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The crackling of a golden fire ignited with spirits of holiday delight is cast through a small window in Sugarloaf, Florida. Through the frost that collected on the pane, a silhouette of a family could be seen surrounding a Christmas tree strung with so many lights it looked like a child ruffled up with uncomfortable garments on a church Sunday.
On an armchair sits the beautiful Molly Graham, who poses fiddling with her wedding ring while little Wally runs about the house playing with his newly opened gifts of tiny toy trains and dinosaurs. From the worn carpet, William Graham is bombarded with licks and scratches from his dogs who are keen to help him unwrap the gift that he was reaching for.
“Go!” Will tries to command the former strays but cannot keep a straight face at the tongue hanging comedically out of Winston’s mouth.
“Shoo! Away with you! You’ve already gotten your presents!” Will playfully shoves at the canines, trying to make room to breathe.
“Come now, hip hip!” Molly says, opening the front door. A nippy breeze is let in as the hounds scatter outside in a fit of manic to play in the fresh snow that lay on the ground.
“What a Christmas miracle,” Will muttered bitterly, but was betrayed by the slight grin that went awry on his face.
As Will watched his dogs hop about the cold, he turned to gaze at the tree that stood right smack centre in the room. Dangerously close to the fireplace Will had said, but Molly insisted that it was to look picturesque. Though it would, if the tree wasn’t so limp and hunched over while missing half of its needles. Will thought it was charming; Molly had said that the tree resembled him. Along with the multicoloured lights that wrapped around its branches, little boat-shaped ornaments dangled from fishing hooks all over the tree. They came in an assortment of colours, and his favourite had to be the scarlet one Molly had bought him the year prior. He looked at the small pile of gifts that lay in front of it, most of them in a blue boat patterned wrapping paper but a few stray were in different styles.
He watched as Wally grabbed a plain brown present with his grimy little hands and struggled with the twine that held it together. As Molly crouched down to help his stepson undo the cord, Will’s eyebrow quirked. How odd. Why would you give a child a present with such bland paper? Not that he was complaining; he had always had a distaste for lustrously coloured wrapping. But still. Even more peculiar was the toy that lay within. A handsome model of a German Messerschmitt Bf 109. Molly and Wally were looking at it in marvel, why- it must have cost a fortune! But who would give such a pricey World War II aeroplane to a child? Unless they had a plethora of money to spare or were a toy collector who had lost their hobby, who in their right mind would give this to the Grahams out of all people?
“Who is it from?” Will asks Molly as she lifts the tag.
“No one, it only says ‘Wally.’ I got a French Press from the exact same person. Expensive too,” Molly says with a frown.
“Maybe it’s from Santa!” Wally exclaims. Molly smiles and hugs him.
“Yes, maybe a guardian angel is looking down upon us,” she says while eyeing Will with a suspicious look. Will simply shrugs his shoulders, a slight shake of his head in bewilderment at the appearance of the objects.
He approaches his small pile of presents. A grand total of four. One more than last year. Two with the iconic blue boat paper, one with a fiery red design, and one mysterious brown package from the mysterious donor. One of the boat gifts was a crudely drawn card from his son which depicted a fish saying ‘World's Best Fisherman Dad,’ while the other was a pair of pyjama trousers that had ‘We Fish You A Merry Christmas’ written multiple times across it from Molly. Molly put her hands on her hips as she watched Will roll his eyes at the card that came with the fiery red gift.
“Jack?” She asked.
“Jack,” he said back, tossing the card into the fireplace.
“You know-“ Molly said as she started to clean up spare wrapping paper that littered the floor, “he’s got to know when enough is enough! You retired from the force three years ago! You are not going back there! Not after what that-... man if I can even call him that, did to you!”
Will quickly turned his head to look out of his window. Molly had broken a rule of the household. The taboo of mentioning him. He didn’t even want to think about him; he had a nice life here now. A nice house, with a wonderful child and food on the table. And a good job fixing motorboats. Will glanced at his wife, who was currently berating Wally for feeding wrapping paper to one of the dogs that had snuck back into the house. Sure he adored her- she was the sweetest person he had ever met! Well, besides Wally. But he couldn’t love her romantically. No matter how hard he tried, he could never fill that cliche barren hole in his heart again. It’s not like he regrets marrying her- he would have never met Wally—but he felt guilty. He was using this kind lady to try and conquer his pitiful loneliness. Filling his heart with artificial tenderness to overpower the love for he-who-must-not-be-named. (Wally had been reading the Harry Potter series, and liked to call him that instead of ‘taboo man’)
Picking up the gift that Jack had given him, Will carefully pulls it open and is quite pleased when a model steamboat sits in mint condition in its original packaging. “1892… Thank you Jack. And John Fitch.”
He sets Jack's gift aside and looks at the last gift underneath the tree. The simple brown gift sat in front of him, almost elegant in a way despite its plainness. He thumbed along the tweed, enjoying the texture of rough scratchy lace splintering his skin. He positioned the gift in his lap, and it felt warmly familiar. He found himself smiling a bit. He reached for the knot of a beautifully tied bow and pulled it apart with ease. An envelope was let loose from the lace falling face forward into the carpet. Will picked it up and turned it over, grabbing his glasses from his shirt pocket.
His breath caught as he read the front, and his fingers gripped the edges of the paper harshly. There, on the front of the slightly browned envelope, was his name, written in oh so familiar script that curled across the paper. It seemed to curl at his heart, stemming blood from pumping and blanching his face, and around his lungs, popping the air-filled lungs like a balloon. His fingers began to shake as he ran his fingers across the emerald green ink he recognized from the doctor's notes in the books he had burned long ago. This couldn’t be real, could it? There was no possible way that this could be from him. He hadn't sent anything to him in past years, and there was no way he could in the first place—he was in a mental institution! Will shook his head in disbelief. Maybe it wasn’t him. Maybe he was just overreacting. It could be from someone else with similar doctor's handwriting. It could be from Alana, she was a doctor! Even though they had grown apart she could still be trying to reconnect with him. Will nodded to himself. That had to be it! (The German Warplane that he said still gave him nightmares from air raids and the French press he insisted on buying for Will after he tried Will’s coffee once still tugged at his mind)
To reassure himself that his mind was just going batty again as usual, he took a fingernail and scratched a smallish hole in the paper of the present. After he could only see glass, he yanked the rest of the paper off and took it out of the excess to read the label. A miniature, pocket-sized bottle of aftershave. With a boat on it. The aftershave he hadn't received in three years. Will flinches violently fumbling with the gift. He gets a grip on the bottle and picks up the letter, holding them threateningly over the fireplace. A vein in his temple twitches as his fingers started to loosen their grip. He stared into the fire, almost wishing for the flames to rise and consume the articles straight out of his hands so that he would not have to release them himself. Ravenous flames, foaming and smoking at the mouth. Smoke in the form of a stag that pawed impatiently at the ground.
