A wolf in sheep's clothing. That's what the Ripper was. He was hiding in plain sight and every piece of evidence that he left for the good guys to find was presented as a piece of art. A piece of art that was designed and created with only one person in mind and that person was Will Graham. Every body that was left for them to find was more artful then the last. They were becoming more severe and extreme. They were becoming intricate in their design and, every crime scene seemed to link together by a small piece of thread that was slowly unravelling to reveal the overall message left for Will by the Ripper. It was obvious when Will thought about it.

"It's a message"

The girl was young; her skin was pale which was to be expected. The blood that would have normally been running through her veins had been drained, taken, along with her lungs. Where the antlers pierced her body there was nothing, no blood; a clean cut. It was that which created a dark sea of chaos within Will's mind, which only seemed to grow when his eyes saw the face of the girl. Her hair was cut short, curled into small and tight curls. The colour was the same shade of Will's hair and her hair was styled to match his own. Her lips were painted red, a contrast so great in colour compared to her skin. The lipstick was wet, reapplied every two hours or so. He's not hiding; he isn't scared of being caught. He's waiting for it. There's a small voice in his head that's telling him that what the Ripper is doing is wrong and that the spark of happiness that Will is feeling right now isn't for the Ripper but towards the Ripper's confidence. There is a small feeling that is pumping through his veins and is running throughout his body. He isn't sure what the feeling he is experiencing is called but he knows that it is close to anticipation and some sort of respect but he can't quite put his finger on it.

His eyes meet the eyes of the female victim and his breath hitches. He is unable to stop the small gasp leaving his mouth and he senses the eyes of Hannibal on him. Will coughs, it sounds abrupt in the hubbub of the crime scene. The sound seems to silence the growing conversations between the FBI agents; the silence only seems to last for a second until it slowly fills up with quiet murmurs and eventually reaches the level that it was at before. If the eyes are the gateway to the soul, then the soul of the girl left her body the second she realised that her life was to be taken. Her eyes are held open and the dark pupils of her eyes are screaming at him for help. Help that would never come. Underneath her eyes are two teardrops, carved into her face as if the killer wanted to photograph and preserve the last emotion that she ever would fee but it was also a message, a message for Will.

And the message was loud and clear.

"Is he mocking us?" The sudden question from Jack shook himself out of his thoughts. It was a downward spiral back into the real world and Will came out of it with Hannibal's hand on his shoulder and, instead of flinching away from the touch, he leaned more into it and could feel the hand on his shoulder tighten slightly and then released its grip. Will could sense Hannibal moving closer towards him and the sudden need to run was becoming overwhelming. Will tried to get further away from him but the almost inaudible whisper of 'William' from Hannibal stopped him from moving anymore. Will could feel Hannibal's mouth next to his ear and Will wanted to push himself up so his own lips would meet those and he would be filled with the pleasure that only Hannibal could bring.

"What do you see Will?" Pain. That's what Will saw. Pain and a dark sense of pleasure. "What is he telling you Will?"

"Come and play"

Hannibal disliked rude people. He considered them inconsiderate human beings who did not really appreciate the kindness that other people gave them. True, Hannibal wasn't exactly kind when it came to the general public but it was common courtesy to smile politely and say a quiet 'hello' to those that he met. He was always told that manners cost nothing and, unfortunately, the poor girl seemed to have not been taught that life lesson. The girl, Leanne, Hannibal's mind supplied, seemed to not completely understand what personal space was or, if she did, she had no respect for it. She seemed to be confident when in front of an audience but how quiet she was when he was taking her apart with a sharp scalpel. She tried not to cry but when the sharp object touched her skin, a few stray tears left her. Hannibal was not one to feel remorse but in that second, while watching his victim break, he felt a small feeling that he recognised as guilt. This girl would never have the chance to get married and have a family and Hannibal felt sympathy for her, but it was quickly replaced with love, not for her but for Will.

This kill was for Will. A message that said 'Come and join me, forget about everything else and become what you know you are. A killer.' Hannibal smiled, imagining Will with a knife in his hand and a body at his feet. He was getting ahead of himself. Will would have to be trained to use a knife because, for Hannibal, every cut from a knife not only had to be skilful but also artful, something that he was eager to teach Will. There would be strict rules for Will to follow and one day, Hannibal hoped quite soon, Will would kneel at his feet, eager to please Hannibal and only Hannibal and oh, what a beautiful image that was. Will in a collar with the words 'Hannibal Lecter' engraved on it, or the initials of 'HL' carved onto Will's cheek.

"It's a message" Hannibal was pulled out of his thoughts when he heard Will speak. His quiet voice echoes in Hannibal's ears and he wants to pull Will towards him and rip his vocal chords out so that only he possesses Will's voice and nooone else will ever hear that beautiful sound again. The voice is timid, not meaning to be heard so Hannibal takes a step towards him, only a slight movement, one that is not seen by Will or anyone else. He analyses Will, analyses his movements and every small sound that he makes. He stores them deep within his memory and smiles, a slight upturn of his lips as he's watching Will. He continues to watch until a small gasp leaves Will's mouth. It is a small sound and his eyes meet a pair of silver eyes, Hannibal glares back until Will continues looking over the body. Hannibal takes this time to think about his boy. He thinks about how Will smiles and the small sound that he makes when he laughs and he imagines the throaty gasps and low groans that Will would make beneath him. He stands behind Will and lays a hand on his shoulder, wanting to soothe and calm his boy.

"Is he mocking us?" Hannibal nearly scoffs at the suggestion. Mocking? He had manners; if he wanted to mock the FBI then he would kill someone close to them, someone that they needed, someone like Will. Of course Hannibal would never kill Will, only if he appeared to be a clear threat to the life that he had created for himself and Hannibal would have trained Will to be the perfect pet. He heard Will sigh and a second later he felt Will leant into his touch. Hannibal tightened his grip slightly and moved closer, needing to calm. He saw Will flinch slightly and before he had a chance to move away from the heat from the body coming closer, Hannibal gripped and he gripped hard, a sharp 'William' left his mouth and suddenly Will stopped moving. Poor Will, how fragile you are. Let me be the one to break you in and you WILL become my perfect boy.

"What do you see, Will?" There is a pause. Hannibal's mouth is by Will's ear and he feels the need to bite, needs to mark the skin there. He wants to bite until Will's blood fills his mouth. "What is he telling you, Will?"

There is a pause and then Will stutters "Come and play"

My Good Boy.