Chapter Text
New Orleans, Uptown
July 7, 2015
It was a hot and humid New Orleans summer day. The kind of day that covered everything in a slight dampness that can never quite dry off. The kind of weather conditions that decomposes a body quickly. Especially one dumped in one of the many alligator infested swamps that littered the state. Bodies found in the bayou were almost impossible to identify and solve on days like these.
This, however, was not the case today. Instead of a mosquito and gator infested swamp, Detective Will Graham was standing in front of a quaint, pale yellow, boxy condo in an upscale part of New Orleans. The condo was strangely inviting, the two windows on opposite sides lookedlike eyes on with a white porch smile, despite the scene that awaited them inside.
The condo had already been taped off by the uniformed officers, the hard yellow tape bound1 the soft yellow house in
Already a small crowd had gathered. Police cars and ambulances were a rarity in this part of New Orleans. This was Uptown, the wealthier part of the city. Crime shouldn’t be happening in this part of the neighborhood. Not on this street.
Forensics still had not yet arrived and the crime scene was still relatively undisturbed. Dressed in khaki pants, a blue plaid shirt, a loosened black tie, with a police badge dangling from a chain on his neck, Detective Will Graham surveyed the friendly looking house. A killer lived there.
A woman had called 911 about an intruder who had broken in and tried to kill her. Except she fought back and managed to subdue and kill her attacker. A shaggy looking man, with stringy gray hair, a wild beard, was in the foyer with his head caved in. She had tossed him off the second floor railing and there he laid near the front door welcoming all those who entered.
The uniformed police officer first to arrive was giving Will and his partner the rundown of what happened. “It appears to be a clear case of self defense. When we first arrived on the scene, we noted a white male, DOA in the hallway. The caller identified herself as Catherine Wight and said that she had just killed an intruder, saying he was trying to kill her. Ms. Wight appeared to be severely beaten, bruises and swelling around her neck and face. Ms. Wight informed us that she wanted to be taken to Ochsner Medical for treatment where she also happens to be a nurse at,” the uniformed officer explained. He looked to be in his mid 30s and a by-the-books kind of guy.
Detective Beverly Katz was Will’s current partner, the third one he had that year. The previous two died. One, Detective Bechet, shot himself, while the other, Detective Frazier, succumbed to a massive coronary. Both, technically, committed suicide. One instantaneously while the other ate and drank himself to a slow death. Will thought he preferred the quicker of the two options but was well aware of his own drinking habits and poor dietary choices.
Though none of the deaths were Will’s fault, he started to gain a reputation around the office. Coupled with his uncanny ability to spot a lie and high rate of confessions during an interrogation, Will had garnered the nickname, ‘Voodoo Priest’ or just simply, ‘Priest’. And That he had some dark spirit and black magic power. Get too close to Graham and some bad shit will happen to you. In addition to his surly attitude and general twitchiness, most of the force avoided him like the plague.
But, it was Captain Kade Prurnell’s rule, every detective must have a partner when out working out in the field. ‘No lone wolf shit.’ Obviously there was a personal story behind that.
Standing 5 feet 6 inches tall with long black hair, tied up today because of the humidity, thin but athletic, dark bright eyes with an epicanthic fold, Detective Beverly Katz was one of the rare Asian-American women cops in New Orleans. The detective was speaking to one of the first responders on the scene when Will wandered back to the conversation.
“Good hospital. Was the victim conscious when you arrived?” Detective Katz asked.
“Yes, m’am. We were able to take down her basic information.” The uniform officer hands Katz a filled incident report.
“Did she recognize the intruder?” Will asked, speaking for the first time.
A bit startled, as if Will was a statue that had just sprung to life, the officer replied, “She, uh, stated that, uh, she did know who he was.”
Katz quirked an eyebrow and shared a knowing look with the officer as if to say, ‘Yeah, I know, he’s a bit odd.’
And with that, Will ended the conversation and stepped away from the officers and began to prowl around the condo. Stepping around the dead body, Will followed the signs of the struggle that ended in the woman’s floral themed bedroom. There was a dirty blue Jansport backpack that was clearly out of place amongst the pastel chockeys of various farm animals and the white lace curtains. Slipping on his gloves, Will rummaged through the backpack, a wad of cash, no wallet, no ID, no credit cards, an address and photo of Ms. Wight, a granola bar, deodorant, a half empty bottle of bourbon.
Closing his eyes, Homicide Detective Will Graham assumed the point of view of the killer.
FWUM FWUM FWUM
I came home, tired, from a long day of helping people at the hospital. When I get to my bedroom, someone attacks me from behind. I know he’s a bad guy. The look in his eye glints with murderous intent. He’s going to kill me.
Years of being an Emergency Room nurse has honed my reflexes and my mind. I don’t panic. We fight. I don’t recognize him and I ask who he is. He never says a word. Not even when he fell off the second floor and landed onto the tiled first floor at an odd angle and -
SPLAT
This is my design.
