Chapter Text
It’s been two years since a boy named Will Graham disappeared. And life was going swimmingly for Hannibal Lecter.
Hannibal sliced through the man's sternum. His goal was to open the man while he still breathed so he could see his lungs. He wanted to see what would happen when he tore the man’s lungs from his body. Would he scream? How would the screams die when his air was cut off? Could the man endure the pain? Hannibal had opened a patient in a similar fashion about three years ago, but had been unable to experiment. Not when said person was a patient lying on his emergency room table. He couldn't exactly butcher when surrounded by other medical staff. At the time, he had been finishing his residency as an emergency surgeon and had the social duty to save the life rather than experiment.
But now, he held a permanent position as an emergency surgeon for the past five years. He felt he deserved a treat. The role at the hospital had begun to tax him. He was quite good as an ER doctor, and the work gave him ample opportunities to play god and pick pigs to slaughter. But, alas, his mind grew bored. He could kill all day, but it lacked the luster of subtle manipulation. He wanted to play god within people's minds not just with their bodies.
He had gone back to school for psychiatry, a place where he knew he would thrive. The professors loved him and praised his writing. His thesis on Social Exclusion was on its way to be published. His doctoral advisor Dr. Alana Bloom was enthralled with him. Hannibal smiled, it was easy to wrap her around his finger.
Soon he would step down from his position as a surgeon and turn to the practice of psychology. He considered waiting several more years to become a therapist, but the temptation to play with people's minds was too much.
His phone rang. It was Alana. Hannibal paused in his work. The man was still breathing and was in a stable, though unconscious, state. Hannibal knew he shouldn't risk answering while he was in the middle of slaughtering the pig but he always enjoyed a risk. He smiled, thinking of the ridiculous Wilde quote he enjoyed, ‘Let nothing be lost upon you. Be always searching for new sensations. Be afraid of nothing!’.
Yes, he thought, eat, drink, and take risks, because tomorrow you die. He answered, "Hello, Alana?"
"Hello Hannibal. Are you busy?"
Hannibal smiled at the bloody mess before him, "Not at all, how can I help you?"
"First, I need to apologize."
Hannibal raised an eyebrow, "Whatever for?"
Alana sighed. She sounded tired and stressed, "You thesis article. I may have shown it to an outside source and now they want to talk to you."
Hannibal frowned. The journal wasn't to be published for another week. Alana shouldn't have given the document to another source. Hannibal wondered who the source was that convinced Dr. Bloom to share Hannibal's intellectual property.
"I know the article was supposed to be published soon, I'm so sorry for revealing it," her voice trembled and Hannibal felt glad he provoked such fear and respect. "But it was for a case I'm consulting on with the FBI. Your article might be helpful in catching a killer."
The FBI? Now Hannibal felt he was really playing with fire. The FBI had been after him for years. Most of his kills he never displayed, but the few he felt inclined to share had been investigated and documented by the FBI. They had named him the Chesapeake Ripper. A name which Hannibal liked, even if it lacked class. Hannibal smirked, his hunters were now seeking out his thoughts. He wondered if his own words would be used to hunt him. The irony felt strangely amusing.
"I'm sure your reasoning is valid. And I'm glad my article can be of use, even if still unpublished. Don't worry yourself, Alana."
Hannibal heard a little sigh of relief. "Thank you Hannibal."
He knew she'd still feel guilty. Hannibal would use her gratitude later. She would owe him. He prompted her for more information, "Did the research help the case?"
"I brought up some of your writings to Jack Crawford, head of the Behavioral Science unit. He read the article but wants to hear from you." She sounded worried, "He'd like to bring you on as a consultant."
Interesting and thrilling. Hannibal was excited by the idea of infiltrating the FBI. If he could maneuver his way into the heads of the people who hunted him, he would be invincible. Yes, science did say killers would often infiltrate the official case workings. But Hannibal wasn't forcing his way in, rather, he was being invited.
