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Louisiana cooled by slow increments, but fall always came last to little, dusty Ange.
The trailer had never been loud, but its silence was deafening in the weeks since Will left with that alpha. It left Robert with a lot of time to think, which was a dangerous thing for a Graham to do. The days dragged on, interchangeable – he went to work for the rich vacationers who took his Will away, came back home, and drank some whiskey. Sometimes he ate, but Will had always been in charge of that. Often he thought of his new son-in-law.
There was probably no shortage of well-bred omegas in Baltimore, ones who had gone to finishing school and weren't racked with nightmare visions. Robert knew a rich alpha like that would only want an omega half his age for nefarious purposes, but what was in Ange for Will? Scorn and terror? He needed help that Robert couldn't have given him in a million years.
He was stuck here, sitting in his ratty armchair watching the battered TV, hot day after crawling hot day.
A letter slid through the slot on the door, falling with a heavy thump. Robert turned to look at it sitting on his dusty floor.
The envelope was made of thick, expensive material, and in the corner was written "Will Lecter," with a Baltimore address underneath. The paper the letter was written on felt even richer, the ink smooth and black.
Dear Dad,
Hi! I hope you're having a good day and that the hotel wasn't too mad that I had to leave so suddenly. Miss Louise always told me omegas getting married were the biggest drain on their workforce.
Baltimore is really humid and cool, a lot cooler than Louisiana. Hannibal's house is huge! I think you could fit all of Ange in it. He collects a lot of artwork and antiques. I've been trying to learn what they all are and where they came from, but it's been slow going. Hannibal is very patient, though. He's just amazing, Dad. I'm so grateful you got me the job and that it led me to meet him.
I haven't sleepwalked or had a nightmare since I've moved here. Maybe mating DID help me become stable, like that old school counselor said it would. Should I write her a thank you note? I'm already writing cards saying when I got married.
I hope you're well. I miss you – it's weird to be so far away from you. Don't be afraid to call or write if you need anything. Hannibal is so happy you let us get married I think he'd get you a country if you asked.
Love,
Will
Robert rubbed his thumb over his son's curling handwriting. He remember Lecter's cool gaze over Will's head, as Will got into the pricey car that took him away. He imagined Will asking Hannibal about paper to write on, and Hannibal picking out the stationary with forethought of how it would look in the worn down trailer.
All of it, a power play.
Robert folded up the letter and placed it tenderly in a drawer. He dug around for some cheap, crinkled line paper and a stick pen, sitting at his scarred table to write his reply with a trembling hand.
-
Dear Dad,
Merry Christmas! I sent a lot of presents with this letter, but the best gift is right here – I'm pregnant! Two months along. I hope you don't mind that this is Hannibal's Christmas present too.
Hannibal and I have been trying for a couple months now and I'm just so happy. I know the rule is wait until the second trimester, but I want to shout it from the rooftops.
Once they're born, we'll all come down to visit you. How Ange? Is the weather nice? It's been freezing in Baltimore lately. I haven't enjoyed driving in this weather at all.
Hannibal's planning a feast on Christmas Eve – a whole seven course meal. Apparently Christmas Eve is very important in Lithuania. He's such an amazing chef, Dad. Even better than a restaurant. I'll make sure he makes you something when we visit with your brand new grandchild!
Love,
Will
If Catherine were here still, things would be alright.
She had been a beautiful woman, with curls the same shade of chocolate brown that Will's were. Wherever she walked, colors would be brighter and sounds sweeter, her voice like ringing bells. Robert had fallen in love with her the second he saw her at in the halls of their old school, and the two had spun so many plans.
They were going to have a big family and live in a nice farmhouse out where no one would bother them, just endless fields and living off the land. Then Catherine's pregnancy with Will turned out so rough and the hospital bills just started piling up. Plans got shelved. Things changed. Robert took any job he could.
Catherine never fully recovered from that pregnancy, always frail and weak afterwards. It stung but did not shock when she finally passed, leaving Robert with the omega son he never expected.
The letter came with some fly-tying things, finer than any Robert had owned before. The stationary was just as heavy and expensive as before. How deep Lecter's pockets went was a mystery to Robert, but they seemed as vast and endless as the Gulf on a clear, flat day.
In the corner of the trailer was a sad little plastic tree, and Christmas dinner had been at the hotel party with the rest of the staff. Miss Louise had invited him over, but Robert declined. He never much liked Christmas. Will seemed to finally be having a good one.
Robert sighed, settling down on his recliner with a glass of whiskey. There would be a grandchild, maybe with Will's curls and Lecter's flat, unreadable gaze. Hopefully the child takes after his dam and not his sire.
Robert couldn't imagine a world where Catherine's grandchild wasn't as sweet as her.
-
Matthew Lecter was an odd boy.
Too quiet, for one. Always poised and silent with his big, wide eyes, like he was taking in every detail and storing it away for some future reference. He did end up like his sire, but he did like fishing, those wide eyes watching the movement of the slender line and the colorful fly skipping across the sapphire waters. Maybe there was still Graham in him, after all.
The sporadic visits down to Ange and the photographs showed Matthew growing taller and broader across his shoulders, his chocolate curls slowly straightening out. His eyes were dark.
It was a hot and dusty summer, Robert's skin red and peeling from days out on the water. Even the setting sun and the multitude of fans in the trailer didn't do much to cool it down. On his table was a bottle and some letters – junk, mostly, some bills with worrying red words on them, and a heavy envelope, with Will's name neatly written in the corner.
He opened it with a long sigh.
Dear Dad,
Matthew's first day of school was yesterday. I've included a picture. He looks more and more like his dad every day, but he still has my curls!
