Every part of my body screamed for it to stop. Every region, they shrieked at my brain, begging, twitching. Muscle, nerves, tendons, throbbing tissue. They all pleaded me to end it, to just slow down and catch my breath as if breathing made a significant difference in how I was feeling in that moment.
A breeze blew on my face as I sprinted through the woods on a cool, bright morning. The sun shined through the tree branches overhead, leaving puddles of light to step through as I made my way towards my goal.
One would suggest that the scene was peaceful, that in its tranquility, my mind would be able to safely wander and to safely assess how I was doing in life. That's what some runners admit doing while they pass through on their trails and circuits, but not me. I was only thinking of how miserable I was, that running in itself was absolutely awful. I hated it.
The crisp snap of a branch sounded to my right. Dry, it cracked like a bone, and when I turned my head to see what caused it to snap, a feeling of terror immediately lurched in my chest.
Her smirk was enough to drive myself harder. Barely visible through the forestation, Mitzy ran along her own trail that soon would merge with mine, the competition finally arriving.
"Wondering if you'd make it this far!" she called through the brush. Her voice was hoarse as she panted out the challenge, but unlike her I reserved my precious oxygen. I needed every last breath.
When her trail joined with mine, I quickened my pace. As did my sister.
"I had a baby, Ada," she huffed. "What's your excuse?"
"That was six years ago," I rasped, unable in the end to resist her poking. "So, sorry. You don't have an excuse for why I kicked your ass today!"
After that, no words were said. Our legs pushed us onward, towards the opening to the trail at the end of the wood line. My chest hurt and my throat stung, but I kept on going, my pace matching my sister's flawlessly.
The scene through the trees revealed itself. An ocean.
Ten more steps.
The light was getting brighter.
Five more steps.
Salt tickled my nose.
One more.
Hallelujah!
We broke through the trees in a choking pile of heaving gasps. My throat felt raw, but the race was done. It was over, praise God. I bent at the waist while sucking in as much air as possible while my sister collapsed on to the paved sidewalk, her chest rising and falling rapidly.
The sound of our labored breathing, dramatic and unnecessary, was then interrupted by the soft slow clapping of hands.
"For being so tired, you two sure took a long time," mused the voice of Patti, a smile dancing in her aged tone.
I tilted my head to the side to see her resting on a wooden bench at the trail's mouth. It was no surprise seeing Patti waiting for us. A seasoned marathoner and overall busy-body, running was Patti's triumph. Absently I wondered how long she had waited for us. Ten minutes? Fifteen? She was the one who organized the get together for Mitzy and I, and I went into it knowing that my greatest running effort would be like Patti's warm-up jog.
"How long have you been waiting?" asked my sister from the ground.
"Not too long," answered Patti. "But long enough to make a few phone calls."
A short laugh left me.
"Did you at least see who won?" I said. "That's all I really care about."
"It's all you ever care about," said Mitzy.
"You're one to talk," I snipped.
"Whatever."
"No, I didn't see it," stated Patti. "Sorry."
I laughed again at seeing Mitzy attempting to mask her pouted lips from me, a weak effort to hide something from a sister who knew her too well.
From the wooded trails, the three of us got into my car. Together we drove back to my home to relax. During the drive, my sister and Patti talked about my nephew and how he was doing, as well as Patti's case load and recent week at work. As much as I wanted to join in on the conversation, I couldn't help but think on what the worker from the security company had said to me the day before.
"Yeah, you're not the first," began the man as he adjusted my system.
We were standing in my living room, a clipboard in his hand while he jotted down some information. He had just finished explaining the programs, but even after all the tricks and details, I couldn't fully believe him when he said that I would be safe.
Funny how fear messes with our sanity that way.
"And I doubt you'll be the last," he continued. "Ever since that college kid died and no one's been arrested, everybody's double-thinking their home security."
"I see," I replied. "Well, you guys'll be busy then."
"Yeah, at least we'll be that. Is that why you called our company?"
