| Perched on the
edge of Jack Crawford�s desk, Will pushed his fingers
through his messy blond hair. He needed a shower. On a chair close by, Clarice Starling sat with her head in her hands. She needed some sleep. She still wore the black dress Lecter had put her into. And one of the agents who�d driven out to the house had put an FBI jacket around her shoulders which she�d thankfully accepted. �Tell me what happened,� Will asked her, trying to keep himself in check. �I told you before.� �No! Tell me what happened � between you, what was said, what� what he said.� She glanced up, studied his almost desperate expression for a moment. And then she started to talk. [�Would you ever say to me, �Stop,
if you loved me, you�d stop.�?�]
When she finished, she sat back in a defiant gesture. But he didn�t question a word that she�d said. He sat back too, shaking his head. Crawford stepped into his office in time to hear Will say, �He�s gone. He�s outta the country.� Jack frowned. �You sound very sure.� �Why would he stay around?� Clarice pushed her chair back, bare feet padding across the cold, tiled floor of the office. �Listen. He hacked his own hand off! He�d need a hospital.� �No, he wouldn�t. Where�s the nearest place he knows to Krendler�s place?� For now, he didn�t want to think about what Lecter had done to Paul Krendler, or why. Clarice through about that. �Verger�s mansion.� �Verger�s dead, this guy Cordell?� Clarice nodded. �He�s going to be long gone. Verger was bound to have all the medical equipment Lecter needs. He took the boat, piloted it around to the Verger estate, does� whatever he needs to do, gives himself a shot of morphine and� steals a car?� �Can you drive one-handed?� �Probably.� She leaned against the wall. �I�m sorry, Sir.� Jack squeezed her shoulder. �Don�t be. You should go home, get some rest.� Glancing up he gazed at Will. �You too. I�m sorry I�m dragged you out here so late.� Will shook his lowered head. Slowly, he dropped to his feet. A knock on the door made them all look up. An exhausted agent poked his head around the door holding out an envelope. �Someone just dropped this in at the front desk,� he told Crawford. Jack took it. �Thanks.� He read his name, typed on the front of the envelope, as he crossed to stand behind his desk. Without looking up, he asked, �You two still here?� Clarice sighed, pushing her feet into the uncomfortable shoes she�d brought from the house. Jack tore open the envelope and pulled a folded piece of white A4 from inside. He opened it. And dropped it onto the desk as if it had burned him. Will saw him. �What?� But he was already looking at the writing. In a sweeping, steady hand were written the words, �Leave
Will out of this�
Jack reached for the phone. �It�s from him.� Dialling �0�, he waited for the front desk to pick up. �Jimmy, did you see the guy who delivered this letter? No? Okay, listen. I need the tapes for the last two hours from the cameras covering the front desk. Right, thanks.� He saw Clarice standing in front of him when he dropped the receiver. She too recognised the handwriting. She was staring at Will. * The sun had risen by the time Will got home. Stripping off as he walked through the cold house, he stepped into the shower and turned it on full. When he heard the telephone start ringing, he ignored it. Jack Crawford, no doubt, having thought of something else vitally important. He didn�t have an answering machine, and the caller finally rang off. Climbing out of the shower after twenty minutes, he grabbed a towel and padded, still dripping, through to his bedroom. Yanking the curtains closed against the new day, he dried himself roughly and collapsed naked onto the bed, clambering under the duvet after a few minutes. He closed his eyes, but sleep refused to come. His mind was racing, thoughts he didn�t want to face right now. Instead, he brought Clarice Starling�s face to the forefront of his mind. He read the expression in her eyes as she�d looked at him at various times through the night and early hours of the morning while they sat in Crawford�s office. He tried to figure her out. Lecter had some sort of interest in her, that was certain. And she had feelings for the doctor too. When she�d seen what was written in the letter to Jack, her first reaction had been jealousy, pure and naked to someone as perceptive as Will. In an odd way, he understood it. There was a part of him that was drawn to Lecter, that believed what the man had told him. [�Fear is the price of our instrument, but I can help you bare it.�] Pushing himself up on his elbows, he pummelled his pillow into submission and turned over. He was used to the idea of Lecter being free. He couldn�t work out why the doctor had come back to the US after so long abroad. Was Clarice right in her assessment that he�d come for her? What was that line that he�d fed her in the kitchen of Krendler�s place, and come to that, what was he up to with Krendler? Finally giving up trying to get to sleep, he tossed on a comfortable light denim shirt and went to make himself a large coffee. Standing in the kitchen, listening to the machine pop and gurgle, he closed his eyes and tried to think straight. Truth was, he was worried. That the man had chopped off his own hand instead of Starling's proved that he had some feelings for her - why did he keep coming back to that? - but it was a wound that would need urgent medical attention. Clarice had been right about that. He wondered if Jack had simply been humouring him back in the office by accepting his word that Lecter could get what he needed at Verger's. He'd said it at the time because he'd known that was where Lecter had gone, but with such a severe amputation.... Unless it wasn't. His eyes snapped open, looking directly at the chopping board on the work surface across from him. And he saw it clear in his mind. Lecter hadn't cut off his hand! He'd done as much as he'd needed to do to get out of the handcuffs. Had he sliced off his thumb or simply crushed the bone? They'd found blood on the board that was being typed overnight. If it was Lecter's it could just have easily come from a wound rather than an amputation. If he'd taken his whole hand off, there would have been more blood, surely? Starling had said that he'd taken the hand with him. Of course he had - it was still attached. But this revelation in itself didn't seem important. It proved only what