Title: "The Blood of a Cannibal"
Chapter 9 "Dual Return"
Author: Jerome Mullins
Rating: R, adult language.
Summary and Disclaimer: See previous chapters. I should mention that this chapter makes reference to the "Venable Plaza" in Boston, Massachusetts; there is no Venable Plaza Hotel. This location is fictitious place mentioned in _The X-Files_ (so don't sue me for that one). nor for the mention of Aphrodite Jones's true crime novel: _The Embrace_.
Author's Notes: Will Graham struggles with the conflict of returning to the FBI and Dr. Morrison makes a return to familiar stomping grounds. The manhunt for Lecter continues as Dr. Lecter begins his efforts to reunite with his son.
* * *
Josh Graham sat on the front porch of the house he shared with his father in Gainesville, Florida. Winter is nothing to fear down south and Josh decided to enjoy the afternoon sunshine while finishing his latest true crime novel. He was more than half way through Aphrodite Jones's _The Embrace_ when Special Agent Clint Pearsall pulled into the front driveway. Josh briefly glanced up from his reading and instantly figured the visitor was with the FBI.
Pearsall walked up to the bottom steps of the front porch and politely waited for Josh to invite him up under the shade.
"You with the FBI?" Josh asked without looking up from his reading.
"Special Agent Pearsall," he took out his badge. "I'm from D.C. Is your father Will Graham?"
"Yep." Josh nodded. "Let me guess, you've come all the way down here to get him back on the Lecter case."
There was no surprise in Josh's voice; he had been expecting someone from the north to come down sooner or later. He and his father had watched the news conference together the previous day. Although his father didn't say a thing, Josh knew his father was devoting more and more of his free time to thinking about Dr. Hannibal Lecter. Josh had been watching his father carefully since the conference. Will would pass by the front window and look out into the street. From the expression on his face Josh could tell that his father was expecting a car filled with federal agents to pull into the front lawn. Although Josh could never be sure of his father, he suspected that Will was hoping that they would come.
Pearsall didn't respond. He simply shifted on his feet.
"He isn't home right now," Josh put down his book and gestured for Pearsall to come under the shade. "Wait for him. I'm sure if he wanted to refuse to come back to the FBI, he'd rather do it face to face with a man from Washington rather than scream at you over the phone."
Pearsall nodded and stepped under the shade to sit down in the chair next to the front door.
"My Dad already spoke to the Tampa Bay field office, he told them he didn't want to be bothered."
"I know." Pearsall nodded. "You don't look too surprised to see me, someone call and tell you that I was coming?"
"No one called. I figured it would take about this time before someone in the D.C. office would be sent down. To be honest with you, Agent Pearsall, I was expecting Jack Crawford. But then again, Special Agent Clarice Starling is supposedly the leading authority on Dr. Lecter. Why didn't she come down here?"
"She's had some personal experience with Lecter, but nothing like what your father has gone through." Pearsall cleared his throat and then changed the subject. "She's on an assignment."
Pearsall looked down to the table next to Josh; the surface was covered with _Tattler_ magazines and cut-out articles covering the Lecter case.
"Your Dad know you have all that stuff?"
"Nope." Josh shook his head and looked up to watch a car pass by his house. "He would insist that I throw all of it out. I keep it in a folder locked away in my desk upstairs. I've been collecting them since last May."
"Why bring it all out now?"
"It might help you."
"Help me do what?"
"Convince him to come back to work." Josh looked over to Pearsall. "That's why you're here aren't you?"
"I don't know why I'm here." Pearsall admitted. "I was asked to speak with your father, to see if he might change his mind. I don't feel like I have to convince him of anything."
"You don't really have to convince him to come back," Josh shook his head. "Dad wants to help, I know it, but he's just so scared of getting back into the game. He's afraid that Dr. Lecter might win this time."
"I don't blame him." He paused. "How do you know he wants to help?"
"Ever since the hunt for Lecter started to heat up again, he's been trying to get into Lecter's head. He's been thinking about him a whole lot lately."
"Has he been talking to you about it?"
"No," Josh shook his head. "He's been drinking a lot more. When he drinks as much as he does now, he's either thinking about Mom or Dr. Lecter. He's been watching the news more too, watching all the updates on the hunt for Lecter. He even watched the news conference the other day. He's been thinking about getting back into the hunt, I'm sure of it."
"Your father has a gift. He's one of the greatest profilers that have ever worked for the FBI."
"That's a good line." Josh smiled slightly. "Make sure you say that to him when you talk to him."
"I can't convince him to come back to work," Pearsall loosened his tie.
"I already told you that you didn't have to. He wants to come back. The only reason why he hasn't come to you offering to help is because of me, and I can take care of myself."
Josh wasn't defensive; it was more of a simple statement. Josh had been taking care of himself and his father since the death of his mother. However, he would be leaving for school the following week. Once Josh left, Graham would have no reason to hold back.
"I know he wants to come back, he wants to help."
"Does he know about Lecter's son?"
"Who doesn't? It's everywhere," he looked down to his stack of papers. "All the magazines and news programs have been reporting it. That's where Agent Starling is, isn't she? She's protecting him."
"It's for the best. He might know something about Dr. Lecter that we don't. But we still need your father's help too, he caught Lecter before."
"He could do it again," Josh nodded. "This time, I don't think my father would hesitate for one moment before killing Lecter."
"I can't blame him for that either." Pearsall said quietly.
"Without me here, Dad won't have a reason to stay. He knows that he can be a huge help to finding Lecter, but he just needs a little push. His biggest fear is that he would be betraying my mother."
"What does she have to say about all of this?"
Josh stood from his chair and slowly approached the railing. "She's dead." Josh didn't turn around to face Pearsall. "It's been a few years now, but he's still hurting. We both are."
"I'm sorry." Pearsall looked down to his black leather shoes.
"So am I." Josh said softly. "But this would give him a reason to leave the house, to get out there and help people. He has always loved to help other people, he used to tell me it was the best part about being an FBI agent. He just needs to be reminded of how much good he would be doing by getting back out there."
Josh turned to face Pearsall who nodded solemnly.
A black Jeep Wrangler pulled up into the driveway behind Josh. Will Graham got out of the driver's seat and pulled two groceries bags from the back seat and headed towards the house. Josh came down the steps and took the bags. Graham looked past his son to Pearsall who stood from his chair and took out his badge to present to Graham.
"Did Jack Crawford retire or is he just too lazy to come down here and beg me to come back himself?" he asked as he joined Pearsall on the porch.
There was a playful tone in Graham's voice. He had been expecting the Bureau to send out agents to come to his home, especially after his visit to the Tampa Bay field office. Apart of Will Graham was actually eager to see if the FBI would send the man who had talked Graham out of retirement last time, Jack Crawford. Deep down he was actually looking forward to seeing his old friend again.
Graham had not seen Crawford since after he was released from the hospital after his personal encounter with Francis Dolarhyde. He knew that Molly did not particularly care for Crawford and decided to distance himself from him for Molly's sake. There were occasional letters and Christmas cards. He had heard about the death Crawford's wife, Bella, and sent a sympathy card. Crawford wrote less and less to Graham after her death. Graham then backed further away from his former friend and dropped all contact with him after Molly's death. Since the hunt for Lecter had been reactivated, Graham had been hoping for a phone call or visit from him.
"Jack Crawford passed away a couple of years ago," Pearsall said softly and extended his hand. "Clint Pearsall, I work out of the D.C. office. I'm running the task force to capture Lecter."
