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I DON’T KNOW WHERE I AM. I DON’T KNOW WHAT TIME IT IS.
Will’s feet were numb. A bad start by all accounts. His chest was heaving involuntarily. His arms and legs were wet. They were also cold. He opened his eyes and it occurred to him that he was lying in a river. Huh , he thought to himself, this sucks .
He tried to stand but his legs immediately gave out from underneath him and his knees were plunged back into the frigid water. Not good.
I can’t wait to tell Alana about this one was a thought that crossed his mind. A moment passed until a second thought crossed his mind, I might actually be in deep shit here , as he slowly became more aware of how little he could feel his feet. His breathing became faster, shallower.
He crawled to the riverbank. His entire body wracked by shivers. His every movement laboured. His knees cut up on the sharp rocks. He stumbled up from the riverbank and heaved himself through the dense mass of tree branches into a vast field.
His eyes were heavy. Unfocused. In the distance, red and blue lights cut through the bitter darkness.
“Help me”, his voice croaked. Nobody would hear him.
He stumbled on a patch of snow and everything went dark.
//
MY NAME IS PFPFPFPPTP. I DON’T REMEMBER WHEN. OR HOW I GOT HERE.
Will jolted awake, disoriented and panicked. A deep, primal fear pierced his body like a stake through the heart. Before he could even open his eyes his body was pushing him up, inducing a wave of nausea so intense he had no choice but to collapse again. Another day in the office, it seemed.
A warm hand grasped his shoulder.
“Do not panic Will. You are safe.”
Will dragged his eyes upward; Hannibal met his friend’s demented gaze.
Will leant back into the pillows. “Where am I, Dr. Lecter?”
“Baltimore Hospital. We brought you in early this morning. It is quite the miracle that we found you.”
Will nodded, his throat tightened. He suddenly became aware of the bandages on his arms. He tried to wiggle his toes. Underneath the blankets, they were bound as well.
“Severe hypothermia” Hannibal clarified.
“Yeah, I guessed.”
The silence hung in the air.
“What day is it?” Will’s voice was soft.
Hannibal smiled and nodded, checking his watch. “It is Tuesday, the fourteenth of January. The time is 10:14 A.M.” He paused before continuing. “Your name is Will Graham, you are currently admitted in the Baltimore Hospital. You are my dear friend, and I am very glad that you are safe.”
Will mustered him a weak smile. It didn’t last.
“I just can’t do this anymore, Hannibal.” Will pressed his eyes firmly shut, “the more I give the less of me there is left. I’m not the man I was when Jack walked into my lecture hall.” He paused, “This might kill me.”
Hannibal walked to the window and the light that shone through the blinds danced over his face. “Some believe that the starving of dogs lends them the keen edge of torment on their hunt. Jack Crawford attends this school of thought, it seems.” He turned, looking Will dead in the eye, “Tell me Will, are you Jack’s hound.. or his prey.”
Will didn’t know what that meant but he appreciated the thought. “I don’t know what that means but I appreciate the thought.”
Overcome by a sudden wave of exhaustion, he then sank into his bed and closed his eyes.
//
MY NAME IS WILL GRAHAM. I’M IN HANNIBAL’S CAR. THIS MORNING I WAS DISCHARGED FROM HOSPITAL.
Will looked around at the street signs as they passed them on the highway.
“Dr Lecter, we just missed my exit.” He said politely.
“I know” was the only reply.
“Then… where are we going?”
“It is often said that a venture’s true meaning can be found in its journey, rather than at the respective destination.” Hannibal mused, “We must ask ourselves Will, in life’s great journey, are we the traveller.. or are we his quarry?”
“Sometimes I feel like the roadkill”
It was at that moment that Hannibal hit a squirrel that had run out of the forest. It was crushed under the wheels in two satisfying clunks.
The pair drove in silence for the remainder of the trip.
//
OH MY GOD WHERE AM I HELP PLEASE I DON’T KNOW WHERE I AM
The road stretches in front of me for miles. On either side the forest grows deep and dark in all directions. There is no moon to light the darkness.