Will had already known; his and the good doctor�s imaginations � their thought patterns - were very much alike. Finally, the gurgling stopped. Will poured himself a large, black coffee and took it through into the lounge. Dropping into one corner of the sofa, he stretched out his legs, gazing down at himself. The four gunshot wounds � one in his shoulder, two in his chest, one in his stomach - were constant reminders of Lecter's petty game and Dolarhyde's resulting attack. What was it that Lecter had written in his letter? ['Our scars have the power to remind us that the past was real.'] They reminded him that before the wounds, he had a family and a life he was starting to feel settled in. They were, in a way, all he had left of the past. Except for the long scar down the left side of his abdomen. In a way, that was a more painful reminder. Betrayal of a friendship he'd been starting to depend on. The brutal denial of feelings beginning to stir. He stroked his palm idly over the raised, pink tissue, down over his limp penis, across his thigh lightly sprinkled with tiny blond hairs. Sighing softly, he drank his coffee. Then, with his mind running rings around Paul Krendler's kitchen, he dropped his head back to the cushions and closed his eyes. He stands in the warm light of the doctor's private study and looks down at the body on the floor. Blood has soaked through the shirt. Scarlet red a stark contrast against the snowy white. The skin is pale and clammy now. Where there was once life, once determination and energy, there's nothing. He turns from his own death and smells the aroma of something cooking. Glancing down, he sees he�s holding a glass of red wine in one hand, and a sharp pointed knife in the other. He smiles to himself and sips the wine. The task ahead of him is one that he�s uneasy about, but the sauce is simmering on the hob and he doesn�t want it to spoil. Placing the wineglass on the desk, he kneels next to the young investigator�s dead body. For the first time, he feels a sense of sadness at what he�s to do. Killing was necessary, and it�s the first time he�s killed without feeling some sense of righteousness. He feels sad at the loss of Will Graham, and before cutting, he reaches up and strokes the pale cheek. Under his fingertips he feels light stubble that will never again grow. Lips that will never move and smile. He was a brave one, Will. A beauty too. He feels a terrible, keening pain and suddenly wishes he hadn�t had to kill. Leaning over, he places a tender kiss on the paling, parted lips. Then he sits back and unbuttons the bloody shirt. Now, he takes the knife and places the tip between two pronounced ribs on the left side. As he leans on the handle, the narrow blade slides easily into the flesh. Will woke suddenly, sitting up on the sofa, hand going to his chest. His pulse was racing. But it wasn�t the dream that had woken him. The phone was ringing. Glancing at the video�s green digital figures, he saw the time. 08:56. �Just fuck off, Jack,� he muttered, turning over on the sofa and closing his eyes again. This time, he didn�t dream. * He was in his car, on the way back to FBI headquarters, when his cell phone started to ring. Grabbing the ear-piece from where it was wrapped around the hands-free phone holder on the dash, he stuck it in his ear and pressed the little button with the green receiver on it. �Graham.� �I was beginning to think you didn�t want to talk to me.� It took all his concentration to keep the car on the road. Not because he was surprised, but because the silky tones were exactly as he remembered. It had been nine years. Still, the sound of Hannibal�s voice was like a balm. �I� I thought it was Jack trying to reach me.� �Ah, yes. Dear Jack Crawford. How is he? Nice of him to drag you into this.� �He didn�t get your note until last night.� Will looked up ahead for somewhere to pull off the road. �I was already involved.� A pause. �Why?� �Jack thought� I�d be of some use.� �Be able to tell them where I went, you mean.� There was a smile in the voice. �I told them you were out of the country. Then your letter arrived.� �Sorry. I can�t leave yet, Will, I have unfinished business.� Will took a deep breath, unsure why he was so bothered about asking the question. �Clarice Starling.� �Clarice?� Lecter sounded genuinely surprised. �No, Will. I left her in Krendler�s kitchen thinking I�d hacked off my hand for her.� The relief he felt scared him. �Then what?� �You, Will. You and I need to talk. Oh, don�t worry. No surprise visits, not yet at least. A few telephone conversations, that�s all I ask.� He pulled the car off the highway and over to the side of the road. �What do you want to talk about?� When there was no answer, he thought Lecter had rung off. �Doctor?� A pause, and a breath, then, �Tell me, do you dream much, Will?� The line went dead, and two seconds later, his own phone ended the call from his end. Pressing the �down� arrow on the phone�s menu, he pulled up the last received number. The only thing on the screen, apart from the time, was the letter �H�. * Will sat in Jack�s office, rubbing his eyes with his fingers to avoid Clarice�s stare. He was relieved when Crawford stepped inside, slammed the door closed with his foot and handed him a mug of coffee. �What did he want?� Jack dropped into his chair behind his desk. Shrugging, Will tried to play it down. �To talk, that�s what he said.� �What about?� �I don�t know, he� when I asked him, he didn�t tell me.� But Jack knew Will. �What did he say?� �Nothing.� �Will�.� He sighed. �He asked me if I dreamt much.� �What does that mean?� Will glanced at Clarice, then looked back into his coffee. �This morning, I�d been dreaming of him, of that night we almost killed each other.� Starling made a noise between a snort and a laugh. �He could not possibly have known that.� �He knows.� He sounded tired even to himself. �He�s probably had the same dream.� Holding up one hand, palm out, he pre-empted her comments. �Listen. It doesn�t matter to me what you think of me or what you think of what I�m saying. Jack knows I�m being straight with him.� Crawford nodded. �I want to put a trace on your number.� �No.� �Will�.� �No.� * �What�s wrong?