Chapter Text
Will threw the stick as far as he could manage. 4 dogs whipped past him in hot pursuit, the other 3 stayed faithfully at his side. Autumn in Wolf Trap was slow and brisk, the chill would fall before the leaves and decay was tame if stunted. He liked it. The season here was as un-rushed as the place itself. Nature took its sweet time shedding its foliage, transforming into the darker months akin to slipping into a well-worn jacket, or more adeptly, a second skin. The sound of paws crunching across frosted grass brought him back. Zoe was the first to tumble into his leg, her solid under-bite smashing into his femur. She shook her head, gazed up at him lovingly, and stood back to wag her tail.
She was empty handed, as always. Her little jaw wasn’t much good at ferrying sticks, but she’d snap her teeth in a fruitless effort ‘to help’. Harley had the prized stick. It lumbered in his mouth as his drool leaked out either side. Will took it with some persuasion and then let it go further this time. Again, 4 ran off whilst 3 stayed behind. Winston took to treating Will like a doddering old man, ever alert and aware that his delicate owner may end up on a highway or a roof if left unattended. He sat sniffing the ground at Will’s feet. His nose was wet with frost as little clouds of mist accompanied his heavy nasal breathes.
The other two milled around as they pleased. Buster took a brisk morning whiff of Jack’s behind. Will shook his head and wondered what Buster thought to smell that he hadn’t smelt the 200 other times he’d done it. Dogs were such keen creatures of habit; loyal and comforting, filling a special place in one’s life. He chuckled thinking what it said about him that he had 7. If he had neighbors, they’d call him the crazy dog man – not that he would do much to correct it. There was a certain power to whistling for a pack to come rolling thunderously on. Not that all his strays were threatening. Zoe could summon a good high-pitched growl – when she wasn’t shaking with anger like she needed a piss, like most small dogs do.
The morning was pleasant - the pack tumbled about each other with a familial ease as Will ambled slightly behind. He scratched his stubble whilst thinking of what to eat when they got back inside. He left the house in the early hours without looking back at the kitchen, but the squeeze of his stomach and the slight gurgle that accompanied it was uncomfortable. The smell of fresh cooked protein scramble ghosted the air. It was such a small gesture. He told himself to think nothing of it. However, the dense pleasure of being 'cared for' caused a sudden shiver to shoot down his spine. The saliva in his mouth began to pool and he swallowed hard to distract himself from the image of deep brown eyes watching his lips. He shuffled his weight from one foot to the next and turned back to the house just in time to catch sight of an approaching figure.
In the distance, Will could make out the outline of a person. Very disconcerting, considering they were walking on his land. The form appeared from the light mist; a man, well dressed in an ill portioned suit, hair over slicked and beard trimmed. He was the rotund sort, lifting his legs comically high to deal with the wet grass and the problem of his soon to be ruined trousers. He seemed vaguely familiar. His walk became a slight jog, his pale cheeks offset by the vague blush of being out of breath. His forward march stopped when Buster let out a deep growl.
“Buster,” Will beckoned the dog closer with an outstretched palm. He obeyed and planted himself at Will’s feet like a true guard dog. “Excuse me, this is private property. Not a park.”
“Y..yes, I’m sorry. I’m looking for my dog.”
Will peered forward to get a better look. He wouldn’t put it past a killer to play this rouse, and he’d pissed off enough of them to know they’d try it. A quick glance to his guest gave him a few preliminary insights: he was nervous, ringing his hands like they'd never be clean again; he was out of his element, the high end cut of his clothes falling slack in the press of the mist; and he was completely determined, the fiery lilt of his eyes fixed firmly on Will's face.
“Why were you walking your dog on private land?”
“Oh no, I was just walking him down the main road, you see. Got off his leash and I heard your dogs, so I thought…” at this the man took a handkerchief from his top pocket and dabbed his brow. Will noted it looked very similar to one Hannibal once had. The whole suit looked familiar. His pale blue shirt was stretched thin over his belly and it matched somewhat with his casual, suede jacket. He couldn't tell if he was dabbing away the fine spray of the mist or the beginnings of a nervous sweat. Either way, the errant black curls of the man's hair were stuck to his forehead. He tried to smile weakly when he noticed Will starring intently at his movements rather than his face.
“This whole field is my property and my driveaway is about a mile from any main road. Even then, you expect me to believe you walk your dog along a highway?”
