"Society wants to believe it can identify evil people or bad or harmful people, but it's not practical. There are no stereotypes."

— Theodore Robert Bundy

Sunday - 5:36AM

Maggie Cartwright was on the road, singing along to Jackie DeShannon's 'What the World Needs Now (Is Love)' and reminiscing on her teen years as she headed in to work. They were so long ago now, she was well aware, but it didn't make her feel old. Sixty-eight was the new forty-eight, or something like that. Sure, her hips were shot and her joints always ached, but that was life, right? You can't go on forever.

She thought back to those days, when things might have seemed simpler but damn sure weren't — hell, back in '66 when she was just fifteen, the Vietnam War was in full swing for the states; her family was one of many who would have to wait in fear for a husband or son to come home safe. In Maggie's case, it was her elder brother, David.

As a Corporal in the Marines, he was among the first wave sent out. Naturally, she and her parents were beside themselves; they prayed every night that he would be brought home safe and sound.

But prayer proved useless, and all that came home was a folded flag and a medal.

If Maggie and her husband could have been blessed with a child, she always said she would have liked to name him after her late brother. Due to fertility issues and poor timing, they never did have a baby David — middle name Bobby Jr, as her silly husband would have insisted — but that ship was long gone and she had come to terms with it ages ago. She had Delilah now, who may as well be her baby. Poor thing had been through too much for such a bright young lady, and with her mother off galavanting around the world…

Maggie tutted out loud as she drove past Olive and made a left, thinking how much she'd love to call and give that woman a piece of her mind. She had a feeling Delilah wouldn't appreciate that, though.

Parking just behind the café, as always, she hustled through the icy morning breeze to let herself in through the back door and began setting up for the early birds.

Nathaniel arrived at seven on the dot and, as usual, kept to himself apart from a cursory 'g'morning' mumble. She shook her head. That boy was a helluva worker, but she made a mental note to really work on helping him with his people skills in the future.

5:00 PM

As people began to trickle out of the café and it seemed like there wouldn't be many more, Maggie started cleaning up as best she could. Her eyes did linger on the gentleman still sitting by the window and for the briefest moment Delilah's anxieties nearly got the best of her. She toyed with the idea of kicking him out, but ultimately decided it was silly. Neither of them knew one iota about that man's home life. Maybe he lived with noisy roommates, or maybe he was avoiding an abusive relationship? You just never know what people are going through. Judge not, and so forth.

While cautiously bending down to replace the containers of excess loose-leaf, Maggie heard the bell tinkle signaling a new customer and sighed. Grabbing hold of the counter, she gingerly pulled herself back up, only to come face-to-face with Doctor Lecter. "Oh! Well, I'll be…" She glanced at the clock and chuckled softly. "Aren't you a bit early, sugar?"

"I am," he admitted. "I'd finished up at the office and didn't care to wait around."

"Ah, I don't blame ya. Sitting alone at a desk doesn't much appeal to me neither. S'why I never bothered with office work — being on my feet all day doesn't quite agree with me like it used to, but I get all squirrelly when I'm cooped up."

She had to catch herself in a bit of staring as he smiled and laughed genially, finding herself a little warm about the cheeks — it wasn't any wonder how Delilah had fallen so hard.

"Well," she continued, clearing her throat, "she's probably still doin' whatever she does to make herself look like she stepped out of a gosh darn painting. Can I get you anything while you wait?"

"No, thank you." He removed his overcoat and folded it over his arm. "If I'm not mistaken, you're preparing to close and I simply refuse to hinder your efforts."

"You got me there," she responded with a chuckle, pushing away from the counter to get back to it. "In that case, feel free to take a seat wherever you'd like."

"I'm content to wait here, if that's all right?"

"Honey, you can do any damn thing you please — but I will warn, if you stay close I can't say I'll be able to stop myself from askin' you about a million questions."

Hannibal laughed kindly and gestured with his palms open toward her. "For you, Maggie, I am an open book."

Grinning, she turned to start filling up the dishwasher. "You are quite the charmer, y'know that?"

"Am I?"

"And you damn well know it, don't ya," she said with a cackle. "Y'know there is somethin' I've been itching to ask you — and don't you go takin' it the wrong way now, but… just where in the hell are you from? 'Cause honey I know we're both a ways from home here, but I think you're a mite bit farther'n I am."

Chuckling quietly, he nodded. "You are correct. I was born in Lithuania, though I grew up predominantly in France."

"Ahhh, alright. S'pose that explains why I couldn't quite figure your accent."

"May I ask where you are from?"

Maggie placed the last glass into the washer and left it cracked open to remind herself not to start it until the last customers' glasses could go in. "Not nearly as interesting. I was born in North Carolina, grew up in North Carolina, then met my late husband and we moved on up here to Baltimore for his work and I just never left."

"North Carolina," he repeated thoughtfully. "Appalachian region?"

"You got a good ear," she commended. "My accent's faded a bit over the years but it sure sneaks up now and again, don't it? More tired I am, thicker it gets."

"I like it," he said, sounding genuine. "I hope you don't suppress it on purpose?"

