This Is Our Design
Normally I am not one to daydream. I see little point in it. Why sit and ponder when you can just simply act? I am not one to fantasize either. It seems like such a waste of time. In literature serial killers often admit to fantasizing about their kills turning it over and over in their mind before they act. Perhaps in a way I do, but more so from a logical standpoint, from a planning mindset. I certainly do not sit behind my desk and pleasure myself at the thoughts of what I'm about to do or how I am going to do it. Then again not every serial killer is so cookie cutter as the profilers would like to think we are. There is always an exception to the rule, a black sheep who bears their own particular shade of darkness. I don't need to daydream, I don't need to fantasize. I know where my life is headed, I do not need to dwell on it, merely live it, and should that path be altered, should it need to change then, I adapt.
After tonight though, I cannot help it, for it seems almost tangible. As if I were to think hard enough what I see in my mind's eye would be birthed into reality. It dances before my eyes like some mirage so desperate to come to life.
I can still smell Abigail's shampoo upon my shirt, a lingering dampness from her tears and choked breaths clinging to the fabric. Her voice still rings in my ears. A strangled confession, the one I'd been patiently waiting for, her last and final burden she bared for Garret Jacob Hobbs finally cast off. How natural and easy it was to open my arms and receive her. I've done it many a time, compassion, caring, empathy they are all characteristics of my profession, but they are practiced. A mask as Dr. Maurier put it. This, this was anything but. I saw the need, the want for comfort, reassurance, protection and I gave it without hesitation. What surprised me the most was it felt – right. As if a part of me that was missing without my knowledge had been slipped back into place. I was filled with a feeling I'm not sure I have a word for, something very rare for me. Was it paternal? Fraternal? Whatever the feeling was it was deep and at my core past all of the carefully constructed masks of Hannibal Lecter.
The other night when Will confronted me in my office about Abigail and Nicholas Boyle I referred to us as her fathers, that we needed to protect her. Then perhaps I was playing more to Will's earlier confession about his own paternal feelings for Abigail. How he felt a need an urge to take up the mantle of fatherhood that he had stripped Garret Jacob Hobbs of when he gunned him down. I truly did care about Abigail then, I did not wish to see her life ruined for the sins of her biological father. Tonight though, sitting at the table listening to that – parasite of a woman called Freddie Lounds, watching her ever so politely rip into Will, and he though perhaps a bit rough rebuttaled her rather nicely, I knew then these were the two most important people in my life. And here they were in my home, at my table. If Miss Lounds had been removed, even better had been on the menu, it would have been the perfect night. This, this is when and where I feel my daydream start to take shape.
Why could we not truly be Abigail's fathers? She can never truly go back home, not to the place she use to call anyways. Taking Abigail in would not be like taking in a baby, or a toddler. She is on the very cusp of becoming a woman. She has no where else to go. She has been hovering in a sort of limbo and everyone around her seems to just be waiting for her to snap. With us she could move on, become more, overcome the legacy her father has left her. To us she is not the daughter of Garret Jacob Hobbs, she is not the spawn of the Minnesota Shrike she is simply Abigail...our Abigail.
The vision comes to me so clearly I almost wonder if I am dreaming it, but I feel the bowl of the wine glass cradled in the palm of my hand. The warmth of it lingering in my throat filling my palate with peppery spice, a body full of black currant finishing with rich oak. I am reminded it is all fantasy. But what if it wasn't? What if... As I take up the decanter of wine left over from dinner and pour myself another generous glass, I give in and I dream of our life.
First and foremost Abigail would move here, with me. The facility is stagnant it's choking the life from her. She may as well be rotting in prison forced to think about what her father did and what she helped him do.
Perhaps during the week she could stay at my house and on the weekends we'd all venture out in the country to Will's. As rural and unsophisticated as his house may be it does have its own charm to it. Abigail and Will both seem to have an affinity for the outdoors, they could go fishing and return with a feast I would gladly prepare. A few of my favorite dishes come to mind, nothing tastes better then food you've caught yourself.
