Everyone thought I was having an affair two years ago. In a way I was.
I took Miriam Lass up to my private hide-away in the cliffs. Night after night, I spent with her, speaking with her, coaxing her to yield her secrets.
She didn’t give them away easily. She shut down, retreated inside herself, much as Will Graham did when I first met him.
I made her setting as comfortable as possible. I played chamber music for her. When she was ready, I gave her privacy, allowing her to change into the night gowns, dresses, loose shirts and pants I’d bought for her.
Alana Bloom gave me knowing looks and a sad little smile when I bought the clothes for the ‘mystery woman’ in my life. Ah, if only you knew, Alana. Only I kept Miriam Lass’s suit. She could put it back on as often as she wished.
I convinced her she wasn’t Miriam Lass, F.B.I. agent in training. That was someone she’d made up, an ideal she’d hoped to become. She was still young. She was still figuring out who she was.
Every once in a while she’d remember herself. She’d cry for Jack, beg for forgiveness. She started talking to someone else, another trainee named Clarice. She’d ask that trainee questions about an apartment, notes, an assignment. She’d ask if she thought she should go through the records of those surgical skills even she didn’t have a warrant.
Ah, perhaps it had been this Clarice who suggested Miriam come looking for me, not Jack Crawford. I half expected this other trainee to come pounding on my door, given how often Miriam mentioned her.
Only it had been Jack Crawford who’d come to my door, not Clarice. He’d come and offered me another agent freely, inviting me into his head.
The irony was pure comedy, not that Jack would see it that way. I’d been slowly breaking down Miriam’s barriers, ready to create a new person, one who might commit crimes as I’d done, taking the Ripper investigation in a new direction.
Only I’d been completely distracted from those plans during my sessions with Will Graham. I listened, admiring this vulnerable young teacher silently as one would admire a work of art. Ah, the male figure when a man is as beautiful as Will Graham draws the eye to admire every angle and line. All the baggy jeans in the world couldn’t hide that beauty.
Do you desire him sexually? I desire him completely; heart, mind, body, yet there is nourishment in simply watching him, listening to the butterscotch rasp of his voice. Quite the gift Jack Crawford has given me. I really ought to return Miriam Lass to him. I worked so hard on my plans for her, worked so hard on her. It seemed a shame to abandon her, yet Will Graham was so ripe, so inviting, so seductive, and perhaps would be far more willing.
Plans changed. It was usually interesting when they did.