WRATH: A Hannigram Fanfiction

11- Le Grenier

    "Interesting that I'm here to help you with your job, and I've yet to see you working," Hannibal remarked as the two of them arrived at the abandoned cabin.
"Yeah, well." Will shrugged. "It's an..interesting sight." He parked the rental car in the driveway, next to a large black truck, and right after he flipped the car in park he leaned back and buried his face in his hands.
"Are you alright?"
"I don't really want to see another dead girl." Will sounded exhausted.
"She won't haunt you. I've made sure of that." Will hadn't complained about any more dreams; it seemed that the moment another girl came into the picture, it didn't stick in Will's mind like they had before. His brain was no longer a fly trap for trauma.
"Still, it's a sight you can't fully erase." That, however, was a truth. He wasn't completely cured.
"You technically don't have to do anything. This isn't your place anymore. There's a reason you left years ago."
"There's a lot of reasons I left. Some you know, some you don't." Will popped open the door and climbed out of the car, making his way up to the front door of the cabin. Hannibal followed like a shadow.
Jack didn't bother with introductions. "Same height, weight, age, you know the deal by now," he said, frowning. "It's the circumstances that are standing out to us. This is the Hobbs' cabin. It's under the father's name. The only reason we found her was because we had permission to search for information on Abigail."
Will and Hannibal exchanged a confused glance. "But he didn't kill this girl?"
"I wouldn't have you here if things were that cut and dry. Hobbs is gone— hasn't been seen by anyone since the vigil. This girl was killed recently. We would say that Hobbs was the killer and call it a day, but..we found a letter."
"What kind of letter?"
"I gave it to a guy in documents, but..hey, Z!" Jack called out to a man from the forensics team, who jogged over. He had a bulky camera slung around his neck. "Show them the pictures of the letter."
The man pressed a few buttons on the camera's screen and handed it to Will. Hannibal leaned in, and they inspected the image carefully. It was poorer quality than they could have gotten in person, but they were able to read the contents and recognize a large splotch of blood on one of the corners. The writing was amateur, sloppy and seemingly faked. Possibly written with a non dominant hand.
To whomever finds this,
You were so close!! The Shrike was right in your hands, and he flew away. I've taken off, but not before leaving a little gift for you. She's a pretty little thing, isn't she?
The father of the Hobbs girl found me before you all could. Really goes to show that everyone you know is a suspect. On the off chance that you find him alive, I recommend you hire him. That won't happen, though— I have him, and he's not going to live long. Time is ticking!
There will be more girls. So many birds in the sky!
-The Minnesota Shrike
Will glanced over at him, and they shared a wordless glance that seemed to get their shared viewpoint across. The letter was bullshit. It was Hobbs's attempt at distracting the FBI from himself.
"We're sending it off to Documents," Jack said, "but based off of invitations to the vigil, the handwriting is nothing like Hobbs's. I think the Shrike was at the vigil, and we let him slip through our fingers."
Handwriting meant nothing, seeing as the letter was clearly written with that intention. He must have used his other hand to mask it. "Still could have been a family member," Hannibal said, not wanting to be the one to jump to the conclusion. He didn't want unnecessary attention. "We don't know much about Abigail's extended family relationships."
"No, but we're going to look into it. Will, I want you to go in there and do what you do. The only thing that's been changed is the letter— it was fastened to her chest with a thumbtack. No prints. Neither of you touch anything." Jack shot a stern look towards Hannibal, which he didn't appreciate. Did Jack take him for some kind of fool, contaminating a crime scene?
"Got it." Will strode off, heading into the cabin with determination. Hannibal followed him in, and he blinked in the sudden darkness. All of the curtains were shut, and the house had a threatening aura about it. That same hollow feeling of death, coupled by a strong smell that he would recognize anywhere. Iron, decay. She's still in here, he realized.
"They leave the crime scene intact for you? Completely?" He couldn't hide his surprise. He was about to see something brutal.
"Yep." Will began to walk up the stairs. "I have to see it nice and fresh. Trauma doesn't matter to old Jacky boy."
There was only one room in the upstairs section of the cabin, a large attic that stretched across the width of the structure. The slanted roof created a triangular ceiling, and the men could only walk in the middle without having to duck. At the forefront of it all, right in view as they walked up the stairs, was a young girl hanging from the wall.
