"We have two girls left," said Jack, dropping a file on his desk for Will to see, whose brows furrowed in confusion. "Grace Mirrors was caught by state police a day before Ana Wilson was killed. Alibi checks out." His face fell grave, and Will glanced up as he took the file in his hands.

"Elise Nichols, however," he vaguely motioned to the file, "was killed last night. Near Maryland this time." Will's eyes widened, and Jack gravely nodded. "Turns out she didn't stay in Virginia like we thought."

Will looked down and began sifting through the file. "Unbelievable. Second kill with only a few days in between." He shook his head. "She still has to be tired. She's probably resting somewhere—maybe even hitchhiking."

As he looked through the file, grotesque pictures of the murder shimmered under the office lights.

"Face carved out and body near the forest," said Jack as Will examined the evidence. "No antlers this time, but another message."

Will's eyes lingered on a shot of Elise Nichols top half, completely blank and open. Save for the spray-painted letter 'N.' It seemed to echo through the laminated photo, ringing of a sad emptiness.

"The body's in the lab," said Crawford, standing. Will followed after, and as they walked to the lab, Jack spoke further.

"Evidence shows no signs of struggle or fight. We later found that she'd inhaled chloroform—knocked her out."

"Wanted to give her death a sense of peace. The killer… perhaps cared for her."

Jack nodded. "It definitely looks that way. She was administered a lethal injection. Mutilation occurred afterwards."

They entered the lab, and Will circled around the body, uncovering it. Like the previous murder, her face was skinned off—ripping her of her identity and laying it in the hands of the killer.

"Any records of other murders like this? Disappearances?"

Jack stuffed his hands in his pockets. "I'm having Price and Zeller check that now. This killer seems to be recently killing, though. Perhaps took an intermission between victims."

"Too experienced," said Will, pulling the cover completely off. "She may be young, but she's done this before. Enough to develop this signature of hers."

He stooped over the body, ignoring the large, stark letter 'N' on her chest, and examining the rest of her. Graham lingered at the junction of her sharp hip bones, brows furrowing.

"She took another prize."

"It's a clean cut, but she took out the large intestine. Odd prize, if you ask me."

Will hummed in thought, unable to shake the suspicion from his soldiers. "This…" He carefully breathed in, catching the faint scent of—his brows rose.

Death?

"The killer didn't do this herself." He stood up straight, meeting Jack's incredulous gaze. "How else could she have administered the injection? Even had those medicines on her in the first place?"

"You live on the streets, you learn some things." Crawford vaguely waved his hands. "Maybe she's a user, too."

Will's brows furrowed, and he tilted his head. "Possibly… possibly, but…" He glanced back at the body, staring at the incision. "The cut is too clean." He looked over his shoulder at Jack. "Surgically clean."

Jack lingered for a moment, dread and disbelief crowding his eyes. "You can't really be suggesting…"

"This reeks of the Chesapeake Ripper," said Will.

"But he's supposed to be dead. He made a deal with Death, remember?"

Will rubbed his chin in thought, mind whirring. "We haven't found his body yet," whispered Graham, but something in the back of his head unnerved him. An answer. An obvious, blatant answer that wouldn't come to words. Only brewed with feeling. Far, far away—but so near.

"Do you… think—" He ran a hand through his hair, tugging with the effort of thought. "—that the Chesapeake Ripper might be—"

"No," said Jack. "Absolutely not."

"It's a possibility—"

"The Chesapeake Ripper is not Death, and that's final," said Jack vehemently. "We already have the press breathing down on our backs for Death's victims. We don't need anymore supernatural ideas coming in to just explain all these murders. There's evidence, and a serial killer on the loose—a living, breathing man."

Or in the shell of a man, thought Will, but he kept the words to himself. He sighed and nodded, leaving the subject to examine the body again. This time, he focused on the grand letter, slipping on latex gloves and rolling up his sleeves.

"We already checked," said Jack, gazing down at the letter. "Spray paint."

"Always good to double-check," mumbled Will. He used his pointer finger to swipe the top section of the N, pulling it back to find smudged black. Jack shifted, about to say something along the lines of "I told you so," but he sent him a glance that silenced him.

"Death works in many ways, Jack," said Will. "Even if he's not the Chesapeake Ripper, I'm sure he has something to do with this."

He used his second finger to glide down the first line of the letter, pulling away to—again—find black smudged on the glove. Jack rose a brow at him and crossed his arms, but Graham ignored it.

Will adjusted his gloves, staring at the diagonal line that connected the letter. With a deep breath, he used his ring finger to glide it across the marking. Vague cold bled under his finger, and he hesitated, glancing up at Crawford as he went still.

"I don't think either of us will like," said Will, "what we see on my glove."

Dread broiled in the atmosphere, and Will took a deep breath, closing his eyes for a moment. Then, slowly, he pulled his finger away and tilted it towards the lights.

Nothing.

"Death," said Will, lingering on the dull glimmer of the glove. Something made his heart speed up at the find.

Jack ran a hand over his face in distress, stamping his foot on the floor. "God dammit," he cursed, huffing harshly. "So—we have three killers. One of them supernatural."

"Or two."

"Shut it," scolded Jack. "I'm not going to hear this 'Ripper is Death' bullshit."

He paced the room, troubled to all ends. Will took off his gloves and stared down at the body blankly.

"If we find the killer," he said, "we might be able to find the Ripper. And Death, I suppose." Jack huffed, and Will thought through it. "She's young. One of them has to be looking after her."

