It was close to seven o'clock when Crawford awoke the next morning; seven thirty by the time he could talk himself into stirri

It was close to seven o'clock when Crawford awoke the next morning; seven thirty by the time he could talk himself into stirring.  Leisure wakings were a pleasant addition to the inactive duties of summer.  Years of early risings in the age-old competition with the sun to determine who was the most punctual had taken their toll.  To sit back and watch his opponent size the trophy caused no spite to shimmy up his spine.

Last night, after arriving home from Dr. Fell's party, Crawford received a phone call from Ardelia Mapp, asking him to meet her around three the next afternoon.  When he explained that he had previously arranged plans to venture to town and meet with his neighbor, she reflected no surprise, as though she expected it.  Furthermore, she gave her assurances that whatever meeting he had with Fell would be complete by the time she wished to meet, and as any gentleman of good breeding, Crawford found himself incapable of refusing her offer.

At eight, Melia Buchanan, a woman on his relatively small payroll who went to town to purchase groceries for him, arrived with coffee and assorted breakfast-food.  In the two weeks since his arrival, it was an implied custom to receive the goods, present her pay, and generally forget her existence until the next time her services were needed.  However, this morning, Crawford stopped to ask her general opinion of Dr. Fell.  As everyone he had encountered, he received a biased, uneducated response.

"He's a dealer," she summarized.  "One time, he killed a man who found out he was the brother of Tony Blair, and second cousin to the devil."  Then she stopped, looked around as though anticipating the discussed to be standing nearby, shaking his head in disapproval.  Once she verified that they were as alone as they were two minutes ago, she neared, face excited and flushed.  "Some say he ate that man, too."

The long list of allegations never seemed to end.  Crawford smiled and nodded, thinking nothing of her misguidance, or this new crime to add to his neighbor's ever-rising list of supposed felonies.  He thanked her and told her she may leave.  Nothing was confirmed except the outspread of gossip, and he thought nothing of it. 

At promptly nine o'clock, Crawford's phone buzzed to announce Dr. Fell's promised call.  The connected distorted the doctor's voice, though the silky element was still distinguishable, and he could see maroon eyes, even across the lawn and through the walls that separated them.  Plans were made for a rendezvous around eleven, including a trip to town and lunch.

"See you around," Fell offered as though conversing with a childhood chum that he had not seen in years. 

It wasn't until his time was reduced to fifteen minutes that Crawford left his house to cross the lawns and meet Fell at the designated station by his garages.  The man was dressed wonderfully, not dissimilar from the evening before, and likewise not too prim to strike inferiority in the hearts of his associates.

"Good morning, Mr. Crawford," he offered pleasantly, the smile he flashed instantaneously disarming any doubts he had about this meeting.  "I hope it wasn't too difficult for you, getting away on such short notice."

"Not at all.  This is my free time, this summer, I mean."

"Ah."  Turning to face his closed garages, making the simple motion in itself seem like an art form, Dr. Fell raised the door opener, and turned to study Crawford for affect as the Jaguar greeted them and the early morning sunlight.  "This way, please," he said with a nod in the designated direction, and he started walking in trust his companion would follow, without waiting for affirmation.

Indeed, Crawford did follow, and wondered why he found the presumption so curious. 

When they were closer to the vehicle, he allowed himself to stop and ogle.  "This is your car?" he asked in stilled disbelief.

"If it isn't, I've lived under a terrible pretense," Fell retorted, his smile not fading, and for a minute, Crawford felt a surge of belief toward the rumors that circulated around this man.  There was an air of falsity around him, as though he were too kind in modern day society to be an authentic personality.  

Motioning deftly for the vehicle, Dr. Lecter inclined his head to the right with slow prestige, his maroon eyes sparkling.  "Care to marvel all morning, or shall we make some use of it?" 

