Will found himself dreading the darkening of the sky. Because whenever night fell, his insomnia appeared to taunt him. He was back in the hotel, sitting wide-eyed in his bed, while listening to Connelly sleeping soundly while Officer Rodriguez was reading a book by the lamp on the table.

If he wouldn't be able to go to sleep, then tomorrow would be his second day of no rest. The human mind would stop working properly after only four, after which the hallucinations would start. And seeing things that weren't real was exactly what Will didn't need to deal with at that moment. His thoughts moved to the small bottle of pills in his pocket, and he wondered if he should sneak into the bathroom and take a few.

The sound of a phone ringing startled Will, and he sat up in his bed as the officer answered.

"You're sure about this?" Will heard him ask whoever was on the other line. "All right, then. We'll be there in about fifteen minutes." And he hung up.

"What's going on?" Will asked.

"Agent Crawford wants us at a scene. There's been a murder."

-o-

The city was traditionally quiet during the early hours of the morning. But Will felt the crime scene almost scream at him the moment he walked into the apartment.

He had stopped a few feet beyond the threshold to collect himself when Jack walked over to him.

"It looks like you were right" he said, gesturing at the scene. Will could only look at it from the corner of his eye.

A young woman was pinned to the living room wall, several steel rods brutally piercing her skin in her shoulders, chest, and knees. The blood running from her wounds had seeped into the carpet below, making the room smell sickening. The victim's mouth was half open, making her look as if she was about to talk, as if she still had the spark of life in her. But what creeped out Will the most was the fact that her eyes were open, staring. He knew it was ridiculous to think, but he swore that they were staring right at him. Judging.

"We're looking at Christy Haverly, age twenty-one" Jack went on, "college student."

"She was part of a sorority, wasn't she?" Will said, still staring at the ground. "Just like the flower hinted."

Jack nodded. "There's a square piece of skin missing from her ankle, the same size as the others we've been getting in the boxes."

"How did she die?" Will asked. He knew it couldn't be from the steel rods in her body. Her screams would have caused too much noise.

Jack gestured at the marks around her neck. "Asphyxiation."

In the flurry of moving people Will spotted Jimmy Price busying himself. "The killer wouldn't strangle her himself" Will said. "You won't find any fingerprints on her, Jack."

"We're still hoping the other part of your theory will hold true. Logically, it should just a matter of time until the killer won't be able to juggle so many things, and he makes a mistake."

"Let's hope so."

Jack arched an eyebrow at Will's continuous attempt at not looking at the crime scene directly. Or anyone else, for that matter. "Do you think you're up for it? Doing the murder reconstruction."

Will wasn't sure. Without much sleep he was basically running on empty. But this was the defining moment when he could prove he was still an asset to the FBI, that he wasn't the insane man everyone assumed he was. Despite what every fiber of his being was telling him, he couldn't just turn around and walk away.

Will took a deep breath. "I'll need everyone out, just like all those other times."

"All right" Jack yelled out towards the team, "I want everyone to clear the zone for a few minutes! Now!" He turned to Will one last time. "Good luck." And then he left the scene.

Will kept his eyes on the floor for a few more minutes as he wrestled with his inner voice. He could do this. He'd done so many times before, after all. Cautiously, he raised his eyes and let them land on Christy Haverly. Will took a few steps closer when he realized he hadn't moved from his spot next to the front door. With each step, he heard the crime scene yell louder and louder to him. He could see now the dark purple marks around her neck, and her torn fingernails. Will purposely avoided looking at her wide eyes that seemed to study him, rather than the other way around.

He tried focusing on the smaller details, trying to prepare his mind for the recreation. Will then took a breath, shut his eyes, and... nothing. He frowned, but gave it another try. The same silence followed.

Something was wrong. A sudden realization dawned on Will, one that sent his hands shaking. He had always been able to empathize on a level that transcended most people's reach, but what pushed this ability forward had to have been his illness. But now that he was taking medication for his encephalitis, the symptoms were gone. And it seemed like, along with them, his ability had also disappeared.

This was bad. It was wrong. Will struggled to control the shaking of his hands and, in the process, took a few steps around the scene, trying to calm himself.

An alarm bell sounded in his head the moment he stepped onto the blood-soaked carpet. But instead of panic, Will felt something else. Something clicked in his head, as if a connection had been made, and his eyes instantly closed. The pendulum swung.

The blood began to run upwards, leaving the floor clean. As Will stepped backwards, he could see as, one by one, the rods of steel flew out of her body, and the victim fell gracelessly to the floor. She almost looked like she was peacefully sleeping, lying on the ground.

