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#1: You Can Run, But You Can't Hide

Viola walked up the path in the growing darkness, looking down at the small scrap of paper in her hand. She continued walking until a cottage became visible through the trees, its general appearance one of neglect and desertion. Undismayed, she tucked the paper into her pocket and turned down the overgrown track that led toward it.

She rapped on the door and waited. Nearly a minute passed before she heard the sound of someone on the other side.

The lock scraped and a dark patch appeared, opening into an interior even more gloomy than the dusk outside. “Why, Viola!” The man glanced past her into the darkness, then turned his attention back to her and smiled, swinging the door wide. A glint of red flickered in his good eye. “I see you received my note. Do come in; I hardly imagined you would respond to a second invitation from me — but here you are, as clever a little monkey as ever. May I take your wrap?”

“Yes, thank you, Diogenes. And I'll have something to drink if you you've got it.”

Diogenes raised an amused eyebrow. “Of course you will,” he said smoothly. “Do make yourself comfortable.”

Viola moved deeper into the small cottage. The only light came from a fireplace in a sitting room whose windows had been carefully blacked, all crevices stopped to prevent light from escaping. She settled on a sheet-covered love seat next to the only chair in the room beside which lay the remains of a frugal dinner, and looked around. The place was quite charming actually, and really only appeared to suffer from the lack of a woman's touch.

Diogenes appeared a moment later with a glass in each hand. “Ah. Perhaps the other one, dear,” he said with a wink, as she reached for the glass in his left hand.

She laughed and took the left one anyway, and Diogenes suppressed a faint smirk.

“Let me get to the point of why I've come, Diogenes.” Diogenes tented his fingers before himself and settled back in his chair, his expression as contented as a cat's at finding a mouse in its dinner bowl.

Viola took a deep breath. “The truth is, I thought about all of those hurtful, unpleasant things you said, and I realize now you were saying them for my own good. No one has ever cared for me enough to say those things to my face, but you... you really do care, don't you.”

Diogenes' eyes gleamed on her. “I called you empty and unloving.”

“And unlovable, yes. You were under a great deal of stress when you said those things, I see that now. It took me forever to understand what you were really trying to say.” She sighed. “Oh, Digi. You made me face what I am; I don't know how I could ever stay angry at you. The memory of our time together has just played itself over and over in my head since we were parted.” She hesitated. “Please — do tell me again how you were going to kill me — and use that voice. You know the one; it was ever so convincing. It made me positively shiver.”

Diogenes blinked, nonplussed. “But... I am going to kill you, Viola dear.”

Viola sighed blissfully and leaned back on the love seat. “That's the one. Oh, Aloysius certainly never spoke to me like that! He was all wrong for me, you know. Now say something else. Something — something really dreadful.”

Diogenes leapt to his feet with a stifled yelp, just in time to avoid the toe snaking toward his pantleg. “Viola, really — this is...”

She sat up, her eyes glowing in the light of the fire and Diogenes backed away slowly, his face betraying a trace of alarm.

“Diogenes, where are you going?” she asked, as he gained the door.

“Out for cigarettes, my dear. I'm certain you're more than familiar with the euphemism of that phrase.”

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