Oops! This image does not follow our content guidelines. To continue publishing, please remove it or upload a different image.
James Hamilton 1864 ____
"HE'S wounded. He's worried." Destiny brought two previous friends and noble agents into the same place and time. But it wasn't destiny that called them, it was death.
"Hannibal doesn't worry." Will Graham empathized again, wondering through the half destroyed Palazzo Capponi's saloon where the duel happened. The police had already found the Comendatore's body and allowed them to investigate the area. "Knowing he's in danger won't rattle him any more than killing does."
"I'm not speaking about worrying of danger." Jack Crawford exchanges glances with Graham. "He is rather worried about someone."
This time Will couldn't deny it.
"If Rinaldo Pazzi had decided to do his job as an officer of the law, he would've determined very quickly that he was Hannibal Lecter." Jack Crawford lamented. "It would've taken thirty minutes to get a warrant."
"All those resources were denied to Pazzi." Will explained, admiring the destruction of the room. "As soon as he decided to sell Hannibal, he became a bounty hunter. Outside the law and alone."
"Well, here we are: outside the law and alone." Jack affirmed.
It took a moment for Will to formulate the next words, his mind worked nonstop as a fast machine. "Have you told la polizia they're looking for Hannibal Lecter?"
Jack side-eyed him. "They're motivated to find Dr.Fell inside the law. Knowing who he is, what he's worth, it'll just coax them out of bounds."
"And Hannibal will slip away." Will muttered.
"Now I wonder if he would slip away alone or not." Jack commented. Will turned to him curious. "I wonder if things have changed during these 8 months."
"What do you mean?"
"If someone has changed."
Will turned silent. That was an outrageous yet reasonable question at the same time. He turned to the agent again, both with serious, concerned expressions.
"You had him, Jack. He was beaten." He looked into his chestnut brown eyes. "Why didn't you kill him?"
Jack took a moment to answer, clearing his sore throat, as his eyes reflected a hidden conflict of his own. "Because she was there."
▫️
She adored that image. Her recovered husband sitting by the balcony, on the window, as he supported his sketchbook in one of his legs and drew with facility the images of Florence in the well shaped grafitti. His hair was down, almost covering his eyes, and his clothes were easy, comfortable enough not to hurt the curatives previously made last night.