"The opportunity to assist on a case with the FBI would be a wonderful experience as I turn to psychiatry. But I would only join with your approval. I appreciate your advice, Alana." He left it up to her, but he knew she would never deny him.
"It's for you to decide, Hannibal, but I will tell you, Jack Crawford is ostentatious and works his agents into the ground. The only thing that matters to him is putting away the criminals. Even if he leaves a trail of bodies behind him."
"There's something admirable about that dedication, but I will be leery of his workings."
Alana sighed somewhat unhappily, but she didn't deny him, "I have a meeting with him tomorrow. Why don't you join us? We can get you caught up on the case."
The man on his table began to stir.
"That sounds wonderful, now Alana, I must run. Why don't you text me the details?"
"Alright. I'll see you later Hannibal."
"Until then. Goodbye Alana." He quickly ended the call before the man's screams reached the speaker. If he worked quickly he would have just enough time experiment, harvest his dinner, and dine before his meeting with the FBI. Hannibal grinned. He wondered if he could convince Jack Crawford to eat at his table.
Yes, assisting the FBI would be quite amusing.
*
Jack Crawford's office had a burnt smell to it. Though no other nose could perceive it except Hannibal. A normal person could probably smell the old coffee, the tired sweat, and the worn leather of the seats, but Hannibal could smell more. He wondered if the agent smoked. Not cigarettes, something more classic. Imported cigars? He stored the little fact away. Practically everyone would be terrified of the domineering man leading the meeting, everyone except Hannibal of course.
He studied the agent. He was curious about the workings of the FBI, and even more so of their leader. Jack Crawford was a large man, his physicality mirroring his personality, he was brash and direct and spoke with absolute authority. Hannibal caught the sly cleverness within the man, which was carefully hidden beneath his vener.
Hannibal had to admit, he admired the man for his power and person. If there were anyone for the Chesapeake Ripper to face head on, Jack Crawford would be a worthy opponent.
"We're calling him the tooth fairy, because he leaves teeth marks at every crime scene. Dental doesn't match anywhere. Either he's never been to a dentist or the man made a set of dentures for himself.”
“He’s biting the victims," Hannibal assumed, as he perused one of the case files.
“Yes, post-mortem.” Crawford clarified.
"The bite marks are compulsive?" Hannibal asked, beginning to form his own profile in his mind.
“Yes. Unfortunately we've found them on every one of the victims. He likes to bite,” Crawford chuckled darkly, “It was one of the main reasons we’ve connected the cases. He’s crossing state lines to pick his victims. Without his signature bite, local authorities might have never connected the cases.”
“How many have there been?” Hannibal was curious if this murderer challenged his own status. He doubted it, but it was always good to know the competition.
“There’s been six families and at least two individuals thus far with the teeth marks. Based on the victim pool, we believe he’s just recently begun killing families. But we think he’s been killing for a long time.”
“He’s honed his skill. Now he wants bigger targets,” Alana surmised.
Jack nodded in agreement, he went on, “He hunts on the full moon. Kills with a handgun if necessary, though strangulation is his preferred method. So we are attempting to dig through archives on any murders on full moons that have a similar kill method. Unfortunately there are a lot of unsolved gun deaths.”
“Are there any other defining attributes?”
“Yes,” Alana said jumping in, “We have missing persons. All of the family’s have an individual missing from their household. One of the individual victim’s boyfriend is still missing as well. We think he's taking them and disposing of them in a site we’ve yet to find.”
“Which is where your work comes into practice,” Jack turned to Hannibal surveying the man with a keen eye, “What do your studies say on this?”
“Social exclusion theory is a broad subject, mainly studying how groups are detached from being able to fully participate in society. But in my particular study I look at how individuals with a perchance of criminality are often those excluded most from society. This exclusion may be their trigger or their ability to become what we refer to as psychopaths. They have no connection with the outside world, so they have no regret or emotion in murdering those outside their circles.”
“It’s an interesting theory, but do you think we can apply it to the case? I know, Alana certainly seems to think so,” Jack smiled at the doctor before turning, raising a brow at Hannibal, “What do you think?”
