Chapter 7 - Hide your Face
'Never trust a hug. It's just a way to hide your face' - Twelfth Doctor
Thirty miles passes fairly quickly if you're not paying attention. Hermione watched out the window and became somewhat oblivious of the conversations about operas and serial killers shared by the men in front. However, when they pulled up at the crime scene, the light-hearted atmosphere transitioned to something much bleaker. Hannibal sensed this and placed a hand on Will's forearm to tell him-
"I'll be with you, if you need me."
"Thank you," Will mumbled, meeting his eyes for a second before leaving to see Jack.
"Come," encouraged Hannibal, opening Hermione's door and offering an arm to her. She took it gladly, holding firmly to secure herself to him. She needed some familiarity since she could already feel the worry rising within her. It certainly helped that the scene was outside. She let the wind whisper caring words of comfort over her, and held to that feeling as she walked with Hannibal. Their path following Will was illuminated by spotlights plugged in and placed about the scene creating beams of white light in the early nighttime. Before Hermione had a chance to dwell on the surrounding shadows, she was pulled into a conversation.
"Hermione Granger," explained Will, "is the expert on Ancient Runes I consulted. She's agreed to take a look in person since she was with me when you called."
"Ah. My apologies for interrupting your evening, Miss Granger."
"That's alright," she responded.
"Jack Crawford. Head of Behavioural Sciences Unit, and FBI special agent in charge of this case." She unlooped her arm from Hannibal to shake Jack's hand but quickly returned to him. The dependency upon her psychiatrist was unnerving, but she supposed it was to be expected in the situation. Surrounded by people she did not know, it was important to her to ensure she felt safe, so one hand lingered over her wand pocket as the other arm joined around Hannibal's, trusting his perception and strength if they were in danger.
Foolish, really. Little did she know, Hannibal was the only one there who wanted to hurt her.
Behind a layer of forensics and detectives was the crime scene. It was not extravagant - nothing like some of the images Hermione had glimpsed in Tattle crime. However, it's frugal nature did not deter from the horror. In a glass bowl rested the head of an elderly gentleman. His fine, white hair floated wistfully, and his features were frozen into a permanent emptiness. A truly vacant form. Oddly, Hermione did not find the head that disturbing. Although her heart raced as she considered the familiarity of this corpse with others she had seemed - notably Dumbledore - the head also reminded her of Nearly-Headless Nick, or that one on the night bus. It held a quality of calmness contrasting with the dead of the Battle. It held a calmness and peace, as if the man had truly passed away in sleep.
Around it was looping symbols in white paint. Will stood just in front.
"The killer washed the head in the icy water of the stream down there," explained Beverly Katz to Hermione, "to clean away prints. Then the bowl that it's in helps prevent rigamortis." Oddly, that brought her more discomfort than the crime scene itself. Images of icy rivers from the Horcrux hunting flashed in her mind, along with thoughts of what it must have been like for Harry trapped under that ice.
"What about the body?"
"Don't know about that yet," Katz sighed. "Any suggestions Dr Lecter?"
"The body is unimportant here - likely discarded." Hermione swallowed and went to step away from the conversation and join Will.
"Wait," warned Hannibal, keeping hold of her arm to prevent her from continuing forward.
"Will likes it quiet," stated Katz.
"Free of distractions," Hannibal elaborated. That would explain why the layer of forensics were stood back from the scene, rather than inspecting it themselves.
"Is it consistent with the previous display from this killer?" queried Hannibal.
"Somewhat," responded Katz with a shrug. "Physically, it is very similar - location, arrangement, what not. Emotionally though... You'll have to ask Will that." The man in question was walking back towards them and Jack.
"Both victims will have had dementia, and are from local care homes. The killer will have a family member also suffering - parent probably."
"What's his motive?"
"This is about remembering how things once were. Last time was his first kill - this one is more refined, precise. He's focusing, getter closer. It's preparation for the finale."
"He's planning to kill his parent?"
"Planning to end their pain. He's being kind... Just he is struggling to go about it. He feels helpless about their inevitable death, and these murders are giving him the power and confidence he needs to do something about it."