I walk slowly in the middle of the road. My feet are bare. I am cold. I try to change my path. To stop. To turn around. But my legs aren’t mine.
I walk on.
In the near-distance, the elk stands on the road. He blocks my path. His raven-feathered silhouette is illuminated from behind by a pair of round lights. They are getting closer. I walk on. I can’t stop.
The lights get closer still. The elk needs to get out of the way. It doesn’t.
When the car passes through the elk’s ghostly form I can’t cry out. I wish I could. The car is so close now and it isn’t slowing. My leaden feet pull me closer.
When the car passes through me I don’t dematerialise. I am pulled under the front wheels and my skin is ripped, my muscles torn from their bones, my ribs crushed. The back wheels are no kinder.
“Will!”
Will jolted awake, sick to his stomach.
Lines of worry marked Hannibal’s face. The car was no longer moving.
“Just another dream,” Will shrugged off Hannibal’s warm hands from his shoulders.
Hannibal didn’t seem convinced.
Will rubbed his eyes, “Where are we?”
“We are at the beach, Will!”
Will looked through the windshield, his eyes adjusting to the glare. They sure were. The grey expanse of horizon spread in front of them. Each dark wave struck the beach with such fervor it was as if the ocean were trying to swallow it whole. Small clumps of vegetation littered the shoreline but they were pale and thin. A lone figure fought the biting wind, their hands thrust deep in the pockets of their jacket. In the distance, a row of storefronts, closed for the season.
“I thought you could do with the sunshine,” he squinted up at the grey sky, “It was a nice thought.”
//
MY NAME IS WILL. I’M AT THIS LAME FUCKING BEACH WITH HANNIBAL. ITS 11 AM. MY EARS ARE COLD.
Hannibal inhaled sharply, startling Will.
“The sting of the sand and salt is unpleasant. But, oh Will, does it make you feel alive!”
Will’s beanie was pulled low over his eyes and his collar pulled up around his neck. “Uh, yeah. Sure does Hannibal.”
They stood in silence, captivated by the surf’s deafening, futile assault. For a moment, it seemed, Hannibal had no observation to make. Will was almost disappointed.
“In legend it was King Canute, I believe, who tried to hold back the tide.”
There it was.
“Remembered through history as the King of Vanity, and chided for his hubris.” Hannibal continued, “True scholars postulate the opposite. It was humility. Canute’s actions were a demonstration of the singular power of God; how Power in all other forms is ultimately insubstantial.”
Hannibal paused for effect. “Tell me, Will, is it truly arrogant to believe yourself God.. or are we the fools to assume his divinity is unattainable by Man?”
“Huh? Wanna talk about that?”
“Nno. Oh look Alana’s here!”
“Morning!” Alana called brightly over the wind. She was wearing a pair of round sunglasses, and a big hat. In her arms she carried a red-and-white-striped beach umbrella, that Hannibal quickly relieved her of. Behind her waved a similarly dressed Abigail. Alana gestured around them, “Nice day for it!”
Will couldn’t help but laugh, “Sure.”
In that moment Hannibal decided to open the umbrella, his stance low and squared. He fought the violent buffeting by the wind and secured it behind a small sandy ridge. As soon as it was tied down he turned to Will, smiling. Will smiled back.
“Graham.” A gruff voice called from behind Will, who turned around to see Jack approach, holding his own umbrella. He was flanked by Brian and Beverly, who were wearing matching Hawaiian shirts. They waved. Will waved back.
Will watched as the FBI agent slid on a pair of pince-nez sunglasses. In his trenchcoat he looked rather much like a certain character from The Matrix.
“You look like Morpheus, dumbass” Beverly laughed. Jack scowled.
Jack opened his umbrella, but it was instantly torn from his grasp and sent violently careening down the beach. The party was silent.
“I brought pâté,” Hannibal piped up. Thank god.
They all ate pâté with their fingers while Jack set to retrieve his Umbrella, which was stuck in a tree a half-kilometre down the beach.