Will shuddered and his eyes fluttered open. He was hit with an overwhelming sensation. Almost a kind of high. He had never felt like this before. Up until now, he had never come across a scene where someone killed another in self defense. Will knew he should’ve been trying to see from the point of view of the dead man, the assailant. Why was he there in the first place? Who sent him there? Why did they want Nurse Cathy Wight dead?
Katz was still getting information from the uniformed officers while Will decides to take a look at the dead man. Most likely an ex-con, recently released, looking to make a quick buck. But until the forensics lab comes back with a positive ID on the deceased, homicide was done with the crime scene.
While waiting on a positive ID of the victim, Detectives Katz and Graham decide to canvass the neighborhood to see if anyone had heard anything. But they come up with nothing. Everyone said that Ms. Wight was new to the neighborhood, quiet, and didn’t see her often due to her hectic hospital schedule.
-
July 8, 2005 - THE NEXT DAY
“They say that you use voodoo magic to solve your cases,” Detective Katz started off first thing in the morning as they started their drive to the hospital the next morning.
Defenses up, Detective Graham bites out a sardonic reply, “Too bad that doesn’t hold up in court.”
“Have you ever tried?” she asked with a smirk on her face.
“My last invocation went unheard.” Will all but snarls out. Convinced that the other detective was trying to rile him up.
But Beverly is all fun and games, “Well, whatever black magic or Ouji board you need to consult to crack cases, let me in on it. Don’t hog that closure rate to yourself.”
Finally, Will seemed to pick up on the teasing tone. “You’re willing to sell your soul to save another?”
“Isn’t that the definition of what it means to be an officer of the law?” Beverly asked, taking her eyes off the road for a brief moment to try and make eye contact with him. She fails.
‘If the soul is worth saving’, Will thinks to himself but says nothing. Despite what the other detectives may say, not all lives are equal.
Ochsner Medical Center was located near the upscale district of New Orleans in the Jefferson Parish where Beverly had transferred from. With an emphasis on research on academics, as well as being a medical center, the hospital compound was impressive.
The waiting room to the ICU was painted in a soothing blue hue, the chairs a dark wood, even the receptionist at the front desk seemed to belong more to a men’s clubhouse than a hospital ward. Dressed in a dark brown checkered suit with a olive green sweater beneath his matching suit jacket, the rotund receptionist with an overeagerness to please greeted them.
With their badges prominently displayed, Will’s hanging around his neck atop his blue plaid shirt, black tie, gray blazer and brown pants (clearly he was not trying to win any fashion awards), gun on his hip holster along with his flashlight and cell phone. While Beverly, stood in contrast with her with black slacks, black boots, black leather jacket over her shoulder holster, her badge displayed on her black leather belt. She was stylish, but not conducive for the New Orleans summer heat.
“Are you here about Nurse Cathy Wight?” the man behind the desk blurted out before Will and Beverly had a chance to introduce themselves.
“Yeah,” Beverly said without missing a beat, “Can you check to see if she’s awake?” She sent the receptionist a winning smile, knowing he’d be desperate for any bit of kindness.
It worked. The man beamed at her. “Sure, I’ll call Doctor Lecter. He’s her attending doctor. He’s really amazing, definitely the best doctor here. He’s actually a neurosurgeon and the chief of surgery. Nurse Wight was lucky that Doctor Lecter happened to be in the hospital that day. If I were brought into the ER, he’s the one I’d hope for.” The man’s eyes seemed to almost glimmer at the thought.
“Thanks.” Beverly said. She struggled not to laugh at the man’s painfully obvious crush.
“I’m Franklyn Froideveaux,” the man offered.
Attempting to push past the awkwardness, Beverly asked, “So did you know Nurse Wight well?”
“Yes, I mean, we didn’t hang out outside of work or anything, but we’d always talk when she was here.” Franklyn said. “I know most everyone that works in this ward and I try to get to know the other wards too, but this is a huge hospital. We even have an academic branch and classroom on the other side. Doctor Lecter lectures there sometimes.”
“And I thought I was dedicated to the job,” Beverly replied with a banal comment, just to say something.
Franklyn was injected with another burst of energy now that he was back on his favorite topic. “Oh yes, Doctor Lecter is the epitome of dedication, he…”
Will stopped listening. It was likely he was going to continue on this tangent of awe for some length of time. As Will reviews the case in his mind’s eye, a tall man, dressed in a bespoke gingham suit underneath a spotless white doctor’s coat approaches the desk. Still lost in thought, Will continues to gaze blankly down while he feels the conversation continue without him.
“Doctor Lecter,” Franklyn said breathlessly, “these are the detectives working on Nurse Wight’s case.” He could not take his eyes off the doctor.
“Detective Katz and Graham,” Beverly decided to spare Franklyn, his admiration was getting painfully pathetic.
It was at the sound of his own name that Will finally snaps back to the present. Eyes fluttering for a second, Will steadies himself. That’s my cue to small talk. Okay. You can do this.
