Henry smiles and says, “You should look out the window. The leaves are changing.”

Harsh afternoon sun blasts golden in to the car windows. Anderson rubs his hands together and breathes into his palms. The sun is bright, but the Fall weather outside of Boston is chilling the two door Ford Sedan.

Henry taps his hand on the dashboard and points to a road sign. “See, we’re almost there.”

Anderson twists his focus to the hilly forest on the right side of the road. “Who am I going to be seeing?” He asks.

“His name is Joseph Patterson. He’s the only civilian who was rescued from the ship. Just remember, no matter what he tells you, you only need to write the bare minimum; just tell us how the ship sank. Not why, and not who did it.”

Anderson looks uneasy as the car comes to a stop on the corner of a short street. Before them is a tightly-packed strip of red brick storefronts and townhouses. The center of the road is dotted with short birch trees and shrubs that have shed their leaves. The town looks like a skeleton; baron of life. The sun has been overtaken by a bleach white haze. Henry opens the door to a three story building and walks Anderson inside.

“This is as far as I go. Joseph is waiting on the second floor.”

Anderson’s climb echoes with every stair-step. He twists the oval door knob and pushes. The door makes a long creak. From the corner of the room Anderson hears the high-pitched hiss of a radiator. He sees Joseph standing at the far end; a silhouette against the stark white light of a bay window.

Joseph sighs and moves himself closer to the sill. He looks across the study and begins drinking tea from a bone white cup. His face is weathered and raw. He appears at least ten years too old for his age. With gentle sweeps he strokes his thick wiry beard. Salt and peppered- like you’d expect to see on an old-time whaler. His skin still reeks of maritime salts and machine oil. His eyes are a pale blue, almost gray. They look glassy and unblinking. On his back, peaking out from beneath his shirt collar, are two sailors’ tattoos in the shape of red and blue swallows. In every way he belongs to the sea-a lost creature of the deep given legs to stand among men. You could tell just from one look that he was a dignified gentleman, but you couldn’t define the origin of his demeanor. His manner wasn’t born from wealth, but determined character. It showed in his all too kindly smile, like he was once a wild thing made tame.

With three sharp jerks his turtle neck sweater stretches tight over his slight belly. A gruff rattle of a cough rumbles up from his chest and erupts in a breathless fit. His face blushes with pressure as a single tear drop slides down his cheek.

“You’ll have to excuse me. I’ve been having difficulty breathing since the wreck. I hope you understand if I take a few moments from time to time- gather fresh air and so on.”

Anderson adjusts his tie and walks in to the center of the study. He nervously rubs a pocket watch between his thumb and palm. He watches Joseph from across the span of the room, keeping a respectful distance.

“Don’t worry about it. If you feel like you need to stop at any point just tell me. I don’t want this to be a strain on you.” Anderson says.

Sheets of rain build from a few scattered drops and strike hard against the window. The sun begins to fall, giving way to the amber glow of New England streetlights. The sky becomes a hazy cobalt. Night falls quickly in Autumn.

“Anderson, do you like the twilight?”

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