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justmcshaneLength: 2690
Rating: Mature
Summary: An unexpected detour leads to the Doctor and Ace teaming up with the FBI to investigate a series of disturbingly specific floral-themed murders. But with Ace's increasingly strange dreams, a hyper-empathetic consultant who can't seem to empathize quite so well any more, and one Doctor Hannibal Lecter in the mix, the murders may be the least of their problems...
Notes: To my great surprise, I found that this chapter didn't require as much editing as I thought it would - although I did end up splitting part of it off into an entirely new chapter that wasn't even in my initial story plan, but kind of... needs to be there, really. Writing is such a weird hobby. Thanks to Jane for eternal support/encouragement/screaming at my terrible cannibal puns. You're the real MVP here.
two.
"affriander"
9.50 AM
Aberdeen, Maryland
The pendulum swung, flashing brightly through the darkness.
One. Will opened his eyes, mind descending into calm, and surveyed the scene before him with empty eyes. He breathed in, filling himself up with the mind of somebody who was not him, and became somebody else entirely.
Two. The blood was sucked up, rising from the floor and disappearing into nothingness, leaving rows of flowers, untouched and arranged masterfully on the floor.
Three – something stuttered, causing the pendulum to move too fast, too quickly. Something changed. Will found himself stumbling back a step, unsure. The body was gone, and so was the remainder of the blood, although he hadn’t seen them disappear. The flowers were gone too, and when he blinked and looked down he saw that he was carrying a straw basket in one hand. It was filled to the brim, flowers spilling over the edge. He looked up. The wire rack that the body was to be strung up on was already in position, having been wheeled in from somewhere else entirely. He looked down. The straw basket was gone, and he was suddenly left very unsure as to if it had ever been there in the first place – was he misremembering something?
He looked down, on a whim, and there was a cat.
It was brown, small, and was sitting, quite calmly, near the base of the rack – regarding him with intelligent, bright eyes, its tail twitching absently. It could see him – see him – in a way that nothing should have been able to at this very moment.
Will took a deep breath, and closed his eyes again, trying to get back into the mindset. When he opened them once more, the cat was still there – this time with something like amusement in its cool gaze.
He stared right back at it for a moment, sure that it wasn’t meant to be there. It refused to disappear.
Will decided to pretend it wasn’t there. He set the pendulum into motion once more. Three.
– fingers reaching up from beneath, slowly now, softly now. Not too quick or the balance will be disturbed. The balance must not be disturbed. The balance must never be disturbed, for there are some things that even a being of this magnitude cannot interfere with. Nonetheless, there is something here that must be done, be completed to perfection. And perfection it shall be, for there is nothing less than perfect that will do for my chosen opponent. When –
– Will gasped, taking a step back – pulling himself forcefully out of the head of whoever that had been. There was something very wrong with whatever he was trying to visualize, on a fundamental and basic level. The perspective was all wrong, for one thing – it was as if he were watching from the sidelines rather than in the driver’s seat, so to speak. And he still couldn’t see what had actually happened.
The cat was still there, although it had moved closer to him – only meters away, really, and still regarding him intently. Eyes bright in the darkness.
Will ground his teeth together audibly, and glared at the flayed corpse in front of him as if the victim was somehow at fault here.
He closed his eyes, and thought – thought hard. He probed as deep as he could manage, and then went even deeper, and then deeper once more.
One. Two. Three.
His head began to hurt almost instantly, and there was the feeling – subtle at first, but suddenly and sharply increasing to an unbearable, agonizing conception of WRONG – that this was not something that he was supposed to be doing.
Will sank deeper and deeper into the well of something that wasn’t quite another person’s mind and wasn’t quite a state of consciousness, and when something inside him decided that he had gone quite deep enough, he opened his eyes, and was gratified to see that the room around him was completely empty. No blood, no flowers, no body. A clean slate, ready to be painted upon.
All right, he not-quite-thought to himself. How do we begin?
Usually it would have been instinctive. He would raise a hand, or a gun, or some other tool or weapon; anything that hadn’t been there previously, and he would begin the act of murder, or torture, or defiling or demeaning or degrading; and the events would just unfold.
That was not at all what happened.
The cat tensed up, pacing in a circle to come to rest at Will’s side; and Will just waited and watched as blood began to seep upwards, flowing out of the ground and pooling around his feet. Sprouts began to grow from the gory mess – weaving their way upwards at impossible speeds and growing leaves and blossoms just as fast. As he watched, an entire garden burst into bloom around him – lilies and carnations and begonias; their plants cycling through an entire lifespan within less than a minute, and dying just as quickly as they began – leaving only their flowers behind to drop into the dark red soup that covered the entire surface area of the room’s floor.
