Autumn has borne its tidings to the world, a wind blowing in with a slight chill to it and carrying just a hint of woodsmoke. This is the most beautiful time to be in the woods. The leaves are turning, spiraling down from their lofty perches, landing softly on the trails we tread. The nuts and berries are ripe and plump, happy foraging for the multitude of wildlife that occupies the forest floor. Through the silence comes the soft rhythmic crunch of leaves from someone running the path. Puffs of breath escape from her lips to be chilled on the air. She is heedless to the cold, kept from it by the sweatshirt she wears, and the gloves on her clenched hands. A noise from the brush to her right, and she slows momentarily to glimpse in its direction, finding nothing more intimidating than a small fox. She continues with her run, glancing up at the quickly fading sunlight. An arm held up with the sleeve pulled back to glance at the watch. She shakes her head and increases her pace, passing quickly through the forest. She is a very magnificent woman.

* * * * *

Dr. Emily Christophersen jogged in place as she inserted the key into the backdoor at the old farmhouse that stood at the lake's edge. Warmth greeted her as she pushed the door open and stepped into the kitchen. She eased the door shut and pulled the leather gloves from her fingers, flexing them, encouraging them to move again. As she walked through the house, she stripped off her sweatshirt and the tee shirt underneath, moving only in her sports bra. Slowly, she tromped up the stairs feeling the dull ache in her knees. The winter was coming too soon for her once again. Sitting on the edge of her bed, she removed her running shoes and padded barefoot to the bathroom. She turned on the faucet in the shower, allowing the water to heat as she slid the door shut. Emily removed the last of her clothes and threw them into the hamper before stepping into the warm cascade of water. The heat loosened her body, stiff from the run in the afternoon chill. Fifteen minutes later she emerged, steam rising from her nude body as she reached for her towel. She grabbed a robe from the hook by the door and wrapped it around her. As she padded down the stairs, Emily heard the knob turn in the front door. Her assistant eased in, and smiled up at her.

"Good evening, Emily." he set the bag of groceries down as he closed the door behind him. "I see you finished your run." he said as he carefully hung his coat and hat on the pegs on the left wall and reached back down for the groceries. Emily smiled as she came down the rest of the stairs.

"Good evening, Edward. I thought I told you that you didn't have to come back this evening." she followed the older gentleman into the kitchen. Edward had come to be her assistant at the small psychiatric practice she owned. It had almost been six months ago that he had shown up literally on her doorstep. He was, for all outward appearances, a kind man in his late sixties. She was never good with ages, and he never offered. Emily had come to learn that he had a taste for the finer things in life. He had brought a touch of civility into her life that she had not experienced in years. He never spoke about his past, which suited Emily just fine. She had offered him a room in the house partially in exchange for his services. He had declined, but spent many nights with her none the less. She watched him set the bag on the counter as he beckoned her over to stand beside him.

"Did you have a pleasant run this afternoon Emily?" he asked, withdrawing a bottle of wine from the bag. Emily carefully received the bottle from him and looked at the label.

"Yes. Its getting a might but chilly, but I survived. This is a good year, Edward."

Edward nodded his approval of her comment. "I thought you might like it. It’s a Chilean red from the vineyards of Santa Ema." next he withdrew a carefully wrapped paper package.

"Steaks?" she inquired, setting the wine down in the tile countertop.

He laughed softly. "Nothing so inferior, my dear. Filet Mignon." she smiled and headed for the dining room. She removed two cut crystal wine glasses from her china cabinet her mother had passed down to her. When she returned to the kitchen, she saw that fresh corn on the cob and mushrooms lay on the counter next to the paper wrapped meat. Edward was at the sink, filling a large pot with water and placing the steaming rack inside for the corn to rest on. she set the glasses down on the counter next to him with a soft touch. Emily then picked up an ear and began to shuck it, carefully removing every strand of silk from it. She turned away to retrieve the holders from a drawer and felt Edward's eyes in her.

He was always watching her, watching her reactions and the way she did things. It had bothered her at first, but now it was just another thing he did. Emily often thought that he had a mind to a psychiatrist, often being able to offer treatment to patients when she had run out of options. She could not imagine life without him, now that they had found each other. She inserted the holder into one end of the corn cob, then turned it over to insert the other. Edward was standing silently beside her, waiting patiently for her to hand him the readied corn. Another ear, she again shucked it and carefully removed the silk. She watched as he set them onto the steaming rack and placed a lid on the pot. His smile was soft on his features, lighting his eyes as he looked at her.

"My turn." he told her, the same words uttered every night he made dinner. Emily slipped to the edge of the kitchen, taking a seat on a chair she kept there. The meals preparation had a ritual to it; while Edward went about his preparations, Emily sat at the edge of the scene and sorted her mail. She had just picked up the first envelope and the letter opener when Edward set a glass of wine at her elbow. She smiled up at him as she carefully lifted the glass to her lips, holding the sharp implement out at an angle so as not to cut herself. Emily had never cared for red wines, but this one intrigued her. It was complex, a liquid melody that showered her senses. The surprise showed in her eyes, for Edward smiled back at her.

"I thought you'd like that." he turned away, back to his preparations as Emily replaced the glass on the counter and opened the first letter. The contents surprised her, as the envelope itself had been plain with no distinguishing characteristics. Inside, though, was a letter from a Special Agent at the Federal Bureau of Investigations. She scanned over it quickly, placing the letter opener on the counter and lifting the wine glass. The letter surprised her and she laughed softly as she sipped her wine.

"Something amusing, Emily?" Edward caught every sound around him, something else that had bothered Emily before, but now she thought nothing of it.

"The FBI has requested that I do a psychological profile for them." she read the letter again, slowly noting the subject they wanted her to evaluate and the Agent who had signed the letter.

"Really?" the mushrooms sizzled in a skillet, adding their aroma to the air.

"Yes. They want me to profile Dr. Hannibal Lecter, but…" she trailed off, thinking. "Dr. Lecter hasn't been seen or heard from in years."

"Who's the letter from, Emily?" he added onions to the mushrooms, looking up at Emily, who sat with the wine glass resting above the letter. Her head was dropped slightly and cocked to one side.

"A Clarice Starling." she replied, her voice soft as her mind worked through the possibilities.

Silence filled the space between them, and Emily glanced towards him. There was a strange light in Edward's eyes as she watched him watching her. "I think you should do it, Emily. The possibilities may prove quite… Interesting."

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