"That'd be a cold day in hell!" She laughed boisterously. "Naw, never. But, I guess if you're constantly surrounded by ducks you eventually start quackin' like 'em."

They were sharing a laugh when Hannibal suddenly fell silent. His gaze had shifted behind her and she knew without looking what must have captured his attention, but she turned anyway and placed a hand over her heart. "Oh my stars," she whispered as she watched Delilah walk to the front of the café; she was looking absolutely darling in a deep blue cocktail dress that did quite a job of bringing out the colour in her eyes. The plunging neckline was a bit too revealing for Maggie's liking, but she had to remind herself that times were different.

"Look at you," Hannibal said, taking hold of her hand and kissing it. "A vision, as always."

Well, maybe times were changing but chivalry certainly wasn't dead.

"Ooh, such a gentleman!" She allowed herself to swoon, resting her elbows on the counter and her cheeks against her knuckles as she admired the pair of them. If she didn't know any better, she would have thought they were movie stars just fixin' to make their way onto the red carpet.

Delilah smiled — looking a touch embarrassed, bless her. "Since you close at six," she started, and Maggie was already rolling her eyes, "are you sure you don't need any help locking up?"

"Sure as god made little green apples," she replied, tapping her knuckles on the counter as she straightened up and internalized a groan. A spasm tried to take her out, but she pressed her palms firmly against her lower back and carefully stretched before it could get out of hand.

"Well, don't hesitate to call if—"

"Yeah, yeah, yeah." She flapped both hands at Delilah to shut her up and half-sang, "Bye now!" She then shot Hannibal a teasingly warning scowl. "You take good care of our girl, you hear me?"

"I always do," he replied through a chuckle.

"Love ya, Mags!"

"I love you too, sweetness," she replied, blowing Delilah a kiss and waving them off. "See you tomorrow."

Maggie watched with a smile as Hannibal opened the door — such a damn gentleman! — and guided her out to his car. She was admiring the car itself, some European thing, and wondering what the hell it cost, when she heard Nathaniel clear his throat loudly.

"What's up, buttercup?"

He didn't respond, so she turned to find him staring pointedly at their final set of patrons, John and Sue. They were taking their time getting going, as usual, but John was hunched over his wife's chair and they appeared to be arguing. Maggie clicked her tongue and scowled at Nathaniel, wordlessly urging him to go do something else as she bustled over to help.

"How's it goin' over here, my dears?"

"Oh, hey Maggie. We were just leaving," John mumbled, sounding fed-up. "I told her you're closing soon but… Well…" He leaned toward his wife again, but she bristled and let out a huff.

"Leave me alone!" Sue barked, thwacking her cane on the floor and glaring daggers up at him. "I'll get up on my own — you keep your grubby paws off'a me!"

Maggie stifled a snort as John clapped a hand over his mouth and turned away to stare up at the ceiling, muttering "Lord, give me strength." She watched Sue grab the handle of her cane with both arthritic hands and shakily try to pull herself up.

"The problem is you pushed my damn chair in too far," she snapped. "What are you trying to do, kill me?"

"No, Sue, I am not trying to kill you. Now, will you please just—"

"Eh, shut it." There was a horrible, ear-piercing screech as she forcefully scooted her chair back about half a foot.

"Aw, hell, Sue," John groaned, but his wife was cackling victoriously as she finally hoisted herself up.

"See? Told you I could do it my damn self." She stuck her tongue out at her husband and he rolled his eyes.

"Maggie, I'm sorry. I'll pay—"

"Oh, you hush now," she scoffed. "Them floors been through hell an' back anyhow. Ain't nothing to fret over."

"I'm always saying he worries too much. Gonna give him wrinkles." She laughed wheezily at her own joke as she slowly made her way around the table to give Maggie a firm pat on the arm. "That was some good tea, Maggie, thank you."

"I'm happy to hear it, Sue. Now, you make sure that husband of yours is careful out there, ya hear? It's been mistin' and that walk is sure to be slippy."

"You hear that, Johnny-boy?" She hollered over her shoulder. "Try not to bust your ass out there."

John sighed heavily and offered an apologetic grimace. "See you later, Maggie."

Chuckling, she followed them to the door and called, "Goodnight, you two!"

Pulling the door shut, she glanced at the clock; it was only five 'til close, so she flipped the sign around and grabbed the remaining glasses from the table before moving back behind the counter. Emptying the glasses, she placed them in the dishwasher and started it. "How's the sweepin' coming along, kiddo?"

"Uh, a-almost done," Nathaniel muttered. "Do you want me to mop today too, or—"

"Eh, don't bother. I'dunno about you, but I'm beat. I'd like to get outta here sooner rather'n later." She wiped down the counters, then pulled up her stool and set to work counting the till.

A few minutes into counting, footsteps sounded behind her and, at first, she assumed it was just Nathaniel — but she quickly realized they were much too heavy to be his. She glanced up, did a double-take, and clapped a hand full of bills to her chest. "Jesus, Mary, n' Joseph! What the hell are you doing?"

Clad in an awfully goofy ski mask and gloves, the man canted his head and said in a shockingly deep voice, "What does it look like I'm doing?"

