Quotes About Mystery

It would be much too difficult for anyone to get in and out of this area, especially if they were carrying questionable loads of body parts and the like.

But of course, very few people are Dexter. This is generally a good thing, but in this case it came in handy to be me. Four months after reading a story in the paper about a missing boy, I read a similar story. The boys were around the same age; details like that always ring a small bell and send a Mister Rogers whisper trickling through my brain: "Hello, neighbor.

Perhaps Dexter's dutiful but uninspired brain pictured him as Sherlock Holmes, able to examine the wheel ruts and deduce that a left-handed hunchback with red hair and a limp had gone down the road carrying a Cuban cigar and a ukulele. I would find no clues, not that it mattered.

Talk to me, I whispered to the Dark Passenger. Tell me what you have done.

It was Rogelio, Chutsky's friend from the front desk, who was going to tell us when Weiss checked in. But it certainly didn't look like he was going to tell us much of anything, unless we listened to him with a Ouija board. Because if appearances were any guide at all, judging by the belt so tightly wrapped around his neck and the way his tongue and eyes bulged out, Rogelio was extremely dead.

Oh, my God, he's doing that thing again," Jackie said, staring at me as if I was a piece of alien technology that had just turned itself on. "You know, where he goes inside the guy's head.

Mr. Mustache spoke up, again without moving any facial muscles. "I neeeed," he said, drawing out the word pointlessly, "to learn Who. You. Are." That made even less sense than what Matthews had said, and I could think of no reply more penetrating than, "Oh, uh-huh Ã¢â'¬Â¦Ã¢â'¬Â It must have sounded just as feeble to him as it did to me, because he moved at last, turning his entire head in my direction and flipping up the sunglasses with one manicured finger.

In my case, it took the form of a mysterious sense of ungrounded optimism. The sandwich was good, and now it was gone, deep into Dexter; the miracle of transubstantiation had happened again, and now everything would be all right. Even

Vince looked where I pointed. "Salvia divinorum," he said. "Hey, you think so?

Kraunauer was waiting for me, standing next to the same young and serious agent who had brought us up. "I'm beginning to believe," Kraunauer said, "that Detective Anderson may not like you.

Deborah led me away from it and over to the far end of the room. "Dexter," she said, "promise me you didn't kill this guy.

I stepped toward the car, trying to plan what to do, which was impossible because I did not know what they wanted, or even who they were. It was no longer believable that it was merely a random crazy—not if he knew where I lived. But who was it? Who had any reason to act like this? Among the living, I mean, because there were plenty of former victims who might have loved to come after me, but they were all far beyond any sort of action at all, other than decomposition. I

Oddly enough, I had found somebody. What, what? Deeply dead Dexter dating débutante doxies? Sex among the Undead? Has my need to imitate life gone all the way to faking orgasms?

Aleister Crowley

Cody stood looking up at Brian, his feet spread apart and his hands hanging stiffly at his sides. Their eyes locked together and I could hear the leathery unfolding of wings between them, the dark and sibilant greeting of twin interior specters. There was a look of belligerent wonder on Cody's face, and he just stared for a long moment and Brian stared back, and finally Cody looked at me. "Like me," he said. "Shadow Guy.

What the fuck, Dexter," Deborah said accusingly, as if it were my fault the two blood types were different. "I'm sorry," I said, not at all sure what I was apologizing for, but quite certain from her tone of voice that I should.

Ah, Young One," he said, holding up the box. "I have brought you a riddle: What is the essence of the moment but as fleeting as the wind?" "All that lives, Master," I said. "Plus, whatever is in the box." He beamed at me and opened the lid. "Snatch the cannoli, Grasshopper," he said, and I did. Over

It's, um, you know," I said, feeling exceptionally awkward. "There's something unique about every murder, so you try to see what would make somebody do that.

Get your stuff," he said, hurrying past. "We got a wild one." Robert turned to watch him go, and his air of relaxed confidence seemed to drain out and puddle at his feet. "Is that Ã¢â'¬Â¦ Does he mean, um—" "It's probably nothing," I said. "Just a routine machete beheading or something." Chase goggled at me for a moment. Then he turned pale, gulped, and finally nodded. "Okay," he said.

I'll die a meter maid, Dexter.

And, unfortunately for all concerned—except possibly the ghost of J. Edgar Hoover, who must have been hovering protectively in a spectral house frock—sitting next to Chambers was Special Agent Brenda Recht.

I stared at the phone for a long moment before I replaced it in its cradle. I was not sure what had just happened, or what it meant: "Come up to my office right now"? Captains do not hand out special assignments to blood-spatter analysts, and we do not visit captains' offices socially, either. So what was this about? My

Meanwhile, Deborah was looking over the two men Hood had brought in. "What happened to these two?" she said to Hood. He shrugged and looked preposterously innocent. "Whataya mean?" he said. Debs

Vince shook it playfully. "Maybe it'll help Anderson figure out who the victim is this time," he said. I opened my mouth to say that it didn't seem likely, that Anderson wouldn't figure it out if he had notarized statements from the killer and the victim, and then I closed my mouth and took a step back and didn't say anything at all.