the ribcage of a nearby skeleton. The grass was crisp beneath him. On the unlikely chance that they were attacked by... what? A bobcat?... he felt confident that it wouldn't make much difference in his ability to escape without serious injury.
"I don't see anything at all... that is, nothing novel," he replied, in a flat, almost mechanical tone; he was growing tired of Lunge asking him the same question, over and over.
He shined his light in the direction of the other man, who seemed rapt with fascination; he was careful not to blind Lunge with the beam. "What do you see? Is it anything like the rumors?"
no subject
Sometimes- rarely, but sometimes- words failed even him. He stared for a moment, then shrugged it off before it had a chance to distract him from his real work. This was a philosopher's worst nightmare; fortunately, he preferred to keep his own thoughts to a more tangible plane of existence.
"It's exactly like the rumours, minus a few details. Your friend, it seems, is a reliable source of information," he answered, pacing down the aisle (bringing the echo of footsteps that, without a doubt, Laurier could not hear) towards the altar. Good. The more reliable witnesses here, the better. Those are what make a break a case at court. A collection plate at his feet scattered a gleam of silver onto the floor. Coins?
It wasn't the best makeshift forensics kit, but nonetheless Lunge took out one of the plastic bags from his back pocket and used it to pick up a coin and place it in the bag, careful only to touch it through the plastic. He straightened up, glancing around at Laurier at his place on the floor and holding up the plastic bag expectantly. "What is in this bag?" Nothing.
no subject
One of Daniel's hands held the torch, aiming its light at the plastic bag in Lunge's hand, and he supported his weight with the other hand, splayed on the ground behind him and to his side. The polyethylene sheets reflected some of the light, but by shifting the beam this way and that, he could still see that the bag was transparent and entirely empty.
He shot a close-mouthed smile, bright and false and rueful, at Lunge. "Nothing," he replied. The word sounded both cheerful and bitter; he could no longer decide whether he was frustrated at not being able to see an interesting illusion, or relieved that he was so much closer to rationality than a number of his fellow patients. He made a mental note to avoid these midnight outings in the future, if, indeed, the administrators of the Institute didn't discover them and end them.
When he spoke again, after a beat of silence, his tone was neutral, irony dismissed to make room for the curiosity that always crowded in. "Of the details Dr. Jones told me, which are incorrect?"