That rather unplanned meeting with my father haunted my mind for the rest of the day. I was at breaking point as I spoke to him. I was at the same state of mind when I decided to kill ten years ago. Yet, it was odd. When I looked into Hannibal Lecter's eyes, I knew he can tell that I was close to raising hell. He looked through the subtle fracture on my façade and saw the monster it was hiding—the one that he had spawned. Despite knowing that, he did not even try to guard himself. It was as if he was prepared to take my attacks without a fight. It felt like he was submitting. I wonder. Could it be that he felt guilty? Have I made the infamous Chesapeake Ripper feel guilty for the crime that is my life? All those thoughts echoed in my mind that night.

Every Friday night since we were freshmen, my roommate would buy beer and we would drink it in our flat. While other students were out partying, the two of us would drink whilst isolated in our respective comfort zones. I first thought it was a senseless routine that I have to put up with, but that night, it helped me nurse the influx of emotions the day has brought me.

I sat sprawled on the couch with Merry on my lap and Dawn curled at my feet. My roommate, Morrie, was already prattling about "humanitarian pigs" which was the favorite topic of his drunken monologues. I would reply with timed "ahh" and "right", but the only ears receptive of his rambling were that of Tristan and Tony who enjoy resting their chins on his thighs.

I watched Morrie talk as he browsed his tablet, though I did not really listen. I have been listening to the same thing for years now. I used to wonder how a psychology major like him was so passionate about pretend philanthropy among the upper class until my mind picked up more relevant thoughts. If I had not lived with him for close to four years now, I would have smashed my beer bottle on his head just to get him to stop. I had nothing against him to do that, though. Morrie was a good-natured lad around three years older than me. He has a ready smile and helping hand for anyone he meets. The only aspect I disliked about him was his impulsiveness and knack for practical jokes, though I was still telling myself I should not hate him for dressing like a 20th century hippie.

"Abiel. Hey, Abiel!" He suddenly exclaimed with excitement.

"Ahh, right." I instinctively replied before I realized he really was trying to get my attention and not just getting me to agree with him. "What?" I asked.

He beckoned for me to go to him and pointed at his tablet. Apparently, none of us can stand up with dogs resting upon us.

I sighed and obliged. I lifted Merry from my lap and set him beside Dawn who was already fast asleep. "What is it?" I asked as I walked towards where he sat by the dining table.

"Is this you?" He asked when I stood behind him.

On his tablet was a picture of a man walking down a pavement. He was wearing a gray vest over a white button-up shirt with sleeves rolled to his elbows, and black pants that clung to his thighs as he strode, the hems of which were tucked into brown ankle boots. It was exactly what I had been wearing that morning. It took me a few seconds to realize it was indeed a picture of me, walking out of Baltimore State Hospital for the Criminally Insane.

"Where is that posted?" I asked.

"Tattle Crime dot com," Morrie replied. "They're wondering why someone who looks like Will Graham had visited the Baltimore State Hospital for the Criminally Insane."

I raised a brow. "Do I look that old?"

Morrie sniggered. "With that beard, yes you do."

I absently stroked the beard I have been growing since I entered college. Cutting my hair made me look like Will Graham, but shaving my beard would make me look like Hannibal Lecter.

"But it is you isn't it?" He asked. Morrie seldom lets a question go unanswered.

"Yeah," I replied. "But it why is it such a big deal? I mean, why are they fussing over someone who looks like Will Graham walking out of a hospital?"

"Dude, you're like, the one in forensics here, you should know!" Morrie said. "Anyway, Will Graham has not visited the Baltimore State Hospital for the Criminally Insane for more than twenty years. It's worth a scoop if he's visiting now."

I scoffed. "The Chesapeake Ripper's case has been closed for more than twenty years now. Why can't they just let go of it?"

Morrie stared at me with eyes as wide as saucers. It was as if I have offended his great ancestors. "Dude, the case of the Chesapeake Ripper is like, not just a serial killer's case. It's a romance! Don't you know they call Will Graham and Hannibal Lecter 'Murder Husbands'?"

It was Morrie who looked offended, but I was too. Though it was not yet winter, my fingertips caught frost. It was the cold rage creeping again. I closed my eyes and counted to nine, telling myself Morrie must not become another innocent boy that has been murdered. Perhaps, I have no one else to frame this time. It would anguish me to put the blame on the dogs.

"What? You look like Buddha meditating." Morrie said. He has been looking at me as I was trying to calm my wrath.

I smiled and put a hand on his shoulder. "You should get off that website, Morrie."

Morrie furrowed his brows at me, and returned to browse the website of the notorious Freddie Lounds.

I went back to the couch, smirking at myself. It seems someone had just broken a promise she made to my parents.

Author's Note:

Since it's this fanfic's weeksary, I took the liberty of adding another original character. I was reading back on the previous chapters and found that Abiel mentioning his roommate more than once makes me itch to introduce him. So bam! have some Morrie.

I know my notes are getting out of hand. As I said before, please bear with me. I'm not always sober when I write.

But the story should keep you interested, not my notes, so tell me how you find this fic. Leave a review and/or follow!