Act 1, scene 3: Crime of passion
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"It is forbidden to kill; therefore all murderers are punished unless they kill in large numbers and to the sound of trumpets."
―Voltaire
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They drive in silence, and Will doesn't look at Hannibal, not once, he keeps his gaze out the window.
"How long do you plan on doing this?" Hannibal asks finally, no longer amused at Will's somewhat childish response to the problem.
"As long as it takes." Is his short, yet simple reply.
Hannibal sighs through his nose.
"How do you feel?"
"Violated."
They drive in silence.
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Don't blink, it makes this process much harder.
Push, push until the sight is drowned out, the push some more. Puncture the brain, listen for the gasp, stop pushing.
They're all looking at him.
Hum, it makes you feel better, even in this space, the cement walls feel safe, so comforting. The hum will echo.
Carve the design into the skin on their chest. Don't hesitate, they can't feel it anyway. You're getting better. Good.
Pour the bleach and acid mixture that you've got stashed in the back of the car onto the now dead body. Watch. Wait. Listen.
The sizzling will echo.
Leave, do not worry, the body will not move, not now. Someone will find it and they will know.
This design is not perfect, but it is mine.
Will really hates parking garages. The mixing putrid scent of asphalt and mold always make his headaches start up with a vengeance.
Pulling away from the corpse of the woman, mid twenties, now a mess of chemical burns and blood, he takes a moment to examine the carving.
A bull head with horns.
How unoriginal.
Dr. Lector comes up behind him, a silent sign.
"Interesting style of taste." He say's after a moment. "What have you gathered, Will?" He turns, looks at Will with a small smile and waits.
Will rubs his nose and pulls his glasses off. He keeps rubbing as he starts with a choky sigh.
"The person that did this is a very stupid psychopath. There's no real motive behind this other than pure..." He stops, steals a glance at the body, then continues. "power hunger. He'll kill again, that much is obvious. He'll continue this pattern, young, female, chemical mutilation. He doesn't know what else to do. He's a security guard. Probably works on commission. Explains the scenery." He motions toward what seems like a stalagmite pile of cement adhesive. "Unimpressive compared to the Ripper."
Hannibal's eye brows quirk in silent delight and curiosity.
"How, may I ask, is the Ripper impressive?" Hannibal questions, pivoting his torso slightly.
"He makes his presence a dominating factor in his crimes, not only just a fancy showing of how many sharp metal objects he can stick into someone. There's a...grim intelligence behind it all. Very Victorian. He doesn't dance either, he's in the game or he's not. That's really what it boils down to." After a moment or two Will looks back at the body, stares at the eyes that have been turned to a warm pool of goop within their sockets. "He's never going to stop."
"Why not?"
"Because it makes him God. Would you give that up?"
No, he really wouldn't.
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They drive in silence.
Will is the first to break it.
"I understand the reasoning behind what you did. I fail to see however, why you didn't inform me of this plan."
"You would have said no."
It's such a simple answer that Will almost screams. Almost.
He's dropped off at Hannibal's office, where Will's car is. They part with silent nods and affirmations of "See you when the next person dies".
Will arrives home to hungry snouts and restless dreams.
Not all of them are bad though.