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When Molly and Walter felt safe enough to leave her father's house and move back to their little cabin, Molly noticed they had a couple new neighbors.
One was a younger woman, probably in her mid-twenties, almost thirty. Molly had introduced herself, discovering the girl was soft-spoken, but with a careworn smile that Molly quickly related to. Her name was Camille and she lived alone.
However, she knew their other neighbor. A man by the name of Duncan.
Duncan was an older man. A retired man, he claimed to be. A thick, dark mustache and an eyepatch. Walter had mumbled out after their first meeting that he looked like a reject from Pirates of the Caribbean.
Molly had shut that down quickly, telling him to treat their neighbor with respect. They had no idea why he had that, but it was more than likely sensitive.
She'd asked Camille, who went through the politeness of introducing her and Walter to Duncan, how her and Duncan knew each other.
She'd seen the look of hesitation on both their faces. Then, Camille answered, a bit too quick, “He's an old family friend. My family…aren't around anymore.”
“And I don't have family,” Duncan had replied, his voice gruff, but not angry.
Molly had apologized for both their losses, explaining she and Walter were on their own, besides her own father, who lived over a state away.
Frankly, Molly was glad to have neighbors. The properties had both been sitting there, gathering dust when her and Will had originally moved in. They'd been all alone and…well. It certainly hadn't helped matters when things got ugly.
She brought over food to both of them as a month passed. Little treats, a casserole, even extra burgers she'd whipped up herself.
The gratitude on both their respective faces made the effort entirely worth it.
In response, Camille offered Molly extra help around her house. Cleaning off icicles, shoveling their driveway, etc. Molly had done her best to tell her there was no need to repay her, but Camille had insisted.
And as for Duncan, along with offering similar services like Camille, had taken to visiting her on occasion.
***
Molly dusted off the shelf at the front window, her eyes drifting outside. It was supposed to be a blizzard. She was grateful Walter wasn't here tonight. He'd gone to a friend's house closer to the city after Molly had confirmed with the other boy's mother he could stay the weekend.
She slipped the duster back into its place, reviewing everything in her head. It was about six o’clock in the evening now and night had almost fallen.
As she leaned down to check over the fire, a knock came at her front door. She paused, but from the front window, she could already see a familiar dark coat. Her shoulders settled, stepping over to the door.
She opened it, smiling at her neighbor. “Evening, Duncan.”
”Good evening,” the man said quietly.
Molly watched him curiously, her eyes briefly glancing up and down at the man, awaiting the reason for his arrival. Instead, he just stood there, looking around her cabin casually.
”…did you need something?” Molly prompted.
Duncan, as if remembering himself, cleared his throat and shuffled his feet. “I brought you firewood. For the blizzard. It’s on your pile. I thought it better to tell you.”
Molly's smile grew. “Oh, thank you, Duncan. You didn’t have to do that.”
”I thought it would…help.” Duncan wasn’t quite looking at her eyes, staring anywhere but at her face. She’d learned that Duncan could be a bit awkward, but he had a good sense of humor once you got a little comfortable with him.
”I’m sure it will, thank you,” Molly replied. Then, she stepped to the side. “Would you like to come inside and warm up? I just got the fire going.”
“I didn’t mean to intrude.”
“You’re not,” Molly reassured him. “I’d like the company. Walter’s at a friend’s house tonight.”
Duncan gave a nod of understanding. “Camille isn’t here, either. Errands.”
“In a blizzard?”
Duncan shook his head. “She left yesterday. Going down South. She’ll be back by Tuesday.” He took a few steps inside. “Are you sure you don’t mind?”
”Of course I don’t,” Molly said, shutting the door. “I’ll make you some tea. Or maybe coffee?” She padded into the kitchen. “Or maybe hot chocolate or cocoa?”
”…cocoa sounds nice,” Duncan replied, removing his snow-covered coat and hanging it on the nearby rack.
”Cocoa it is,” Molly agreed, deciding to pour both of them one. As she fixed it up, she said, “I’m glad you came over. Like I said, I’m by myself tonight.”
”You don’t like being alone?” Duncan asked as he bent down to unlace his boots.
”I didn’t use to mind it.” Molly glanced out the window, seeing the darkness and the flakes of snow. “It’s become tougher. Recently.”
She heard Duncan step over the floorboards before settling down on the couch in the living room. Her hands continued their work in a practiced motion. “Honestly, I was nervous about sending Walter off like that tonight. But he’s in a safer part of town and…” She shrugged to herself. “It’s just better.”
She picked up their mugs, stepping over to her guest. She took her seat beside Duncan, handing him his cup of cocoa.
“Thank you,” Duncan replied. He took a small sip, then another bigger one. He let out a soft noise. “That’s good.”
She smiled softly at him. “Wally helped me perfect it. Around this time of year, I love to make it. And then have it last all the way ‘til Spring.” Molly gazed out the window, seeing the autumn wind shaking the trees just outside. “It’s a little nerve wracking to have snow like this. It’s too early. But the weather forecasters have been talking about it all week.”
Duncan took another sip of his cocoa. “Why is it better to have Walter not here tonight?”