� Crawford sat along side Graham at the bar in the coffee shop across the road from FBI HQ. Usually, Crawford wouldn�t go near the place, but it was too late for those agents needing their morning Expresso hits, and too early for those needing sedating shots of alcohol. Will thought he should probably lay off the caffeine for a while. Then he changed his mind and ordered a triple Expresso. �Jack, a man who tried to kill me is calling me after nine years, what could possibly be wrong?� Jack took a sip of the thick, black liquid. �Then why not let us put on the trace?� Will didn�t answer straight away. He thought about it, trying to work out which part of the truth he could tell. �Let me do this my way, Jack.� Sighing, Crawford studied his friend. But while Will�s soul sometimes shone in his eyes, he could equally be as unreadable as a foreign language. Finally, he sighed. �All right. But promise me something.� �What?� was clear in the pained blue eyes. �Don�t lose yourself. And don�t listen to a word that lying bastard tells you.� * �A mirror line, yes. The crime reference is� 40996a. If you could send the tapes, as soon as they come in, down to Clarice Starling? My eyes only. Thank you.� Putting down the receiver, Starling let her gaze move over the display of photographs, newspaper reports, everything she�d dug up from the old case files and from the bottom of cardboard boxes. The photographs featured a lot of red. Bodies mutilated, women and men killed, cut and dumped while parts of their bodies were served to dinner guests. Pushing her chair back, she walked across to the back-lit board. One newspaper report caught her eye. It was a cut out from the Tattler, an editorial. There was a photo of Lecter, with a smaller, stock photo of Will Graham pasted into one corner. �TWISTED WEB OF LIES? FBI Investigator Will Graham was found lying on the floor of Dr Hannibal Lecter�s study at 1.30am on Saturday January 3rd, 1980. He had a potentially fatal stab wound. The doctor was lying over his desk, two bullet wounds in his chest, three arrows protruding from his abdomen where Graham had stabbed him. In a bizarre twist on the ancient suicide pact, the two had tried to kill each other. Graham, it turns out, had found crucial evidence proving that Dr Lecter was the much-hunted �Chesapeake Ripper�. So why did he stick around? What took Investigator Graham to Lecter�s home so late in the night? Staff at the Tattler believe that there might have been more to the relationship between Graham and Lecter. Several of Lecter�s previous victims have been known homosexuals. Does Dr Lecter play both sides of the field? Did Will Graham�s wife suspect that her husband was having a sordid affair? The Tattler will work to find the answers you need to hear. Tearing the newspaper down, Starling scrunched it into a tight ball and dropped it into the trash. She remembered the offence she�d taken at Krendler suggesting that Lecter was queer. Then she remembered Verger. Had Lecter been attracted to him, or was it simply entertainment? There was never any evidence that Lecter took sexual thrills from the killing or cooking of his victims. He enjoyed it, yes. He was proud of what he�d done. Carefully, she scanned other cuttings, other photographs. And her gaze caught on one. It was a copy of a photo taken by a reporter � the name, date and newspaper that it had appeared in where scrawled onto a sticker in the left-hand corner of it. �Dr Hannibal Lecter M.D., FBI Special Investigator Will Graham, at the scene of the Hobbs shooting, November 15th, 1979. Photo: Robert Matthews, Washington Post� She vaguely knew of Garrett Hobbs. But what had caught her eye was the two men. They were at the back of a small crowd of people, standing together, a little separated from the pack. Graham was standing at Lecter�s left shoulder, his back to whatever everyone else was looking towards. The tilt of his head suggested he was upset. Lecter was facing the same way as the rest, looking down at Will. But most interestingly, his hand was wrapped around the back of Will�s head, in a gesture that looked to be of comfort. And of affection. Reaching out, Starling resisted from touching the snapshot, her fingers hovering just over the two. Turning, she determined to find out everything she could about Will Graham. * Will was walking, thinking, when his cell phone chirped in his pocket. Pushing the ear-piece in, he accepted the call. He knew who it was without a glance at the LCD display. �Difficult morning, Will?� Letting a smile touch his lips, he nodded before answering, �You could say that.� �They want you to catch me, don�t they? Do they think you the only one capable?� �Possibly.� �Why?� �You know why.� Passing an empty park bench, Will dropped onto the middle of the seat and spread his arms out along the back. �What do you want?� �I want to remain free, I would have thought that was obvious.� �I mean�.� �I know what you mean.� Will could imagine the doctor�s face as he interrupted, the expression of knowing, the slight smile, the questioning eyes sliding away from his own�. �Let�s not talk about what I want yet. Tell me about yourself. You were living in Florida the last time we met, why come back to Washington?� �I didn�t see any reason for trying to stay hidden. You managed to get my address with one phone call from the maximum security wing of an asylum for the criminally insane!� �I told you I had other resources.� Will smiled to himself. �Where have you been hiding?� �I don�t hide,� but there was a teasing smile in his voice. �Florence. But you knew that, didn�t you, Will?� It was a moment before he�d admit it to himself. �It�s the first place I�d have looked, had I been looking.� �But you weren�t.� Shaking his head, he took a moment to voice the gesture. �No.� There was a chuckle. �I love you way you do that, Will.� A second later, the call was ended. Something else he loved too, was the way the blond head didn�t move, didn�t look around for him. Like he�d already known he was there. * ��I love the way you do that, Will.�� Sitting in her adopted basement office, Starling stopped the tape from playing and rewound it, removing her headphones. Dropping her head back, she stared up at the ceiling, mind racing. She knew Lecter. Meeting him, having him stroll around in her mind, had been the most incredible experience of her life. In his company, under his scrutiny, she�d found the freedom she�d spent her whole adult life searching for. [�Would you ever say to me, �Stop. If you loved me, you�d stop.�?� �Not in a thousand years.