Chapter Text
Monday, January 11th – Friday, January 15th, 2016
Will checks his watch once more, cursing himself for not keeping a better eye on the time this morning. A beagle/boxer mix – tiny and white with brown patches of fur – sits patiently in the backseat of his old mustang. He’d found the poor thing digging through the garbage that morning, and spent nearly half an hour coaxing the little dog into his car.
“We’re almost to the shelter, buddy. Then I’ve gotta go. Professor Crawford will be furious if I show up late to class on the first day.”
The dog lets out a quiet whine, and then lays down, resting his head on his paws. Will turns around as he stops at a red light. “Tell me about it. Starting class at 8:00 a.m. on a Monday should be illegal.”
Another soft whine erupts from the backseat.
“Yeah, I know, but Peter will look after you. He’ll adopt you himself if he can’t find you a good home.”
The dog doesn’t answer, so he turns back to face the road, waiting impatiently for the light to change.
They finally reach the animal shelter, and he breathes out a sigh of relief. If he hurries, he might just make it to class on time.
Unfortunately, the little dog is reluctant to leave his car, so Will is forced to carry it inside.
He recognizes the woman inside, her dark skin contrasting with the white walls of the front office. “Hey, Reba. It’s Will,” he says, setting the dog down on the floor. It cowers next to him, whimpering as he reaches out to pet him. “It’s okay, boy. Good dog.”
“Hey, Will,” Reba says, turning her head in his direction. Her eyes don’t quite meet his, which is one of the reasons he finds it so easy to talk to her.
“Did you find another one?” she asks, almost crossly.
“Uh…yeah. He showed up outside this morning,” he explains, indicating to the dog.
“Come on, boy. Reba’s nice. Francis is nice too,” Will says, reaching a hand out for Reba’s service dog, a golden retriever, to sniff. One side of the dog’s mouth is curved up in a permanent sneer, exposing a few teeth. Some might say it makes him look ugly, but since the person he’s around most is blind, it’s never seemed to matter much. Reba’s always more concerned that he can eat properly than if he looks good. He’s likely here for another checkup to make sure his exposed teeth are still healthy. Dry mouth can reap havoc on enamel.
Will retracts his hand, noticing the dog’s vest – an indication that he’s still in work-mode. “Sorry, do you mind if I pet Francis?”
Reba nods. “Francis, downtime!” she commands, and instantly his tongue lolls out and he falls down to bare his stomach, panting happily. “Go ahead.”
Will scratches the bigger dog behind his ears, and rubs his belly, then holds his hand under the stray’s nose. “See, boy? Frankie’s a good dog.”
The little dog sniffs his hand hesitantly, giving Francis a suspicious look, but settles down a bit.
At that moment, Peter Bernardone – one of the caretakers at the shelter – steps into the front room. “Dr. Kimura can take him now, Reba. Oh – oh, hi again, Will.”
“Hey, Peter,” Will greets. “I found another stray. Figured I’d drop him off on the way to school.”
Peter looks at the dog, squinting a bit. “I’ll – I’ll make sure he’s looked at.”
Peter’s employee pass comes loose, falling to the floor.
Will picks it up, “Hey, you dropped your pass, Peter.”
Reba pauses, tilting her head. “Did it come loose again? Maybe you should try a safety pin.”
Peter reaches out slowly, hand shaking. “Th-thanks, Will. Maybe a safety pin – I could try that.” He takes Francis’s leash with a soft, “Up, boy!” and leads him to the back room to be looked over by the veterinarian. Then he comes back, holding a dog treat out that makes the little beagle/boxer come running. “Good boy.” He picks the dog up carefully a waves to Will. “I’ll feed him while he waits. N-nice seeing you, Will.”
Will smiles as Peter walks into the back room again. “Nice seeing you too, Peter.” He then glances up at the clock and feels panic set in. “Oh, shit! I’ve gotta go. See you later, Reba.” He darts out of the shelter and starts his car, cursing himself for losing track of time again.
*2*
He’s nearly fifteen minutes late, and cringes when he hears Crawford lecturing through the closed door of his classroom.
He goes inside, and Crawford looks at him, pausing. He leans heavily against his cane, gripping it just a bit tighter when he sees who is at the door.
Will blushes, ducking his head. “Sorry, I’m late sir.”
“It’s fine,” his professor says, gesturing to his desk. “Just take your file and sit down. We only started a minute ago.”
Will feels dread well up inside him as he takes the final brown, manila folder left on Crawford’s desk and finds a seat next to his roommate, Beverly Katz.
He opens his file and his stomach sinks.
Beverly swears, leaning over to get a peek at it. “You got stuck with Hannibal the Cannibal, didn’t you?”
Will nods miserably, listening to Crawford’s lecture.
“You’ll be attending weekly interviews for a total of twelve sessions. These will be unsupervised and unrecorded, so be sure to take notes. You have a week to study your subject. Learn about their crimes. Try to get a feel of who they are so you’ll know how to earn their trust and respect so you can get them to answer your questions.”
Bev raises her hand. “What sorts of questions should we ask?”