Graham looked to his son who quickly turned and went inside the house to leave the two of them alone. Graham didn't bother to shake Pearsall's hand which dropped slowly to his side.
"I didn't know about Jack," Graham looked down to the front steps. "We lost touch with each other after his wife died. Then Molly." he cleared his throat.
"We tried to contact you with the address Jack had listed for you, I know a letter was sent shortly after Jack's death."
"We moved from that house," Graham shook his head. "He knew not to write to the house, I have a P. O. Box that he could reach me by, but he rarely did."
He then noticed the news paper clippings and articles on Lecter.
"Brought some reinforcements I see," Graham sighed as he changed the subject. "They tell you to resort to anything to get me back?"
"I didn't bring those." Pearsall shook his head. "Your son said his collection might be helpful though. And yes, they told me that I wasn't to return home empty handed. Anything goes."
"Do me a favor and don't start off with that 'you could save lives' bullshit," Graham put up a hand. "I said the same damn thing to my wife the last time I worked with you people and it nearly cost my family their lives."
"How about if I offer you a chance to kill Lecter?" Pearsall smiled slightly. "I would think that would be enough of an enticement to get you back."
"You do have me there." Graham nodded, a soft smile crossing his lips. "There's nothing I would love more than to kill that son-of-a-bitch. But in order to do that, you need him caught first. It's easy enough for you and your task force to just follow the trail Lecter leaves behind, but I'm the one who actually has to crawl around the fucker's head and see what makes him tick. And that's just to find him, how to catch him is something completely different."
"You can leave that to us, we just need to find him. Follow the trail as you say, but we're missing something. Jack believed, and I do too, that you're the one who can pick-up what we're missing."
"It's not that simple." Graham shook his head. "You have those files. That's as much information as he will let you have. But those files don't have enough information in them, Lecter was careful about that. If he gave you anymore than what you all ready know, then you might find a way to catch him. We both know he will do anything to avoid that."
Pearsall had heard great things about Will Graham from Crawford, Graham had always been praised as the FBI's greatest profiler. The wheels in Graham's mind turned on such a level that could be called nothing other than brilliance. He was gifted in the ability to see what others might not, to find clues that could lead to the capture of the most dangerous of violent criminals. Graham has always humbly stated that his discoveries were "all ready there for anyone to find," yet Crawford, and his superiors, had always told him that "no one else _could_ see them," except for Graham. Now, as Pearsall sat on the front porch of the retired FBI agent, he could finally see what Crawford had been telling him for years.
"But he did give us something," Pearsall was trying to hide his awe of Graham by contesting him. "Lecter gave us his son. Surely that would be a weakness to him. As much as he wants to protect himself, wouldn't he want to protect his son more?"
Graham smiled broadly. "The main problem with that theory is thinking that Lecter is like anyone else, a normal, rational man. He's not. Dr. Lecter is a monster and I can't see him sacrificing his precious freedom for a son he had abandoned over nineteen years ago."
"Then what about his pride?" Pearsall leaned back in his chair. "His paternal pride?"
Graham glanced over to the door where he could see Josh crossing the room over to the sofa to sit and finish reading his book. Josh was always reading true crime books. He loved to learn the inner workings of criminal investigations. Everything from the people involved, their thoughts and actions, to the detailed events of the crime. All of which he could picture his father doing, Josh thought of his father's keen insight as a secret weapon in law enforcement. Josh wished he could have the same. Graham involuntarily smirked at his son. He recalled the revelation he had upon first hearing about Dr. Lecter's son, Graham was suddenly reminded of the thought that Lecter was a father.
_Do you know how you caught me, Will?... Because we are most alike._
He could hear Lecter's voice ringing in his ears. Both Will Graham and Dr. Lecter were family men, men whose imaginations equaled, if not matched, the brilliant minds of the composers, artists and poets that Lecter had so aptly studied in his youth. Would both men have an equal weakness in their sons? The pride they had in their offspring, would that drive them to foolishly risk their lives to protect them? Graham knew he would give up his life for his son in an instant, his confrontation with Dolarhyde had proven that to both of them. Was Lecter as equally willing to fight for the safety of his own son? To put his life at stake so that his son might live? Graham suddenly pushed these thought from his mind.
"Again, you're assuming that Dr. Lecter is an ordinary man, he's a monster. His freedom means more to him than his son." Graham met Pearsall's eyes briefly. "Do you remember what Jack used to say about assuming? 'When you assume you make an ass.'"
"'Out of you and me.'" Pearsall nodded. "I remember."
"But you're not convinced? You think that Dr. Lecter will risk it all and try to make contact with his son despite the fact that the entire world is watching him at the moment?"
Pearsall's face then changed, he was struck again with the thought that all the attention given to Jerome Lecter had been caused by Dr. Lecter himself. Graham caught on to Pearsall's concentration and watched him more carefully.
"The world wouldn't have known about Jerome if it hadn't been for Dr. Lecter." Pearsall stated simply.
Graham shook his head and shrugged slightly. "That's a typical Lecter move, he's calling attention to himself posthumously. He's showing off the fact that, once again, no one has been able to peg Dr. Lecter down. No one's been able to figure him out. He's been diagnosed as an antisocial, one who doesn't give a damn about others, yet we find out years later that he had a family. Dr. Lecter does not fit the mold of any previously studied serial killer and he wants to constantly remind us of that. He was able to disappear for so long, now that he's back in the public spotlight he wants to continue to taunt us. His son is being used as a pawn, a way to create enough noise so that we don't forget about him, just so that everyone can be reminded that he was the one who was able to get away. That he's smarter than us."
"Would that make you smarter than him, since you were the one who caught him?" Pearsall was unaware of how familiar that statement sounded to Graham.
Graham's eyes glazed over. "What did you come out here for? To waste my time?" he asked harshly.
"We need to catch him, we can agree on that can't we?"
"Why do you need me? And don't you dare tell me it's because I caught him the last time. He nearly killed me, twice, I am not going to make my son an orphan by coming back a third time so I suggest you make you point quickly."
"Lecter will try to make contact with his son, I'm sure of it. Using your words, if he succeeds at making contact with him it will be one more thing to hold over out heads. Another thing that will prove just how much smarter he really is. We need you to help us find out how he would do it, trap him and get him locked up for good. We could end it, but we aren't going to get far without your help." Pearsall then added more coyly, "Who knows, you might even come into a position where the only possible way to recapture Lecter is by putting a bullet in his brain."
"You believe he would foolishly risk his freedom just to get in touch with someone he abandoned almost twenty years ago?"
"The way I see it, Mr. Graham, Dr. Lecter didn't abandon his son. His incarceration forced him to leave his son." Pearsall took a step closer to Graham and spoke softly. "It is true that Dr. Lecter is responsible for his own incarceration, he was the one who decided to kill all those people and he is obligated to suffer the legal and moral consequences of his crimes. I've known too many criminals who have escaped punishment and risked their freedom simply because they were hell-bent on returning to their private lives.
"Lecter fled from captivity and established a whole new life in Florence where he could satisfy his "sense of taste" and cultural interests. He risked capture there for the things he loved, things that meant something to him. Why wouldn't he do that for his own son?"
"You're assuming that Lecter loves something other than himself." Graham said bluntly.
"I'll agree with you that Lecter is a monster and that he lacks rational thought, but the fact remains that we only know about Jerome because Dr. Lecter allowed us to know about him. I see that as proof that Jerome means something to him and it may be the simple fact that Jerome is _his_ son, that the boy belongs to no one else but him."