“Hello. How may I be of assistance?” Doctor Lecter almost purred, his eyes lingering on Detective Grahaml. But, of course, the younger man’s eyes were diverted and did not notice the attention paid to him.
But Beverly didn’t miss it. She cleared her throat to regain the doctor’s attention. “We’re here just to talk to Ms. Wight. How is her condition? Do you think she’s able to speak with us?”
As if he were a store mannequin, the doctor turned his neck stiffly towards her, “Yes, Ms. Wight is awake and she is stable.” His tone nothing but professional now.
“We understand that Ms. Wight is employed as a nurse at this hospital.” Beverly continued, “Were you close with her?”
Will said nothing. He was content with Beverly doing all the talking. He was never good with interviewing the family and friends anyway.
“Although I am familiar with Ms. Wight’s position here,” Doctor Lecter said, “I’m afraid I must say that I have only spoken to her once before this incident.”
“Doctor Lecter is usually in the neuropathology department doing research.” Franklin interjected, trying to be helpful and relevant. “He–”
Enough.
“What injuries did she sustain?” Will cut in and spoke over the receptionist, twitching his head to look somewhere near the doctor’s right ear. He doesn’t have time to listen to Franklyn wax poetic about the majesty of Doctor Lecter.
“Contusions to the head, neck, and most of her upper body. Fractured 4 ribs, 1 pierced her left lung. Damaged trachea, larynx, and esophagus.” The doctor tried to smile at the gruff detective but the recipient didn’t meet his gaze.
Will furrowed his brows instead as he took in the information, “He wanted to constrict her and when that didn’t work, strangle her.” He said, mostly to himself but everyone was well within hearing distance of his off-color commentary. “Squeeze the life out of her.”
As if he were reading lines from a script, Hannibal quickly parried back, “Constriction impedes the heart, arterial pressure drops, and blood flow stops. The heart skips a beat.”
“Strangulation stops the intake of oxygen.” Will mimicked the doctor’s light tone. Amused, he decided to take a peak in the doctor’s eyes. “Breathless,” he said and intended to huff a breath in laughter at his lame pun but instead sharply inhaled when his gaze met with an intense fervor as if the other man had been waiting an eternity to catch a glimpse of Will’s cold blue eyes.
“Like a snake!” Franklyn added unnecessarily. The man had even taken a step forward and broke the moment like the needle popping a balloon.
For a moment no one spoke. Then Will blinked, Hannibal took a breath 20% harsher than normal, and Beverly smirked.
“I’ll take you to Ms. Wight, this way please,” the doctor said. The room suddenly felt about 10 degrees cooler.
*
If the victim/suspect was truly a hitman, then he would complete his mission the simplest way possible. Usually by use of a gun. However, the man tried to strangle his intended victim. The assailant had a preferred method of killing. Constriction. Meaning he had successfully killed like that before.
Beverly was next to the victim trying to establish a method of communication. The woman’s vocal cords were damaged and couldn’t talk. While Will wandered around the hospital room, but he was still attentive to his surroundings. He didn’t like talking to the victims, especially the ones that survived. They were always so frightened, fearful, and confused. Weak.
Will stopped in front of the little table in Cathy Wight’s hospital room. It was already cluttered with flowers and Get Well cards. Even taking in consideration that Cathy knew everyone at the hospital, the amount of gifts was an indication that she was well liked.
“Who’s Billy Boughs?” Will asked and walked towards hospital bed, stopping at the foot of the bed, a bit separated from the rest of them. Beverly and Doctor Lecter were on the right side near the head of Ms. Wight’s bed. He glanced up to meet the temporarily mute woman’s eyes briefly. And for a moment he could feel her confusion at the name, it was someone she knew, intimately once but no longer. Someone she still cared about but not like she used to. Someone she hadn’t spoken to in a while. Someone who-
“What is it about Mr. Boughs you find so peculiar?” Doctor Lecter asked, curiosity laced his inquiry.
“Card just said, ‘Get well soon.’ The other cards all had a long, personal message written.” Will mumbled an explanation.
“Therefore he had malicious intent?”
Will shrugged, “Seems like an odd thing to write on a card. Generic.”
“Perfunctory.” Hannibal was now beside him. He had somehow sidled up to the younger man without the other man noticing. “Do you find yourself going through the cursory motions of investigation?”
“Every case is unique but human behavior tends to fall along established norms.”
“The typical banality of the masses. But you’re not one of them are you, Detective? You reject their social constructs but long for inclusion without giving up your sense of self. You are alone because you are unique.”
Agitated, Will bites back, “I’m as alone as you are, Doctor.”
But the doctor was not offended and moved closer still, “Not fond of eye contact are you Detective Graham?”
Will bristled at that, “Eyes are distracting don’t you think?” He says with a slight curl of his lip. “You see too much, you see too little.” He forces himself to look in the other man’s eyes. Briefly. Just to prove him wrong. Maroon. Fathomless. Unreadable. “It’s hard to focus when you’re thinking that those whites are really white or is that a burst vein?”