There was silence for a second, and then there was a horrific bubbling and hissing sound as something else began to emerge from the thick, unforgiving earth. The head of a man. The torso of a man. The body of a man. Clean and unmarred and ripe for the picking. The ideal specimen for the presentation ahead.
He surprised himself by speaking aloud.
“Perfect,” he said.
And Will Graham stood in the darkness with an imaginary cat at his heels and a conception that wasn’t at all his own where his mind should have been –
– and incredibly, he began to laugh.
(And that, of course, was where all memory ended.)
When Will emerged from the station, blinking at the sudden influx of sunlight, the scene outside was different to when he had left it. The rest of the forensic team had joined Beverly closer to the building, and had even set up a makeshift workstation to sift through the evidence on. Ace was also there, and was throwing herself wholeheartedly into helping with the investigation – she appeared to be engaging in lively debate with Zeller and Price over bloodsplatter patterns.
The Doctor and Jack Crawford were conversing in low tones, both looking deadly serious. When Jack saw that Will had finished up inside, he waved; indicating that he should come over. Will straightened the collar of his jacket, and went to comply.
On the way, he passed Doctor Lecter, who was seated quite comfortably on a nearby abandoned bench with a sketchbook resting on his knee, and a pencil in his hand. He was sketching with neat, tiny strokes, apparently intent on his work. He looked up as Will approached, although he didn’t stop sketching. “Ah, Will. How was it?”
“Wet,” said Will, and couldn’t suppress a shiver – although he wasn’t entirely sure if it was due to the cold or not. “And disturbingly floral.”
“I see,” he said. “I suspect you will tell me the details later. Those can wait for the moment. Tell me, are you well?”
Will looked down at his sketchbook, and saw, upside-down, that he was drawing flowers.
“Well enough,” he said. “I’m going to talk to Jack – tell him what I worked out.”
Hannibal nodded. “Tell me when you are finished. I will be glad to drive you home.”
Will gave him a tight smile, said, “thanks,” and headed across the power station courtyard.
Jack turned away from the Doctor again with an expectant look already on his face. “Well?”
“It’s...” Will paused, trying to produce the right words to describe what he was thinking. “...an invitation.”
“An invitation?” The Doctor didn’t seem skeptical; merely intrigued.
“Either that, or a love letter.” Will smiled humorlessly. “Or both, possibly. Come and play, he’s saying. Play with me. It’s... a demonstration, too. Trying to show whoever it is what he’s capable of.”
“Yeah, but how’d he do it?”
Will flinched a bit at this new voice – he hadn’t seen or heard the girl, Ace, approach. “Sorry?”
“It’s all well and good that our guy’s trying to get a date by murdering people, but do you have any idea how he did it?” She jerked a thumb back in the direction of the station. “You don’t get that amount of blood all over the floor by just stabbing a guy a couple of times.”
Her bluntness was almost refreshing. Will shook his head. “No, I couldn’t – I mean...” He trailed off, considering the implications of this. “I think the crime scene may have been contaminated somehow,” he said, directing it at Jack. “Things were... blurred, in there. I couldn’t get a proper read on how he did it, just what he was thinking at the time. And barely that.”
Jack grunted, clearly disappointed, and turned away. “Do we have an ID on the body?” he called over to the forensic team.
“Not yet,” somebody called back, their voice distant. “We’re looking over missings persons reports from the last couple days. Nothing yet!”
“It won’t matter,” said Will.
“What do you mean?” the Doctor asked.
“Whoever it is that’s strung up in there – they don’t matter,” Will explained. “Not to him. He picked the victim randomly. It’s the message that’s important, not the paper it was delivered on.”
“We’re going to have to check the victim anyway,” Jack said.
“I know. But don’t expect to find anything important.” He sighed, and ran a hand through his hair. “I need to know more. Get more information. Maybe then, I can...” He trailed off, and then walked away, in the direction of Beverly and the others, without continuing that thought.
Behind him, he heard Ace say, softly, “super cheerful guy, huh?” and the Doctor’s whispered, chiding, “Ace, really!”
“I didn’t mean it like that,” Ace protested, watching Will talking to Beverly, and rubbing at her arm, where the Doctor had thwacked her lightly with his umbrella. “I just meant that he looked kind of distracted by whatever he saw in there.” She turned to Jack. “Is he normally like that?”
“I...” Jack paused. “No. Not exactly.”
Ace nodded, and they stood around in awkward silence for a moment or two.
Footsteps signalled the arrival of Hannibal Lecter, who was tucking his sketchbook away into an inside pocket of his jacket. He nodded at the Doctor, returned Ace’s tiny wave of greeting, and said, “ah, Jack. How goes it?”
“Not too well,” Jack said.