“Will…?” Molly asked quietly.
Will’s head twisted to look at Molly, who had a protective arm 'round a confused Wally. Will glanced at the fire once more. Turning away he practically toppled over himself to get to his room, yelling a brief and meaningless “excuse me!” at the pair before slamming the door and locking it behind him.
There is cold sweat running down Will’s back that was making his shirt stick to his back. It gets on the door behind him as he slides down it, letting the gifts drop a few centimetres onto the carpet. He runs his hands across his now sweaty face and through his soaked hair. He peeks at the envelope between the clenched fingers that obscured his view and eyed it with fear. His heart beated rapidly while his body drove forward and plucked the envelope off the rug and held it to his face. Mocking his phobia of a small little letter. In a fit of outrage, Will shreds open the envelope and tore the letter- well, card- from out of it.
The card was handmade like the one his son had made for him. Except it wasn’t at all like Wally's. On the cover of the Christmas card was a charcoal portrait of Will. The detail was astonishing: every line, crevasse, wear, mark, and pore was drawn with the utmost care and attention. Will is entranced by it and runs his fingers up and down the edges of the paper. The same paper that he must have spent hours looking at while he drew Will from snapshots of him from his memory palace.
He delicately opens the card, where a tiny article falls out of it. Curiously picking it up, he felt his eyes water as he gaped at a picture of his daughter. Taken at the hospital, it was Abigail's smiling face after she had triumphantly beat Will at checkers. He wiped at his wet cheeks, stiffing a whimper. He held the picture to his chest. She hugged him back, wearing her beige vest and hat lined up with bait.
“Dad, stop being so sappy!” She said, wiping his tears away. “Can we go fishing now?”
Will held onto his shoulders and sobbed, wracking his body as if it would wake him from a nightmare. Peccant terrors filled with the unspeakably satisfying murder of Hobbs. Over and over again to the point where it was more of a fantasy than a torment. Through watery eyes, Will opened the letter fully and saw more of the curly script inside.
My Dearest Will,
Have you ever heard the saying ‘Celui qui a des filles est toujours un berger’? It is French for ‘He who has daughters is always a shepherd.’ I do wonder; is a shepherd a shepherd any longer if all its cattle have been slaughtered? I wonder if the shepherd's dog lazed off, letting the sheep go wild outside of their gated territory. Perhaps a hungry wolf came along and ate all of the livestock. I wonder, my lovely William, are you a shepherd anymore?
I have to apologize for my discourtesy. I have been unable to send you a gift for three years due to my situation. Although your gifts have not been lacklustre- I do enjoy a bit of silence— but I have ultimately been able to contact you as a result of a very fascinating story. You see, our own Doctor Bloom has been a dreadful host recently. She has been prohibiting things from me more and more every day and it has become particularly awful. She has even taken away my mattress, reducing me to sleeping on the toilet which cannot be very good for my humble old bones. I complained to my lawyer, and they have finally given me humane conditions such as a bed frame and filtered water under the threat of a lawsuit. Following this, I have been able to request that I have this gift be delivered to you. I have been pushing this for years! Surprisingly, Alana herself offered to drive the gift directly to your house because she was frightened that I could learn your address. Silly Alana, I know where my prey resides. I hope the Floridian rays are not too trying on your fair skin. How are the fish out in Sugarloaf? I hope they are as delectable as you are.
Rumour says that you have added two new sheep to your herd. Jack tells me that Wally is quite the psyche— careful William, we wouldn’t want any more fried brains in the family, do we? But I could think of several scrumptious meals that could go along with that… speaking of meat, I requested that this were to be given with a gift card to a steakhouse, but for some reason they declined it! How bizarre. Well, I suppose it’s for the best; you can never trust the meat that is out there nowadays.
I presume you wish to get back to your very happy family. Isn’t that right William? Merry Christmas, and enjoy the aftershave!
- Your Hannibal Lecter
Will grits his teeth in anger, the tears still gushing down his face. Clenching his eyes shut, he crumples the paper in his hands under the strain. He lets his anger fume like a squealing teapot until it gradually boils, simmers, steams, and then calms to a steady warm. He took a deep breath and reassured himself that this letter was closure. This was the returned farewell that he was never able to give him back. Oh, why even bother saying he—a farewell from Hannibal.
He opened his eyes, squinting harshly at the transition in light before his pupils adjusted. He slackened his hold on the card and looked down at it. He had smudged the illustration of him. When observing his thumb, there was a big splotch of black charcoal coating it, and he felt a bit of shame churn in his stomach for ruining such a stunning piece of art. He smoothed out some of the wrinkles he had made in it and rummaged through around blindly for a scissor. He cut the cover of the card out and placed it in his bed drawer along with the aftershave. He slid the door shut gently.
As he walked out of his bedroom, burning the letter on the way to join his family, he stroked at the picture of Abigail that lay in his pocket.
The weather is exceedingly chilly, and Will lets out a gratified hum as he steps into the warm coffee shop. His eyes trail around the cafe, wondering over all of the dented cushions that lay in booths and wooden chairs with wobbly legs. There were quite a few customers despite its rugged look, who kept shuffling and readjusting on the awkward chairs which creaked and groaned under their weight. There was a remote draft in the room coming from a broken vent that hung open from the ceiling. Will shivered and wrapped his arms around himself, looking towards the menu that hung crookedly above an irate teenage barista.
