An immense pain, peremptorily pried Will's eyes to open. A burning sensation pressing his chest like a freshly lit cigarette's tip, marking his alabaster skin.
His eyes roamed at the image of a salt coloured ceiling, dusty and unnoticed by many. And yet it remained panoramic and blurry as his eyes carefully scanned the area. His eyes could only reach so much in this position, making him try to sit up, but his shaking arms failing him miserably. His body won't listen to his pleads.
"Will. . . " a familiar voice greeted him, and yet his vision has yet to reveal this stranger.
"Who—who are you?" A freighted and confused voice emerged from Will's mouth. This weakened voice leaving an ichor taste in his mouth.
"Will it's Jack, time to go home." The tone coxing and calming like a father's voice. . . At least when the man wasn't dead drunk.
Will's head lifted slowly, a clearer image of jack in draped in his odd ensemble of casual and formal appeared. His formal shirt, slacks and shoes, essentially topped with a long faded scarf, an open coat and a grey fedora. He's built a little scruff peppered with grey tones and white specks. He seemed worn out and older, as if years have passed since they last talked.
"Welcome back Will." Jack uttered, making feel an odd pull of feeling on his chest.
"Please don't hate me for what I did . . . You needed help Will, you have to understand." Jack bargained, but Will's mouth wouldn't move from its locked place.
"Your new psychiatrist would be visiting you shortly, as for now it's time to go home." Jack said, stepping closer to him.
Will struggled, shifting side to side, only to notice he's restrained by a white canvas straight jacket. His arms were tied across for him, in a way of self embrace. Jacks foot steps crept one step at a time, making Will stare at Jack's dusty brogues, a hickory brown dominant tone stood out from it.
Jack's feet finally stopped a foot from his bed, bending over to pull Will up into a sitting position. Will leaned his back on the wall behind him. And the room's image finally drawn together.
It was the old hospital back in Baltimore. A place he's stayed in for more than he cared to admit. It was the same room as his last visit, the salt coloured walls and ceiling, the wooden chairs, pecked and rusting. The scent of pines, varnish and the cold Virginian air. He hated it. This crude joke coming back to him once again.
The flashing of memories went flowing back. Blood, flashing lights, loud screams then finally a loud bang. White noise ensued, a dimming vision of bright red splatters on the placid snow. The hot blood bouncing before settling down on the temperate surroundings. A static mechanical tone followed after the silent rings of blue and red lights. An aching pain on his chest, burned in him again, after the reminiscent vision passed.
"Why are we here?! Where is Hannibal?!" Suddenly remembering his companion.
Will froze as Jack gave him a sympathetic look. Guilty and cold all at the same time. His lips parted ever so slightly itching to say the words that Jack always gave to the family members of his security team after an unnecessary run-ins.
"Im sorry for your loss."
"Emergency protocol, NOW!" Bella shouted, as she teared through Will's bandages, there was nothing wrong to be seen, except for the failing vitals.
Will's body convulsed in a continuous shake, his vitals falling as rapid as the blood flowed with in him, clotting his system. It was a deathly situation, one that no one expected to happen.
Other nurses and doctors flooded in, some pushing Jack and Hannibal away from the private room.
Jack cursed and fisted the wall, making his knuckles bruise. His eyes clouded with fury. While Hannibal remained indifferent, but his inner thoughts marked a rabid edge of anger and hate for the people pushing him out.
Soon, Will's bed is rolled into the operating room, with an entourage of nurses and doctors heading in for prepping.
Bella approached the two, blood soaking her arms and hands, with streaks of it painting her abdomen like stripes. The only conclusion Hannibal could give was that the doctor's opened Will's wound once again.
"What's wrong with him?" Jack queried, his hand resting worrisome on his forehead.
"That's the problem Jack . . . There is nothing wrong with him. He was healing just fine, everything was smooth until his vitals just drop making his wound reopen. I mean his skin has already mended, but the scar tissue on his lung opened, making it fill with blood. . . He could have died drowning in his own blood."
"Doctor Virgil had to open him up an operate again." Bella explained, wiping off some of the blood on her blue scrub.
Hannibal gave the statement some thought, not liking the conclusion. He miss calculated, a circumstance he never expected to encounter. He has never made a mistake. Mundanely he would make mistakes on purpose to seem more . . . Human.
"It's a possible case of a psycho-somatic effect." Hannibal uttered, cutting through the couple's intimate conversation.
"Psycho-somatic?" Jack's tone lingering somewhat in confusion.
"There are cases in which a patient's mind is killing his or her body. Usually causing illness and paralyzation to that of a physically healthy patient." Hannibal explained making Jack give a look of weary.
"Are you saying this might be suicide?" Jack assumed, making Hannibal look more marked as a killer in his eyes.
"No. What I am implying is the possibility that W—Mr. Graham might be in a state of self induced coma." Hannibal expatiated, making Jack's eyes narrow.
Will has been in this state for more than three months and in the first month alone, he's healed perfectly, the scar and bandage was the only evidence of the event. And yet Will never woke up or moved an inch.
"That is a possibility . . . I better go and check it out. You two boys better stay put and play nice." Bella uttered, turning her back and jogging to the mob of nurses rushing in and out of the prep room.
This made Hannibal. . . Vulnerable a liability he never expected to possess. Will has . . . Attached to his consciousness, a feat that has never been. Hannibal's control is getting out of hand . . . Completely unwanted.
Hannibal's thoughts spiraled, until he felt his phone ring. He fished the item out of his jacket's inner pocket, then politely excused himself from Jack's presence.
Hannibal stepped put side of the hospital into a dark pine ridden lot. Silence was an amiable companion of the stale surrounding, he noted. Hannibal took one look at the unregistered number, and knew exactly who it was. He inwardly cursed, but took it anyway.
"Good evening Hannibal, I hope I'm not disturbing you at the moment." A familiar voice played in his ear. Sultry and calm as his façade was.
"Not at all, a friend in trouble I presume." Hannibal uttered. His tone teasing and yet serious, objectively taunting.
"It seems so. I have a job for you, an unpleasant one at that. It seems your little bodyguard charades, has . . . given my client a bit of trouble. " the woman at the other end chose her words carefully, fully knowing what might her rudeness result to.
"My game is the only game I play Bedelia, I am sure you are well aware of that." Hannibal uttered, making Bedelia unconsciously clutch her left shoulder, where a lengthy scar resided.
'A remembrance.' She thought, as she shifted carefully from her seat. Making the leather echo into the phone.
"Hannibal, a life is not a game." Bedelia broke, making a sound she desperately detested.
"Bedelia, there is a difference with being alive and living." Hannibal commented, a scoff came from the other end.
"True, you are merely alive, but living is difficult if you do not reciprocate humanistic tendencies." Bedelia uttered as a careful insult, making Hannibal chuckle in turn.
". . . What is your motive Bedelia. You do not call without purpose. . . I do not believe that you have acquired a taste on a spontaneous contact." Hannibal stirred the conversation into the direct point.
"We found what your looking for. I expect that your little mission would be swift . . . I would send you the location after this call." The other uttered, making a smile creep on Hannibal's face.
"And I believe I would owe you a favour in turn."
"That would be a sufficient payment. . . Your following orders would be come in the next few weeks. I expect the best results."
" as usual." Hannibal ended the conversation, going back to his previous location.