hey guys - next part. I'm camping rn so the internet is pretty patchy; updates will take time. but please review what we have rn!
Olivia could breathe again as soon as she shut the front door behind her. She shouldn't have told him so much about herself. Knowledge was power, and something told her that giving Dr. Lecter power was not a good idea. Dr. Hannibal Lecter was a puzzle, a dangerous one, but a puzzle nonetheless. And if there was something she couldn't leave alone, it was an unsolved puzzle. Her intelligent mind was already dissecting every word, every movement he made as she weaved around the mass of dogs that greeted her happily.
"Hello, guys. It's good to see you all again." She cooed, surveying the crowded room. "There seem to be more of you since the last time I was here." She recognized most of them. Buster was currently sitting on her shoe. But one new face stood out to her. The dog was light brown with flecks of black and white all throughout his coat. His large brown eyes begged for pets, which she instantly gave him. "Who are you?" She murmured, rubbing his silky soft ears. His fan-like tail only wagged in response. Fingering the tag on his collar, she pulled it closer to the light. "Winston, huh?" Winston sighed against her touch, eyes closed in bliss.
"Okay Will," she muttered to herself, standing back up from Winston. "What did you get yourself into?" The farmhouse was as small and as cozy as she remembered, still painted a deep, dull blue/green. The furniture was a hodgepodge of different styles, unmatched in every sense of the word. After wandering upstairs, she saw that her room was unchanged, except for the fact that Will made her bed. She smiled softly at the kind gesture. Olivia dumped her suitcase on the bed, ignoring the dust she awakened. She'd deal with unpacking later.
Heading back downstairs, she peeked into Will's room, her nosey younger sibling instincts kicking into high gear. The room smelled like disinfectant and strangers. She frowned. Obviously Jack had sent his crew over to her brother's house to wade through Will's belongings after he'd been accused of the murders. That explained why a lot of Will's fishing tack was missing. She rummaged around in his closet until she found a warm sweater the crew left behind. Smiling softly, she pulled it over her head, comforted by the familiar texture. The November air was chilly, so she carefully stepped over the various lumps in front of the fireplace and turned on the space heater Will had placed there.
Turning on her heel, she surveyed the room. Will surrounded himself with his motorboat parts and his fishing tackle, that and the dogs being the only personal things he really cared about in this place. She reached out and gently ran her hand down the closest fishing rod, a sad smile tugging at her lips. Olivia hadn't realized how much she missed him until that moment. She missed his smile, the one that only she knew best because of his shy personality. She missed his warm hugs and frumpy sweaters. Sighing, Olivia let her eyes wander around the small space.
From his profile (yes, she profiled her only living relative, but it was the only way to keep tabs on him and she couldn't really stop herself if she tried), she knew that he didn't have a computer and didn't bring work home. It was hard enough for him when the images and profiles haunted his dreams. He slept on the first floor so he'd know when someone came by and never left the house without some sort of assurance he'd be safe, whether it was a gun or a pen knife. She'd have to work from her one file alone.
She marched over to the small eating table and plunked down in the chair, opening up the file as she did so. Olivia carefully laid out all the photos, keeping the notes in front of her to read from. Olivia organized the photos by case, eyebrows raising as she took them all in. It was as clear as day to her the difference between Hobbes' kill and the Shrike's. This Chesapeake Ripper was a fan of the dramatics she noted. The 'Wound Man' was particularly interesting and violent – Olmstead must've done something terrible to piss off the Ripper.
The organ harvesting meant cannibalism, and the fact that there wasn't a lunatic with brain damage running rampant hinted that the Ripper had enough knowledge on both medicine and cuisine to be able to prepare human meat well enough to prevent internal damage. She frowned down at the file. The FBI was dealing with a cold-hearted professional.
It took some fumbling around Will's worktable but Olivia finally found a pad of paper and a pen in one of the drawers. She also discovered a knife hidden towards the back; the police clearly hadn't searched as throughout as they thought. She placed it on the table. Heading back to her file she printed out on the top of the page in clear letters CHESAPEAKE RIPPER with a dark line running underneath.
Olivia studied the pictures in front of her, her gray eyes slowly roaming over the broken bodies. Her head slowly tilted on its own, the tell-tale sign that she'd begun profiling. After surveying the images for a while, she closed her eyes, exhaling gently. In her mind's eye she saw an old, worn oak door. It was the mental door to her empathy — this was how the maintained such precise control; she yanked it open. Sucking in a deep breath, she plunged into the profile.
To me the world is a beautiful, bright playground. And these small things are my toys. I see the people around me as insignificant, pathetic things. I pull their strings this way and that, causing them to dance for my own amusement. I thrive on the power I have over others. I punish the rude and put their bodies to a better purpose. I am in control at all times, even while committing murder. I will protect myself at all costs, even killing a high-profile person in order to remain undetected, but I will leave no trace. I am stability. I am calm. People trust me because I am constant. I plan each murder meticulously – to me they aren't even murders. It is mercy. I'm not a monster, I am a fallen angel. I am Satan, back for another round with my father's playthings.
Her eyes snapped back open, face expressionless and smooth. She started scribbling on the page like a madwoman.
Doctor – the organs are removed with skill and ease; he has enough medical knowledge to leave other parts of the body undamaged; he feels no guilt by taking them; he believes that they are not worthy of the organs, so he puts them to a (in his mind) nobler cause. Skilled chef – the meat is cooked well enough that the Ripper is not plagued by brain damage; the Ripper knows the side effects of eating raw human flesh (either he's seen it, or experienced it –- ask Will about it). Purposeful – he doesn't pick victims randomly; in his mind, the rude are like pests he must put down; his victims forget ever treating him in such but the Ripper remembers the transgressions forever – he likely has a list of some sort where he keeps all the names; the victim pool is large enough to suggest that he will wait until their meat is needed before he carries out their retribution; victims are most likely chosen at random. Practiced – he has no trouble being cruel, the organs are taken while the victims are still alive; the level of rudeness reflects the level of cruelty. Each step of his kill is meticulously planned out, taking every factor into account, including when the body will be discovered and by whom, and how the FBI will react: the Ripper has intimate knowledge of the inner workings of the FBI and keeps himself updated on the news of his killings.It was well past midnight when she finished her list and sub-lists. It was over three pages long and had direct connections to all of the Ripper's murders, including the ones that Will was accused of. Sighing deeply, she expelled the Ripper from her mind as she exhaled. The open door slammed shut, and the connection was gone. She smiled grimly down at her work before checking her watch tiredly. After a twelve hour nonstop flight along with the emotional rollercoaster of discovering her brother was a convicted murderer to working to prove his innocence, she was exhausted. She wasn't the only one either. All of the dogs were asleep, curled up in a pile of pillows and silky ears in front of the heater except for Winston, who'd been her steady companion all throughout the night. His head was heavy on her thigh.
Olivia yawned hugely. "Come on, Winston. Let's get to bed." He obediently followed her up the stairs and curled up next to her on the bed. She fell asleep with her hands buried in his soft fur.
I know it was pretty short, and I'm sorry, but camping remember? please comment!