Before long August and Dupree were sequestered away within the confines of Duprees private study, the good professor having been kind enough to not only treat August like a sane individual but also went about reinforcing his beliefs that he wasn't a madman-Faye Desdemona was or at some time had been a very real person.

August had to admit the majority of clippings upon Dupree's infamous wall had been quite the sight, his eyes doing a dance that tried to connect all of the macabre murders, suicides, and unexplained phenomena that literally sat pinned against the wall before him. Withdrawing a wallet sized camera from within one of the many pockets of his beige trench coat August flipped a switch on the small rectangular object which then sprung open with a pop into a tapered triangle shape. Most wouldn't outright recognize the impressive piece of technology he held as many were still used to the much more common big and bulky types of cameras-not the sort of science fiction device August held in on of his massive paws. Letting Dupree get a good look at the camera and hearing no objections August began taking picture after picture and before long had photographed the entirety of the whole wall. For a moment the detective in him salivated at the idea of trying to decipher each and every secret confined within what was quite possibly the most devilish puzzle he had ever seen. But then he remembered he was already trying to solve his own personal puzzle-a puzzle that could very well have a piece hidden within these various paper clippings.

Hopefully he now had a comrade to help him in his search..

As the two stood there trying to decipher some sort of meaning or pattern within the impressively put together wall of articles consisting of both crimes of passion along with outright insanity August found himself occasionally glancing towards Dupree in a momentarily peculiar way, almost as if to simply relay the fact that he was glad the other man was there-Dupree was afterall walking proof August wasn't entirely crazy. Proof that this whole world wasn't entirely crazy.

Or did all this just prove the opposite? Perhaps the pair rightfully belonged in the old Sanitarium, the very place that even August had heard foul whispers of despite his short time in the City.

Pushing these thoughts from his mind in a way that he had become rather adept at doing August finished the cup of tea Dupree had brewed for the pair-not too fast as to appear rude but quick enough that he was clearly intent on leaving. It was a shame too he thought-it was a damn good cup of tea afterall and he truly didn't mind the company. But August had a set goal in his head at the moment and no amount of tea and coffee could dissuade him once he was set upon a path.

No, nothing short of a bullet would stop August from finding his answers.

With a tip of his fedora and a few heartfelt words of gratitude August was gone and before Dupree knew it all that was left in his place was the faint smell of cheap cigarettes along with a business card containing little more than August's name and number-although in this case he also wrote the rooms phone number for the Nightshade Inn.
--
The rest of Augusts day had been spent tracking down a man with a decent darkroom: the man who finally was able to help him out in this regard hadn't even been a man at all though. Quite the contrary infact as Cindy Usher was in many ways many a mans ideal looking lady-well, most men.

She was a kind girl in what August assumed was probably her late twenties and considering the way she was as equally quick to flirt as she was to talk back he thought it safe to assume she was single. In his mind she really seemed like one of those “flapper” girls he'd heard of, the type who seemed to effortlessly buck most of those old world rules that shackled so many men and women for years. And maybe that's why August immediately liked her, although he wasn't really sure to be honest. Iether way he seemed to like her enough to sit there and cut the shit with her for an hour or two before heading back out into the cold streets. Before leaving Cindy had promised to have all of his photographs ready for pick up in the morning-even more importantly she promised to keep a tight lip about the contents of said photographs in a way that August honestly believed. It didn't really surprise him how quick she swore herself to secrecy, afterall he genuinely thought she seemed the type that would be far more curious than fearful about abunch of pictures from old news stories on ghastly unsolved crimes and phenomenoa.
--
LATER THAT NIGHT

August giant frame sat hunched in the crappy bed that took up the majority of the small room he'd been calling home as of late. In one hand he loosely clutched what looked like a glass milk jug full of a clear and extremely strong smelling liquid-white lightning. Both highly illegal and potentially toxic but August didn't much mind either risk-sure, alcohol was illegal, but it was still just as easy to get as a pack of smokes. The still easy access to liquoir was a good thing for August too because these days he didn't really “go to sleep” so much but instead more often than not “Passed the fuck out.”

Despite his best efforts to subconciousley fight the dreams and stay awake the extremely strong alcohol eventually won out as it always did-sending August spinning into the deep dark hole that was the nightmares.

Only, this time the dream was a bit different. A little scarier too, in some ways.

Part 1:
August awoke to the smell of smoke and death, screams filling the air as his ruined combat boots sloshed their way through the trenches. He knew he wasn't really awake and yet...it all seemed so real-the cries of agony the somehow pierced through the thunderous bombings, the way blood, mud, and bodies alike were crawled and walked over in the ever important pushes to advance, he could even feel the almost ever present combination of smoke and dust filling his lungs and stinging his eyes. Nightmare or not he pushed on, just like he had always done overseas. Pushing on was the only way out.

He and his unit had been sent to capture an important objective...or were they in retreat? And just where was his unit? He couldn't remember any of the specifics-the sights and sounds were all seared to memory but the events leading up to this moment in time had been completely lost to him like so many other things on this battlefield. Or perhaps he was just crazy? Maybe he'd finally lost it-which wasn't uncommon really. Hell, he'd seen his fair share of men completely lose it. In fact-

His train of thought was cut off as a vice like grip clasped around his ankle from somewhere below the kneehigh watery concoction of death and muck that seemed to fill every trench. Assuming he was snagged on a rifle or some poor bastards body he gave his leg a hard tug-a tug that was returned tenfold, sending August shooting into what should have been one of the worst watery graves imaginable. He didn't even have time to scream as he was dragged under.

And then he was sinking weightlessly downwards...deeper and darker he went while quickly realizing he had sunk much further than any trench could possibly have been dug. Even odder was the fact that he hadn't drowned despite the fact that he hadn't had time to take a real breathe. Finding this all very peculiar his curiosity finally wound up getting the better of him and August opened both eyes. What he saw made him scream into the nothingness around him for it was his own brothers blue and bloated corpse that firs met his gaze-his large bulging almost fishlike eyes staring straight back at August-well, up at him to be more precise, for it was his younger brothers rotting hand that so tightly gripped at August while very cement shoes that had takein his younger brothers life seemed to be the main reason for August's rapid decent into this sea of madness.