Phone Call

Neither Will nor Molly made any move to leave the kitchen. They did not even pretend to get ready for bed. They sat up, waiting for Josh to come home.

They were mostly silent; it was an awkward vigil. Will had held his wife close on his lap for awhile, but it wasn't long before Molly made an excuse to get up – she had to finish the dishes. He did not offer to help, and when she finished, she resumed her seat at the table. Close enough to be within arms' reach, but not touching.

That was how their life had been for what seemed forever now. Close, but not touching. He was closed off. She felt guilty about her resentment.

He hated the fear. It made him feel slick inside, like his internal organs belonged to someone else, not him at all. 'It's not getting cut,' he'd told Crawford years ago. But then…it was about memory. When he'd killed, it had been from a distance, with a gun. When they tried to kill him, it was always so personal, overpowering him, catching him off-guard with a knife. Leaving him his scars with his life. But also his fear.

The glass in front of him was empty. He'd offered to pour Molly a drink, but she shook her head. He got up and refilled his anyway, then handed it to her for a sip. She took more of a gulp. It was starting to hit home, then, for her too. He didn't drink martinis anymore; just raw gin, on the rocks. No fancy green olives or splash of vermouth to distract from the alcohol. Most of the time, he didn't wait for the ice to melt either. Usually, she didn't like it that way. There was no choice now but to carry a pistol in her purse for the rest of her life. Not that that would make any of them feel safe.

Midnight, and the boy still wasn't home. He couldn't…he couldn't do this. He couldn't just wait. It was driving him crazy to sit here, listening for any sound, a sound that might be Josh, or just the dogs…or Doctor Lecter. His mind scolded him for being unreasonable. There was no way to get from Memphis to the Florida Keys so quickly, and a recently escaped convict had few resources. The man couldn't exactly board a plane or rent a car with no clothes and no money. There were other ways of getting cars, though.

Lecter would get those things, in time. If one thing had come out of that trial, it was that he had been a charmer. He'd had everyone fooled. He'd almost fooled Will, but never quite tried to charm him. He'd been polite and helpful, but nothing more. After the fact, all that came across was his unbridled anger; the stare and malicious smile was all that Will remembered of court. Sitting here and waiting was infuriating. Anger and fear, it cycled back and forth. He was definitely tending towards the anger now. He got up and picked up the phone. Molly watched him, but still she said nothing. He wondered if she knew who he was calling. Screw waiting till morning.

"Jack, it's Will Graham." No apologies for waking the man. He had no intention of ever apologizing to this man again, even if he ran over his dog by accident. "Just checking in to let you know I'm still alive."

"Jesus, Will." It had been over a year since they'd spoken; Jack sounded like he hadn't slept in awhile. Of course he hadn't; Buffalo Bill must be running them all ragged. "I guess you've heard the news, then?" He was greeted by silence. "Look, I know it's bad, but I will do what I can for you and your family. I'll have a man on his way down there as soon as I can; I was going to call in the morning. Just name your terms – we'll relocate you, offer you a job, anything. Even get you out of the country, if –"

"If I think it would help? No, thanks. I think I'd prefer the Bureau not knowing my whereabouts, actually." They couldn't stake out his house if they didn't know where his family was living, after all. Jack knew perfectly well that Will would refuse any offer of charity.

"It wasn't us. We would never have authorized the transfer down to Memphis…"

"Well, Christ, Jack, who was it, then? What idiot decided to toy with Lecter? Was it that Senator?"

"She used her muscle to make it happen, but it was Chilton who orchestrated –"

"Chilton?" Will put his knuckle to his mouth, suddenly afraid he was about to giggle. "The great fool – Lecter will take his time with that one, surely he realizes that?…He should never've let him out of that cell!"

"No one is arguing the man's a fool, but the damage is done and he's on the loose now. We've got everyone we can spare on it, and full cooperation from the locals. I've some hope we'll find him, but if not quickly, he'll go to ground and stay quiet for awhile. We'll put a guard on Chilton for as long as it takes." The 'and you, too,' hung in the air unsaid.

"Jack – it's personal with you, too. He hates you. It's my face he sees when he thinks about getting put away in the first place - but he knows who was pulling my strings. He hasn't forgotten, nor will he. I think he'd risk going back just to get a good look at my face now. Maybe not right away, but...." He trailed off, not really wanting to describe what he thought Lecter would do in front of Molly. His earlier candor was from the shock, and he regretted it now. If he hadn't said anything, could life have gone on normally for weeks, months, years even? "You don't want Lecter thinking about your family."

"Don't worry about me here," Jack said quickly. "You know Lecter, he likes to keep up a correspondance. He won't do anything just yet; he'll want to savor his freedom a bit. Besides, he knows we're ready for him. We'll stake out the airstrip in Marathon. Every God-damned police station in the country knows what Lecter looks like now, I think."

"I'm not staying."

"I guess not." He sighed. "I'm really sorry, Will." Jack sounded old and gutted. Will had trouble reminding himself that it had only been a year, and that he'd started this conversation furious.

"Yeah, well, I am too." It didn't change anything. "I'll be off in the boat for awhile. Don't be surprised if I don't answer my phone again."

"Will, you can't just take off on us now; we can discuss…"

"I can't sleep in this house." He said it abruptly, without much tone in the voice. It was a clear accusation though, and an admission of his weakness. It was at that point that Jack realized he'd spent the evening drinking. No surprise, really.

Crawford had no kindness for him, though. No reassurances. Lecter being free would eat at anyone, but he didn't want to think about what it would do to Will. Will had been a friend…and maybe that was why he'd tried to delay having this conversation till the morning. Even if the madman never went near Will or his family, they might as well be added to the victims' list. One more among the doubtless many unknown victims of Dr. Lecter.

Jack made some empty reassurances, and eventually hung up. He couldn't afford to lose sleep right now, not in the middle of a case…but he didn't go to bed, either. Will was one of his, and he had a feeling he'd be haunted by his ghost now, more than usual. In the dim timelessness of the middle of the night, it was easy to imagine that boat would never make landfall or be heard of again, and there wasn't much he could do to stop it. With Lecter loose, Will's fears would do all the damage Lecter could wish for.

Will had mastered his fear many times in the past…but each of those encounters had taken something out of him, and this was a lot to ask of anyone. Jack hadn't been able to face Molly before; now it was unthinkable. He hoped Will still could, at least. He knew what it was to slowly lose your wife, and quite frankly, he would have traded it for meeting Dr. Lecter any day.


I'm not going to take this story much further, but I did want to get Crawford in here. He is quite the puppet master, though not fully devoid of compassion. And he's had a rough couple of days, certainly.... I wrote most of this before I realized that this was the night his wife died, though that happened after this phone call (3 AM).