�] What would Will�s answer have been? * It was the first time Starling had seen Paul Krendler since the night at his house with Lecter. The very last time she'd seen him, he'd been sitting in the corner of the kitchen in a wheelchair, slumped head covered by a tea towel. Now he was lying in a bed in Intensive Care, the tea towel replaced by swaths of bandages, his still form mapped with tubes, wires and monitors. With a shaking hand, she reached down and touched the surprisingly warm fingers with the tips of her own. When she looked at the still, pale face, all she could see was him sitting at the dining table, the top of his head removed. She lifted her head and looked directly at the doctor in charge. "Will he make it?" The doctor shook his head. "No. There's too much damage to the brain, the effects of shock and blood loss. He'll never wake up. We'll keep him alive as long as his family asks us to. There's nothing more we can do." Her tears surprised her. She and Paul had been lovers once. But for a long time there had been only animosity between them. She heard someone leave and turned slightly, expecting it to have been Graham, but he was still standing there, wearing the same white gown and mask as she wore, hands clasped in front of him. Crawford had left them alone, and a couple of moments later, the doctor did the same. "Why did he do this?" Will's voice was steady. Clarice closed her eyes for a second. "Paul was helping Verger. He... set me up, planted a 'love note' from Lecter in my office, had me suspended." "He was protecting you, then?" She wanted to scream at the top of her lungs that this was wrong! This wasn't protection or... love... this was brutal and cruel and evil. "In his own, inimitable style," she murmured, and squeezed Paul's fingers once before letting go, brushing passed Will to leave the room. For a long time, he stood alone, watching Paul Krendler's inert body lying in amongst the machines keeping his basic body functions regulated. Will knew what it was to be the focus of Lecter's ire. Twice he'd fought for his life in an Intensive Care unit in two different hospitals. Twice he'd been through the trauma of pain and the indignities of this artificial life. But he'd never given up, despite wanting to die on so many occasions. At least his death at Lecter's hand would have been swift. He hadn't been left in an undead state. He'd chosen that for himself. He hadn't known Paul Krendler in life, and he wouldn't know him now either. So many he'd come to know after their murders. Like the Leeds family, and the Jacobis. Reba McClane was one of the rare people he'd gotten to know living, just for a couple of days. They'd shared something, and in her grief and self-questioning he'd seen his own betrayal. ["You didn't draw a freak. You drew a man, with a freak on his back." "I should have known." "Oh, no... sometimes you don't. Trust me, I've been there myself."] And then the freak had attacked his family, and after that his life had been unrecognisable as a life for a long time. * "You went to see Paul." Will didn't reply for a couple of seconds. He wished he hadn't answered his phone. It had been ringing as he'd stepped into his house and he'd automatically picked it up without thinking. "Yes," he confirmed needlessly. "And? How is he?" "Dead. They have him on life support but he's dead." "And how do you feel about that?" "I don't know." It was the truth. He wanted to sleep, not think about this now. But Lecter wasn't going to let him. "Why don't you know? You should feel repulsed, disgusted, angry." He knew that. He didn't need telling. "Why did you do it?" "He wasn't a very nice man, Will. He was destroying the career I'd helped to build. And he helped Mason Verger try to kill me." There was a pause. Will didn't speak. "How would you have felt if Mason had succeeded in feeding me to his boars? If they'd found my torn and half-eaten body in that barn and you'd been asked to identify me. How would that have felt, Will? And think before you answer." Will leaned back against the front door. He thought about hanging up, but he couldn't, for the same reason he didn't want Crawford to put a trace on his cell phone number. He didn't want to lose this. Not yet. He'd spent many years wanting Dr Hannibal Lecter back in his life, he wasn't willing to let go so soon. "It would be a shame," he replied eventually, fighting to keep his voice steady. "The earth's a more fascinating place with you on it." Another chuckle from the end of the line. He wasn't sure what he'd said to amuse. "That's a good answer. I have a little time to wait for you to tell yourself the truth, but don't take too long, Will." He thought Lecter was going to ring off. "Wait...." "You have my number, Will. It's in your cell phone. Call me in a couple of hours. There's something I need to do." "Hannibal?" But the line was already dead. He made a pot of coffee and stood in the centre of his living room for a while, just staring out of the front window at the road below. That first phone call had wiped nine years away and he was back, struggling with the same spectrum of feelings he had been during the Tooth Fairy case. After he'd woken in the hospital, after Dolarhyde's attack, he'd realised something that had tilted his view of the whole episode. When Lecter had given the Tooth Fairy his home address in Florida, he was sending the killer after Molly and Josh. Will had been staying in Washington, and Lecter had known that. It hadn't mattered then, not particularly. Threatening Molly and Josh - his family - had been the same as threatening him personally. "No one will ever be safe around you, Will." The words had almost cut him, except for Hannibal's smile just after he'd said them. It had been one of affection. The one thing that Will craved from the man who could never give it to him. He knew what Lecter wanted from him now, knew the answers he was supposed to give. What he didn't know was what would happen after he'd given them. Digging his cell phone out of his jacket pocket, he dropped onto the sofa and typed an SMS message, Y did U come back 4 CS? Sending it to the number stored under 'H', Will dropped the phone to the sofa cushions and decided to take a bath. Turning on the taps, he dropped the plug into the hole and started to strip. Shirt half-off, he padded through to the lounge and poured himself a whiskey. Back in the bathroom, he lit the row of tea lamp candles that lined the shelf between the tub and the wall and switched off the light. This was a stress reliever that Molly had always sworn by. A candle lit bath with lots of bubbles; a large whiskey. In the past, Will had added an extra element as he did this time. Sinking into the hot, aromatic water, lying his head back against the curved side of the bath, he closed his eyes and let his hand drift to his already waiting cock. When he�d been working with Lecter, so many years ago that it felt like a lifetime, he�d started to find his very private fantasies turning to the man who was so like him, and who seemed to care for him. Now he let his mind dust off those thoughts and images and look over them, choosing one that had been his favourite. Fingers in his hair, the warmth of another man standing behind him. �Will�.