Marshaling Enough Empathy – Chapter Eight

"Bob brisket."

"Chuck à l'orange."

"Frank tartare."

"Chile con Carla."

Raylan and Tim giggled.

"Beef...Wellington," Will added in a quietly disgusted voice from the back seat after listening to the Marshals banter on the topic of human dishes for a quarter of an hour. "Works without substitution."

"Good one," Raylan complimented.

"This is incredibly inappropriate," Will sighed. "But oddly…amusing."

"Do you think a judge could impose veganism as part of Hannibal's punishment?" Tim questioned.

"That would be…incredibly appropriate," Will replied, "but unlikely. It's too creative for our staid federal court system."

"Maybe we could go barbarian and just cut out his tongue," Raylan suggested.

"Make him eat it," added Tim. "Though he'd probably like that. Bet he has a recipe for cow's tongue he could use. Can you even eat without a tongue?"

Raylan's face wrinkled. "You're sick."

"I'm sick?" Tim looked sideways at Raylan then back to the dark road. "Who's the one that started all this? If I remember correctly, you did. You asked what seasoning is best with pancreas."

Raylan shrugged. "It's a fair question. I wouldn't even know how to look it up."

"Google." Will and Tim answered at the same time, caught each others' smiles in the rearview mirror.

"We're almost there," Tim said, turning off the highway. "You want to go at the cave the way they did or park closer?"

"I want to follow his...exact...movements."

"Okay." Tim took the next turn and two more and bumped along a dirt road for a mile before pulling over. "In the footsteps of The Chess Master," he said as he opened the door and climbed out. He swatted a mosquito on his forearm. "Lovely night for a stroll."

"I'll bet that's not what the killer said to his victim," Raylan commented.

"Likely not," Will agreed.

"What did you say that night, Tim?"

"Oh, I think I said something like, 'Lovely night for a stroll and a skinning.' A little different, you know, add some flare, bit of drama."

Will was getting numb to the teasing from the Marshals about Tim being a suspect. He took it in stride. "Of course, if you laid out your intentions like that, your victim would most likely try to fight his way free. No, that's not how it happened. He had to have some scrap of hope to go quietly like he did. The killer had to give him a reason to believe he'd get out of this alive."

"I think it's a bit rude the way he's always talking about you in the third person, Tim – 'the killer.' It's like you're not even here." Raylan tut-tutted.

But Will missed the jab; he had shut them out, stood a moment, eyes drifting around the dark forest. "Let's play a game," he said softly, in a voice not quite his own. "Winner take all."

Tim and Raylan exchanged a glance.

"This is what he does," Tim explained. "He plays at psychopath."

"I don't want your job," said Raylan.

"I already told him as much." Tim turned and headed into the forest. "It's this way."

Tim took lead – he was the only one of the three who had been to the cave along this route and he knew the area better than any of them. Raylan was the Lexington office's only Kentucky native but he had spent most of his time, both as a kid and as a Marshal, in the southern part of the state. Tim grew up in Ohio, in a small iron town just the other side of the river, only a stone's throw from the Kentucky border and a short drive to Olive Hill. The Appalachians looked the same there as here, so did the economy and the people. Tim loved it and loathed it much like Raylan loved and loathed Harlan. They had discussed the differences once over beer and bourbon, north Kentucky versus south Kentucky – a bit less twang, iron rather than coal, small variances in the weather. Welcome to the Appalachians. It really was beautiful country.

The moon was waning, a crescent with little light to offer. Each man was armed with a flashlight, pointed down to keep the night vision sharp. Will was focusing his awareness on his surroundings and Tim and Raylan sensed that silence was appreciated at this point and kept their talking to a minimum. Will didn't expect to find any physical evidence on their night march; he was hoping for a feeling, a leap in logic to link something together with something else and bring them closer to understanding their prey, the hunter that they now hunted, this new monster.

Tim watched the path; Raylan watched the forest, sidearm unclipped, trigger hand on alert.

They were in sight of the rocks that opened the side of the hill and embraced the cave when they heard noises and a shadow of hurried movement took them by surprise to their left – fast footsteps. All three reached for their sidearms but only Will drew, gun out, then arm out, swinging wildly in the direction of the sounds. Tim lurched back toward him and grabbed his gun arm, gripped it hard and pushed it down. He kept a firm hold on Will, watched Raylan step off the path and disappear.

"Kids?" Tim called after him.

"I suspect." A rustling. "Give me a minute."

Tim had his fingers wrapped tightly around Will's wrist and Will was struggling against him, caught up in his imagination and his instincts.

"Stop," Tim hissed and yanked Will around to face him, "If Raylan hasn't drawn yet, there's nothing to shoot at."

Will was still breathing heavily but he didn't resist when Tim reached over and took the gun from his hand and slid it back into the holster.

"Trust me, if there is something to shoot at, you'll know. Raylan'll put it down before you even see it." Tim felt Will relaxing and loosened the grip on his arm. "Okay?"

Will nodded and Tim let go.

"Okay?" Tim repeated the question, wanting to be certain.

"Okay. Yes. I'm okay. If you…trust him…then…"

Tim smirked. "Yeah, I trust him…at least on any target under ten yards."

A snort from the blackness beyond the flashlights and Raylan's voice carried through the trees, "I heard that. But just so as you know, I only bring Tim along when we got all day to line up a shot. He's a Sunday shooter – better bring some beer and popcorn and a comfortable chair for the wait." There was more rustling in the dark, then, "Doesn't miss, though. I'll give him that."

Tim tilted his head, said quietly to Will. "The implication being, he does."

"I heard that, too."