My head nodded. The choice to get a better system sounded so simple, so obvious, but coming to it was no easy matter. On one hand, I was afraid of Dr. Lecter. Duh. On the other, however, I was mesmerized by whatever mind lied past those dark, enigmatic eyes of his.
Why did he let me live? Why? The question was tucked deep in my brain, a mystery that's answer was wrapped up in mostly theory and assumptions, not really the kind of position to bring forth a sense of calm. Maybe he changed his mind for no reason? Doubtful. The doctor obviously had every intention of killing me that night in my room. He relented though. He presented me with the weapon, my own knife, and waited. A gift. Maybe he was bored by me? Maybe he just wanted to see what I would do? I remember the way he waited, too, curious, patiently observant. It wasn't like anything I've ever seen before in a person who was in such a position of power.
Maybe that was it. Dr. Lecter knew that he was in a place much more powerful than I was. He didn't feel threatened. He didn't feel rushed. Maybe all he wanted to do was see what I myself was capable of after all. And he was willing to wait however long it would take that evening to see my actions unfold. I wonder if I did what he expected.
What did he think he knew of me?
Why did he touch my mouth the way he did?
"Yeah. Can't trust a deadbolt anymore," I said to the worker. "At least, I don't think I can until the killer is caught."
"Crazy. You know, I heard that there's been other murders going on that the police are thinkin' about handing off to the FBI. That and some disappearances. Pfft, this city's getting shakin' up, that's for sure. Hasn't been this exciting in a while!"
And on that pleasant note, the man left in his van and I was stuck with my dog and my fears. Bro, who was missing from the time that Dr. Lecter sat in my room, was found the morning after asleep on my back porch. He seemed fine, and it wasn't until later did I piece together what probably had happened. Since Dr. Lecter had stayed over in the past, my dog probably didn't see him as a threat anymore. Bro could've been alarmed at first, but after catching Dr. Lecter's scent, he must've relaxed. Must've trusted him. My dog's done so with my friends before, the tense bravado of my pit bull gone in an instant at smelling a familiar visitor. Lecter could've bribed him, too, with soft words and food. All Dr. Lecter would need to do next was lead him to the back door and let him outside.
A chilling thought entered my mind over the matter: Did Dr. Lecter know that Bro wouldn't attack him? Did he plan that far ahead?
And just to add to the pile of unanswered questions, how the man got in so quietly was another mystery. The front and back door was still locked when I looked the next morning, and I keep no spare key anywhere on the property. The windows were also seemingly untouched. It didn't look like he forced himself inside.
"Ada, did you hear me?"
I blinked and glanced in my rearview mirror.
"I'm sorry," I told Mitzy. "What did you say?"
"I said, have you heard from Hannibal?"
A frown threatened to pull at my mouth, but I thought better of it.
Shrugging one shoulder as I drove, I answered, "I haven't. I mean, he's been busy."
"Oh, that's a shame," said Patti to my right. "He sounded like a charming gentleman."
A glare was directed at Mitzy through the mirror. She quirked an eye brow.
"Don't get all pissy with me," she stated. "Any man that enters your life is good news these days."
"Is he just a friend now?" asked Patti gently. "Because that's fine, too."
A heavy sigh left me. Is Hannibal a friend? That certainly was a good question.
"I hope so," I answered.
Dr. Lecter's face immediately came to mind. The way he looked at me while sitting at my side on the mattress. Otherworldly, yet strangely human. The emotion that had flashed like lightning in his eyes. So quick, yet so prevailing. It struck me. I can still remember the sensual smell of his skin and the body heat that rolled off of him in waves. I can still remember the way he sounded when he touched me, that exhale from deep within.
Though I was enraptured in some heady consequence of sharing such a moment with him, I also had a feral sense of unease when it came to the possibility of ever coming in contact with Hannibal Lecter again. The anxiety hit me every time I approached my front door to go inside my house. Would he be standing in my foyer? Or would he sit on the couch like he had before? Would he be happy to see me? Or would he be dressed in that bizarre suit again, back to finish what he failed to the last time? When leading my guests from the driveway to the house I thought about him. My hand was shaking a little as I put my key into the lock.
"It's kind of chilly in here," commented my sister as we entered the home.