But before Will could lose his temper, Beverly interrupted them, “Billy Boughs is Ms. Wight’s estranged husband.”
“How do you know?” Will asked.
“I asked her’ while you two were busy flirting with each other,” Beverly said with a shrug.
“I- we weren’t—,” Will stammered. That wasn’t what was happening here!
But Beverly continued without pause, “and she wrote it down here.” Beverly held up a notepad. “She also wrote that she hadn’t seen in him 2 years but showed up at her house 2 weeks ago after she served him divorce papers.”
Instantly, Will snapped his professional fort back on, “Do you know where Mr. Boughs currently is?”
Cathy shook her head.
“Ok, let’s get her statement first.” Will said.
“Will you need my statement as well, Detective?” Hannibal said, drawing the focus back to him.
“Probably not, this is looking personal.” Will explained, ignoring his partner rolling her eyes. “Thanks for your time Doctor Lecter. But,” he took out a worn business card from his back pocket, “please give us a call when Ms. Wight is able to speak,” and handed it to the doctor.
“Of course, Will.”
*
By the time Detectives Graham and Katz leave Ochsner Medical Center it was well into the evening and five past 8PM. Again, Beverly drove.
“What just happened in there?” She asked once they were alone again.
Oh great, Will thinks to himself, she wants to know how I picked out Billy Boughs name, probably thinks I plucked it out of thin air. She wants to know how I tick. He decided to play innocent. “What do you mean?”
“You and Doctor Sexy in there.”
Okay, not the direction he had expected. Will says nothing.
Beverly rolled her eyes again. For a genius detective, Will Graham was dense as fuck when he’s subjected to romantic overtures. She was going to get a headache with all the eye rolling. “You guys were in your own little world, looking at each other like no one else in the room. Talking about hearts and fate?”
Will waved her off, “It was anatomical.” He had been talking medical jargon with the surgeon. It was nothing special.
“Uh huh,” Beverly said, unconvinced but decided not to push further. You can’t force a man to see what’s right in front of him.
Beverly drops Will back off at his car, but instead of going home, he heads into the station. Will wanted to do some more digging into Billy Boughs before the trail grew cold.
Turns out Billy Boughs had cousin in Baton Rouge and that cousin just got out of prison last month. His cousin, Liam Boughs, had served 2 years for manslaughter. Will snorted, the man had pleaded down from 2nd degree murder. Must’ve had a good lawyer. Or a lazy D.A., Will thought blithely.
The dead man’s fingerprints were in the system and showed that the man, Jesse Jones, had previously served time for mutilating animals and had just been released from his latest stint behind bars 6 months ago. Will grimaced. He had a particular soft spot for animals, their brains wired to act upon instinct. No qualms about good or evil, right or wrong, pride or shame.
Animal mutilation was also one of the triad of trademarks that were the precursors of most serial killers. The other two being pyromania and bed-wetting. Will tried not to think how the last trait was not dissimilar to his own nightmares where he woke drenched in his own sweat. He knew it wasn’t the same as lack of bladder control, but why did both result in waking up wet?
Jesse Jones had a preferred method of killing and he had killed before. He was an assassin-type serial killer. He killed for fun and for money.
And an emergency room nurse had just overpowered and killed a serial killer. Will shuddered like a jolt of electricity had just run through him. This was a feeling he had not felt before. As usual, Will always empathized with whoever the killer was in a case. Although it was in self defense, Nurse Wight did technically kill a man. A bad man.
Will couldn’t help but feel this overwhelming sense of righteousness. It was a feeling he was unaccustomed to, one that he had never felt before - not like this. Where the lines between good and evil seemed so stark in contrast. That the right thing had happened today and that all was right in the world. As if a bright white light shone from his chest like a conquering angel, Will felt weightless, as if he were floating, buzzing from the good energy of Nurse Cathy Wight.
At least, for a moment until Billy Boughs crept back into view, along with his cousin. Liam Boughs, who served time at the Louisiana State Penitentiary and was released last month. Jesse Jones also served time at the Louisiana State Penitentiary and was released 6 months ago. There are no such things as coincidences.
*
July 9, 2005
Detectives Graham and Katz had stopped by the address listed on Billy Boughs driver’s license - but they were met with new owners. At Billy Bough’s place of work, they informed them that he had 3 weeks ago. And Billy Bough’s mother’s house? Well, she died. So now they were at Liam Bough’s mobile home in Baton Rouge, his only living relative.
Will rapped his knuckles on the thin metal door with a standard level of police aggressiveness. Hard but not pounding. Loud but not disturbing. Urgent but not frantic. He felt twitchy, something about the trailer home felt off.
Will knocked again.
There was no answer, but the sound of an air conditioning window unit chugging away could be heard from inside.
“Check the windows?” Katz suggested.