The question, in any other context, would have seemed presumptuous and rude.  However, Fell spoke with such preciseness that and implied courtesy weaved into voice.  Crawford that instant that insolence was not a motive, that in fact, this man most likely held a fetish for the impolite.

Nodding with a sheepish smile, Crawford returned, "Of course.  Pardon my ogling."

"Oh, not at all.  If there is something you would rather do, pray do not allow me to keep you from it.  Was I too quick to assume lunch in town was agreeable?" 

At that, Crawford suppressed a chuckle.  Offhandedly, he considered the possibility of the institution of over-politeness.  It merited thinking, but not now.  With smooth diligence, he shook his head.  "Not at all."  He was slowly realizing that as Krendler's mistress, Gracie, was a woman you simply never said 'no' to, Fell was a man you never confronted in a stage composed of conflicting values. 

"All very well then.  Please, help yourself inside."

The ride was pleasant at first, not disconcerting as Crawford originally anticipated.  After all, the man to his left was – in all regards – a perfect stranger.  His knowledge on Dr. Fell's character was limited to scandal and rumors.  It occurred to him that the doctor might not be aware of the gossip that seemed to radiate off his elegant self, then realized that he was far to perceptive to overlook anything.

Perhaps a few minutes of silence passed before Fell felt it appropriate to open the stable lines of discussion, the slightly edgy introductory process abandoned at West Egg.  "Tell me, Mr. Crawford, what is your opinion of me?"

For a brief moment, Crawford could do nothing but blink his surprise.  In all his life, he had never encountered such a blunt questioned, voiced without an air of hesitance.  It was obvious Dr. Fell had the confidence not to feel uncomfortable in seemingly restricted situations, and displayed it by proceeding to make anyone around him as itchy as he desired.  After all, if such a question did not bother him to ask, why must the reply be difficult?

Another thing revealed itself in his tone.  This man valued honesty, even if the truth was unpleasant to hear.  He asked no more, and likewise expected no less.

Still overwhelmed, Crawford drew in a breath and began to generalize prevarications that the inquisition deserved.

Not wanting to hear excuses, Dr. Fell held up his shapely right hand, gaze never alternating attention from the road ahead, despite the notable slowness of nonexistent traffic.  "In spite of what you say, my friend, I speculate you have an understanding with talk of the townspeople and other locals.  Those tired of their own tedious lives and in permanent preparation to linger where they are not welcome, and speak out in inaccuracy when presented something they don't understand.  Though I hold you in a much higher regard and would never confuse you as the sort to trust gossip rather than fact, I don't want you confused by the stories you hear."

That was somewhat liberating.  Crawford nodded at the confirmation that Fell was aware of the bizarre accusations that flavored conversation in his halls.

Fell drew in a breath before starting, and the air of the car was soon filled in the uninterrupted delicious richness of his voice.  "Contraire to what people might have told you, my wealth was not the product of secondary earnings.  No relative left it to me in a will, nor am I kin to the Prime Minister."  At that, he tilted his head again and chuckled lightly to himself, perhaps to show enthusiasm at the wild allegation.  "I've earned my keepings.  I was educated at Oxford, and have lived in many European cities. Particularly Italy; Venice, Rome, and Florence, though I have made residence in Paris and of course, various towns of Great Britain."   

Pausing then, Dr. Fell delivered Crawford a sideways look, and he understood why Mapp believed him to be lying.  Again, the twinkle was back in his eyes, the very same that suggested terrible mischief, as well as unauthorized excitement.  And with this, his whole statement seemed to fall to pieces, Crawford finding himself with doubt, wondering if there wasn't something sinister about him after all.

As though suddenly compelled to support his claims with evidence. Fell twisted in his seat and found his way into his coat pocket, withdrawing something small and thin.  "I always carry this with me," he noted as he handed it to Crawford.  "A souvenir from the days of Oxford.  It was taken in Trinity Quad—the man to my left is now the Earl of Doncaster."