I tried not to overthink it. It was a little colder than I typically kept the temperature inside. No need to be alarmed, I thought.
"Kinda," I said quietly while leading my dog to be let out in the backyard.
So far nothing looked disturbed. Weeks had passed since I saw Dr. Lecter across from my bed, and yet, I always assume that he will be waiting for me when I get home, or be at the store where I shop, or sitting beside me when I wake up in the morning.
Everything seemed untouched and normal. Everything, at first, was nice. It was the typical life that I had.
That is, until my sister and Patti wandered into my kitchen.
"Who are these from?" called Patti.
I frowned as I stared out at Bro in the yard.
Reluctantly, I walked from the back of my house towards the kitchen. When I got there, Mitzy was smiling widely at me, all teeth and bright eyes. Seeing her grin like that was enough cause for anyone to be anxious.
That's when I saw it. A basket that was resting in the middle of my island counter. It wasn't mine. It wasn't there before I met the others at my front door for our run. I would've noticed. Wouldn't I? The basket was stained a reddish wood color, and in its belly was a checkered cloth. With a furrowed brow, I reached out and flipped the cloth over, revealing a pile of golden, glazed scones nestled inside.
"These look lovely," muttered Patti as she reached forward and took a piece off of one.
I watched in silent horror as she ate the morsel, her eyes closing happily. I then peered closer at the basket. Barely visible, I saw a piece of paper peeking out from under the cloth.
"Mm, strawberry," said Patti with a smile. "These are wonderful! Did you make these Ada?"
A scoff.
"Um, Patti," began Mitzy. "You've known my sister since she was ten. When has Ada ever baked in her life?"
"Maybe I did make them," I said to her defiantly.
"Yeah? What recipe did you use?"
My lips pursed as I grasped for an answer in my mind.
"I, I used one from Pinterest," I replied. "It was easy."
The narrowing of those blue eyes of hers said enough. Baking never was my specialty nor an interest of mine. The lie was a weak one. I knew it, too, but thankfully Patti was able to call my bluff in a way that didn't make me want to murder her.
"Who made them, Ada?" she asked kindly. "A friend of yours? Someone clearly put a lot of thought into them. They taste homemade."
A shy smile was all the response that I was able to muster in the moment. My eyes trailed back at the hidden note in the basket. Too closely, it seemed, for Mitzy's attention followed mine and she plucked it from under the cloth before I could do a damn thing to stop her.
"Oo, what's this?" her voice questioned playfully.
"Mitzy, stop-"
"Dear Miss Ada," she recited while her eyes studied the paper, a textured pink slip with fancy, cursive lettering scribbled on it. When I tried to snatch it from her fingers, she took a step back from the counter. I glared at her hatefully.
"Breakfast is important," she continued. "Especially before exercise. Dinner is also important, and I look forward to having you at my dinner table this Friday. Say, eight o'clock? Until then, enjoy. Hannibal."
Both women looked up at me expectantly. I frowned, thinking fast.
"There. Now you know," I said plainly.
"Know what?" quipped my sister.
"He," I started carefully. "Dropped those off this morning before you came."
Both their brows rose.
"Hannibal came here," said Mitzy. "He came here to drop off scones for you?"
"For us," I clarified. "I talked to him yesterday about running with you guys."
"Uh-huh. Right. He came here. At six in the morning."
"He came a little earlier than that" I countered. "He was being thoughtful. What else would he have done? Did he just break in my house then? Just broke in and left some scones out like a total creeper? What do you want from me?"
"I thought that it wasn't working out?" entered Patti. "That's what you said."
Jesus, I thought.
"Jesus," I said with an exasperated sigh. "He's just being sweet! God forbid a man bakes for me!"
"Did you at least take him home with you after we drank together?" pressed Mitzy.
"You took him home?" Patti asked me with surprise in her voice.
"He's very exotic," added my sister dreamily. "Did I mention his accent? And oh, that face. And that ass-"
"Yes, I took him home," I stated. "And nothing happened."
"Huh," mumbled Mitzy. "And yet he bakes for you. And is taking you to dinner this Friday."
