"He knew," breathed Will as he opened his eyes, the visions of the previous fire fluttering from his mind. "Victorum knew that we would come."

Jack ran a hand over his face in disbelief. Will glanced over his shoulder. Green eyes met maroon.

"You weren't behind this…" muttered Graham, "were you?"

Hannibal showed indifference. "I identified the murderer. I led him straight to you." His eyes glimmered. "The fact that he is my friend means nothing. We acted by the hand of justice."

"Justice can be quite unfair, if you really think about it," grumbled Will, eyes dark. "Its seemingly righteous hands could be pressing all the right buttons. Playing a game." As he spoke, he neared Hannibal, ending practically nose-to-nose with him. "Digging under everyone's skin."

Hannibal's eyes glinted, nostrils flaring at their close proximity. The air hummed with heat.

"We're not here to accuse anyone," stepped in Jack, nudging Will away from Lecter. The binding air dulled in the slightest. "Will, what can you tell us about the crime scene?" His eyes narrowed as Will kept his electrifying, steadfast gaze on Hannibal. "Without accusing Dr. Lecter."

He tore his gaze away and huffed, shaking the tension from his limbs. "It was planned. More than we expected it to be." Will turned away from Hannibal, not sparing another glance at him. "A good thing we know—Bram Bates didn't escape prison."

"He wasn't a part of it…" mumbled Crawford.

Will shook his head, pacing the pews and glancing up at the intricate walls and paintings of the church. "No… but we still have Death in the picture. I have a feeling that Victorum—like Bates—knew Death. How, we still have no idea." He leaned against one of the pews.

"Victorum sat here. Waiting." He nodded, images flashing through his head. "Assuming he's buddy-buddy with the church officials, he spent his time distracting them while his accomplice soaked the carpet with gasoline." Will glared over at Hannibal, and Jack huffed.

"He's not part of this, Will."

The statement went ignored, and Will continued. "It was skillfully set. Like pieces on a chess board." Will paced once more, faintly aware of the other's gazes. "Skip forward to the explosion of fire. We were outside at the time, Jack—if you remember." He couldn't help but narrow his eyes at Hannibal. "While Dr. Lecter happened to be inside. Presumably helping," he grumbled.

"Will…"

Graham huffed. "Anyway. Victorum's accomplice was inside. He let the fire spread just a little longer, let it linger in some explosives that were precisely set…" Will motioned to an aisle of destroyed pews, their wooden remains in ashen, blocky pieces. "Then, like a hero, he stamped out the fire. The church officials decided to cancel the service, dismissed the people, and just as they left the building, the explosives set off."

Will walked down the middle aisle, facing Jack and Hannibal. "This leaves us with two options: one—the accomplice escaped before the explosion—" Will struggled to keep his eyes away from Hannibal. "or two—his body is among the others at the BAU."

Jack nodded, humming in thought. After a moments silence, he turned to Lecter. "Hannibal, would you have any idea where Victorum went? You know him better than any of us."

Lecter shook his head. "Over the course of our friendship, he's always disappeared without a trace," he said. "Sometimes for a mere day—others for months, even years… I have a feeling this is the same case."

Jack cursed under his breath. "Just like the Chesapeake Ripper," he grumbled, anger flaring across his features. "Strikes in for a couple kills and disappears for who knows how long."

"We need patience," sighed Will, even though he, himself, was annoyed. "Keep this whole thing in thought, but for now, we have to focus on other cases."

Crawford cursed once more, and they headed out into the night air, still damp with ash and frost. "Speaking of which," Jack said when he calmed himself, "we found another body."

They lingered in the wintry air, snow melting beneath their feet.

"By a river," Jack continued. The air seemed to churn like an uneasy stomach. "Actually, close to where you live, Will. Just a bit south of Wolftrap."

Will forced on a stoic mask, but the shift in Hannibal's air beside him was unmistaken. He kept his gaze towards Crawford, ready for the next words.

"We identified her as Sonya Glazir."


It wasn't uncommon when Will investigated his own murders.

He'd examine the scene, close his eyes and replay the murder he'd committed. Give out every single detail—meticulously chosen—that falsely, perfectly lead to another person or a dead end. No one ever met his gaze with suspicion.

But this… this…

Will swallowed his disbelief down as officers milled about him.

This was an entirely different story.

"Do you think it's the Chesapeake Ripper?" chimed Jack.

Will startled, breath hitching and eyes blinking as he was torn from his trance. He glanced back at the crime scene, shaking his head. "I-I uh…" He collected himself, ignoring Jack's weary gaze. "I need some space. To think."

Crawford lingered for a moment, huffed, then rallied his officers. The rustling of dead leaves and the crunch of snow echoed in the back of his head until, eventually, he stood alone in the forest. Glancing around, sure that he was alone, he heavily sighed.

"What did they do to you…" breathed Will, staring at the sight. Both in awe, wonder, and terror.

Sonya Glazir, the girl that he'd killed by planned accident, was made into a display.

Her raven hair pooled down her naked, cold-blue body, stark and bright against pale skin. Antlers—sharp and dark—pierced through her frame. Menacing against her mangled, bruised flesh.

Shaking the nerves from his limbs, Will closed his eyes and took a deep, slow breath. The world stilled, grew muffled, and the roaring of the river trickled in his ears again.

He opened his eyes.

"I watch from the sidelines," whispered Will, suddenly obscured by darkness and frosty forest. Across the banks, he saw himself approach Sonya. "I sensed him coming, and so I followed."

Past-Will swung the knife, and Sonya slipped and fell, body crumbling in the clattering ice below. Her body washed down the river, pale and bright under the moonlight.