Hannibal knew this was the moment where he needed to prove his theory to stay on the case. And he was determined to stay. It would be much more stimulating than the emergency room work. He gave his best profile, “Your killer has been excluded from some portion of society. It may be possible he’s been forced out of a job or his family circle. From the killings, he’s handy with a gun, I would guess ex-military or ex-law enforcement. Possibly a dishonorable discharge might have triggered his killings.”
Jack was nodding slightly as if in agreement, Alana gave him a small secret smile of encouragement. Hannibal continued, “But the most important component of this theory are the victims. If we follow the theory, we know our killer does not feel connected to the victims. He’s excluded. If we find the common denominator between the victims and likewise the missing persons, we could discover which circles he’s included and excluded from, we can find his victims before he reaches them and catch him.”
Jack nodded tentatively, obviously considering Hannibal’s words, “We could set a trap. I like it. I’d like you to have you work on the case with us Dr. Lecter, if you can spare the time.”
“Of course,” Hannibal answered immediately.
“I want you to go over the victim pool. See if you can find their circles. Also, why don’t you look at the potential missing victim cases. There are alot and it would be good to have another set of eyes on it – Beverly!”
A young agent appeared in the director’s doorway.
“Dr. Lecter, this is Agent Katz. She’s been working the case for some time, she’ll get you the files. Bev, this is Dr. Lecter, please get him the files on the Tooth Fairy. Also the cases we’ve pulled on the full moon nights as well as the unsolved murder cases using a handgun or strangulation.”
Beverly grinned, “That’s a lot. We might need to get you a box, Dr. Lecter.”
“Probably two,” Jack muttered.
Hannibal smiled politely at the agent as he stood to go with her. He greeted her with a hand shake before turning back to Alana and Jack, “It was a pleasure meeting you, I only wish it were on better circumstances.”
“As do I,” Crawford raised a hand in a clear dismissal wave, “Thank you, Dr. Lecter.”
Hannibal nodded goodbye and left with Katz. They walked through the heart of the FBI to the filing room. They did not exaggerate the amount of files. Agent Katz stuffed the boxes, almost overflowing with the official documents. Hannibal watched with some amusement at the way the FBI accounted for all the atrocities of the world on sheets of yellowed paper. He wondered how many files were dedicated to himself.
“Alrighty. So, in this box is all the cases that have definitely been linked to the Fairy, and this one,” She heaved the overflowing box into Hannibal’s arms with a grunt, “Is the unsolved disappearances on cases with a hand gun or strangulation. Also any unsolved cases on full moons from the last four years. Though I can’t make sense of any of it.”
“Sense of what?” Hannibal asked while the agent took the other box and began leading him out of the maze of a building.
“I just don’t get why he’s taking people,” She answered without looking back at him, her ponytail swishing as she strode quickly down the halls. “It’s obviously some ritual of some sort, but why take them in the first place? Are they trophies? Like how the Ripper takes organs?”
Hannibal’s ears perked at the mention of himself. He answered slowly, “They might be trophies. But if we are comparing the Fairy and the Ripper, why do you think the Ripper takes his trophies?”
Beverly laughed, “The science team has a working theory, but it probably doesn’t suit your tastes, Dr. Lecter.” Beverly shot him an amused grin, glancing at his tailored suit and his slicked back hair.
“Try me,” Hannibal challenged, slightly annoyed that his person suit did not impress the young agent.
Beverly cocked her eyebrow, accepting his challenge, “Well, not to put it too crassly, we think he’s getting off on the organs.”
Hannibal’s lip curled in disgust. Beverly laughed at his expression. “Told you, you wouldn’t like it.”
Hannibal hated the idea of his work being interpreted in such a rude manner. He would think about it more later but for now he cleared his disgust and replaced it with a good humored smile, “You’re correct, that is not my taste.”
They reached the exterior doors, Hannibal pushed the door open, holding it with his shoulder for the agent to follow. If he was seen as an honorable and moral person, he might as well play the perfect gentleman. And to be honest Hannibal enjoyed playing it for everyone except those without class or manners.
