a complex emotional creature.

Kacey Rohl as Stacy Lawford in Motive, 3x9

Abigail glances down and notices what Will said was indeed true. She just barely registers the furry tail weakly wagging beneath her, hears Harold’s soft whine of complaint. Letting out a delirious half-formed apology (for both Harold and Will), she shifts slightly so as to no longer be sitting on his tail.

Her mind was partly clouded—an intoxicated mask cloaking her immediate senses, sure to give her a hangover in the morning.

At Will’s next words, she glances at the bed encased it was in soft looking pillows and blankets, by the fire. She thought it looked a better bed than the one in the psychiatric facility, wouldn’t give her such horrific nightmares. There is relief also, upon hearing about the water and aspirin; that would surely lessen the severity of the hangover.

It was now a little easier to speak to him, she had slowly started to build some form of trust towards him. He had told her that she could learn to live with the voices—the voices of her father—had supported and understood her in his own way, last she was here. She wasn’t ready to divulge everything to him yet, but it was a start, nonetheless.

“…Thanks.”

And she is relieved that her words are more properly formed this time, sounds legible to her. Hopefully, it would sound the same to Will, and not some indecipherable, incoherent nonsense.

The stranger tells Abigail to breathe, and  she attempts to slow it down to regular pace with great difficulty. She sucks in deep breaths, her cheeks puffing in and out with strenuous effort, as she indulges in the lukewarm air swirling around her.  

She had witnessed Marissa’s body grotesquely gutted. Large antlers ( that she and her father had carefully pulled off deer; waste not, or it’s just murder - he oft commented ) had punctured and weaved through Marissa’s pale limbs to concoct a horrific image. Like she was mounted upon, a twisted taunt of a trophy.

Her friend who believed in her and didn’t judge her for her father’s actions, was now dead, killed by Nick Boyle as retribution, she determined.

he could practically see the wheels turning in her head. She looked to be at a crossroads and he really didn’t want to make it worse for her. He didn’t wanna impose himself. She looked like she’d been through hell fire and he knew what kind of damage that sort of fire did to a person.

Sometimes it felt like he was still burning.

But finally she answered and she chose the positive answer, gave him an excuse to go around saving her from this dark Mexico night. It seemed he was always trying to be in the business of saving people. Maybe that was his problem sometimes.

‘It’s a warehouse of sorts…and I hope you don’t mind sharing because I’m staying with someone.”

Abigail briefly wondered why the man would be staying in a warehouse for a home. 

It was then remembered her father used to be a construction worker (until three years ago) whom sometimes went to warehouses for supplies for various reasons. One of them included purchasing supplies for preserving the deer they took down. This recalled memory sparked off another unspoken question in her mind, on whether the warehouse was for this man’s job.

“No, I don’t mind…who’re you staying with?”

There was the dominant issue of avoiding underlying prying questions as to why she was in Mexico, deviously designed to delve more into her past, the longer she stayed with them. This issue (surfacing to her mind just now) perturbed her a little, but then she thought: I can hide what happened to me. I can. She had practised with attempting to nullify suspicion towards her, before.

He nods because they were very close to the border, not even an hour. He could taste the states but they weren’t quite that near yet. He wondered what a girl like her was doing out here where dreams sometimes died-

Something to be asked a little later on.

Ten dollars could get her quite a bit, if he could find one of those places around here that didn’t mind the lack of conversion.

He waved it off. She could keep the bills for a rainy day. he had a place for her - albeit somewhat dangerous. Santanico wouldn’t be back for a while and he had learned to control his thirst.

“Don’t worry about it. Look, I probably creeped you out like hell so I’ll do you a favor. A place to sleep and eat free of charge. Think you can hang some relief on that?”

So, it seemed he’d picked up on her body language. Was it truly that obvious?

Abigail paused, mulling over his offer. On one hand, it sounded tempting, as she had no idea where she would go when she overstayed her welcome at the motel. The measly amount of money on her person certainly wouldn’t last her for a lifetime, that was for sure.

And it wasn’t like she could go back to Hannibal, she had no desire to. She recalls on how Hannibal had promised that Will would someday join them, the missing piece of their family…,but she couldn’t continue living under this constant fear and imprisonment.

On the other hand, this man was a stranger, she didn’t know him at all.

Suspicion and doubt still shrouds her, but she eventually concluded that the good outweighed the bad.