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.