Graham stared at Pearsall for several moments before smirking. "Anything else you want to say? Anything else you think might help seal the deal?"
Pearsall glanced over to the collection of articles on Lecter and smiled. "Jack Crawford said you are the best profiler the FBI has ever known. I've read you work, I've seen the files, and I'm inclined to agree. You are the best."
* * *
"Aren't you even going to think about it?"
"No." Graham shook his head as he paced from one side of the room to the other. "I told them that I can't go through it again. I've made my decision."
"You can help them. You can help them catch him, I seriously doubt that they would be foolish to leave him so unattended the next time."
"No."
"Maybe he wouldn't even allow himself to be taken alive, it may end in a situation where you would have no other choice but to kill him."
"If that were to happen, Josh, then that would mean Dr. Lecter would have me in an ultimatum between my life and his." He said sarcastically. "But I'm not going back so there is no way he can get me in that position. Even if I was, I won't plan on getting so close."
"What about others? He's killed two people since he came back to the United States. God knows how many others he's murdered since he left, are you just going to let the body count rise?" Josh was standing face to face with his father now in the living room.
Pearsall had left nearly an hour ago after Graham had refused to come back. Josh had heard every single word the two of them discussed while out in the front of his house and he decided to confront his father on the mistake he had made. Josh knew his father had to go back to work.
"Don't try to guilt me, I am not responsible for anything Lecter does. I do not have to be the one responsible for his recapture."
"You know Lecter better than anyone, are you just going to walk away and leave them without a clue?"
"Believe me, Josh, the FBI is not lacking in criminal profilers. They have an entire unit full of them over there, they do not need me to rummage through his clues just so I can hand in a typed report informing them that he had just screwed them again and evaded capture."
"Do you really think that's all you can do for them, Dad? Do you think that you can't help them in any way?" Josh folded his arms in front of his chest.
"When in the hell did you start questioning me? What do you want me to say, Josh? That I can capture Lecter again? That I can stop drinking, crawl out of the gutter and become a hero again?"
Josh sighed and took a seat in the reclining chair in front of their television set. He watched his father move into the kitchen and reach for the refrigerator. Not seeing what he had come for, he slammed shut the door and moved towards the pantry. He slammed that door shut as well and marched back into the living room and stared coldly at Josh who knew exactly what his father would be asking next.
"I had a six pack in the fridge this morning, where is it?"
"I poured it down the sink." Josh said firmly. "You're not drinking anymore."
Graham leaned back on his heels and stared down at his son.
"I'm not going back."
"I don't care if you do or not, Dad. You're not drinking anymore. You promised me and you promised Mom." Josh stood up quickly and faced his father. "And if you think that you can just walk away with a clear conscious from Lecter and this case, you're wrong. I know you. I know deep down you want to do something, you want to help. I don't believe for a minute that you ever stopped caring about your job. I know you're scared of Lecter, no one blames you for that, least of all me. But you have to do something, you cannot just hide here and hope that he will go away, he won't. You know that. He's going to keep killing and he will do anything he can to avoid being captured. They may all expect that you'll be the one who brings him in again, maybe you will. Maybe you won't." Josh's voice was getting softer now. "Maybe this time Lecter will die, maybe he won't. But if you just stick around here, doing nothing when you know that you could help, even in the smallest way, it is worse than going out there and facing your fear."
Josh then turned his back on his father and was halfway down the hallway to his bedroom when he turned around and looked at his father again. "You used to be my hero because I thought you were fearless, I was young then and didn't realize that you were human. Now I know you _are_ human and that you have a gift, one that many, including myself, are in awe of and it's okay to be afraid of something. I respect you for that, I don't love you any less for that either. You're still my hero."
Josh then turned and disappeared into his room leaving his father in the living room alone. Staring down the hallway at his son's bedroom door, Graham's mind went blank and he moved outside to the table and chairs on the porch. Josh's magazine clippings were still there, kept grounded to the table by small rocks used as paperweights.
Under one of the table legs was a dusty and worn out yellow folder Josh had been keeping the articles in. He started to go through each article, reading each headline, and returned them to the file. Many of them were the front page stories concerning the deaths of Inspector Renaldo Pazzi, Mason Verger and Paul Krendler. Most of them dated from six months ago. The more recent articles concerned the discovery of the missing files Lecter had stored away, the ongoing manhunt for Lecter and with a few on Special Agent Clarice Starling. Graham remembered the name from the Buffalo Bill case, young FBI trainee seeking the help of notorious serial killer, Dr. Hannibal "the Cannibal" Lecter. Starling was the first woman that Graham knew of to bravely venture down into the dungeon to speak with him. All of Dr. Lecter's human contacts while in custody had been male since the attack on the nurse in his early years of incarceration.
Graham suddenly recalled one of the news stories he had watched after Lecter escaped that featured a segment on Starling and ran briefly down her career. An agent who once had a promising career in the FBI under the wing of Jack Crawford, a _student_ who had saved the life of the daughter of Senator Ruth Martian, killed Jame Gumb before he could claim one more skin; all of this weeks before her graduation from Quantico. Impressive. Yet, after all the glory and congratulations for a job well done, Starling become one of many female agents who were given the short end of the stick and assigned to several rather droll assignments involving the arrest of known drug dealers. Had it not been for the Fish Market killings, Starling would have been slowly, but surely, forgotten about by both her superiors and the press.
In an ironic twist of fate, Starling's name resurfaced in the press light in the most unflattering of ways. She had been labeled "a cold blooded FBI killing machine," and an "agent gone mad." Graham smirked to himself, he knew FBI politics. He was sure that she had done _exactly_ what the FBI had trained her to do, but blame had to be assigned somewhere and Graham knew that the FBI was not about to risk a lawsuit by pinning blame among the dead. No, it had to be a living agent, someone who could easily be picked out of the crowd. Why not Starling?
Graham wondered if she had a history of intimidating her superiors. Was she the type of agent who could walk down the halls with her head held high, not letting any of the bad press effect her? He was sure of it. She was a student of Crawford, she had to have picked up his indifferent attitude, she had to have known that she did nothing wrong. And now she was back on the Lecter case. Why? To help her redeem her good name by hunting down a man who had been missing for the last ten years? No, Graham decided that her superiors must have known that it was a dead end. Perhaps they just wanted to give her enough work to keep her from the press; in essence, for her never to be put in a position where she could embarrass the FBI again. But that hadn't happened according to script, Starling took the Lecter assignment and _found_ something. Against all odds, she found him and almost captured him. She hadn't failed either, she had gotten far closer to Lecter than he would have ever dared.
"Brave woman." Graham muttered and looked around to make sure his son hadn't heard him.
As he continued through the clippings, he pieced together the most recent events. Dr. Lecter's family had been discovered just before Christmas after Lecter himself supposedly gave permission to his lawyer to uncover previously locked away records. The purpose of which was unknown. Graham doubted Dr. Lecter's reasons would be clearly understood any time soon. As for the son, Jerome Lecter, he had been put under close watch by the FBI who assigned none other than Clarice Starling to guard him.
After looking through each clipping it was clear to Graham that the FBI was desperate to find Lecter. Krendler's death had cost them credibility in the eyes of a public who were demanding Lecter's blood. The fact that over ten years had passed since Hannibal Lecter had been tucked away behind bars, and six more people, that they knew of, had fallen victim to Lecter, the public and the families of the victims were simply feed up. Lecter had to be found, Graham wouldn't argue with that, but he still felt unnerved with the idea of going back to the FBI after so long. His own words suddenly echoed back into his mind, "_I have a chance to help save some lives._" He and his wife had been arguing about whether or not he should go back to work with Crawford and hunt for a serial killer who had murdered two whole families in Birmingham and Atlanta.