But the next moment her eyes snapped open, and her mouth gaped in a silent scream. Will next saw himself over her body, using his knees to keep her from moving. He quickly slipped a rope around her neck as if he'd done it many times before. He looped it twice, looking at the terror in her wide eyes. And then pulled as hard as he could. The young woman thrashed and scratched at him with her fingernails, her eyes locked on his face. But something about her movements was off. She moved slowly and hazy, as if she was half asleep.

The woman tried to cough, but all Will could hear was muffled choking, as the light slowly left her eyes.

"Jesus, what're you doing?!"

Will was ripped away from the scene and he stumbled backward. Beside him was a tall agent who looked very much upset.

"What's going on?" Jack asked, who had just walked over.

"He's contaminated the scene!"

Though still dazed, Will realized the agent was referring to him. He then noticed his left shoe had a blood stain from when he had accidentally stepped onto the carpet.

"Is this your idea of help, Agent Crawford?" the man asked. "So far all he's done is stop our investigation just so he could sit around like an idiot and play around in his head."

"We'll talk about this later when we're not going against time" Jack said, dismissing the agent. "All right, everyone get back to work!" He then walked over to Will who still looked spooked. "What did you see? What message is this guy sending us?"

Will wasn't sure what to say. He was still trying to get the image of the woman's judging eyes out of his head.

"The image is obviously religious, if you ask me" Agent Zeller said, who had walked up to them. "I mean just look at her. She's basically crucified."

"It's not religious" Will said, happy to have regained his voice again.

"Why not?" Jack asked.

"The killer wanted to send us a beautiful tableau, that's why he suffocated her. That's why he cut off the skin from her ankle. He wanted to do as little damage to her body as possible, so he could later place her on the wall. Just like a butterfly with its wings pinned back."

"But he doesn't care about his victims, so why would he go to such lengths?"

Will shook his head. "I don't know."

Brian frowned. "Well, did you see anything else?"

"I think she'd been drugged. Long before he suffocated her."

"Probably to try and keep her as quiet as possible" Brian offered.

"It also means our killer has a way to acquire drugs" Jack said, "Timothy Menken and two other victims died of either an overdose or had drugs in their system when we found them."

"You think our guy works for a pharmacy?"

"Or he knows people who do."

Will shook his head. "Our killer is a loner. He wouldn't have many, if any, friends. Least of all someone who would let him acquire drugs without a prescription."

"So then we're looking for a drug store employee or someone who works in a hospital. Someone who has access to a variety of drugs" Brian said. "That narrows it down."

"But not too much" Jack added. "We need to keep digging."

-o-

After a few more hours investigating the scene turned out fruitless, the team headed back to the headquarters to examine the body much closer. Will was surprised by how glad he felt when Jack had said he was free to go back to the hotel.

As much as he wanted to help them, he preferred that he didn't have to look at the mangled body and wide eyes of Christy Haverly. Which is why he was actually grateful to find himself back in the cramped hotel room with the two officers. Once Connelly announced that he would go out for a bit for some early breakfast, Will went into the bathroom to get cleaned up.

He walked inside and was careful to shut the door behind him. And as soon as he did, Will froze. The window by the sink had been opened, and now it gently moved in the wind. And on the windowsill there were a dozen dead butterflies.

The killer had been in his hotel room. Somehow, he must have overheard him talking to Jack about how the victim pinned to the wall reminded him of a butterfly, and now the man was... what? Out for revenge? Sending him a message? Will suddenly realized what he was seeing didn't make sense.

The killer basked in the attention he was receiving from the FBI and he loved it, so why would he go out of his way to try and scare him? Will wasn't FBI. He was a nobody to this man. It made no sense that he would risk getting caught on the hotel's cameras just so he could leave a cryptic message to someone that didn't matter. It just didn't match his profile.

No, it couldn't have been the killer. Someone else would have done this. Someone who would love going out of their way just to screw with Will's mind. A sudden flash of pain ran through Will's head, and he struggled to keep focus.

It had to be him. It just had to. He was still in touch with the FBI, especially Jack. And after waiting for months and months, he finally had a chance to send him a message, knowing that if Will would try and pin it on him, it wouldn't stick. No one would believe Will. And for good reason.

Before he was even aware of it, Will moved over to the windowsill and scooped up the dead butterflies in his hands. And then he dropped them in the toilet and flushed. He reminded himself that he didn't have to deal with this. His message was gone and if another one came, he'd just get rid of that one as well.

Hannibal Lecter could poke and prod from afar all he wanted, but he wouldn't be able to get to him this time.

-o-

The next day passed in a painfully slow fashion. No one from the FBI contacted him, so Will was forced to stay in the hotel room alongside the officers. Oddly enough, the two seemed perfectly content to just watch television all day.

