Will paced back in forth in his cell, trying not to overanalyze things. He felt certain that he wasn't a murderer, but he remembered nearly killing Abigail so clearly that he couldn't be sure of anything. He looked through the bars absentmindedly, and placed his cheeks against the cool metal. He felt awake. Alive. He breathed in the clarity. The numbing sensation the cold had on him reminded him that this was reality.
"I don't know what time it is, but I'm in Baltimore State Prison for the Criminally Insane, and my name is Will Graham," he muttered. "And I am not a murderer."
He added the last bit to dull the ache of saying "Baltimore State Prison for the Criminally Insane." Knowing he was wrongly incarcerated here didn't do much for his mental state, but somehow the exercise made him feel more secure. He knew who he was. He knew who he was.
There was a sudden loud buzz. A door opened, and footsteps echoed against the corridor walls. Will had no doubt that it was Dr. Chilton, trying to analyze him again. He muttered the exercise to himself, more softly than he had just a minute ago.
"I don't know what time it is, I'm in Baltimore State Hospital for the Criminally Insane, and my name is Will Graham. I am not a murderer."
"It's seven thirty," said a familiar voice. "Is the exercise helping you?"
Will looked up at Hannibal; in Will's eyes was something between hope and hatred. Will hoped that Hannibal was innocent, and that he hadn't betrayed him. He hated not knowing, and the thought that Hannibal was capable of hiding it from him for so long.
"I know what's real, if that's what you mean," Will said through clenched teeth.
"I brought you something," Hannibal said, taking Tupperware out of a brown gift bag. "I'm not allowed to send in silverware, I'm afraid."
He put the containers in the food tray and passed them to his only friend. Will looked at the bowls with disdain, but Hannibal's cooking was a lot better than prison food. He took the lid off of one of the bowls and breathed in the sweet aroma.
"Thank you," Will said, trying to maintain his dignity.
"You're very welcome," Hannibal said. "It made me sick to think that they weren't feeding you right. You shouldn't be here, Will. You need psychological support, which Chilton is very obviously too unconcerned to provide."
"A support group here would be pretty…colorful."
"I should imagine so," he said.
Will tilted the bowl up and slurped up the soup that Hannibal had brought. It was delicious; it tasted like any ordinary broth, but with more of a sweet taste. He faintly tasted blackberries, uncommon an ingredient as it was. Hannibal smiled as he watched Will. He remembered boiling human bones to make that broth—human marrow is much sweeter than a chicken's. It gave the broth a unique flavor that went perfectly with berries.
"Look, Will," he said. "I'm currently working out an agreement with Crawford. He's baffled on another case and is in desperate need of your…perception. We've yet to work out the finer details, but it is possible that we could have you out in a little while—under constant supervision, of course."
"Under whose supervision, exactly?"
"I may be the only viable candidate, considering anyone else has yet to volunteer."
"Your supervision?"
"Yes, my supervision."
"Despite our recent history?"
"It may be recent, but it's still history. I'm sure we'll learn to get along, given the proper circumstances. It will give me an opportunity to make sure you're taking care of yourself, and to promote your mental health."
"They'll never let me out, not after Abigail Hobbes."
"They only found an ear, Will," Hannibal reassured him. "For all we know, she's still alive. I've made this point very clearly to Crawford. He may be skeptical, but he can't deny the possibility. You don't remember anything, and they haven't found a body."
"I think like a killer, Hannibal. Who knows what I could have done with the body? I'm not even sure I would know."
"Please try to think positively until I can procure the arrangements," Hannibal said. "Remember. It's seven fifty-five, you're in Baltimore State Hospital for the Criminally Insane, your name is Will Graham, and you are not a murderer."
Hannibal gestured to the bowl, which Will then put into the food tray and passed to the other side. Hannibal gathered what was his while Will watched, unable to do anything, as he always had. He would always watch while Hannibal collected what was his. And Will would consume everything he could, like he was beginning to think he had consumed Abigail. He tasted the ear in his mouth. It was a taste that never left him.
Hannibal put the Tupperware back into his brown bag and began to walk away.
"Good bye, Will," he said, his heels clicking softly on the stone floor. "I will see you again very soon."
"Wait, Hannibal," Will said, desperately.
Hannibal turned on his heels, looking at Will. His gaze cut straight through him, and almost made him feel ashamed.
"Do you really think that Abigail might be safe?"
"We must look for light in dark places, Will. Abigail might be the darkness you feel right now, but she could also be the light that brings you out of this."
There was a sharp noise from the buzzer as the door opened, and the doctor left. The door slammed behind him, and the criminals around Will rattled the bars of their cages like animals.
Hannibal drove home in silence, as he always did. He hated keeping secrets from Will, but this one he had to. If Will knew that Abigail was safe, hundreds of miles away from this place, he might regain mental clarity. Hope was fine. He could hope that Abigail was safe, he just couldn't know. Hannibal needed Will's mind to be muddled. He needed Jack not to trust his judgment on matters that pertained to him on an emotional level.