"Yeah!" I exclaimed. "He's a gentleman of sorts! Imagine that! Jesus!"
"Jesus isn't going to save you from your awkwardness and lack of maturity, Ada!" she cried. "Stop acting like a child and grow up!"
"Excuse me? I'm the one being childish? I'm the one who needs to grow up?"
"Yeah, why lie about him? Why'd you make it seem like you two weren't a thing?"
"Cause we're not!" I exclaimed. "And your psycho interrogations are exactly why I would lie!"
"I am not a psycho! If you'd just stop hiding men from me, maybe I wouldn't have to ask!"
"Oh, I'm "hiding men" now?"
"What, can't hear me-"
"No, you're accusation was just so stupid and hypocritical that-"
"Oh, oh okay-"
"Yeah, you heard me! Stupid and hypocrite-"
"Oh my God, get over yourself!"
"You get over yourself!"
And so ensued a wonderful argument between my adoring older sister and myself. I'll admit it. I do become immature when with Mitzy, but that's a normal thing for us. It's just how we are. When Adrian and I argue, it's done with darkened eyes and tension sparking in the air. When I argue with Mitzy, my voice changes octaves and I want to rip out her hair.
Mitzy and Adrian though. Oh, no. That's its own can of worms. They should never be allowed to argue. It never ends well.
Patti, being the great social worker that she is, was able to diffuse the situation in a calm, albeit stern manner. She and Mitzy left my home, my sister rolling her eyes and huffing out the door while I sent daggers with my own eyes into the back of her skull. Patti hugged me and we scheduled another walk to the farmer's market. I imagined that she wanted to hear more about Dr. Lecter, about my thoughts, and feelings and whatnot. At least I had a few more days to concoct a more believable lie.
When they left, I went back and stared at the scones for a long time. The glaze glistened under the lights of my kitchen, the texture of the pastries appearing moist yet firm. They could've been on the cover of Bon Appétit or some other food mag that I pretentiously heard of. Golden. Pretty. Possibly poisoned. I noted on how Patti seemed fine after she ate a bite, part of me expecting her to keel over a minute after she swallowed. Since I hadn't received a call about her sudden trip to the emergency room, I decided to take my chances. Picking up a scone, I opened my mouth and took a generous bite. My mouth instantly watered. The flavor of fresh strawberries danced on my tongue, the scone better than any pastry found in a bakery and the glaze just the right amount of sweetness. Taking a second bite, I wondered when Dr. Lecter made them, if they were freshly baked while I was running. I scoffed inwardly. Of course they were. They still felt a little warm.
Oh God. I was smiling at the thought. Smiling. What the hell was wrong with me? Hannibal had made them. He broke in my damn house twice now, and here I was, absolutely smitten with the idea that he left me breakfast.
How though? The question dawned on me, ashamedly much later as it would say, a normal, sane human being.
How did he get in my house? Again.
My mind started racing as I stalked towards my living room. Reaching the security system, I studied the lighted screen. Nothing was amiss. It read that my house was absolutely secured, that nothing was out of the ordinary.
Each time.
Each time nothing was out of place in my home. There was no evidence that Dr. Lecter had ever been there, had ever sat on my couch, had ever walked on my floors with his shoes to leave behind something that didn't belong. The only thing that he did leave, it was by his will that it was found. His will. His choice. His control.
I finished the scone. Even that action was his intended effect on my life, I thought.
His note was on the counter, his handwriting pretty and neat. Rereading it, I realized that Friday was about two days away. In two days, I would be seeing him again, one way or another, whether I wanted to or not.
I should notify Will Graham. The thought flit through my mind like paper in the wind. I should alarm him about Dr. Lecter's plans. I should stay with someone, should hide away somewhere.
But I didn't. I felt no dire urgency. My hand didn't venture to my cell phone. I didn't call Will Graham, nor did I call the police. I didn't do anything that I should have. Instead, I plucked another scone from the basket. I took another bite.
