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Modern/Delta Green - The Beginning of the End (COMPLETED)
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<blockquote data-quote="talien" data-source="post: 4377573" data-attributes="member: 3285"><p><strong>Nemo Solus Sapit: Part 12 – Escape</strong></p><p></p><p>After Damon’s attack, Van Dyson had Guppy transferred to another room, a better one. At least it had a view. Heavy bars were on the windows, but still, it was better than no window at all. </p><p></p><p>As Guppy dozed off, entering the twilight between wakefulness and the sleep paralysis, he became aware of a ragged breathing sound. He cracked opened his eyes.</p><p></p><p>Then he saw it: a shadow crouched in the corner, roughly the size of a person. There was a putrid smell coming from it.</p><p></p><p>The ragged breathing grew louder. Guppy slid out of his bed.</p><p></p><p>“Candice…?”</p><p></p><p>He reached for her, but when he was just about to touch Candice she disappeared. </p><p></p><p>There was the sound of the deadbolt being unlocked. The door to Guppy’s cell opened quietly. </p><p></p><p>Guppy peered down one side of the long, empty corridor outside his cell, lit by the glare of neon lights. There was nobody there. When he looked down the other way, he caught sight of a pair of bare feet disappearing around the corner. It was so quick, Guppy wasn’t sure if he saw it.</p><p></p><p>He padded out into the hallway. At night the clinical corridor took on an unsettling quality. </p><p></p><p>Guppy stumbled upon two nurses watching television. He crouched low and snuck past the glass partition. </p><p></p><p>Guppy started at the sudden sound of laughter behind him. The nurses were laughing at their late night show. Momentarily distracted, he almost knocked over a mop and bucket resting by the wall.</p><p></p><p>He resumed his journey down the hallway, but stopped when a door’s title caught his eye. It was a sanitation closet. </p><p></p><p>Guppy cracked the door open and rifled through its contents. It contained a vacuum cleaner, carpet shampoo, and other household items. He came out with a small screwdriver. </p><p></p><p>Guppy hugged the wall to stay clear from the surveillance camera silently sweeping the area at the far end of the corridor. He turned a corner and then ducked back as a janitor passed, making his rounds. </p><p></p><p>After he was out of sight, Guppy rushed the distance to Van Dyson’s office. He pulled out a stolen screwdriver and brought it to the lock. After a few minutes of fumbling, he removed the screws around the lock and, carefully replacing them, entered the room. </p><p></p><p>Van Dyson’s office was shrouded in darkness. There was a switch for the surveillance monitor. Guppy switched the power strip on. </p><p></p><p>The security monitor and its accompany computer flickered to life with a view of the corridors: two guards here, a nurse going for a smoke, a janitor at the coffee machine and so on.</p><p></p><p>On the surveillance monitor, he could make out the janitor with his coffee cup heading back towards Van Dyson’s office corridor…</p><p></p><p>Guppy looked up. The glare of the computer screen was reflecting against the glass pane. He grabbed a piece of paper and pushed it in front of the blinds to block the light. </p><p></p><p>The computer finally powered up. It was open to the Van Dyson Center’s intranet. Guppy’s fingers danced across the keyboard as he searched for information.</p><p></p><p>The Van Dyson Center was turning a tidy profit from its frequent upscale patients to consulting fees, lectures, and seminars sponsored by the Center. Guppy typed in a search for Candice Van Dyson. </p><p></p><p>A few articles popped up. One, an interview conducted with James Brady for the PARADE syndicated newspaper supplement, made brief mention that the Van Dysons were married on October 21, 2001 but had recently divorced. It coyly related Van Dyson’s utter refusal to broach the subject. “The wounds are deep,” wrote Brady with his usual perception.</p><p></p><p>Articles from before the divorce mentioned Candice in pleasant terms. She was often said to be hovering about during interviews, bringing coffee, one ear monitoring the questioning in a warmly protective manner. It was mentioned that Candice was a professor of astronomy at UC-Samson.</p><p></p><p>More articles detailed the mysterious disappearance of Candice six months following her divorce from the doctor. The articles related that after resigning her position at UC-Samson, she paid off the lease on her apartment and moved away. Parents and friends had no idea of her whereabouts.