Lost in his thoughts, Graham involuntarily touched the scars on his chest and stomach, the wounds Dolarhyde had left him with after firing his weapon on him. Graham shook the memory away and closed his eyes. He knew he had to go back, he knew he could help them.
"_I have a chance to save some lives._" He heard himself say again.
"_You can help them catch him. Are you going to let the body count rise?_" Now his son's voice echoed in his ears. He sunk lower in his chair and heard the screen door open behind him. Josh took a seat on the floor between his father and the door.
"I'm sorry." Josh said softly. "I shouldn't have questioned you. I'm sorry, Dad."
Graham slowly and steadily breathed in and out before he spoke.
"No, don't apologize." Graham looked down at his son sitting on the ground. "You were right, I have a chance to help catch him."
Josh's eyes lit up and Graham nodded.
"I can't sit here and wait for it to be all over. Next week, after you go back to school, I'd just be here alone." He shook his head. "There's so much more I could offer." He added softly. Graham turned and faced his son. "I'm going back."
* * *
Dr. Ivan Morrison yawned slightly as his cab pulled up to the curb of the Venable Plaza Hotel in Boston. He smiled slightly at the cab driver as he tipped him and took his two suitcases into the lobby. The receptionist, a short woman with blonde hair in her early twenties, smiled broadly as he checked himself in.
"Dr. Ivan Morrison, reservations with the University of Boston for the English and Communications Convention."
"Yes, Dr. Morrison, your suite is ready. You're one of the first to show up." The receptionist typed in his name into her electronic register and had him sign the guest book. "Do you have a pamphlet for the convention times?"
"Yes, Dr. Anderson was kind enough to mail me one." He patted his front suit pocket. "Everything will be taking place in the ball room, correct?"
"Yes, sir. The only thing that has changed on the itinerary is the time for the poetry readings which have been moved back one hour to allow more time for the essay presentations."
"Thank you." His smile was pleasant and warm despite his exhaustion from the day's traveling from Heathrow to JFK and then on to Logan International.
"And you will be in room 219 on the second floor, here is your key." She slid him his electronic key pass. He took it quickly with his right hand. "Our restaurant closed about a half-hour ago but the kitchen is still open. Call house services at extension 13 to leave an order for anything that you might need. Enjoy your stay with us, Dr. Morrison."
"Thank you very much." He smiled and headed towards the elevators at the right of the reception desk.
Dr. Morrison had been keeping track of the job opportunities at Boston College for the past five months. A month ago, he found that there was a recent opening within the English Department with a specific call for educators with a Ph.D. and a thorough knowledge of classic literature. Dr. Morrison got his foot in the door with the head of the English Department at Boston College, Dr. Greg Anderson, when he sent in an application via email that built himself up as an adjunct-professor at Oxford University for the past three years. He also included a sample lecture in which he discussed the character of Odysseus as found in Homer's _Odyssey_ and in the eighth ring of Dante's _Inferno_. The lecture had impressed Dr. Anderson so much that a regular correspondence began between the two men.
Eager to hire Dr. Morrison, Dr. Anderson had invited him to come for a personal interview during the Boston College's annual convention for English and Communication's majors. Dr. Morrison would be a special guest of the college and have a chance to not only give a formal interview but meet many of the professors in the department. Dr. Anderson also felt this meeting would give him the perfect chance to showcase many of the brightest English students studying at Boston College. Dr. Anderson had done everything, including paying for Dr. Morrison's passage in full, but had not yet handed over the teaching position. However, Dr. Morrison was sure that a personal meeting, face to face, would win him the job.
Reaching his room he closed the door without turning on the light and allowed himself to be swallowed by the darkness. He stood in the doorway which connected to the main chamber of the room by a small passageway. Walking further into the room, he put his suitcases down next to the sofa which was to his left and the bed to his right. As his eyes adjusted to the darkness, he found the lamp that sat on the corner table to the right of the bed and turned it on. The room was decorated in whites and yellows with gold fixtures. Dr. Morrison nodded with approval as he continued in his inspection.
The bed, which beckoned to him in his weary state, was a king size mattress with white sheets. Across the room from the bed was a sitting area complete with two full sized sofas, a lounge chair, coffee table and television. Behind the television, facing towards the front door, was a large oak desk complete with telephone and keys to the top drawers. Behind Morrison, to the left of the bed, was the bathroom and closet. Opposite the front door were two large windows which were covered by large white drapes. Dr. Morrison was pleased with the room and took off his coat and laid it down on the bed.
He crossed the room to his bag and took out a small bag from one of his leather cases and picked up the phone to call down to the kitchen.
"Good evening, this is Dr. Morrison in room 219. I would like to order something to eat if I may?"
The operator took down his order for a simple steak and vegetable dinner with a bottle of red wine. Dr. Morrison then got out of his dark suit and undid his red metallic tie and entered into the bathroom with his small bag. He stood in front of the large mirror and opened his small carrying case. Inside was a box of hair dye, a beard tripper and electric shaver. Dr. Morrison observed himself in the mirror and scratched his rough bread thoughtfully. With the beard trimmer he removed most of his facial hair and left his upper lip and chin unshaven.
He ran his right hand through his salt and pepper colored hair and removed a larger pair of clippers from his bag. Cutting his own hair left him with half his previous hair length, any shorter and he would have only an inch left to cover his head. He removed a pair of plastic gloves from the box and snorted. He would only require one. His lifeless left hand was wrapped in its leather glove. With the aid of his teeth, he was able to get one of the plastic gloves onto his right hand. Turning on the water and taking the hair dye, Dr. Morrison transformed himself into his former self.
The man who stared back at him once he was finished was the fugitive Dr. Hannibal Lecter. He was happy to see his hair return to its previous color of black, he felt much younger than he had when he could see the white freely mixing in with the dark color. It had sent chills down his spine to see the white spread from his sides and back to his entire head. While in Florence, he decided to start dying his hair. It was after his last visit to the United States that he decided to leave his hair go, the less he looked like his mug shot the better. He was confident that no one would be able to recognize him with the slight changes he had been able to make over the last six months. While he might be able to pull the wall over the eyes of others, he was sure that he would never be able to fool Clarice Starling. Dr. Lecter smiled slightly at his new image and cleaned the mess in the bathroom before stripping free of his t-shirt and shorts, getting rid of any evidence of his hair trimmings. He tightly wadded the cloths together and stuffed them into the small bag along with the clippers and moved them to the corner for later disposal.
With his remaining time he was able to take in a quick shower and clad himself in the hotel's complementary robe before room service arrived at his door. _Wonderful,_ he thought to himself as he approached the door, _I haven't eaten all day._
* * *
Thanks to all who have been faithfully reading and reviewing, more is on the way in less time than before. I do apologize for the time between the updates. The next chapter will shift the focus of the story back to Jerome Lecter and Clarice Starling, but I wanted to be sure that I got Will Graham and Dr. Lecter back into the story, both will have important roles in future chapters. Please let me know what you think so far and don't forget to list any criticisms and/or suggestions you might have. Praise and encouragement also welcome, my mailbox is open for anything.
I would also like to give a special thanks to Holly Graham who has, once again, given me the best advice on writing the character of Will Graham. Thank you very much Holly, I appreciate all that you have helped me with and I hope that you'll stick around to continue to help me.