Osprey’s Backstreet Coffee
---------------------------------------------
JANUARY 20TH SPECIALS:
Raspberry Pastry…..$2.99
Hot Chocoholic……..$4.00
COFFEE:
Black Coffee………...$2.99
Cappuccino………….$3.00
Flat White…………...$3.00
Long/Short Black…...$3.20
Espresso.………….....$3.50
Latte…………………$4.00
Double Espresso……$4.50
TEA:
Black…………………$2.00
Green………………..$2.00
Hibiscus…………….$2.50
OTHER TREATS:
Pastry (Rasp o Blu)...$4.99
Hot Chocoholic………$5.20
Zucchini Bread………..$5.00
—————————————————————
Will’s eyelashes felt frozen as he scanned the menu. He fixed his glasses which slid down his pale face. His brain was overloaded with the number of selections suddenly lining the walls of his frontal lobe.
His head started to pound with the warning of a headache, and he (despite his pride) abruptly wished he stayed at home and used his newly gifted French Press instead. He ran a hand through his hair, sighing as he made up his mind about what to order.
The barista was tapping their foot impatiently, smacking their gum excessively as they fiddled with their name tag. Will slowly approached the counter, feeling gauche as the teenager drummed their fingers across the marble. He shuffled towards the register and averted his eyes from the kid. He suddenly felt very overwhelmed, his sensory overloading from the pressure of the teen to the loud chatter from patrons and machines and the overbearing smell of coffee beans and the suffocating air. Will took a deep breath and managed a small smile plainly out of courtesy to the worker.
“Hello, could I have—“
The sound of the doorbell chiming made him flinch wildly, his cheeks glowing a brilliant red at his sudden freak-out. He took a chance and made slight eye contact with the teen. They looked surprisingly understanding, and all anger was void from their face.
“Alright honey, you look like a coffee person, is that right?” They said in a pitty-filled voice.
Will felt a spark of annoyance at them for treating him like a child when he was perfectly capable of taking care of himself. Well, sometimes if you disregard this, but he couldn’t do anything anyway because of his silence. He offered a nod. They smiled at him.
“Black, please. Three shots of espresso,” Will said in a quiet voice. The teen looked stunned.
“Are you sure you want a Dead-Eye sweetie?”
Will nodded his head and clenched his hand into a frustrated fist.
“Alright then, that will be $3.99…” they said with uncertainty.
Will takes out his wallet, fishing through it to gather paper cash. (He hated using digital money. He was far too paranoid for that) His eyes strayed a little from the money pile to stare at the picture of Abigail that sat in it. Will plucked the greens out of his now lighter wallet and was going to hand it over.
“Will!” A loud voice boomed in the shop, causing Will to jump about two feet into the air. A big clap on his shoulder certainly didn’t help as he lurched forward.
“Hello Zeller,” Will bitterly mumbled, dusting off his shoulder.
“How have you been my man? It's been so long! Heard you’ve been fixing up boats!”
“Yeah…” Will said awkwardly while Zeller wound up ordering coffee and paying for Will’s. What was Zeller doing all the way in Sugarloaf, Flordia?
“Three shots? Isn’t that a bit too much?”
“Not when you don’t want to sleep.”
“Ha! There he is! Such a jokester!” Zeller exclaimed. Will raised his eyebrow. Since when has he been a ‘jokester?’
“So… where’s Tweedledum?” Will asked. Zeller looked confused for a moment before recognition clouded his face.
“Oh! Price! He’s back at the lab. We’ve got a hot new case that we’ve been working on all night. I just took a break to grab a cup o’ joe.”
Will nodded his head, walking up to the counter to collect his coffee.
“Well, it was good seeing you Zeller, but I should-“
“Please, call me Brian! We’ve worked together for years, why stop now?” Zeller grabbed onto his arm and led him over to a booth.
“Because we aren’t working together anymore,” Will said under his breath. Will sat down uncomfortably, whereas Zeller plopped unceremoniously onto the cushion.
“How’s the wife doing?” Zeller asked with a wide smile, his eyebrows wiggling.
“We are thinking about getting a divorce.”
“...Oh.”
They sat across from each other in silence. Zeller's hand rubbed at the back of his neck, his smile slipping away from his face. The tension was unbearable, and Will found it amusing at how uneasy Zeller looked. Will had a small smile on his face as he took a sip of his coffee.
“So how about that new case you’ve been working on?” Will asked from over the rim of his cup. Zellers face lightened up as if this moment was a perfect opportunity. Bingo.
“Oh yes! The case! Well, the basis is that this new sicko killer called "The Tooth Fairy" has been stalking and murdering perfect families during sequential full moons. It's sad really, all the children too.” Will looked at him with feigned interest.
“He first killed the Jacobi family in Birmingham, Alabama, then the Leeds family in Atlanta, Georgia. But what’s even more creepy is the mirrors…” Zeller reaches into his pocket and pulls out confidential murder photographs like he was prepared with them.
“Each of the victims had shards of glass in their eyes and mouths, and every window in the house was smashed. Kinda weird huh? What do you think?” Zeller looked at him with insistent eyes.
Will studied the photographs, his teeth gritting in outrage. His eyebrows knitted together and his fingers clenched around his mug, anger-filled eyes glaring at it. It felt like it could shatter. Will chugged the rest of his coffee relishing as the drug worked its way through his system. He glanced at the bottom of the cup and saw excess bean dust at the bottom of the cup. He blinked his eyes in muted wonder when they took the form of a starved stag. A blink of his eyes again, and it was gone. Will lifted his pointer finger into the air as if he had an idea, and Zeller shuffled forward in his seat.
“I think-! That Jack needs to stop sending his lackeys on a hunt to get me back to helping the FBI. You came all the way from Virginia! I don’t think it’s a coincidence that we just ran into each other here,” Will bites out. He stands up quickly, grabbing his coffee and sliding out of the booth.
“Hey! I am not a lackey! Wait—come back!”
