Will hung up the phone, finding it odd that Hannibal would call him in class, and concerned at the same time. Hannibal hadn't sounded particularly worried but there was something in his voice that sounded a little off to Will. Maybe it was just because Hannibal forgot what he was going to say, either way Will wasn't able to dwell on it for too long. He had another class coming in soon and after that he was going home.
Today had been exceptionally exhausting for Will, seeing as how he got little sleep the night prior because of a case Jack had him working. Will wasn't about to come right out and blame Jack for his restless nights, after all it was Will's prerogative to take the case. He could've said no, but that would be letting down Jack and that was something Will hated doing. He just hoped he would be able to sleep pleasantly tonight.
Eventually, the next wave of trainees came flooding into his class as he prepared for the lesson. He'd been educating students all day about a series of murders and sexual assaults perpetrated by an unknown subject who was still at large. Not much was known about the unsub aside from the fact that it was a young man in his late teens to early twenties and that he wore a full-body rubber fetish suit while he committed his crimes.
It was a case Jack had tried, in vain, to get Will to work on but something that Will would rather not delve into right now. Will needed a break which is why he was resorting to teaching the case to others instead. It was a lot easier to recite the atrocities rather than to actually have to think about them for extended amounts of time.
Will stood in front of his desk, leaning against it casually as he waited for everyone to get situated before rolling on the projector. In that instance, all eyes were fixed on the picture displayed against the transparency sheet. Will looked around, waiting for everyone to pay attention, and pushed himself off of his desk so he could begin his lecture.
"The subject we'll be reviewing tonight is a newer case that is currently under investigation," Will states, walking idly around the room. "Not much is known about the unsub. He is presumably in his late teens or early twenties and extremely anti-social with borderline sociopathic tendencies."
He clicks a button on his projector remote, prompting the pictures and general information about the two men to appear on screen. They were relatively young men, seemingly happy in their documented pictures, and appeared to be quite healthy for that matter.
"Our first victims are Chad Warwick and his lover Patrick Shaw. On Halloween night, Chad Warwick and Patrick Shaw were found in their home in what the police believed was a murder-suicide," Will recites, pronouncing each word loud and clear. "Recent evidence however suggests that this was a mere cover up to conceal the fact that they were both brutally murdered."
A series of crime scene photos popped up, depicting the murder scene in various angles with marked evidence as well as a fire iron covered in blood and bits of torn skin on the sharp end.
"Police have deduced that Mr. Warwick was drowned, finding trace amounts of water in his lungs, but this was not his immediate cause of death. As Chad was rendered unconscious, the unsub proceeded to attack Mr. Shaw, beating him to death with a fire iron. Soon after, Mr. Shaw was then sodomized by the murder weapon and both men were taken down into the basement where they were both shot and killed indefinitely."
Will shows the next slide after pausing briefly for dramatic effect. The picture was of both of the men sprawled out across the floor in what could be presumed as the basement. Will spares a brief glance towards the screen, seeing what the trainees were seeing, but feeling nothing. Will is too immune to such displays of violence by now.
"The gun, as seen above, was then placed in Chad Warwick's hand, suggesting the murder-suicide theory," Will goes on to say, gesturing towards the projection. "This has been ruled out, however, as this gun was used in a high school shooting a week prior."
The next slides are graphic snapshots taken of over a dozen students with various backgrounds and upbringings. Will cycles through them as he explains their demise.
"On October twenty-fourth, fifteen students were gunned down in Westfield High's library. They were all executed with the same weapon with the exception of three who bled out from their wounds. It's believed that the same man who murdered Mr. Warwick and Mr. Shaw had attended Westfield High at some point. Unfortunately, there have been no eyewitnesses to back up this claim. Which brings us to our most recent victim."
Just then, a picture of a woman in her early forties pops up on the screen.
"Vivien Harmon," Will says, raising his hand towards her headshot as if to present her. "Mother of Violet Harmon and wife of Ben Harmon. She was sexually assaulted in her home recently by the same man who murdered Chad Warwick and Patrick Shaw. How do we know this? What clue ties these two particular crimes together?"