But no matter how hard he tried, Will found that he couldn't focus on anything else other than the million thoughts swirling through his head. Maybe he had been wrong in considering Dr. Lecter to be the one behind the dead butterflies. But if it had been the killer, then Will had just gotten rid of potentially important evidence. He wanted to kick himself for being so stupidly impulsive the night before.

As the evening wore on, Will's anxiety rose. A sudden need for clarity was taking over him, and there was little he could do about it. He desperately wanted to know who had sent him the message the day before, but there was no way he could do that. Not unless he would spontaneously remember all those times he had lost his memory. Not unless he could remember something that could incriminate Dr. Lecter.

He spent the next hours pretending to join the officers watching television. But there was a plan formulating on the back burner. Will wasn't particularly proud nor happy with it, but he knew he had to follow it because desperation was starting to dig his claws in him.

That night, Officer Connelly had chosen to keep watch over him, and Will was glad about the coincidence. The other officer didn't seem to like him much, but Connelly had proven polite enough.

"I saw a little bit of what you were doing at that crime scene" Connelly said, drinking from a mug of coffee. "It was just crazy the way you just stood there motionless for like two minutes an then you snapped out of it with answers. Crazy stuff."

Will just nodded, not sure whether that was a compliment or not. His eyes trailed over to Officer Rodriguez, who was fast asleep on the sofa. The man had no way of knowing that the cup of tea he had drank before going to bed had something extra in it.

"I guess I'm taking first watch tonight again" Connelly said. "Young cops these days crash faster than toddlers." He sighed. "Anyway, thanks for keeping me company." He took another sip of coffee.

"Don't mention it" Will said, looking away instinctively.

He felt guilty. He knew it was vile to go around slipping crushed up sleeping pills in their drinks, especially when the two officers had been nothing but nice to him. But Will was running out of time and he was running out of options.

-o-

This was risky. This was incredibly, deeply risky. Will tried not to think too much about the various scenarios that could take place while he was driving Officer Connelly's car. But the risk of being caught by someone was real, and he'd have no viable excuse for what he was doing.

He was a convicted serial killer who was driving a car he had stolen from a cop who had been drugged mere minutes before. And to make things worse, Will was about to involve one more person in this madness.

After a drive that seemed to last too long for his nerves, Will finally arrived in front of the house. Almost as soon as he stopped the car, he heard alarmed barking coming from inside the house. He couldn't blame his dogs for making such a ruckus, especially when he had just appeared in the dead of night. He walked up to the door and knocked.

It took a while, but soon enough the door opened. A confused looking Alana answered. It looked like she had been asleep. "Will, what's going on? Did something happen?"

He stepped past her inside the house. "Is anyone else here with you?"

She frowned. "What?"

"Is there anyone else here? Cops, friends, I don't know, anyone."

"No. Why?" She was about to shut the door behind him in order to keep the dogs inside when she stopped herself. "Will, where are the two officers who were supposed to watch you?"

"I need you to help me."

"Will."

He rubbed his forehead, nervously. "I had to come here without them knowing." He paused, feeling the burn of shame. "I used the sleeping pills you gave me."

Will expected her to react in a lot of ways, but in not one scenario did he think she'd ask: "How many?"

He wasn't sure how to answer. "Enough to keep them knocked out until morning."

Alana looked towards the door, as if expecting someone to burst through it at any moment. "So I'm harboring a fugitive now."

Will frowned. "What? No, I'm not a fugitive. I'm going back tonight. I just need you to help me first. I need you to help me remember."

Realization suddenly struck her. "Jesus, you drugged those officers just so you could come here to be hypnotized?"

"Someone left me a present this morning" Will said, "Someone snuck into the hotel and left about a dozen dead butterflies in the bathroom."

"And you think it's the killer."

Will looked away. "No."

"We're not doing this again, Will, all right? You can't put everything on Hannibal. It's not good for the state you're in right now. No matter how hard you wish it, you just won't be able to make it true." She paused and crossed her arms. "I'm sorry, but I'm not helping you. Go back to the hotel."

She then leaned towards the door to open it, but Will stuck out his hand and caught her arm. "You're the last person who's still willing to listen, Alana. The last one. You still have an ounce of faith in me. If I don't do this, if I don't find out what happened all those times I blacked out, then I'll never be able to let this go. I'll be haunted for the rest of my life. Please help me. Please."

The moment that followed seemed to stretch out longer than normal. Will could see Alana weighing her options, not sure whether one way or the other was right. She eventually expelled a line of air and looked at the wall behind him, avoiding his eyes.

"Okay" she said, her voice unsure, "I'll try and help you."

She guided him towards the living room and told him to sit on the sofa. She then sat on an armchair, facing him.