“My car is just this way,” Hannibal said, leading Beverly through the parking lot.
She whistled as they reached Hannibal’s Bentley, “Nice ride.”
Alana appeared from the front of the car, “Hope you're not whistling at me, agent Katz.”
Beverly grinned, “Doctor Bloom, are you saying you're a ride?"
Alana chuckled, "I admit nothing while Hannibal is here."
Beverly winked, "Alrighty, well I assume you guys know each other, so I'll leave you. Unless you need anymore help?”
Hannibal glanced down at the box, “No, thank you for your help, agent Katz.”
Beverly smiled and waved at both of them, “I’m gonna go now! Nice to meet you Dr. Lecter. And always good to see you Dr. Bloom!”
Beverly left the box and scurried back to the headquarters, shooting a wink back at Alana. Hannibal grinned at Alana with a raised brow, “Are you playing hard to get?”
Alana laughed and punched Hannibal lightly on the arm, “Seeing as she won’t stop calling me ‘Doctor Bloom’, I doubt it’s going anywhere.”
“I don’t know, I’ve heard titles are, how do you Americans say it? A bit of a turn on for some.” Hannibal teased. He enjoyed the familiarity that had grown between them. Alana was arrogant, intelligent, and humorous. He was enjoying manipulating her and would hone her selfish ambitions into something beneficial for himself.
Alana gasped in playful shock, “Doctor Lecter!”
He laughed as he opened his car and loaded the boxes before turning back to Alana, “So, what did Crawford think?”
“He’s hesitant, but glad to have you. He can use all the brain power he can get.” Alana answered honestly.
“I like him. Do you think he’d accept a dinner invitation?” Hannibal genuinely wondered.
Alana smiled and shook her head, “Impress him first, Hannibal, then you’ll be indispensable.”
Hannibal agreed, he may have succeeded in this round, but to pull Jack Crawford into his fold would need more time and work. He needed to solve the case.
*
Hannibal sat in his dining room. The files spread out before him on the large table. Hannibal wished he had a large office to work, but alas, his surgeon’s office was small and cramped and his home office was currently being used as his drawing studio. So, he resorted to using his dining room table. It was the only space large enough for the piles of papers.
Hannibal raked a hand through his blonde hair. It had lost it’s hold hours ago and had begun to fall into his eyes. He wanted to cut it, but he always thought his short hair made him look young and immature. Being only in his thirties, he had risen quickly in the ranks of his hospital and now even the FBI, but he still felt his age disadvantaged him. His superiors looked down on him for his early successes, so Hannibal did what he always did– defy their expectations again and again.
He poured himself another glass of pinot before picking up the next unsolved and missing person case file. He had started with the victim’s cases, going over them in detail over two days. He was letting the information ruminate in his mind while he continued to process through the numerous other unsolved files. He sorted them into two groups, possible connection with the Fairy and no connection. He had already found three people he had eaten within the missing person files. He smiled at his hidden work showing up in front of him months later.
He scanned through a few more files until one caught his eye. A man, John Graham, had been shot in his home, date of death uncertain. His son, Will Graham, was the lead suspect in the case, but had gone missing before arrests could be made. Cause of death was from a gunshot, but the autopsy reported John Graham having a mysterious bite mark. It was ruled unimportant and there were no photos. Only a note of the bite located on the man's neck.
“I wonder…” Hannibal muttered to himself as he flipped through the file.
Evidence showed the son had been present for his father’s murder. His DNA all over the body as well as a bloody track fitting the boy's size. The officers had simply placed the claim on the boy. But ballistics told Hannibal a different story. According to the files, Mr. Graham had been shot at point blank while he stood in his living according to blood splatters, but the angle of the shot was what interested Hannibal. The shot had entered the man's chest and traveled at a slight downward trajectory. Downwards. That meant the gun had been angled down on Mr. Graham.