Molly blinked in surprise at his sudden question. He looked back up at her then cleared his throat again. “Sorry. I didn’t mean—“
”No, no, I’m the one who brought it up,” Molly replied. She held her cocoa, the warmth between her palms calming her. “It’s…a long story. Well, short, in some ways.”
”You don’t have to tell me. I won’t be offended.”
Molly looked back at him, smiling at the genuine tone. “It’s better for me to talk about it.” She inhaled and exhaled. “I told you before that Walter’s father passed away, right?”
Duncan nodded.
”Well, a couple years after, I got re-married. To a man named Will. And Will had…baggage.”
Duncan paused, mid-sip, looking at her curiously. “Drugs?”
Molly gave a soft laugh. “No, not that. It was…” She let out a breath through her teeth. “He was a serial killer profiler.”
Duncan’s remaining eye blinked at her, stunned.
She laughed again. “Yeah. That was my reaction. But he’d quit when I'd met him. He was cute, compassionate, and…I wanted a father for my boy.” She gazed into the fire, her mind wandering through memories like the wind cutting through brick. “Eventually, he was dragged back into it. And so much came with that.”
With another sip, Duncan replied, “Did you get hurt?”
”Which way?” Molly said, her smile now sad.
”Either.”
”…yes.”
The two sat there, allowing the silence to sing its own song. The fire crackled and Molly could see the barest of flakes begin to hit the windows.
Finally, Molly continued, “His case became personal. In many ways. And I was shot. Attacked here.”
Duncan peered at her for confirmation. “Right here?”
She nodded. “In the dead of night. I managed to keep Wally as safe as I could. But a man was killed in the process. And the killer…he wanted us dead.” Her gaze shifted to the rapidly falling snow. “...worse than dead.”
“And you still came back?” Duncan replied, his voice still as soft-spoken as ever.
“I didn’t want to move us again,” Molly said. “And trying to move would have been extra stress. And I didn't want to take up space in my dad's house forever–” She paused, clicking her jaw. “...I didn’t want to run away. I wanted to face it. And I’m glad that I did, but…it’s still tough, I guess.”
She lightly tapped her nail against her cup before taking her sip from it.
“...you're a very brave woman, Molly.”
Molly turned to gaze at Duncan, the other staring into his cocoa cup. “You don't have to say that. But I appreciate it, anyways.”
“It's important to say. It's the truth.” Duncan's remaining eye shifts up to meet Molly's gaze. “I see how you are. With your son. And how you are with everyone in town. You have a better attitude than most would in your position.”
A soft laugh fell from Molly. “Yeah, well…I could either sob my eyes out everyday…go numb and not feel anything…or try to make the best of everything.” She inhaled slowly before letting out a puff of air. “Sometimes the only way I can enjoy the best life has to offer–”
“--is to ignore the worst of it,” Duncan mumbled beside her.
Her eyes found his gaze, feeling a stray tear slip from her. She wiped it away, sniffling a little. “You get it,” she replied with a small smile.
Duncan nodded quietly.
“...you've had some hard stuff happen to you, too, huh?”
Duncan peered up, seeing Molly gazing at him. “Hm?”
“Sorry, am I prying? I don't mean to–”
With a shake of his head, Duncan interrupted her. “No. It's fine.” He quirked his eyebrow. “Youre right. I've had…hard stuff happen to me.”
Molly made a noise of soft amusement. “It's put lightly when it's phrased like that, isn't it?”
Duncan's mouth curved up just a smidge. “...I was in a dangerous line of work for many years.”
Molly held her cup tighter.
“...I'm retired now. But…” Duncan heaved a silent sigh. “...I still have nightmares.”
“Yep,” Molly whispered with a nod. “Yeah. Those are the worst.”
Duncan lifted his gaze back to her. “Do you dream about that night?”
She nodded. “More than I ever tell anyone…sometimes I wake up and I'm sweating bullets. I'm so sure someone is in the room. One time it was Wally. He'd had a nightmare and I almost screamed when he was standing over me.”
Duncan's mustache curled up, his gaze melancholy. “Yep.”
“...is it only the nightmares?” she asked after a beat.
With another exhale, Duncan shook his head. “...sometimes my body hurts. I’ve gotten good at ignoring it, but the older I get…”
The man sipped more of his cocoa. Molly could sense he’d never really talked about this with anyone before. His posture was stiff, his gaze looking anywhere but her. Or maybe it was just shame.
“Do you have scars?” she asked gently.
Duncan nodded.
“I have one scar. From when I was shot.” Molly gazed at him. “It’s healed over well. But I still think it’s ugly.”
The man quirked a small smile at her. “Your scars indicate your survival.”
“And yours don’t?” Molly said, shifting closer to him on the couch.
“They indicate…what I’ve done.” Duncan let out a slow sigh, staring at the nearby fire. “...when others have seen them…” His gaze fell back down to his mug. “Sometimes I’m glad they don’t ask and other times…there’s a part of me that wants to tell them.”