</p><p></p><p>Guppy hacked into her credit card account. There was reference to Diaz Transporters, who delivered the contents of her office to Candice’s apartment. The entire fee was paid up front. A few clicks later and Guppy was looking at the work order. </p><p></p><p>Signed at the bottom was the signature, “Candice Van Dyson.”</p><p></p><p>“Why didn’t you use your maiden name after your divorce?” Guppy whispered to himself.</p><p></p><p>He looked back at the surveillance monitor. The janitor was walking away. He watched him disappear slowly but surely disappear down the hall. And then the screen was empty.</p><p></p><p>But just for a second. Because suddenly Candice was there. Staring straight at him. </p><p></p><p>Guppy swallowed hard and shut all the systems down. </p><p></p><p>Retracing his steps, he shut Van Dyson’s office door and hit the stairs. </p><p></p><p>As he reached the landing, Guppy heard voices coming his way. He detoured down another corridor and hid from view. Hector and a nurse exited down the staircase.</p><p></p><p>And then he turned at another sound coming from inside the room immediately behind him, Room 237. He stepped to the small glass pane on the door and peered inside.</p><p></p><p>It took a moment to adjust his eyes to the darkness, but Guppy could make out two figures in the room involved in some sort of struggle.</p><p></p><p>He saw a flash of metal, something sharp. It wasn’t a knife, but what looked like a syringe. And then a blur of hair was yanked up by a strong arm. In the dim light, Guppy could can make out Damon, eyes glazed, drooling.</p><p></p><p>But just for a beat, because he was slapped down on the bed like a rag doll and the man with the needle was visible. It was Van Dyson.</p><p></p><p>“You’ve gone too far,” Van Dyson said to Damon. “I let you have free run of the place while I was away. But this is too much. It ends here.”</p><p></p><p>Damon was on his back on the bed. His pale naked skin was marked with scratches and bruises. The needle was stuck in his arm, which hung limply off the side. His mouth was open but it was impossible to tell whether he was laughing or sobbing. </p><p></p><p>Van Dyson climbed on top of Damon, pulling out of his pocket what looked like an ice pick. </p><p></p><p>He lifted Damon’s upper right eyelid and placed the ice pick under the eyelid and against the top of the eye socket. With a grunt, he shoved it downward slightly and then whipped it side to side… </p><p></p><p>It was too much for Guppy. He collapsed into darkness.</p></blockquote><p></p>
[QUOTE="talien, post: 4377573, member: 3285"] [b]Nemo Solus Sapit: Part 12 – Escape[/b] After Damon’s attack, Van Dyson had Guppy transferred to another room, a better one. At least it had a view. Heavy bars were on the windows, but still, it was better than no window at all. As Guppy dozed off, entering the twilight between wakefulness and the sleep paralysis, he became aware of a ragged breathing sound. He cracked opened his eyes. Then he saw it: a shadow crouched in the corner, roughly the size of a person. There was a putrid smell coming from it. The ragged breathing grew louder. Guppy slid out of his bed. “Candice…?” He reached for her, but when he was just about to touch Candice she disappeared. There was the sound of the deadbolt being unlocked. The door to Guppy’s cell opened quietly. Guppy peered down one side of the long, empty corridor outside his cell, lit by the glare of neon lights. There was nobody there. When he looked down the other way, he caught sight of a pair of bare feet disappearing around the corner. It was so quick, Guppy wasn’t sure if he saw it. He padded out into the hallway. At night the clinical corridor took on an unsettling quality. Guppy stumbled upon two nurses watching television. He crouched low and snuck past the glass partition. Guppy started at the sudden sound of laughter behind him. The nurses were laughing at their late night show. Momentarily distracted, he almost knocked over a mop and bucket resting by the wall. He resumed his journey down the hallway, but stopped when a door’s title caught his eye. It was a sanitation closet. Guppy cracked the door open and rifled through its contents. It contained a vacuum cleaner, carpet shampoo, and other household items. He came out with a small screwdriver. Guppy hugged the wall to stay clear from the surveillance camera silently sweeping the area at the far end of the corridor. He turned a corner and then