Will hadn't slept much that night. After getting back so late from his and Much's excursion, he'd slept on the floor in Much's room, curled up in spare blankets, but he kept waking, his dreams disturbing him. Much didn't sound very settled either, from what he could tell.
He'd left to go for a walk once the sun was up, and ended up just wandering for miles, his feet finding their way back to that park, wanting to search for any evidence of disturbance there. There was no body, no tell-tale patch of blood, no police cordon or really any sign at all that someone had been killed there only hours previously. People walked the paths, ignorant of any wrong-doing. Will sat a while, hands in pockets, and eventually moved on.
When he got back to the Parsonage, he stood in the kitchen. The food there looked lovely, but he had no appetite. He felt rather at a loss of what to do, if he was honest. No work to go to, nobody needing his attention. So he headed towards the bedroom where Tuck lay to maybe sit there a while and try not to think about how dead his friend was.
As he got there though, he overheard Francis speaking to him, and paused in the doorway. Francis had been so upset the night before. Will's heart hurt over it too, but Francis, who was supposed to be in the past, had cried and cried. Perhaps it was a good idea to get to know the man a little better. Will watched him a few moments, then cleared his throat and knocked his knuckle lightly against the door frame.