Rogers was struggling with maintaining the blissfully silent gargoyle gaze he had transfixed upon his face. His facial muscles twitched frantically attempting to revert to what for him would be some semblance of normality and as the facade of Rogers started to crack beads of perspiration dotted his forehead, Wyse relaxed.
Although there were numerous times when he would have liked to see Rogers’ eye or more poked out, this constant posturing by both of them was ludicrous. Neither liked the other and neither respected their professional abilities, although Wyse was adamant there was no case against him.
Seconds passed in the titanic battle of wills and it was with some satisfaction Wyse watched Rogers’ face slip back to its normal parasitic features, changing the status quo prompting Rogers to stride forward purposefully. Wyse was surprised to find himself stepping in front of him and the unexpected move caused Rogers to pull up short.
Fighting to regain his balance Rogers barked in a voice managed from the South, ‘Out of my way, I want to see what has delayed the revered Wyse.’
Wyse had no intention of moving and defiantly stood still with arms crossed defending the murder scene.
‘That’s a direct order Wyse, move!’
Wyse tightened his grip upon his resolve, this was a dilemma he could not have envisaged. Under normal circumstances he would have obeyed such a command before the last syllable had been uttered. Not blindly, but in the belief a world without order was a world where chaos reigned, something which was totally unacceptable to Wyse’s logical mind.
In disbelief he heard himself utter, ‘No.’
‘This is gross insubordination Wyse, something I will deal with later, personally!’
Having given chaos a free hand it next chose to manifest itself in Rogers, who firmly planted his hands on a horrified Wyse and pushed him roughly out of the way.
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