"His eyesight's going but his hearing's still good."

"Tim, don't make me come back there and shoot you."

Tim chuckled. "See? Like I said, he has to get within ten yards."

"Shhh." Will held out an arm and motioned for silence. "Do you hear that?"

Tim looked down, focusing his other senses. From the direction of the cave came a soft noise, not natural to the forest. Will took off at a run.

"Hey!" Tim yelled a warning. "Shit." He followed, cursing. "Stop! Will!"

Will had his flashlight up, searching for the opening to the cave. He had slowed down enough for Tim to catch up, his gun in his hand now. The noises were coming from inside and Tim half expected a frightened animal to come charging out when Will found the entrance and flashed a bright beam into it. There was only room to walk single file past the rock walls at the mouth and Will charged through first, reckless.

"Fuck." Tim was ready to club the profiler himself, saving whoever or whatever was in the cave the trouble. He pressed closely behind Will, trying to pass him, hurried to clear the opening, stepped quickly in front of Will, raised his gun and stopped abruptly. "What the hell?" He dropped his arm fast, holstered. "Shit."

"Not quite what I was expecting," Will stated, a wry look for Tim, then he knelt down in front of a young boy, ten or eleven years old, trussed up and shaking. "What are you doing in here? Are those your friends outside? Playing a trick on you, maybe?" He coaxed gently with his voice, calming, reached around and untied the boy's hands then his feet. "If they're trying to scare you, they did a good job." He shook his head in sympathy and smiled.

The boy nodded in tight small jerks. "There's a murderer," he gasped, breathless, eye's popping. "They said he'd get me."

"Don't worry," Tim assured him. "He's long gone. Come on, we'll take you home." He handed the boy Will's flashlight to hold and hoisted him up onto his feet.

"I wet myself." He looked close to tears.

Will and Tim both looked at the patch of wet dirt, the wet jeans.

"Uh…that's…" Will didn't know what to say.

"That's normal," Tim finished the sentence. "The guy who was murdered in here – he pissed his pants, too."

"Tim?"

"In here."

Raylan sauntered into the cave with company, two more boys, a fistful of jacket in each hand to keep them in tow. They were sobbing. "Look what I caught – a brace of mischief."

"There, see." Tim gestured at Raylan's catch, grinned for their small victim. "You're not the one crying like a baby."

He got a smug grin back.


"So, which one were you?"

Tim had dropped off the boys then Raylan at his bar and now he and Will were sitting in the car outside the hotel. He didn't understand Will's question, looked over, confused.

"Which one…of the boys," Will clarified. "Growing up…which one were you?"

Tim nodded, making sense of it now. "Uh, I'm the third of four. It depended on the week."

"Ah," a smile for the picture, "I'm...an only child and…invariably...I was the one tied up in the cave." He grinned, a bit embarrassed by the confession. "Brothers? Sisters?"

"Four brothers."

"God, your poor mother."

Will was surprised when Tim reacted to the statement with another version of 'the face.' It seemed misplaced, unless the mother wasn't around enough to cultivate the devotion typically associated with sons. Or maybe she wasn't around at all, no one to cry to like a baby.

The evidence was all there if you just knew how to look.

"I know it's been a long day and…well…you probably don't...we've already…I've already done my share of drinking but do…"

"Yeah, I want a drink." Tim opened the car door and got out quickly, leaned back in to say, "Let's order up. I don't want to run into Special Agent Crawford in the bar. Are you sharing a room?"

Surprised, Will sat a moment then scrambled to get out of the car and catch up. Tim was already across the street and heading into the hotel lobby.


This time Will didn't drink much and certainly didn't try to keep up with the Marshal. Tim was off the clock, pouring himself the next drink and the next, talking through the procedure of joining and playing on the online chess sites. Will watched the glass come up to Tim's lips again and again. Maybe he was still 'reacting' but Will wanted to kiss those lips and he was feeling reckless enough to do it. Eventually Tim stopped pretending he didn't notice and grinned an invitation and Will found himself caught and held, the rare eye contact exhilarating. He put a hand on either arm of the chair Tim was sitting in, leaned forward and stopped.

"You set your sights on a person you know you can't have, Will." Hannibal Lecter smiled as he spoke with what Will thought at the time was sympathy, maybe even empathy, not the day he burst into Lecter's house and confessed to kissing Alana Bloom, but later, another session. "Alana Bloom will never be a partner for you, Will. She wishes to fix you, but you cannot be fixed. You are what you are. Deep down, you know it will fail. The rejection then is inevitable and you are safe once more in your solitude. In kissing her, you reinforce your behavior, though it appears the opposite." An elegant shrug. "'I tried. What more could I do?' This is what you tell yourself – a rationalization."

The astute observation of his character cut. "I don't wish to be alone – whatever you might think."

"Perhaps if you were to accept that you truly do wish to be alone then you might not have to be."

Taking advice from a serial killer and a psychopath seemed reckless, too. Yet Will had to hand it to Dr. Lecter – it was an accurate assessment. He wondered what his former psychiatrist would make of Tim. Would Hannibal say that Tim was another person that Will could never have, more reinforcement of his behavior? It seemed likely. And equally likely that he'd say it just to watch the suffering then slice him open and eat his heart.

Tim reached a hand up slowly, calling Will from his thoughts, and Will blinked and pulled back. He felt his glasses being lifted from his face, watched Tim fold them and set them on the table. Then Tim leaned forward to meet him halfway, kissed him firmly, leaving no doubt.

He is very kissable. The sentence formed in Will's head, laughing a warning, but he didn't care, lost to the heat moving outward from the contact.


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