I would prefer that Will live with us as well, I might even be persuaded to allow the dogs as well. I have a sizable back yard and I would be lying if I said I didn't enjoy going and feeding them in Will's absence. I'm rather keen for Winston, he reminds me very much of his owner.
Adoption? Not necessary, but if Abigail would like to get out from under the Hobbs name it would be an ideal option. Abigail Lecter does have a ring but not as well as Abigail Graham. I doubt Will would need much convincing, if at all. Given she's still a minor, if even barely it would raise little question. Adult adoptions even though perfectly legal always seem to raise brows. However if there were to be any psychological evaluations I couldn't be certain Will's mind would hold up. Then again one's legal and the name they go by do not always have to be one in the same. Lecter-Graham or Graham-Lecter sound rather sophisticated.
She mentioned wanting to work for the FBI, helping them stop and catch men like Garret Jacob Hobbs. If she still wanted to, who better then Will to help her get her foot in. True it would be an uphill battle. Getting past the long shadow Garret Jacob Hobbs has cast over her won't be easy. Will would stand in her corner though and he would fight for her, I can see it in his eyes. And I can't help but find the idea of father and daughter working together a rather pleasant one. If nothing came of that, then perhaps I could employ my first secretary, perhaps Abigail would take a shining to psychology, she has a knack for it. Perhaps one day she'll be psychoanalyzing Will and I as part of some 'homework' assignment, maybe bringing Will for a college level career day or asking me to give a guest lecture. Maybe both. I can see Will and I seated next to each other whether it be at Quantico, Harvard, Stanford or Yale as two very proud fathers watching their daughter take her first step towards the rest of her life.
But my vision isn't just about Abigail. No far from. I said two of the most important people in my life were at my table tonight, not just one. Will Graham. I have to admit perhaps I have fantasied about him. But not in the ways one would think someone with my – tastes would. Will Graham will never end up in my freezer or in my skillet. He is neither rude or a pig of a person, besides I am far too fond of him, I prefer him alive then dead. I care for him, a great deal, more so then I'm sure even he realizes. I know I care for him on a level he is unaware of and perhaps incapable of returning. Do I love Will Graham? I cannot say, but I am attracted to him. I have no shame in admitting that and I'm sure to some it would come as little surprise to find my tastes tend towards men then women. Would he be appalled by it? I would like to think not, but finding out my attraction to him may, unsettle him. I do not wish to lose Will Graham as a friend, thus why my feelings have remained only to myself.
Admitting his kiss and feelings for Alana Bloom made my own admission of feelings moot. My poor dear Will how stunned and hurt and confused he looked wandering into my office. Unstable. That was the word Alana had said right to his face. He was bad for her. Are we all not a little unstable? Are we all not a little bad for one another? The look on his face, did she even know how deeply she cut him with her simple words. She does not deserve him, she does not deserve his heart.
Then there is one Jack Crawford. He claims he cares for Will and yet he sets him upon darker and darker horrors. If I were not so charmed by Jack's Bella and her plight I would have disposed of him long ago. He abuses Will. The deeper Will goes the more the darkness follows him back. He loses more of himself each time and I fear one day Will Graham will be lost. It is obvious to me and it must be to Jack, but he refuses to see it or at least acknowledge it. Will confided in me though, I hear the fear in his voice. I am concerned, even afraid for Will. How soon till his pure empathy becomes reality? He lost three hours last time, what if it becomes three days? Will he be so lucky as to seek me out like he did last time? Will is not a monster, but he walks among them and slowly their claws are starting to catch him. I refuse to let him become one and if need be I will use my own claws to make sure it doesn't.
However, at the moment this is my fantasy, my daydream. And in this world of my creation Will knows of my attraction, accepts, and returns it. Alana Bloom is all but forgotten along with Jack Crawford. He merely teaches, lecture or none of that, a 'stay-at-home dad,' as he would probably call it.
Looking over at the couch next to the chair I'm in I can see it play out like some holographic movie.