ducked back as a janitor passed, making his rounds. After he was out of sight, Guppy rushed the distance to Van Dyson’s office. He pulled out a stolen screwdriver and brought it to the lock. After a few minutes of fumbling, he removed the screws around the lock and, carefully replacing them, entered the room. Van Dyson’s office was shrouded in darkness. There was a switch for the surveillance monitor. Guppy switched the power strip on. The security monitor and its accompany computer flickered to life with a view of the corridors: two guards here, a nurse going for a smoke, a janitor at the coffee machine and so on. On the surveillance monitor, he could make out the janitor with his coffee cup heading back towards Van Dyson’s office corridor… Guppy looked up. The glare of the computer screen was reflecting against the glass pane. He grabbed a piece of paper and pushed it in front of the blinds to block the light. The computer finally powered up. It was open to the Van Dyson Center’s intranet. Guppy’s fingers danced across the keyboard as he searched for information. The Van Dyson Center was turning a tidy profit from its frequent upscale patients to consulting fees, lectures, and seminars sponsored by the Center. Guppy typed in a search for Candice Van Dyson. A few articles popped up. One, an interview conducted with James Brady for the PARADE syndicated newspaper supplement, made brief mention that the Van Dysons were married on October 21, 2001 but had recently divorced. It coyly related Van Dyson’s utter refusal to broach the subject. “The wounds are deep,” wrote Brady with his usual perception. Articles from before the divorce mentioned Candice in pleasant terms. She was often said to be hovering about during interviews, bringing coffee, one ear monitoring the questioning in a warmly protective manner. It was mentioned that Candice was a professor of astronomy at UC-Samson. More articles detailed the mysterious disappearance of Candice six months following her divorce from the doctor. The articles related that after resigning her position at UC-Samson, she paid off the lease on her apartment and moved away. Parents and friends had no idea of her whereabouts. Guppy hacked into her credit card account. There was reference to Diaz Transporters, who delivered the contents of her office to Candice’s apartment. The entire fee was paid up front. A few clicks later and Guppy was looking at the work order. Signed at the bottom was the signature, “Candice Van Dyson.” “Why didn’t you use your maiden name after your divorce?” Guppy whispered to himself. He looked back at the surveillance monitor. The janitor was walking away. He watched him disappear slowly but surely disappear down the hall. And then the screen was empty. But just for a second. Because suddenly Candice was there. Staring straight at him. Guppy swallowed hard and shut all the systems down. Retracing his steps, he shut Van Dyson’s office door and hit the stairs. As he reached the landing, Guppy heard voices coming his way. He detoured down another corridor and hid from view. Hector and a nurse exited down the staircase. And then he turned at another sound coming from inside the room immediately behind him, Room 237. He stepped to the small glass pane on the door and peered inside. It took a moment to adjust his eyes to the darkness, but Guppy could make out two figures in the room involved in some sort of struggle. He saw a flash of metal, something sharp. It wasn’t a knife, but what looked like a syringe. And then a blur of hair was yanked up by a strong arm. In the dim light, Guppy could can make out Damon, eyes glazed, drooling. But just for a beat, because he was slapped down on the bed like a rag doll and the man with the needle was visible. It was Van Dyson. “You’ve gone too far,” Van Dyson said to Damon. “I let you have free run of the place while I was away. But this is too much. It ends here.” Damon was on his back on the bed. His pale naked skin was marked with scratches and bruises. The needle was stuck in his arm, which hung limply off the side. His mouth was open but it was impossible to tell whether he was laughing or sobbing. Van Dyson climbed on top of Damon, pulling out of his pocket what looked like an ice pick. He lifted Damon’s upper right eyelid and placed the ice pick under the eyelid and against the top of the eye socket. With a grunt, he shoved it downward slightly and then whipped it side to side… It was too much for Guppy. He collapsed into darkness. [/QUOTE]
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