But Will had already stormed out of the cafe, mindlessly throwing the cap into the trash. He unlocked his car and shoved his keys into the ignition, recklessly pulling out of the lot without checking behind him and speeding down the road. His mind started to blank out, the road zoning in and out as he got lost in the hallways of his memory palace. Flashings of Abel Gideon, Randall Tier, and Hobbs obscure his vision.
Shamefully, he felt a rise of excitement rush through him thinking about slaughtering Hobbs. To watch his blood stream down Will's arms as he lacerated his neck and make him choke on his own bile. To make Hobbs suffer for what he did to his daughter rather than letting him off easy with a shot.
Before he knew it, he was pulling into his driveway and setting his car into park with a jerk of his hand on the gearshift. His furious face softened when he noticed that Molly’s car was gone from the drive. His face fell. He had forgotten that they had gone. He locked his car absentmindedly and trudged up to his doorstep. His toe caught on something while climbing the steps and he tripped over it. He caught himself by his hands, but unfortunately his glasses slipped off of his face and landed on the pavement with a sickening crunch.
“Oh great,” Will spit. He reached for his glasses and put them back onto his face. Only a crack, luckily.
Will looked behind him to see what was responsible for this tragedy and was met with another brown package with twine. Will grew exasperated, and grit his teeth together in rage.
“Goddamn it Hannibal, just leave me alone!” He screamed, yanking the package off the porch and stomping over to the trash can right outside of his house. He holds the gift over the bin.
Part of the wrapping paper rips and the gift almost fell out despite the twine. Will finds himself readjusting the present to not fall, and curses himself when he becomes curious. From inside he could make out black coloured glass. A glass box? Will’s interest killed him, and he undid the packaging to reveal an obsidian box that was polished to perfection. It was smooth. Very smooth.
He opened the lid and was greeted with an array of fluorescent fly fishing bait. Some of them were a neon green, while others a royal blue. Some were solid tints while others had elaborate patterns. His eyes softened, feeling the lures under his fingers and caressing the gorgeous novelties. With ecstasy and half-lidded eyes, he noticed that the hair used to create the lure was too coarse to be a bird. He carefully latched the lid closed. A letter was taped to the bottom of the box. The script was as perfect as always.
Will took the card out of the envelope. Again on the cover was an illustration. This time it was coloured. Seems like Hannibal had gotten more privileges. It was a coloured painting of Will casting a lure into the water behind his house. He was smiling. All of the unlikely colours collided with each other to make a captivating symphony orchestra. He made sure to not smudge the art this time.
My Darling Will,
Are you aware of the significance of the Sea of Galilee? From what I’ve gathered, it is a fisherman’s dream. I visited it once, and I am fairly certain you would enjoy yourself there. The bible states that disciples Peter and Andrew used to be poor fishermen that regularly hunted on the water. Every day they would only bring back enough fish to make a stubby candle out of their oil. That was until one day the Lord their God blessed them with buckets of fish with the promise of giving it all to the people of their city and leaving none for themselves. Not only that, but this Sea is where Jesus was said to have walked across water, and cast out demons from two men of Gadarenes and sent them into a herd of pigs that drowned in the sea. How fitting. It seems that even God has a distaste for the pigs of this world. We are made in the image of Him.
You and I are a lot like Peter and Andrew. I am Andrew, the one who heard John's preachings about the coming of Christ after Jesus’s baptism, who then brought you, Peter, to the messiah.
I hope you enjoy your lures. Also, Happy Birthday William.
-Your Hannibal Lecter
Will smiled.
————————————
The abrupt tone of ringing draws Will out of his sleep. He blindly reaches for his desk light and flicks the switch on. He groans and shields his eyes from the light and feels around for the nuisance of a noise. Without checking the caller I.D., he answered it.
“Hello…?” He said groggily.
“Hello Will,” Jack Crawford stated in a grim tone. Will rolled his half-closed eyes and fished around to find the disconnect button.
“Before you hang up, this is far more important than asking you to come back to the force.”
“Yeah… sure…” Will said as he scooted up his bed to sit upright, looking at the empty spot in his bed where Molly used to be. He smiled.
“Listen, Jack, I’m not really in the mood to talk about this ‘Tooth Fairy’ case or whatever. What a stupid name by the way. Tell Freddie to change it. I’ve told you countless times to leave me alone, so I would appreciate it if you stopped sending your men to convince me to come to Georgia to solve a case. Now, it’s two in the morning. Goodbye-“
“Someone died, Will”
“Oh, like I’m not used to hearing that.”
“It’s not related to the Fairy case.”
“Oh great! I’m so happy that you guys have another killer on the loose.”
“Well, if you would listen-“
“No, Jack. I don’t care who got killed. I’m done.”
“It’s not who got killed that's important. It’s who that killed that’s important.”
Will paused, his finger hovering over the disconnect button.
“What do you mean?” Will questioned.
“You need to come to Baltimore. I’ve got a flight ready for you. Lecter’s killed again.”
………….........
Will felt a sense of nostalgia as he came into view of flashing lights and caution tape with reporters swarming around the building as police tried to fend them off. He could see bright red curly hair from the crowd and resisted the temptation to roll his eyes. Jack ordered a limousine for him. A fucking limo.
As the car slowed down, Will felt self-conscious as the journalists moved out of the way of the vehicle. He fiddled with the scar that ran across his forehead, trying to move his hair in a way that concealed it. As soon as the reporters realised who was in the automobile, they swarmed it like a hoard of wasps, trying to snap a picture of the famous William Graham. Freddie Lounds fought her way through the reporters, getting to the front and snapping a quick candid of him that blinded his vision.
“Well, hello to you too Freddie,” Will gritted out, rubbing his eyes.
“Mm,” Freddie hummed condescendingly. She pursed her lips and looked him up and down.
“Seems your back on a case. Finally, after three years. Boat business not working out?”
Will started to push his way through, trying to get to the police tape.
“Sorry, Lounds. I’m just not fond of what you said about me in your last article. ‘Murder Husbands?’ Really?”
Freddie just shrugged her shoulders and took another picture straight in his face with the flash on just to spite him. “I mean, you did run off to Florence with a serial killer. Didn’t you also both adopt a girl too?”
