UPDATE: Okay. Now that I've started on the second chapter, I will be changing the rating to M as needed. It's whatever at this point. Have fun!
I freeze in my tracks. The office is empty, and I have no witnesses- it is dark outside. After-hours. I have come here in hopes of speaking with someone useful, but have only managed to drive the middle-aged stout man behind the desk into calling me a name under his breath. I can't quite hear it, but I know it is there- I can feel it within the air. That is why I am frozen where I stand. I turn slowly, barely containing my sudden rage at the unknowing and… incredibly rude… concierge. I place my hands behind my back, giving him a taut smile. It was more of a leer, really.
"Excuse me?" My words ring steadily through the air. I am on the verge of frenzy.
"I said…" The man begins- a haughty tone within his words- but I cut him off fitfully by slamming his head into the front desk, knocking him unconscious. I then proceed to stroll behind the desk, lifting the man from his chair by his hair, and dragging him to a wall on my far right. He is bleeding from his forehead, but it only makes me enjoy it more. I am in control. I then continue my work by propping him against the wall, making sure his torso was straight and erect before examining him closely. He looked very tired. Stressed, perhaps.
I do not care.
I walk away, searching calmly through the drawers of his desk, scattering papers and staples lazily about as I do so. I then find a pair of scissors. A perfect tool for what I was doing. I proceed to waltz back to this stranger that I have so dutifully incapacitated and stare at him kindly. I smile. I even think about what his name could be and who he might be related to. But, all of these thoughts dissipate as I slam the pointed blades of the scissors into his right temple, bringing on a fresh bout of blood to drip all over my hand, his clothes, and the nice carpet of this motel lobby. I do it again, this time to his left temple- the puncture wound is a little messy, considering I am not left handed, but it gets the job done. Less blood pours from the wound, leading me to believe the man was already dead or was dying from my first attack.
I continue to feel nothing.
With the scissors still embedded into his skull, I give it a sickening yank diagonal across his face, toward the ground, making a terrible cracking noise. This leaves a dark red slash across his features. I do the same to the other side, using the hole I had already developed. When I am done, I look at the bleeding 'X' the seemed to blanket the man's face. It looked perfect. The protruding bones and teeth really gave it an artistic quality. This is my work. My job.
My design.
Will had gasped back into reality, pulling himself into the world of the sane. He could feel the foreboding shadow this killer left- he could almost feel heavy hands grasping his shoulders, forcing him to sit upright. His breath was escaping his lungs in violent bursts that refused to take any oxygen to his brain- he felt as if he were going to pass out. And, as if called upon by some devil, black dots began to dance across his already lightheaded vision. Jesus, this guy was crazy… almost as insane as the Ripper. The dark presence refused to leave Will's being for what seemed like hours.
It was only three minutes.
Jack Crawford, the man leading this investigation, and most of the investigations prior to this one, opened the door carefully to peek in on Will. When he saw his colleague struggling to even stand, he darted inside the room, steadying Will with an arm around his waist. He proceeded to position Will's right arm around his shoulders, letting the man rest all of his weight onto Jack. "Jesus Christ, Will… You can't let yourself get to this point!" Slowly, Jack escorted the younger empath into the parking lot of the motel where the murder investigation was taking place. Will had seemed to calm down a lot after they left the scene.
"Will. What the hell happened in there?" Jack left Will to stand on his own, and was ready for any waver the shorter man might make. "Have you even eaten or slept in the past three days?" Jack was serious, and he wanted a damn answer. William could tell.
"It's very hard to remember basic human needs when you're busy trying to discern who you really are…" Will said this grimly and without humor. He wasn't in the mood to play. The fainting spell had disappeared like a veil, leaving behind quite the inferno of a headache. All he really wanted to do was lay down and sleep… forever. "Listen, Jack- this guy… this guy is… he's very… Unstable." Will wanted to hurry up and explain everything to Jack so he could finally be allowed to leave. "He's quick to react- much more emotional than the Ripper, but within the same frame of mind. The victim- the victim was being rude… and our killer decided he had had enough." Will blinked rapidly, trying to think of other things that might be useful to Jack. "He's a big man. He was able to cut through the skull and jaw easily with… with scissors. He could possibly be a drawer or painter… Steady hands, same frame of mind. This act- this act was his job. He wants to rid the word of people like our victim here…" Will closed his eyes, his brow creasing with the effort of thinking. "He took the murder weapon with him, having not planned to kill anyone, and leaving fingerprints on the handle of the weapon… But I know he used scissors… I know he did." Will licked his lips, finally relaxing his features and looking up at the center of Jack's forehead, giving opening for any questions.