Hannibal flipped back to the autopsy page, standing right at six foot, Mr. Graham's killer would have to have been taller than six feet, in order for the bullet to enter the man’s chest and travel downward. Was the son taller than his father? Hannibal flipped through the file hoping to find more info, instead he stumbled on an angel. Or a picture of an angel.
“Mano Dievas.” Hannibal whispered in awe of the beautiful boy. He held the photo up to better light. The picture was a faded high school photo of the suspect Will Graham. He could have been the subject of Michelangelo’s David. His face sculpted from perfection without the hardlines of time. His eyes were a brilliant blue but terribly sad, with a faraway look. Hannibal could lose himself in their sea of blue.
He forced himself to put the photo down. He grabbed his glass and drained the pinot down in one swallow. The boy was beautiful and utterly distracting. Hannibal compelled himself to focus on the case, and not the lovely figure. “He’s beautiful, but is he taller than his father?”
Hannibal found no reference to height in the record. He needed more information. He found the school’s number and called. “Hello, my name’s Dr. Lecter and I work with the FBI. I was wondering if I could access a prior student’s records? Yes, the name is Will Graham.”
*
After playing up his charm for the past two hours, Hannibal was now finally printing the documents from the school. He was surprised at the amount, there were so many files for one so young. It contained the boy’s school records, a brief synopsis of medical history, and a portion of his late father's finances. Hannibal raised an eyebrow at the amount of times the boy switched schools. He wondered if any of the school transfers had been the boy’s fault. It didn’t seem like the kid had ever been expelled. The brief synopsis of the father’s financial and housing records proved to Hannibal, the constant upheaval had not been Will Graham’s fault, but rather the result of his father’s inability to keep a job.
Reading through the boy’s medical records, he found several interesting notes. One, Will was diagnosed as an empath. Too many mirror neurons firing, making it hard for him to distinguish between his own feelings and the feelings of another. Secondly, many of his teachers and other professionals had speculated he was on the spectrum, but his father had adamantly refused to have him tested. Thirdly, and most importantly, Will only stood at 5' 8", making it impossible for him to have shot his father with a downward trajectory unless he held the gun above his head or stood on a stool while he fired the gun. Hannibal smiled at the thought of a boy pausing in the midst of a rageful murder to stand on a box to shoot his victim. It just didn't fit, because the beautiful Will was innocent.
Hannibal had found many reasons why the boy was innocent within the police report, there was the issue of blood on the window. If Will had broken into the trailer and cut himself on the glass, there should be a track of blood throughout the house. Instead, the police found a small set of bloody tracks in the bedroom from the middle of the room to the window, where the majority of the blood had pooled.
The police had assumed Will had somehow managed to stop the bleeding before exiting his room. But Hannibal didn't buy it. It was obvious that the boy had tried fleeing the house through the broken window and stepped on some of the sharp glass shards.
Also, if he had broken into his own house, where were his shoes? If he'd been kicked out of the house, Hannibal doubted the boy would have left without his shoes and wallet. All which were found untouched at the trailer.
Hannibal rubbed his temple. The detectives had done some lazy work and had pinned it on the easiest target. Hannibal added the names of the officers on the case to his rolodex. It was rude of them to assume justice into their own hands. Perhaps he would teach them a lesson.
Hannibal read through several more pages until he stumbled on a series of dates that made him stand from his seat: Will's attendance dates of his last school.
Could it be possible?
Hannibal searched frantically through the piles of papers now in sloping stacks all over his tables and chairs. Where had he put that paper?
Finally, he found it, wedged under his empty and forgotten wine glass: the moon cycle chart.
He quickly scanned for the date he was looking for. It was there.
He pulled his phone out and texted Alana and Crawford.
I think I may know the Fairy's location.
*
Jack's office still smelled burnt, but there was an electric current running throughout the room. The audience of three were tense with anticipation, Jack sat at his desk looking impatient, Alana beside Beverly, trying her best to give Hannibal encouraging looks, while Beverly pensively studied the files.
Hannibal contained his excitement over his break in the case with a calm demeanor. He was walking them through the Graham case, laying out expertly why he doubted Will was the killer, but rather the Tooth Fairy.
