Moriarty's Reverie: Part 2

Image Credit: Hoang P., Rochester, NY The author's comments: This is part 2 of my other story.   Preferences               English         Preferences Jim awoke slumped on the floor, eye’s red, hair bedraggled, to his phone blasting a clip of J?nsi’s “Go Do”. He had a text. “Sherly Holmes.” Jim relished the pet name and read the text. This might make him feel better. Subject: Where are you? To: James Moriarty I thought you were dead Moriarty. -Sh   Jim’s mouth stretched into a smile that a lizard would be proud of and texted back,   I missed you Sherly, did you? ? -JM   No I didn’t, where are you?! -Sh   UNHAPPY SHERLY ALERT! Oh I did miss this. -JM   Moriarty, WHERE IS JOHN?! -SH Jim blinked, John?   John, Sherlock? -JM    Yes. -Sh   I don’t have John. -JM    Call me -Sh “Where is he, Moriarty?” Sherlock’s deep voice was menacing over the phone, almost as menacing as it had been on the roof of St. Bert’s. Jim licked his lips and looked down at the street below. “Sherlock, I would be glad to take credit for this, but…” “What?” “I have no idea what you mean Sherlock!” yelled Jim into the phone. He was having one of his mood swings and his fingers dug into his bare thigh until it hurt, “I DON’T KNOW WHERE IN H-LL YOUR LITTLE, BLOODY, PET IS!” He was crying again.  “Moriarty,” There was a pause. “What?” Jim heard his voice come out ugly and cracked and so heavily accented with Irish that Sherlock could barely understand what he had said. “Help me find John and I’ll give you mercy.”  Jim’s eyebrow’s furrowed above his tears. “Wha?-“ “I won’t kill you when I find you and you won’t kill me.”        Jim lay awake that night. Sherlock had told him to come the next morning back to London and if he didn’t arrive they would come after him. Jim felt something akin to fear and flashes of the fall passed before his eyes like a movie reel. Everyone felt fear, it was true, even a consulting criminal.



DMITRI CHRISTOPHER: Shadows

Where is he? Take a happy memory, old, rarely visited. Imagine it as a painting, oil on canvas. See the subjects, how they laugh, smile, dance. One does not. Follow that gaze to the dark corners. Someone casts a long shadow, out of view. There he is. The Shadow Man.

ELIZA MIMSKI: Holding On

Rough and sharp, her voice is filled with demons. She hides beneath her tongue, a monster dancing before you. Angry and alert, her life is emergency. She rails and hurls insults – of course it’s all your fault. You hold on tight and pray you’ll make it through her teenage years. Eliza Mimski, a retired … Continue reading ELIZA MIMSKI: Holding On →

ROBERT HOEKMAN JR.: We All Walk the Same (My Father in the Rain, pt. 2)

We take a plane to Des Moines. My uncles and cousins and my aunt are there and everyone wears suits and black dresses in the town where Grandpa was born, where the sidewalks are gray and crumbling, where the names on the headstones sound like mine. Like his. Like ours. Robert Hoekman Jr thinks you … Continue reading ROBERT HOEKMAN JR.: We All Walk the Same (My Father in the Rain, pt. 2) →

AJ JOSEPH: In Hindsight

“You chose,” he’d remind me later. “You could’ve gone home.” “You needed help! Neither of you knew how to do it right!” I retorted. “Well, is it almost done?” He’d asked thrice before. Feet aching, sweat pouring down my face, I replied “Yes, the turkey will be finished by dinnertime.” AJ Joseph occasionally writes at Words … Continue reading AJ JOSEPH: In Hindsight →

ROBERT HOEKMAN JR.: See How Much It Weighs (My Father in the Rain, pt. 3)

When someone can’t show up, my uncle asks me to be a pall bearer. I carry Grandpa to the ground with five men I don’t know. Grandpa who used to snatch my nose with his thick mechanic fingers. Grandpa whose skin is like rubber. I carry him to the ground. Robert Hoekman Jr thinks you … Continue reading ROBERT HOEKMAN JR.: See How Much It Weighs (My Father in the Rain, pt. 3) →