Hey, everyone.
This little piece is actually a writing assignment for my AP English class where we had to sneak what we think our participation grade should be (hence the seemingly random 97, 9 and 7 references) into a piece of writing. I haven't written a complete Pendergast 'fic yet so I figure this was a great way to break the ice and break my writers block.
There isn't an exact time aside from it happening during Book of the Dead (or after if you want to pretend Diogenes and Constance didn't meet again in Italy). Just take the time frame with a grain of salt. Regardless, hope you can enjoy!
_
The weather was atrocious. Atrocious enough that no one should have been out on the roads. What seemed like a falling horizontal sheet of water was actually a curtain of rain, pelting the earth. A few hundred miles back the weather was much less ominous. Driving so far and continuing on in such conditions was rapidly becoming a poor decision, and poor decisions were not something Pendergast made often.
The Special Agent in black continued to drive carefully through the anonymous town of which he had found himself in. It seemed that with every few hundred feet his silver Rolls Royce went the rainfall increased. Pendergast was going as slow as possible with his windshield wipers on their highest, yet nothing helped. He gripped his steering wheel tightly as he did his best to drive straight. The volume of water falling from above was overwhelming the ground and it seemed as if the entire road was one large puddle.
Pendergast was neither nervous nor scared. But this constant barrage of water was highly unpractical; he was a busy man. And it was business that brought him to this new town.
Rain was the last thing this town needed; this little harbor town. Small boats docked along the water, grey, choppy water and greyer rocks. It was postcard-worthy. A humble postcard that depicted working seamen and lower-middle class families.
Through the downpour Pendergast tried to make out the street signs. Hidden amongst
the streets with average Joe names and avenues named for local do-gooders, there was a certain address he was looking for.
It was 97 minutes ago that Pendergast had found a letter in his home mailbox. The crisp white envelope had A. X. L. Pendergast written elegantly on the front. Inside was a letter, handwritten by his deranged brother, Diogenes and a small map. The letter was deadly serious and the reason for Pendergast's journey.
Frater,
How I hope you have enjoyed the past few months of rest, but I'm afraid all good
things must come to an end. I assume by now Constance has informed you of the
rendezvous between her and I. The hours we spent together were charming, her
psyche so easily exploited. Sadly, she did not do what she should have and is still
amongst the living. However, it is something she said that intrigued me. She so
naively believed you to actually care for her. Do you truly care for her, dear
Aloysius? For her, or for the sweet Viola? There was another as well, a Miss Corrie
Swanson if I am not mistaken. These are all intelligent women who care deeply for
you, however I can not image you are capable of reciprocating those affections. It
is not just them either. Your friendship with Vincent D'Agosta, for example. Do
you truly value him? The map enclosed with this letter has the address where we
shall met at 5 o' clock on this date. Should you choose not to meet your dear
brother there will be consequences. You can shelter Constance, you can remove
Corrie from her studies, you can runaway with Viola- but you cannot save
everyone all of the time.
Ever your
Diogenes
No more than ten minutes after entering this tiny town the rain finally began to let up. The pour became moderate, but still unpleasant. The charcoal skies lightened to a deadened grey color as Pendergast continued to search for street that coincided with the name on the map. Five blocks later the blonde man behind the wheel finally turned his silver Rolls left and began down the right road, of which Pendergast found no irony in its name: Memorial Way.
The street itself was long with homes on both sides. They were cozy and warm. Diogenes choosing this town was a sick irony. Cozy, warm, stable- everything Diogenes was not. Pendergast continued to drive.
He continued to drive until the street ended and a stretch of beach began. The beach itself was rocky at the shoreline and the waves were upset by rain. The grey rocks contrasted little with the deep, dead looking water. The Rolls was parked close against the curb between houses numbered 9 and 7.
Without an umbrella Pendergast braced the weather. Neither the rain nor the minor hassle the wet sand was to walk in bothered him. He was incapable of both. Rather, a sick anticipation filled him. This dreadful feeling escalated as the blonde man walked down the beach to the sound of waves crashing over rocks.
Not too long after beginning his walk did Pendergast come across who he was there to see. In the distance, facing away from the Special Agent was the other Pendergast brother. There was Diogenes.
Diogenes could hear his brother approach him. A sicking smile came across his face as he heard his brother get closer, and closer, and closer. Only when the mushy footprints stop did Diogenes turn around. Pendergast was about five feet away from him.
"Frater," Diogenes said, his voice honeycombed with the mild Southern accent his brother shared, "Thank you for joining me."
"Constance told me everything you did to her," said Pendergast. His voice was steady, but underneath there was a cold anger.
"Did she? Was she sure to explain how valiantly she defended the honor of her great guardian?". Diogenes laughed.
