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psychiatrist's office

Mind Games

Illya stepped quietly into the darkened room. His eyes, as they became accustomed to the change in the light, took in the richly carved desk in the far corner, the faded photograph of a young man in a burnoose prominently displayed upon its gleaming surface. An oriental vase filled with yellow asters stood guard beside the photograph. A phalanx of bookshelves lined one wall, and an antique persian rug in sun-bleached shades of red and blue brought a wash of color to the dimly lit room. Joshegan, Illya recalled idly. Snowflake pattern.

Please, Mr. Kuryakin.” Dr. Neville gestured toward the couch, a tufted monstrosity in dark green velvet that would have been at home in any Victorian drawing room. “Have a seat.”

Reluctantly, Illya took his place on the couch, pushing aside a pair of antique kilim pillows in the traditional Kazak style. “I wondered when you would get around to me,” he said.

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frog pyramid

The Trouble With Amphibians


Act I: A Frog in the Hand...

It was Spring, the season of hope and rebirth, whose promise should have brought forth visions of yellow daffodils swaying in the fields out on Long Island, and sunny afternoons spent playing Frisbee under the budding maple trees in Central Park. Instead, it was raining. Again. Ten days in a row. A cold, dreary, endless rain, with more predicted for the weekend. A misery of rain, Illya thought sourly as he slowed to cross another flooded intersection. Like a murder of crows. A wave of muddy water briefly inundated the DeLorean's windshield as a sedan fishtailed by, speeding in the opposite direction

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