The Case of the Dead Man's Secret - Prologue
Yet each man kills the thing he loves
By each let this be heard,
Some do it with a bitter look,
Some with a flattering word,
The coward does it with a kiss,
The brave man with a sword!
Some kill their love when they are young,
And some when they are old;
Some strangle with the hands of Lust,
Some with the hands of Gold:
The kindest use a knife, because
The dead so soon grow cold.
Some love too little, some too long,
Some sell, and others buy;
Some do the deed with many tears,
And some without a sigh:
For each man kills the thing he loves,
Yet each man does not die.
-from ‘The Ballad of Reading Gaol,’ by Oscar Wilde
***
I know him. I know him better than anyone else.
I know him because I have seen him in every attitude it is possible for a man to adopt, seen him and taken the visions to heart. I know the bright fervour of his gaze when he lights upon the trail of a new discovery. I know the smooth arc of his hands as they coax songs from an old violin, or carefully measure chemicals, or even, God help him, as they administer a draught of cocaine. I know him because we have shared so much together. Not one of the conversations we held, so close as to touch, has left my memory. I know his voice as I know my own. He would not fancy himself aristocratic, I think, even though others would dub him so. With a voice like his, anyone would know that my dear boy is a prince among men, if they knew nothing else. Thank heaven I do. I know so much more. I know the heat of his mouth and the curve of his spine. I know the hidden treasures of his naked body, and I have tasted the same. I never deserved such a gift, but he came to me all the same, and I have never ceased worshiping him, my joy, my life.
I know him, and thus, I love him.
And as I know him, I know this: the trail of corpses I have left will lead him back to my loving arms.
-From the journals of Professor James R. Moriarty
Next