Her arms were stuck out like she was being crucified, propped up on white sticks protruding from the wall. Her dark hair hung in front of her face, head slumped forward, and she was wearing nothing but her underwear and bra. She was impaled in the stomach, dangling from the wall on more of the sticks-- antlers. They were antlers. Blood stained her body, the antlers, and the floor.
"Will?" Hannibal checked to see what Will was thinking, and he got a blank stare in return.
He sighed. "Just let me do this." He stepped closer to the girl and closed his eyes.
Hannibal wasn't about to just stand here and watch a man with his eyes closed for a few minutes. He had the advantage of power, knowledge, and he was going to use that. Will had let him have access to his brain, and that invitation hadn't expired. He focused deeply and shed his body as quickly as he could, entering Will's vision.
The attic was the same, only now it was dark outside. He stood in the corner as a young woman with dark hair materialized in the room, the limp body on the wall being swept away and replaced with someone living and breathing. Will stood across from her, his face dark, watching her.
You are here because you want to be. I lured you here. Will's voice echoed without him having to open his mouth. These were his thoughts, his predictions. He stood across from the girl, who was alive and unharmed, albeit rather skittish-looking.
You are not golden, but you are close. You look so much like her.
Will put his hand on the girl's shoulder. There was a flicker of fear in her eyes.
Normally I take the time to savor. I honor every part of you. But I don't have time. They're close. They're going to find me, don't you understand?
His other hand on her other shoulder. He squeezed. She flinched. There was a look of defeat on her face, as if she knew what was about to happen and knew she couldn't run. Hannibal had seen that look before, especially in his patients who he chose to take from little by little. It was fun to take one small limb after another, seeing how long they would survive before finally succumbing. It kept the meat fresh and his mind stimulated.
I wanted to be done. I wanted her to be my big finale. But you were sneaky, and now you know too much. I'm leaving you as an artifact, a little prize for the police. This isn't about honor anymore. This is me showing off my skills. I'm bragging. I can't help it.
And then, out of nowhere, Will lifted the girl off the ground kicking and screaming and thrust her body into the wall of antlers. Bone and velvet pierced through the girl's midsection, causing a large spurt of blood to coat Will's front side. She couldn't scream for long, as a spike punctured her lung and rendered her unable to breathe. Hannibal watched with a cold, calculated stare.
Anyone who gets too close must be taken out.
For a split second, Will smiled. He was feral yet strong, out of breath but undeniably calm. This was where he was at ease.
This is my design.
Seeing this was like a drug for Hannibal. This viscera, anger, violence-- it was his deepest pleasure, and now he knew for a fact that Will felt the same. Will was right: it was his design, ingrained in him from the moment he was born, no matter how much he tried to hide it. He and Will were so alike, so conjoined in mind and body and soul. They were destined to be together. They were destined to do such lovely things, carnal mates in a wild world.
He was snapped out of his daydreams by the sound of screaming. It was a scream that he knew he had never heard before, but in the cavern of Will's mind it was so horribly familiar and he was trapped under the bed and Katie was gone and--
Will gasped for air, and the vision rushed away. They were back inside the cabin, the girl still hanging from the wall in front of them.
"Fuck. It's Hobbs. It's Abigail's father."
"You know this? What about the letter?" Hannibal feigned ignorance, not wanting to disclose how much he truly saw. Will's vision was private, as far as he knew.
"I'm sure of it. Letter is completely fake. He's trying to bring the attention away from himself while also mocking us. This girl trusted her killer— she and Abigail must have been friends. He lured her here to look through Abigail's stuff."
"But why?"
"She was looking into the death of her friend, and she found him. She knew too much." Will nodded to himself, satisfied with his interpretation. He took off towards the stairs, and Hannibal couldn't stop himself from reaching out and grabbing onto Will's wrist.
It all made so much sense. The picture of this murder had come together in such a clean and easy way, and Will had come up with most of it on his own. He was so similar to these killers, and yet so much smarter than all of them combined. He was a genius.
"You were right, Will," he told him. "That was fascinating."
Blood on his face, smiling. Strong and unhinged. Hannibal imagined them working together, the glorious red coating their skin; he imagined Will falling into his arms and finally smiling, kissing him on the lips..he tasted of blood.
He shook off the thought. "Absolutely fascinating."