Hannibal S02Ep8.5: Saibashi
Will felt a fever in air. Each breath he drew had been heated by the stir and bustle of the lead investigators, forensics and the officers who had been first on scene. Hot floodlights had been brought in from aboveground to help them work the scene, but for Will, the chaos that the myriad presences brought disrupted the scene in his mind. As though the heat of activity brought in a sense of infection on the floor, contaminating the flow of cause and effect that he was trying to piece together.
But he had ways around it. To return to the raw state of violence that had come before. He took a long breath and closed his eyes.
A pendulum of light swung in the darkness between his vision and his mind.
He perceived the scene in its entirety. The lower level of a warehouse, sluggish winter light from high, narrow windows was barely able to pierce the dark of the long concrete chamber. The teams of investigators around him seemed to slow to a crawl all around him, before another swing of the pendulum occurred.
Swish.
The investigators and their equipment were swept away like the metal filings that lay underneath the metalworking lathes that lay in uniform rows throughout the warehouse.
Swish.
Night swept away the early morning light, and with it, the dim lights of the building, that hung like waning concave moons, and cast a pall over the scene.
Finally, without the blur of motion and occurrence that had taken place, he could fully appraise what he had been brought there to.
The body stood in from of him, cold as a statue. And yet the posture and motion of it spoke of animation and anguish, suddenly captured, transformed into a solid tableau.
Swish.
The scene began to disassemble. Fixtures unbound from one another. Joints unsealed.
Swish.
The body lay on the ground, limp, unmoving. Waiting for strength and purpose to be reassembled into them.
Swish.
With a final swing of the pendulum, Will was left alone in the dark. He looked around before he crept over towards a lathe to his right, swiftly drawing himself close to the bulk of the machine. In that still hour, the brightest lights were the red bulbs that glowed like eyes on the sides of the metalworking machines. They indicated the dormant life inside, only waiting for a flip of a switch to make them wake with green gazes. Will could feel the low hum of life underneath the cold surface that lay underneath.
He watched at the end of the building, glancing at the doorway above the steel steps. The bright sign that stated 'EXIT' giving him a majority of his vision.
He breathed beside the machine, and as he waited, he swore he could feel a congruence between the two of them. The rush, flow, churn and choke of his blood vessels, the beat of his heart, the tingle of electricity that animated his every reaction; All of it seemed to hum in time with the dormant electricity in the core of the machine. He stared into the red light and felt its gaze, staring deeply inside of him—
—With a jolt of movement, he heard the door above him creak, and a sudden pulse of light shone down across the basement workplace. A figure moved down the steps hurriedly as the door behind them swung closed. The only source of light was a torch held in the figure's hand, which swept along the ground erratically, only moving a few degrees on some sweeps, while others highlighted the rafters of the ceiling above.
Will clung to the side of his machine, not moving. His patience was as solid as steel. He only needed to wait. Wait until the beam of light bounced along the ground past him, and the man holding it drew close enough for him to strike.
Twenty feet. Fifteen. Ten.
The final few paces, he felt something in him ignite. A vast pool of energy suddenly combusting, firing up the corners of the body that he had taken the time to still. He drew the solid length of wire out of his sleeve and let it hang loose and ready.
The figure in the dark stalked a single step past him, and in a second, he struck. With the action, Will began to narrate his actions, to bring them into some form of semblance.
"I ambush my victim from behind. Using my superior strength, I strangle the life out of him, extinguishing the animating spark that drives him. Soon I will determine the form that he takes."
He felt the savage rush of strength that filled his straining muscles, as he made a final heave against the neck of his victim. In a second, the man goes limp, and will drops him to the floor.
"He will remain here until I gather the rest of my materials."
Down away from the other end of the building, he slaps a black button on the wall. Two large steel doors yawn widely, as he steps inside, and pushes another button on their interior.
Outside, the snows are shallow but the cold bites to the bone. He hurries to the forklift, already loaded up with his materials. He drives it into the elevator dock, and begins his descent back to the privacy and security of the underground.
Back inside, he unhitches his cargo from the forklift, and finally returns to the body of the man that he killed. For the first time, he looks at the body and begins to appraise it properly. He turns it over, flips it, and studies each limb with a surgical eye. Then he begins to undress it.