Jack seemed agitated that Will would change the topic so suddenly, but he accepted the information from him nonetheless. "Is there an explanation for the absence of hairs? You said this wasn't premeditated- so he had to have been a little sloppier than this." Jack was searching Will's eyes for the answer- or something else. Will wasn't willing to find out. Eye contact bothered him.
"I-I don't know… a hat, maybe? A hat and light jacket? He didn't seem to like to expose his skin. He's a very self conscious male." Will was working through his mind the events that transpired here, trying to remember other things rather than the extreme anger and sudden calm that had been swimming through the killer's mind. "It would explain the very sudden and very violent response to our rude victim..."
"So, we're looking for a middle aged man…" Jack paused, searching Will's expression for an affirmation. Will gave only the slightest of nods. "With anger issues, a beanie, and a jacket?" Jack seemed skeptical.
Will's voice was sharp and sarcastic- annoyed, almost. "Yeah, Jack. We are. No matter how unconventional." Will immediately regretted snapping at his boss, but Jack didn't seem to notice. He looked to be lost in thought.
"A thirty year old man who still wears beanies? Jesus…" Jack shook his head, placing his hands deep within his pockets and closing his eyes. "Will. This better not be a wild goose chase."
"When have I ever been wrong about it, Jack?" Will gave him a small smile, desperate to get away now. He wondered if his smile looked as forced as it felt.
As he twisted his key within the deadbolt, Will could hear the dogs begin to rustle about inside the house. One of them even gave out a territorial chuff in order to get a response out of the sudden intruder. But, the commotion lessened as Will opened the door and revealed himself to his pets. They all surrounded his legs as he walked in, sniffing out the new scents he had brought in from the outside world. He didn't touch them or acknowledge them- he never did when he walked in- instead, he continued on through the mess within his house, and into the kitchen. He opened the fridge and sought after any leftovers he might have. Nothing. He decided to make himself a sandwich.
With peanut butter sticking to the roof of his mouth, and jelly threatening to fall off the edge of the luscious white bread, Will hastily made his way to his sorry-looking dining table that took up room in his kitchen. He had suddenly become ravenous in his wait for the sandwich to be done- his hands lifting the article of food to his mouth and taking another, ridiculously large bite out of the bread. This simple morsel of food tasted so damn good after not eating for thirty-six hours. He continued to hork it down his esophagus, sputtering only once when the peanut butter felt too thick to swallow. His seven dogs watched him in anxious silence, panting, hoping to get just a taste of the magical food that their master was consuming. It was too bad, really- Will almost never gave his dogs table scraps. Unless, they were rib bones…and he hardly ever had ribs.
His peanut butter and jelly sandwich had left him distastefully unsatisfied, and he found himself thinking, "If I could only cook…" Now, he regretted not watching his mother work in the kitchen when he was younger. As for Hannibal- Hannibal could coo- ohmyGod.
He was late.
Okay, he hadn't missed the appointment entirely- it was five-thirty- but it took him an hour to get from Wolf Trap to Baltimore- for an appointment that was at 6. So… shit. Will was hurrying around the house, scavenging his shoes and a clean shirt within the mess of his living room and bedroom. He made it out the door in record time- five minutes. But, he still had a long way to go.
If there was anything he hated more than his little 'gift' (as Jack called it), it was being late for something. Okay, maybe he didn't hate it that much, but it definitely didn't make him feel good. It made him anxious- if you're late, you get stared at and judged. Patronized. Questioned. He didn't enjoy human contact all that much- and for unwanted attention to be brought to him for any amount of time, it made him uncomfortable.
So, he was pulling full force, no games being played- speeding, weaving in and out of traffic, he even ran a stop sign or two. Unnoticed, but the law was broken nonetheless. Will's efforts for punctuality knew no bounds! And, they pulled through for him- he got to Hannibal's office at six on the dot. So, there would be no uncomfortable questions being asked (outside of the usual, anyway) about what Will was doing. Because he was doing nothing. And he found that sad and pathetic.
He got out of his car and huffed, breathing in the fresh smell of the wet air that surrounded his form. He couldn't quite explain it- but he was happy to be there. Hannibal made him feel a little better- a little more in touch with humanity. So, it wasn't hard to begin the short stroll up the designated pathway and knock on the thick, red door that separated him from Dr. Lecter, his psychiatrist.