Teeth snagged gently against the pinkened flesh of lightly chapped lips, the flush of his frustrations most present in their vibrant hue. The color pallet of his visage was paled & warmed at once, painted delicately against the sharp curve of fine cheekbones, melded listless with the darker stain against the hollows of his eye sockets. Will Graham wore his exhaustion like a veil rather than a mask - there was nothing to hide, nothing to conceal, but the cause of his own sleeplessness eluded even himself at times. Fear was the price of his instrument & he embraced it as deeply as he embraced that darkness his intuition coaxed him into, like a siren in a storm.
He offered only a passing glance in the direction of the psychiatrist, & it felt as though for a moment they were two ships passing in the night. But there was no light here to guide him, not even as his gaze wandered towards the window & the world beyond the curtain which so immaculately framed it in haunting silhouette. It had begun to snow again. Tomorrow the profiler would have to return to Quantico but not to his classroom. He secretly dreaded the slow descent into the basement, into the depths of what felt like something out of scripture, like Dante. The bodies had been mutilated & burned almost ritualistically, but nothing had been taken from them. Nothing apparent. No trophies. Not the Ripper. He hadn’t made an appearance in months, the window of opportunity having slammed shut once more.
Arms, nicely muscled & willowy all at once & clothed in well worn cotton plaid, folded just a little tighter across his lean chest. What had Hannibal said? Will struggled to recall, having become momentarily lost in his own thoughts. Ah, yes - introspection. ❝ You know that way something intricately woven unravels? ❞ The question posed was not entirely rhetorical in nature, & it wasn’t entirely a question. ❝ Something catches on a thread & pulls it loose. You pull on it out of compulsion, thinking that maybe one quick tug will snap off the loose piece & everything will be fine; just like it used to be. ❞ His voice sounded unbalanced even to himself, the strength in his tone wavering.
Was there ever any strength to begin with?
His shoulders shifted uncomfortably as he continued to explain. ❝ But it doesn’t. The string just keeps coming, & coming… Until the whole thing comes undone. ❞ A pause, unintentionally dramatic but the silence in the air hung like static. It was alive & crisp. It felt electric for all the wrong reasons. ❝ That’s how I feel right now; like I’m that string coming undone. ❞ Like something that couldn't be knitted back together no matter how hard he tried. Something was changing inside of him & Will knew he wouldn’t be the same. This work was bad for him, but did the end justify the means? Even he wasn’t willing to debate those semantics.