Abigail long gone to bed, or perhaps off at college. The two of us seated together, a bottle of wine warming our stomachs, gently fuzzing our minds just listening to the crackle and pop of the fire. Perhaps something from Chopin or Bach playing softly in the background. It would start slow, for Will's sake. A brush of the hand tracing a raised vein so I could feel the flutter of his heart beat. A chance glance up at those stormy eyes. His jaw would be clenched a little, a flash of uncertainty, even fear. An easy smile and a hand to the cheek should ease it all away. Normally I would prefer clean shaven but in Will's case the scruff suits him far too well. I can almost hear the sound of my fingers against it, like sandpaper, feel it tugging, catching on the pads. His lips though, are soft and supple, thinner then a woman's but no less as smooth. A perfect cupid's bow, begging to be kissed, sucked on, bit. At first his lips are tense pursed tight but they relax and slowly but surely return it. The glasses that are ill-suited for his face are the first thing to come off, but set with care on the end table.
Itching fingers weave into his Adonis curls gripping and the favor is soon returned as his seeks out kisses of his own and I gladly oblige. As a man use to being in heterosexual relationships Will is more than likely use to taking charge, to be the leader. I can feel him wanting to, but at the same time he is hesitant, unsure of exactly what to do with a man. It is that initial power struggle that I find so appealing with a man. The back and forth till one submits. Our motions become mimicry. He watches my every move with him and in kind tests them out upon me, gauging my reaction. The buttons of my vest deftly undone with one hand, it quivers and hesitates for a moment before continuing on to the tie loosening the knot before the silk undoes itself. Pulling it off of my neck he regards it for a second, an awkward little snort comes from him amused by something. Swallowing, he wets his lips and looks up at me.
"You know I hate paisley," he murmurs quietly, eyes darting down as he thumbs the tie.
My own snort escapes me, a half grin tugging at the corner of my mouth. Reaching out I peel back the flaps of his jacket then very poignantly undoing each button of his shirt. "And I hate flannel," My brow pops a little. "It would appear that we are even."
A half laugh rushes out from his lips an obvious strain in his voice. He nervously chews on his lip again unsure of the next move. A few kisses upon the neck, ghosting over his wonderfully pronounced Adam's apple and the tension in him is eased for now. He undoes the buttons of my shirt pulling out the flaps from my pants and letting them hang. Before I can sweep in for another kiss, his hand comes up, finger tips touching my chest, halting me. The words want to form but they keep catching in his throat. Is he afraid? Ashamed to utter them? Finally they break free though just above a whisper, "W-will it h-hurt?" his voice cracks a little and he refuses to make eye contact with me.
I cannot help the smile that plays across my face and I reach up, lacing our fingers, giving his own trembling ones a gentle squeeze. "Yes," I freely admit. I see his face drop a few shades at that. Bringing up our linked hands I kiss the top of his hand bringing it to my cheek and holding it there. I can feel his heart beat pounding wildly against my skin. "But nothing too unpleasant. We can take it as fast or as slow as you want Will."
It may be the heat of the moment or the wine fogging my mind, but I grow a little more bold, seeking out longer, deeper kisses pressing against his lips so hard I can feel his teeth behind them. My hands go for his pants at a near fever pitch so very unlike myself, but I've been waiting for this moment. "Do you remember Will," I start undoing his belt my hands on the flap of his pants. "When you said you didn't find me very interesting?" One very deliberate tug his pants are undone button and zipper both. Will's breathing picks up leaving him in heavy pants, he clutches at my shoulders fingers digging into the skin. How long as it been for him? Far too long it seems. The heat of his ache all to obvious where my hand rests. On purpose or just instinct his hips arch towards me but I pull my hand back enough eliciting a quiet moan that he cannot deny.
"Y-Yes, god, yes I remember," he stammers out between heavy breaths.
"I am going to make you eat those words Will," I whisper, my tone pitching low each word perfectly articulated. Breaking the final barrier of cloth, I take him into my hand, silencing his moan with my mouth to his. I lose myself for a moment, overcome with it all and I cannot resist, I cannot help myself.