Chapter 9 "Dual Return"
Author: Jerome Mullins
Rating: R, adult language.
Summary and Disclaimer: See previous chapters. I should mention that this chapter makes reference to the "Venable Plaza" in Boston, Massachusetts; there is no Venable Plaza Hotel. This location is fictitious place mentioned in _The X-Files_ (so don't sue me for that one). nor for the mention of Aphrodite Jones's true crime novel: _The Embrace_.
Author's Notes: Will Graham struggles with the conflict of returning to the FBI and Dr. Morrison makes a return to familiar stomping grounds. The manhunt for Lecter continues as Dr. Lecter begins his efforts to reunite with his son.
* * *
Josh Graham sat on the front porch of the house he shared with his father in Gainesville, Florida. Winter is nothing to fear down south and Josh decided to enjoy the afternoon sunshine while finishing his latest true crime novel. He was more than half way through Aphrodite Jones's _The Embrace_ when Special Agent Clint Pearsall pulled into the front driveway. Josh briefly glanced up from his reading and instantly figured the visitor was with the FBI.
Pearsall walked up to the bottom steps of the front porch and politely waited for Josh to invite him up under the shade.
"You with the FBI?" Josh asked without looking up from his reading.
"Special Agent Pearsall," he took out his badge. "I'm from D.C. Is your father Will Graham?"
"Yep." Josh nodded. "Let me guess, you've come all the way down here to get him back on the Lecter case."
There was no surprise in Josh's voice; he had been expecting someone from the north to come down sooner or later. He and his father had watched the news conference together the previous day. Although his father didn't say a thing, Josh knew his father was devoting more and more of his free time to thinking about Dr. Hannibal Lecter. Josh had been watching his father carefully since the conference. Will would pass by the front window and look out into the street. From the expression on his face Josh could tell that his father was expecting a car filled with federal agents to pull into the front lawn. Although Josh could never be sure of his father, he suspected that Will was hoping that they would come.
Pearsall didn't respond. He simply shifted on his feet.
"He isn't home right now," Josh put down his book and gestured for Pearsall to come under the shade. "Wait for him. I'm sure if he wanted to refuse to come back to the FBI, he'd rather do it face to face with a man from Washington rather than scream at you over the phone."
Pearsall nodded and stepped under the shade to sit down in the chair next to the front door.
"My Dad already spoke to the Tampa Bay field office, he told them he didn't want to be bothered."
"I know." Pearsall nodded. "You don't look too surprised to see me, someone call and tell you that I was coming?"
"No one called. I figured it would take about this time before someone in the D.C. office would be sent down. To be honest with you, Agent Pearsall, I was expecting Jack Crawford. But then again, Special Agent Clarice Starling is supposedly the leading authority on Dr. Lecter. Why didn't she come down here?"
"She's had some personal experience with Lecter, but nothing like what your father has gone through." Pearsall cleared his throat and then changed the subject. "She's on an assignment."
Pearsall looked down to the table next to Josh; the surface was covered with _Tattler_ magazines and cut-out articles covering the Lecter case.
"Your Dad know you have all that stuff?"
"Nope." Josh shook his head and looked up to watch a car pass by his house. "He would insist that I throw all of it out. I keep it in a folder locked away in my desk upstairs. I've been collecting them since last May."
"Why bring it all out now?"
"It might help you."
"Help me do what?"
"Convince him to come back to work." Josh looked over to Pearsall. "That's why you're here aren't you?"
"I don't know why I'm here." Pearsall admitted. "I was asked to speak with your father, to see if he might change his mind. I don't feel like I have to convince him of anything."
"You don't really have to convince him to come back," Josh shook his head. "Dad wants to help, I know it, but he's just so scared of getting back into the game. He's afraid that Dr. Lecter might win this time."
"I don't blame him." He paused. "How do you know he wants to help?"
"Ever since the hunt for Lecter started to heat up again, he's been trying to get into Lecter's head. He's been thinking about him a whole lot lately."
"Has he been talking to you about it?"
"No," Josh shook his head. "He's been drinking a lot more. When he drinks as much as he does now, he's either thinking about Mom or Dr. Lecter. He's been watching the news more too, watching all the updates on the hunt for Lecter. He even watched the news conference the other day. He's been thinking about getting back into the hunt, I'm sure of it."
"Your father has a gift. He's one of the greatest profilers that have ever worked for the FBI."
"That's a good line." Josh smiled slightly. "Make sure you say that to him when you talk to him."
"I can't convince him to come back to work," Pearsall loosened his tie.
"I already told you that you didn't have to. He wants to come back. The only reason why he hasn't come to you offering to help is because of me, and I can take care of myself."
Josh wasn't defensive; it was more of a simple statement. Josh had been taking care of himself and his father since the death of his mother. However, he would be leaving for school the following week. Once Josh left, Graham would have no reason to hold back.
"I know he wants to come back, he wants to help."
"Does he know about Lecter's son?"
"Who doesn't? It's everywhere," he looked down to his stack of papers. "All the magazines and news programs have been reporting it. That's where Agent Starling is, isn't she? She's protecting him."
"It's for the best. He might know something about Dr. Lecter that we don't. But we still need your father's help too, he caught Lecter before."
"He could do it again," Josh nodded. "This time, I don't think my father would hesitate for one moment before killing Lecter."
"I can't blame him for that either." Pearsall said quietly.
"Without me here, Dad won't have a reason to stay. He knows that he can be a huge help to finding Lecter, but he just needs a little push. His biggest fear is that he would be betraying my mother."
"What does she have to say about all of this?"
Josh stood from his chair and slowly approached the railing. "She's dead." Josh didn't turn around to face Pearsall. "It's been a few years now, but he's still hurting. We both are."
"I'm sorry." Pearsall looked down to his black leather shoes.
"So am I." Josh said softly. "But this would give him a reason to leave the house, to get out there and help people. He has always loved to help other people, he used to tell me it was the best part about being an FBI agent. He just needs to be reminded of how much good he would be doing by getting back out there."
Josh turned to face Pearsall who nodded solemnly.
A black Jeep Wrangler pulled up into the driveway behind Josh. Will Graham got out of the driver's seat and pulled two groceries bags from the back seat and headed towards the house. Josh came down the steps and took the bags. Graham looked past his son to Pearsall who stood from his chair and took out his badge to present to Graham.
"Did Jack Crawford retire or is he just too lazy to come down here and beg me to come back himself?" he asked as he joined Pearsall on the porch.
There was a playful tone in Graham's voice. He had been expecting the Bureau to send out agents to come to his home, especially after his visit to the Tampa Bay field office. Apart of Will Graham was actually eager to see if the FBI would send the man who had talked Graham out of retirement last time, Jack Crawford. Deep down he was actually looking forward to seeing his old friend again.
Graham had not seen Crawford since after he was released from the hospital after his personal encounter with Francis Dolarhyde. He knew that Molly did not particularly care for Crawford and decided to distance himself from him for Molly's sake. There were occasional letters and Christmas cards. He had heard about the death Crawford's wife, Bella, and sent a sympathy card. Crawford wrote less and less to Graham after her death. Graham then backed further away from his former friend and dropped all contact with him after Molly's death. Since the hunt for Lecter had been reactivated, Graham had been hoping for a phone call or visit from him.
"Jack Crawford passed away a couple of years ago," Pearsall said softly and extended his hand. "Clint Pearsall, I work out of the D.C. office. I'm running the task force to capture Lecter."
