If you read before don't be confused, I changed her name. A little idea floated to me and yeah. If you're familiar with the books you'll understand the significance of the name! Also Molly is short for Margaret! Also I've gotten several favorites and follows, but many less reviews! I would love to hear your opinion, maybe even some constructive criticism?


It had been a week now since Molly had gotten back from the middle east, and while she was glad to be back in the states the memories were something she couldn't escape. As much as she wanted to put it aside and just not think about it anymore, but she just couldn't shake.

Friends, coworkers, and even her boss had suggested she take some time off work- what they meant was away from all the death- but that was just part of her job description. Besides, she was much better out doing field work than she was left at home to mull things over. Ella tended to over think everything, and sometimes thinking too much was a bad thing.

It was almost strange being back home after nearly a year of working abroad. Never before had walking through her front door felt so good, and never before felt quite so foreign to her. Of course her house was just the same as she had left it, but what about everything else? Had things changed much in her absence? There were some things she needed to get caught up on.

First thing that morning Molly had gotten a call. They hadn't given many details other than where to go, which was practically in the middle of nowhere. Pushing her car door open she stepped outside into the chilled air. There was a humidity that hung heavy in the air laced with fog, it left a nasty feeling on your skin. Grabbing her bag she slung it over her shoulder headed towards the little area already taped off.

"Margaret Leonas. I'm here to see the remains." she told the cop, an older man, plump with a heavy moustache over his lip. He nodded and lifted the tape for her to duck under. It was a marshy area, wet and muddy, right next to right on the riverbank. Gingerly she brushed sediment from the bones peering down at them with a calculating gaze, careful not to miss even the most miniscule piece of evidence. It were almost as if she was reading them with much precision and attention to every detail, and in a way she was doing just this.

"This isn't the Chesapeake ripper." she said suddenly, after several moments of silence.

"And how can you be so sure?" the policeman from before asked.

"You've hardly looked at them." he said almost as if her were belittling her.

The young woman straightened up raising her head and a single brow, her head cocked to the side.

"This woman was bound by her wrists and ankles for some extended period of time- it left stress fractures. She was later stabbed repeatedly in the torso. The knife left several markings on her ribs and sternum. There was no signs of surgical precision like in the other murders." she explained pushing a few stray strands from her vision. Molly had long, wavy, auburn hair that clashed with her soft pale skin and emerald colored eyes. Her side wept bangs settled nicely over her glasses framing her face.

"It was a crime of passion." a familiar voice came from behind. The woman stiffened a bit.

"Molly?" the same voice came. Her brows drew together and she turned. It felt like her heart had dropped in her stomach. This wasn't a meeting she'd been looking forward to.

"Will…" she said in a solemn like tone. "It's been long time." she said only stating the obvious.

"When did you get back?" he said hardly looking at her. Molly stood and he lifted the tape. Her eyes engulfed him. It was the same old Will she'd left, that was for certain, but something had changed, and she wasn't sure what that something was, but it wasn't good.

"A week ago." she said brushing off her jeans.

"How have you been?" she added. Will looked at her with a bit of surprise.

"I'm alright, thanks for asking." he said looking away. Margaret frowned. The fact that he was doing field work again totally disproved that statement. Will was unable to separate himself from his work; he always got to close and it only hurt him. That gift of his, however useful, couldn't be honed without harming him in the process.

"How are you?" he asked.

"I'm good." she said forcing a smile to her face.

"You don't have to lie to me, I heard about what happened in Iran." he said. It was Molly's turn to frown and she averted her gaze biting down on her lip in discomfort.

"I-I don't want to talk about that…" she said voice trailing off at the end.

Will nodded. "I understand, but you need to talk to someone. Keeping all of that in you masked away can't be good for you." his tone held nothing but concern for her. After all this time, especially after leaving like she had, Molly was surprised to find he still felt inclined to her like this. She'd hardly expected him to be friendly towards her, but that was a stupid thought. Will wasn't the type to hold grudges.

"You're one to talk." she said shaking her head. Time and time again had they had variations of this same conversation. The only difference was that the roles had always been reversed.

"I've actually been seeing a psychiatrist." he admitted. Margaret looked to him in surprise, a ghost of a smile highlighting her features.

"Good. I hope that's helping you." she said.

"It's nice- having someone to talk to. I know you feel like they don't help you, I don't either really, but-"

"Can I see Godfrey?" she interjected, cutting him off. Godfrey was her dog, that huge baby of hers that thought he was a lapdog. When she left Will had been more than happy to take care of him for her.

Will nodded pushing his glasses back up the bridge of his nose.

"Of course. Anytime." he said his gaze drifting to hers, but he tore it away. Eye contact always made him uncomfortable.

"Well I should be getting back to the lab. There going to have the remains taken there. Hopefully we can get some particulates and I.D. the victim." she said gripping the strap of her bag that hung heavily over her shoulder.

"I'll drive you." he offered shifting in his spot obviously nervous.

"Thanks for the offer, but I drove out here myself." she said tugging at the sleeve of her cardigan.

"I'll see you again soon Will." Margaret said almost as if to be reassuring.


A deep sigh escaped her lips as her eyes scanned the papers laid out on her desk. Pictures, paperwork, all things she couldn't concentrate on at the moment. Running into Will had brought up a whole slew of feelings she'd been able to escape with distance, until now. It was clear now that she hadn't been able to properly deal. She really was bad about just shoving things aside and faking indifference, but now that was crippling her. Maybe she did need to see a therapist. As soon as the thought entered her head she pushed it aside, refocusing her attention on her work. There was only a few hours until her next seminar. The Madhavan Institute was a lab that worked closely with surrounding universities, and often had their P.h.D.s hold lectures. This particular one was something Eleanor had been working on for awhile now: The Interrelations of Psychology and Anthropology.

"Sheryll Dover. Thirty-eight and recently divorced at the time she went missing two years prior to being discovered. We identified her with dental records. There were depressed fractures to her skull, ultimately the cause of death. These are all just basic facts that we can get from minimal viewing of her remains. You can't just look for the basics you have to read into every detail, open your mind and perceive everything laid out before you. She suffered from several hairline fractures spanning from her ribs all the way to her phalanges on both her feet and hands. These injuries were premortem. It became obvious that this woman had been severely beaten before death. Anger, however strong, is the only explanation, although not a rightful one. There are patterns that separate murders from random to premeditated to out of desire to kill and passion. Everything from the condition to the placement of remains can help to determine these aspects of the murder."

Molly spoke in a soft, sultry tone ending her statement by flicking on a picture onto the board behind her. It was a grim photograph of the woman herself. Her flesh had decayed away leaving nothing but bone and dirty clothes that clung to the remains.

"Sheryll's body had been placed deliberately, much like one would be at a funeral. Her attacker had been angry, furious even, but most certainly remorseful of his actions. Many fellow anthropologists view psychology as a soft science with no certain backings to prove its authenticity. All I have to say to that is bones don't lie, whereas people do." she said coming from behind the large wooden podium. Her usual casual garb had been replaced with a nice blue dress shirt paired with a black pencil skirt and heels.


"I find your view of the interworking's of these two fields very enthralling." a mans voice reached her ears.

"Thank you." she said raising her gaze to the stranger. He looked to be right around middle aged, and wore a finely tailored suit.

"Doctor Hannibal Lecter, It's a pleasure to meet you." he said holding out a hand. This man, Hannibal had an air of sophistication about him that he just seemed to ooze effortlessly.

"Doctor Margaret Leonas." the woman smile grasping his hand that dwarfed her own. He smiled in return and her eyes met with his. It was a dark, depthless gaze that she couldn't read, but incredibly intense.