In my mind, I settled on the sense of pointlessness in the matter, that telling anyone of the truth of Lecter's whereabouts would in the end be a fruitless attempt at capturing him. I've met minds like his before. Granted, they were younger offenders, not as intelligent, but kids with a knack for manipulation and deviancy. Still, what Lecter had done was not too far off from what the kids I counseled were capable of. Lecter broke in my home. Lecter left a note, letting me know what I would be doing later in the week. He knew that I didn't eat breakfast. I believed that he also knew that I would be contemplating his arrest, would be debating on my next move like I was doing then at my kitchen counter.
Did he know that I would refuse to do "the right thing"? That was a scary thought. To be known by someone like him. For someone to know me at all, behind the degree, the job, the smile. Me. To know me.
"Are you here, doctor?"
My words came out absentmindedly. I waited. I waited and nothing happened.
"If you can hear me, then I would like to say thank you. The scones, they, they taste great."
Again, nothing. A smile spread from my lips as I shook my head at myself, at how silly I've become. The changes over the past month, they were maddening.
Just as I was starting to relax, a low, gravely growl emitted from Bro. He had been resting at my feet on the kitchen tile when his ears perked up, his senses alerted and my fears stoked once more. My dog then rose from his spot on the floor to pad off towards the front of the house.
A knock. Two. Knock knock on my front door.
I ceased moving. My breathing instantly became softer, a weak whisper. Caught between choices of survival, to fight or to flee, I didn't know quite what to do.
Knock. Knock.
Again.
Two.
This time they were slower, more deliberate.
I blinked back into reality, my feet taking me around to the other side of my kitchen island while my eyes remained fixated on the direction of the sound.
Knock. Knock.
I opened the top drawer. Kitchen knives. My fingers shakily curled around one, cold handle.
"Dr. Ives?"
I flinched.
"Dr. Ives? It's Will Graham."
I exhaled.
Will Graham? I guess everyone was making a house visit today.
"Dr. Ives, are you home?"
"C-Coming!" I cried back.
Jogging to the door, all the tension that had gathered in me in the last two minutes slowly dissipated. When I saw his clean-shaven face and muted blue eyes, they, the fears, were completely gone.
"Hi," he greeted in his usual pale attempt at sounding friendly.
"Hi! Sorry, I was in the back with Bro. I didn't hear you pull up."
Speaking of Bro, he, too, no longer was rigid. He even licked the inside of Mr. Graham's hand.
I have the worst guard dog on the planet.
The man nodded at my explanation and offered nothing in response. I smiled, probably too lively for Graham's eyes diverted to glance past my shoulder.
A pause.
"May I come in?" Mr. Graham asked softly.
"Oh!" I blurted. "Oh, yeah, sure. Come in!"
The quiet man stepped inside, and I noticed that tucked under his arm was a file folder.
"For me?" I asked in mock gratitude, my eyes looking down at the folder.
He blinked and followed my stare, a small chuckle ghosting past his lips.
"I apologize for coming by like this," he began, "But I thought that you would like to know that the FBI would appreciate your input on our investigation."
At that, I beamed. Graham frowned.
"And," he continued. "That in order to proceed, the agency requests that you fill out these forms."
"And Adrian?" I trailed while leading him to my kitchen.
"Your brother will be released into your care. Temporarily."
My smile weakened, but I understood. Asking for complete freedom was a stretch. This was someone's mental health we were talking about after all. Brother or not, I didn't want to mess with Adrian's treatment plan just because I was lonely.
I could sense Mr. Graham watching my reaction as he sat across from me at the dining room table.
"I told your brother the news in person today," he said.
"Oh? That's strange, I didn't receive a call from the Center."
There was no effort on my part to hide the new edge in my tone, the anger that I felt purring just below where my manners resided. Mr. Graham must've detected it, because when he spoke again he was much more level.
"Adrian was in the front lobby, Dr. Ives, when I arrived at Vashon," said Mr. Graham.
"What was he doing there?"
"Mopping."
"Did he ask to talk to you?"
"He did."
"Oh."
"He assured me that you would be fine with me speaking to him so long as he was the one who engaged me. Is that true?"
I shrugged.