Nobody noticed immediately, too distracted by pâté amongst friends, but the wind calmed, and the sun began to pierce its rays through the thinning masses of cloud. Even the waves crashed less violently to the shore. By the time Jack returned, his trenchcoat was slung over his shoulder and his top button of his shirt was undone.
a/n slut
“The sea beckons!” Hannibal declared, as he removed his purple suit-jacket, and his shoes and his tie and his.. shirt and his oh my god his pants and…
Hannibal stood on the beach in his floral-patterned purple budgie smugglers. They were quite nice. Will wondered if he had made them himself.
He turned and held out his hand, “Care to join me, Will?”
Will, who was beginning to get very warm in his hunting coat and sweaters, thought a swim sounded like a wonderful idea. He was midway through pulling off his sweater when he realised that he had no togs on underneath. What was he to do? He supposed he could swim in his boxers. Why not, he considered, quite literally everyone here has already seen me in my boxers already. He wasn’t wrong.
They walked around the ridge, out of view of their friends and also Jack couldn’t see them either. Will took Hannibal’s hand and together they stepped bravely into the surf. And brave it was, for while the sun warmed their faces and melted away the clouds, the Atlantic Current was unyielding as it was hostile. Memories of the frozen river washed over Will like the tides around his knees.
Hannibal strode further, but Will stopped. Their hands, clasped tightly, were pulled taught. Hannibal turned to Will, who could do nothing but shake his head, eyes wide.
“I can’t,” his voice was hoarse, “I want to get out, I’m sorry.”
Hannibal nodded, and wordlessly picked Will up and carried him to shore.
“A bit cold, hm?”
Will nodded, “I’ll wait here.”
Hannibal turned and jogged into the surf, and when the water reached his thighs the jog turned into a dive. Will watched Hannibal swim in the dark Atlantic waters. Alana soon joined him, gazing into the wide sea.
He turned to her, “Nice togs.” They were very cute.
“Thanks!” She smiled.
They stood and watched Hannibal swim 50 metres of flawless breaststroke.
Will smiled. “Oh Alana, you should have seen it.”
“Seen what?”
“I mean I was lying there, face up in a frozen river. Couldn’t even feel my legs. Doesn’t get better than that.”
“Oh, that. I don’t know, that time I pulled up to your house and you’d taken to your own fireplace with a sledgehammer was pretty troubling.” She paused, “Um.. anyway.”
He knew they were both thinking about the kiss. Far out to sea, Hannibal did a backflip.
“I was the one that found you.”
“You were?”
“Yeah. It wasn’t pretty.”
Will was silent.
“You were barely breathing, Will.”
“I’m sorry, Alana.”
“It’s not your fault,” she sighed, “I’m just glad you’re safe.”
She handed him her big hat and her sunglasses, “Would you hold these for me?”
She walked into the surf, further and further until the water was at her shoulders. She took a deep breath and threw her head under the waves.
Will waited. One second. Two. Alana didn’t resurface.
Will dropped the glasses, the hat. Before he knew what was happening he was waist-deep into the waves, his heart in his throat.
“Alana!”
Her head surfaced the waves with a cry, “Holy FUCK it’s cold!”.
Will forced a laugh, and Alana swam out to Hannibal.
//
I’M DROWNING. EVERYTHING IS DARK.
I can’t move. The dead night sky expands before me, with no stars to break the immense dark. I’m cold. I can’t tear my eyes away from it.
It’s coming closer. Its antlers scrape the trunks of the trees as it passes. Its black eyes are locked on mine. I can’t move.
It stops. I can’t look away. It raises its hideous head and shrieks into the night.
More are coming.
MY NAME IS WILL. MY LEGS ARE WET AND MY NIPPLES ARE COLD. WHAT?
Will blinked. He blinked again.
He looked down. He was still wearing his boxers. They were still wet. That’s embarrassing.
His eyes focused. He was thighs deep in the surf. Alana was gone. He looked around, panicked to see a completely different stretch of beach than he was on before.