“No, no, it’s nothing sinister. I was letting him stretch his legs, we’ve been driving…” the man stuttered and waved the hand with his handkerchief in the air theatrically.
“And you heard my dogs all the way from the road?”
“Well,” the man lifted his hand to his nose to blow. Then, he looked anxiously around at Will’s pack. “I saw your house first and thought you might help me. There’s no one around here.”
“It’s Wolf Trap, Virginia. The arse end of nowhere. Where were you heading to?” Will settled for eyeing the man up and down whilst lowering his hand to reach for Winston. A wave of empathetic thought hit him suddenly. Two familiar black leather chairs pushed farther apart than normal. A chasm of sorts; too far, too wide to cross. A deep need to be known. To be seen.
In the silence that grew Will saw the man shuffle backwards on his heels slightly. His lie, and an obvious lie at that, had not been so carefully constructed for even the slightest bit of criticism. The pack of all 7 dogs were stood around Will. They looked like a small army. Of course, Zoe took the lead, snapping her little jaws every so often just to make a point. Winston stuck to Will’s immediate left, brushing his legs. The other’s spread themselves out, Jack slowly creeping behind the mystery guest for good measure.
“This is ridiculous, I’m just here for my lost dog,” the man’s movements became large, his arms swinging out in a full gesture. He laughed nervously.
“So, where’s the lead?” Will asked.
“The what?”
“The lead. For your lost dog?”
They locked eyes for a moment; the lie now completely see through and Will could sense in the man’s eyes that panic was setting in. They darted from Will to the dogs, from Winston to Buster, then back to Will. What to do, what to do.
“I must have left it in the car,” he made a move to pat himself furiously, as though he’d find a lead buried in his pocket.
“What’s your dog’s name?”
“Huh?” he looked up from his excited patting to give a vacant look.
“Your dog. It has a name, yes?” Will slowed each syllable and almost punctuated every word.
“Yes, yes, of course. Rover.”
Will held his need to be sarcastic. Why hadn’t this mess just rocked up with a push chair and claimed he lost a baby named ‘baby’. It would have been more believable. The more they spoke the more this guest's body seemed to contort in on itself, not unlike some overblown balloon animal. His fingers, once occupied in a gentle twiddling, were pulling and pinching at bits of his jacket that were sticking to his mist slick skin. He bumbled, twitching his head to look at each dog in turn and coo words of praise before quickly swivelling to the next to gesture them away with his hands.
“Okay, I’ll walk you back to your car and we’ll call for your dog, but don’t hold out hope. You’re over a mile from where you said you lost him. Where are you parked, Mr….?"
“Mr Banks,” the man’s curly black hair flopped forward with damp.
Will held his tongue again. He was in law enforcement long enough to know when someone was likely giving him a false name. In his head he knew this was a laughable attempt at disguise if ‘Mr Banks’ was anyone important. He didn’t appear to be armed or, for that matter, dangerous in the slightest. He just stood there, a dumb anxious smile spread on his round face as he rocked from one foot to the other.
“Well, Mr Banks,” he let the words roll from his tongue dripped in disbelief. “Let me show you the way off my land and back to your car.”
“Yes, lead the way.”
Will took the lead with his dogs, sparring only glances to make sure his uninvited guest was following. The man’s step was still fumbling on the frosted grass, he walked haphazardly trying to avoid mud and dogs but never looking up to watch his path. He stumbled in a few places, but Will hurried on. He knew he recognized the man. An itch in the back of brain told him that somewhere he recognized the form. ‘Mr Banks’, as he insisted was his name, cut an all too familiar frame. The hunched, anxious shoulders connected to tightly compacted arms and fiddling hands. The round face, half covered in thick beard, hiding a large mouth with a nervous smile. Everything about him was nervous, wound tightly, like a spring ready to launch. At any moment he seemed to have a thought that threatened to burst through his eager but repressed, twitching fingers.
“So, you live here alone?” a voice cut through Will’s thoughts. Mr Banks was starring holes into the back of his head.
“Yeah.”
“Big place for one man. No Kids? No Wife...?” his breathe held a moment. “No husband?”
Will turned to look at him momentarily. He didn’t like that pause before husband. “No.”
“Yeah, yeah. Me too. Kind of a lone wolf myself these days. Always wanted a big piece of land for solitude, get back out into nature. Maybe get some dogs of my own.” He bent to pet Zoe only to leer back away from her imminent snap at his fingers. “Know of anything for sale in the area?”
