“Are you expecting anyone?” Jonathan asked.
“Of course not.” Henry nodded at the wall clock. “Look at the time.”
Sighing, Jonathan rose, brushing off Henry’s protests, touching his shoulder as he passed. Henry watched him fondly. He stillgot a kick from them doing this, living together, their little domestic routines. To the world they acted chaste and respectable:gentleman companions in the vein of Herbert and Bramston, their famous counterparts in town. The neighbors seemed to haveaccepted them anyway. No doubt their ages helped. As did their professions: Jonathan now held a senior position in the attorneygeneral’s office, and a disgraced barrister was still a barrister all the same. It also helped that they were very discreet.
Henry sipped his wine and ogled Jonathan walking along the hall: the slender triangle of his body, the buttocks tight andround. He was one of those annoying people who kept the weight off, no matter what he ate, and had hardly changed since they’dfirst met. A little gray at the temples, a couple of crow’s feet, but his face had taken on a kinder, softer quality, andthe eyes were still keen and full of life. Henry cringed at the disparity; he didn’t enjoy looking in the mirror these days.The ordeal he had gone through, his public shaming, had robbed him of the best years of his life. Almost broke him, truthbe told. He worried that Jonathan would see it. Yes, he had stood by him, had rescued him in fact, but his fear was that whatevermagic had brought them together would evaporate as mysteriously as it once came. He still considered himself lucky. And luckwas a fickle friend.
From where Henry was sitting he couldn’t see the front door. He heard Jonathan’s footsteps slowing, the familiar click ofthe latch, the handle as it turned, then a brief exchange of voices, low and muffled, Henry couldn’t make out the words. SoonJonathan was returning along the corridor, must have given the visitor the shortest of shrifts.
“Who was it?” Henry called, but already he could see in Jonathan’s expression that something was very wrong. His face wasashen. Clear panic in his eyes. Henry half-rose in his chair and saw a tall figure behind him, enormous in the narrow hall,his longcoat flaring as he moved. Henry’s legs buckled. Clinging to the table edge.
“Hello again, Henry,” Noone said pleasantly. “May I?”
He swept toward the corner armchair; Henry wondered if he meant to sit down. Instead, Noone snatched up one of the scattercushions, brought it back to where Jonathan cowered by the wall, and planted it into his face. Jonathan flailed helplessly.The cushion smothered his cries. Noone pinned him there with one hand while with the other he drew a gleaming silver revolverfrom inside his longcoat. He wedged it under Jonathan’s jaw and fired, the muffled shot no louder than a dropped book. Henrytried to scream but couldn’t. A noise that withered to barely a whimper, then died. Still, it was enough for Noone to notice:he spun and pistol-whipped Henry before he had the chance to cry out again.
* * *
Henry awoke to find himself gagged and hog-tied, bent over the table and lashed tightly in place with a rope, Noone sittingin Jonathan’s chair beside him, eating his meal, drinking his wine. There was a ghastly red clawlike smear on the wall behindhim, the blood running thickly like paint, matted with clumps of that puppy-soft hair. Henry retched against the tea towelstuffed in his mouth, tears falling hot on his cheeks.
Noone ate the meal patiently, delicately, like he wasn’t even there.
When his plate was clear, Noone sighed and straightened his cutlery, dabbed his lips and sipped the wine. He glanced at Henry.Smiling faintly, he leaned back in his chair, and Henry got a look at Jonathan’s body, slumped and lifeless against the wall,and the black revolver that had been placed in his open palm. He thrashed against his bindings hopelessly, then with a suddenchill of horror fell still. He was naked below the waist, he realized. His trousers and underwear were down.
“You know, I have rather missed this,” Noone said. “I so rarely get to enjoy myself these days. I am actually rather grateful.The chance may not arise again.”
He sipped Jonathan’s wine contentedly. Henry moaned into his gag.
“None of us can change our nature. I have known what I am my whole life, Henry, as I suspect have you. Lying with men whileyou were married, living here in sin, even taking up your little case against me when you already knew the risks. You areas selfish an individual as I have ever met. Bravo, I must say.”
Noone drained the wine, stood, tucked in the chair.
“A great deal has been written about it, actually, I don’t know if you are aware. Fatalism, determinism, nihilism, and ofcourse predestination, for what that is worth: Why would this, why would anything we do, be any concern of God’s?”
Henry raged unintelligibly. Noone inclined his head. “You have a point to make on the subject? Some thoughts on Nietzsche,perhaps?” He took hold of the gag and paused. “If you scream I will cut out your tongue.”
“Jonathan was innocent,” Henry gasped. “He wasn’t even involved.”
“No? Had you not already co-opted him into your little scheme?”
“But he’d done nothing. All his life, he’d done nothing wrong.”
Henry began sobbing. Noone puttered his lips. “How disappointing, Henry. You blather like a child. This is not my doing. Theblame here is all yours. You knew what might happen but thought you could get away with it, and so here we are. Honestly,I thought you had more sense than to go in with a bullheaded imbecile like Billy McBride. What is it with you people? Didyou really think I would not come?”
He prized open Henry’s mouth and stuffed the towel back in.
“I thought about poisoning you, both of you, a fatal dose of moonshine liquor, or even opium, since I know you’re prone toexcess. It must look accidental,