Finding the perfect clear spot in the centre of the building, he begins his work in earnest. Several sharpened pieces of rebar are placed on the ground, and he hammers each one into the ground, first with a hand hammer, then once each have been driven in deep enough, a sledgehammer to drive it in as deep as possible. Each blow rings with a cry of tortured steel. But it is the cry of something born into the world.
"This undertaking… Is a challenge. A test of all of my physical abilities and of a lifetime worth of skills that I have mastered. The foundations are set. Now I begin to shape my materials."
He brings the long coil of cable that was on the back of the forklift, and throws it down. Unspooling a length as long as his own body, he cuts a piece off with an angle grinder, and carries the length over to the body. He hesitates.
Then he continues. The sharpened point of the cable pierces through the flesh behind the ankle, and he threads it up partway up the leg, before finding a spot on the thigh that he can fit it through. The body is still fresh enough that blood seeps through each wound, pooling down on the ground, seeping over his clothes, over his face, almost forcing him to abandon his task as the stench of iron invades his nose and seeps into his lips.
"If only I had more familiarity with this material… It takes all of my concentration to bind these disparate forms of matter together. But I will learn to master it."
A second thread of cable is drawn through the other leg. Then each one snakes up into the torso, through his abdominal cavity onto either side of the spine. He quickly wipes off the ends of the cables. Now the most difficult part of his work is upon him. He brings several more lengths of steel to hand, and then he brings his forge-welding kit to make them fit together.
There's a sense of power that is different than the kind that came from feeling the figure lose its life at his hands. The white hot fire that he wields is something more primordial and...Divine. Being able to manipulate the pulverising energy necessary to join the elements together. Being careful where each piece joins to one another. And he begins to assemble them around his central piece.
With the scaffold in place, and joined to his central piece, it's time to put on the finishing touches.
Back to the forklift, he raises up the final pieces.
"With this show of my discipline, my ability and my power… I will show everyone my might. I will show them what will happen to those who earn my ire. I will show them the new world that is my dominion and my plaything."
Finally, it is complete.
Behind him, he feels the red gaze of the dormant machines, his dreaming disciples, gaze upon his work, and as he feels the low hum of their approval.
The figure kneels, in a pose of exquisite contrition and suffering. Cables tied and welded to the ground are threaded through his being, while smaller pieces of iron form a lattice of support along the back, necessary for him to hold the grand piece: A four-foot round globe of the Earth, meticulously assembled in copper wire and plating that show all the lands of the planet. It is a sculpture, a spectacle.
My Atlas.
"This is my design."
And then Will is himself once again.
There was a dull weight in his head that dragged at his being. Once it was heavy with the trauma and reconfigured atrocities of those he profiled, but now when he attempts to probe the same area, he finds an odd sense of absence. A black hole where his fragility and his sense of disgust used to be. It's more unnerving than seeing reflections of the dead in his sleep, like he used to.
He found himself lingering in the middle of the floor, off from the din of scene's investigators. Anyone unfamiliar with him might think he was dumbfounded, shocked.
However, he sees two investigators who know him well enough that they wouldn't make that assumption. Brian Zeller and Jimmy Price. Zeller has already begun to handle and bag pieces of debris from around the body, getting closer than any other of the forensics team. Jimmy is a little further off, camera in hand, trying to find a new angle to shoot from. Will walked over to them.
"Has the victim been ID'd?" He said, not needing to waste time with greetings or pleasantries, he knew that they wouldn't bother with it either if they had started talking to him.
"Almost immediately." Jimmy said, dropping his camera, taking the chance offered by the conversation to stretch out a little. "Gabriel Valentino-Perez. The nightwatchman who was doing his shift at the time. The nephew of the owner of the building. Who says there aren't potential risks with hiring out of nepotism."
Zeller decided to jump into the conversation. "The preliminary theory we have for him being down here is that the perp triggered the motion sensers that are in the corners of the room, which triggered the silent alarm, and he came down to investigate."
"No cameras?" Will asked.
"Only on the outside of the building. And according to the logs, two nights ago, they were vandalised."
Price jumped in again. "We already checked it. Shot out by an airsoft rifle. Owners put it up to junkies who wimped out and didn't do anything to change up security. Once the perp got the guard, he got the keys and the whole run of the facility. Then he used the service elevator and a forklift that were onsite to bring down the rest of the materials."
