Anna gasped and cold water rushed down her throat, leaving her bloated rather than choking. It lined the pit of her stomach, fed into her arms, weighted her legs so that she was dragged down, down, down. Anna opened her eyes and recognized the murky waters of Setauket, distinguishable by the bits of cabbage debris, wood flecks, old earth that brushed past her cheeks. When her feet touched bottom—shoes dragging, then slipping away completely, leaving her stocking-clad feet free to explore—Anna thought she felt another presence behind her. She made to turn, but before she could one single, equally bloated finger rested against her cheek. Tap, tap, tap, it went against her skin.

Tap, tap, tap.

Anna's eyes flew open, her body arching towards the source of the sound.

It was a crow. Hardly visible in the dark, outlined only by the light of a waning moon. Anna peered blearily at it, now awake enough to be astounded when it cocked its head in turn. The crow flicked its beak against her windowpane impatiently. Tap, tap.

Anna pulled herself from her bed.

Her movements certainly felt dreamlike—walking barefoot across the carpeted floor, her nightgown doing little to protect her from the night air. Anna shivered, hooking both hands on opposite elbows, letting her toes drag and feeling vaguely as if she'd done this before.

Despite the temperature, Anna eased open the window. She crouched slightly as the crow continued to wait on her, its own shadowed feet digging into the wood. Anna pursed her lips at the odd little visitor.

"Hello," she whispered.

It was the wrong thing to do… or perhaps the right thing, for the crow took flight with a startling cry, knocking Anna backwards. Its black body disappeared amongst the shadowed trees… but not before she saw it heading towards the docks.

Without hesitation Anna followed.

This wasn't a decision of the lucid, the fully awake, but nor was it made entirely without agency, for Anna knew exactly what she was doing when she eased open her door, lifting it from the knob to keep it from squeaking. She felt the pull of her bed—the tiny voice in the back of her mind questioning this action—but the draw of adventure had always been too strong. Anna was a cat this night—fed on curiosity, hunting a bird.

She cast a look on Hewlett's door as she passed. Though frowning, Anna did not stop.

Down the elegant staircase, past the dining room, out the heavy front door. She didn't pause for a coat or even shoes. The wood of the judge's porch left subtle splinters in her heels. Anna didn't feel them. She stepped out into a light shower and titled her head to the sky, suddenly, vividly recalling a dream of drowning. She'd loved the feeling of water flooding her lungs.

A cry sounded through the night air—the cry of a crow. Anna's head snapped up and she picked up the pace, hefting her nightgown and tearing down the steps, out across the fields. She raced through the dewy grass, picking up mud that splattered along her stomach and thighs. Anna passed the dying trees of an orchard, their uncollected fruit rotting on the ground. A bucket with a rusting rim caught her eye, as did the shadows of gravestones. All of it whispered to her. These obejcts appeared eerie this time of night. Eager.

Within minutes Anna had made it to the grove where the crow had disappeared. In the distance she could see the docks, the grey outline of the water as it pushed and pulled toward shore. Another cry sounded above her—the crow calling her forward—but Anna was enticed by the waves. She pushed through the rest of town and came to the pier, drenched, muddy, the parts of her nightgown not brown and tattered sticking to her frame.

There Anna found someone waiting in the moonlight.

Except... no. He waited in shadows, hidden from the moon beneath the branches of a tree, that crow sitting above him, its call growing in volume. Anna stepped to him with the blank stare of the resigned—or with the bliss of the drugged.

"You're late tonight," he told her. "Don't let it happen again."

Anna nodded, his voice a slow, soothing cadence. The man's fingers were suddenly skimming her face, gentle, then wrenching her against him. She went willingly and let her mind fill with pictures she couldn't actually see: red hair that had turned black in the darkness, pale skin that now looked sickly grey. His mouth was demanding and Anna reciprocated, quite unwilling to do anything else. She lay with him beneath the fir tree as the crow watched their every move. The sound of the waves was the only thing louder than their breathing.

Dawn was the signal to sneak away. Or back. She couldn't quite tell which was which anymore. Where before there were two bodies, now there were three, the dark-skinned man appearing to reclaim his crow. He spoke to the bird, rewarding it for its work, and Anna was vaguely aware that he, like all around her, was two-fold. What was his name again? Something with a J? Or an A?

The red-haired man took back her attention. Moving between gentle and demanding, he slipped the nightgown back onto her frame, newly washed in harbor. Anna smelled the sea salt sticking to her skin as the man whispered clear instructions: step lightly but quickly back to your room, hang the nightgown to dry, mend the tears come morning—say nothing, recall little.

She would.

Anna did as instructed. She crept away from the docks, back past the bucket and the field of rotting fruit. Through the heavy door and back up the stairs, past the room where Hewlett still slept. She crawled into bed just as the first light hit her window, indicating that the rest of Setauket would soon come alive.

Anna, however, slept like the dead. When she did wake it would be to a naked body and muddied feet, her muscles sore in places unmentionable. She wouldn't think much of it. Anna would go about her day—normal, smiling, until night fell and she could again dream of drowning. Wait for the water saturating her lungs.

Wait for the tap, tap, tap.

Wait for the crow.