“Guardianship, Freddie. Not adoption.” Will ducked below the police tape, finally having sanction away from the bombarding of the paparazzo. He could see Crawford approaching him.
“Goodbye, Freddie.”
“Farewell, Mr Lecter!” She smirked, flashing one more photo of him.
“You know that’s going to make the front page, right?” Jack said to him.
“Well, isn’t it your job to stop that from happening?”
“Technically no; your not exactly a part of the force anymore, are you?”
“Touche.”
Jack led him into the front of the building and held the door open for him.
“So, from what I read in the very descriptive case file, Hannibal suddenly attacked a nurse that had been taking care of him these past few years?” Will asked sarcastically. Jack nodded with a disturbed look on his face.
“He's had good behaviour, too. I can't help but wonder what made him react like this…”
“Cause’ the guys a loon!” Zeller says, flanked with Price as they approached the pair.
“Yeah, the guy probably wanted to add one more body to his count. Couldn’t stand the conditions he was in. Although, anyone that spends a day behind bars here is definitely a crazy-... no offence Will,” Price said. Will glared at him.
“Or,” an irked voice said from behind, “It was a gift.” Will scrunched his eyes closed and turned around. He opened them to see Alana Bloom standing with her hands on her hips looking utterly pissed off.
“Hello Alana,” Will said.
“Hello Mr Graham,” she responded coldly.
“Ouch!” Price whispered to Zeller, who promptly smacked him upside the head.
“Have there been any new updates?” Jack asked, ignoring the elephant in the room.
Alana turned to Jack, ignoring Will completely. “Yes, we figured out that the victim was positioned in a way to resemble a Lithuanian firefly.”
Will's eyes widened a few centimetres, before quickly shrinking again.
Alana narrowed her eyes further at him. “So, what is a boat mechanic doing at a federal crime scene? Or are you back in the force now? Couldn’t help yourself, could you?” The question hung in the air, and Will grew mortified at the silence.
“Actually,” Jack broke off, “Will has been denying my efforts to get him to help us out with a few cases. This is the first time he has come back.”
Will stood speechless. He thanked Jack with his eyes.
Alana pursed her lips disapprovingly. “So, you only came back for Lecter, huh? Well no matter, he is in solitary right now. There’s no way anyone will be able to see him. You’ll only get to see the crime scene. Follow me.”
Bloom quickly headed off, and the team plus Will followed her, practically chasing after her. Will kept his head ducked from the stray looks that the detectives were giving him, simply following the clicking of Alana’s heels.
“Here,” Dr Bloom suddenly stopped, leaving Zeller to topple over Price. She held the door open to the infirmary. “I'll get Detective Smith.”
As she stomped over to some poor rookie detective, Will took the scene in. The body of the nurse was strung up like the crucifix, with wings made out of broken glass medical containers and strung up with a rope made out of her own intensities. Her heart was torn out and was placed on the medical table like a trophy. Blood was splattered in every which way and direction. It was an almost exact replica of the scene Will had created at the Lecter estate. Except this was made by a master. He had even added his own touch of impaling the nurse with a multitude of sharp objects, Chesapeake Ripper style. Her blood still dripped down from the corpse onto the floor. The pig's blood landed upon Will's finger. Will’s own artwork paled in comparison to this. It was magnificent, artistic, and it made Will’s mouth water. A gift for him.
He approached the body and took it all in as he stood in front of it. His foot began to crunch on something. Bending down, he picked up a shard of glass that had fallen from the art. He slipt it into his pocket.
As he stared into the glass, the light kept shifting, and it revealed a stag snarling and huffing from behind Will. He saw a figure emerge from the darkness, and Hannibal placed his hand on Will's shoulder. He took Will's finger into his mouth, licking the blood off of it.
A voice cleared from behind him and broke his train of thought, and instantly the stag and demon were gone. Turning around, Detective Smith was standing awkwardly, with sweat dripping down his face. He seemed to be terrified of Will, and he kept averting his eyes from the man. You could practically taste the fear that was rolling off of him. It tasted sweet. With dread and pleasure, Will found himself relishing in the feeling.
“On July-...” he started shakily reading off of a piece of paper. “On July 8th, the cannibalistic serial killer Hannibal Lecter complained of chest pains. As Lecter, committed to the asylum three years prior for killing nine people, was cooperating with therapy, security around him was more relaxed. He was taken to the infirmary, his restraints removed, and was given an ECG. As the nurse leaned over, Lecter lunged and sank his teeth into her face. Lecter managed to dislocate the nurse’s jaw and tore out her tongue and swallowed it. Unusually, Lecter’s pulse rose to a mere 85 bpm.” He wiped at the sweat that had collected on his brow and stopped reading from the report.
“It… ah… it took orderlies two and a half hours to realize that Lecter was missing. In that time he had made… whatever that is,” he gestured to the firefly, “and even paint a picture.”
“Where is this painting now?” Jack asked.
“No one knows. But we figure that this was the incompetence of Dr Bloom’s staff and that this does not need to be taken to court. The nurse had no family.”
Alana nodded and dismissed the detective who quickly rushed off.
“Better hire some better employees next time, Bloom. Lecter only attacked the nurse because he saw an opportunity,” Jack said to her. “I’m sorry for calling you down here Will. It seems that we had no need for you,” he said with a crease in his eyebrows. “I'll have a flight home arranged for you.”
Will just simply bobbed his head, turning away from his former team. He felt eyes on the back of his neck as he walked away. Out in the hallway, he heard the familiar clanking of heels following him out. Alana suddenly pushed Will against the wall, a sneer on her face.
“Listen here, I don’t know what game you’re playing with your little ‘Murder Husband,’ but you just a cost an innocent woman her life. This wasn’t some random killing, was it? It was a gift for you! I regret ever sending you that Christmas gift from Hannibal. Stay out of this,” Alana spit, releasing him and backing away.
As she was about to go, Will still had one more question plaguing his mind.
“If you regretted giving me his Christmas present, why did you send me his birthday present?”
