William shut his door behind him, throwing a glance at the clock—2:45 A.M. With a heavy sigh of exhaustion, the man shuffled his way to the desk and kicked off his shoes, now certain that they were too small for him. The rigorous dancing and constant movement stole the feeling from his feet, perhaps besides the numbing pain. William flopped into the chair. He put his face in his hands, as if he didn't know where to begin. He had no energy left, even though his mind raced with the leftover adrenaline.

Edgar had asked about Elizabeth on the way home—he'd said something about a serious relationship, though it wasn't clear whether he was joking or not. William couldn't have considered that, especially not in his financial state.

"She wouldn't be happy with me," he'd concluded. "I'm nothing but a poor stage magician."

William knew that Edgar couldn't deny that. For once, the agent had decided against articulating his thought on that.

"Well, I'm only throwin' it out there," his agent had said with a shrug.

William's gaze moved to a small pile of papers as he tried to clear his head of his flickering, spinning thoughts. He squinted, recalling for a faint moment that they were not there when he'd left. A scrap of paper at the top of the pile read,

I took the trouble of delivering your mail today. You're welcome.

Without any signature, William could tell it was clearly one of the neighbors. It wasn't the first time they'd done that for him. Flipping through, he could find nothing of interest until the end of the pile—a postcard. A tiny smile formed on his lips as he read the scrawling on the lines.

William,

You've finally come to America! How exciting! Has your show taken New York by storm yet? I

fear we may have just missed each other – the city was too much for me, so I've gone west –

It really is amazing out here – Maybe you could visit sometime?

Have you corresponded with mother lately?

The port is dreadfully inconsistent out here.

I can't believe that she hasn't met the twins yet!

Warmest regards,

-Jack

The warmth of familiarity caused Will, for a moment, to forget his swirling storm of thoughts. He sighed with the newly found comfort as he read over his brother's message another time. It was soothing to hear from his brother, given the difficult times that had fallen on him.

They were said to be nearly opposites, he and his brother, Jack. William had been immensely interested in the art of stage magic, while Jack led a life studying and practicing law. Evidently, the promise of America proved to be better for Jack than for him. After all, it made sense that there was more work in the field of law rather than stage magic. The very thought of his brother so immersed in the field of law made him yawn. Will stood up from the desk and began to make his way to the bed. He hadn't realized how much his head hurt until he could hear knocking.

Knock. Knock. Knock.

It was a slow, steady sound, almost mechanical. Will squinted, wondering if it was a trick of his mind. He recalled the time.

"Too late," he mumbled. "Too late for visitors."

The magician looked towards the door as he heard heavy footsteps moving down the hallway. A small envelope sat at the base of the door. William shook his head, frankly too tired to deal with it at that moment.

"Tomorrow," he said to the envelope. "I'll tend to you tomorrow."

With that, still in his good clothes, he flopped into bed, his feet hanging off (poor fellow was too tall), and easily fell into a deep sleep.

Knock-knock-knock.

The young man opened his eyes very slowly, unsure of whether he was in a dream. That particular knock sounded all too familiar.

Knock-knock-knock-knock, the door protested. Only one person abused his door like that.

"Edgar," William muttered. "Oh, blast him; coming in at this hour."

"Kid, you in there?" called the gruff and muffled voice of his agent. "It's one 'o clock in the afternoon. Better not be sleeping!"

That was enough to fully awaken the tired young man. He leaped out of bed and looked at the clock—to find that his agent was right. The clock ticked away mockingly.

"Coming, coming," the young man said, his voice still sleep-ridden as he shoved his glasses onto his face. He opened the door to a tidied-up Edgar, who stifled a chuckle upon seeing his young and messy client.

"Ya need to get out more, kid," he said, inviting himself into the apartment. "Last night was nothing."

"For you, perhaps," Will replied, shutting the door. "I'll likely not be doing that again for a while."

"Well, why not? Didn't you have fun?"

"Of course," the young man said, sitting down at his desk. "I had the time of my life. I'm just . . . well, I'm not built for such endeavors."

"Suit yerself, 'old chap'," Edgar said with a shrug. "You're gonna regret hiding once you're my age."

"We'll see about that."

Knock. Knock. Knock.

William recognized the knock. Edgar didn't.

"You expecting someone, kid?"

Knock. Knock. Knock.

"No, not at all."

Knock. Knock. Knock.

Being the only one of the two who was standing up, Edgar took it upon himself to answer the door.

" 'Yello."

William's heart sank as he saw the man at the door. It was a man he'd never seen before in his life—a lumbering, beefy man with messy stubble under his chin and a greasy mat of black hair.

"What can we do ya for, handsome?" Edgar said, apparently unfazed by the gruesome appearance of the man.

"Yer William?"

He spoke in a growl, like a snoring pig.

"No, sir, he's over there," Edgar said, pointing. William wanted to shrink in his seat. Nevertheless, he got up.

"Can I help you, sir?" he said politely. He tried to avoid the fact that the man smelled like an old dumpster.

"Note's on the floor," the brute grunted. Will and Edgar simultaneously looked at the wooden floor, where the small envelope still lay. Edgar picked it up.

"Is it . . . from you?" the agent asked slowly.

"The boss," the man responded. " 'S from the boss."

Edgar shrugged and handed it to his client. Puzzled, William began tearing it open.

"He's getting mad," the brute said. William's insides dropped, coming to understand who the note was from. "Said this week . . . or else."

Without warning, the giant man slammed the door shut in Edgar's face. Startled, the agent raised both eyebrows.

"Well, wasn't he jolly," he commented. "Remind me to have him over for supper sometime."

William hardly heard the comment. He read over the scribbled note multiple times before Edgar could see it.

William! You are late again! Where is the muny?

Do you think Mr. Witherstone is runnin a charatee?

You better pay up this week or there will be trubble!

I will find you!