Will was trying to adjust his glasses when a silver haired man walked up to them. "You must be Will Graham and Hannibal Lecter. Which is which?"
"I'm Will Graham."
"And I'm Dr. Lecter," Hannibal said, holding out his hand to the man. As he took it, Hannibal asked, "And you are?"
"Detective Inspector Lestrade. Jack's told me a lot about both of you."
"You've worked with Jack then," suggested Hannibal.
"Several times over the years. We're acquaintances certainly though I wouldn't say friends. The crime scene's this way," Lestrade said and began to lead them down the street. Sherlock and John followed close behind.
As they walked, Will looked at the blood on the sidewalk, splattered in different patches. "He's getting desperate."
"What was that?" asked Lestrade.
"He, or she I suppose, is getting desperate. Whatever he's searching for he's running out of time. Do we have any witnesses?" asked Will, trying to avoid the detective's piercing gaze.
"Yes but the man was wearing a mask. From what we could get he's about five foot nine but strongly built. We have no idea what ethnicity he is. The man is in the alley right over there."
"The man?" Will was confused now. So far it had only been women.
"Yes, a man. He still fits the profile of the other girls though. A little taller, little bit more muscle, but still close. He has the shaggy blonde hair, blue eyes, and pale skin."
"It could be a copycat killer," suggested Sherlock. Very rarely did a serial killer break his pattern even if they were becoming desperate. Speaking of which, Sherlock was trying to figure out how Will could see the killer was desperate. The random patches of blood told Sherlock that the victim had been chased before being killed but he didn't have any more evidence than that.
Nevertheless, as they walked into the alley, Will's breath caught and he quickly said, "It's not a copycat."
Sherlock frowned, beginning to ask how he could tell when of course Anderson interrupted him.
"Who's this? Another freak?"
The words stung Will but he was use to it and simply said, "I'm a consultant for the FBI."
Anderson opened his mouth to say something else when Lestrade interjected saying, "Come on Anderson, move everything out."
Anderson mumbled something about there being to many freaks and not enough Scotland Yard but walked out of the alley way, most likely to go talk to Sergeant Donovan about this new addition. Sherlock walked forward to begin looking over the body when he felt a strong hand land on his shoulder.
"I think it would be best if Will went first," said Hannibal.
"You don't order me around. Lestrade—"
"Sherlock, I know this isn't how you usually do this this but Jack also suggested that we allow Mr. Graham to go first. You'll have your turn Sherlock," muttered Lestrade with a roll of his eyes.
The detective glared daggers at him but didn't intervene as Will went forward. He was curious at what was so different about this man. At what made him special.
Will walked up to the body as he put on the gloves that he'd been given and kneeled down beside the victim. There were two cuts to each shoulder. They had been administered perfectly so that the arms would've been useless at the man's sides. There were five stab marks over the heart, perfectly fitting through the ribs.
Closing his eyes and taking a deep breath, Will slowly stepped into the mind of the killer.
When he opened his eyes again, the noise of the city and police were gone. The body in front was erased as he got up and began to walk backwards. It was darker now, earlier that morning. While he walked back down the street, the blood spots disappeared from the sidewalk.
Now near the end of the sidewalk, were the police tape had begun, Will stopped and closed his eyes again. As they opened, he saw the young man in front of him, walking down the street.
Will let the knife in his sleeve slide into his hand as he slowly followed the victim. Then with a thrust of power, he ran forward, slicing through the muscle that controlled the left arm.
Blood splattered the sidewalk.
"With surgical precision his left arm is now useless as he runs away," said Will as he followed the man. "I stay behind, not because I can't catch up . . . but because I want him to feel one last glimmer of hope before his death."
As the alley came closer, Will lurched forward and cut the muscle in his right arm. The sudden loss of control caused the man to fall to the ground. Will bent down, knife still in hand, and began to drag him into the alley way, blood smearing the ground.
"I apply duct tape to his mouth. The loss of blood and the constant screams causes him to begin to black out. This is not my goal."
