Freddie fumbles to unlock the door to her apartment. She's overeager for her personal reward and it started to get to her on her way home. In the space of two days, her latest story had been put on the tattle-crime homepage and gained attention from a few credible news sources, Abigail Hobbs had agreed to let Freddie use her father's story in a book, and she'd made it through dinner with Hannibal Lecter and his pet Will Graham without any vicious threats or accusations. Freddie was proud and she had earned something special.

The door finally open, she tosses her keys into her purse and drops the red leather bag on the floor. Before making it out of the small foyer, she sheds her jacket and shoes, leaving them in the dark.

All day, she's been building up to this moment. She had denied herself any other indulgences, exhibited incredible willpower, all in anticipation.

Slipping easily through the dark, she gets into the kitchen and her hand finds the handle to the refrigerator. The light burns her eyes. As quickly as she can, she plunges her hand into the cold air and pulls out the Tupperware container that's been calling her all day.

Before turning on the light, she opens it and inhales. Her body shudders. The scent of blood in the dark is almost orgasmic, but it's not enough. She needs to see it. It takes some restraint not to reach in and take a bite now, but she convinces herself to set the container down on the counter.

Feeling along the wall in front of her, she turns the dial slowly and smiles adoringly down at the container in the dim light. Now she can see it all. The blood and the severed heart—human—are a beautiful sight after so long.

Will Graham must wonder why she's so keen on him. After years of reporting phony stories on political scandals, sex work, and petty crimes, why had she focused so viciously on Graham's cases?

This is the reason. She hunts and kills, and eats her victims for pleasure. And it is good. She's sick. She knows that she's sick but she's been doing this for too long to stop even if she wanted to. And if Will ever gets close to realizing her dirty secret, Freddie will be following his every move.

Carefully, trying not to get ahead of herself, she picks up the heart and holds it in her hands. It's cold, disappointing but obvious. She'd prefer it warm, but there was nothing she could do about that right now, not when it was so fresh and red in her hands.

Freddie lifts the heart towards her mouth and licks it timidly. The taste of blood is familiar and sweet and she pulls back. She needs to savor this, but she doesn't trust herself.

'Take your time, Lounds. All in due time,' she thinks to herself. She licks her lips and stares at the heart. There's not much longer she can delay this, but she's going to make sure the feeling lasts.

It's been a long time since she's eaten human flesh and she's never tried it raw. She knows it's dangerous, that there are so many diseases and bacteria in the bodies of animals, but she wants to feel the blood run down her chin and tear the muscle apart with her teeth and she wants to do it now. Cooking takes away so much of the savagery of eating meat—and Freddie Lounds is nothing if not savage.

She takes a deep breath and closes her eyes. The heart has a satisfying weight and it is slippery and cold. For a fraction of a second she recognizes what she is doing, what she is, and feels repulsed; Repulsed by her desires and her life and the bloody organ in her hands; Repulsed by the knowledge that she's going to devour the heart of a dead man and enjoy every second of it.

The disgust passes and she is left even hungrier than before. Finished with her own waiting and savoring, she lifts the heart and opens her mouth to take the first bite.

A voice stops her and sends a chill throughout her entire body.

"You shouldn't eat that raw, you know."