Will looks around the classroom, searching for someone bold enough to answer his questions even when they were mostly rhetorical. Will clicks the next button on his remote and a picture of a BDSM-style suit appears on the transparency sheet. It wasn't the actual suit, so much as a reference.
"Vivien claims that during the assault, her aggressor was wearing a suit similar to this one. This same exact suit was purchased by Chad Warwick a month ago at a local fetish shop, but was no where to be found when the police searched his home," Will explains, taking off his glasses and gesturing with them towards the projection. "There is no question that this is the same suit."
The lights come back on and Will shuts off the projector with his remote and sets it down on his desk. He rubs the corners of his eyes incessantly as they adjust back to the brightness of fluorescents. Will leans back against his desk with his hands braced on the wooden surface behind him.
"The unsub has since then been called The Rubber Man, as he dons a BDSM personality to commit his crimes as a means of concealing his true identity," Will tells the class, addressing no one in particular. "It's been speculated that he has Dissociative Identity Disorder and that this dominant persona is to disguise the fact that he, himself, is powerless in his normal life."
"You said he has sociopathic tendencies," one student pipes up. "What does that mean, exactly?"
"It means that he can sometimes portray certain behaviors that are often associated with that personality disorder, but he's not a textbook sociopath. He is extremely protective over those close to him in everyday life but he isn't capable of feeling any guilt or remorse for the crimes he commits," Will explains, addressing the young woman. He turns to the rest of the class. "He may find it difficult to express deep feelings, especially with someone he loves. He will most likely be possessive of that person as well."
Will lets his words stop short, getting the feeling of having eyes on him other than the students in his room. He lets his gaze drift towards the open door of his classroom, noticing the dark outline of someone watching and listening. Will isn't sure who it is or if they're even there, but the person makes Will feel anxious nonetheless. Will shakes his head.
I'm just exhausted, Will tells himself, turning his attention back towards the class.
The rest of his lecture goes by rather smoothly but Will continues to spare a few glances towards the door occasionally. The person isn't there anymore but Will can still feel their presence watching him. He knows he's being paranoid and if he appears more twitchy than usual, none of the trainees seem to have the guts to ask him if he's okay.
When the lecture is finally over and all the students clear out of the room, Will is left by himself to pack up his things into his side pack. He moves swiftly so he doesn't have to run into Jack, fearing that the man would try and persuade him into sticking around for just a little while longer. He wasn't one for avoiding Jack, but he felt compelled to as of late.
Will just wanted to go home, pet his dogs, and relax with a shot of whiskey or two. A hot bath didn't sound too bad either, seeing as how it would help lull him to sleep, but that would have to wait until tomorrow when he wasn't feeling as sluggish. For now whiskey would have to be enough to do the trick.
After Will had everything he needed packed up, he left his classroom and made his way out of building and to his car. He was practically speeding walking by the time he came out of the entrance. Again, as Will trotted over towards his car, he could feel eyes on him like the ones from earlier, but that wasn't of concern anymore. All he had to do was hop into his car and go home.
The drive to Wolf Trap is nice and silent with the sound of tires moving across asphalt and the soft hum of his heater. He usually didn't like listening to music on his way home, preferring the natural sounds of the night more than whatever single was hot at the moment. The only thing that would complete him right now was a beverage, preferably hot, like cocoa.
Will drums his fingers on the steering wheel in a random series of taps, replicating something vague of an actual song. He thought about Hannibal and what possible reason he'd have to call him, but the answer eluded Will. Hannibal seldom forgot things, especially things that concerned Will, which is why it puzzled him so.
The thought stuck with him until he pulled onto the dirt road leading to his quaint little slice of paradise. It was late when Will finally got home, usually later than most tines, but not entirely unheard of. It had been a long day after all. He parked his car, hopping out and treading through the dark up to his porch. The porchlight blinked on when he came close, illuminating the inside of his house to see his dogs moving around restlessly for their master.
