All day the police were there, looking for hair and fingerprints, going through security cameras, and asking people if they saw anything at all. The fact that it was a hotel wasn't helping though. People had been going in and out of the laundry room for years and it was unlikely that they'd find any actual evidence.

Sherlock was there as well but even he was having trouble finding anything of value so far. Hannibal and Abigail had each told their story, nearly identical, to Lestrade and several other officers.

Though Hannibal had wanted to keep Jack out of it, he was a bit annoyed by the fact that Lestrade had already called and told him what happened. Jack was coming over, along with several other FBI agents and would probably be there before dawn.

Dr. Bloom hadn't been informed of what had happened yet so that was at least one less person to worry about.

The security tapes had been messed with by someone and skipped over the time where Will went into the laundry room. They'd already been taken to Scotland Yard so they could try and find the missing part but it would take considerable time.

John was there as well and glanced over to where Sherlock was pacing back and forth. "I'll just apologize right now. Sherlock isn't really enjoying this."

"I can see that," muttered Hannibal. "This is frustrating for everyone, I will admit that."

John nodded and turned to Abigail. "Are you alright? That must've been quite a shock—"

"I've seen worse," she replied with a slight shrug of her shoulders, her face completely impassive.

John nodded in acknowledgement, not quite sure how to respond to that. They watched as Anderson opened his mouth to make some stupid comment but before he could even say anything Sherlock shouted at him to remain quite. He was fuming but at the same time seemed giddy. He was angry that Moriarty had gotten away at this; he was excited about trying to figure out the problem.

Time continued to pass and many police officers began to leave though a few were left behind. Hannibal knew they were pointless though. Moriarty had taken Will. That had been all he'd wanted to do. Now the question was could they find him in time?

Hannibal honestly doubted it. He checked his watch and it was already past twelve. Moriarty definitely would've tried something by now. All he could do was wait and that made him easily irritated. No one would've thought this fore on the outside he looked utterly impassive. Really, it just meant that he was thinking about creating a bigger dinner than usual.

When Jack got there, it didn't help that for about thirty minutes Hannibal simply listened to him complain about being kept out of the loop. Abigail was lucky in that aspect. She got to easily slip away and back to the room.


A day, or what seemed like a day anyway, passed for Will and in it, he had already killed three more men, not including the first one. It was taking a toll on his body and mind as he moved closer to the fire. It burned his hands but he didn't care anymore.

It was a little past midday now but he was shivering now. Not only had he lost his light jacket but he'd also fallen into a stream. At least had been able to get some water but his stomach continued to growl. Will tried to ignore it as best he could, the pain from his burnt hands distracting him.

It really hadn't even been that long and already Will was teetering towards the edge.

No one was there. No one would ever find him. Why not have some fun? Why not live his life out with zero restraints from the law? It was tempting, and would've been so much easier, but Will kept fighting the darkness nonetheless.

He still had the walky-talky but Moriarty hadn't said anything for hours, not even a snide little remark. Will was pretty sure it had been broken in the last fight but he still kept it with him. It helped to remind him that there was an outside world still and that he couldn't just do whatever he wanted.

Will found that he was constantly having trouble breathing. He didn't know why. He'd checked his body several times but there weren't any wounds that might cause hard of breath and Will had been in the same position for quite some time now.

The knife in his hands glinted and his breath came quicker. After finding the stream, it was clean again but all Will could see was it dripping in blood. He'd tried to wipe it clean numerous times, on his shirt, on leaves and trees, but to Will's mind it remained dripping red.

The day passed and it seemed as if Will wouldn't have to kill anyone again but that thought had come to soon. A man stood in front of him and slowly, Will rose from the forest floor.

He'd stopped trying to talk to any of them now. Really, he thought Moriarty had been to kind in calling them dogs. That made you think that at least they had some individuality. These men were no longer even animals though, all the same. Will had stopped seeing different features like hair color and skin shade. They wore all the same face to him.

The man moved forward and Will took a step toward him as well. His breathing had finally slowed, calm and uninterrupted. The knife was out and the man could clearly see it; he began to show his own.

Will rushed forward before he could actually get at it. He was to far away though and it only cut across the mid section of the chest. Pushed forward, Will kicked the guy in the stomach knocking him down. He straddled him, one hand around his throat, the other above his head with the knife.

When the knife came down, Will's hand was shaking so badly that he didn't even break the skull. A long cut was now in the skin and the skull was probably cracked but the man was still alive, thrashing and screaming beneath Will.

Coming down again, the knife cut into the man's cheek, cutting the right side open and two the mouth. The third time the knife hit the man it off part of his nose.

It was at this point that Will realized that his hand hadn't been shaking at all. He'd been aiming for every spot he'd hit. He had been trying to hurt the man as much as he could before killing him.

Slower this time, Will brought the knife close to his face and pricked him. He was more conscious of his actions this time. He wasn't trying to kill the man and he knew this. The man kicked and screamed underneath Will but he stood his ground and continued to slowly move the knife of the man's face.

"In cold blood," Will murmured. If he killed this man now, it would be in cold blood. He hadn't even given the man a chance to fight back and already he was torturing him. He continued to whisper to himself, "No one will see. No one will find me. Alone. Alone."

Will dug the knife into one of the eyes and plucked it out like it was nothing. He appeared to examine it for a few moments and then flung it to the side. Finally, looking at the bloody mass that had once been a man scream and kick, he decided to kill him. He positioned the knife just so and then, with one final push, drove it through the empty eye socket.

The man gave one last shudder and then was still.

When he didn't move, Will's problem with breathing came back. He couldn't calm down, couldn't seem to slow his heart. The killing had calmed him. The murder and made him feel peaceful but it shouldn't have and now Will was panicking. He fell off the man and on to the ground next to him, clutching at his chest.

Tears fell from his eyes, unwelcomed but they still fell. Will knew that he couldn't go back now. He was such a piece of trash, no better than any of the men or women he'd caught. If anyone ever did find him, and he hoped they wouldn't, he be put behind bars.

Whether it was with arms free or in an armless shirt would be desired later but his life was over. That was all that mattered.

Nevertheless, as he lay there, Will didn't feel like himself and at the same time, felt more like himself than he had ever had in his life. He felt liberated and free but also cursed and filthy. He wondered how someone like Moriarty could go on living each day like this, with this feeling crushing on him. Maybe he didn't feel the filth, the curse that circled him like Will did.

Or maybe the only difference was that Will feared and hated this disgusting side of himself while Moriarty cherished it.