Molly watched his single eye, seeing the barest hint of the fire reflecting off it. “Well,” she said softly, “If you ever want to share, I’d be glad to.”
Duncan smiled sadly, not looking at her. “Your compassion is something to be admired.”
“It’s not entirely compassion.”
The man drew his gaze to her cautiously. His eye focused on hers, trying to determine the truth of her words.
“I don’t know if I’m looking for anything at this point,” Molly said bluntly. “But I also know I don’t want to just shut myself away.”
Her hand reached over, her fingers loosely curling around Duncan’s wrist.
“This isn’t a come on, but it’s also not-not that,” she said with a breathy chuckle. “...my last husband hid his life from me. Always saying it was all in the past and it didn’t matter. But it did. And it eventually pulled him so far away from me.”
Duncan gazed at her, his attention focused.
“...even if we only remain neighbors…the friends I feel we are…I’d like to know you, Duncan.” She smiled gently, giving his wrist a squeeze. “Even if it’s just to…” She paused, trying to find the right words.
“Share in something that’s just for us?” Duncan suggested.
Molly nodded, her eyes slipping shut. “Yeah.”
A long moment passed. The crackle of the fire and the wind from outside being the only prevalent sounds.
Molly made to pull her hand away, but Duncan gently took it back, holding her hand in his.
“Okay.”
***
“...this one looks like it was deep.”
“That was in Bulgaria. It was early. A trap.”
“...the one over here looks like a bullet wound.”
“London. The rain made it hard to see. I didn’t prepare.”
“..and this?”
Duncan averted his gaze. “As I said…some I don’t recall.” His brow furrowed. “It should be considered alarming how many I don’t remember receiving…isn’t it?”
Molly moved a hand to stroke his cheek, pausing when his gaze returned to hers sharply. But then, he relaxed, allowing her hand to brush at his skin.
“I don’t mean to–” he started.
“You haven’t done anything,” she reassured him, still stroking his cheek, her thumb ruffling the edge of his mustache. “If you want this to stop–”
Duncan shook his head. “No…it’s okay.”
He laid his chin back down on the pillow as Molly’s hands lightly trailed up his back.
He was lying in her bedroom, stomach down, his coat and shirt left on the edge of the bed. Any moment now, his body was prepared to run. A voice in his head, warning him to be wary of who he trusted. His vulnerable position.
But he knew it was okay. He’d done research on Molly once he discovered they were neighbors. She had a clean record. A fairly normal, civilian life.
And he knew about Will Graham.
The story of Dr. Hannibal Lecter wasn’t one he found particularly interesting, but he’d wanted to know if Will or the doctor would make a surprise visit back. Be it to slaughter Molly and her son. Or to take down anyone else who got in their way.
But the chance seemed slim. Some thought they were dead at the bottom of the ocean. And some theorized they were in a different country by now.
Regardless, even if they were to come, Duncan wouldn’t hesitate to kill them. Not if it meant protecting Molly. Or even Camille.
He let out a slow exhale, feeling her soft nails slip along his shoulder. They weren’t professionally done nails; they were ones she’d done herself. A rose color.
“...Molly?” Duncan spoke up.
“Yeah?” she replied.
He paused before speaking again. Then, he forced his jaw to work.
“I have longed for connection,” he said quietly. “It took me years to accept that fact. How much I longed for it.”
Molly’s hand stayed still on his back.
“But my job made it impossible. I couldn’t be a husband or a father or anything–not with what I did.” His mouth clenched shut for a moment. “...I assume you’ve figured out by now that Camille and I have an unorthodox relationship?”
Her nails curled against his skin. “I would never want to pry.”
Duncan believed her. “...she was connected to my old job. And she suffered more than any girl her age should have ever suffered.”
Molly didn’t move, her hand still on his back.
“I tried to make it right–the only way I could. From a distance. And then she found me. She intended to get revenge, but…”
His words trailed off. Molly’s nails scratched gently against his skin.
“She forgave you?”
Duncan scoffed lightly. “I don’t think that’s the right term.”
“...she accepted you?”
“Getting warmer.”
Molly shifted over, sitting closer to Duncan’s head so that he could see her. He lifted his eye to her gaze, her profile illuminated by the lamplight.
“...I already know what it’s like for one person to exist as many things at once,” she said. “Bad and good. Dangerous and gentle.”
Her hand reached out, tenderly brushing one of his locks of grey hair to the side.
“I know you’re a complicated man, Duncan. I only want to know one thing.”
Duncan gazed at her, patient yet tense.
“Will me or my son be in any danger from what you’ve done?”
Duncan swallowed. “No.”
He felt confident in that answer. There was always a small percent. But it was the same percent as either of them choking to death while eating breakfast.
She inhaled before letting it out in a hard puff. Then, she nodded. “Okay.”
With a squint of his eye, Duncan moved a hand to hold hers. She accepted it.
“We don’t have to decide anything right now,” Duncan said. “We can just be here. In each other’s company.”
Molly nodded, managing a smile. “Yeah.”
Outside, the snow continued to fall. The wind even bellowed its low howl. This moment, at least for now, was frozen in time.
Just for them.