Ignoring her, Will twisted the door knob instead. It’s unlocked. Bingo. Without hesitation sparing a backward glance at his partner, Will pulls out his gun and enters the aluminum abode.
There’s not many places to hide in a rectangular box that measures 80 feet by 18 feet. Most of his childhood years were spent in similar mobile homes, Will was familiar with the layout. But he didn’t get to put that knowledge to use because as soon as he opened the door, propped up in a chair beside a plastic dining table, was Liam Boughs with bloody cavities where his tongue and heart were supposed to be. On the table was a bloody kitchen knife.
Liam’s head was tilted back, his mouth open and gaping.There was a long vertical cut from his sternum to his belly button. His ribs had been pried apart and his heart had been excavated. In his hands, the dead man held a note that said, “He shoulda let her die. Dr. Lecter is next”.
The air conditioning had been kept on to prevent spoilage.
*
It didn't make any sense. How does someone go from hands-off, murder-by-proxy to sadistic displays of twisted flesh and bone? The evidence said that the fingerprints on the knife belonged to Billy Boughs, but the tableaux said it was done by the hands of an experienced killer. Or at least guided by one. Just how many murderers did this guy know?
What was really puzzling was the note. Why did Billy Boughs suddenly fixate on a doctor? What about his wife? Wouldn’t he want to finish her off first before he moved on to other people?
And why did Billy murder his cousin? And why was it displayed so artistically? On the surface, with the tongue and heart missing, it seems like the message is that his cousin betrayed him and ratted him out. However, something about the way the body was posed, head tiled back, arms draped backwards off the sides of the chair, legs spread, reminded Will of an anthropomorphized cartoon coyote whose tongue would loll and heart jump out his chest when in love.
But there would be a time to puzzle that out later. Right now, as the captain saw it, priority number one was the safety of the prestigious Doctor Hannibal Lecter. The police commissioner himself, Commissioner Fontaine, had come down and they were in the captain’s office while Detective Graham sat at his desk. Waiting to be called in when he was deemed relevant.
The blinds were closed in the office so Will could only guess at what was being said. Apparently, Doctor Lecter had performed a bypass surgery on Commissioner Fontaine and had personally come to oversee the meeting out of respect for the esteemed doctor. After the note was discovered, a pair of uniformed officers went to escort the doctor to the police station. ‘Such a pillar of the community,’ the Commissioner had said, ‘cannot fall to the hands of a madman.’ Yet another congregated at the church of Hannibal.
"Graham, get in here," Captain Prurnell called. Beverly raised her brows in acknowledgment but said nothing,
Disgruntled, Will walked into the captain's office. It was a typical mid-level government office that was common across the nation: desk, chairs - one behind two in front, black filing cabinets, a flag in the corner. However, sitting in the captain’s chair was Police Commissioner Fontaine. A large Cajun man, but with most of his berth being around his middle. He had a large white mustache and a matching head of white hair. The kind of man that smoked cigars indoors and drank bourbon at members only clubhouses.
“Take a seat, son,” the Commissioner gestured to the only open seat beside Hannibal’s. Will didn’t like being called that. It was overly familiar and he had only met the man once. Even his own father didn’t call him that.
“Now, I hear you’ve been with the homicide team for about 2 year nows, is that right?” the Commissioner asked.
Will nodded jerkily.
“With an over 95% clearance rate.” The man continued.
Will stared blankly. That wasn’t a question so he didn’t answer.
The commissioner remind unbothered and asked, “Where do you live, son?”
“French Quarter.”
“By yourself?”
“Yes…”
“Any pets?”
“The building doesn’t allow for animals…” Will said a bit testily. Get to the point already.
“Then this should be an upgrade for you. Starting now, you will be Doctor Lecter’s personal, let’s say, escort. You’ll stay at Doctor Lecter’s home, escort him to the hospital in the morning, whereupon the hospital has their own unit of guards and officers, then you’ll come here, work on the case, then escort Doctor Lecter from the hospital to home or anywhere else he made need to be.” The commissioner commanded.
As the commissioner rambled on, Will’s eyes bulged and mouth opened in angry indignation. Was there even a choice in the matter? He didn’t sign up to be a bodyguard!
“Why me?” Will protested.
Prurnell stepped in, “Will, you’re the lead on this case, if anyone can spot what’s wrong, it’d be you.”
“But- but- what about the case? What if there’s something urgent?”
“Major Crimes is also going to be working on this case now that it has been deemed an assassination threat,” the commissioner said, already getting up to leave.
“Assination? He’s just a doctor!”
“Will…” The captain warned.
“Babysitting isn’t in my scope of duties! I don’t have time for this. I have other cases I-”
“Will!” Prurnell barked, “This is an order. Either you escort Doctor Lecter or I’ll have to write you up.”
With a heavy sigh, Will relented, “Fine, but I’m still the lead on the case.”
“You won’t have time for all of that,” Prurnell shot down.