� His name spoken in those honeyed tones. Breath on his neck. Then lips against his throat. He stands very still in the doctor�s study while hands stroke up inside his sweater, fingers tracing over his ribs, an erotic caress over his skin. He�s embraced, strong arms going around him, fingers spreading over his ribs, over his stomach. He turns his head and is kissed, lips covering his own, heavy tongue sliding into his mouth. He sucks on it greedily. Under the water, Will�s fingers were wrapped around his cock, massaging and pumping himself gently. After Lecter�s attack, after his long recovery, he�d had to learn to arouse himself again, learn what his body needed to find its release. As he raised his hips, pressing his erection through his fist, he felt a rare orgasm curling around the base of his spine. Fingers deftly unfasten his fly and a hand slides over his stomach into his underwear. Fingers comb through soft, blond pubic hair, touching the sensitive skin of his straining cock. Dropping his head back, feeling lips against his neck, he moans softly as Hannibal�s skilled hand starts to masturbate him. Words, gently spoken, work the same magic as the fist wrapped around his penis. Close to orgasm, Will stilled the image in his mind, hearing only Lecter�s voice purring his name close to his ear. �Will�. My dear Will�.� He came hard, spilling into the water, body shaking in climax. The release left his body sated and for a time, his mind emptied. Slowly, eventually, his hand sneaked out of the bath and wrapped around the heavy tumbler on the shelf next to the tub. He took a long drink of the amber liquid, feeling the burning path down the back of his throat. He thought about the message he�d sent Lecter, but he was determined to enjoy the afterglow of his orgasm and the hot bath for a little while longer. Later, wrapped in a thick towelling gown, Will padded wet footsteps through to his lounge and dropped into the corner of the sofa, reaching for his cell phone. He hesitated before opening the message waiting for him, but he had to know. What he read did nothing to comfort him. I came back for you * �After a traumatic event during his work with the FBI, Graham became depressed. A friend, Dr Alan Bloom, persuaded him to check himself into the hospital and he was quickly moved to the psychiatric wing. He became withdrawn, not eating or speaking. At no point did he appear suicidal or display any tendencies towards taking his own life. The only times during which he would become animated were Dr Hannibal Lecter�s visits. Graham reacts to him, seems willing to talk to him, and I would recommend that after leaving Bethesda, Graham is referred back to Dr Lecter for further therapy.� Sitting back, Clarice rubbed her eyes and dumped the file onto her desk. She knew Will Graham�s life, knew the names of his family, the dates of his birth and of that of his son. She knew his mental and physical health records. She knew that when he�d woken in the hospital after Lecter�s attack, he�d spent hours curled up as much as the tubes would allow, crying to himself quietly. She knew that when he�d woken in the hospital after Dolarhyde�s attack, he�d started to scream and hadn�t stopped for five minutes. But she still didn�t know him. She still didn�t understand why he was letting Lecter so very close. A new addition to her collection of photographs was one taken at the scene of Lecter�s initial capture. Will was lying on the carpet, blood soaking his shirt around his left side and his abdomen. Lecter was lying across his desk, arrows sticking bizarrely out of his stomach, gunshot wounds in his chest. She�d stared at it for an hour and still couldn�t see what had happened. The cell phone mirror hadn�t given her anything more and she suspected that either Will or Lecter knew about it. She�d dismissed putting a tap on his home number. It was going too far, Will was a colleague, after all, not a criminal. But she was determined that Lecter wasn�t going to flee the country. She couldn�t grasp why he hadn�t done so already. Maybe he was waiting for something. Or someone. Sitting up, her eyes fell on the photograph of Graham and Lecter at the scene of the Hobbs shooting. Was Hannibal waiting for Will? * At this time of the morning, the Reflecting Pool - usually lined with tourists - was a wonderfully deserted and peaceful place to be. Will sat down on a bench under a tree and stared over the shimmering water. The sun, rising over the Washington Monument, was casting a long, pointed shadow over the pool. Only when he was this tired did his mind allow him respite, and he could blank it for a while. Vague thoughts passed through his head, but he didn't pay any of them much need. "Don't turn around." Will caught his breath. Lecter was behind him, crouched down by the sounds of it. "Don't worry, I'm not here to hurt you. After our phonecalls I wanted to see you in person." "...." It took a moment for Will to find his voice. "What do you want from me?" There was no venom in the words, he tried to keep the hope from them too. "A decision." "About what?" "You know. I'm running out of time. Crawford's given you more space than I thought he would, but Clarice believes she has her teeth into me and she won't let go." Will sighed softly. He leaned his head back just slightly and felt an arm behind him, rested along the back of the bench. He felt a tiny shiver work its way down his spine. "Agent Starling's as in the dark as Jack is." "Not quite, Will." The arm behind him moved a little, and for a brief moment he felt a thumb on the back of his neck. "She has a mirror on your cell