Alana stopped in her tracks, her eyes fearful and wide. “I didn't send you anything else from Hannibal…”
Will leaned slump against the wall. Will stood up straight, wishing that he had kept his mouth shut, and practically ran from the hallway, all the while feeling Alana's terrified eyes trailing him.
Will soon reached the paparazzi, where he quickly shoved through the mob much to the annoyance of the reporters. Again, that scarlet snarky devil followed him.
“So how was your date with your husband?” Freddie quipped with an innocent and naive expression.
“Fuck off Lounds,” Will cursed, shoving them to get to his car. He slammed the door behind him and ordered the driver to speed off. He felt the back of his sweaty hair hit the leather seat behind him as they sped towards the airport. He sighed into the air, closing his eyes, relishing in a relaxed state.
Splaying his arms out beside him, his fingers touched something firm on the seat beside him. He opened his eyes, and a not so mysterious brown package with twine lay next to him. Will picked it up curiously. Will slid the little door open to talk to the driver.
“Where did you get this?”
The driver glanced in his mirror before unease laced his face.
“I didn’t get that. I didn't even know it was there,” he said.
“Well someone had to have put it here because I didn’t and it wasn’t here before I got out of the car.”
“I have been in the car this entire time. No one has come in or out besides you.”
Will looked back down to the package. He reached for the envelope but noticed the driver rudely peeking through his mirror wondering what it could be. Will harshly shut the door. How rude of him. He unnervingly had an urge to flambé an ill-mannered pig. He opened the package.
Inside was the painting that Hannibal had done during his time in the medical ward. It had been painted out of the nurse's blood. It was not what he had expected, as it was not the nurse's body that was depicted. It was instead an illustration of an embrace between Hannibal and Will. Of the night that Will got gutted all those years ago. Before he killed Abigail. The artwork was undeniably more beautiful than the nurse could ever be, even in such a handsome new form. He opened the envelope to be greeted with a letter.
My Lovely Will,
In a few African cultures it is said that humans have not one, but three hearts. It seems I only have one left now. How sad, as I wish to give my hearts away all over again. Florence and Maryland were not enough for me, but I would prefer not to die. I only wish I was a cat, for then I would be able to give you five more hearts. But alas, I am not a cat. Though it would be easy to escape from here if I were.
I will be seeing my first glimpse of you in three years. I presume Miss Lounds has taken several pictures of you that will make the front page of the ‘Tattler.’ I can not wait to read about how our ‘marriage’ has fallen apart. Speaking of falling apart, I am not saddened to hear about your divorce from dear Molly. I apologize for my lack of sympathy, but I will not lie to you. She was absolutely dreadful for you. They say third times a charm in a relationship. Perhaps ours will work out next time.
I will not see outside of my solitary confinement for a prolonged time, so be prepared for a lack of letters and gifts. Alana has been quite the devil recently, and not in a good way.
Perhaps after my confinement ends you could visit me. I would love to receive one of your hearts, my love.
-Your Hannibal Lecter
When Will returned home, he shamelessly hung the painting and the picture of Abigail above the barren fireplace void of any family pictures. He didn’t need pictures of his dead family. He had all of his real family now. Will let the dogs back inside the house, who whimpered and scratched hungrily at Will's leg for more of Molly.
—————————————-
“I’m glad you’ve finally accepted my offer,” Jack said as he led Will into his old lecture hall.
“I’m not accepting your offer Jack, I’m only helping you on this case. After this I’m done,” Will said, dusting off his old desk and unloading piles upon piles of case files upon it.
“I know, and I know you’ve been through a lot recently. What with…” Jack paused. The divorce hung empty in the air.
“I don’t care about Molly anymore, she doesn’t affect me as much as my dogs now, really,” Will said without an ounce of grief. “It's Wally that I miss. But,” Will continued as he plopped down into his desk chair and opened a file, “that doesn’t matter. All that matters is catching this killer. Right, Jack?”
Will eyed Crawford. Jack guiltily took off his fedora, holding it to his chest respectively. He looked like he was about to say something, but decided against it. As he walked towards the door, he placed his hand on the frame and said:
“Just don’t kill yourself, Will.”
When he looked up, Crawford had gone. Will shook his head and turned his attention back to the case file. His head had been pounding for the last few hours, as he had visited the Leeds house and determined pretty quickly that the Fairy had some sort of facial deformation, as a result of the smashed mirrors. He was just curious as to why the Fairy would drag the family members out of their death beds, place them in the master bedroom, and then drag them back out again. Maybe sexual gratification at the act of exhibitionism? But then why drag them back out?
He racked his brain for the answer and set off to work on the files. By the time the pounding in his head had escalated to a migraine, unknowingly four hours had passed. Will groaned as his head felt like it was being put through a blender and squeezed out of his ears. He had unfortunately left his aspirin at home as he no longer needed it on a daily basis and formally regretted that decision. Perhaps some coffee ought to do him some good. He could quickly pick up aspirin and about six shots and then come back.
Will stumbled to his feet, having to grip the edge of his desk as his vision swam with black spots. They cleared, and he began walking as normally as he could towards the door without tripping over himself. Hearing the crinkling of paper, he lifted his shoe and saw yet another envelope below him. It must have been slid under the door when Will was in deep thought. Opening the door, he looked up and down the hallway. As he expected, no one was there. Will picked up the envelope and weighed it in his hands.
It felt a bit… odd is the word. There was no usual gift that always came with the letter, and the envelope felt thick and heavy. Will opened the seal to find a letter and an abundance of papers folded in order. As Will’s eyes scanned the first page of the report, they widened and his eyebrows raised with absolute joy. He almost giggled like a child as he ran to take a seat at his desk. He skimmed through the papers, reading the headlines of each:
Modus Operandi
Targets families most likely via a common service through his work. He first murders the pet. When killing a family, he performs the murders on or near a full moon. When in the house, he first murders the mother, then the father, either by cutting their throat or shooting them. He then murders the children. After the killings, he smashes the mirrors and places the shards into the victim's eyes, so that they can see him for what he is. He arranges the corpses like an audience. He also shows necrophilic tendencies by sexually assaulting the corpses of the mothers. Most likely an efficient marksman with a gun as well…
Disfigurement
According to evidence, the killer most likely has a cleft lip and palate…
Childhood
During childhood killer most likely has a commanding mother figure in life. His parents died in early adolescence. Guardian takes custody of the boy, and based on his language had a good education, lives in a rural mansion. She was abusive to him, and he was humiliated throughout his life due to his impairment. Often emasculated. Developed an interest in a more violent nature, and to vent his anger, he tortured animals and was most likely disowned after being caught…
Service
The killer continued a pattern of mutilating and killing pets. The killer joined the military, most likely the army. After completing basic training, he receives cosmetic surgery for his cleft palate. He might have a desk job as of today, but….
