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It shouldn't be like this.
He tells himself that, writes it down on a piece of paper again and again. What it should be like goes like this: a nice little home tucked away in the middle of nowhere, a warm home full of dogs, the scent of stew with freshly caught game hunted by yours truly, and a cozy fire to sit by. Maybe the occasional guest and a good book by his side, completely devoid of murders and deceit. Well, maybe a bit of deceit for added flavour. But that's not how it is at all. Rather, it goes like this...
People think he's crazy, no one trusts him, and he can't exactly say he trusts anyone, either. He's a mental case, some say, a weak and fragile lunatic ready to snap. He isn't quite sure he could disagree. Then again, he can't fully agree either. After all, he's playing cat and mouse with a confirmed serial killer and he's actually getting into it. Maybe Hannibal has gotten that far into his mind that he's controlling his thoughts now, too. It wouldn't be the first time.
Still, the thrill that came with that kill. The idea of taking revenge on that man, that man who hurt a defenseless little creature that Will cared for.... That thrill shouldn't have happened. Rather, it should have been nerves and instinct, not thrill, not enjoyment. It's sickening and he's thrown up a few times already over it. But he killed and he brought that kill to his master's feet like a good dog. After all, people take after their pets, right? He's starting to wonder just how far that analogy runs and if he's a pet, too.
He began this working for Jack, trying to catch Hannibal with bloody hands and with arrogance, but now he's starting to reconsider that. He's starting to enjoy this dangerous game that gets worse and worse. Bloodier and bloodier.
And he's killed again, too. Well, not exactly. Freddie is alive but that guy that tried to jump him is dead, now, and he's at Hannibal's doorstep with the body. Back doorstep, rather, to not alert suspicion. His hands are bloody and his breathing is heavy and his eyes are wide and wild. He isn't sure if he's scared or excited. He really isn't sure if he's Will anymore. Whatever.
He tells himself that, writes it down on a piece of paper again and again. What it should be like goes like this: a nice little home tucked away in the middle of nowhere, a warm home full of dogs, the scent of stew with freshly caught game hunted by yours truly, and a cozy fire to sit by. Maybe the occasional guest and a good book by his side, completely devoid of murders and deceit. Well, maybe a bit of deceit for added flavour. But that's not how it is at all. Rather, it goes like this...
People think he's crazy, no one trusts him, and he can't exactly say he trusts anyone, either. He's a mental case, some say, a weak and fragile lunatic ready to snap. He isn't quite sure he could disagree. Then again, he can't fully agree either. After all, he's playing cat and mouse with a confirmed serial killer and he's actually getting into it. Maybe Hannibal has gotten that far into his mind that he's controlling his thoughts now, too. It wouldn't be the first time.
Still, the thrill that came with that kill. The idea of taking revenge on that man, that man who hurt a defenseless little creature that Will cared for.... That thrill shouldn't have happened. Rather, it should have been nerves and instinct, not thrill, not enjoyment. It's sickening and he's thrown up a few times already over it. But he killed and he brought that kill to his master's feet like a good dog. After all, people take after their pets, right? He's starting to wonder just how far that analogy runs and if he's a pet, too.
He began this working for Jack, trying to catch Hannibal with bloody hands and with arrogance, but now he's starting to reconsider that. He's starting to enjoy this dangerous game that gets worse and worse. Bloodier and bloodier.
And he's killed again, too. Well, not exactly. Freddie is alive but that guy that tried to jump him is dead, now, and he's at Hannibal's doorstep with the body. Back doorstep, rather, to not alert suspicion. His hands are bloody and his breathing is heavy and his eyes are wide and wild. He isn't sure if he's scared or excited. He really isn't sure if he's Will anymore. Whatever.