The first time Will slept outside he'd nearly been eaten by two guards, who chased him from rooftop to rooftop trying to behead him with a fireman's axe, though that memory would later pale in comparison to the conversation he'd had with Hobbs. The thing that had been Hobbs.

Chilton was in a foul mood, and so idled outside the showers that night so he could use Will for target practice. Chilton liked dangling Will's clothes in front of him. He made sure to miss and shoot out the windows instead, until Will sat crouched and naked in a corner surrounded by broken glass.

"Been listening to the emergency band much, Mister Graham? The Russians hijacked our weapons research. Big big BIG rockets. V-2s on mobile platforms. Could split us open like a meringue," said Chilton, "I would appreciate your cooperation in helping us confirm such a wild-eyed scheme. Wake-up call is at 5:00am, I expect a good twelve hours out of you from now on."

"Yes sir."

Chilton sniffed Will's clothes. A thin man about Will's size, his mask resembled an eggshell with a single hairline crack splitting the center. "Duck sauce. You've been eating in Lecter's office."

"Camp food doesn't agree with me."

"Oo aren't you the little hunger artist." Chilton held up a broken shard of glass, magnifying a spot of light on Will's forehead. "Tell me Mister Graham, when was the last time you saw a duck this late in the season?"

Will pondered the question that evening, bundled in a blanket on the dormitory roof. Gasoline lamps burned in the gun towers. Hobbs was nowhere to be found. His eyelids grew heavy.

In his dream, Will stood by a partly open window, staring at a factory floor where thousands of prisoners stood chained in a labyrinth of conveyor belts. Berlin rose up behind them. A theremin played from the center of the city, conjuring hellish images in Will's mind, the music probing the dark like sonar. A voice from below hissed, "Did he tell you it was roast duck?" and then laughed and moved away.

Someone took a step behind him. Hannibal's hand ran softly up Will's throat and placed a lit cigarette between his lips. Will took it between two fingers and inhaled and watched smoke break apart in the chill winter wind outside.

"I don't know why I behaved like that in your office, Doctor. I really like you."

"I like you too, Will. I'm glad you came here tonight."

Hannibal's body pressed warm against Will's back, one arm lightly circling Will's waist. It felt very innocent. Will took another drag, not looking at him. "Sometimes I'm afraid to try and escape. That if I leave I'll never see you again."

"That's kind of you to say so."

Hannibal held up a glass of red wine and Will flicked his cigarette out the window. "I found a door near the radio lab, Doctor Lecter."

"Did you open it?"

"Not yet. I could have picked the lock, but-"

"Did anyone else see it?"

"I was alone."

"Is the door important to you?"

"I think I dreamed of it earlier. I see it every night. And when I put my ear against it in the real world I can hear..." Will glanced about the corners of the room and leaned in very close. "I can hear someone on the other side, listening."

"You think someone is listening to our conversations?"

"I know someone is."

"Hmm..." said Hannibal, pushing the glass to Will's lips.

"This wine is excellent." said Will, wiping his mouth and studying the red stain on his hand.

Hannibal nodded outside to the wintry scene. "Wine is only as good as it's terroir, the land, the minerals, the native rains that yield it's harvest. Look Will," he said, gesturing toward the fog-shrouded Berlin, "Do you see it?"

Will looked. Hannibal's left eye reflected in the window, the same gray as the nightmare city outside. Cold and hard and very much alive.

"See what?" asked Will.

Hannibal bent close to Will's ear. "The terror."

TO BE CONTINUED