phone. If you come with me, leave it behind." The second sentence barely registered through the sudden surge of anger at Lecter's revelation. "Don't blame her, she's only doing her duty to the FBI. It's not a duty you feel a need to do, is it?" Will shook his head, once, side to side. "You're too special for them," Lecter told him gently. "They don't know what to do with you, don't know what you are, and so they use you only when they need to." Lecter's thumb became a whole hand, cupped around the back of Will's neck, fingers rubbing gently. He fell silent for a time, waiting. And finally Will found his voice again, and the courage to ask, "Where would we go?" "Wherever you want. Florence, unfortunately, is probably off-limits for a time, but I have rooms in Geneva and Paris." "What would I do?" "You can do anything, Will." "As an outlaw?" There was almost humour in his tone. "You haven't committed any crimes. Crawford would protect you if anything were to happen." Will tried to turn his head, but the hand on his neck stopped him. "Trust me," Lecter whispered to him. "What about you?" "What about me?" "Would you stop?" He could feel Lecter smiling. "You mean, if I loved you, would I stop? Clarice has been tormenting you, hasn't she?" The hand vanished from his neck, and Will couldn't help the shaking breath that left him in a rush, like a dry sob. "Yes, Will. I'd stop. And yes, I do love you." A second later, when Will turned around, he was alone. * It was like walking unprepared into a murder scene. The back-lit board, the walls, the tables; brutal photos of red and black, tactless newspaper headlines crying out their own truths. Will couldn't stop the tears any longer. They sprang into his eyes and rolled down over his cheeks as he walked, forcing himself to look, forcing himself to read and remember. Nine people slain for entertainment. Four killed in a successful, expertly planned bid for freedom. The photo of the cop, taken in the Washington hotel from which Lecter had escaped, was pinned on the wall next to one of Pazzi, the Italian cop who'd spotted Lecter in Florence and sold the information for money. Both photographs were gruesome evidence of what Lecter was capable of. From behind her computer, Clarice spoke clearly but quietly. "He's a violent and dangerous man." Will didn't even blink. He'd known she was there, lost in the obsession that the office displayed for any to see should they care to look. She, like him, would never be free of Lecter. "I know," he replied simply, not taking his blurred eyes from the display before him. "Then why?" �Why what?� �Why are you letting him stay free?� The corners of Will�s lips turned up into an ironic smile, but he didn�t turn around. �Why are you so obsessed with him?� �I want to catch him.� �And you don�t think I do?� �No.� She shook her head. �I think he�s going to leave the country. And you�re thinking about going with him.� Will laughed out loud, walking from the wall of horror, stopping in front of her desk. �That�s what you believe?� �Yes.� He nodded once, not an admission that she was right, more an acceptance of her answer. �Can I ask you something?� Staying on the defensive, she sat up. �Go ahead.� �Why are you doing this to yourself? Aren�t your dreams bad enough as it is?� She glanced around her. �I�m� comfortable with it. Like� I belong with it.� Will shook his head then. �Don�t. It�ll destroy your life. You don�t belong with it.� �And you do?� She could hear the note of peevish jealousy in her own voice and hated herself for it. �I never had the choice.� She wanted so much to hate him. �Why would you protect a killer?� He sighed softly and perched on the edge of her desk, clearing back papers and files, noticing his name at the top of one of them. �Do you have any idea what it�s like to have someone know you completely? Someone who knows every thought, every secret, without you ever having to speak a word.� Pushing her chair back, she stood, walking to the photos Will had shied away from. �During the time I knew Dr Lecter, he told me things about myself I�d never told anyone. It was like� someone looking straight into my soul.� She stopped half way along the back wall and took down a close-up of Hannibal taken before the court case. �I couldn�t stop thinking about him. All this time, and I�ve thought about him every day. He both fascinates and terrifies me. What he did to Paul was� horrible. But he did it because of what Paul had done to me.� �You�re justifying his killing.� She turned to him. �Isn�t that what you�re doing?� * �Isn�t it what you�re doing, Will?� Walking around the Reflecting pool, looking to all the world like he was talking to himself, Will heard Lecter�s voice in his ear through the wire of his new, anonymous cell phone. �I can�t justify what you�ve done.� �We�re still talking.� �Yes, we are.� �I�ll need a decision soon, Will.� He knew that. But he wasn�t ready yet. �Tell me about Geneva.� �Ah, Will. Geneva�s a haven. It�s a city where you can simply live. No pressure, no expectations. And it�s the home of my favourite fantasy about you.� Surprised, Will stilled, halting under a couple of trees. �Favourite fantasy?� �You don�t have one about me?� Will didn�t answer and Hannibal laughed gently. �There�s a cathedral in the old town. It�s a large, stunning building and attached to it, there�s a chapel. It�s beautifully decorated. The colours on the walls and on the ceiling are incredible. It�s a quiet, sacred place. �I imagine the two of us. I�m seated on one of the long benches, arms stretched out along the wooden back. You�re naked, straddling my lap, leaning back against the bench in front. Your hands are on my shoulders, your fingers clawing into my skin.� Will started to feel his cock twitching against the soft material of his trousers. �My erection is deep inside you. You�re moving slowly, rising and falling at an angle to take me in. Just watching you would be enough to take me to orgasm, but you�re so tight and it�s so good.� He was glad that he�d stopped walking. He wasn�t sure he�d be able to hide his body�s reaction to Lecter�s brief description. �Still there, Will?� �You� you spoke to me in those exact same tones the night you killed me.� Silence. �Sorry.� �No. Don�t be. It means a lot to me that you said that.� A pause. �Do you want to go to Geneva, Will?