The photograph was composed of half a dozen men, posed nicely in an archway through which were visible a host of spires.  And there was Dr. Fell, looking several years younger.  He held a glass of wine, and the spark in his eyes, not betrayed with age, confirmed through the years of his youth, the man had indeed remained the same. 

And Crawford knew then it was true.  Everything.  In a flash, he saw the skins of tigers flaming his palace on the Grand Canal; him opening a chest of rubies with ease, with their crimson-lighted depths, the chewings of his broken heart.

Dr. Fell waited patiently for Crawford to hand his picture back, settled, and paused a few minutes as though in thought.  When he spoke again, it was as if he had never stopped.  "The reason I am telling you this," he observed, almost sullenly, "is simply because I am going to make a considerable request of you today.  I thought it proper that you know something about me.  I wouldn't ask you without comprehension of myself from my own mouth rather than the hogwash you hear from various sources."  Again, he paused, and Crawford received the impression he was trying to form the correct words in his head, however unnecessary the act was.  However, he also recognized this man never spoke without knowing what reply he might make to his conversationalist.  The brief silence was perhaps a cunning lapse into making him believe the words he spoke were thought out to the greatest level of criticism.

"I usually find myself in the company of strangers," Dr. Fell proclaimed when he decided the time was right.  "I set myself adrift, traveling here and there, trying to forget something sad of long ago."  There was a moment's hesitation after that, and Crawford's interest, successfully peaked, nearly caused him to explode with expectancy.  He leaned in, as though afraid he wouldn't hear the tragedy.  Unlike before, this pause seemed authentic.

Dr. Fell regarded his interest with a small smile.  "You'll hear about it this afternoon."

And Crawford slumped.  "At lunch?"

"No, this afternoon.  I happened to learn you're meeting Ms. Mapp in town."

That threw him off balance, and Crawford shook his head in full illustration of his bewilderment.  What was this?  As a few seconds of uncomfortable silence drew to a close, he hesitated, cringing inwardly at his uneducated venture.  "Do you mean you're in love with Ms. Mapp?"

Fell's laugh was deep and it carried the distant tune of chamber music.  Pleasant to listen to, giving those around him an air of disconcertion once the humor in such a statement was successfully noted.  "No, old sport, I'm not," he corrected.  "But Ms. Mapp has kindly consented to approach you about this matter."

That was why Mapp called him that morning.  Not out of courtesy.   It was at Dr. Fell's request.  Crawford was both somewhat astonished and understanding.  He had already concluded the man was simply someone you neglected to disagree with.  After all, he couldn't muster a better reason for Ardelia to want to see him.  Nevertheless, with as positive he was that the request was something utterly inspiring, Crawford found himself regretting that he had ever set foot on Fell's overpopulated lawn. 

The rest of the car ride carried through without conversation.  After a few minutes of silence, Dr. Fell leaned forward and inserted a CD into the Jaguar's player.  Crawford was accompanied with 'Rhapsody In Blue' throughout the remainder of the trip, and wondered why he found it quaint at the doctor's selection.

There were all sorts of things he would learn of Fell today.  An alternate taste in music was simply the icebreaker.

*            *            *

Roaring noon.

Crawford was standing before a table that hosted a man he had never met before.  The selected dining location was the nicest he had ever seen, and likely would see, unless Fell treated him to lunch more often. 

Always the attentive gentleman, Dr. Fell turned to him to make a formal introduction.  "Mr. Crawford, this is my friend, Mr. Jackson."

The man seated looked up in interested acknowledgment.  He was the most unlikely specimen for a friend that he would have assigned to the elegant man at his side.  Mr. Jackson was large and bulky, dark skinned, and eyes set an usual distance apart.  At noting his considerable size, seated, Crawford distinguished this fellow towered several stories over him. 

"Good day, Mr. Crawford," Jackson said, standing slightly to reach his hand, which he took into a healthy shake. 