Graham looked to his son who quickly turned and went inside the house to leave the two of them alone. Graham didn't bother to shake Pearsall's hand which dropped slowly to his side.
"I didn't know about Jack," Graham looked down to the front steps. "We lost touch with each other after his wife died. Then Molly." he cleared his throat.
"We tried to contact you with the address Jack had listed for you, I know a letter was sent shortly after Jack's death."
"We moved from that house," Graham shook his head. "He knew not to write to the house, I have a P. O. Box that he could reach me by, but he rarely did."
He then noticed the news paper clippings and articles on Lecter.
"Brought some reinforcements I see," Graham sighed as he changed the subject. "They tell you to resort to anything to get me back?"
"I didn't bring those." Pearsall shook his head. "Your son said his collection might be helpful though. And yes, they told me that I wasn't to return home empty handed. Anything goes."
"Do me a favor and don't start off with that 'you could save lives' bullshit," Graham put up a hand. "I said the same damn thing to my wife the last time I worked with you people and it nearly cost my family their lives."
"How about if I offer you a chance to kill Lecter?" Pearsall smiled slightly. "I would think that would be enough of an enticement to get you back."
"You do have me there." Graham nodded, a soft smile crossing his lips. "There's nothing I would love more than to kill that son-of-a-bitch. But in order to do that, you need him caught first. It's easy enough for you and your task force to just follow the trail Lecter leaves behind, but I'm the one who actually has to crawl around the fucker's head and see what makes him tick. And that's just to find him, how to catch him is something completely different."
"You can leave that to us, we just need to find him. Follow the trail as you say, but we're missing something. Jack believed, and I do too, that you're the one who can pick-up what we're missing."
"It's not that simple." Graham shook his head. "You have those files. That's as much information as he will let you have. But those files don't have enough information in them, Lecter was careful about that. If he gave you anymore than what you all ready know, then you might find a way to catch him. We both know he will do anything to avoid that."
Pearsall had heard great things about Will Graham from Crawford, Graham had always been praised as the FBI's greatest profiler. The wheels in Graham's mind turned on such a level that could be called nothing other than brilliance. He was gifted in the ability to see what others might not, to find clues that could lead to the capture of the most dangerous of violent criminals. Graham has always humbly stated that his discoveries were "all ready there for anyone to find," yet Crawford, and his superiors, had always told him that "no one else _could_ see them," except for Graham. Now, as Pearsall sat on the front porch of the retired FBI agent, he could finally see what Crawford had been telling him for years.
"But he did give us something," Pearsall was trying to hide his awe of Graham by contesting him. "Lecter gave us his son. Surely that would be a weakness to him. As much as he wants to protect himself, wouldn't he want to protect his son more?"
Graham smiled broadly. "The main problem with that theory is thinking that Lecter is like anyone else, a normal, rational man. He's not. Dr. Lecter is a monster and I can't see him sacrificing his precious freedom for a son he had abandoned over nineteen years ago."
"Then what about his pride?" Pearsall leaned back in his chair. "His paternal pride?"
Graham glanced over to the door where he could see Josh crossing the room over to the sofa to sit and finish reading his book. Josh was always reading true crime books. He loved to learn the inner workings of criminal investigations. Everything from the people involved, their thoughts and actions, to the detailed events of the crime. All of which he could picture his father doing, Josh thought of his father's keen insight as a secret weapon in law enforcement. Josh wished he could have the same. Graham involuntarily smirked at his son. He recalled the revelation he had upon first hearing about Dr. Lecter's son, Graham was suddenly reminded of the thought that Lecter was a father.
_Do you know how you caught me, Will?... Because we are most alike._
He could hear Lecter's voice ringing in his ears. Both Will Graham and Dr. Lecter were family men, men whose imaginations equaled, if not matched, the brilliant minds of the composers, artists and poets that Lecter had so aptly studied in his youth. Would both men have an equal weakness in their sons? The pride they had in their offspring, would that drive them to foolishly risk their lives to protect them? Graham knew he would give up his life for his son in an instant, his confrontation with Dolarhyde had proven that to both of them. Was Lecter as equally willing to fight for the safety of his own son? To put his life at stake so that his son might live? Graham suddenly pushed these thought from his mind.
"Again, you're assuming that Dr. Lecter is an ordinary man, he's a monster. His freedom means more to him than his son." Graham met Pearsall's eyes briefly. "Do you remember what Jack used to say about assuming? 'When you assume you make an ass.'"
"'Out of you and me.'" Pearsall nodded. "I remember."
"But you're not convinced? You think that Dr. Lecter will risk it all and try to make contact with his son despite the fact that the entire world is watching him at the moment?"
Pearsall's face then changed, he was struck again with the thought that all the attention given to Jerome Lecter had been caused by Dr. Lecter himself. Graham caught on to Pearsall's concentration and watched him more carefully.
"The world wouldn't have known about Jerome if it hadn't been for Dr. Lecter." Pearsall stated simply.
Graham shook his head and shrugged slightly. "That's a typical Lecter move, he's calling attention to himself posthumously. He's showing off the fact that, once again, no one has been able to peg Dr. Lecter down. No one's been able to figure him out. He's been diagnosed as an antisocial, one who doesn't give a damn about others, yet we find out years later that he had a family. Dr. Lecter does not fit the mold of any previously studied serial killer and he wants to constantly remind us of that. He was able to disappear for so long, now that he's back in the public spotlight he wants to continue to taunt us. His son is being used as a pawn, a way to create enough noise so that we don't forget about him, just so that everyone can be reminded that he was the one who was able to get away. That he's smarter than us."
"Would that make you smarter than him, since you were the one who caught him?" Pearsall was unaware of how familiar that statement sounded to Graham.
Graham's eyes glazed over. "What did you come out here for? To waste my time?" he asked harshly.
"We need to catch him, we can agree on that can't we?"
"Why do you need me? And don't you dare tell me it's because I caught him the last time. He nearly killed me, twice, I am not going to make my son an orphan by coming back a third time so I suggest you make you point quickly."
"Lecter will try to make contact with his son, I'm sure of it. Using your words, if he succeeds at making contact with him it will be one more thing to hold over out heads. Another thing that will prove just how much smarter he really is. We need you to help us find out how he would do it, trap him and get him locked up for good. We could end it, but we aren't going to get far without your help." Pearsall then added more coyly, "Who knows, you might even come into a position where the only possible way to recapture Lecter is by putting a bullet in his brain."
"You believe he would foolishly risk his freedom just to get in touch with someone he abandoned almost twenty years ago?"
"The way I see it, Mr. Graham, Dr. Lecter didn't abandon his son. His incarceration forced him to leave his son." Pearsall took a step closer to Graham and spoke softly. "It is true that Dr. Lecter is responsible for his own incarceration, he was the one who decided to kill all those people and he is obligated to suffer the legal and moral consequences of his crimes. I've known too many criminals who have escaped punishment and risked their freedom simply because they were hell-bent on returning to their private lives.
"Lecter fled from captivity and established a whole new life in Florence where he could satisfy his "sense of taste" and cultural interests. He risked capture there for the things he loved, things that meant something to him. Why wouldn't he do that for his own son?"
"You're assuming that Lecter loves something other than himself." Graham said bluntly.
"I'll agree with you that Lecter is a monster and that he lacks rational thought, but the fact remains that we only know about Jerome because Dr. Lecter allowed us to know about him. I see that as proof that Jerome means something to him and it may be the simple fact that Jerome is _his_ son, that the boy belongs to no one else but him."
