The young reporter's name was Joe, and he was unhappy about the assignment. He had to interview the lead in a college play and try to make the segment interesting enough to fill two minutes on the local TV news. He'd rather be covering a murder or congressional scandal, but Joe was new to the station, and dues had to be paid. He'd come here tired and his back was killing him from the elbow shot he'd taken in last night's rugby game.
When Libby Vail entered the room he showed her where to sit, and after the camera guy spent a few minutes checking the lighting, Joe tried to sound like he gave a shit about the interview.
But he didn't.
It was such a small-town production, and Libby, while certainly adequate for this role, was an unlikely candidate for Broadway stardom. As Joe slogged through the list of bullshit questions, he couldn't help but notice the light tingling in his back where the pain had been. As the pain dissipated, a feeling of euphoria began sweeping over him. Were the anti-inflammatories finally kicking in?
Just before wrapping up, he said, "Tell me something about you that few people know."
Libby Vail's face grew animated. She looked from side to side, as if sharing a scandalous secret.
"Well," she said, "Don't tell anyone, but I'm a direct descendant of Jack Hawley, the pirate."
Joe gave her a confused look.
"Gentleman Jack Hawley?" Libby said.
"Sorry, never heard of him."
Libby giggled. "Oh well."
Joe signaled the cameraman to pack his gear.
"Sorry I wasn't more interesting," Libby said.
Joe took a moment to glance at her. Was she pouting over her complete snooze of an interview? She didn't appear to be. He studied her a moment longer and decided Libby Vail was a pretty little thing, frail, with big green eyes and an expressive face.
"You did fine," he said.
"Really?"
Joe prepared to ease himself to a standing position but suddenly realized there was no "easing" necessary. His back was completely fine. There had to be something more at work here than anti-inflammatories. Crazy as it seemed, there was something about being near Libby Vail that made him feel stronger, more energetic. Without giving a second thought to his former back injury, he took up a swashbuckling pose, pretended to cut a swath of air with his imaginary sword. Then he removed his pen and note pad from his pocket and started to write.
"Jack Hawley, you said?"
Libby's laugh spilled out of her smile. " Gentleman Jack Hawley."
She stood and brandished her own imaginary sword, struck a pirate's pose, and said, "Arrr!"
Joe laughed and said, "Aye, Aye, wench. That just might be the angle this story needs."
That night his station ran the story.
Three days later he had an even better story:
Libby Vail had gone missing.