Physique and Personality
Probably a bodybuilder and exceptionally strong; but exceptionally shy because of his disfigurement and altered speech and does not have any sexual experiences with living women…
Murders
The killer began his killing spree by murdering two families within a month after an unknown event. He might have an alternate personality. This alter ego, which he believes is some sort of deity, compels him to murder. The two personalities can converse with one another. He committed both crimes on or near a full moon; but….
The papers kept going on and on. Hannibal Lecter had given Will a full profile on the Tooth Fairy. Will couldn’t help himself from laughing maniacally, gripping his head in disbelief. His shaky fingers reached for the letter.
When opening it, a small illustration fell out of it. It was made in simple graphite, but the art couldn’t be anything but less. On paper almost as flimsy as a napkin, Hannibal had drawn an almost organismic piece. Will was depicted with stag antlers covered in blood and tears, with a knife in one hand, and a decapitated head in another. He was holding it by its hair, and on closer inspection was the head of Garret Jacob Hobbs. Flowing from the puddle of blood were even more heads surrounding Will. He could name them all. Abel Gideon, James Gray, Clark Ingram, Eldon Stammets, Lawrence Wells, Elliot Buddish, Randall Tier… There were piles upon piles of heads. How Hannibal had managed to put this much detail into such a small piece of paper, Will really didn’t know or care, but instead appreciated the work and held it closely.
He closed his eyes, imagining each of the men suffering over and over again. It was scary, what Hannibal was doing to him even here. He felt no remorse anymore, instead relishing in the feeling of blood and murder. To imagine Hannibal standing beside him as he butchers a pig, spraying Will in blood and guts and brain matter. To feel Hannibal walk up behind him with an erection pressing into the small of Will's back. For Hannibal to roughly grip Will's hair and force him on his knees like a dog. For Hannibal to have all of the control. Will's boxers started to tent, his erection straining against his trousers. In his arousal, Will reached for the letter from Hannibal.
My Beloved William,
I apologize for the state of this gift. Alana has been so very harsh on me ever since my little fiasco. I knew it was important that I get this to you though. Even if that meant that I had to resort to selling my ‘story’ to the lovely Freddie Lounds to get her to deliver your gifts to you. I apologize for that as well; she knows your address. Don’t fear, I will hopefully be making Haggis out of her very soon.
I saw your picture in the ‘Tattler,’ and you look as attractive as always dear. What I wouldn’t give to be there with you, teasing such a ravish beast's body with slow steady strokes, covered in your own blood that mixes with the blood of mine as we tear apart the pig we had just slaughtered. To tie you up in rope made out of the pig’s intestines and make you stare death in the face as I bite on your neck and reach the farthest reaches within you. To tease and torture you so painfully and pleasurably that you would be begging me to stop and to not stop.
But unfortunately, I have been reduced to sleeping in my sink. Which is already terrible, but when the faucet turns on and I have a bidet suddenly squirting at me, it is not enjoyable. But when I get out of this confinement, I want to see your face contorted in only pleasure, not stress. So I have taken it upon myself to give you a profile of this ‘Tooth Fairy’ so that you won’t have to worry your pretty little head about it anymore.
Do not work yourself up, my love. Enjoy your time to rest while it lasts. Once I finally have a hold on you, you will not rest until I have milked every drop out of you for my own pleasure. You are mine, my dear Will. Come visit me soon.
-Your Hannibal Lecter
Will couldn't resist his darkest fantasies, and gripped his erection through his pants. He slid his fingers down the waistline of his boxers, and roughly grasped his aching cock in his fingers, rapidly jerking and stroking it, gravelling in the sinful bliss. As he came onto his desk, Will grew antlers.
————————————-
“Remember, do not give Hannibal anything, do not take anything from him, stay away from the air holes in the glass, and whatever you do; don’t be rude to him. The fucker ate a nurse's tongue and strung her up like Christmas lights once.”
“Oh, I am well aware,” Will said to the security guard who was patting him down. The piece of glass he took from the nurse's display sat hidden in between his fingers where the guard could not see.
It had taken a lot of convincing for Will to be here now. With Alana’s suspicions about him, it would be impossible to even set foot in this place again. Only with the permission of the FBI in relation to the Tooth Fairy case was he allowed to visit. He had even persuaded Jack to go the extra mile as to remove some security. While they would be watched, no audio would be sounded and no officers would stand in the room with them. They could talk as freely as they wanted.
While the guard kept feeling him up and down, Will was brainstorming several different ways that he could slaughter this pig. Perhaps filet mignon? Pork chops? Well, nothing he made would ever come close to what Hannibal would be able to make. When the officer deemed him fit, he gave the okay for Will to enter the room.
......
Hannibal Lecter sat on his squeaky bed, absolutely entranced in his work. Ever since he agreed to aid the police in their investigation of the Tooth Fairy, he had been granted far better living accommodations. He was now allowed all the art supplies he wanted, some of his favourite classical artist's music, and as many books as he desired.
He was painting yet another portrait of Will. It was one that he considered to be one of his best. In the illustration Will and Hannibal are resting their foreheads together, clawing and holding each other's hearts in their hands. Having power and control over the other's life while it beat rapidly in their blood-soaked fingers. His mind only became distracted by a familiar scent that wafted into the room.
Will watched as Hannibal's eyes raised to meet his. A wide grin crept onto Hannibal's face.
“I see you have continued to use the aftershave.”