"Pleased to meet you, Mr. Jackson," he returned politely.

Then, as if the finale of the preface made them the best of old friends, the large man sat back with a smile that revealed his small white teeth.  "This is a nice restaurant, here," he informed Dr. Fell, who merely nodded his agreement.  "Look at the ceiling.  Presbyterian nymphs!"

"The décor is charming," agreed the doctor coolly as he claimed a seat.  Crawford took the initiative to take the chair next to him.

Dr. Fell neared, his voice lowered in a silent quest for secrecy.  "Mr. Crawford," he said softly, "I'm afraid I made you a little angry this morning in the car."  With expert timing, he flashed his disarming smile.

However, Crawford managed to battle it without much struggle.  "I don't like mysteries," he admitted.  "My career circulated around them, and a person grows agitated finding work when you're supposed to be on vacation.  Besides, I don't understand why you won't come out frankly and tell me what you want.  Why must it all come from Ms. Mapp?"

The look in Dr. Fell's eyes confirmed he understood Crawford's silent inquiry, even if Crawford himself didn't just yet.  "It's nothing underhand, I assure you," he replied.  "Ms. Mapp's a terrific sportswoman, you know, and she would never do anything that wasn't right."

That statement in itself drew a considerable line of question in him, yet Crawford refrained from comment.

Suddenly, Dr. Fell's gaze dropped to his watch – a splendid piece of jewelry – and he jumped up with sudden quickness that was deceiving to his usually patience façade.  Crawford found himself alone with Mr. Jackson.

"He has to use the phone," the man prophesized, his eyes following the doctor's quick movements, even as Crawford could no longer see him.  "Fine fellow, isn't he?  Perfect gentleman."

There was no room for debate.  Any protest was futile, and against Crawford's greater senses.  "Yes."

"He's an Oxford man."

He feigned ignorance.  "Oh?"

Nodding, Mr. Jackson took a sip of coffee and reclined.  "He went to Oxford College in England.  You know Oxford?"

"I've heard of it.  Never been there."

"It's one of the most famous colleges in the world."

Crawford nodded, though his interest lay elsewhere.  Dr. Fell's earlier request and his retention of it drew his attention back down the path of rumors and allegations.  Whatever the man was, it was unlike anything he had seen before.  Now, presented with a man to know him first-handedly, he decided to put his companion's absence to good use, and ask informative questions.  All he could hope for was a direct, honest answer.

Something in Mr. Jackson's eyes reflected honesty.  The concern for it seemed worthless, and security of the conversation nothing to worry himself over.

"Have you known Dr. Fell for a long time?" Crawford asked casually.

"Several years," replied Mr. Jackson, oddly gratified.  "I had the pleasure of his acquaintance just before he left for his European travels.  This was after Oxford, of course.  He went to Oxford, came here, then went back for a while.  I knew I had discovered a man of fine breeding after I talked with him for an hour."

There was a hesitance, words forming in Mr. Jackson's mind that Crawford thought reflected through his eyes.  Unlike Dr. Fell, there was genuineness in the pause and its need.  "He's very careful about women," he remarked, perhaps as an afterthought.  "He would never so much as look at a friend's wife."

When the subject of this instinctive trust returned to the table and sat, Mr. Jackson downed the remainder of his coffee before bolting to his seat.

"I have enjoyed my lunch," he said.  "And I'm sure you two have matters to discuss.  I'll leave now before I outstay my welcome."

"Don't hurry, Barney," Fell requested, his voice kept mannerly courteous, though without enthusiasm. 

Mr. Jackson raised his hand as some sort of benediction. "You're very kind," he noted. "But I believe I belong with another group. I feel too outta place here. Thanks...Arthur. You two can sit here and discuss your business deals and your young ladies...and whatever else it is you psychiatrists talk about."

In watching the abrupt retreat, Crawford allowed himself to wonder if something he had that went to offense.