"There's almost two hundred pounds worth of metal down here. And that globe was mainly preassembled offsite. And that's not even including the tools he had to have brought with him to fit it all together." Zeller commented. "So we've been looking at nearby CCTV to look for any vehicles large enough to transport everything. Pickups, vans, trailers…" He drifted off, beginning to put away a baggy he was holding.
Will stared back at the body. Rigor mortis had set in, making the figure seem more grotesque and uncanny. A clay figure made with clumsy fingers.
"He had to have practiced before this." Will, said softly, speaking to himself more than anyone else.
Zeller looked at him, and then pointed out the cables that wormed their way like invading parasites through the dead body.
"The contusions on the exterior body are really rough. There's grazing and miscellaneous lacerations all along the entry points—"
"—The idiot didn't make any sort of preparations for the interior insertion of the cable." Price jumped in, attempting to simplify. "Judging by the lividity in the body, he wasted at least an hour forcing it through on its own through the body before he even attempted to pose it. And he caused enough damage that if he misjudged the strength of exterior scaffolding, the flesh would've torn like tissue-paper if it took the weight of the globe directly."
Will mused silently at the body once more.
"The body is the new factor. But he's more than practiced with metalworking. He preassembled the globe… Figured out the perfect design with the minimum amount of metal while retaining the maximum amount of strength. He has training in engineering, joining, fitting. That's his vocation. But personally, he considers himself an artist."
"So we should look at The Museum of Modern Art for our next lead?" Zeller said, attempting a wisecrack. Will ignored it, attempting to clarify his insight further.
"No, he's not any kind of recognised artist. This was his debut in this particular medium. If there's anything of his on the market, it's either credited anonymously or in the hands of private buyers. But you're right that he screwed up. He knows it too. And he's too much of a perfectionist not to try this again if he thinks he can do it better."
He intended to leave his conversation with them there, and prepared to turn away, but he felt a pressing question that he needed answering dragged him back into conversation, momentarily.
"Have either of you seen Jack around?" Will asked.
The two looked at one another as though they were mentally searching each other's face for an insight.
"Not since—" Zeller began, only to be cut off by Price.
"—About ten minutes ago, he went upstairs to talk to his—" Here Price paused, as though he was going to say something personal and regretful. Will simply nodded, knowing at least the general direction that Jack was in would be enough.
He passed by the teams of FBI agents, escaped out of the range of scrutiny of professional scrutineers, and clambered up the metal stairs, out the EXIT door.
Will was receptive to the thoughts in the air around him. The focus on minutia, of minds intently focused on every other thing in sight, dispersed as he reached out into the open. There was still activity in the parking lot, agents intent on keeping the scene from being invaded by reporters or civilians, but the attention was dispersed outwards, and Will luxuriated in the brief moment where he wasn't surrounded by peering eyes, deep in a state of analysis, even if that analysis wasn't directly focused on him.
He stared around the cordoned off lot, searching for the familiar face of Jack Crawford. He wasn't in sight, but Will knew that didn't mean much. To his right was a small alcove, framed by concrete pillars, and the ground around it littered with cigarette butts. It afforded a small amount of shelter against the gawking of others, and when Will brought his focus to it, he could pick Jack's baritone echoing softly into the surrounding air.
He turned the corner to see Jack in a position of rare vulnerability. He leaned against the wall with one arm, while the other held a phone tightly to the other side of his face. His gaze was glazed, dropped to the ground. Will felt a mild moment of concern; normally Jack would pace through crime-scene like a lion, roaring orders and tearing disfunction to size. This was rarer.
"—You don't have to like her. But she's there to take care of you. You have to try and offer her some courtesy." There was a long pause, as he listened to the other side of the line, his face wrenching with discomfort from every word. "I agree. If that's the case, we can hire a replacement who you gel with, but it'll take a little more time—"
Jack's attention finally wandered from the ground, and he as saw Will's intense stare, he froze mid-sentence. In a moment, his posture changed entirely. He leaned off the wall, raised his head high, and shifted his posture, suddenly standing like a prize-fighter ready to deliver a new round of blows.
"I need to get back to it. We'll talk more when I get home. Love you." Jack said resignedly, trying to funnel all his affection only into the speaker on his phone, and then he was done, dropping his phone to his side.
