The Nighthawks

“It was around 7 in the evening, that evening, and we were sitting in Phillies bar. There was another man there; and Bill, of course. The other man’s hat was pulled across his face, kinda shady if you ask me.”

“What evening Margaret?”

“Huh?”             

“You said that evening. What evening?”

“Oh. Alright. The evening when I locked up the library earlier than I should have- You remember?! You told me not to! That day- that day-” she stops short, gasping. “Well. So we just sitting there, and this lady walks in, fully dressed, but sopping wet. She walks in and sits down, hard, right next to me. Then she says something, kind of crazy, like about a chessboard, the world being this chessboard. We just pieces, and we go back in the closet one by one, while bigger hands play the game- I didn't get it! I didn't get it, not then. She kept saying that, and it’s as if Bill and Murray and that other man couldn't even hear her. They go on drinkin’ their coffees and their beers like nothin’s happening. Then, she gets up and leaves, and I say ‘Murray honey, what a creep, don’t ya think?’ and he doesn’t know who or what I’m talking about. “

I let her gather her breath. She’s shaking. I give her some more coffee.

“Well that night, I wake up shakin’, cause I can hear her. I can hear the lady telling me I’m alone and  I can’t trust no one anyway, and she starts filling my pockets with stones. She tells me it’s not worth it.”

I can’t gather what’s going on now, so I just wait.

She goes on: “And then, that night I started walking and I walked to the river.”

I decide to go get the doctor. Just as I walk out the door I meet Murray, looking scared as hell. He tells me they found Margaret drowned this morning. I don’t know what to say. I just spoke to her.

What we don’t know yet is, Margaret’s walking to Phillies right now, and she’s sopping wet.