"I told you it's been a while since I've done this" she said, "so I'm not sure if it'll work the way I want it to. The important part here is for you not to actively oppose me. If you do, then the hypnosis won't work at all."

Will just nodded.

"I know you don't have too much time to waste here, so I need you to pick a specific moment you want to remember."

There was no doubt in Will's mind what he wanted to recall first. "The day before I woke up with... with the blood under my fingernails and the muddy feet." And with Abigail's ear in his stomach, he wanted to mention, but found that he couldn't.

"Okay. Now, as difficult as it may seem right now, I want you to try and relax."

Will felt a smile tugging at his lips. There he was, wrongly accused of murder, running from the police and breaking the rules. And he was supposed to relax.

One of the dogs suddenly jumped next to him onto the sofa and placed his head on Will's lap, waiting for attention. Maybe he could try and relax after all.

"How long has it been since you've had a good night's sleep?" Alana asked.

"I don't know. Days just sort of jumble together lately. The line between them tends to blur."

"All right, I want you to close your eyes and listen to me. Can you do that?" she asked. Will obliged. "I need you to empty your head, try and move everything away from the field of your focus. Right now you should feel the tension leaving you like steam dispelling in the air. You can feel a heavy relaxed feeling overcoming you, starting from your chest and moving to your arms and legs." She paused for a moment. "I want you to count backwards from one hundred in your head, all right? Ninety-nine. Ninety-eight, ninety-seven..."

Despite the stress he was under, Will found himself quickly mystified by Alana's voice. He had told her once that he enjoyed listening to her read, and now he felt as if they were back in that hospital room.

"I want you to go back to the day you took Abigail to Minnesota" she said.

He was surprised just how easy it was for him to access that part of his memories. In an instant, he saw himself back in the plane, next to Abigail. It was weird seeing her again, after all that had happened. For a moment, he was scared to look at her, worried that what would stare back at him would be a pair of cold, dead eyes.

Through the fog and haze of the memory, Will heard a voice. "Will? Where are you?"

"I'm on a plane with Abigail" he said, anchoring himself to the voice. "We're headed for her father's cabin." He felt a smile coming on, but it wasn't one of happiness. "She says she would've wanted to climb Eagle Mountain next week with her mom."

"What happens then?"

A quick flash of images ran through his head, showing both him and Abigail reaching Minnesota and then finding the cabin. The presence of the antlers still sent shivers down his spine as they walked around. He then saw Abigail's worried face, and remembered the argument he had with her.

"Abigail's scared of me" Will heard himself saying. "She thinks I'm crazy. She doesn't trust me."

"Why?"

"I accused her of working alongside her father. I basically called her an accomplice."

Another pause from Alana. And then, softer, "Did you try to harm her?"

He frowned deeply and shook his head. "No. I could never do that to Abigail."

"What happens next?"

More flashes of images, this time too fast for Will to catch them. He struggled to focus, but there was no use.

"Will, what do you see?"

"I'm on a plane to get back home. It's... it's just me. I can't see Abigail."

"Why? Where is she?"

He dug his fingernails into the cushion underneath him, straining to remember. "I don't know. All I remember is getting into a cab and going back home."

"Let's skip ahead a bit" Alana said. "You arrive back home, and it's late in the night. What happens after that?"

"I let the dogs out for a bit, and then I..." His brow furrowed as he struggled to conjure up the images. "I... I just—I don't know. I can't remember... It's all a blank." He shook his head. "Why can't I remember? What's happening to me?"

He heard Alana say something, but it was hazy and he felt as if she was speaking to him from above a great distance. She was probably trying to get him to return back to the present. But if she was, then Will wasn't actively aware of it.

When his eyes finally snapped open, Alana was looking at him with worry.

"Why can't I remember?" he asked.

"It's possible your illness repressed the memory too much and it's to far gone for you to access it."

He thought for a moment. "Is there any other possibility?"

She paused for a second, unsure if she should say anything. "You could have been drugged. That can distort the way you access memories to the point that they're unreachable."

A few pieces began to fall into place for Will. If he had been drugged, then it would have been really easy for someone to walk around his house and plant evidence. But he didn't want to mention any of this to Alana.

"I'm sorry" she said, "but it's hard to know for sure what's going on unless we bring in someone with more experience. And even then we could still have unanswered questions."

"In any case" he said, sitting off the sofa, "thank you for trying."

He felt guilty for roping her into the whole bizarre situation, but if he could get some answers along the way, then it would prove worth it. Will went back to the front door, petting his dogs on the way, and wondering if he would see them again soon. His instinct was pessimistic about it.

After a short goodbye, he returned to the car and drove off. It was still early in the night, much too early for the sleeping pills to stop having affect. Will didn't go back to the hotel room.