Graham stared at Pearsall for several moments before smirking. "Anything else you want to say? Anything else you think might help seal the deal?"
Pearsall glanced over to the collection of articles on Lecter and smiled. "Jack Crawford said you are the best profiler the FBI has ever known. I've read you work, I've seen the files, and I'm inclined to agree. You are the best."
* * *
"Aren't you even going to think about it?"
"No." Graham shook his head as he paced from one side of the room to the other. "I told them that I can't go through it again. I've made my decision."
"You can help them. You can help them catch him, I seriously doubt that they would be foolish to leave him so unattended the next time."
"No."
"Maybe he wouldn't even allow himself to be taken alive, it may end in a situation where you would have no other choice but to kill him."
"If that were to happen, Josh, then that would mean Dr. Lecter would have me in an ultimatum between my life and his." He said sarcastically. "But I'm not going back so there is no way he can get me in that position. Even if I was, I won't plan on getting so close."
"What about others? He's killed two people since he came back to the United States. God knows how many others he's murdered since he left, are you just going to let the body count rise?" Josh was standing face to face with his father now in the living room.
Pearsall had left nearly an hour ago after Graham had refused to come back. Josh had heard every single word the two of them discussed while out in the front of his house and he decided to confront his father on the mistake he had made. Josh knew his father had to go back to work.
"Don't try to guilt me, I am not responsible for anything Lecter does. I do not have to be the one responsible for his recapture."
"You know Lecter better than anyone, are you just going to walk away and leave them without a clue?"
"Believe me, Josh, the FBI is not lacking in criminal profilers. They have an entire unit full of them over there, they do not need me to rummage through his clues just so I can hand in a typed report informing them that he had just screwed them again and evaded capture."
"Do you really think that's all you can do for them, Dad? Do you think that you can't help them in any way?" Josh folded his arms in front of his chest.
"When in the hell did you start questioning me? What do you want me to say, Josh? That I can capture Lecter again? That I can stop drinking, crawl out of the gutter and become a hero again?"
Josh sighed and took a seat in the reclining chair in front of their television set. He watched his father move into the kitchen and reach for the refrigerator. Not seeing what he had come for, he slammed shut the door and moved towards the pantry. He slammed that door shut as well and marched back into the living room and stared coldly at Josh who knew exactly what his father would be asking next.
"I had a six pack in the fridge this morning, where is it?"
"I poured it down the sink." Josh said firmly. "You're not drinking anymore."
Graham leaned back on his heels and stared down at his son.
"I'm not going back."
"I don't care if you do or not, Dad. You're not drinking anymore. You promised me and you promised Mom." Josh stood up quickly and faced his father. "And if you think that you can just walk away with a clear conscious from Lecter and this case, you're wrong. I know you. I know deep down you want to do something, you want to help. I don't believe for a minute that you ever stopped caring about your job. I know you're scared of Lecter, no one blames you for that, least of all me. But you have to do something, you cannot just hide here and hope that he will go away, he won't. You know that. He's going to keep killing and he will do anything he can to avoid being captured. They may all expect that you'll be the one who brings him in again, maybe you will. Maybe you won't." Josh's voice was getting softer now. "Maybe this time Lecter will die, maybe he won't. But if you just stick around here, doing nothing when you know that you could help, even in the smallest way, it is worse than going out there and facing your fear."
Josh then turned his back on his father and was halfway down the hallway to his bedroom when he turned around and looked at his father again. "You used to be my hero because I thought you were fearless, I was young then and didn't realize that you were human. Now I know you _are_ human and that you have a gift, one that many, including myself, are in awe of and it's okay to be afraid of something. I respect you for that, I don't love you any less for that either. You're still my hero."
Josh then turned and disappeared into his room leaving his father in the living room alone. Staring down the hallway at his son's bedroom door, Graham's mind went blank and he moved outside to the table and chairs on the porch. Josh's magazine clippings were still there, kept grounded to the table by small rocks used as paperweights.
Under one of the table legs was a dusty and worn out yellow folder Josh had been keeping the articles in. He started to go through each article, reading each headline, and returned them to the file. Many of them were the front page stories concerning the deaths of Inspector Renaldo Pazzi, Mason Verger and Paul Krendler. Most of them dated from six months ago. The more recent articles concerned the discovery of the missing files Lecter had stored away, the ongoing manhunt for Lecter and with a few on Special Agent Clarice Starling. Graham remembered the name from the Buffalo Bill case, young FBI trainee seeking the help of notorious serial killer, Dr. Hannibal "the Cannibal" Lecter. Starling was the first woman that Graham knew of to bravely venture down into the dungeon to speak with him. All of Dr. Lecter's human contacts while in custody had been male since the attack on the nurse in his early years of incarceration.
Graham suddenly recalled one of the news stories he had watched after Lecter escaped that featured a segment on Starling and ran briefly down her career. An agent who once had a promising career in the FBI under the wing of Jack Crawford, a _student_ who had saved the life of the daughter of Senator Ruth Martian, killed Jame Gumb before he could claim one more skin; all of this weeks before her graduation from Quantico. Impressive. Yet, after all the glory and congratulations for a job well done, Starling become one of many female agents who were given the short end of the stick and assigned to several rather droll assignments involving the arrest of known drug dealers. Had it not been for the Fish Market killings, Starling would have been slowly, but surely, forgotten about by both her superiors and the press.
In an ironic twist of fate, Starling's name resurfaced in the press light in the most unflattering of ways. She had been labeled "a cold blooded FBI killing machine," and an "agent gone mad." Graham smirked to himself, he knew FBI politics. He was sure that she had done _exactly_ what the FBI had trained her to do, but blame had to be assigned somewhere and Graham knew that the FBI was not about to risk a lawsuit by pinning blame among the dead. No, it had to be a living agent, someone who could easily be picked out of the crowd. Why not Starling?
Graham wondered if she had a history of intimidating her superiors. Was she the type of agent who could walk down the halls with her head held high, not letting any of the bad press effect her? He was sure of it. She was a student of Crawford, she had to have picked up his indifferent attitude, she had to have known that she did nothing wrong. And now she was back on the Lecter case. Why? To help her redeem her good name by hunting down a man who had been missing for the last ten years? No, Graham decided that her superiors must have known that it was a dead end. Perhaps they just wanted to give her enough work to keep her from the press; in essence, for her never to be put in a position where she could embarrass the FBI again. But that hadn't happened according to script, Starling took the Lecter assignment and _found_ something. Against all odds, she found him and almost captured him. She hadn't failed either, she had gotten far closer to Lecter than he would have ever dared.
"Brave woman." Graham muttered and looked around to make sure his son hadn't heard him.
As he continued through the clippings, he pieced together the most recent events. Dr. Lecter's family had been discovered just before Christmas after Lecter himself supposedly gave permission to his lawyer to uncover previously locked away records. The purpose of which was unknown. Graham doubted Dr. Lecter's reasons would be clearly understood any time soon. As for the son, Jerome Lecter, he had been put under close watch by the FBI who assigned none other than Clarice Starling to guard him.
After looking through each clipping it was clear to Graham that the FBI was desperate to find Lecter. Krendler's death had cost them credibility in the eyes of a public who were demanding Lecter's blood. The fact that over ten years had passed since Hannibal Lecter had been tucked away behind bars, and six more people, that they knew of, had fallen victim to Lecter, the public and the families of the victims were simply feed up. Lecter had to be found, Graham wouldn't argue with that, but he still felt unnerved with the idea of going back to the FBI after so long. His own words suddenly echoed back into his mind, "_I have a chance to help save some lives._" He and his wife had been arguing about whether or not he should go back to work with Crawford and hunt for a serial killer who had murdered two whole families in Birmingham and Atlanta.