When he looked at Abigail, Hannibal saw his sister. The sister he had given everything up for, whom he had tried to take care of until the end. Abigail was his chance to do right where he had failed as a child. In her eyes he saw himself. Cunning and ambitious, manipulative, but not without sensitivity. She was his child, and he would do everything in his power to protect her.
His mind travelled back to the day he had killed Abigail Hobbs.
He held her close to him, breathing in the perfume of her hair. It smelled like the autumn leaves on the forest floor after the first rain of the season. It was by no means flowery or tasteful, but it was her scent, and he associated her very closely with it. It provided very little comfort to him, knowing what he was about to do.
"I'm sorry I couldn't protect you in this life," he said.
She was shaking so horribly. He wanted so desperately for her to be calm, but he knew that what was coming next would be painful, and there was no sense in sugarcoating the truth. Even with anesthetics, this procedure was risky, and very painful. An ear was the best choice. Abigail needed her fingers, and he didn't want her to suffer the deformity of a severed nose. A severed ear could be easily covered by her hair; it wasn't that noticeable on a girl like Abigail.
He raised a cloth dampened with chloroform to her nose, and kept it there until she went limp in his arms. He laid her across the kitchen table, taking out a scalpel and some antibiotics. He swept her hair away from her ear and apologized softly. She was sleeping, like an angel—and he was bent over her with a knife like a demon. He knew that this act was nothing if not merciful. He was saving her from convictions of murder. It was only a matter of time before her secret was out, and he would rather Will be in prison than his Abigail.
No. A false identity would be a much better option for her. He cleaned the area around her ear, strategically placing gauze around the spot to absorb the blood, of which he was sure there would be much. He took his scalpel in his hand and made the first incision. He wasn't aware of any time before this he had felt sick cutting into human flesh, but harming Abigail hurt him somehow, in a way he couldn't explain. He had to keep telling himself that he was giving her the greatest gift she would ever receive—her freedom.
About half an hour later, he was bandaging the wound. He administered some more anesthetic, knowing she would be in a great amount of pain when she woke up. He washed his hands and went out to his car to put a plastic cover on over the passenger's seat. He went back into the house to pack his things, and saw Abigail stirring. He picked her up and carried her out to the car, placing her gently down. She would be too weak to do anything when she woke up, and she would be very confused. He planned on using hypnotic suggestion to help her get used to her new identity, and her confused state would be perfect for that process.
He started the car and began to drive. She was stirring still, trying to wake up from her drugged sleep. They drove for hours like this, with Abigail trying to regain her consciousness. After a while, she had a grasp of it and her eyes fluttered open.
"Repeat after me," Hannibal said. "My name is Alexandria Cunningham, and I have recently been in a car accident. I do not remember anything else."
"My name is Alexandria Cunningham. I have recently been in a car accident. I don't remember anything else."
"My name is Alexandria Cunningham," he repeated.
"Alexandria Cunningham."
"I live in Westborough, West Virginia."
"I live in Westborough, West Virginia."
Her eyes fluttered shut again, and she was gone for a while. She had dreams of flashing lights and gravel roads, screams, and screeching tires. She had dreams of a nice place with a forest full of deer and trees. She had dreams of a man who held her in his arms and said things she couldn't quite make out. She had dreams of the man who sat next to her now, whispering falsities into her ear as she tried to hold on to reality.
They arrived at a house. It was by no means expensive, but it was furnished and warm. Hannibal had planned this out. He had ensured that she would live comfortably. He opened the door for her and helped her out of the car. She leaned into him as he led her up the steps and into the house. He set her down in the chair, and took a seat next to her.
"You will find money and clothes in the bedroom drawers. You will have to go into town yourself to buy food. Don't talk to anyone unless you have to. There's enough food here to last until your ear heals," he told her.
She struggled to stay awake, clutching the arms of her chair.
"If you need anything—anything at all—send a message to this number. I will write to you periodically to be sure that you are all right."
"Who are you?" she asked.
"I'm Doctor Hannibal Lecter, Alexandria. Don't tell anyone about me. Just know that I'm here for you when you need me."
He helped her out of the chair and led her to the bedroom, where he tucked her into bed and stayed with her until she fell asleep. He kissed her forehead and left for Baltimore. He had one more stop, though. Wolf Trap, Virginia. It was finally time to plant the evidence and ensure Abigail's safety.
The dogs knew him by now and did not stir as his scent disturbed the room, even with a plastic bag containing Abigail's severed ear. They knew him, they trusted him. He opened Will's sleeping mouth as he lay sprawled in his bed, and shoved the ear down. He did not move, but Hannibal was sure to be quick in his departure for Baltimore. He sped back, knowing he had done a good thing that night. He had saved one, but condemned another. He incinerated both the plastic seat-cover and the plastic bag which had held Abigail's ear.
He had killed Abigail Hobbs in a way, but he had also given her a new life. A new life where she was safe and could live freely as was possible given her circumstances. And Will would take the fall for her, like any good father should. Hannibal would just stand by and watch, not with glee, but with something very similar.