But before Will could argue his case, the commissioner stepped in, “Let him do both Kade, it’s clear that he’s got alotta spunk in him.”
Unable to argue against her superior, Prurnell nodded and said, “If you think that’s wise, Commissioner.”
As if to appease his master, Fontaine looked quickly at the doctor in question who inclined his head in the affirmative. “Yes, yes,” the booming man said, “It’ll be great.”
“Will, I promise you, it won’t be that bad. In fact, you might even enjoy it,” Hannibal said as if to reassure the detective/bodyguard/babysitter.
Will only glared at Hannibal. He knew that this whole arrangement was because of him.
*
"Will, would you like to stay and have dinner with me?" Hannibal asked after Will had checked all the rooms and made sure exits and entrances were secure in Hannibal’s mini mansion.
The good doctor lived in a blue Victorian revival house in Audubon, New Orleans. With 6 rooms, 3 bathrooms, garage, and large backyard; the 6,000 square foot property had taken over an hour for Will to inspect. It was a very handsome house, with a friendly light blue shade and filigreed steps and adornments, the house exuded an almost whimsical charm. The interior, however, was a decidedly different tone. Decorated lavishly, the silk wallpaper was all rich jewel toned hues, a floor to ceiling library with dark oak and dim lighting, taxidermy, and samurai swords.
Tearing his eyes away from the Samurai armor by the door, Will shook his head and declined the offer. “Let's just keep things professional doctor."
"God forbid we become friendly."
"I doubt you care what God thinks."
“Do you care what God thinks, Will?”
Will snorted and walked out the front door. At the entryway, he turned and added, "I don't find you that interesting."
Facing each other at the door jamb, like two sides of the same coin, Hannibal indoors while Will lingered just beyond the threshold, Hannibal smiled knowingly. "You will."
-
July 10, 2005 7:30AM
Will arrived at Doctor Lecter's house at 7:30AM that morning, bedraggled and tense. Like most nights, he had not slept well. His nightmares either woke him at 3AM and left him drenched in sweat and haunted all day or he turned all night not sleeping at all. On the rare occasion that Will did sleep through the night, it was due to half a bottle of bourbon.
"Good morning Will," Hannibal greeted with a smile as he opened his door. Already almost fully dressed in a striped white shirt, a golden tan vest and matching slacks, the man looked immaculate as always. He stepped aside to let Will enter, "Would you like some coffee?"
Will nodded jerkily, following Hannibal inside. As someone who barely slept, Will was hopelessly addicted to caffeine and dependent on it to get him through the day. Despite last night’s remark of distancing himself from Hannibal, there was no way Will could ever turn down a cup of coffee.
I’d probably even accept coffee from a serial killer, Will smirked at the last thought but blinked as to why he suddenly made that association. Hannibal was an ER doctor, the complete opposite of a murderer. He saved lives, he didn't take them. Right?
"Pleasant dreams?" Hannibal asked, leading Will into the kitchen and to his extravagant coffee maker. Will had noticed it the night before and had wondered what that contraption was, with all its clear tubes and percolators.
Will scoffed, "My dreams are often not …” He was distracted by the two breakfast plates of eggs and sausage that sat on the kitchen island's countertop. Was that for him? “tasty." Ending gentler than he had intended.
"Nor are mine. As a doctor, I find it true that breakfast is the most important meal of the day. I imagine that since your mornings have now been impeded by this escort that you might not have the time to eat breakfast."
As if coiled up to strike, Will's first instinct to sociability is always rejection. "It's not-" he stopped himself, he didn't like unwarranted friendliness. It made him feel like he owed the other person something. But Hannibal had phrased it so that it seemed like he owed Will a favor by having the detective be his escort. And he was hungry. So instead he finished with "...untrue." And begrudgingly sat down at the counter.
Hannibal beamed, placed two mugs of coffee down, and sat down at the corner beside Will. He preferred to eat in the dining room but he had a feeling that level of formality will make the younger man bolt.
"Tell me Will, do you often have trouble with the flavor of your dreams? No effective barriers for the things you love."
"I build forts."
"Associations come quickly."
"Are you trying to psychoanalyze me doctor? You might want to save something for my therapist."
"I apologize, part of the job, I can turn off my mind no more than you can."
"I thought you were a surgeon."
"I am, but I also have a doctorate in psychiatry as well."
Slightly surprised, Will furrowed his brows and leaned back in an attempt to assess the man in front of him. A surgeon, psychiatrist, and world class chef, and current target of a murderer? Who exactly was this guy?
Hannibal nudged, "Finish your breakfast Will."
*
One of the many things that medical professionals and law enforcement have in common are the working hours. That being: long. After dropping Hannibal off at the hospital at 8am, Will proceeded to the station to continue the Wight investigation. But he was coming to a lot of dead ends. With no job and no savings, Billy Boughs had to turn to someone to shelter him or find lodgings. A press conference had been called to warn the public about this murderer loose in their city. Uniformed officers had been to all the motels in the city with photos of Billy Boughs to warn them about his potential check in. And that if they do come across him, stay calm and call 911.
