He Doesn’t Stay Dead Ep.#7— ft. R-C-Man

[Spoken Intro] Tuesday. 7:10. Same stool. Same coffee. And an envelope I’d carried home for six days without opening. Mabel told me not to look. She really should know me better by now. [Verse 1] I set the envelope beside my cup Twenty-three years of dust along the edge Mabel saw it and stopped mid-pour Like she’d been hoping I’d forget “You brought that back.” I slipped my finger beneath the seal She said my name just once “If there’s something I shouldn’t know, you’ve had twenty-three years to tell me.” So I opened it. [Chorus] The coffee was still hot Steam curling past my hands Three faces in a photograph Three men I didn’t understand A hill behind them Faded underneath the sky Three names written on the back: Stan. Bill. Jim. Tuesday. 7:10. [Verse 2] Bill I knew Twenty years younger, but it was him Jim Sikes meant nothing to me Neither did Stan One more paper waited underneath One sentence written carefully: IF STAN IS DEAD, ASK WHO NEEDED HIM TO BE. “Mabel… who are these men?” She barely looked. “I don’t know.” Not quite a lie. I’d started learning the difference. [Verse 3] “Mabel, who works Tuesdays?” That got her attention. I reached for the schedule She put her hand over it “Leave it alone.” “You’ve been saying that for three weeks.” She moved her hand. There it was: JIM SIKES TUESDAY OPEN — 6 A.M. “Where is he?” “He didn’t work today.” “When did you see him?” “This morning.” “Was he alone?” She looked at the photograph. Bill. [Chorus] The coffee was still hot But something had gone cold Twenty-three years inside an envelope And names I’d never been told Bill was in the photograph Jim was standing by his side And somebody named Stan Apparently had a reason to die Tuesday. 7:10. Three stools down. And nothing in that diner was what I’d thought I’d found. [Verse 4] “They left twenty minutes ago,” Mabel finally said “Headed north on Old Mill Road Something about the ridge.” Past Blackthorn Creek where the farms climbed toward the hills Three men. One photograph. One hill. Maybe the same one. I was getting tired of maybes. [Bridge] I slid the photograph back inside Then saw an indentation in the paper Old writing pressed into the envelope I tilted it toward the window Four words. HE DOESN’T STAY DEAD. [MUSIC STOPS] “Mabel… Who is Stan?” For once she didn’t pretend. “Someone who tried to fix what he started.” “What did he start?” A siren sounded somewhere north. Then another. [Final Chorus] The coffee was still hot The envelope in my hand Bill and Jim were headed north Toward a hill and a dead man Twenty-three years buried Something coming loose Every answer I’d been chasing Had just split into two Somewhere on that ridge Bill and Jim were running out of time And somewhere in an old photograph a dead man was still alive. [Outro — Spoken] I left money beside my cup. Mabel pushed it back. “Coffee’s on me.” “Why?” She looked at the clock. 7:10. Then at the empty stool. “Because if I’m right… he won’t be back next Tuesday.” The coffee was still hot when I walked out.