"Will," breathed Jack through the phone, voice tense, "there's been another message, but I don't think you should come."
"What?" he scoffed, sitting up in bed and pressing the phone against his ear. "Are you insane? Of course I'm coming."
"You won't like it," said Jack.
"I haven't liked any of this," he half-lied, brows furrowing. "Send me your location. I'm coming over ASAP."
"Will, I can't—"
"I'll be waiting," said Will curtly, and he ended the call, getting ready and walking out the door to his car. As he began rolling down the driveway, a message pinged on his phone.
Baltimore.
Will took a deep breath and headed towards the area, knuckles white on the steering wheel and heart racing in anticipation.
One hour later, Will arrived in Baltimore, Maryland, meeting police tape and frantic forensics. Will clambered out of his car, ducking under the tape, quickly catching up with the speed and harried nature of the scene. Up ahead stood Jack, and by his side—
Will's brows furrowed. "Hannibal?"
Both Jack and Hannibal turned around, but Will's gaze locked on Lecter's. The psychiatrist's eyes were glimmering and dark—ignited with passion and anticipation. Will forced his gaze away and turned towards Crawford, raising a brow.
"There's two main bodies," said Jack, voice strained. "The other fragments…"
He trailed off, leading Will into the scene, Hannibal following behind like a shadow. Before him, stretched out on the field, stood two cadavers like totem poles, arms splayed out like scarecrows. The sight pummeled through Will like a wave, nearly making him stagger back, a shiver running through him as Hannibal rested a hand on his arm.
"Jesus," muttered Will, staring at the elevated corpses. Jack shook his head, knowing he shouldn't have let Will see the scene.
Will walked around the two bodies, stomach coiling with both disgust and admiration. Both bodies held the final letters 'O' and 'W.'
"I am here now," he whispered, shuddering.
The first body's head had been carved open—her skull like a bowl to eat out of. Holes gaped from either side of her head, and individual hands, feet, limbs, arched from the openings, arching up into the sky to form the letter 'O.' Each piece was stitched together with artful precision and spoke with power, authority, and foreboding—but also emptiness and cold.
Her face was skinned off exactly like Abigail's signature. Where the mouth would have been gaped a circle of torn flesh—filled with black lilies that gushed forwards in a deadly bushel. Down her chest glimmered Death's marking—as if he took four fingers and pressed them down into her skin. Farther down her torso also gleamed a clean incision—that which spoke of the Chesapeake Ripper.
Will swallowed, mind whirring at the countless information.
This first body was maimed by the Chesapeake Ripper, Death, and Abigail Hobbs. A terrifying, bloodthirsty union.
He walked over to the next body, ignoring Lecter's and Crawford's gazes, and examined it.
The second body—male—had very similar inflictions like the first. Skull opened up, holes, parts of bodies and limbs protruding from the head to form a letter. This time the letter 'W.'
Will circled around the body, meeting the cadaver's face. Though not skinned like the first, its eyes were gouged from its sockets. Will breathed in, catching the scent of—
Will whipped around, heart racing and eyes wild.
"What the hell is this?" he demanded, meeting Crawford's gaze. He rose a brow, raising his hands to his chest in defense.
"I told you—"
"We're not just looking at one or two killers, Jack," he said with the shake of his head. "This is—"
He ran a hand through his hair, not noticing Hannnibal's sadistic gaze.
"This is an entire orchestration." He shook his head, staring back at the second body's face. On both sides of his cheeks were the same black markings—the number four. Jack glanced at Hannibal, who regained his regal composure.
"What do you think, Dr. Lecter?" asked Jack.
Will glanced at Hannibal, suspicious, and crossed his arms. Lecter only gazed at him smoothly, directing his attention to the bodies.
"The most prominent features are the letters made of limbs," said Hannibal, eyes grazing over his work. "They resemble those of deities—hands outreaching for their followers. The killer is tied with religion."
"Death's markings," said Will, voice firm. "The number four is associated with him. He's marking the end to his message." He glared at the bodies. "This is his monument."
Hannibal hid a smile, eyes glittering.
"What else do you see, Will?" asked Hannibal, voice low. "Do you smell Death's scent?"
All over you, yes, thought Will, but he took a deep breath and nodded.
"This reeks of Death," he said. "The first body also smells of emptiness and cold." He sent a pointed glance over to Hannibal, describing Abigail's lonesome air, and he only tilted his head.
"The second body—" He motioned towards it. "—it smells exactly like Scott Barnes and Jared Aines." He glanced over at Hannibal, who muttered quietly:
"The Four Horsemen."
Crawford gave a bellowing laugh of disbelief, looking between the two. "The Four Horsemen?" he asked, brows high. "Hannibal, it's your job to help, Will. Not plant these fantasies in hi—"
"Are you questioning my work, Jack?" asked Hannibal, gaze snapping onto him. Crawford stopped himself, lingering for a moment before clearing his throat and stepping back.
"No," he said. "No, I'm not, Dr. Lecter." He glanced over at Will, whose gaze remained fixed on the bodies.
"Will," he said, "do your thing."
He nodded, and Crawford and Lecter left the scene, leaving Will with all the space he needed.
Will closed his eyes, taking a deep breath, and lost himself in the sensations and scents. Swish… swish… He opened his eyes and found himself outside of Hannibal's home—in the backyard closed in by tall, looming fencing. Before him sat Abigail in the dark grass, the female's head in her lap.