“A standard questionnaire can be found in your dropbox. Print it out and study it. I do not want to see blank spaces. If you can’t get your subject to answer, make your own deductions. Remember, this is vital information to the BAU. Also, keep in mind that many killers have a history of lying and manipulation. Try not to get pulled in. If at any time you feel threatened by your subject, inform me.”
Will feels like this is directed solely at him.
“We’ll be going over some basic interview techniques today, so pay attention.”
Crawford begins to outline some standard tactics: “Information is key. The more you know about your subject, the easier it is to understand them. Getting them to open up is another matter. Some subjects are eager to talk about their lives. Others will be more resistant. Don’t be discouraged. Sometimes it can take years for any progress to be made.”
After class, Crawford calls out, “Wait a moment, Mr. Graham. I want to talk to you.”
Will stays behind, nervously shuffling as the other students gather up their things and leave.
“I’m sorry I was late today, sir. It won’t happen again.”
Crawford shakes his head. “Not important. It’s a new semester. A lot of students have difficulty finding their classrooms in the first week. Just don’t make a habit of it.”
Will smiles, relieved. “Thank you, sir.”
“That’s not what I wanted to talk about.” Crawford adjusts his grip on his cane. “I just wanted to say that I’m looking forward to your report, but if you feel like backing out, I’ll understand.”
Will's smile gets a bit more strained, and even though he knows he’s being manipulated, there’s nothing he can do to stop the indignant emotions from rising up in him. “I’ll be fine, sir.”
Crawford claps him on the shoulder. “Good man.”
*3*
“What was that about?” Bev asks as they meet up in the cafeteria.
Will grimaces. “Just wanted to make sure I’m okay with interviewing Hannibal Lecter.”
“And are you?”
“Ask me after we eat.”
After they get their food, they sit down to plan a bit before their next class, Advanced Human Anatomy and Physiology.
“I’ll partner with you for labs, but you have to help me study the theory,” Bev insists.
“Sure, no problem.”
“Also, would you mind giving me a few hints?” she asks slyly, sliding a folder over to him. He recognizes it as the file for Garret Jacob Hobbs, and scoffs.
“Do your own profiling, Bev.”
“Come on! I’m not asking you to write the whole thing. Just give me something to go on.” She gives him a pleading look.
Will sighs. “Try to talk to him yourself. If you’re still having trouble after a few interviews, I’ll take a look.”
“And give me some insight,” she says, looking smug.
“Only if I see something.”
“You always see something. It’s your superpower.”
Will shifts, uncomfortable.
Bev catches on and changes the subject.
“So, Hannibal Lecter, huh?”
Will sighs, putting his head down on his arms. “Yeah.”
“This will be his fifth interview since he was captured, right?”
“He’s been interviewed a lot more than five times. This is just the fifth time a student will be interviewing him.”
“To be honest, I’m kind of shocked that they’re still allowing it. I mean, how many students have ended up dead because of him?”
“Only one, technically. Sarah Jean Mason allegedly killed herself because of him. The others are still alive.”
“Didn’t the first woman who interviewed him end up dropping out of school because of a drug habit or something?”
“Yeah, Amelia Porter. And Daria Samsen was institutionalized after a suicide attempt.”
“Let’s not even talk about Randall Tier. I still have nightmares about that crazy bastard.” She shudders, wrapping her arms around herself.
“You should’ve stayed off Tattle Crime. You know Lounds always takes the most grotesque pictures.”
“Grotesque is right. That trucker was just…ripped open, torn into like a wild animal got to him. And that creepy bone suit. Ugh!”
He looks up and smiles at her. “You really know how to make a guy feel better, Bev,” he says wryly.
“Just promise you’ll warn me if you feel like killing yourself.”
His smile vanishes. “That’s not funny.”
“I’m not joking. Lecter clearly knows how to mess with people. I don’t want to read about you on Tattle Crime someday.”
Will snorts. “Yeah, somehow I doubt I’d ever be sensational enough for the likes of Freddie Lounds.”
“Will,” Bev says, giving him a mom-look.
He sighs. “Fine, I promise I’ll warn you if I start to feel suicidal. Satisfied?”
Bev smiles. “Very, now finish your lunch. We need to get to Anatomy. I hear Professor Breitkopf can be a real hardass when you turn up late for class.”
“Great,” he grumbles, finishing his ham sandwich.
*4*
Professor Breitkopf is an older man with a forgettable face, and a placid expression.
He is also entirely too interested in cutting people open.
Will makes a mental note to avoid getting on his bad side, just in case.
His final class is Stress and Mental Heath. He took it mostly to see if anything he learned could help him with his own stress management.
The class ends at 1:00, and Will feels relief that the day is over.
*5*
Once he gets home, he downloads the questionnaire from the dropbox, studying the questions so he knows what to ask.
What was his/her early childhood like? How did he/she perform in school? What is his/her work history like? What triggered him/her to start killing? How did he/she select his/her victims?
Most of the other questions request details of the murder victims, wanting to know specifically how they died, so Will spends the rest of the afternoon looking them up and filling in the answers.