Suddenly Will was brought back to the present, and he looked down at the body in front of him. He was sweating now and breathing heavily but he ignored that and the eyes on his back. He looked at the man's neck and saw the signs of an injection made in the man's jugular.
Will fell back into the mind of the killer.
"I inject him with a dose of adrenaline. I want him wide awake. I want him to feel everything."
Will climbed on top of him, the knife in his hands. He brings it over his head and uses his entire body mass as he slams it into the heart. The man lurches upward, eyes bulging. The first blow kills him but Will strikes him again and again, administering four more blows not including the killing one.
"My first strike kills him. There is no need for the other four except . . . for utter pleasure. This is my design," Will whispered.
As he came back to the present, the killer's mind still lingered beside Will's while he stood up and turned to everyone.
"I'm still-I mean the murderer is still searching. This won't be their last kill," Will got out, his breath uneven as his hands slightly shook at his sides. He could tell that Hannibal and Sherlock had caught his mess up at the beginning of the sentence but appeared no one else had thankfully. Neither of them made a move to mention it.
"What do you mean searching? Searching for what?" asked Lestrade, arms crossed in front of him.
For a moment, Will was silent, his mind spinning. The other murders, the four girls, hadn't revealed what he'd-he meant the murder-had been searching for. Now, this one desperate act made Will's imagination reel.
"He feels bad. Angry."
"About the murders?" asked John.
"No! About one that happened before, one he didn't cause. He's older, probably retired from a hospital. He wants to be forgiven."
"Forgiven for what?" asked Lestrade.
"I'm . . . I'm not sure. But check murders that happened, probably ten, maybe as much as twenty years ago. Check databases where a blonde, blue eyed, pale woman with the same height and weight requirements was on trial for a murder. She would've walked free and is probably dead now."
"You think that this is revenge?" asked Sherlock, his eyes narrowed. "Do you think our killer is trying to get back at a murderer who walked free?"
"Not . . . exactly," said Will. He took a deep breath and he knew that they probably wanted more of an explanation now but what came out of his mouth instead was, "Does anyone have any aspirin?"
"I brought some along just in case," replied Hannibal as he handed him the small bottle.
Lestrade, watched Will, his mind wondering just how off his rocker this guy was but then turned to Sherlock and said, "You're turn. Just tell us when you're done."
Sherlock nodded, leaving one last glance at Will before setting to work at examining the body.
John walked up to Will and said, "Are you alright?"
"Yeah, just need to sit down for a bit."
"Come on, there's a bench over here," said John and he led Will in that direction. Will was reluctant to leave Hannibal and he half hoped that he'd follow but he didn't. Nevertheless, Will wasn't as uncomfortable with John as he usually was after meeting new people.
Hannibal would've liked to follow but there was something he needed to say to Lestrade.
"Inspector—"
"Just call me Lestrade. Everyone does."
"Lestrade then, before we have to go any further, I'm sure you're wondering what exactly Will's gift is and I'd rather you'd hear it from me. Will doesn't very much enjoy talking about it."
"Well, yes I was actually wondering. How did he know all of that information?"
"Dear William has pure imagination. He's able to see any point of view, yours, mine, a victim, or a killer, and feel empathy for them."
"So he puts himself into the killer's mind."
"I'm surprised you caught onto that so quickly," admitted Hannibal.
"Well I'm no Sherlock but I'm not Detective Inspector for nothing. I'll get my men on looking for what Mr. Graham said. I'm sure the FBI will be doing a similar search?"
"Yes. If it is alright with you, we'll accompany you to the place where you'll have your people of forensics take a closer look at the body."
"Of course it's fine. You can ride in my car so you don't have to take a cab" Lestrade said. Sherlock was still busy with the body so he glanced over to where Will was. "I'd like to know Dr. Lecter, and I apologize if it seems I'm prying, but is he unstable?"
"Most would say yes," replied Hannibal.
"And what do you say?"
Hannibal paused for a moment, trying to choose the right words. Finally he said, "Unstable, yes but I truly think he only needs to find himself." But which side of himself will he finally choose?