� Thoughts of the pain Lecter had caused him had been like ice on his body, but a small part of him was regretting losing the heat of the doctor�s words. �I� I need to think.� �All right, Will. But not too long, um?� * �What are you doing, Will?� Crawford sipped the strong black coffee and watched his friend sit across the table from him and stare into the dark liquid in his own cup. �I don�t know what�.� He knew it wouldn�t fly and it didn�t. �Come on, Will! I know you better than that.� �All right.� He kept staring into the coffee. �Jack� I�ve spent my whole life on edge, waiting for something awful to happen. And awful things have happened. Good things too, I mean� I loved Molly. We had Josh and I�ll always love him. But she left me and she took Josh with her. I don�t blame her. Lecter was right when he said that no one would ever be safe around me.� Jack sighed. �That�s bullshit. Why do you let him wind you up like this?� �It�s not�.� He shook his head, a tiny smile playing on his lips. �What he�s offering me, Jack, is what I wanted from him nine years ago. Can you� try to understand that?� �No! He�s a brutal killer! Have you forgotten what he did to you?� Will�s expression said it all. �So� what?! What he did to Paul Krendler, to Rinaldo Pazzi, to Mason Verger, for Christ�s sake! The guards in Memphis, to Chiltern�.� �Chiltern deserved it.� Spoken very quietly. Jack stumbled over the next name. Studying Will briefly, he couldn�t decide whether he was kidding or not. �The flute player in Baltimore didn�t. The student at Princeton didn�t. His two guards certainly didn�t. You�re helping one of the most dangerous men in the world escape again!� �I�m not condoning what he�s done�.� �Yes! You are, Will! You�re saying you could� be with this man.� �Jack� just for once, let me forget about everyone else and think about myself. He�s promised me that he�ll stop. I have to believe him.� �You�re insane! He won�t stop. He�s never going to stop. You�ll wake up one morning to find you�re missing a kidney because he cooked it for you the night before!� �Jack, please.� �You won�t accept it! You�re not seeing what he is, you�re seeing what you want to see for some� twisted reason that I can�t even begin to understand.� He took a deep breath. �I can�t let you go, you have to know that. I can�t let him get away this time. You�re my link to him and I will use whatever means I have to to pull him in, that includes using you.� Will looked away, but he was nodding. �I know.� Pushing back his chair, he picked up his coat. �You�ve always used me, Jack.� He left the caf�, leaving Jack to stare at the untouched drink, leaving him to feel like a shit. * [�You sensed who I was back when I was committing what you call my crimes.� �Yes.� �So you were hurt not by a fault in your perception or your instincts, but because you failed to act on them until it was too late.� �You could say that.� �But you�re wiser now?� �Yes.� �Imagine what you would do, Will, if you could go back in time.� �Put two in your head before you could palm that stiletto.�] Lying on his back in bed, duvet tangled around his feet, Will had the telephone handset balanced between his shoulder and his ear. �Why didn�t you act on your instincts, Will?� The question was asked in gentle tones over the clear line. �If you knew who I was, then why the Columbo act that last night?� Will almost laughed. �I� I hoped I was wrong.� �Come on, Will. It�s deeper than that.� A pause. �I couldn�t believe I was right.� �Why not?� �Because� because I had� feelings for you.� He heard the soft sigh on the other end. �Thank you, Will.� �Tell me something now.� �What would you like to know?� �If someone threatened me, would you kill them?� There was silence for a couple of seconds. �That�s an interesting question, Will. Now I wonder, what answer do you want to hear?� Another pause. �If I say �yes�, will that scare you? If I say �no�, will that hurt you?� [�I don�t want you to feel any pain.�] �Answer the question,� Will told him. �If anyone took you from me, Will, I�d tear them apart.� He waited. �Was that the right answer, I wonder.� There was a smile in his voice. �Text me later, yes or no. If it�s no, you�ll never see me again. If it�s yes, I�ll have the rest of our lives to reassure you.� The line went dead, leaving Will more alone than he�d felt in a very long time. He lay awake for an hour before getting out of bed. Shrugging on a warm shirt, he padded through into the lounge. Could he leave it all behind? What was there to leave? Could he spend the rest of his life running? Would he? Lecter had vanished nine years ago and had apparently been living happily, first in Paris and then in Florence. Despite Lecter�s reassurances that Crawford would protect him if they were caught, Will wasn�t so sure. He was certainly going out of his way to piss Crawford off at the moment, and he knew why he was doing it. A niggling need for some kind of revenge after Dolarhyde wrecked his life. Jack had stepped all over his future, his dreams, and torn it all to shreds. Was Lecter his last chance, his last hope? Or was the doctor something that Will actually wanted? Stopping next to the mantelpiece, Will picked up a recent photo of Josh. He was at college now, studying to become a lawyer. They had a good relationship. It might be possible to stay in touch somehow, to see him some time. He would miss Josh. But more than anything now, he craved contact. He craved arms around him, another person to need him. He wanted to hold a warm, living body in his arms, to have open permission to kiss and be kissed. Was it too much to ask for? He felt that he was reaching for a fantasy so fragile, that the moment his fingers touched the edge of it, it would vanish. He was scared to touch, scared to grasp it lest it should disappear from in front of his eyes. How much would he regret if he let Hannibal leave without him? Would he be relieved that he�d escaped a terrible, if irresistible, fate? Or would he always wonder what Geneva was like, especially in the winter when the snow covered the ground and he had more than a log fire to keep him warm. Would Lecter stop? Did he care? It was later that same night when Will sent a text message to �H� through his new cell phone. It simply said, Yes * Seated on the same bench on which he�d been sitting when Lecter had approached him in person, Will listened to the voice in his ear. �I�m so glad you�ve decided to join me, Will.� He smiled to himself. �What time?