The Devil that You Know
Will gazed solemnly into the mouth of the MRI. He felt unnaturally cold in his ill fitting hospital gown, especially under the gaze of his neurologist, Dr. Sutcliff, who was watching him expectantly. He placed the earplugs forcefully in and layed down, his body as vulnerable as a sacrificial lamb.
"This'll be over before you know it."
Sutcliff had called him at around nine o'clock that night, claiming that Will's symptoms were too concerning to wait until the morning for more tests. This surprised Will, given the doctor's previous declaration that there seemed to be nothing physically wrong with him. Still, he hoped that Sutcliff would find something treatable and end his suffering, so he drove back to Noble Hills Health Care Center to meet with the amenable doctor.
The unnerving banging began, seemingly in tune with his throbbing headache. He had taken two aspirin before walking into the Center, but they hadn't kicked in yet. Will thought of Alana, her easy smile and wry humor to try and make himself feel better, but he couldn't help imaging Garrett Jacob Hobbs cutting her throat…and then he was Hobbs, whispering in her ear that he would end it all and give her peace…
He woke as the MRI was shutting down, his body gliding slowly back out of the white vortex. Dr. Sutcliff was standing beside him, and when he tried to sit up, the doctor placed his hands gently on Will's shoulders, guiding him back down.
"Easy there, Will. The MRI took a much clearer image, and it looks like we're dealing with serious inflammation of the right hemisphere of your brain."
Will sucked in a gasp, his chest constricting in fear and relief…he wasn't crazy, he knew he wasn't mentally ill, despite Dr. Lecter's constant insinuations…
"So…what's next?" he asked expectantly.
"Well, I'm going to admit you and start you on some antiviral and steroid therapies."
Will shivered. "Do I have to stay here? I didn't leave food out for my dogs and they need-"
"I'm sorry, I know this is sudden, but you have a very serious condition that needs to be carefully monitored from now on."
Sutcliff led Will into a small room and began applying electrodes to his head and chest. The steady beat of Will's heart danced across the monitor. He carefully inserted an IV into Will's arm and watched as the sedative slowly but surely made the young man's eyes waver and then close. After watching Will's chest begin to steadily rise and fall and he was certain that he was sufficiently sedated, he restrained his wrists and ankles with thick leather straps. Then he turned off the lights and locked the door.
Sutcliff wandered into his office to study Will's MRI results and document his current symptoms when his phone rang. What he feared was already made manifest. It was Hannibal. Somehow his calculating colleague knew that his favorite patient was being stolen…
He cleared his throat and gave a seemingly pleasant greeting.
"I hate to call you at such a late our, but I was curious when you've scheduled Will's next round of tests. I would very much like to be present and I doubt Will would object. He trusts me with his health completely." There was an underlying threat in Hannibal's tone that only his oldest "friends" would be able to discern.
"Uh, well, I haven't scheduled Will for any specific date and time yet, but when I do I'll be sure to call you," Sutcliff stuttered nervously.
"See that you do."
With that, Hannibal hung up on the meddlesome neurologist and began planning the best way to dispose of him.
When Will didn't show up for his regularly scheduled therapy session the next day, nor show up for work or answer his phone, Hannibal knew exactly where his mongoose was. With disdain radiating from his cool visage, Dr. Lecter decided it was time to collect his prize.