The wind whistled and the sand whipped at his chest. The waves were deafening.
“Will! There you are!” Hannibal’s voice carried over the sandhill behind him. Will trudged out of the water. They met in the middle, standing on the beach in their respective undergarments.
Will hadn’t noticed the towel in Hannibal’s hands, which was now being wrapped around him, pinning his arms to his chest.
//
MY NAME IS WILL. I HAVE A TOWEL NOW. BEVERLY GAVE ME HER SPARE HAWAIIAN SHIRT.
“So, you see, the squared archways and large windows are hallmarks of the Gothic architectural style, rather than darker, more rounded Romanesque.” Hannibal gestured to the architecturally accurate Gothic sand-cathedral, “Our environment, Will, is who we are. What we sow is what we reap.”
Hannibal smoothed one of the arches with his thumb. “Tell me Will, are your sculptural decorations thin abstractions of Man, or are they realistic, proportionate figure-studies?”
“I think gargoyles are cool.”
“They are very cool.”
Will glanced down. “I like your speedos.”
“Thank you, Will, I sewed them myself.”
Knew it,
Will thought to himself.
“Are you going to dig me up or what?” Jack’s disembodied head piped up, the rest of his body buried underneath the cathedral.
Before they could respond, Beverly’s voice cried out over the surf.
“HEADS!” A cricket ball flew into the sand-cathedrals flying buttresses, spraying Will and Hannibal with sand, “Shit... sorry guys!”
Hannibal dusted himself off and jovially drew himself to his feet, “No matter, Miss Katz! Permanence is an unattainable ideal!” He threw the ball back.
She nodded, “Okay whatever! You should take a turn bowling, Dr. Lecter - Brian’s on the stumps!”
“Indeed, Miss Katz!”
Hannibal made cricket look like an art. He had that effect on many useless hobbies, like surgery, or cooking. His unflinching focus stared Jack down across the pitch; Forensic Scientist Brian Zeller shuffled uncomfortably in place. The act of bowling was a single, fluid motion of the running into the hop into the release. Brian’s wickets hit the ground before he had the chance to move. In the periphery of the makeshift field, Beverly handed a grinning Abigail fifty dollars.
//
MY NAME IS WILL. IT’S MID-AFTERNOON.
Will didn’t know if it was the warmth radiating through the umbrella, or the swimming (if you could call it that), or the fact that he was still recovering from severe hypothermia, but he was very tired. He and Hannibal sat and watched Brian and Beverly throwing a frisbee back and forth. Jack’s head was still sticking out from underneath the sand-cathedral. The shopfronts down the way had opened as the weather turned, and Alana and Abigail had gone to window-shop the afternoon away.
“Hannibal,” Will turned to his friend, “thank you for this.”
“The seaside can do wonders for your health, dear Will,” Hannibal smiled. Will smiled back.
Will leaned back, his head rested on Hannibal’s shoulder. He didn’t remember falling asleep.
//
MY NAME IS WILL. FOR THE FIRST TIME IN A LONG TIME, I AM NOT SCARED.
He woke slowly. Gently. Hannibal’s arm wrapped around his shoulder, warm and protective. He closed his eyes again.
//
MY NAME IS WILL. HANNIBAL IS DRIVING ME AND ABIGAIL HOME.
“Are we sure we didn’t forget anything?” Will asked, as he slapped his pockets for his keys and phone. They were still there.
“If you forgot about it, it probably wasn’t even important,” Abigail reasoned. “Dr. Lecter, could you turn up the radio?”
Hannibal obliged. Abigail was wearing the dress that Alana had bought her. It was yellow and summery, and it didn’t make her look like a haunted doll. A vast improvement.
She looked happy. That made Will happy.
Will was happier than he had been in a long time. He felt so loved by his friends, Alana... Beverly… Brian… Even Jack was less insuff-
“Oh my god we forgot Jack”
“Whoops”. Hannibal made no move to slow the car.
// END