✔️ Only I Can Feel You | Hannigram | Rye Ambrose

20

A week had passed, and the FBI still searched for evidence of who the copycat was. Jack interviewed foster homes, eventually accumulating a list of constantly-escaping orphans. Many indulged in crime, but the list he compiled focused on teenagers known for indulging in drug abuse, thievery, etc. A possible lead yawned open for them.

"Take that one off the list," said Will as he and Jack sat in the latter's office. He pointed to a black-haired boy with brown eyes. "He doesn't look like Ana Wilson. Not a girl, either."

Together, they searched through the list, gazing at pictures of children—all hopeless with no home, scavenging on the streets among wolves. Will couldn't help but assume their pain, but it lay cold and distant. Deceased mother and murdered father, he didn't know what it was really like to live with parents, but he grew the skills to survive the real world. It wasn't a pitiful upbringing—he accepted his fate. And with that, he related to the killer (even if it were only in the slightest).

Jack ran his finger over the line of printed faces, and suddenly Will stopped him.

"That one."

Crawford looked down, finding a Grace Mirror under his finger. Pale blue eyes, light brown hair past her shoulders, and similar to the looks of Ana Wilson.

Jack circled her profile with a pen, setting it aside in a different pile. They continued like this throughout the day, sifting through the list of criminal orphans and circling any profiles that seemed of worthy suspect. They came near the end of the list, and Will could practically see the pity and hurt on Jack's face. All of these children—battling their own wars by themselves with no support.

Jack's gaze lingered on the second-to-last image, and he nodded. "Another one."
He
Will stooped over to catch her name, and he examined the emptiness in her blue eyes.

"Abigail Hobbs," he breathed.

...
"We have four main suspects," said Will during his next session with Hannibal. "All sixteen-years-old, orphans, and lookalikes."

"What are their names?"

He began to list them. "We have Grace Mirrors, Elis Nichols, Jane Attic, and Abigail Hobbs." Graham glanced aside. "Jack's going to try and track them down—interview them. It won't be the most fun, of course."

Hannibal rose a brow, eyes glinting with knowing. "The killer clearly has access to Tattlecrime," he said. "Should Lounds leak these names—and I'm positive she will—the copycat will not hesitate to kill her lookalikes."

"That's why we need to keep it as secret as possible. Freddie Lounds only makes matters worse. If things get too bad, we have enough evidence to get her in jail and off our tails." Will gave a small chuckle. "Although I really like the idea, we'll have to wait for that fateful day."

Hannibal smiled and stood, fetching some wine from his cupboards and pouring two glasses of the red liquid.
"Now that you know the copycat is a young girl, how do you feel?" He handed a glass of wine to Will, who took it lazily. "Still angry?"

Will raised the glass to his nose and breathed in the sweet, tangy scent of the wine, humming for a moment. "Angry? Not as much. But curious?" He nodded, tipping the glass to take a slow sip, the liquid sliding down his throat. "I'm very curious now."

"Does she remind her of yourself? When you killed people?"

Will hummed in thought, eyes dipping down to his reflection in the wine. "I'm not as... broken as her," he said, swirling the liquid. "I killed my parents myself—this killer—" He shook his head. "She wants her parents alive—possibly kills for them or in... honor of them."