When he turned to Dr. Fell for some explanation, he was disenchanted with the half-hearted attempt.

"He becomes very sentimental at times," was the report. "This is one of those days, I'd say. He's quite a character around New York."

Crawford nodded, his face exhibiting his interest. "Who is he, anyway? A lawyer?"

"No."

A flash of Mr. Jackson's unusually white and trim teeth struck him, the same hygienic care Dr. Fell seemed to specialize in. Crawford considered and ventured a guess. "A dentist?"

"Barney Jackson…" mused the doctor, as though ignoring the question entire. At first, the name struck Crawford as horribly ridiculous, however whimsical that there should be a person adopted under the name 'Barney' these days. "No. None of that. Actually, he is in the medical field. He's studying to obtain his LPN license."

The waiter approached with a ticket, which Fell dived for before allowing his new friend an adequate attempt to battle for the right. Despite Crawford's protests, it was the doctor who handed over the pay. Minutes following were spent in silence.

Then Crawford looked up to see Paul Krendler.

"Come along with me a minute," he requested suddenly, glancing to Dr. Fell. "I've got to say hello to someone."

By the time he had climbed to his feet, Krendler had spotted them. They stopped awkwardly in the middle of the restaurant, mindful of entering customers and servers carrying trays overfilled with lavish food orders.

"Where have you been?" Krendler demanded as though the matter were of personal significance. "Clarice's furious because you haven't called up."

However, he wasn't listening. Instead, Crawford turned to the doctor, determined to make the same polite introduction as he had experienced with Barney Jackson. "This is Dr. Fell," he informed his cousin's husband. "Dr. Fell, this is Paul Krendler."

They shook hands briefly, and an unfamiliar look of distant peril bereft Fell's eyes. Crawford regarded him with impending curiosity, unsure if he liked the new, unforeseen gaze. However, it was over as soon as the man realized he had an audience.

As Pilcher had ignored his existence the day he encountered Gracie did Krendler dismiss Dr. Fell, disinterest written plainly in his eyes. "How've you been, anyhow? How'd you happen to come up this far to eat?" He asked Crawford.

"Dr. Fell invited me."

"Ah, yes." The doctor briefly stirred Crawford's attention, shifting uncomfortably. "I believe I am keeping you from an important meeting," he announced, as though remembering on the spur of the moment. "I'll excuse myself, now. Pleasure to meet you, Mr. Krendler."

Just as Mr. Jackson made his daring escape, Dr. Fell was out of sight before Crawford could blink.

*          *          *

"Hello, Ms. Mapp," Crawford said when she approached the dinner table at the Plaza Hotel. It was several minutes passed three, though he waited too long. The menu wasn't riveting reading material, however it did assist in averting his attention from the bizarre happenings of the day. After Dr. Fell's abrupt departure, he and Krendler exchanged a few words and the usual promises that one would visit the other soon, even if it was known between the two that they were not popular with one another.

It was for Clarice's benefit.

"Heya, Jack," she retorted, taking her seat with a lazy sigh. "I've been all over this town today. Never get tired of it. Day trips really help me take my mind off things. So, how have you been?"

"Since last night?"

"I don't remember much from last night."

"I don't suspect you would. But you were asked to invite me here."

Mapp nodded, motioning to a waiter nearby, the action soft and nearly ineffective, as though she didn't wish to be seen. "I had to remember that. It was the only interesting thing that happened all evening."

Crawford's eyebrows perked as he took a sip of coffee. "Then why don't you tell me about it?"

At that, Mapp's mouth curled into a sly smile, and he sensed her love of torture. However, she couldn't remain silent long. This was at Dr. Fell's request. "Hmmm…aren't you the eager beaver?"

"I'd like to know. Secrets drive me insane."

"Can I order first?"

"Can you please get on with it? The suspense is killing me." There was more authenticity in his voice than he intended, and Crawford scowled inwardly at himself. Begging this woman would get him nowhere. Best to do things her way.