Matthew is getting so serious and proper, just like Hannibal. He's the politest little boy you can imagine, and is so smart. I bet there's going to be a second Doctor Lecter in the family before we know it. He's already learned Lithuanian, and Hannibal wants to teach him French, too. I tell him that Matthew won't be a failure if he only knows two languages before he's ten, but Hannibal's insistent. He's a stubborn man, but he does it out of love.
I hope everything's going good in Ange and at the resort. We're planning on driving down to Louisiana this summer, so we'll definitely visit. Matthew wants you to take him fishing again. He asks about it every day.
Love,
Will
The picture showed Matthew next to Hannibal, the alpha's big hand on his grandson's head. Both were smiling, but something about Hannibal's just felt so flat and lifeless. He ran over the boyish roundness of Matthew's face, imagining it thin and sharp like his sire's.
A second Doctor Lecter indeed.
Robert set the letter and the picture down, and reached for the bottle of whiskey on the table. His glass was chipped, and he filled it generously.
-
Dear Grandpa,
Hi! Dad writes to you all the time and I wanted to write to you too. I've never written a letter before.
I've been recommended for the Honors Program in middle school next year. I'm pretty excited since I want to be a doctor like Papa is. I know I'm young but I'm really sure. Everyone says how much I'm like Papa.
We're going to Berlin (in Germany) and New York City this summer. I'll make sure to send you lots of pictures.
Love,
Matthew
Dear Dad,
All of our friends are calling Matthew "Little Hannibal." They look more and more alike every day, it's a little frightening. It's hard enough to deal with two.
Hannibal wishes you the best. Hopefully we can visit you this year. Hannibal has two conventions he's been invited to speak at this summer (that's why we're going to New York and Berlin.) Hopefully it doesn't get too hot down there.
Love,
Will
On the table was a copy of the Baltimore Sun.
Crinkled, yellowing, and old, none the less its lurid headline screamed from the page – THE CHESAPEAKE RIPPER KILLS AGAIN: ANOTHER TRIO TO BE SLAUGHTERED?
Slaughtered, is the words they use to describe the victims. Not killed like men, but slaughtered like pigs.
Cigarette smoke curled up from an ashtray, the cigarette forgotten. Pictures, glossy and sent from Baltimore, were spread out across them. The newspaper and a glass of whiskey, sitting in front of him. Outside, Ange was dark and sleeping, dust in the air.
Inside his little trailer, Robert experienced revelation.
The cold gaze of his son-in-law stared out from the photographs, the gentle curve of his smile. The man was a chef, producing food as beautiful as it was delicious even in the shitty trailer kitchenette. He didn't say where the meat came from, only that it was "from a butcher."
There weren't butchers near Ange. There was portly and rude Kyle, who had disappeared during Hannibal's first visit back down.
Robert took a deep breath, gnarled and calloused hands flattening the crumbled newspaper. It was from when Will was first taken away, describing a man who had been hollowed out and stuffed full of flowers – red roses and apple blossoms.
Love and fertility.
He had betrayed his son when he thought he was saving him.
Shaking, he knocked back his whiskey and dragged some paper near him. He wrote his letter on top of the newspaper article about his son-in-law.
Dear Dr. Lecter –
I let you marry Will because I thought you'd protect him from the awful things in his head. Whisk him away from the terrible people that infest this town. Now I know better. You weren't ever going to protect him from his demons – you were going to let them consume them. You're making my grandson in your own image.
Please remember I'm the one who made the deal, not them. Don't hurt my boy for my mistake. You have to keep him safe. You have to keep both of them safe. That's the deal and you must honor it.
- Robert Graham
The reply came two weeks later, in the same thick, expensive envelope as always.
Mr. Graham –
Always.
- Dr. Lecter
-
Robert Graham died of a heart attack at age seventy five.
He was to be buried in the little Catholic chapel in Ange. Hannibal had dealt with the nitty-gritty of the funeral arranging, as Will was inconsolable.
In December, a shiny silver BMW rolled into town and the Lecters returned, properly, to Ange. The curtains twitched and people gaped in shock to see Crazy Will Graham with a thirteen year old son and a handsome mate, dressed in the finest clothes money could buy.
The beautiful little church was packed full, with the Lecters in the front row in perfectly tailored black suits. Will sobbed during the priest's sermon, and as Robert was laid to rest in the cemetery next to the chapel. His tombstone was beautiful, hand carved into fantastic white marble, and declared him a father and grandfather unparalleled.
Afterwards, Will walked through the little trailer he grew up in, running his hands over the worn furniture and scarred table. Hannibal watched him, standing perfectly still in the kitchen. Matthew was in Will's old bedroom, exploring the fish equipment left there. The front door was propped open, and people kept coming in.
They had plaintive, friendly words of sympathy, going on and on about how much the community adored Robert, how his lost was going to cut deep, and that everyone misses Will, wanted him to come around more. Will narrowed his eyes at him, and eventually ended up closing the door.
"They hated us, looked down on us," Will whispered to Hannibal, who rested his hand on the small of his back. "Called me crazy, and scorned my father because of it."
"Now that you have wealth, they want it to," Hannibal murmured. "They think if they rewrite the past, you'll give them whatever their greed demands. They are nothing but leeches."
"Pigs, eating and eating until they grow fat," Will said, lifting up his blue eyes to meet Hannibal's dark, hungry gaze.
"Until they are fit for slaughter," Hannibal finished. "Will you slaughter these pigs?"
Will ran his fingers over Hannibal's silk tie, up and over the powerful line of his broad shoulders.
"I know now that there will be a second Doctor Lecter," Will said. "But we do this properly. If something happens to my son, the police aren't the ones you have to worry about."
"I expect nothing less from such a divine creature," Hannibal said, and bent his head to take Will's lips in a soft, heady kiss.