Will is mobbed by his family the second he walks in and goes to pet each and every one of them briefly before closing the door. He flicks on the light so he doesn't go through the trouble of stumbling over his dogs and sets his things down. He slides off his jacket and hangs it up on the coat rack before walking over to his collection of liquor.
He chooses something dark and with an extra kick, pouring a desired amount into a glass before capping the bottle and taking it over to his armchair. Will settles into the plush chair, setting his drink down so he can bend down and take his shoes off. He reclines back and sips on his glass of whiskey and, as an after thought, idly pets Winston on the head.
His other dogs have gone to lay down by the fireplace but Winston sits next to him, panting obediently and craving Will's attention. Will scratches behind Winston's ears with a lazy smile, downing the rest of his whiskey when there's a knock at his door. Will is snapped out of his reverie and sets his glass down, making a tsst noise at Winston and telling him to go lay down and behave himself.
Will makes his way over towards the door, noticing a young man standing on his porch with his arms wrapped around him. He has blonde hair and he's rather pale, shivering slightly despite wearing a striped long sleeve shirt. Will hesitates a moment before summoning up the decency to see what the young man wants.
"May I help you?" Will asks promptly, eying the boy up and down.
"My car broke down up the road a ways and I haven't been able to get a signal on my phone," the boy tells him, looking meek and timid. "Do you have a phone I could possibly use?"
Will considers it for a moment, deciding whether or not he should let this kid in. Will hadn't seen any cars his whole trip home, but perhaps it happened just now?
"Sure. Come inside," Will relents, stepping aside to let the boy in.
He looks around outside haphazardly before shutting the door and turning towards his unexpected guest. The boy is sizing up the place, letting his eyes drift all over the things occupying this particular space. The dogs mind their owner at the sound of another tsst and lay down instead of swarming the young man.
"I didn't catch your name," Will says after a few seconds, causing the boy to turn around.
"Tate," he replies.
"I'm Will."
Tate stares at Will with such intensity, bewitching the older man with the depthlessness of his dark eyes. Will licks his damp lips out of anxiousness, tasting faint traces of whiskey. There's something about Tate that seems to allure him and Will has to swallow down urge to question it thoroughly.
"The landline is just over there by the desk," Will informs, pointing in the general direction.
"Thank you," Tate mumbles monotonically.
Tate looks Will up and down with a hooded expression before walking over to the phone. Will pours himself another drink then goes back to sit down in his armchair, being wary to watch everything that Tate does just to be safe. He can hear Tate pressing the keypad for his desired number and takes note of the little glance Tate gives him over his shoulder.
The boy presses the phone up to his ear as the call goes through and promptly starts to talk to someone. Will sips on his whiskey and pretends not to watch as Tate pretends to talk to someone on the other end. The number he dialed didn't exist and Will is none the wiser about the fact. For all Will knows, Tate is talking to his mother to come and pick him up. Of course, this is all a lie.
Tate hangs up after having a brief conversation with his "mother", telling her where he is, before turning back to Will with an expectant face. He slowly walks back over towards Will, loving the way the man stares at every little movement he makes. He's aware that Will isn't watching him like that because he desires him, but Tate sure likes to fantasize.
"My mom should be here within the hour," Tate notifies, stopping in front of Will. He puts on his best puppy face, letting his eyes droop a little. "I'll just be heading back to my car now. Thank you for letting me use your phone..."
"You can wait here," Will gushes before he can stop himself, feeling a tad guilty if he leaves the boy out in the cold. "It's freezing outside. It'll be better if you waited here."
"Okay," Tate agrees. He takes a seat in the other armchair next to Will's and smiles bashfully at him. "Thank you, Will."
They sit there in comfortable silence for a few long minutes, appreciating the subtle company of each other. Will can see Tate fidgeting out of the corner of his eye, toying with his sleeve and pulling on threads. He seems antsy for some reason, but Will figures it's just because Tate is eager to go home. Still, Will feels the need to take the edge off a little.
