He found himself peering, trying to read the hazy squares of text beneath. The only words he could make out were 'vertebrae' and 'eviscerated.' He blinked and squeezed his eyes, cursed himself for giving in to his morbid curiosity. Thousands of years ago, when people still lived in small communities, paying attention to random acts of violence actually paid reproductive dividends. That's why human brains were hardwired to pay attention to them.

But now? It was little more than an indulgence. Candy for a stone-age mind.

He thought about the previous night instead.

He was just screwing with me… Wasn't he?

Thomas emerged from the oily humidity of the subway onto Broadway and 116th. He leaned against the railing, overcome with what his father had always called 'jelly belly'. Fucking shooters. Why had he agreed to do shooters? The New York march of cars and people soothed him for some reason.

Columbia was surprisingly busy, given the school year had yet to begin. Dozens of students sat on the steps along the Low Plaza, cradling books and coffees and the ubiquitous palmtops. Thomas always enjoyed the walk to Schermerhorn Hall: the cobbled courtyards and bricked gardens, the contrast of grass and old stone, the humble academic grandeur. He passed through the shadow of St Paul's Chapel, and it seemed he could feel the morning cool radiating from its hunched walls. For all its logistical drawbacks, Schermerhorn was an ideal home for the psychology department. Apparently Columbia's designers had a yen for interior spaces, enclaves within enclaves. It seemed proper that the Schermerhorn should be hidden, just as it seemed proper that it should be old, the stone leached, the walls settling on uncertain foundations—a place built by men who could still take the soul seriously.

Perhaps because he was hungover, Thomas found himself pausing before the entrance, gazing at the latter half of the inscription above.

SPEAK TO THE EARTH AND IT SHALL TEACH THEE

A laudable commandment, he supposed. But what if humanity had no stomach for the lesson?

He ducked his head into the psychology department office to check his mail.

'Oh, Professor Bible,' he heard Suzanne, the head administrative assistant call.

Hanging sideways in the doorway, he smiled at her. 'Make it quick, Suzy; I'm feeling woozy.'

She grimaced and nodded toward three suits, two women and one man, loitering outside the department head's office door. They seemed to be watching him with peculiar interest.

'Can I help you?' Thomas asked. Their scrutiny felt vaguely offensive.

The dark-haired woman stepped forward and held out her hand. 'Professor Bible? Thomas Bible?' she asked.

Thomas didn't reply, convinced that she already knew who he was. Something about their demeanor said they had glossy photos in their breast pockets, and dossiers in their palmtops.