He stared down at his bed and smiled, brushing the fingertips of one hand over his lips. His brother lay on his stomach, nude and pale against the dark backdrop of his bedsheets, and looked up at him demurely through his eyelashes. Diogenes laughed shrilly and then sighed. “What a surprise.”

A flush rose on Aloysius’ face, but he said nothing. Diogenes stepped forward, loosening his tie and stripping off the suit jacket he’d worn to school. “Home for the weekend? Do Mother and Father know you’re here?”

“Yes,” Aloysius said softly as Diogenes knelt and used his necktie to bind his brother’s wrists in an intricate knot.

“You like to take risks, don’t you? Big brother?” He held his brother’s chin and tilted his head up, forcing him to make eye contact. Aloysius said nothing, and Diogenes leaned forward to for a brief, light kiss before standing again. “Won’t this be fun?” he asked tauntingly, skimming a hand down Aloysius’ back. He lingered at the swell of his flank for a moment, teasing, and then abruptly drew his hand back and struck as hard as he could.

Aloysius did not cry out, but Diogenes was pleased to see the pinprick sparkles of tears...   read more »

He is running.

It is fall in Virginia. The sun is just rising, throwing a warm glow over the dusky grey of early morning, highlighting the red and gold of the dying leaves on the trees and the spindly forms of the branches that have already been laid bare. Among the thicker clusters of trees that lead into the denser forests, a thin layer of dry leaves rests gently atop those that have been compacted and partially decomposed by rain, and forms an ankle-deep carpet through which the green of the summer grass occasionally peeks. Rain from the previous night has created the occasional hazardous mud puddle, and moisture soaks the hard-packed dirt trail, making finding traction and balance a conscious exercise.

He runs past a tree that has been defiled by a myriad of simply stenciled signs; he has seen them so many times that their bold, simple messages no longer shock or propel him: “Suck it in; hurt; agony; pain; love-it; pride; attitude; respect, loyalty, 110%, I’m being me.” He bypasses the elaborate Yellow Brick Road obstacle course he’ll have to navigate later in the day during his group’s fitness session, running off the well-trampled path and between two large...   read more »

D’Agosta followed Pendergast down to the bank of the stream, idly listening to the muted conversation of Constance and the count that they had left behind with their picnic things. Several large, gnarled elm trees blocked the others from view, but the sound of their voices—if not the individual words—drifted pleasantly on the air of the clear, calm afternoon. Pendergast stood beside a tree that was very close to the water’s edge, one of his long, white hands resting delicately upon the dark bark of the trunk. He gazed pensively out over the water, his eyes following its turbulent passage with a steadiness that was almost meditative. D’Agosta cleared his throat gently and squinted up into the sky.

“” Pendergast abruptly recited this bit of poetry with a clipped succinctness that did not seem to fit the rich, fantastical tone of the words. “Or someplace very similar, at least.” He released a quiet sigh and turned back to meet D’Agosta’s inquiring gaze. “This case is becoming quite the puzzle.”

D’Agosta shrugged. “Only if you don’t believe in the devil,” he replied flippantly.

Pendergast smiled slightly. “I feel a measure of...   read more »

A shadowy form swept confidently through the darkened halls of the Museum of Modern Art. It was close to midnight, and stillness of the building seemed exaggerated by the unexpected movement.

The guard nodded to him as he passed. In a movement calculated carefully to convey spontaneity, the man stopped, checked his pockets, and let out an exasperated sigh. “Left my keys upstairs,” he explained, and the guard nodded again. No questions. Nothing out of place. It was perfect.

Still, he felt a curl of fear in his stomach as he bypassed the route to his office and headed instead through the galleries. He knew exactly where he was going, knew exactly what painting he was going to stand in front of, and still it came almost as a shock to have it laid bare before him in the dim light.

He stopped and crouched at a spot he had found to be just out of reach of the room’s security camera, which was angled high and wide to show all of the paintings on the walls. Carefully, he...   read more »

They pulled him out of the basement, wide-eyed and soot-covered and shivering through the intense heat. His bad eye had secreted so many tears, trying in vain to counteract the soot and smoke in the air, that it was gummed shut, and the flesh surrounding it was red, raw, and painful. The world had been utterly silent to him, in addition to its customary monochromatic cast, and the activity around him looked, for all intents and purposes, like a manic adventure of the Keystone Cops. He had laughed a little, and well-meaning strangers wrapped him in a blanket and slung their arms over his shoulder and—he knew, although he could not heard their voices or read their lips—told him that his parents were dead and that they had sent for his brother.

His brother.

Oh, darling!

His brother, Aloysius, dearest brother who was away at the finest of English schools, absent but not forgotten, lurking around every suspect corner every time...   read more »