Jack rubbed his brow, he looked frustrated, "Ok, what you're saying is we have another potential victim? John Graham."
"We have two." Hannibal clarified.
"What do you mean?" Alana asked, flipping through her file.
"The boy, Will Graham, is missing. It could be that he was our first victim taken."
“Ok,” Beverly studied the new information but impatiently wondered, “How does this get us any closer to the Fairy’s whereabouts?"
"The dates of their arrival and disappearance,” Hannibal pointed them out, “They just moved to the area. Two days before a full moon."
Jack’s pupils dilated, obviously connecting Hannibal’s train of thought, “That’s not much time.”
“No it isn’t. Either he followed them all the way from,” Hannibal checked the file, “Biloxi, Louisiana, or–”
"They moved right into his neighborhood,” Jack stood, immediately moved to action, “Beverly start running the profile on residents and workers in the area. I want a list of people. If we have to knock on every single door, we do so.”
“He probably keeps the same habits and would appear as a loner,” Alana added, "We might ask residents if they've seen anyone like that. Agent Katz, mind if I help you write up a questionnaire?”
Beverly’s accepted the doctor’s help, “I would appreciate it, Dr. Bloom.”
Alana and Beverly stood and left the room discussing detail points of the profile. Hannibal stood to follow them, but Jack gestured for him to sit. Hannibal obliged.
“This could be it, Dr. Lecter.”
“Please, call me Hannibal,” Hannibal smiled as Jack seemed to relax, “And I just hope he hasn’t moved locations. It's been almost three years.”
“A killer like the Tooth Fairy will have a home base,” Jack surmised, “He’s been kidnapping and murdering for too long not to. He probably has a barn or a house.”
Hannibal nodded in agreement. He himself had his own kill room in his basement, which he was slowly filling with more equipment. He wanted to buy all the equipment at once, but he worried that he might end up on some agency’s list for his questionable purchases. Meat hooks and large freezers weren't normal everyday purchases.
“I want your eyes, Hannibal,” Jack interrupted his thoughts, “You seem to spot things my agents missed.”
Hannibal shrugged humbly, “A fresh pair of eyes was all that was required.”
“Would you consider accompanying us as we canvas?” Jack asked somewhat shrewdly.
Never look a gift horse in the mouth, Hannibal thought. “I’d be delighted to accompany you.”
Jack nodded, obviously pleased by Hannibal’s response. "We'll do some neighborhood walks over the next week. And maybe some house visits. See if anyone has seen or heard anything."
"Or we run right into our man," Hannibal hoped. He sincerely hoped to be able to see or even talk to this Tooth Fairy. For his own research purposes obviously.
"Possibly. I would rather lay a trap for him, but the bureau is demanding answers and we’re grasping at straws."
Crawford paused for a moment, surveying Hannibal as if judging his credibility, then decided in his favor, “There was another family murdered two nights ago.”
Hannibal cocked his head. This was new information. He felt as if he were one of the few privy to it. He sat straighter in his seat, “Definitely the Fairy?”
“Yes, full moon and the coroner report indicates the same teeth marks. The state department is in an uproar over the murders. They want him caught.”
Jack ran a hand over his head. Hannibal could see the weight of stress on him. “That’s a lot of pressure,” Hannibal sympathized.
Jack made a small laugh, “It’s my job. But I want it solved. Either arrest him or shoot the sick son of a bitch dead. I’d put a bullet in his head the first chance I got.”
Hannibal was happily surprised at Jack’s venom towards the serial killer. Such passion made manipulation easier. He would appear a reasonable, yet supportive ally in this, “I’m sure we would all rest better knowing a killer has gotten his just reward.”
Jack nodded in agreement. Hannibal felt his comradery with the director was growing steadily stronger. If he played his cards right, Jack Crawford would become blinded and bound to Hannibal’s own dark machinations.
“Well, we will see what the future brings,” Jack stood, reaching out his hand.
Hannibal grasped it, shaking it firmly, “Until then.”
“Until then.”