Nightshift 46: Patient Possessions Storage

[perfectrecord]

[From here]As von Karma set foot inside this room, he clicked his flashlight back on and waved it around to see whether any dangers were present. So far, all he could see were two long shelves on either side of him, containing small, flimsy boxes in apparent alphabetical order

Comments

[perfectrecord]

Thump. The aging prosecutor gave a start as the abrupt sound jolted him back into full consciousness. He peered in the direction from which the noise originated and found a box at his feet. Fuchs, Karl was written upon it in large letters. This was the one, no doubt. But how had it materialized on the floor like that?

There was only one valid explanation: Ms. Taura must have found it first and set it down before him. But how had he missed seeing it? It was then that he found himself standing in front of the "L" row. He had completely overshot his target by several letters.

Damn you, Landel! I refuse to fall victim to this induced senility.

Attempting to control his internal rage, von Karma looked up at Taura. Her back was turned towards him, but he could see that she had already retrieved her own box. Was she facing away from him for her own privacy -- or for his? It truly mattered little in the end. In a weary yet still dignified tone of voice, he said, "Thank you, Ms. Taura," although his gratitude was more for the respect she had given him here than for locating his box.

Unlike his companion, von Karma did not hesitate in opening the container. The sooner one unearthed potentially vital evidence, the sooner one could prevail in a case.

His expression was impassive as he surveyed the contents of the box, but frustration boiled inside him. He had traversed the equivalent of two building lengths, had barely escaped getting shredded into sauerkraut by that bladed demon, and had risked displaying stark weakness a number of times tonight... only to find that his "vital evidence" consisted of a gold wedding band, a pair of bifocal reading glasses, a wallet full of false identification and worthless mementos... and a collapsible cane that would likely break if he used a minimum of force on it?!

Somewhere in the Institute, the Head Lunatic was laughing at him. Oh, the insufferable charlatan would pay.

[ninelivesonce]

When he was done scowling at his "own" box, or was alerted by the rhythmic sound, the sight that would meet his eyes was an odd one. Taura had slid the top off the box, and was holding a basketball over her head. It bounced off her fingertips, grazed the ceiling in a slow arc as she rocked forwards, and met her hands only to bounce off again as she leaned back. Her brows were knitted in concentration, and the rest of the box had been briefly abandoned by her feet, her flashlight propped up inside it.

Each time it came down, she adjusted the splay of her fingers and the angle of her arms -- what started out as a stiff motion gradually relaxed, until her shoulder blades had settled back into place, and her hands met rubber like a caress.

[perfectrecord]

To ensure that he had not overlooked anything important or useful, von Karma examined "Dr. Fuchs'" belongings again. Aside from the perfect custom fit on his ring finger, the plain gold wedding band was unremarkable. The wire-framed reading glasses also fit just right, though he was loath to admit that he would ever need them in his practice. It was the fault of printers and publishers for making text such an infinitesimal size that one had to strain his eyes to read it!

Unlike his own cross-handled mahogany cane, the one neatly folded in the box was made of aluminum, painted black and sporting a silver knob at the top. Flimsy material, indeed, that would likely break if the elderly prosecutor tried to use it as a weapon. Still, though far inferior to his own walking stick, this one could at least aid him in travel throughout this hellhole... and was certainly better than fashioning a cane out of that mop handle.

Now he scrutinized the contents of the leather wallet. Hn. False identification. Perhaps these documents could serve as evidence for identity theft and fraud. Certainly, these would be the cherries on top of the Black Forest cake of medical malpractice and false imprisonment charges that von Karma intended to personally serve the Head Lunatic.

Inside the wallet were four small photos encased in plastic holders. The first one was a wedding photo. Though his medical chart insisted that this was a different woman, the bride looked identical to the prosecutor's late wife in her earlier years. The second was a photo of "Fuchs," his wife, and his elder daughter. He glanced at it briefly, his face showing no emotion. The third was... "Dr. Kant," a broad grin beaming through his bearded face, and a scowling "Dr. Fuchs"... with two black-gloved fingers waggling over his head. The prosecutor frowned and shook his head. No matter what they call you, you are still the same childish buffoon as always... Detective.