The two men were similar in appearance. The same alkaline nose, fair skin and high cheek bones. However, where as Pendergast's hair was white-blonde, Diogenes's hair was ginger. Where as Pendergast was clean shaven, Diogenes has a trimmed beard. Where as Pendergast has two silvery-blue eyes, Diogenes has one eye colored hazel, the other a dead, milky blue.
"You could have ended her, ruined her-"
"And do you think that I have not been ruined?" Diogenes voice was uncharacteristically bitter. His face was solid as stone, he spoke coldly and severely.
"Look at my eye dear frater." He pointed to his blue eye.
There was silence.
"Do you know why I picked this location and at this time to meet you?" Diogenes asked.
"No, I do not."
The waves continued to crash, the rain continued to fall.
"What is the primary color of our surroundings?"
"Grey," Pendergast replied.
"Do you know what is one of the few colors that I can see?"
"Grey," Repeated Pendergast.
"Grey," Diogenes said seriously, "The Event took my ability to see color. It damaged my physically. Even the happiest moments I experience are grey and shadowed. Tell me, Aloysius, what is it like to see red roses? Or green grass? Or Constance's violet eyes?"
Pendergast stiffened at the sound of his ward. Diogenes continued.
"You don't value color, evidenced by your library. Constance told me how rashly you chose the color blue, which in the right light- well you can assume what color it appears as. I dare say you don't seem to value much of anything or anyone."
"I'm not going to play with you, Diogenes," said Pendergast, "Why have you summoned me here?"
Diogenes smiled.
"I'm going to kill you, dear frater. I'm going to kill you, but not before I destroy those who you claim to hold close. My letter did not lie, you cannot save everyone all of the time. I do hope that, under the correct circumstances, you know who to save in a pinch."
"I won't let that happen," Pendergast said.
"Don't think about reaching for the gun in your pocket," Diogenes said lazily. He knew his brother was armed this entire time. "But even if you did kill me now, it would be the only merciful thing you had ever done."
There was a momentary silence before Pendergast spoke.
"You're talking about the Event."
The smile faded from Diogenes face. He most certainly was talking about the Event. The Event that ruined his sight, his childhood and his sanity.
"I repressed the memory, Diogenes," Pendergast said, his voice heavy, "The most traumatic event of my life and I repressed it."
"You're a liar, Aloysius. You just didn't want to admit your mistake, the mistake to send me into the damned box."
Pendergast stared at his brother. As genuinely sorry as he was for what happened to Diogenes, there was nothing he could do. Decades had gone by since that fateful day in their childhoods. More than that, the bullet of which was meant to end Diogenes, the bullet that deadened his eye had done so much more. It had damaged Diogenes mentally and emotionally. The man standing before Special Agent Pendergast was a criminally insane sociopath. No apology could remedy that.
"I'm going to kill you, Aloysius," Diogenes said once more, "Even if I were to kill every last person you consider dear it would amount to only a fraction of what the Event was to me."
"What's stopping me from stopping you right now, Diogenes?" Pendergast asked.
Diogenes did not answer, but rather he looked away toward the water.
"As much as you despise what I've done to Constance, what I've done to your allies; I'm still your brother. I'm still your little brother."
"Don't rely on our fraternal relationship," Pendergast said coolly.
"Your friends are safe. For now," said Diogenes. He inhaled a deep breath of sea air and turned his back to Pendergast, "If you kill me you'll never know what I've started- if I've started anything at all. Do not count on me being alive as a catalyst for my plans. Perhaps my death is the key. Perhaps if I don't call a man in Moscow by midnight he will make his move. Perhaps if I don't visit a woman in Italy she'll kidnap Miss Swanson. You can't possibly know. I am, after all, insane."
The two men stood there in silence. After nine minutes it was Diogenes who turned. He took seven steps away before stopping, looking over his shoulder and saying simply, "Good-bye, frater" before continuing on.
Stiff as a board, Pendergast watched as his brother disappeared down the beach and completely out of sight. Only when he was completely alone did the blonde man turn his own back and begin the walk back to his car.
The waves still crashed along the rocky shoreline and the rain fell, Pendergast well beyond soaked to the skin. In his mind he knew he should have ended Diogenes right there on the beach. Pendergast knew Diogenes would never recruit anyone to help him seek revenge. And yet two men met on the beach and two men left. Maybe there was a sliver of kinship left between Pendergast and his brother. If that were the case it was not only foolish, but a deadly attribute.
Once back to the silver Rolls, Pendergast took a final inhalation of the salty air and prepared to drive back home. He would be returning to the people he cared about and who were invaluable aids to him. Not only would be returning to the company of those he held dear, he would be returning a world of color. And color would be something Pendergast would come to appreciate immensely as a grey shadow would no doubt begin to surface.