1939.

Too hot. Far too hot. Will was smothered, damp, and could not move. Something heavy enshrouded him. He pushed against his bonds, twisted, and let out a groan

A dull, hollow ringing filled his ear, a tone that would one day fade from his attention but never fully leave his hearing. It accompanied a sensitivity to sharp sounds Will would have for the rest of his life.

A distant voice seemed to reach him through a tunnel. “Easy there, Will. I’ve got you. Gosh, you had me worried.” 

Blankets came away, loosened by large, steady hands. They helped him sit up in the small cot that creaked underneath him. Will blinked, and the dim, red light of coals radiating from a cast-iron stove faded into view. He tried to speak but only croaked.

“Let me get you something to drink,” said the large figure silhouetted against the glow. A pot of coffee was lifted from the stove, poured into a tin cup, and handed to Will. Then light caught the corner of the figure’s face, revealing smiling eyes that Will once knew so well.

With the coffee having eased his throat, Will rasped, “Chubby!”

“That’s right, Will. Now, drink up, all right?”

“But how… How did you…?”

“Oh, you know, same as anything, I guess,” his old friend chuckled softly, “hand of God and a bit of dumb luck. You floated right up to my tug, so I did like the Good Book says and became a fisher of men.”

“Chubby… you… you saved me.”

The boy he had been showed once again in the man who smiled at Will. “What were you doing going for a swim like that anyway? In the middle of the night? In the middle of winter? And not exactly in your swimsuit…”

Will didn’t know where to begin. The news of his father’s death? The confession of Robert’s guilt? The bridge? The pistol? But a coughing spasm overtook him as a bit of the Englehart worked its way out of Will’s lungs.

“Gosh, you really did take a big drink, didn’t you? That’s okay. You get your rest, Will. In the morning, I’ll fix you up a nice breakfast, and you can tell me all about it.”

Will fell quickly back into a heavy, dreamless sleep, and while no visions of the previous night’s horrors haunted him, his bones ached with betrayal and sorrow and dread. 

Morning brought some relief from his anguish as dawn peeked through the windows to rouse Will and turn his attention outward instead. He smelled bacon and saw Chubby at the stove already, fixing them both a humble breakfast that they ate on a tiny card table of the boathouse that Chubby called home.

“It’s a good life,” said Chubby. “Mostly, I’m tugging garbage scows for the city. But, now and then, one of the big boys needs a hand. That’s when they call on Chubby.” He beamed.

The damp, salty smell around Will had a realness to it, like those Chinatown basements where he had felt truly himself, so far from the luxury he had been brought into. 

“Feels like being back in your dad’s garage,” Will smiled.

“Well, gosh, it was Ellsworth’s garage.”

Will shook his head. “Your dad took care of it. He made it his.”

A thought occurred to Will. Maybe the life that Josiah Finn gave him was never meant for him in the first place. 

“Don’t suppose you have room on that boat for a second mate, Chubby?”

“Not much room for… Wait… For you, Will? Of course! But, why?”

Will told him everything, the whole story from the telegram about Josiah’s passing to that leap from the 6th Avenue Bridge, not one detail left unsaid.

“Robert’s eyes… That look… Thinking back now, I remember there were times when it came through, times when the jealousy, anger, and bitterness must have been too much to keep hidden, his true face peeking out from under his disguise. How was I so stupid?”

“Stupid, Will? Not you. Never. You remember that night of the dance? With Kelly and…”

“I’ve never forgotten for a minute.”

“It’s the same thing. Kelly was wrong to play that trick, but I wasn’t wrong to believe it.”

“And then we played a trick of our own.”

“Did we ever!”

Chubby rose from the table and went over to a trunk sitting in the corner. He opened it and pulled out the very same red cloak and skull mask that Will had worn that night.

“That night, Will, you showed me something. You showed me that friends, real friends, they’ll always look out for you. And if you’ve got a good friend in your corner, then there isn’t a thing in the world that can keep you down, not for long.”

Seeing how lovingly Chubby looked down at the mask, an idea stirred in Will. He rose to join his friend, gazing at the skull. Age had dulled the brightness of its white down to yellowed ivory — more like true bone than when last he wore it.

“That was some kind of night,” he murmured.

“Sure was,” said Chubby, “Kelly was certain he’d seen a ghost!”

 “A ghost, freshly risen from his grave…” Will took hold of the mask. It was familiar, welcoming, powerful, and fitting. After all, Robert surely believed him dead. Others would too. And as he placed it over his face, Will felt the hand of destiny fall upon him. “A ghost, like me.”