Victim #1 – Michelle Vocalson – 43 – Killed December 13th, 2008 – liver removed, clothing sewn directly into skin, found in a clothing store
Victim #2 – Benjamin Raspail – 47 – Killed December 17th, 2008 – thymus and pancreas removed, heart pierced with a stiletto knife, found in a church pew
Victim #3 – Christopher Word – 37 – Killed December 22nd, 2008 – brain removed, hands burned, found in his office
Victim #4 – Andrew Caldwell – 38 – Killed June 9th, 2010 – heart and kidneys removed, hands and feet pierced by dirty needles, found in his office
Victim #5 – Mia Foster – 29 – Killed June 12th, 2010 – tongue removed, mouth and eyes sewn shut, found on her porch
Victim #6 – Sheldon Isley – 32 – Killed June 18th, 2010 – every organ except for lungs removed, turned into a tree, found in parking lot
Victim #7 – Darrell Ledgerwood – 34 – Killed May 6th, 2011– lungs removed, tongue used as bookmark in bible, found in a church pew
Victim #8 – Jeremy Olmstead – 24 – Killed May 8th, 2011 – heart removed, made to look like the Wound Man, found in his workshop
By the time he goes to bed, he has most of the information he needs to make a profile, and wonders if he could get out of the interviews altogether.
He admits to himself that it’s very unlikely, especially since Crawford is expecting him to look for details beyond the obvious when it comes to Dr. Lecter.
*6*
That night he dreams that a faceless creature is chasing him through a forest, wielding a long blade.
He wakes in a sweat, shaking and panting in his room.
He groans, getting out of bed, and goes downstairs to cook breakfast for himself and his two roommates, Beverly and Ardelia.
“Eggs, toast, and bacon. You truly know the way to a woman’s heart, Graham,” Beverly says, taking a seat at the kitchen table.
Ardelia takes her nose out of her book long enough to give him a quick, “Thanks,” before returning to her reading.
Will just smiles and tries to avoid looking at the knives.
*7*
His and Bev’s first class, Anatomy, doesn’t start until 10:00, so they spend the morning going over their notes before heading to school.
“Take it easy, Will,” Bev warns, grabbing his shaking hand to steady it as he hovers over a disembodied eyeball, scalpel gripped tight.
He licks his lips, shaking all over. “I don’t think I can do this, Bev,” he says, handing the scalpel over to her.
Dr. Breitkopf was very eager to start their first lab, and decided that dissecting a human eye was the best way to introduce his students to the wonderful world of human anatomy.
“Eyes are the mirrors of the soul, after all,” he’d stated at the beginning of class, smiling fondly down at the containers full of eyeballs. “Just make sure they don’t end up rolling around on the floor, or I’ll start docking marks.”
Beverly has no problem slicing into the cornea and pinning it so it doesn’t flap back onto the iris and pupil. “You just have to be quick and clean. Don’t even think about it.”
“Easy for you to say. It’s staring at me,” he retorts, using her body as a shield.
Why did I sign up for this?
*8*
On Friday, he goes to Alana Bloom’s office during his break to discuss his thesis, “On the Making of Monsters”.
He knocks on the door, and she opens it, smiling when she sees it’s him. “Hey, Will. How was your holiday?”
He smiles back at her, relieved to see a friendly face. “Pretty good, I guess. A little strange without my dad, but Ardelia and I managed.”
She gives him a somber nod. “Holidays are always the hardest after you’ve lost a family member.” She ushers him inside and he takes his seat in an armchair with a foldout desk.
“Did you get any work done over the break?” she asks, leaning against her desk, but not sitting down yet.
He shakes his head sheepishly. “I found a few new articles, but I really wanted to discuss them with you before I wrote anything else.”
Dr. Bloom waves it off. “Well, as long as you’re doing something.”
They hover over his laptop for a long time, him pointing out the passages he wants to cite for his paper.
It’s just about time for him to leave when Dr. Bloom perks up. “Oh, I almost forgot to ask. You’re in Jack Crawford’s Forensic Psychology class, aren’t you?”
He hesitates for a moment, already knowing where this is going. She’s known about him attending that class since last semester, but it’s only in the second half that they actually do the interview project.
“Yeah,” he says, trailing off.
She gives him a strained smile. “So, who did you pick to interview?”
Will grimaces, tightening his grip of the strap of his book-bag. “I didn’t exactly pick him. I was late, and his was the only folder left.”
Dr. Bloom frowns. “Oh, don’t tell me. Hannibal Lecter.”
He nods reluctantly, looking away. “It’s not a big deal,” he says, trying to shrug it off.
“I can’t believe Jack has the nerve to do this again,” she says harshly, going over to her desk. “I ought to write to the dean.”
Will flinches away. “Oh, don’t do that. I already said it’d be fine.”
She looks over her shoulder, and, realizing she may be acting a little irrational, forces herself to relax. “Just promise you’ll speak to me if anything he says makes you uncomfortable.”
He nods, heading for the door. “Sure.”
“I mean it, Will,” she says firmly. “Hannibal Lecter is dangerous. Behind bars or not. I don’t want to see you get hurt.”
The obvious compassion in her expression warms him, making him smile. “Thanks, Dr. Bloom. I promise I’ll be careful.”