"Murderers looking out for each other," said Jack bitterly. He paced around the room, locking his hands behind his head.

"Talk to Hannibal about this," he ordered. "I'll check the BOLO for Jane Attic and Abigail Hobbs."

Will nodded, and Jack stormed away, leaving him with the body. He stared down at it, eyes lingering on the stark diagonal of the 'N.'

"Just what are you planning, Death?" he breathed.

Will lingered in the waiting room of Hannibal's office, gazing around at the paintings mounted on the walls. A mere five minutes had passed—late—and although it was a small fragment of time, it was a long while for Lecter.

A new patient, perhaps?

The door clicked, and he looked over his shoulder, ears picking up on two voices—Hannibal's and a young girl's.

"I'll be just a few—"

The door opened fully, and Hannibal stopped as he met eyes with Will. They lingered for a moment—Hannibal with his hand hovering behind the young woman's back and Graham examining the both of them.

"Will."

"Hannibal," he greeted with a tilt of his head. "New patient?"

"Ah, yes," he said, eyes flashing as they motioned down to her. "This is Fauna."

Abigail nodded, taking the alias in stride and bowing her head. "Fauna Thames."

"Nice to meet you, Ms. Thames," muttered Will, slightly narrowing her eyes at her. Hannibal shifted closer to her at the slight gesture. "Bit young, are you? Where's your parents?"

"Sixteen," she mumbled, and Hannibal directed Graham's attention back to him.

"She walked here—her parents are only a few minutes away." He tilted his head. "However, she doesn't owe you an explanation for being here." He gave a biting smile, and Will straightened himself.

"I'll see you next week?" he asked Abigail-Fauna, smiling down at her. She smiled back.

"See you later, Dr. Lecter." She left the doorway, but as she passed Will, she lingered. "Nice to meet you, sir."

With that, she left, and Will narrowed his eyes after her. A scent lingered after her, and his brows furrowed as he picked up on that same void, cold emptiness that he picked up on at the crime scene. He glanced back at Hannibal, who waited patiently at the doorway.

"Welcome, Will."

He slid his hands in his pockets and slipped past Hannibal, heart skipping when the door clicked to a shut behind them.

"Fauna Thames," pondered Will. "Didn't know you took in teens before."

Hannibal ignored the statement, pouring two glasses of wine and handing one over to him. "What brings you here today?"

Will glanced down at the glass and its contents. "Jack told me to come over," he said. "There was another murder, but nothing seems to be adding up."

Hannibal motioned for him to sit down, and he obeyed, crossing his legs as he kept his eyes trained on the glass. Lecter sat on the chair across from him.

"The face was carved out—the young girl's signature. But there were two things that stood out," continued Will. Excitement glimmered in Hannibal's eyes, unknowing to the other. "There was a surgical incision at the victim's abdomen. Took out the large intestine."

He shifted in his seat, glancing up at Hannibal, whose gaze sparked. "It's known that the Ripper takes prizes from his victims—usually a kidney—but the large intestine?" He shook his head. "I still believe it's him, though. Maybe helping this girl."

Hannibal faintly nodded as he continued. "The most disturbing part about it," said Will slowly, "is that Death marked part of the letter. I know he did."

"How?"

"I can feel it," said Will. "His markings are cold—bleeds through your skin like ice." He took a sip of wine, licking his lips. "I can also smell it—his scent." He practically shivered at the thought. "Powerful, foreboding… strong."

Hannnibal's eyes glimmered in satisfaction with his diction.

"And with all this evidence, what do you make of it?" he asked.

Will huffed, running a hand through his hair. "The Ripper made a deal with Death—or, so we assumed—" said Will, "so we thought he was dead. The cut reeks of his work, though, so then we wondered if Death kept him alive. Maybe using him for something."

He shook his head and took a bigger drink. "Jack won't have any of it, but I think that the Ripper…" He huffed and drank again. "I think he is Death."

Hannibal's eyes flashed, but he concealed it. "I can see why he'd dismiss the idea," reasoned Lecter. "You and I both have analyzed the Ripper case, and there was never any mention of Death."

"That was before he started meddling with any of my murders."

Hannibal hid a smirk at that. "Which part of the letter did Death mark?"

"The diagonal line that connects the 'N.'"

"That could be a message, couldn't it? Perhaps a continuation?"

Will's brows furrowed, and he forced out a chuckle. "Death loves to make things complicated," he wondered. He nodded at the thought. "Too easy if he made the last victim with the last letter. He has to make it interesting."

"He's curious to see what you'll do."

Will sighed, taking another sip of wine. "If it's a message," said Will, "it…" He pursed his lips, thinking through it. "He helped the killer. The diagonal line joins the letter—to show that he's one with this killer. Somehow, the two are alike. Maybe even… related. In a way."

Hannibal crossed his legs, watching Will with careful eyes.

"But it's also a warning," he muttered, "like before—when I killed that man for Death and left a space for him to mark."

Lecter hid a smile.

"He doesn't want to be seen as predictable," continued Will. "That means the next victim—if there is one—won't make sense unless I'm in this mindset."

Hannibal nodded, gazing at Will in his seat. "When Death meets you, he wants to have the gravity of it all be so tumultuous that you can't stand it."

Will sourly chuckled at that, yet a surge of excitement pulsed in his heart. "I can't wait," he said, staring Hannibal in the eye. "But I'll be patient for him."

Hannibal licked his lips and gazed steadily at Will, skin practically itching in anticipation for that fateful day.

"Soon," he whispered.