After making his rounds around the house, checking the perimeters, all the rooms and windows, concluding that there weren’t any murderers lurking in closets, Will made his way to Hannibal. He found the man already cooking in the kitchen.
Will cleared his throat, “All clear. No monsters under the bed.”
“‘He who fights with monsters might take care lest he thereby become a monster.’” Hannibal quotes, smiling.
Recognizing the Nietzsche quote, Will furrows his eyebrows at the implication. But it’s true, he assumes the point of view of killers, his special skill. The only one who does what he does. “When I gaze into the abyss, I am alone.”
“Not alone, Will.” Hannibal says gently. “I’m standing right beside you, gazing alongside into the abyss.”
“You might want to reconsider that. You wouldn’t like being dragged into my world. You might not like what gazes back.”
“Who says I’m not already there?” Hannibal said, and for a moment it seemed as if his eyes turned black.
Hannibal watched the younger man dissecting the dialogue and he moved to plate the dishes. “It appears that I have taken the liberty of preparing an additional serving. Would you be so kind as to oblige me and be my dinner companion tonight?”
It was impossible to refuse not shy of wasting food, so Will simply nodded. Half pleased but also half wondering if he had somehow been manipulated.
*
"Do you always feed police officers during your off hours?” Will asked before he took a bite of the dish before him. Hannibal had explained that it was some rabbit dish that didn’t hop fast enough. Other than some obfuscated piece of flesh on the dish, Will couldn’t determine what the rest of the ingredients were. It was some sort of puree and vegetable he had never seen before. Whatever, it was delicious. “This is delicious, by the way.” He tacked on.
"Only the ones responsible for my life." Hannibal replied casually as he took a bite off his own plate.
"Don't we all have an intrinsic responsibility for our own lives?"
"And if our lives are so inextricably linked that one cannot live without the other?"
"I wouldn’t go so far as to say that your fate rests in my hands.” Will said. “No, you wouldn’t relinquish control like that. You’re the type that prefers to hold the hands of fate of others, doctor.” He adds the title pointedly.
Hannibal smiles genuinely, “How these lives ended up in my care is independent of my hand. But, I would like to hopefully influence those whose fates are contingent with mine.”
"I guess it wouldn't do if your bodyguard passed out from starvation." And takes another bite of his dish. Will hadn’t eaten like this in… well, never. He wasn’t the type to go out to eat (socializing - *cringe*) and he certainly never cooked like this or had anyone cook like this for him. He supposed it wasn’t the worst thing in the world to accompany the pretentious doctor for a meal.
*
"Good night Doctor."
After the hearty dinner that included a dessert and a wine pairing - only 2 courses this time, Hannibal didn’t want to inundate the flighty detective just yet, - Will declined the offer for after-dinner drinks, or digestifs, in lieu of going home to work more on the case.
Standing at the doorway, Hannibal tilted his head and watched as Will twitched awkwardly at his sleeves, waiting politely for Doctor Lecter to open the door to show him out. Instead, Hannibal paused, ”Is that how you see me as? Only as a doctor?"
“How do you see me?" Will sniffed, always on guard.
“The mongoose I want under the house as the snakes slither by." Hannibal could see the gears in Will's mind churning for a response to that statement, but he doesn't give him time for one.
"Good night Will." And opens the front door to guide the detective out.
-
Obsession
Despite the initial protests by Will about being fed by the man that was supposed to be under his care, though the situation was starting to feel as if it had reversed, Will had fallen almost too easily into the step of routine meals. Like most of those in law enforcement, meals were sporadic, quick, and generally unhealthy. Most commonly being from vending machines, gas stations, street vendors, and the rare diner. Coupled with the fierce drinking habits of most police, gastrointestinal problems were common amongst those in the force.
Even though Will was only 30, his poor lifestyle habits, the eating, the drinking, and the stress did not do wonders for his stomach. So, like most, he usually popped a combination of aspirin and antacids. However, much to his chagrin, after only a week of eating regularly and nutritiously, and drinking some much finer alcohol, Will found that he no longer needed his morning Tums. He should be pleased, but instead found himself frowning at that. Looking in the mirror, he also realized that his hollow frame was filling out slightly and he, overall, felt more … lively.
Will had always considered himself a lone wolf, or perhaps more resigned to his fate as one, and didn’t know how to feel about being dependent on another person. After all, his and Doctor Lecter’s world would only be intertwined for as long as it takes to apprehend Billy Boughs. Then it’s back to instant noodles and tv dinners for me, Will thought bitterly. But in the back of his mind, it wasn’t even the food he would miss the most. Something he didn’t even want to admit to himself.
In any case, he found himself slipping into a comfortable ease with Hannibal. Who Will was beginning to consider calling by his first name, although, so far, it was only in his mind. It had been little over 2 weeks of this routine of breakfast with Hannibal, escorting Hannibal to the hospital’s doors, picking up Hannibal at the hospital, driving Hannibal home and having dinner with Hannibal.