It was a secret kept well hidden from most of his department. But a few individuals had managed to pierce the iron wall of privacy that Jack had managed to erect around his personal life, and knew the truth. Jack's wife, Bella, was dying. A terminal cancer that ate away at Jack's psyche while it ate away at her body.
"Will." He said, beginning to walk away towards him.
"Jack." Will replied stiffly.
Jack waited a beat to see if Will would continue the conversation, and began again when it was apparent that Will wouldn't.
"Have you managed to take a look at the scene?" Jack asked, a tinge of annoyance apparent.
"Yes." Will said.
Another missing beat, before he replied.
"Any insights? Something to go on at all?" Jack asked.
Will sighed, bringing himself to speak a little more than he wanted. "He's meticulous. Skilled. He's never killed before, but he's experienced with metalworking as a vocation. This was a display of power. Proof to the world that he can destroy as well as create."
"And who was this display for?" Jack said, bringing his typical directness to the conversation, which Will appreciated.
"Whoever was supposed to stumble on him. People who work there. The owner."
"You think there's a personal relationship between the killer and the workplace?" Jack continued to interrogate.
Will shrugged. "I don't know enough yet to say." Will replied, hoping to end the questioning with blunt honesty.
Jack's brow furrowed in irritation. "And you came to me hoping for more information? Ask Price and Zeller next time."
"I didn't come here to ask you anything about this case. I came here to ask you for help with Peter Bernardone." Will said, standing his ground.
Jack exhaled and brought a hand up to rub at his temples. The gesture was overly-melodramatic, and the both of them knew it.
"I've said my piece with the judge. But he and I agree with his decision. Regardless of whether or not Bernardone was defending himself, his actions after subduing Clark Ingram constitute attempted murder. He's proven himself to be a potential danger to others, and due to his mental instability, he needs to be institutionalised."
Will looked back at Jack coldly. When he had heard that Peter was scheduled to be sent to The Baltimore State Hospital For The Criminally Insane, he felt like his spirit had been bruised by the news. He knew better than anyone what went on there, and even though Chilton was no longer around to run things, the institution still held the same frozen screams behind the bars, and the same jeering faces jingling keys from the other side of them.
He didn't know if he could do anything further for Peter. Will knew better than most that some forms of damage were simply irreparable. But he knew he would lose something fundamental and decent in himself if he didn't fight to spare Peter being put in there.
"The violence he committed was specific. It was a righteous act, built up by months of coercion and trauma. You and I both know that its impossible to replicate the conditions he was under. Peter wouldn't hurt a fly if he could help it."
Jack sighed again, and then began to walk out of the alcove that they had conversing in. It was an action meant to fluster Will. Force him to drop the conversation entirely.
"The matter is dealt with, Will. Attempting to cancel Peter Bernardone's sentence is only going to give fodder for Clark Ingram's defence. You got the bad guy, Will. Sometimes that comes with an extra cost, whether we like it or not." He attempted to walk faster to leave Will at his back, but Will kept pace.
"If I'm powerless to save someone like Peter, then the job isn't worth it, Jack. And I won't let him rot in there, with people who don't have any interest in treating him like he needs." Will said.
Jack halted in his tracks. His shoulders raise, his fists balled. He turned back to Will.
"You get a pay check like everyone else here. I don't pay in favours. If that isn't to your liking, feel free to leave."
"You know I don't do it for the money, and I don't do it for favours." Will said, eyes soft with emotion. "I do it to save lives." He dropped his head, feeling washed out and tired from the argument already. "I can't give up on one that I might have some chance of saving.
"He needs help. People that understand him. Access to animals, eventually, if he has any chance of recovery."
Jack's jaw clenched, and his eyes shifted. For Will, it meant that at least part of his side had been accepted. It was an important way of understanding how to negotiate with Jack. A full change in his stance could never be one, but he wasn't averse to small compromises, if they left his position intact.
"There are other lives that might need saving right now." Jack gestured towards the crime-scene down below. "If we deal with this case quickly, and without any kind of… complications, I'll see what I can do."
Will exhaled, then nodded. It wasn't a promise, but it would do for now. Fine flakes began to rain down in stinging particles.
"Do you want to go back inside, get another glance before we pack what we can up?" Jack asked.
"No." Will said, with a shake of his head. "That was another reason I wanted to talk to you. I have to leave early for an appointment."
Jack stared deeply into Will's eyes. He didn't need to be told who the appointment was with.