� �Ten forty tomorrow morning. Washington to Boston, Boston to Paris. It�s a long flight, Will. But� I�ll rub your shoulders when we get to France. You�ll love the city, it�s the most romantic place in the world.� Will rolled his eyes. �Stop hamming it up,� but he kept the thought to himself. �I�ll meet you on the plane.� �Yes. Until then, be careful, my dearest Will.� When he got home, there was an envelope lying on the doormat. It had �Will� written in copperplate on the front. He picked it up, and tapped out the plane ticket, wrapped as it was in a note written on A4 paper. He read it once, and then folded it, and put it into his wallet. There were things he needed to do. He could feel a twist of excitement in the pit of his belly. But it was too soon. * Calmly, Will drove along the highway out of the city toward the airport. He�d found a tape of jazz that he�d recorded almost ten years ago. The traffic, slow and voluminous as it was this morning, barely registered in his mind, and he simply went with it. He knew they were behind him, but they too were being slowed by the traffic. He wondered if they�d sent anyone ahead. But he doubted it. If Lecter was spooked, if he suspected for a moment that they were on to him, he wouldn�t board the plane. He would vanish, likely thinking that Will had given him up to Crawford, and wouldn�t call again. Jack was trying his best to tear his one last dream from him, and Will smiled to think about it. He finally turned into the airport parking garage and glanced at his watch. The plane was scheduled to depart in about fifteen minutes. He wondered how they were feeling now, Crawford and Starling. Were they excited? Nervous? Was Jack feeling any sorrow at what was about to happen? Or was there only the need to catch a killer, without a thought for a friend�s heart? Getting out of the car, Will grabbed his bag from the trunk and locked it down, walking at a fair pace toward the main airport building. He flirted a little with the girl on check-in, asked her for a gate number, checked his bag, took his boarding pass and headed for immigration control. Although he�d taken a great many internal flights through the course of his life, he�d very rarely left the country. �A rare holiday,� he told the friendly officer. The man nodded and smiled, handing him the passport back. So they wanted him to board the plane, wanted him to be sitting beside Lecter when the man was caught and dragged away in chains. They were going to let him � Will � carry on as if he was home free. He felt a rare hatred for both Jack and Clarice. Crawford and Starling ran into the airport a minute or so after Will. Looking around, they found the airline check-in desk and found that William Graham had checked his bag and gone on to the gate. He would be one of the last to board the plane, the woman told them, it would be closing and taking off very soon. Sending two men to ensure that the plane remained where it was, Crawford led Starling and six more FBI agents in a run to the gate. American Airlines flight 4549 to Boston then on to Paris was boarding from gate 12. As Will arrived, his pace leisurely, boarding closed. He didn�t even try to stop the officials there, to ask that he be allowed to board the plane. He�d never intended on getting on to the flight. From the huge glass windows looking out onto the runway, he watched the jumbo take off. Standing behind him, Starling and Crawford did the same. But only when he turned and smiled at them did they realise that they�d been set up. * My beautiful Will, One first class ticket from Washington to London, London to Geneva, flying out in exactly one month. I hope you don�t change your mind. I�ll be waiting for you. The address is 9, Cour de Saint-Pierre. I think you�ll like it there. If you don�t, we�ll go somewhere else. You won�t hear from me again until we�re finally together. I love you, Will. Know that it will never change. Take care, my rare one. I will hold you very soon. Always H. * Crawford paced around his desk, eyes never leaving his colleague and friend. �Where is he, Will?� �I don�t know.� �You arranged to fly out to Paris together.� Will looked up. �How do you know that?� �We had a tap on your phone!� Crawford stopped, looking the other man. �You knew. You Goddamn knew! You set us up!� �About the illegal and unauthorised mirror on my cell phone? Yes, I knew.� Crawford knew he was beaten. Lecter was gone. �You said you�d use me and you did. I let you. He�s out of the country, Jack.� Dropping into his chair, Crawford shook his head. �I�m sorry, Will.� �For what?� Jack sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. �For screwing up what might have been a good thing for you.� �No you�re not, Jack. You�re sorry you lost Lecter. So is Starling, only she wasn�t in it just for the glory.� Will got up and grabbed his leather jacket from the back of his chair. �Goodbye, Jack.� * * * one month later In the centre of the Cour St-Pierre, in front of the towering pillars of the Cathedrale St-Pierre, a man stands gazing up at the impressive building. In his mind�s eye he�s seeing the plan d�cor of the main building and the beautiful colours of the gothic chapel to the side of it. �Dr Fell, I presume?� The face of the man looking up at the Cathedral breaks into a smile, and for a moment the eyes close. He turns slowly, arms sliding around the waist of the young man standing behind him. �My Dear Will�.� Slim arms snake around Dr Fell�s neck and the two men draw close, leaning into one another, into a close embrace. When they part, it�s only to kiss. Gently at first, almost tentatively. Then deeper, one of the doctor�s hands moving to cradle the back of Will�s head as their tongues slide over one another. Finally they release one another, arms dropping to their sides. Hannibal Lecter smiles, and steps to one side, indicating the chapel. Will grins. �Is that it?� �Yes.� He points to the grand house, number 9, on the square next to the alley that runs alongside the cathedral. �That house used to belong to a client of mine. When he died � of natural causes, I might add � he left it to me. It has the most incredible bed in the master bedroom.� Reaching the short distance between them, Will wraps his fingers around Hannibal�s. They walk toward the steps that lead up to the front door of the house. But as they ascend, Will glances back at the cathedral entrance. Perhaps some other time. |