"I begin to follow. I can sense her heartbeat." Will glanced at his other self. "He is no longer in my worries. I assume that he's finished."

He raced through the trees, feet light on the snow. The roar of the river pulsed in his ears, Sonya's body racing in and out of sight. Breaths light and shallow, he kept running. The end of the stream came into view. From afar, Past-Will's scent fluttered in his nostrils, but he ignored it.

Sonya's body washed up on the rocky shore, mangled and twisted. Sopping clothes sucking at her skin.

"I approach her," said Will, breaths shallow. "Without hesitation."

He stumbled through stepping stones, pebbles clattering in his wake. Catching his breath, he stooped over Sonya's body, reveling in the mangled nature of everything. Power thrummed through his veins, and slowly, he kneeled down, fingers hovering over a once-innocent face.

"I knew your time would come," whispered Will, examining every inch of her face. "I knew your tale desired an end." His fingers brushed across her cheek, black welling to the surface. "I gave you a taleful one."

He lingered in the moment's peace.

Crunch.

His head snapped up, searching the trees.

"I hear the noise," breathed Will. "And now that I'm aware, I can smell his scent. I leave without a trace before he can see me again."

Will closed his eyes once more, and a different night fell upon his brow. The same rocky shore felt cool beneath his feet.

"Sonya's body is still here," he mumbled, stretching on rubber gloves. With grace and poise, he hoisted her up, the deadweight like a feather to him. Carefully, he treaded up the banks, wandering into the forest.

"I look for the perfect place to set her. I will make beautiful what he carelessly threw away."

He stopped at a line of boulders in one of the forest clearings.

"I already have the image I desire," muttered Will, setting down Sonya's body and gazing at the menacing set of antlers prepared. "I set to work. Cautiously and carefully. With the intent of glorifying the lost."

He moved as the killer once moved, and within minutes, he was finished. The antlers jutting from the boulder; Sonya's body mounted perfectly on them. Now, it was time for the final touch.

"I have a message for her murderer," said Will, removing his gloves and tucking them aside. "He will know me. He already knows me."

He stepped forward, power thrumming through his veins once more. "But I will let him see my true light, just as I will reveal his."

Will dragged his hand across Sonya's ribs, black staining her skin. He let the motions flow through him—a hand down the stomach; a hand across the hips—until finally, it shone with one single letter.

I.

"Only I know the full message," breathed Will. "Only I know how much this will make him ache."

He stepped back, examining his work.

"He will finally know me."

Will opened his eyes, and sunlight stabbed his eyes. He winced, shielding his gaze as he stared at Sonya's mauled, displayed body. There it still was—not paint or carving—but pitch black marking. Just like death.

All in the shape of the simple letter 'I.'

I… I what? I have power? I'm better than you?

Will ran his hands over his face, and the rustling of leaves informed him of Jack's return.

"Well?" came his voice.

He harshly sighed. "It can't be him," said Will, shaking his head. There were too many holes, even in his own reconstruction of the scene. "The Chesapeake Ripper puts his victims on display, yes, but he always takes a trophy with him."

"What about all those bruises? She certainly put up a fight."

"No, she didn't do anything," muttered Will. "She slipped into the river and died before she was washed ashore."

"Are you sure the killer didn't push her?"

Will ran a hand over his face again. "Yes, Jack," he stressed, tearing his gaze from the mauled body. "This person took a death into his own hands. Created something… beautiful out of something so wrong."

Crawford huffed, gazing at the body. "Any idea who did it?"

Both their eyes lingered on the black markings on Sonya's skin. It was obvious that this was no copycat.

"I know you don't like farfetched answers, Jack…"

Crawford glanced at him smoothly, shoulders drawn taught. Will ignored his weary gaze.

"But Death is having his own fun, now." He stared intently, gaze burning, eyes striking into Jack's. "And there's nothing we can do about it."

Will stared angrily into the calm waters, hands clenching the fishing pole. Every so often, his line would bob, whispering of a catch, but his agitated motions kept him out from sunrise to sunset. Taunting his racing head.

All his life, Will had wanted to see Death. Be welcomed by his possessive and powerful air. And, now that he had the chance, it was in risk of his own persona.

A murderer. A serial killer. Working under the FBI with the pleasurable high of murders at every corner.

Death was so close. Just under his fingertips, and yet, still… Still, no matter how hard he tried, or looked, or planned, Death always slipped from his grasp like sand. Always left with a taunting leer or disappeared in a cloud of smoke and empty promise.

First, it was Michael Hanson. Then, one of the church bodies. And now…

Will's brows furrowed.

Was Death targeting his murders, now? With every case he came into contact with—was he purposely making himself a part of it?

He threw the pole to the ground, burying his face in his hands.

Did Death know of him? Was he playing a game?

He grimaced at the sour taste in his mouth. He would find Death. After all this time, he couldn't just give up. Even if it meant revealing himself to the world.

"God, I need help," sighed Will, falling back in the grass and staring up at the husky sky. A distant thought floated about his mind, and he let it form. With the wet snow beneath his back, and the gentle trickle of ice water, he let his eyelids droop. But before peace settled in his blood, the thought came to life.

Maybe I need therapy.

He blinked, both confused and surprised, but mostly unnerved at the image swirling about his mind.

All he could think of was Hannibal Lecter.


i'm shook, guys. thank you so much for your reviews! it really means a lot!

sorry for such delay in uploading these chaptersi actually lost my computer and this is my attempt in recovering some of the chapters i had on file. i'll get back to writing in no time, though. missed you too much lol ;P

thank you again, so much, for reading and simply dropping a few comments, and have a beautiful day!

-felix :)