Will swallowed, trying to keep his composure, pieces already falling into place.
"I watch my kind with admiration," he whispered, and he handed over a silver knife that glimmered under the moonlight. Abigail took it with a smile, gazing at him with utter adoration before sliding the blade under the girl's flesh, gently pulling her features from the twines of ligaments and blood. "Anticipation thrums in my veins… this is what I've been waiting for all my life."
Abigail glanced up at him, the girl's face in her hands. "Azmaveth," she muttered, "will you turn him?"
Will's brows furrowed, but something halted in his head, something different, unlike anything he'd looked into. He closed his eyes and opened them to reveal the next scene before he could process Abigail's words.
Hannibal's office.
Before him sat a woman, tall, dark and slender, willowy legs crossed on the sofa. A wine glass laid heavily in her bony hands.
"When I heard I'd be altering a file for Will Graham," she was saying, dark eyes glimmering and screaming of authority, "well, it was an honor."
Something tightened in his chest, and he quickly closed his eyes—swish… swish—opening his eyes to reveal another scene. Still, he remained in Hannibal's office, but instead, he stood in front of four people. His eyes widened, and he quickly gained his composure, his stomach fluttering at the feeling of power, authority, and foreboding that bled through his veins.
Death's veins.
"I stand before my horsemen," said Will, voice wavering and eyes stuttering. "Pride surges in my chest as I stare at them—inform them on how we'll finish the message."
He tilted his chin up, yet something foreign ached in his chest. Something had been said to the killer days prior to this moment—something very upsetting.
He closed his eyes again, and this time, he stood in the field, the two bodies before him—erected from the ground like taunting scarecrows.
A strong, light-chocolate man—War, thought Will—carried the 'wreath' of limbs, placing it onto the man's opened head. He stepped back, securing the letter 'W,' and nodded back at his fellow horsemen. Victorum stepped up to the body, disgust scrunching his nose, and gouged out the man's eyes. While he did that, Will and Abigail tended to the first body, placing the letter 'O' of limbs on the cadaver's head together.
He smiled down at Hobbs, pride swelling in his chest.
"He'll love it," said Abigail, gazing at the girl's skinned face. She reached forward, pressing her fingers deep into where the mouth would be, and beckoned towards him. Will handed over the bushel of black lilies, and Abigail forced them into the girl's makeshift-mouth, stepping back with admiration.
A moment of silence passed through them, all six of them stepping away from the bodies. They looked towards him, and he nodded, stepping forward and dragging his fingers down both the girl's chest and the man's cheeks.
The number four.
He smiled.
"We'll have a feast tonight," he said, slipping out a knife and surgically cutting from the girl's cadaver. He pulled out a few youthful organs, and Abigail held them like a present. "And once Will Graham figures us out, he will join us."
Will stared at the bodies and at the people around him, smiling sadistically.
"This is my design," he whispered.
His eyes flew open, and he gasped for breath, staggering back from the bodies. Pieces. Piece by piece.
Falling into place.
Will panted, hand hovering over his mouth. Disbelief bled from his eyes.
"I—"
Hannibal supported him from behind, and Will whirled around, pushing him away.
"Don't touch me," he growled, eyes alight and teeth bared. Hannibal only stared, hiding the satisfaction in his face. Crawford rushed towards Will.
"What's wrong?" he asked. "What did you see?"
Will stared at Hannibal, nostrils flaring, his shoulders heaving with each breath. Hannibal only stood there, relishing in Will's hateful gaze, and when Crawford tried to reach for Graham, he roughly pulled away.
"I have to go," he said firmly, walking away from the crime scene.
"Will—"
"Let me handle it," said Hannibal, and Crawford lapsed into a frown, watching Lecter hurry after him. He sighed and looked back at the bodies, running a hand over his head in distress.
"I told him not to come," he muttered with a shake of his head.
Hannibal reached for Will, circling around his car and stopping him before he could get in. "Will—"
Graham's jaw twitched, clenching tight, and he stared at the car door, fists flexing at his sides.
"Let me through, Hannibal," he said, voice a low growl.
Lecter didn't budge, staying in place and keeping his hand on the handle. Will grit his teeth, not making eye contact.
"I said," he hissed, "Let. Me. Through."
"No."
Will glanced up at Hannibal, meeting his gaze with scorn. Their eyes locked dangerously. "What am I supposed to do, huh?" he demanded. His chest tightened at how close they were—nearly chest to chest—but he ignored it. "Just stand here and—and accept the—truth?"
Will shook his head, breaths fast and shallow. He stepped closer to Lecter, their lips merely brushing.
"You're a liar," hissed Will under his breath, shoving a finger into Lecter's chest. "How can I even look at you?"
Will spat in his face, and Lecter only closed his eyes, brow twitching in distaste.
"You disgust me," he bellowed, shoving Lecter's hand away and clambering into the car. He reversed hastily, the rubble beneath spurring into dust, and he was gone.
Hannibal wiped his face and watched the car speed off, sighing when Crawford joined his side.
"What's gotten over him?" asked Jack. Hannibal only shook his head.
"It's the end of the message, Jack," he said simply. "It's a lot to process."
Crawford huffed, shaking his head and running his hands over his face. "Please, Hannibal," he said. "Make sure Will doesn't lose himself."
Hannibal glanced over at him, meeting his gaze and nodding firmly.
"I promise," he said.
Thank you so much for reading and have a great day!
-Kassian