"Adrian's an adult," I stated plainly. "He can make his own decisions. What did he say about the deal?"
"He read the terms and agreed to most of them. He wanted you to read over the notes he made though. Here."
Graham slid the file folder towards me across the table. Flipping it open, my eyes scoured the pages, eventually settling on the terms of agreement and seeing Adrian's handwriting.
"My brother doesn't abuse drugs," I commented.
"I didn't think so."
"But he has to have a urine sample taken from him twice a day? That's stupid. Take that out."
Will Graham didn't say anything and I kept on reading.
"And he already has a restraining order against him from our sister," I added.
"Does your sister know?" he asked.
"Know about his release? No, she doesn't."
"Shouldn't she?"
My eyes rose to meet his. When he didn't waver under my gaze, I crossed my arms and sat back further into my seat.
"My brother," I started, "Has no interest in harming Mitzy, and Mitzy wants to drop the restraining order. She's wanted to since he was checked into Vashon."
"Why doesn't she then?"
"Her husband doesn't think that's a good idea. Not yet."
"Is he afraid of Adrian?"
"He's afraid that what happened might happen again."
"Do you think it will?" he pressed.
"No. It was just a lapse in judgment."
"You sound so certain-"
"Because I am."
Another small silence filled the space between our sentences, one that was marked by tension and the unspoken sense that we were both holding back oneself for the safety of the other.
"You two have a very strong relationship."
It wasn't a question, but I could tell that he wanted me to catch his bait.
"We're twins," I said simply. I added, "We were each other's first roommate."
"Dr. Ives-"
"Ada. Just, Ada."
"Ada, does Adrian ever come off as overbearing?"
I laughed softly.
"Is Adrian overbearing?" I said. "Well, one thing that he likes to brag about is that he was born forty-six seconds before me. Forty-six. As if that small window of time dubbed him the older by some huge margin."
"Even though I resented it a lot while growing up," I continued, "Adrian always was my big brother, Mr. Graham. To be "overbearing", ha, I think it's part of the job description, don't you?"
"I suppose."
"And I know that we seem very attached, but that's only because we are. We've been through a lot."
"What was his occupation?"
I smiled again, this time out of courtesy more than genuine amusement. These questions, Graham knew the answers to them all. Adrian had a whole file. Every year in school, every therapist, job, you name it, the FBI knew of it. Still, I entertained Mr. Graham. Why punish the man if he was just trying to give Adrian a human touch?
"Wilderness guide," I said. "He would take groups of people up in the mountains for overnight trips."
"He doesn't strike me as an outdoorsman."
"Never has. It was his little secret. The woods were his escape when we were teenagers. When I was at soccer practice, Adrian would go hiking by himself. Sometimes during classes, too. Got him in a lot of trouble with our parents."
When I finished, a new question emerged from my mind. I've asked it before, but I couldn't resist giving it another go.
"Mr. Graham," I added. "What does my brother strike you as, if not an outdoorsman?"
Ever so slightly, I watched as Will Graham's brow knit together and his head tilt.
"Are you asking for my opinion as someone who works with the FBI or as-"
"As yourself, Will."
"As myself?" he echoed mockingly.
"I want to hear what you make of him. Not the FBI. Not some entitled psychologist looking for his next placement in a science journal. I don't want that. So many people like to create a profile out of Adrian, but most have never met him. You've read about his life. You've spoken to him face to face, so tell me, what do you see? You can be honest. I promise you that whatever you think is rude or offensiveness, I've heard much, much worse."
His face didn't change. His brow remained furrowed and his eyes intensely fixated on my own. I was dying to see what he would say, was dying to receive an answer.
But I didn't get one, not at first.
"When I spoke to your brother, he made a clear effort to keep you out of the conversation," stated Will. "He, he did it subtly with either a smile or a laugh. A joke of some sort. Did it without drawing in too much attention."
He swallowed.
"You, on the other hand, can't stop talking about Adrian."
My eyes narrowed a little at that. He continued.
"Your attachment to one another isn't the surprising aspect of your relationship. It's expected. What is interesting, however, is how you both go about protecting each other. You can't stop asking me about what he says and thinks, while Adrian behaves like you don't exist."
