The next chapter will be the end. Don't worry—other stories will come.

Maxwell's backstory here is partially inspired by the story of Harry Houdini. Go check out the History Channel special—it's good.

Don't Starve © 2013 Klei Entertainment

Great Gatsby © 2013 Baz Luhrmann

During that long night vigil, Maxwell told Wilson what Tom had hinted at.

He had started off life as most would, and, in his teens, had stumbled upon magic. As soon as he was able, he lit off for the big cities, planning to ply his trade in the arts, a modern-day Harry Houdini. But, as the magician William M. Carter, he had little to no luck. Of course, at the time, he was still sticking to his Midwestern morals.

But as the years went on and he progressed in the school of hard knocks, he got better at street performing and what Tom had so callously referred to as huckstering, actually getting a name for himself as the "magnificent Maxwell"—

And then he had met her.

She was a showgirl in one of the tents at the fair, a fine dancer (Wilson remembered that point in Charlie's life, when she wanted to dance on Broadway), and Maxwell had fallen in love at first sight. She played hard to get, of course, but as time went on they became more than friends….

And then he had gotten ready to buy her a ring, something nice that he could afford—

And then the enormity of everything had hit him.

He knew the lifestyle he had lived, and honestly couldn't picture getting a "real day job"—but he wasn't about to ask her to live it. She deserved better—

He needed a plan.

He had met her, asked her to wait a year, he had a plan that would make sure she had the life she deserved—

And one year became two….

Then three….

And then when he had finally sent her the letter to let her know he had finally done it, it was to receive the news that she had married someone else.

He had made sure to follow her after that—and when he learned that she was leaving Chicago for East Egg, he hurried to West Egg, right across from where she was to live, made sure it was just right for her, with the parties she was sure to like, hoping she'd just walk in and they'd be able to pick things right back up….

"…And then I hear of you moving in, and being her cousin, so I figured I'd get your help," Maxwell finished, as they walked back to West Egg in the early morning light. The sun wasn't quite up yet. "I suppose I should apologize for using you like that."

Wilson made a noise in the back of his throat but didn't elaborate. He was too busy thinking.

Maxwell seemed to have talked himself out, and they reached his mansion in silence.

He laughed suddenly.

"What's so funny?" Wilson asked.

"It just occurred to me—without her, I'd still be living in an apartment flat," Maxwell said, indicating the mansion.

Wilson blinked. Maybe the whole being more than the sum of its parts applied to humans as well?

"You should give that girl a call," Maxwell told him. "Don't wait like I did."

"And what are you going to do?" Wilson asked as Maxwell climbed his stairs.

Maxwell paused at the top step, one hand on the gate, thinking. "I'm going to…wait for Charlie to call," he said, shrugging as he realized what he said. "Get Mr. Skits to start draining the pool. Leaves are starting to fall." He got a cigar out and lit it, out of habit, Wilson supposed.

"You know those things are going to kill you," Wilson said.

Maxwell waved him off, smirking as he opened the gate. "Get some sleep, pal."

Wilson waved and turned, ready to go.

But he stopped.

He had something he wanted to say.

"Maxwell," he called, prompting Maxwell to glance back. "You're better than the whole lot of them."

And he turned to leave.

"Thanks…Wilson."

Wilson blinked, recognizing the first and last time Maxwell had ever referred to him by name.

And he walked away with a spring in his step, for once sharing the world opinion of Willow, and glad of what he had said.

Wilson sat at work, his mind still buzzing from Maxwell's story.

He had gone straight to work, someplace he hadn't been in a while, to receive his boss's ire. Now, he was sitting at his desk, staring at his paperwork, and realizing the wisdom of Maxwell's warning not to waste his life at a nothing job he didn't have his heart in.

He should really call Miss Willow.

But as he reached for the phone, he paused, and when he picked it up, he called a different number.

"I'd like to speak to Charlie, please," he announced when the line picked up.

"I'm sorry," the voice on the other end said. "But she and her husband have gone on an extended vacation."

Wilson blinked. What? "Well, when is she getting back?"

"I'm not sure."

"When did she leave?"

"This morning."

Wilson hung up the phone, a cold feeling in the pit of his stomach.

He dialed again.

"Hello?"

"Mr. Skits," Wilson said. "Can I speak to Maxwell?"

Mr. Skits' response was cut off by a loud noise, one that Wilson was certain he'd never forget.

His ears were ringing, and he was vaguely aware of screaming into the phone, attracting startled glances.

But it didn't matter.

Not anymore.