Chapter Nine: One, Two, Three
Will awoke to the familiar smell of alcohol and sex.
The room's silence told him that he was alone. As he stood, his naked thighs quivered from overuse. It was then that he recalled Hannibal's scent, his touch and the sensations they inspired. The night returned to him in flesh-colored glimpses.
He noticed a piece of hotel stationary hanging over the coffee maker. He recognized the severely slanted and careful penmanship.
My love,
I have gone to prepare the car for the most meaningful leg of our journey. I should return within the hour.
Last night was...long awaited, and lovely. I hope you feel the same way.
Hannibal
Will set aside the letter and started the coffee. He went through the motions of his morning routine. He showered, brushed his teeth, and dressed his chest wound. The redness and swelling had gone down considerably. It was not even a week old.
He heard the door open. He had not considered what he would say when he saw Hannibal.
"Good morning."
Will stood in the doorway between the bathroom and living room, "Good morning."
Hannibal smiled. His mouth was framed by gray stubble.
"We have food, and gas. Are you ready to say goodbye to America?"
He closed his eyes and nodded, "Yes, I am."
Hannibal embraced him in his favorite manner: one hand behind Will's head, bringing them forehead to forehead. Will was used to this touch. It felt no different after last night, leading Will to realize that perhaps it had never been just a friendly gesture.
They stood locked together for a minute. Their breath synced. Words raced through Will's head; words of vacillation, words of sentiment. Each word pushed itself against his lips, desperate to be spoken. Nothing seemed worthy, and in the end he decided nothing needed to be said at all.
The line for the border patrol checkpoint was long.
Will could feel sweat beading in the lines along his palms. His pulse pressed against the wall of his carotid artery. Lub, dub, lub, dub…
"I can smell your anxiety, Will. You need to take deep breaths. Take yourself to the stream."
He remembered when his father taught him how to shoot many, many years ago.
You're afraid of the gun. You need to anticipate the recoil and ride with it. Don't back away.
Even now, his heart raced when he wrapped his fingers around the grip. But when he felt that first kick of epinephrine, he knew to breathe. He would speak to his heart. Slow, slow. And, between the beat of his breath, he would press the trigger. His heart would lull.
The line inched forward. Will tapped on the gas.
He tried to picture the stream. The cool water rushing around his ankles, the sound of ice cracking as it melted with the height of the sun. He saw Abigail there and retreated from her image as quickly as he could.
"We're doing this."
Hannibal nodded, "Yes. This is not a dream, nor a hallucination."
He lifted Will's right hand from the steering wheel and placed it in his own. Fingers interlaced, they crawled to the beginning of the line. They separated before appearing in border patrol's line of sight.
The agent looked like every law enforcement officer Will had ever seen. A man in his thirties, tall and white. Plain, but compelling by virtue of his position.
"Are you gentlemen U.S. citizens?"
"Yes," Will answered while handing him their passports. Hannibal's alias had a Russian name; Will assumed it was to account for his accent. He now wondered if that was a terrible mistake.
"What brings you two to Mexico, business or pleasure?"
"Pleasure. Friend's wedding."
Will watched the agent's eyes move back and forth as he glanced at their fake names, fake birthdays, fake places of birth. Another agent walked past their car with a large and focused German Shepherd.
"Alright. You two have a good day."
"You too, thank you."
Documents back in hand, Will thought he might vomit.
He drove forward. A few miles away from the checkpoint, he burst into tears. Every muscle shook violently. He felt like a plastic Halloween skeleton, screaming and rattling at every motion.
"Pull over, Will."
He did not have the energy to be embarrassed. After he changed seats with Hannibal, he let himself collapse into hysterics. He cried until his ribs hurt.
He looked to Hannibal.
"You're still wearing that."
Hannibal had worn a tan baseball cap and reflective sunglasses going through the checkpoint. Will was certain he would remove them once safely past the border.
"You look fucking ridiculous."
They both laughed. With one hand, Hannibal took off the hat and glasses and tossed them over his shoulder.
"You do realize you will never say that to me again." He smiled at Will, truly smiled. He had given sarcastic smirks, playful grins, approving chuckles. But now he smiled with cheeks lifted high, teeth exposed, eyes crinkled.
And when the sunlight reached in through the windshield, Will noticed Hannibal's eyes were coated with tears.