authors note: I'm not sure if I should add another chapter to this. If you guys find it good enough I will. Thank ya.
A hearty hand slapped Will on the shoulder, and Will began silent fuming as Jack walked away.
Leave you to it.
Jack spoke of what Will did as if it were something as easy as sweeping. It deeply angered Will that there was no way that Jack could ever know the pain (both physical and mental) that transporting himself into the minds of these people caused him, Truthfully, Will hadn't even been able to admit it to himself, or even Dr. Lector. Swallowing a groan of pain, Will slid his glasses into his pocket and closed his eyes; wiped the sweat off the back of his neck and began his work.
He felt the little tug within him that let him know where he was, now, and slowly opened his eyes. Rewound his actions and the scene before him. Deep breath. And, action.
The family doesn't hear me enter their house. I look around, momentarily caught up in the beauty of the ancient woodwork. Run my finger over it, scowling at the dust that coats my fingertip; somebody's been lazy. I hear the TV from the next room, the food network slowly oozing into the entryway from the living room. I make sure to take my shoes off before coming inside: would hate to get the luxury rugs muddy.
The dad looks up first. He stands up and the wife turns off the TV and turns towards me, not bothering to get up.
"So, you finally decided to come home?" His voice is cruel; he knows the answer and I fiddle with the gun in my pocket, shrugging. I feel his hand on my arm suddenly, tugging me to the door. "Well, son, it's too late. You either clean up or get away from here," my dad hisses into my ear.
I wait until we're near the door to knock him unconscious with the butt of my gun. When I enter, the woman that birthed me stands and opens her mouth to question me; she doesn't have time. I shoot her twice in the stomach and watch her bleed. I smile, because it feels good. Her body is still warm and struggling for air when I lay her on the couch. I position the man the same way and shoot him in between the eyes.
The girls are all tucked in, all thee of them. Triplets. Perfect blonde angels that m-those parent's wanted. I shoot them quickly so that they won't feel it. It's not their fault. I take them in my arms and carry them downstairs. Place them on the couch next to the parents. Pour a circle of gasoline around the couch. Sit down next to them. I light a cigarette and when it's almost done, I throw it behind me and hear the gas spark to life.
I feel the fire bite into me. Watch it peel my skin and then I am watching the people who rejected me burn, just like they told me I would do.
Will tried to pull himself out, tries to get out of the burning body, but can't. Nobody sees him struggling and he stands inside the ash, near the bodies, shaking. Head pounding, legs weak, he sinks to his knees.
I watch the fire lick up to my arms; I am peeling from myself. I imagine myself in layers, all blood red and surprisingly whole for being ripped apart. I let myself remember my parents' face when I got kicked out of school. Let myself relish in the hellish burn of my limbs. This is right. This is how it's supposed to me. I am f–
Will feel's something shockingly cold on his face and he snaps back into him self. Beverly stands with a water bottle in her hand, half empty, because half of it is dripping off of his face and onto his shirt; and it is cold. He gasps quietly and stands up, brushing the ashes off his jeans.
"You okay?" she asks. Will nods.
He drives himself back to the academy, because he has a class to teach, but he can't get the crime scene out of his head. The feeling of burnt flesh still lingers, pinching at his legs and making him shiver. He groans in despair to find that he's out of aspirin.
Will doesn't say anything to anybody until after his last class, when he's laying on the couch in the rarely used employee lounge. It's after he's given up on the hope of getting the smell of burning bodies out of his sinuses and after he'd spent the past half an hour vomiting up everything he'd eaten that day. Jack strides in and sighs, relieved to have found Will.
"There's a fresh body. We'll be leaving in ten min–"
"Forget it, Jack," Will mummers.
"What?" he barks. Will groans and sits up, rubbing his sweaty brow.
"I'm going home. No more today."
"Like hell you're going home! We need you on this case!"
"There are others," he said, pushing himself off the couch and trying to walk through the white haze that covers his vision. Shit, he thinks, trying to keep his footing as he walks out of the lounge. Jack follows like an angry dog.
"Not that do what you do. Stop walking away from me!" Jack reaches out to grab Will's arm, and Will turns and scares Jack with the angry look in his eye.
"I don't care about them, Jack. Not today. I am fed up. I'm going home, I'm going to take care of my dogs. I have things to do," Will hissed at Jack. He turned on his heel and took a step but was overwhelmed by the dizziness that washed over him.
Will didn't realize how close to the stairs he was until he stumbled and lost his footing, hurtling head first down them. He feels each step, colliding violently with his bones until he lands in a heap at the bottom. Pain shoots up his skull, his back; everywhere. Jack is down the steps a second after Will pushes himself up to a kneeling position, tracing a laceration in his head with his finger.
"Will!" Jack is the one to turn to the voice that called his name, and soon enough Alana has Jack shoved out of the way.
He watches as she places a hand on his face, slowly angling it upwards so she can get a look at the cut. Will sighs in pain, dipping his head; Alana puts a hand under his arm and helps pull him to his feet. He stumbles into Alana, eyes half open as he slurs an apology. Alana casts a look at Jack.
"He needs to go to the infirmary," she says, steadying Will. Jack nods blankly and helps her drag Will to the elevator and to the sickroom.
Will's not conscious enough to fight the nurse who takes his shirt off, tracing a finger over the blooming bruise across his back. By the time Will wakes up, Alana has had the sense to call someone to take Will home; and when Will turns his head to the side, vision still blurry, he sees the vague outline of someone that immediately calms him. He breathes in his scent, still cloudy from the pain medication and the concision.
"Hello, Will," he breaths.
"'ello, Dr. Lector," Will slurs.