Still scoffing over the previous photo, von Karma was taken aback as he gazed at the final one. An impassive, finely-dressed gray-haired college professor handing a trophy to a blue-haired young woman, a self-confident smile on her face. The familiar-looking trophy was comprised of a knife crossing a shield, though both were whole. Engraved on the plaque were the words, "Perfect Performance of the Year." ...What was this mockery?! What was this sheer forgery?! No such trophy existed! And that knowing smirk on his daugh-- on Ms. von Richter's face!

As he held the wallet, his hands shook, his bony knuckles blanching from the tension. It was all he could do to keep himself from pulling that last picture out and shredding it to bits... especially in front of--

Ka-TUNK!

What in blazes was that sound?

Ka-TUNK!

There it was again! It sounded like a ball ricocheting off the ceiling. Composing himself, the older man looked up at Taura, whose presence he had nearly forgotten about in this room. She was staring up towards the ceiling, concentrating on bouncing basketball off it.

He snapped his fingers, a sound almost as loud as the ball's constant rebounding. "Ms. Taura. What the devil are you doing?! Trying out for the Martin Landel Athletic Scholarship for a full year of Special Counseling sessions? That racket will alert every creature in the Institute!"

[ninelivesonce]

It hadn't been that loud, had it? She caught it on the rebound, and pulled it down. Not nearly as loud as the door had been -- not that much louder than his harsh breathing had been at times. Anything up here had already heard them. She glared back, her face expressionless, until it sunk in.

She could understand fear. Unarmed, untrained, deep behind enemy lines...if he wasn't scared, he was an idiot, and von Karma was no idiot. "Sorry," she whispered, her voice barely more than a puff of air. She tucked the ball back into the box. She didn't want it -- she didn't want anything that reminded her that a young woman might still be caught in limbo somewhere, waiting to go back to a home that missed her. Back to a life that seemed more alien than a hundred different worlds around a hundred different suns, but had been hers.

Katherine had packed it as a good-luck charm; as charms went, it was pretty unwieldy, but maybe there was something else. She could look later; right now, von Karma had a point. This wasn't the place to dawdle. Her voice was still just loud enough to be audible. "C'mon. You ready?"

[perfectrecord]

His arms folded tightly, von Karma continued to glare at Taura. Though he spoke no words, the look on his face was unmistakable; he would tolerate no more foolishness tonight. He gripped the shoulder of his left sleeve, his fingers digging through the thick fabric of his coat. Finally, the young woman apologized, her voice contrite. He nodded in response, somewhat mollified but still rather stern.

Watching as she placed the ball back in the box, he remembered that he needed to collect his items. An entire box would be unwieldy, but there was more than enough room in his pockets to carry his -- or rather, Dr. Fuchs' -- belongings. He slipped the wallet and ring into one coat pocket, and the glasses into his pants pocket. Then he expanded the cane to its full length, the segments making a soft clacking sound as he unfolded them. The material felt cheap compared to the mahogany to which he was accustomed, but it would still do. Grasping the knob in his right hand, he set the end of the cane to the floor. At least it was exactly the right height for him.

"Yes, I am ready, Ms. Taura," he agreed. "Let's move. Now."

[ninelivesonce]

Taura did grab her entire box -- her arms were long enough she could tuck it between elbow and hip and still have a free hand. Then she just watched as he kitted up.

No-one had seen fit to give her back her uniform; she'd have to ask him where he'd found the clothes. From the practiced way he tucked things into pockets, they had to be his own. But now was not the time; not unless she wanted a lecture on stealth and silence, delivered in tones louder than her own voice. Civilians. Hmph. She tilted her face into shadow so he wouldn't see the way the corners of her lips twitched upwards.

Once he had finished speaking, she answered only by swinging the half-shattered door open wide. They walked through in silence, broken only by the soft tap of von Karma's cane, and then she pulled it shut behind them.