Will had worried that their initial ‘meeting of the minds’ would run out of steam and their conversations would lull into tedium. But it proved unwarranted. Surprisingly, the doctor was not put off by Will’s surly attitude, morbid metaphors, and antagonism, but, instead he almost seemed intrigued. With no new developments on the Boughs case, and with New Orleans capping out at around 300 murders a year, Will was soon put on another case.
At first, Will didn’t want to talk shop at the dinner table, but Hannibal dismissed that thought immediately ‘as an emergency room surgeon, I am well versed in the gruesome. I have seen the worst of what humanity has to offer.’ And with Hannibal’s insistent prompting and keen observations, Will found himself unloading his newest case to Hannibal during dinner.
“Love?” Hannibal posits, looking up from his plate which he was currently cutting his round of loin into.
Most homicides are actually pretty pedestrian and fairly dull. The motive was almost always either lust or greed or a combination of both. Usually second degree, unplanned, chaotic, and unsophisticated. But Detective Graham’s last two cases seemed to be proving otherwise. The contract killing gone wrong turned death threat. And now his most current case, the rabid fan that poisoned the object of her desire.
“She only thinks it’s love but it’s not. It’s obsession.” Will corrected.
“What’s the distinction?”
“Obsession is adjacent to love. It has the same carnal flavor of love. The same blood-rushing thrill when you can’t get someone out of your mind and that it’s all you can think about despite your best efforts not to. But it’s all, ultimately, framed within the mind of the obsessor. The object of said obsession is not an active participant in that framework.”
“Because she only sees a version of him and wants that ideal. True love isn’t something to be molded, true love is seeing the person as they truly are and loving that. It is a fixed mark.”
“No one can be fully aware of another human being unless we love them.”
“By that love we see potential in our beloved. Through that love, we allow our beloved to see their potential.”
*
The Exsanguination of Billy Boughs
In the same cadence, Will thought to himself. Adrenaline coursing through his body, blood rushing to his heart, his brain, pumping out from his shoulder, mind working overdrive, he was in shock. He just killed a man with his bare hands. The scene flashed before his eyes again, reliving that moment, it happened all so fast now in reflection, but it felt so slow when it happened. Will’s eyes felt heavy all of a sudden at the memory. He could barely feel the stab wound on his shoulder. His mind fading back to that moment...
“What did you just give her?”
“Just a general anesthetic.”
“Will, I need to give you a general anesthetic for surgery. Are you allergic to Propofol?”
Eye furrowed shut, Will shook his head. Partly in answer Dr. Lecter’s question but also partly because he didn’t want to believe the thoughts racing through his mind. How does a trailer trash, alcoholic, middle school drop out with a thick Cajun accent even know what type of sedative to give Cathy? And the way he said that word: General anesthetic. His accent changed at that word: Gen ah rohl Anh nah sthetic. The same tone, the same inflection. A cold shiver ran down Will’s spine, and it wasn’t from the shock.
Trembling even harder, Will slowly opened his eyes to look up at the man jogging beside his wheeled stretcher. With new eyes, Will scrutinized Doctor Hannibal Lecter. The man who commanded every room he waltzed into, the man who is so poised he is veiled, the man who had fed Will every day for the past month, the man who says he’s Will’s friend. The man who looks so concerned about his injury, but is that concern genuine?
He needed to look into his eyes.
Snapping into Emergency Room Doctor mode, Hannibal gave directions and orders to the people rushing alongside. Under his pragmatic doctor mask, Hannibal was a confluence of emotions. Pleased that Will had used the knife, torn from his own shoulder to subdue Mr. Boughs. But displeased that Mr. Boughs had injured Will, that it was by his hands and not Hannibal’s that that mark will be made. Though the outcome was better than intended: Will covered in blood. A shivering, wide eyed, red mess. He was beautiful. And Hannibal looked down to observe Will once more and was met with fearful eyes.
And in that moment, they both knew. Behind the mask of clinical detachment, Will could see the pride, the adoration, the hunger in Hannibal’s eyes. The pleased eyes of a man who has put the last piece in the puzzle, who turned the engine over after working repairing it and hearing the vehicle roar to life, who takes a perfectly risen cake out of the oven. While Will had the screen of shock on, Hannibal could see that those fearful eyes were not directed at his pain or memory, but at himself. Will was scared of him. He knows. But how much?
The last thing Will sees is Hannibal in scrubs, leaning over him, placing a gas mask on his face, telling him in that soothing, timbered, low voice, to, “Relax, Will. Close your eyes. Everything is going to be alright.”
Hannibal was left with a Catch 22 situation. He could administer rohypnol and have Will forget whatever connection he made from Billy Boughs to Hannibal but that would also mean that Will will forget watching Billy Boughs breathe his last and the light leave his eyes. He would forget that he had killed.