✔️ Only I Can Feel You | Hannigram | Rye Ambrose

3

Death was close.

Will could sense his presence. Breathe it in.

Through the car window, houses and cars flitted by, slowing as they arrived at their destination. Michael Hanson's home. It's worn paint echoed dully, once welcoming but now desolate. Closed shutters and a tightly-locked door greeted them as they stepped onto the porch.

Crawford knocked on the door, glancing at Will.

"Can't have you spacing on me now," he muttered, breath clouding in the cold. Graham huffed, tearing his thoughts from Death's recent visit.

"I'm not."

The door creaked open, and a man—Michael—peered through, eyes sunken and feeble. "May I help you?"

"Yes, I'm FBI Special Agent Jack Crawford"—he rose his badge—"and this is Will Graham. We'd like to interview you on the case of your ex-wife, Mary Schiro."

Michael hesitated, then opened the door, seating them in the living room. "I learned about it yesterday," he said. "I just... I can't believe it."

"Many things are hard to believe," muttered Will, walking about the outskirts of the room and examining every inch of the house. Michael wearily glanced at him, finding better comfort in Jack's presence.

"Mr. Hanson," said Crawford, "we believe one of Mary's friends murdered her. Perhaps an ex-lover. Would you know anyone who fits the profile?"

"W-well, there weren't many people she talked to," Hanson replied. "There was this man..."

"Was he an artist?" Will butt in.

Michael nodded, glancing at the roaming man. "Mary rarely talked about him, but he came up during dinner one night. Bram Bates. She told me how he started getting too close to her. Creeped her out so much she cut ties with him."

Crawford nodded. "Have you ever seen Bram Bates?"

"Only once, but I'll never forget it," breathed Michael. "He looked at me with such a resentful gaze—I thought he'd kill me right then and there."

Will sat down on an empty sofa. "Do you know where he lives?"

Hanson shook his head. "No. B-but I know his art shop: Merry Brushes. At least an hour away from here."

Graham scoffed at that. "He carried her name wherever he went."

"We noticed that you recently divorced Mary Schiro," said Jack. "May we ask the reason for this?"

Michael twisted his hands, lower lip trembling. "I mean—I—I-I know I shouldn't—I really am a terrible husband—"

"It was because of Bates, wasn't it," Will said, leaning forward. Michael swallowed. "What did he do, Mr. Hanson?"

He took a deep breath, glancing away from their prying eyes. "Y-you can't really... blame me. A-after all, he—"

"Spit it out," said Will. A short pause fell over them, and Hanson took another breath.

"H-he confronted me one night. In my very room, while my wife was out with friends." He thickly swallowed. "He threatened m-me with a knife. Told me I didn't belong with Mary. That he'd make things right again."

Jack Crawford leaned forward, elbows on his knees. "And what did you do?"

"I didn't have to do anything," spluttered Hanson. "H-he just... left."

"No threats, no warnings, just...?"

"Out the window," Michael said.

Crawford glanced over at Will, who gave a confirming nod. With that, the special agent stood, straightening his jacket and offering a hand. "Well, Mr. Hanson," he said, shaking his hand firmly, "we appreciate your time. We'll make sure Bates is caught."