Will felt his lips upturn. Will couldn’t bring it in himself to speak, too baffled at the sight of Hannibal. Rather they sat in comfortable silence, while Hannibal turned back to working on his art. He finished it with a signature and held it up for Will to see.
“This is my last gift to you Will. Although, I do not suppose I need to give you a letter too, do I?” Hannibal asked knowingly. Will looked at the painting in amazement, and his lips fanned out into a smile.
“No, but I would have loved that gift card to the steakhouse. I’ve missed dining with you,” Will said with a slight laugh.
Hannibal placed the painting onto his bed and approached the glass. Will mirrored his movements.
“Have you liked the gifts I have given you?” Hannibal asked.
“Oh, very much. I haven’t been able to stop thinking about you,” Will stated. “So, how do you plan to escape from here?”
Hannibal raised an eyebrow at his bluntness. “And how do I not know that the police are not just listening in on this conversation?”
Will rolled his eyes playfully, and spoke loudly, turning to the camera.
“I, William Graham, enjoyed killing Garret Jacob Hobbs and hope to do it again. I’ve slaughtered quite a few people, and I have eaten some of them following tradition. As an example, I went far beyond slaughtering Randall Tier and mutilated him for the sake of my own pleasure. I strung up Vladis Grutas in the form of a firefly after coercing another woman to kill him. While I didn’t kill Freddie Lounds, I did serve and harvest meat from a man that I have yet to confess to. I am currently thinking about killing the security officer that stands outside of this room.” Will turns back to Hannibal to see an amused expression on his face.
“You could have easily fabricated that story,” Hannibal teased.
“While everyone thinks I divorced my wife, Molly Graham, In reality I killed her and fed her to my dogs, and forged some divorce documents. Wally is currently safe at a foster home in Colby, Kansas. I used flashing light therapy to erase his memory. There, satisfied?” Will asked Hannibal.
Hannibal had a blissed expression on his face. He seemed incredibly pleased. “More than satisfied, my love.”
“Be careful, I was only able to cut off the sound. They can still see us,” Will said
“Afraid I might do something erotic?”
Will sputtered and his face grew red. “You- this is- people can see us! You wouldn’t—!”
“Of course I would not. I cannot ruin my reputation that easily. Though, I did have to test to see if you were lying. You have betrayed me in the past.”
Will's face suddenly took on a serious expression. “Never again.” Will took another step forward.
“Never again will I ever betray you. I don’t think I could stomach it. I would rather gouge my own heart out,” Will said with a grim look.
Hannibal took another step towards the glass.
“Your heart is worth a hundred of mine. I would prefer if it stayed in one piece. You are mine,” Hannibal said with confidence.
“Yours,” Will repeated. Will swore he could feel Hannibal's hand in his.
“Now, about my escape… that is a surprise that I will not reveal yet,” Hannibal smirked. “It is quite the escapade. Though I will need your help.”
Will raised his eyebrows. “Seems like fun.”
“My escape from this hell hole is not ‘fun’ Will, it is simply a necessity. They only let me go to the bathroom twice a day. Anytime I wish to walk, they put a mask on my face and wheel me out on a dolly. It is the most humiliating thing to bear.”
“Oh come on! I spent months in this joint without any of this! The only sanity I had was—... actually… nothing!” Will crossed his arms.
“The food here is not even subpar. I could create better dishes with a quarter of the ingredients here.”
“Well everyone can’t be as talented as you are Hannibal,” Will said in a sarcastic manner, before looking away from the cannibal and staring at his shoes. Hannibal stared fondly at Will. Will decided to shut his mouth, turning around to face the clock.
“7:55 in the evening. We have two minutes left.”
Hannibal frowns slightly. “It is a shame that they are making you leave so soon. I do hope you will visit me again.”
Will couldn’t help but stifle a bout of laughter. “Oh! I’m not leaving yet! I have until 8:30!”
Hannibal raised his eyebrows. “Then, what happens at 7:57?”
Will smiled devilishly.
“At 7:57 in the evening at the Baltimore State Hospital for the Criminally Insane, a tragic accident will occur in which the electrical fuse will blow out, shutting off all power completely.”
“I said that I didn’t want to escape yet.”
“Oh, this is not an escape attempt. This is me giving my gift to you.”
Hannibal licked his lips in anticipation, and the two men watched subtly as the clock turned 7:56.
“When the lights turn off,” Will said, "place your hand against the airhole to your left. Third one over.” Will glanced towards the airhole he was speaking about, just to make sure that Hannibal understood completely. “I'll do the rest.”
The men counted down the remaining seconds in their heads and stared at each other directly during the countdown. When the clock hit 7:57, as promised, the lights flickered off, and all of the cameras shut down.
The entire facility panicked at the situation. The prisoners all howled and laughed as the security guards ran up and down the hallways, trying to contain the chaos and find out what happened to the fuse. They didn't think about checking the room with the famed cannibal and ingenious serial killer hunter.
Will slipped the piece of glass from in between his fingers, slicing his hand wide open. As the blood gushed from the wound, Will pressed his hand and the piece of glass against Hannibal's, cutting him as well. Their blood mixed together, running down each other's hands and arms while Will pressed the glass in between Hannibal's fingers.
“It's your fantasy. To see and taste our blood mixed together,” Will spoke.
He could hear the respective thumps of their heads resting against the glass, foreheads against each other like in Hannibal's portrait. They truly did hold each other's hearts.
“To slaughter the pigs of this world together. To create dishes out of the filthy cattle. To become shepherds once more. My fantasy has become conjoined with yours.” Will’s voice dropped to a whisper.
“I hope you escape from here soon Hannibal. When you do, I’ll be waiting for you to control and fuck me until I’m begging for you to kill me.”
When the lights turned back on, Will was gone. Hannibal was left with a bloody hand and arm, and a single shard of glass. Hannibal looked to his hand, flexing it in amazement as he watched their mixed blood flow down his arm in trickles. He tilted his hand up to his mouth, licking the blood that pooled in his hand. Hannibal moaned at the taste.
“Oh Will,” Hannibal said. “Your mine.”