I bite, and I bite hard on his upper lip.
The metallic twang hits my tongue, but before I have the proper chance to savior it he pulls back a hand over his mouth, eyes wide and brows drawn together. Looking down at his finger tips he smears the blood, with his thumb.
"You bit me," he says in mild disbelief before looking up at me.
My gaze never falters from his. "I know." I hesitate wondering if I should apologize. I'm really not all that sorry about it. That speck of crimson the way the skin around the bite darkens and swells, I find it very erotic, but it is rather rude. I take a breath to apologize but now it is Will's turn to silence me.
Eventually we'd move from the couch up to the master bedroom where in our own time we would make love, just as slow or as fast as Will wanted and then fall sleep tangled with one another. I'll fantasize more about that later tonight. I like this suit far too much to soil it. And as is I find myself already bothered enough.
Our first breakfast, I even have that planned out. Similar to the egg scramble I brought to Will's house, only this will feature a special 'bit of protein'. I believe Lounds sausage would go very well with the scramble I have in mind. Leaner I'd imagine then most perhaps a bit of seasoning to take out the bitterness but none the less savory. Seated the the table the smell of fresh brewed coffee lingering the the air, Will more then likely grumbling that my coffee maker took far too long, but made a 'damn good cup of coffee.'
It would be the first morning of the rest of our lives. It could be perfect, it would be ideal. Would it last though? Could Will and I grow old together? Could Abigail forever be 'our' daughter? We are all suited for one another. We have all taken lives. Will gunned down Garret Jacob Hobbs to save Abigail. Abigail killed and gutted Nicholas Boyle in self-defense and terror. I, well, I have done far worse but all Will knows is of Tobias Budge. Yes it was self-defense, but also rage. I had set Will upon Tobias and when I saw him walk through my office door with blood upon him I truly feared the worst. I feared Tobias had killed Will. My gut and heart clenched though my composure remained impassive. It was a large part of what fueled me in our struggle and why I won. It's the only time I'd killed not just for myself but for, because of another. I killed Tobias for Will, because of Will, because I feared he'd taken away the only person in the world I feel I could love. In that respect we are a perfect family. We already protect one another, why should it not be official. If it were all to come true how long could the dream last though? How long till we were all rudely awaken?
Will is extraordinary at what he does. Even if he stopped going out into the field it would not stop him wanting to catch killers. Once Nicholas Boyle's body was found it didn't take him much time at all to realize that it was Abigail who killed him. How long will it be till Will looks at victims of the Chesapeake Ripper and when he closes his eyes he sees me? If anyone will ever catch me, it will be Will Graham. He and I we are near one in the same. He is the man trying to become the monster and I am the monster parading around as a man. Both of us wearing our masks as the world sees fit both of us unsure when the mask will crack and if we can ever put it back on. When he does finally figure out who I am, what will he do? He simply cannot dismiss me like Abigail I have done far, far worse than she has. It's an odd thing but, I think I will be proud of him that day. Proud and perhaps sorry that I will have to put him through so much when my mask is torn off. I know he will be disgusted, repulsed by what I am for he said it himself as he spat out those words about the Chesapeake Ripper unknowingly to the Ripper himself. The disdain in his voice the way his face contorted he is horrified at the very thought of what I do. I will not feel pity for myself the day when what I truly am is revealed. All my sympathy goes to Will, to Abigail for they will have to live in the wake of my shadow forever questioning if I loved them, cared about them for everyone knows a monster has no heart, surely a monster cannot love...can it?
I know virtually all, more than likely none of my little daydream will come to fruition. I will never have Will and though it maybe possible I doubt Abigail will ever become my daughter. As I finish off the last of the wine, licking my lip of the red clinging there I swear for a moment I can taste him. That scent that no other man carries about him. As soon as it comes it goes, leaving me alone as I can always been throughout this little fantasy and I root myself back into reality.
Still...one can dream can't he?...even the monster.