"I have his reputation to think about-"
"That's not why you're asking," interjected Will.
My jaw tightened.
"Part of the reason does have to do with Adrian's reputation, but you know that his reputation isn't what he considers important. No, you matter to Adrian. You are important. He's trying to hide you."
"He's my big brother."
Will smiled. It lacked warmth.
"He is. And big brothers protect little sisters from bullies," he told me. "My question isn't whether or not he sees the FBI as a bully, but why he believes that you need protection, Ada."
"So, all of this to say what, exactly?" I asked.
"All of this is to say that I believe that you ask me about Adrian to help you feel better. Your big brother attacked your sister and now is in a private facility. Since it was his first offense, psychology departments are having a field day."
Carefully, the man leaned closer over the table.
"How come a man who never has committed a single crime attempts to murder his older sister on a seemingly normal day?" he asks distantly. "What was his childhood like? Oh, he's a foster. His parents died when he was five years old. Plus, one of his foster parents died while he was in his care. That's interesting."
"I need to keep him safe," I said barely above a whisper.
"He is safe," said Will. "But you're not. Not to Adrian. And it's not about safety to you. Not his safety. No, you, you want to dismiss people's interest because, because you don't want to believe it."
"Believe what-"
"That he is as calculating and cold as everyone says he is. That trying to drown your sister on July 5th, 2014, in her son's pool wasn't a lapse in self-control."
A thick lump had tightened itself in my throat and in the pit of my stomach. I was all nerves and jitters.
"You think he's a killer," I breathed.
"No. I don't. But, I think that it wouldn't take much for him to become one."
"And me?" I asked. "What do you think about me?"
Will rubbed his eyes, a gesture that expressed tiredness to me. I wondered briefly if this exercise exhausted him, that seeing into the lives of those around him burned calories.
"I already told you, but I'll say it again: you are more interesting than I first thought," he answered. "To be honest, I'm surprised that no one has invested any interest in who you are."
I glanced away. The scones came into view.
"Why is that?" I asked limply.
"Because you're the one to watch," he said. "Twin studies are all about comparison."
Will Graham appeared to be finished with his assessment. His body had noticeably relaxed and the man was no longer damning me with his eyes. I watched him lovingly pet the top of Bro's head as it rested on his lap underneath the table.
"Thank you," I told him. "I appreciate your honesty."
"It isn't every day that someone thanks me for my thoughts, but you're welcome."
"And I'm sorry I called you by your first name," I added with an embarrassed grin. "The moment pulled it out of me."
A small smile appeared, though Will was still focusing on my dog.
"It's fine," he said.
"So I'm finally growing on you?" I teased.
Will Graham smirked at my question.
"In your own way," he said. "Mold does grow over time."
"And people do like mushrooms," I countered.
Before he left, I inquired about the statements that I would like to be removed from the FBI's agreement terms. Will said that he would propose the changes to Agent Crawford. He seemed sure that the changes could be made without any fuss, that if Crawford wasn't going to punish Adrian and I for withholding the letter in the first place then we were good as gold.
"Do you bake?"
The question pulled me from my reflections, my attention honing in on Will as he studied the basket of pastries.
"Um, no. I'm not domestic at all. Would you like some?"
"No, I'm alright-"
"Please," I rebutted quickly.
From one of the kitchen cabinets, I grabbed a paper plate and some saran wrap.
"Please take some. There's no way I can eat all of these."
My smile brightened at seeing how uncomfortable I, once again, managed to make Will Graham. It was becoming my own little joy. He took the plate in his hand, weighing the four scones on it with a defeated expression on his face.
"Thanks," he said quietly. "I'm starting to see that you don't do the word "no."
"I wouldn't say that," I said while leading the man out the front door to my drive way.
The weather outside was cool, the sun hidden behind incoming rain clouds. They swirled and rolled above our heads, the heated scent of rain stinging in the air. I welcomed the scent. I welcomed the incoming storm.
"The word "no". I really I like it," I said. "It excites me."