The Season of Antlers

3

September 20th, 2013

YOUR POV 

Yellow and orange, a vibrant, poisonous color for fungi. In my head whenever I see it growing on tree stumps, dead logs, I think of the fluffy texture. But when I see rows and variaties of lights and darks growing out of a human corpse, the smell corrupts my imagination.

"Are they still alive?" I ask, watching the first living corpse wheel past the officer and I. The forest is alive, the birds and the squirrels, the trees and the micro-organisms in the soil. I am alive and so are the other officers and detectives, so is Will Graham that walks up to the three filled holes with dead beings inside.

The man scratches his beard, looking anywhere but in front of him. For however long he's been in the force, he's never seen something like this. And I'll have to admit, neither have I. "Mentally? No. But they're organs still work and blood pumps through their veins, tubes were found leading to them, containing a liquid with a mix of chemicals and nutrients." His voice is smooth, straight forward like his eyes can do nothing of.

"So...Whoever did this was raising them like plants?" I focus on Will in the distance, his brown coat unbuttoned. He stands with his arms at his sides, his black glasses in his right hand. It's like he stares down on the bodies with fungi growing out of them with a fascination, that he tries to find the facts and evidence for his questions.

"Yeah, actually, like plants. But, more like fungus." The officer shrugs, noticing Will. I look away from Will and down at the man's badge: Mathew Johnson, glancing up at the officer, he looks like a Mathew. 

Mathew steps forward and begins to walk towards Will. For some reason, my gut screams. 

"Hey! Don't interrupt him, leave him be." Jack calls from a distance, making the group he stands in look directly at Mathew. I chew on the inside of my lip and decide to turn for the exit of this small clearing of bush, deciding my time is done here.

Will Graham; Jack Crawford's bitch.

꧁꧂

 A tall man in a fancy suit stands beside Will, the lab is quiet as the two observe the interesting bodies. They are kept alive, but I feel like their suffering should be over. There's no one to save, just an unconscious vessel for disease. 

"Will, aren't you going to give me the names of your coworkers in the room with us?" My upper back goes cold at the sound of the psychiatrists voice, the noise is something that irks my ears. I begin to hyper focus on the chart in front of me, writing down points of injury and mutated sections of the different bodies.

Will's spaced out eyes on the floor refocus and look up. "Oh, um, That is Jimmy," Will gestures to the balding man in the white jack standing next to the third table. "And that's Brian," The psychiatrists eyes switch to the black haired man who waves. "Beverley isn't here today it seems, so, this is the criminal profiler I am working with, (y/n) (l/n)." I go still when the man in the suit so close to me steps even closer, and offers his left hand.  And not to be rude, I take it.

I feel the coldness that radiates off of him while my palm connects with his, and as if he can feel my uneasiness, his other hands cuffs my outer hand. He bows his head towards me with a smile, "It is a pleasure to meet you, Mrs. (L/N). I've heard many good things from both Will and Jack about you." Many things? From Will Graham?

I see Brian make a funny face towards Jimmy, making fun of my still body. "It is nice to meet you too, Dr. Lecter." I give him a fake smile, and when he turns to talk with Will on the case, I wipe my hand off on my pants.

"I think the killer is taking the organs and muscles and doing something with them, not just letting them sit without purpose." I can hear Will say to Dr. Lecter as he observes me writing down notes onto a white board. My eyes scan over the lower part of my board, where I wrote down my thoughts on the Chesapeake Ripper taking the organs to eat them. Because, speaking on my suspicion of cannibalism wouldn't be backed up with stable evidence. 

"(y/n)?" I turn at my name being called, then locking eyes with the brown iris's behind those black glasses. 

"Yes?" I ask, walking over to join Will and Dr. Lecter by the uncovered body. 

"Were there any missing parts from the bodies that the Chesapeake Ripper could've taken?" I keep my attention on my notes, feeling my face go warm the longer Will observes my body language. 

"No. I believe what he was doing with these bodies was raising them like livestock, or a simple experiment. When I was little, I used to test different chemicals on regular chicken eggs, not alive of course. I would put the chemicals inside the egg and bandage them up, to just see how long they could go before they would spoil by my hand. He could've just been testing to see how long he could let them live." Will then looks away and at the body, thinking. But what catches my diligence is Dr. Lecter nodding at my words. His eyes on me, no smile, just simple acknowledgement.

"Could there be a deeper meaning than, him just wanting to have control?" Dr. Lecter asks, his vision stuck on watching my facial expressions change with my speech.

"Well, it could be connected to literature supposedly. Or, it could be connected to his lack of remorse. I'm not sure if this is to be a factual statement, but I do believe him to have APD. With how much time he puts into the killings and yet the brutality of them, I'd say he has no remorse for his victims. And, well, for anyone." I look up to Dr. Lecter, to catch his eye. I stare, and he holds my iris's with his.

"Do you think he knew his victims?" Dr. Lecter slightly tilts his head, holding his hands over his lower stomach. 

I furrow my eyebrows in thought, and shake my head. "No, I don't believe he did."

"Perhaps he didn't, or did." The psychiatrist smiles down on me, like a teasing bully, I know something you don't know! I can practically hear the thoughts in the older mans head.