"So, what do you think is wrong with your car?" Will inquires, taking a sip from his glass.
"What isn't wrong with it?" Tate quips, chuckling softly. "My car is pretty old, so it can be any number of things. The temperature devastates it, especially the cold."
"What were you doing all the way out here anyway?" Will goes on to ask, genuinely curious.
"I was coming home from a lecture," Tate states, peering directly into Will's eyes.
"Oh," is all Will can say, clearly at a loss for words.
Will tries to occupy himself with his drink until he finishes it and there is nothing left to swallow. He grips the glass in his hand to the point where he thinks it might shatter from the pressure, watching Tate out of the corner of his eye. Suddenly, Will is becoming anxious once again and the presence of Tate feels threatening.
"You go to college?" Will forces himself to press further, trying to keep the appearance of a calm and cool exterior.
"No, I go to Westfield high," Tate responds, gauging Will's reaction to this news.
"But you went to a lecture," Will points out, deciding his words carefully. "You seem interested in it, so why not?"
"I don't think I'm cut out for college," Tate sighs lightly, rising up out of his chair.
Will sets down his glass when Tate gets up and walks around behind him, seeming to take a moment to admire his home. Will sees this as a rouse to catch him off guard, but he has to stop and wonder why he's so on edge right now. Maybe somewhere deep in the back of his mind there is an answer hidden, but it's ultimately lost on the tip of his tongue.
Will sits perfectly still, listening to each step Tate takes and being conscious to remained relaxed. Will was just being crazy, over thinking every little detail and getting bent out of shape for no reason. He hoped that the whiskey would calm his nerves but that hadn't been the case. Will decided he needed another drink.
Without hesitating, Will got out of his seat and made his way to the bottle, pouring more of the dark amber liquid into his glass. He gulps it down without any pretense, keeping his back to Tate long enough to hear a soft shuffle of feet towards him. Will set his glass next to the bottle and focuses on his reflection in the window.
"You're a very intelligent man, Mr. Graham," Tate praises, connecting gazes with Will's reflection.
Will's eyes are wide from Tate's use of his last name. He'd only given him his first, so there was no way Tate could've known without prior knowledge of him. Will should be taking action right now but his body won't comply to the demands his brain is screaming.
"You were right, you know," Tate offers, stepping closer and tilting his head so Will could make out his reflection better. "I don't feel too powerful without that suit on and I do have a hard time expressing myself through conventional means."
Tate comes even closer, going so far as to press his body into Will's back so that his chest is flush against him. Will shudders visibly, gasping slightly when Tate wraps an arm around his torso and still, Will just stands there and lets it happen because he's too petrified to move. Tate's dark eyes are peering over his shoulder and his face has fallen forlornly.
"Which is why I must apologize for what I'm about to do to you," Tate expresses with heavy regret that subsides all too quickly.
Before Will can respond, or form a plan of defense for that matter, Tate stabs him in the neck with a hypodermic needle to inject him with god knows what. Will struggles then, grappling to get free from Tate's debilitating embrace. Tate pulls out the syringe, letting it drop to the floor so he can wrap his hand around Will's throat to keep him in place.
Will is kicking and fighting to stay upright but Tate isn't letting up, holding Will tightly in his arms until the protest leaves him completely. Will's body is becoming lax and he feels substantially heavier as he starts to sag in Tate's grip. Tate slowly sinks to the floor with Will, making sure that he doesn't fall and bust his head on anything.
Tate sits down on the floor, gazing down into Will's fluttering lashes as he cradles his head gently. Will is peering up at Tate with broken expression caught somewhere between betrayal and confusion. He tries to speak up, to reason with Tate, but his voice is robbed of him as the injection Tate gave him starts to take over. Tate is above him, lulling him into unconsciousness by shushing him softly and stroking his hair.
Tate caresses his face lovingly, being mindful not to drop his head back. Will's vision is getting foggy and the last thing he sees before passing out is the blonde boy beaming brightly down at him with such joy in his eyes.
"Go to sleep now, Mr. Graham," Tate whispers.