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You were so overwhelmed with your life-altering experience,
you haven't even thought what you would do, while 'no one's home' –
you didn't plan to kill your rival, having bought his freedom
with lies and blood, the ties that bind and your devided soul:
you were just really overcome and very-very tired –
you leaned against his chest to rest, to catch a breath at last –
you don't know why he thought that means that you are suicidal,
you don't know why he thought that means you'd push him down the bluff...
It's very strange he'd let you do it – wouldn't fight, but hug you –
for all you know he could have had a plan to feign his death
for when he'd finish battling it against the Great Red Dragon,
and that's why he would let you tip him straight over the edge.
But there were no thoughts about his murder in your head, then:
you really only used him as a crutch cuz you were faint.
It's very 'him' – to use a chance, do something wild and have the
last word. Unfortunately now it's late to moderate...
Your fall was silent and the waves embraced you like a mother.
The ocean snatched him from your arms and then the darkness came...
You were resigned to go to Hell – but opened up your eyes
and found yourself inside your Wolf Trap house once again.
You thought it's an illusion, but it all felt very solid:
your dogs demanded to be fed and get to run around
(there was no Winston, so the time was 'fore the deal with Crawford
to find the Minnesota Shrike and meeting Hannibal).
You felt an ache inside your head, recalling that you're sick now:
that your own brain is trying to boil itself with prejudice.
Since it looks like you have time-traveled – you would like to skip
the worst manifestations of the damnable disease.
You don't know if your némesis' stepped back in time like you have
(you'd like to punch him in the face – for this and just because:
you bled for nothing in your bygone preexisting future
if, for some reason, you now have to live through that once more).
It is a weekend, so you do not have to be at work now,
you're glad, cuz you're not ready to behave like it's alright:
you do not want to see, to hear, to feel, to smell, to talk to
the doppelgangers of the people you have left behind.
You feed your dogs and let them loose, like usual, and watch them
go wild with energy and life, stampeding in the yard.
You don't know if you should do things as they've been done before,
or pack your stuff, then sell your house, re-home the pups – and run.
You don't know if your wéndigo is nothing but a stranger
or if he's a time traveller that's mad and wants you dead
(though it's his own fault and you're the one who should be raging:
you didn't fight the Dragon to get murdered and reset).
You contemplate to take a knife and slit your own throat
to learn if it's some crazy loop and if there's death ahead.
You think about quitting your profession, buying a boat –
and sailing far away while there's a chance, it's not too late...
But you're too up-to-date and less ignorant and short-sighted:
this time your mind is older than your body – you're not up to
keep hiding your dark nature, your desires and excitement
behind your glasses and the guise of being civilized, so...
You're gonna stay, you're gonna heal, you're gonna wing it, waiting
to see what's happening around to make a choice, informed.
You can't be who you were before, cuz those past years have changed you,
and all your prior issues, qualms and second thoughts are gone.
You watch your dogs, preoccupied with memories and longing,
already missing Hannibal (you have been all this time...)
You didn't hear the engine, but you know you're not alone:
he has arrived on quiet feet – a hunter in his prime.
You feel relief (you didn't dare to hope that he would follow).
You feel a little thrilled – you do not know what's on his mind.
"Are you aware, you deserve to be shot with a shotgun
right in the face?.. Believe or not, I didn't wish to die..."
"My dear Will, don't judge me so: I didn't aim to kill us.
I planned to stage my death – and yours – so they would let us be.
We would have been declared dead, being smuggled out by Chiyo...
Who would have thought – without proof – time-travelling is real?.."
"You spoke a hundred times before about the broken teacup
you have been longing to restore, to make it whole again...
We both believed it's nonsense, the idea's daft and fickle –
it's obvious we were mistaken... Tell me, what's you plan?.."
He sits beside you on the porch like it's a common deal now,
he takes your hand in both of his ones when you don't pull back;
he strokes your palm with gentle touches, softly twines your fingers,
"My dear William, we are free – the world is our stage..."