Hey!
This is my first attempt at fanfiction ever. Actually, at writing at all. But this show is too good to wait a whole year for.
Please be kind. I'm still getting a feel for the characters. And for, uh, writing.
At this juncture, Will had begun to accept that there was, quite literally, nothing he could do about this.
Nothing productive, anyway. Nothing that would get him out of here. Lecter had seen to that, had spun a web, had then created a labyrinth of smoke and mirrors that had led Will expertly into its heart. Now he was hopelessly tangled, wrapped up, helpless.
He'd been blind to it, as it happened, but now Will could see it. Now that his mind was, once again, fully him.
Now that it was too late.
In his current situation, he had learned, any accusations he made would be viewed as paranoia, his protestations interpreted as resistance to treatment.
'Treatment.' That's what they called it, but strangely...Will did not feel 'treated.' Mostly, he felt...violated.
They ran their tests, as much as everyone involved knew it would be a waste of time. They sent in shrinks and cops and everything in between, all intent on teasing out the 'motive' behind his 'crimes.'
There were no motives, of course. There had been a crime, though, although not the ones with which he was charged. His crime had been ignorance, had been his blindness. His was not an offense punishable in court, but he seemed to be reaping the consequences nonetheless.
Will was inclined towards thinking that it wasn't especially fair. But he was able to consider the possibility that it was, given how utterly and completely he'd been played. He should have seen what was happening, whether he was sick or not. It was inexcusable, what he'd allowed to happen. Criminal, even. Without a doubt.
At first, he did try to lay the blame where it belonged. Tried to tell them what was going on. But he'd known it was futile. No one was going to listen to him. Who would? He was a 'psychopath.' Who, until recently, had been suffering from hallucinations. Memory lapses. What were a couple of paranoid delusions on top of that?
Will knew, rationally, he was in no position to expose anyone.
Somehow, that didn't make it any easier to bear. To know the truth, and yet be unable to communicate it? Not for lack of trying, but for lack of credibility?
It left a bad taste at the back of his throat. Like blood, maybe, or bile, viscous and sour.
But what could he do about it, except hope that there was a gap in the evidence, that something could exonerate him?
Jack was right on at least one count, it seemed; Will couldn't seem to rustle up a lot of optimism at the moment.
He'd talked to Jack, of course. At length. Their conversations had not been fruitful. Had, in fact, been counterproductive.
Jack had not been to see him in a while.
No one had, in fact. Not his charming ex-shrink, not since he'd come at the beginning of Will's little sojourn. Probably, he found the repeated murder accusations rude. Which was too bad for him; sometimes, the truth hurt.
Will had hoped Alana would come, and she had, at first, but only in the context of a mental health professional. That was the only way she could get in. And soon, she'd become unwilling to be party to his 'treatment.' Which was just as well. Friends should remain friends and not shrinks.
Although it was questionable if one could have friends at all whilst incarcerated in a facility for the 'criminally insane.'
He did not intend for his incarceration to last forever, though, did not intend to allow Chilton and his ilk to play around in his mind indefinitely. To let them poke and prod and pick him apart. For now, he was keeping them at bay through judicious use of silence, but how long could that last? They weren't going to give up, and he wasn't stupid enough to think that he had the...mental fortitude to withstand the barrage forever. He was well acquainted with his own weaknesses. It was only a matter of time before Chilton became acquainted with them, too. And then how long until he lost himself, like Gideon had?
Thus, his incarceration would not last forever. But his plan to escape it was not conducive to rekindling the relationships he'd once had. In fact, it was not conducive to...anything, really.
It was a last resort. The last resort.
It was a way out, and he'd take it if he had to. But only then. It seemed like it would cement his guilt, leave him marked as a 'psychopath' forever. And it'd leave Lecter out there in the world, presumed innocent. Will was the only person who knew the truth, and that alone was reason enough to try to hang onto himself.
So he did try, even if his grip sometimes seemed precariously tenuous. Sometimes, it was barely there at all.
But he held on. Even if it might be easier and possibly even more pleasant to gnaw through his own wrist or drown himself in the toilet, he held on.
If not to prove his own innocence, then to disprove Lecter's.
After all, he was the murderer.
They were both criminals, yeah, but Lecter was the killer.
If nothing else, Will could hold onto that.
Thanks for reading!