Jeremy Arthur Velera
Physical state: Suprisingly relaxed
Mental state: Memories resurfacing
If Jeremy hadn't reached for his eyes and around them, it would have been all-too obvious for the man - who actually responded positively to Jeremy calling him August Dupin - that Jeremy found the fact that August knew his name resoundingly petrifying just from the sheer look on his face, luckily hidden behind his hand. It was a common habit for him, a quirk or ticks one could say, that would go unnoticed if not noted that he did it quite frequently.
How in the name of God does he know my name? An image appeared in the back of his mind, hiding somewhere behind old memories and supressed events from the past, bloody and bruised faces and bodies of now dead men, and lurking around the smile of his beloved Maggie. An image of carnage, barbed wire and gas. And for a split second he was sure he could both see and hear a woman saying something, something quiet, almost a whimper in the winter breeze:
"A friend...".
"So you do remember me? That's a relief, I thought for a moment you were going to punch me." Jeremy said and subsequently let out a unstrained laugh. The fear that once inhabited his mind was ever more fading away as he let August continue to explain what he was doing with the photographs. It turned out that he indeed was working for the Arkham Herald, and there was more to the suicide of Killigan than met the eye initially. In fact he was hoping to question Jeremy if he could.
"I would have been much obliged to help you, August, after all it's the truth about my friend that's at stake. But I'm actually on my way to work, just down the street, and I really can't...".
It was the truth. Jeremy wanted to find out more about Killigan's death and the supposed connections to the "
bigger picture", but more than that Jeremy needed to not get fired from the Motor garage he worked at. He was about to say a friendly good-bye to his newly-made friend August, when the voice once again appeared in the back of his mind.
"Follow him...".
"...without first getting a good cup of coffee before I start! And the Boss won't be at the garage for another hour, so who's there to fire me? I know a good place, just down the street."Jeremy straightened his trench-coat, still snow on the lower end of it from him crouching in the snow, and gestured August to follow him down the street. On their right they would see Arkham Sanitarium rising above it's walls, hiding whatever the doctors didn't want the outside world to see, and though hidden, Jeremy felt as if someone was standing there, watching him and judging him. But on the bright side, the café that also rose up before them down the street looked inviting to the duo of unknown associates, yet closer than they ever could think.
"So what do you want to ask then? I'm not sure I am of much help, August.""Then let us be content that we're still saner than them. I'd prefer for everyone in the group to get out of this institution with their wits still in place, especially you, Herr Günther." Arthur followed Dupree at the slowed pace, seeing that Emil seemed somewhat shaken, it being the incident or something else that lingered on Emil's mind. With a brief smile meant for the young student and a quick pat on his shoulder, Arthur quickened his pace as he re-entered the crowd of students at their tour of the Sanitarium.
If the reception and their initial welcome had felt gloomy, then the proper interiour of Arkham Sanitarium was what could be described as a series of damp tunnels of a cavern, filled with the figurely bats that made you want to lower your head and the fear of the unknown deeper within that made your shoulders rise. As they left what the visitors were most likely meant to see and entered the physical realm of the patients, even Arthur felt a chill down his spine. Everyone seemed to look around more - not out of curiosity, but in fear - as the corridor got narrower and the hatch-like doors popped out of the walls like massive mouths ready to eat one. Everyone knew this was a place they didn't want to end up, everyone except Dr. Martin Gabrowski, who's stature remained the same, straight and determined, perhaps even light-hearted in light of his visit.
"This is where most of our more...difficult patients live. As you can see, we've taken the neccecary measures to ensure that no harms is to happen to neither our patients, nor our staff. These doors, 1-inch thick steel, are locked and secure from the outside, while the inside is padded with what's best described as matresses, to ensure that our patients do not get harmed from unwanted impacts. Same goes for the entire room, as the padding stretches from the door and out to the floor, walls and ceiling; even their beds and chairs are padded. Dr. Gabrowski stopped for a moment, resting his hand on the first door on their left.
"Here, in room 111 lives Mr. Macario, who suffers from extreme paranoia and severly restricted social behavior. We fear he might never recover. And on your right lives Miss Violet in room 112. She suffers from accute female hysteria, possibly genitalian dysfunction..."Gabrowski continued his act of resting his left and right hand respectivly on a door to their left or right, telling the group - which was by now both frightened, yet monstrously curious - about briefly who occupied the room and what they suffered from. He continued this pattern for a few more rooms until Arthur noticed something; as he was walking through the corridor, he ignored one of the doors on his right, and told about another patient in another room. It was odd, Arthur thought, that out of all these rooms and patients their - seemingly - friendly Dr. Gabrowski told them about, this room he left alone. And he was having none of it.
"What about that door, Dr. Gabrowski?".
The doctor stopped and turned in his tracks, a confused look on his face as it seemed he didn't quite get who asked him the question.
"What?""In there, room 125?""What about it?" The doctor looked puzzled, more than before.
"You skipped it, the door and patient. Who lives there?". Arthur was looking directly at Gabrowski, his signature serious-stare gazig into the doctor's face, looking for an answer to this odd occurence.
"Oh, right...To be honest, it's really nothing spectacular about it, not worth mentio...""Dr. Gabrowski. Who. Lives. There?"He sighed. With it his shoulder lifted and were let down, before he lifted his face up to face Arthur again.
"...Well if you must know why I skipped it, it's because that patient is the least insane and most stable patient of everyone who's here. She's calm, orderly enough to a certain extent, but she's best left alone. She'll also be out of the Sanitarium within a short time, another reason why I don't want to talk about her, which I won't. Now I'm sorry for skipping her door, but I thought it'd be for the best for all of us if she was left out, okay? Now please, do follow me down here...".
Arthur was not impressed, not in the slighest, but he didn't want to follow that line of inquiry in front of the students, and promptly shut his mouth at the end of the Gabrowski's response. As Gabrowski moved on, so did the group. As they kept moving through the corridor of lost souls and steel doors, Dr. Dupree and Emil Günther were still in the back of the crowd.
The sound of knocking on the door to their left. The same door Dr. Gabrowski ignored and Arthur was left out on information. Dupree and Emil would both hear it, and as they most certainly would step closer to inspect, they would find a piece of paper lying just underneath the door. In almost indechipherable handwriting, it said;
I'm here, Emil. Help me.Then they were alone. The professor, the student, and the steel door that hid one clue to this vaste puzzle of madness.
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