Taking a deep breath, Maggie mimicked his movement and snorted. "It looks like you're making a damn fool of yourself, son. You think I don't recognise you?" She shook her head and looked to her right to find Nathaniel standing stock-still on the other side of the counter, where customers generally wait for their orders. "This is your friend from earlier, ain't it? The man that was hangin' around all day?"

"My f-f… no, I- uh…"

"Uh huh…" Maggie sighed and turned to stuff the cash back into the register. "Sorry baby, but you're gonna need to go rob someone el—"

At once she was being shoved and she let out a shout of surprise, but she had somehow managed to cram the money in and slam the register shut, letting out a triumphant, "hah!"

The man snarled in frustration and grabbed at her with both hands, wrenching her out of the way. Her hip cracked audibly and white-hot pain bloomed across her whole right side; she felt a hand on her back and staggered forward, her body folding at the waist, and an even worse pain shot like lightning across her forehead. Maggie's body instinctively lurched to the side, away from the counter, and the wind was promptly knocked out of her as she landed flat on her back.

Warm wetness oozed down her brow as she lay there, blinking up at the ceiling in confusion. She was aware she'd fallen, but the sudden shift in perspective was still disorienting.

"Oh my god, oh my god, w-w-what did you do?!" She vaguely registered Nathaniel's panicked whisper-shouting, and the wholly arbitrary thought crossed her mind that this might be the loudest she'd ever heard him speak.

"Calm down. How do I open this damn thing?"

"Th-The keys. Right over there."

The man with the deep voice suddenly laughed and Maggie could hear a jingling sound. "Sweet."

"No, stop! Look what you did to her! Sh-sh-she's—"

Maggie groaned, trying to reach up and suss out the damage, but her arm wouldn't cooperate and she heard Nathaniel shout, "Oh my god! Oh my god, Peter, she's still alive. You gotta get out of here!"

A few moments of silence passed before he spoke again. "Wait! No!" He sounded like he was on the verge of tears. "Oh god, no, please don't!"

"Ah," Peter mumbled, "that'll do."

Footsteps.

"NO!" He was screaming at the top of his voice, now.

"You should really quiet down."

"It wasn't supposed to happen like this!" Nathaniel was hysterical; he'd lowered his voice, but he must surely be a snot-covered wreck at the moment.

Maggie wondered what on earth was causing him to pitch such a fit, when the footsteps halted directly beside her head. She groaned through a wave of nausea and tried to grab at him but there was a sudden, horrific scraping sound, followed by a loud snap that reminded her vaguely of distant gunfire.

"I mean, she knows you're involved, Nate."

"No, no, no—"

"Only thing I can think of to fix this."

"No, PLEASE—"

…

Nathaniel's admonitions were cut short as Peter yanked one last time on the espresso machine and let it come down with as much force as he could manage. Peter staggered back just as the machine hit its target with a sickening, crunching thud; he then sidestepped out of the way and it wobbled a bit before thunking to a halt against the linoleum.

"Oh my god oh my god oh my—"

"Dude," he snapped, yanking the mask off of his face and glowering over at him, "shut the fuck up!"

He looked up at his so-called friend, feeling as if he were seeing him for the first time. "Wh-Why would you—"

Peter rolled his eyes. "She knew you were in on it, buddy. What was I supposed to do? Besides, she already cracked her head… Maybe the dumbfuck police will think she pulled it down on herself." He laughed then and a wave of nausea hit Nathaniel so hard he had to turn and rest his clammy hands on his knees, taking in several slow, shallow breaths.

"Oh come oooon," Peter mumbled annoyedly. "That fucking machine must weigh over a hundred pounds; I'm sure she didn't feel a thing, you goddamn baby."

Nathaniel choked on a bit of bile that threatened to escape and he could hear Peter laughing again.

"Jesus christ, man, who even gives a shit? She was old as dirt, anyway. Way I see it, I did you and that fine ass barista a favour. Speaking of, what was her name again? I'd sure like to find her and shove her head—"

"Shut up, just shut up!" Nathaniel shrieked, turning back in disgust to watch Peter empty the contents of the register. "Are you happy with your couple hundred dollars, you jackass? Will that cover your next hit?"

"How about you quit crying like a little bitch and let me count?" After a moment, he scoffed and muttered something about it being a pittance as he stuffed it all in his pockets. "…They got a safe anywhere around here?"

"I don't know."

Peter suddenly hopped over the counter and was in his face in a few quick strides. "Hey," he snarled, grabbing fistfuls of his shirt and giving him a short, violent shake, "do I need to worry about you ratting me out?"

"Wha- no!" Nathaniel spluttered, his stomach plummeting to his toes.

A long, uncomfortable silence stretched between them, before Peter finally let out a boisterous laugh and released him with a shove that made him nearly lose his balance. "I'm just fucking with you, buddy! I go down, you go down with me. We both know you won't do anything. Man, you should see your face… you're scared shitless, aren't you?" When Nathanial didn't respond, he wrapped a viselike arm around his shoulders and shunted him toward the exit.

"C'mon, let's get outta here before you puke and leave incriminating evidence."