The Castaway - Chapter Five

The key turned just after midnight.

At least, one of the clocks said so.

The kitchen clock read twelve fifteen.
The foyer clock chimed once—proudly and incorrectly—for it had no right to chime at all.
The bedchamber clock, the one that was only ever right in the morning, declared half past ten.

But the pocket-watch in my lap read twelve-oh-three. And somehow, I trusted that one the most. Its distinct ticking was almost sepulchral in the restless darkness.

I sat there with only its beat to disturb the silence—its beat, and the shrill metallic click of the turning lock.

It was always quiet in the apartment at night, and I liked it so. Apart from the lack of privacy: in the quiet, there is no privacy, because everything is heard.

The fire had burned low. Shadows moved like memory across the ceiling, dancing in their own secret ballroom, nestled away in the metropolis, in my yellow window. I curled in the armchair with the card propped beside me against a candlestick. Painted Anastasia looked smug. Knowing. Unmoved by time or men.

I reached to touch her, but thought better of it.

The foyer clock chimed once more—proudly and incorrectly again. Some instruments prefer character to accuracy. I sympathise.

I heard the coat drop, soft against the chaise. No greeting.

Myles stood in the doorway, hair windswept, collar loosened—just as handsome as ever. The lines round his eyes were deeper, and he wore that wild, serious cheat’s look that had undone me in the first place. He did not speak.

“You lost,” I said softly.

He did not argue.

“You cheated. And still lost.”

He exhaled, slow and bitter. “That’s the thing.”

He sank into the opposite chair, rubbing his temples. “I saw Frankie. He wasn’t drunk. That was the worst part. Sober Frankie’s harder. You think him harmless when he’s laughing into his gin, but tonight he was sharp. Watchful.”

“And the man who gave him the watch?”

Myles shook his head. “Wasn’t there. Hasn’t been back since, apparently.”

“But Frankie told you something about him?” I pressed, though the pocket-watch in my hand unsettled me more with every tick. It was like a cold mechanical lover pressing against me with its own violent heartbeat.

His eyes darkened.

“She gave it to him.”

“She?”

“Some girl. He said he didn’t know her name. She came to the table one night—late, almost closing time—and asked to sit in. She had no money, only the watch, and said she wanted to play for time.”

Yes, you heard him. People say impossible things when they are nearest the truth.

I blinked. “She played for time?”

He nodded. “Frankie said she looked like she hadn’t slept in days. Pale. Wild-eyed. As if she were outrunning something, or someone. She kept glancing behind her, waiting to be followed.”

“And she gave Frankie the watch?”

“No. She gave it to his friend—a man Frankie knows. She told him she had no more use for it, once she’d lost. Said she was leaving time behind. Those were her words.”

I shivered.

“She kissed him,” Myles went on, voice quieter. “Frankie said it was a kiss like he’d been remembered—not by someone who loved him, but by someone already gone. Then she walked out. Not out the door. Out the back.”

“Where?”

“Toward the river.”

He paused.

“She walked into the Thames.”

I will not pretend bravery: that sentence iced my ribs. If it leaves you untouched, warm yourself now; you will need it later.

My mouth dried.

“Backwards,” he added. “Never turned around. Just stepped in, like she was slipping between pages. The current took her.”

A long silence passed.

“Did he try to stop her?” I whispered.

Myles shook his head. “He didn’t believe she was real until she was gone. Thought he’d been drunk. Found the watch in his coat pocket the next morning.”

“And you won it from Frankie’s friend.”

“I shouldn’t have.” Myles leaned forward, elbows on his knees. “He was cheating, slipping cards under the table. But somehow I still won. I shouldn’t have. The house should’ve folded.”

I looked down at the Queen of Hearts. She hadn’t moved. But she watched.

“Myles, I think it wasn’t meant to stay with him. Do you know who he is?”

He glanced at the pocket-watch still ticking in my hand.

“I don’t think it was meant to be with me either. Detweiler—that’s the name Frankie gave me. The man I played.”

“Why play him if you knew he was cheating?”

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