"And what about the runes?"
"They're something he's knowledgeable on. He's using them to make a statement, to make something profound - he didn't feel words were fitting for his creation. Or perhaps they are an interest of a parent. Either way, he wants to honour them in their death. He wants to create a work of art they are worthy of."
"Bit pretentious," commented Katz.
"Could you translate them for us, Miss Granger?" Jack asked.
"I can try," she answered gingerly, taking his prompt to step closer to the scene.
"Loss," murmured Hannibal from just behind her.
"Yes - very good," agreed Hermione. "Do you recognise the others?"
"I'm afraid not. Would you care to enlighten me?"
"The one at the top," indicated Hermione, "is the symbol for man. Then the one below it could be translated as year, or harvest. The others are almost too messy to read, but I'd think- maybe- something to do with honour, or work, or ending." As Hannibal told Will this information, Hermione decided to step away from the scene. Heaviness was lingering inside her and, the longer she stood near the head, the more she could feel it pulling her down and out. She felt as if she could no longer see clearly, like the images of her past where flashing just behind her vision in a series of slides from a strip of negatives.
Near to Hannibal's car, she sat down on a log and rested her head on her knees. Each breath was carefully controlled as she tried to prevent the panic from trickling on. When she looked up again, Freddie was beside her.
"You've been out some time," she told her.
"Sorry?" mumbled Hermione.
"I've been trying to talk to you for a fair few minutes but you seemed sort of passed out," explained Freddie. When Hermione just looked further confused, Freddie explained-
"Are you sure you're alright. I'm here for Tattlecrime. To get the story, and photos. I came to talk to you but- Why are you here?"
"I came with Hannibal and Will. Helped translate the runes."
"You know these runes from school?" she asked with a frown. Just the word school made Hermione flinch.
"Yep."
"How do you know Will?" Freddie asked. Hermione turned slightly to her and found herself disconcerted by Freddie's expression. She had transitioned from listening as a friend to questioning in pursuit of something.
"This isn't for your paper, is it?" wondered Hermione. "I know you've written about him in the past. About the 'murder husbands'. I don't with to add fuel to the flames, and I'd rather keep him out of the papers." Freddie pouted and went to reply but Hermione found herself interrupting to continue.
"Do you realise how horrible it is, Freddie, to be the subject of newspapers and tabloids? Large photographs of your worst moments with a subtitle revealing scandals, irregardless of whether they are really true. Quotes from friends taken out of context creating an image too unbearable to look at yourself." Freddie was quiet. In fact, those anywhere near them were too. A circle of hush for the woman who had raised her voice. The woman who was crying - who hadn't even noticed she was crying.
"Hermione, I..." began Freddie in a truly hurt tone. At the words Hermione turned sharply and all but ran back to Hannibal and Will. She couldn't talk to Freddie right now, to anyone. She just needed to go home.
Hannibal left Will talking with Jack to return with Hermione to the car. She didn't notice his reluctance at doing so.
"What happened?" he asked once they were inside, turning in his seat to talk to Hermione as she sat in the back.
"I shouted at Freddie. She's my friend, and I- I disregarded that in a moment of doubt," she detailed, words shaky in the aftermath of her upset.
"Reasonable doubt?"
"She wanted to write about Will, and you too I expect... and she wanted to use me as a source."
"I'm certain she'd be understanding if you explained that to her." Hermione nodded and began to nibble on her fingers as they held her chin up.
"This wasn't a good idea," she whispered. "Coming here... I feel worse. Worse than I have in ages."
"From my perspective, this is evidence of your improvement. Normally you avoid potential triggers but you faced this situation head-on. It is quite the achievement."
"Is that why I moved to America?" asked Hermione. "It was part of an unconscious effort to avoid any reminders of the past?"
"I've thought as much," confirmed Hannibal. He let her mull over that, turning in his seat to look back out for Will. Hannibal could just about spot the man's shadowy figure walking back to the car, no longer illuminated by the lights around the crime scene. Once Will climbed into the car, their bloody, golden trio was reformed. With all his usual gracefulness, Hannibal drove them back home.