Lost in his thoughts, Graham involuntarily touched the scars on his chest and stomach, the wounds Dolarhyde had left him with after firing his weapon on him. Graham shook the memory away and closed his eyes. He knew he had to go back, he knew he could help them.
"_I have a chance to save some lives._" He heard himself say again.
"_You can help them catch him. Are you going to let the body count rise?_" Now his son's voice echoed in his ears. He sunk lower in his chair and heard the screen door open behind him. Josh took a seat on the floor between his father and the door.
"I'm sorry." Josh said softly. "I shouldn't have questioned you. I'm sorry, Dad."
Graham slowly and steadily breathed in and out before he spoke.
"No, don't apologize." Graham looked down at his son sitting on the ground. "You were right, I have a chance to help catch him."
Josh's eyes lit up and Graham nodded.
"I can't sit here and wait for it to be all over. Next week, after you go back to school, I'd just be here alone." He shook his head. "There's so much more I could offer." He added softly. Graham turned and faced his son. "I'm going back."
* * *
Dr. Ivan Morrison yawned slightly as his cab pulled up to the curb of the Venable Plaza Hotel in Boston. He smiled slightly at the cab driver as he tipped him and took his two suitcases into the lobby. The receptionist, a short woman with blonde hair in her early twenties, smiled broadly as he checked himself in.
"Dr. Ivan Morrison, reservations with the University of Boston for the English and Communications Convention."
"Yes, Dr. Morrison, your suite is ready. You're one of the first to show up." The receptionist typed in his name into her electronic register and had him sign the guest book. "Do you have a pamphlet for the convention times?"
"Yes, Dr. Anderson was kind enough to mail me one." He patted his front suit pocket. "Everything will be taking place in the ball room, correct?"
"Yes, sir. The only thing that has changed on the itinerary is the time for the poetry readings which have been moved back one hour to allow more time for the essay presentations."
"Thank you." His smile was pleasant and warm despite his exhaustion from the day's traveling from Heathrow to JFK and then on to Logan International.
"And you will be in room 219 on the second floor, here is your key." She slid him his electronic key pass. He took it quickly with his right hand. "Our restaurant closed about a half-hour ago but the kitchen is still open. Call house services at extension 13 to leave an order for anything that you might need. Enjoy your stay with us, Dr. Morrison."
"Thank you very much." He smiled and headed towards the elevators at the right of the reception desk.
Dr. Morrison had been keeping track of the job opportunities at Boston College for the past five months. A month ago, he found that there was a recent opening within the English Department with a specific call for educators with a Ph.D. and a thorough knowledge of classic literature. Dr. Morrison got his foot in the door with the head of the English Department at Boston College, Dr. Greg Anderson, when he sent in an application via email that built himself up as an adjunct-professor at Oxford University for the past three years. He also included a sample lecture in which he discussed the character of Odysseus as found in Homer's _Odyssey_ and in the eighth ring of Dante's _Inferno_. The lecture had impressed Dr. Anderson so much that a regular correspondence began between the two men.
Eager to hire Dr. Morrison, Dr. Anderson had invited him to come for a personal interview during the Boston College's annual convention for English and Communication's majors. Dr. Morrison would be a special guest of the college and have a chance to not only give a formal interview but meet many of the professors in the department. Dr. Anderson also felt this meeting would give him the perfect chance to showcase many of the brightest English students studying at Boston College. Dr. Anderson had done everything, including paying for Dr. Morrison's passage in full, but had not yet handed over the teaching position. However, Dr. Morrison was sure that a personal meeting, face to face, would win him the job.
Reaching his room he closed the door without turning on the light and allowed himself to be swallowed by the darkness. He stood in the doorway which connected to the main chamber of the room by a small passageway. Walking further into the room, he put his suitcases down next to the sofa which was to his left and the bed to his right. As his eyes adjusted to the darkness, he found the lamp that sat on the corner table to the right of the bed and turned it on. The room was decorated in whites and yellows with gold fixtures. Dr. Morrison nodded with approval as he continued in his inspection.
The bed, which beckoned to him in his weary state, was a king size mattress with white sheets. Across the room from the bed was a sitting area complete with two full sized sofas, a lounge chair, coffee table and television. Behind the television, facing towards the front door, was a large oak desk complete with telephone and keys to the top drawers. Behind Morrison, to the left of the bed, was the bathroom and closet. Opposite the front door were two large windows which were covered by large white drapes. Dr. Morrison was pleased with the room and took off his coat and laid it down on the bed.
He crossed the room to his bag and took out a small bag from one of his leather cases and picked up the phone to call down to the kitchen.
"Good evening, this is Dr. Morrison in room 219. I would like to order something to eat if I may?"
The operator took down his order for a simple steak and vegetable dinner with a bottle of red wine. Dr. Morrison then got out of his dark suit and undid his red metallic tie and entered into the bathroom with his small bag. He stood in front of the large mirror and opened his small carrying case. Inside was a box of hair dye, a beard tripper and electric shaver. Dr. Morrison observed himself in the mirror and scratched his rough bread thoughtfully. With the beard trimmer he removed most of his facial hair and left his upper lip and chin unshaven.
He ran his right hand through his salt and pepper colored hair and removed a larger pair of clippers from his bag. Cutting his own hair left him with half his previous hair length, any shorter and he would have only an inch left to cover his head. He removed a pair of plastic gloves from the box and snorted. He would only require one. His lifeless left hand was wrapped in its leather glove. With the aid of his teeth, he was able to get one of the plastic gloves onto his right hand. Turning on the water and taking the hair dye, Dr. Morrison transformed himself into his former self.
The man who stared back at him once he was finished was the fugitive Dr. Hannibal Lecter. He was happy to see his hair return to its previous color of black, he felt much younger than he had when he could see the white freely mixing in with the dark color. It had sent chills down his spine to see the white spread from his sides and back to his entire head. While in Florence, he decided to start dying his hair. It was after his last visit to the United States that he decided to leave his hair go, the less he looked like his mug shot the better. He was confident that no one would be able to recognize him with the slight changes he had been able to make over the last six months. While he might be able to pull the wall over the eyes of others, he was sure that he would never be able to fool Clarice Starling. Dr. Lecter smiled slightly at his new image and cleaned the mess in the bathroom before stripping free of his t-shirt and shorts, getting rid of any evidence of his hair trimmings. He tightly wadded the cloths together and stuffed them into the small bag along with the clippers and moved them to the corner for later disposal.
With his remaining time he was able to take in a quick shower and clad himself in the hotel's complementary robe before room service arrived at his door. _Wonderful,_ he thought to himself as he approached the door, _I haven't eaten all day._
* * *
Thanks to all who have been faithfully reading and reviewing, more is on the way in less time than before. I do apologize for the time between the updates. The next chapter will shift the focus of the story back to Jerome Lecter and Clarice Starling, but I wanted to be sure that I got Will Graham and Dr. Lecter back into the story, both will have important roles in future chapters. Please let me know what you think so far and don't forget to list any criticisms and/or suggestions you might have. Praise and encouragement also welcome, my mailbox is open for anything.
I would also like to give a special thanks to Holly Graham who has, once again, given me the best advice on writing the character of Will Graham. Thank you very much Holly, I appreciate all that you have helped me with and I hope that you'll stick around to continue to help me.