“My sincere condolences, then, accompanied by the equally sincere hopes that the investigation will improve in clarity soon. But that is not why I have approached you. If it wouldn’t be too impolite of me to inquire on a personal matter...?”
“Not at all,” Jack said. “Go on.”
“I have been considering the notion of hosting dinner, for you and your wife,” he said. “It has been far too long since I have done so. Are two two of you free any time this week?”
“I’m afraid not,” said Jack. “Bella is – she is indisposed. I myself am free to come, but she won’t be able to make it.”
“I see,” he said, looking regretful. “Give her my best wishes. I will of course be delighted to entertain you alone, of course, unless...”
He looked meaningfully across to the Doctor and Ace. There was a beat in which everybody there comprehended what he was implying, and then Jack said, “oh, you should definitely come along, Doctor Smith!” with a genuine grin spreading across his face. “And you too, Miss McShane. Doctor Lecter’s parties are to die for!”
Lecter inclined his head modestly, but he was smiling. “You flatter me.”
“Nonsense – your cooking is some of the finest I’ve ever tasted,” Jack said cheerfully. “Much better than many restaurants I’ve been to, anyway.”
“Indeed?” The Doctor looked interested. “Then I would be delighted to try it. If that’s all right with you, of course,” he added, looking to Lecter for confirmation.
“I would be delighted to entertain guests. It’s been quite a while since I’ve done so. And, besides – you interest me, Doctor Smith,” Doctor Lecter admitted. “I would very much like the opportunity to get to know you better. I would consider it... a distinct pleasure to do so.”
“Just Doctor, please,” he said. “And I you.”
“Sounds like fun,” Ace chimed in. “You didn’t mention you cooked, Doc.”
“I did not,” he agreed, smiling at her. “But nonetheless, it is one of my greatest passions. I find the act of cooking both relaxing and invigorating, and I enjoy nothing more than sharing the fruits of my creation with others.” He looked back at Jack. “Since dear Bella will be unable to attend, and Doctor Smith and Miss McShane will be taking her place, may I suggest that we expand the guest list and make this a full social event, of sorts?”
“That’s fine by me,” Jack said.
“Nothing too big, of course,” said Lecter. “Just a few people to flesh things out, so to speak. Will!” The last word was spoken slightly loudly, and succeeded in grabbing Will Graham’s attention. He turned from where he had been discussing something with Beverly Katz, and came over to join them.
“Yes?” he said. He sounded exhausted, and looked it, too.
“I was wondering if you would be available tomorrow evening to dine with me,” he said, touching Will’s arm lightly. “Jack, Doctor Smith and Miss McShane will also be attending. I would very much appreciate it if you could come.”
Will looked as if he were about to decline the offer, but after a long moment, seemed to decide that it would be impolite to do so, and just shrugged. “Fine,” he said.
Doctor Lecter nodded, apparently pleased by this. “In that case, I will see if Alana Bloom is also available. Six people ought to be just enough.”
“Tomorrow?” Jack asked.
“Yes, if that is suitable. I will need time to procure fresh meat,” he explained for the benefit of everybody present. “I already have a particular dish in mind, but I would like to be sure that I will have the time to prepare it.”
“That seems perfectly reasonable,” said the Doctor, “although, I have a particular dietary restriction that I fear may intersect with your menu of choice.”
“I’m always willing to accomodate,” Lecter said.
The Doctor tipped him an apologetic smile. “I’m afraid I’m strictly vegetarian.”
Lecter barely blinked. “I see. Thank you for informing me; I should have asked. Miss McShane – is there anything I should be aware of?”
“For me? Nah, I’m not fussy. Or allergic.” She shot him a big thumbs-up. “Anything’s good.”
“You’re very fussy when I’m the one who’s cooking,” the Doctor noted quietly.
She turned and pulled a face at him. “That’s ‘cause you always get distracted and end up burning everything.”
“I hardly think you’re one to talk, considering you do the same frequently,” the Doctor shot back, raising his eyebrows. He was smiling. “Need I remind you of the multiple times you have set fire to the kitchen in the last month alone?”
“Touché,” she acknowledged, and then looked around at everybody else, as if becoming aware of the fact that they were in the presence of others. “Anyway – point is, Doctor Lecter seems to know what he’s doing, and if his cooking’s as good as Jack says–”
“It is,” said both Jack and Will.
“–well, there you go. I think I can trust him with my food, yeah?”
“Your trust in me is very much appreciated,” Lecter said, with a little bow of his head. “I will do my utmost to live up to it.”
Beverly approached, holding several blood-drenched sample bags in one hand. “All right,” she said loudly, “now that we’ve all finished making dinner plans, can someone give me a hand with the equipment? I want to get everything back to the lab before this afternoon.”