However, after flashing another antagonizing smile, Mapp nodded her agreement. She did force him to endure an order of iced tea with extra lemon, and some added slices on the side, before devoting her full attention to the task at hand. "All right, then," she conceded. "Are you ready?" He nodded. "Okay. Here it goes. And don't interrupt me, no matter what I say. Okay? Okay.

"This was a few years ago, at night. I was walking from one place to another, half on the sidewalks and half on the lawns. I was happier on the lawns because I had shoes from England with rubber soles that bit into softer ground. I was enjoying an outfit acquired at my most recent shopping splurge, not a unique occurrence, of course. It had been a picture perfect day.

"I was on my way home, you see. Clarice and I shared a duplex then, back when she lived in Washington. When she moved here, I moved with her. We're like sisters. This was during her last case, that Buffalo Bill thing. Anyway, when I got closer, I saw she was standing outside with someone. Naturally, this completely surprised me. If you knew Clarice before she married Paul, you knew she was never *with* anyone. He was a well-muscled guy with the most controlled posture I'd ever seen. They were completely engrossed in each other. She didn't even see me until I was five feet away.

"She talked as though the guy weren't there, standing next to her. She asked me about my day and all that whatnot. I watched him, though. I'd never seen him before. He was an older guy, but I couldn't tell by how many years at the time. He looked at Clarice while she was speaking, the way every girl wants to be looked at sometime, and because it was unique and romantic, I remembered it for some reason. She told me later he was Arthur Fell, though she seemed to struggle with the name. I didn't lay eyes on him for another four years or so. And even after I attended some of his parties, I didn't realize it was the same man. Not until last night when I saw his eyes.

"After that, I asked Clarice about it from time to time, but she never had a definite answer. Wild rumors were flying about her. After Bill was captured, she seemed to get depressed rather than happy. Paul was hanging around, and I thought that might've been a reason for a while, until she agreed to marry him. Why she did, I'll never know. I didn't ask her about Arthur Fell, because she seemed so upset about something.

"I was the Maid of Honor at the wedding. I came into her room a half hour before the bridal meal, and found her lying on her bed. She looked very pretty in her flowered dress - but she was as drunk as a monkey. She had a bottle of Sauterne in one hand and a letter in the other.

" 'Congratulate me,' she muttered, slurring quite badly. 'Never been drunk off my ass before, but oh how I enjoy it.'

"I asked her what was wrong. I was scared. I'd never seen her like that before.

"She told me to go downstairs and tell everyone that 'Clarice had changed her mind!' That she refused to marry Paul. Then she began to cry. She cried and cried. I managed to get her into a cold bath, but she wouldn't let go of the letter. She took it into the tub with her and squeezed it up into a wet ball, and only let me leave it in the soap-dish when she saw it was crumpling to pieces like snow.

"But she didn't say another word. I gave her spirits of ammonia and put ice on her forehead and got her back in her dress, and a half hour later, we walked out of the room. The next day, she married Paul Krendler, but she shivered when she walked down the isle.

"Well…when you came by and we discussed your neighbor, it was the first time she'd heard the name 'Fell' in years. It took her a minute to place it, but something on her face rang of recognition. After you'd gone home, she came into my room and asked me 'What Fell?' again. I described him, probably half asleep, and she said in the strangest voice it must be the man she used to know."

Then, without any need for conclusion or epilogue, Ardelia Mapp sat back, taking a sip of her iced tea. Dissatisfied, she frowned and flavored it with more lemons to her liking, and drank again.

Crawford, stunned beyond belief and more than a little confused, found he was incapable of words at the minute. So that's what this was. Fell and Clarice. Something about them.

However, his first instinct was to disbelieve the tie, and he shook his head in a display of skepticism. "It was a strange coincidence," he excused.

"But it wasn't a coincidence at all."

"Why not?"