“No," Will said. It was less about not wanting this stranger for a neighbour and more to the point that he didn't make a habit of checking houses in the area. He already had his house, why would he check on others? Unless someone was going to try and build a whole new residential area on his front porch he wasn't bothered.
A few more moments silence.
“I was travelling through to see a relative. Might not make it there tonight though. Any local hotels you’d recommend?”
“Not for miles around here. I told you, it’s the arse end of Virginia. Head South towards the National Park. There’s plenty of tourist stuff there.”
“Yeah, I’ve heard of Wolf Trap National Park for the arts. Open air Theatre and Opera. Really got the hub of culture going on.”
“I don’t care for opera.”
“How odd…”
At that, Will turned around to face his intruder. They’d reached the house and he was keen to see the back of him, but something about him was still familiar. Again, a sudden emotional wave pulled him under. A tall, dark figure sculpted in harsh stone. Illicit prayers in the night to an unmoved deity. They answer nothing. They give nothing.
“Why is it weird?” Will asked.
“Oh, no reason. I thought you might be a little more cultured because…”
“Because…?” Will clutches his stomach when he can't tell the difference between his own hunger and the pit of fear sat like lead in his insides. It's not fear of this man, this twitching, bumbling little man. In fact, he grasps his stomach a little tighter and watches how Mr Bank's hand clutches at the same place on his own stomach. It may not be his fear at all.
Mr Banks looked expectedly up at Will’s house, his eyes scrupulous, criticizing every feature under a harsh code. He could feel the disappointment in his gut. This man had come to size up his life, to weigh it against some standard and it was coming up short. Then, it changed from disappointment to confusion. Some unknown question needed to be answered.
“Do you like to cook?” Mr Banks asked.
Will blinked twice at the change in topic. “I can gut a mean trout.”
“Oh,” Mr Banks’ eyes lost some light and looked down. “Do you like wines or cheese?”
“Whiskey is what I like. Cheese I can take or leave,” he said it with a calm shrug of the shoulders. Again, he was met with an odd sense of contempt.
“Do you play any instruments?”
“I can a fix a boat,” Will scratched his chin, fresh stubble itchy from the harsh cold. He wondered how long he could entertain this mini-interrogation.
“Then you must be able to draw,” Mr Banks was positively red in the face, holding his breath like a spoilt child awaiting the answer to his question.
“Why must I? Am I an 18th century protégé? I like to fish.”
It seemed that was the final straw. Mr Banks broke into a fit of nervous laughter, the kind that fills the space of time after an unwelcome truth is revealed. He clung to his lapel, smoothing it with a strong grip whilst spinning aimlessly. His eyes unfocused, both seeing and not seeing the world spin around him.
“Not what I expected. You have nothing in common, nothing.”
“Nothing in common with who?” and that made him stop moving. His face to Will he smiled widely.
“To me. You see I have a great passion for opera, I enjoy touching greatness and music is a hobby of mine.”
“Oh, so you play?”
“Not myself, no. Regrettably, I have no formal training, but I like to encourage the arts. I enjoy being in the presence of those with talent. Don’t you feel the same?”
His bulging eyes now focused solely on Will, it was his turn to be scrutinized now the house was done with. They focused on his figure, looking him up and down greedily.
“I mean, I shouldn’t impose. What a question to ask to a man out in the woods, practically. You seem like a more… down to earth, kind of man.”
Will knew it wasn’t a compliment. “No. We should get you to your car.”
“I’m sure I could walk myself from here. Is there a shop nearby to get clothes? I’ve ruined these trousers. I like the ones you’re wearing, any local recommendations?”
“You’ll need to go to the tourist part of town for variety.”
“No, your look is great!” Mr Banks hands came up to grab Will’s shoulders, but he moved back in time to avoid it. “Where can I get that shirt?”
“J C Penney.”
“Ha, you’re funny. I’m glad we met. I prefer bigger brands, it’s the quality that will last. Maybe I can take you to some real shops sometime, talk more about Wolf Trap. Here, take my card,” and he handed over a smooth white business card. Will smiled.
“Sure, I suppose I’ve got a lot to learn about fashion. Though, just one thing.”
“Yes?”
“Should we invite Hannibal as well, seeing as he is both our therapists, Mr Froideveaux,” Will gave a languid smile as he lifted the business card into the air to show off the beautifully embossed name. Franklyn’s face went lax with the realization and his jaw hung open.
“I’m sure Hannibal would love to join us."