"Dr. Fell bought that house so that Clarice would be just across the bay."

A sudden image was with Crawford. Fell, looking mournfully across the bay to a tiny green light that flickered on and off…on and off. It had not been the stars to which he aspired to that evening. And then the doctor was alive to him, in loud, vibrant colors that would make any heartless man go blind with splendor.

"Here's the favor, all right?" Mapp said, allowing a considerate moment or so to pass as Crawford pieced the bizarre puzzle together. "He wants to know if you'll invite Clarice to your house some afternoon, and then invite him over."

The sheer modesty of the request shook Crawford like nothing he had experienced before. After all, many revelations were made in the past few minutes. Dr. Fell had waited for five years, bought a mansion where he abandoned the comfort of the stars to casual moths, just so he could 'come over' to a stranger's garden some afternoon.

Crawford was touched by emotion and overwhelmed with increasing confusion. "Did I have to know all that before he asked such a small thing of me?"

"He didn't want to seem rude, and he's waited so long. He thought you might be offended at the request, especially since Clarice is married now."

"Why didn't he ask you to arrange the meeting?"

"You're her cousin and his neighbor. I also thinks he wants to see her inside his house. To see what it could've been like." Mapp paused thoughtfully, chewing in a brief dissent into blatant crudeness on her lower lip. "I think he half expected her to wander into one of his parties some night. But she never did. Then he began to ask people casually if they knew her, and I was the first one he found. It was that night he sent for me at his dance, and you should've heard the way he worked up to it. Of course, I immediately suggested a luncheon in New York, and he snapped at me.

" 'I don't want to put her or yourself to any trouble. I just want her next door.' I think that's what he said. When I said you knew Paul, he started to abandon the idea, until I told him you weren't too fond of him. He doesn't know Paul, nor does he care to."

Mapp stood as the waiter arrived with the bill and expressed none of the enthusiasm Dr. Fell radiated at being the one to claim it. Respectfully, Crawford paid and tipped, and they moved their meeting outdoors.

Something came to mind then, and it stuck with him as he walked. 'There are only the pursued, the pursuing, the busy, and the tired.' In this case, he labeled himself under all four. Even here, on his summer off did he find himself in the midst of scandal. Though he would like to have wrestled with his conscience, Crawford found no reason not to initiate the meeting between Clarice and Dr. Fell. After all, she had nothing to strive for. Krendler the unfaithful man that didn't claim her heart as it was, an empty house full of *things* rather than precious memories.

The woman at his side had spoken, but he wasn't paying attention. It was more a note to herself as it was. "Clarice ought to have something in her life."

Then something occurred to him and he turned with sudden sharpness to Mapp. "Does she want to see Dr. Fell?"

"She's not to know about it. Fell doesn't want her to know. You're supposed to just invite her over." Mapp paused, both in speech and stride, and the air suddenly seemed meaningful, significant. Watching her with ever-growing infatuation, Crawford's eyes widened as she turned to him. "But rest assured," she continued a second later. "Your cousin will thank you."

*          *         *

It was dark when Mapp dropped Crawford off at West Egg, and he found he was exhausted from a day of radical discovery. The flavor of conspiracy tasted sweet, unlike he originally anticipated. To do something for Clarice made him happy, and Mapp's words of optimism were all the boasting he required to go about his neighbor's request.

As Crawford turned to head inside, he tossed a glance at the Fell Manor, and didn't blink his surprise to see the doctor there. This time, he stood on a small landing above the garage, gaze focused obsessively on a tiny green light that smiled at them from across the bay.

And then Crawford knew. While Clarice needed something in her life, so did this man. Whether it was each other, he wasn't sure, but there was no harm in experimentation.

Tomorrow, he would call his cousin and invite her over sometime during the week. Tomorrow, he would go about reversing time them, however awkward it was, to bring them both five years earlier, where perhaps they stood a chance to divine intervention.

*          *          *