hostestuosdevoret:

     He watched as Will stepped backwards, intrigued at the physical manifestation of his mental rewind. Whatever he was noticing, whatever he was seeing, was entirely in his own mind. Hannibal was struck by how unused he was to not being able to interpret what exactly someone was thinking. Very few people had unique thought processes; Will seemed to be one of these. He smiled lightly to himself and Will at a distance, trying to keep his footsteps silent to not disturb the other.
     They now stand back from the house, back from the carnage. Jack is discussing something with Katz, though Hannibal can see that his eyes keep darting back to Will. Of course, he must make sure his favourite tool is well-kept. Make sure the thing works well enough to work. Though it doesn’t matter much if it falls apart later, so long as it keeps being useful. Will, he notices, is nothing but Jack’s tool. An extension of his own power. And as independent as Will may try to be, may think himself to be, he goes along with it. Interesting. Hannibal takes a few more steps, standing to the side and looking over the scene again.
     Suddenly, Will began to talk again. It was furious, almost manic. Though they’ve worked together for some time, Hannibal hasn’t ever seen him in the very middle of a realisation of this magnitude. The man seemed to be overcome by his own imagination. Jack turned his full attention back to Will, and Hannibal watched as Will continued on with his deductions, though they’re hardly that. Deductive reasoning  or, more correctly, inductive reasoning, relies on inferences and drawn conclusions. There is a drop of water, ergo there must be an ocean. This was nothing of that kind. This was pulling fact directly from experience. This was reliving a madness that must seem foreign to Will’s own. This was entering the mind-palace of another, tearing open the curtains and forcing yourself to look into the darkest corners. In short, this was amazing. 
     ”Revenge against who?” Hannibal asked, when Will had opened his eyes again, and looked to be more himself. He paused for a moment, thinking. “You say he may be trying to finished Pickton’s work. Then, there will be more victims.”

“Revenge against everyone who put a stop to their … game. This,” He breaks off to wave a hand over the bloodied yard with distaste, “Is just a warning. They want people to notice them, they want the attention. This isn’t a copy-cat. No, this is a co-producer. ”

He could see Jack, Beverly and the rest of the crew stare at him as he gives his analysis, as they always do. He’d learned to pretend he doesn’t notice the looks he gets when he walks down the halls of the Academy, he’d learned to pretend he doesn’t hear it when others whisper about him, he’d learned to pretend that he isn’t a freak. 

                             Jack Crawford treats you like his f r a g i l e little tea cup

                                        Used only for special guests

                             You’re nothing but a TOOL to him, Will. Wrapped up nicely and with a bow on top. As soon as you are no longer of use to him, he will toss you aside for  {another one}. 

                                                                        Are you trying to a l i e n a t e me from Jack Crawford?

He takes a shaky breath and tries to shoo the thoughts away. Jack Crawford didn’t just think of the profiler as a tool did he. Will gave the agent his respect and should get it back in return; he could care less about Zeller or Pierce, or even Katz. 

His eyes meet Hannibal’s for a fleeting second before he looks away again. He wonders what the doctor sees him as –

                                            The mongoose I want under the house

                                                           When snakes slither by

                                      snakessnakessnakessnakessnakes what kind of snake?

“…Does anyone have any asprin?”

hostestuosdevoret:

     Hannibal followed behind the two, stepping carefully on the lawn. He knew long before they arrived exactly what they’d be finding there, and in exactly what state. The scent of flesh and decomposition carried across the lawn, tainting the whole farm. There was no place safe from it. He watched as Will approached the farm, opting to stand behind for a few moments. Will would need a moment or two to adjust to this scene. Robert Pickton, he thought, was a disgrace. To want to copy him was as farcical as trying to mimic an idiot and claim yourself as a genius. He made a low “tutting” noise in the back of his throat, and, when Jack turned to him, waved a hand absently at the carnage.
     ”It’s quite a lot, isn’t it.” He stated, as though he’d made a noise out of sympathy rather than out of distaste. Jack nodded, looking back to towards the house and Will.
     ”That’s putting it mildly,” Jack replied. Hannibal gave a small half-nod of apparent agreement, and muttered a quick “excuse me” before walking to catch up to Will, who was currently preoccupied with an arm. Hannibal watched Will turn the arm over, as if searching for that one clue that would put it all together in his mind.
     Zeller’s new finding incited a wave of disgust in Will, and Hannibal watched as he grimaced. Hannibal exhaled loudly, an attempt to make sure Will knew he was there, before crouching down to be level with Will and the bits of the prostitute that were left.
     ”So, what do you think?” He asked, clasping his hands together. “There must be a reason for his choosing to copy Pickton.” Not that I can see one of much merit, he added mentally. “Some… admiration, perhaps?” He straightened up again, looking back into the house. From the banter between the team inside, there was more than just a little ground flesh, despite what had been fed to the pigs. That in itself was an interesting idea, though Hannibal thought that there were much more graceful ways to put it to action.
     ”Though this wouldn’t be his farm, would it.” Hannibal observed, pointing to the driveway. “The tracks are fresh in the gravel, but they’re the only ones there. And if he truly meant to do as Pickton did, he wouldn’t have allowed this to be found so quickly. A man so keen to keep his fingerprints off such a messy affair would be one who plans his decisions.” He paused, looking over the farm again. “Then this would be staged. A scene, purposefully displayed.” Looking at the carnage again, there was a very slight amount of dramatics to the placement, though it lacked any sophistication.

Will acknowledges the doctor with a faint inclination of his head, but his eyes remain glued to the scene before him. His eyes close momentarily.

                                   Fwum. Fwum.

The clock rewinds and all sounds become muted.

                                   Fwum.

The FBI disappear

                                  Fwum.

The body parts disappear, too. The farm is spotless and odor-free save for the scent of the pig pens just behind the main building. He stands up and walks backwards as time continues to rewind. He walks back to a pickup truck. He stinks of alcohol. The two girls in the backseat giggle loudly, he grits his teeth together and force a smile as their hands find and travel down his chest. 

                                  ‘I lure Daisy and Caroline Duffield out of the club with promises of drugs and sex. They’re too drunk to process anything and follow me stupidly to my car. I drive back to the farm I had spotted on my way to the club, having already killed the residents; Mr. and Mrs. Vandertramp. No one will come looking for them, not until I want them to. This is my design.’

“There is no admiration.” He finally speaks out loud, the crime scene reappearing before him as he steps back into his own shoes. He blinks shakes his head. “No, this is … revenge – and determination. Whoever our copy-cat is – they knew Robert PIckton. Probably a family member, or a close friend. Someone close to our Pig Farm Killer. They may have aided Pickton in his murders and … wanted to continue.”

                                  I was getting s l o o p y

                                               Wanted to reach the big [ FIVE-OH ]

“He knew all of Pickton’s techniques. He knew what kind of women Pickton went after, he knew what to do with the bodies. He knew everything about Pickton. More than one can read off newspaper articles, too.

"Pickton talked about how he hadn’t been able to reach his goal: fifty. He wanted to kill fifty women, and then surpass that if not for his arrest. Our killer may have wanted to reach that goal for him.”

                                 Fwum 

                                'I throw some of the body parts into the pig pens, letting the animals devour them up – leaving no evidence. I grind the rest, mixing it with that of real pork. I leave it out on the table. I want them to be found. I spill the rest of the parts on the front lawn. This will catch attention. This is my design.’

“A copy-cat?”

“Not our copy-cat, but a copy-cat.”

“A copy-cat nonetheless.”

“Yes.”

“Copy-cat of who?”

Jack Crawford does not reply as he and Will Graham walk up to the crime scene. They are instantly met with the stench of animal feces, bad hygiene and the decay of bodies. Stomach rolling, the profiler steps over the yellow tape that surrounds the farm – pig farm – and into the scene.

“Oh.”

The front of the lawn was covered in blood and vomit. Body parts littered the ground; an arm stuck out from a bucket just by where they stood. Jimm Pierce, Bryan Zeller and Beverly Katz were already there, each standing with a different look of disgust on their faces. 

“Looks like someone’s a fan of Robert Pickton,” he comments as he carefully steps around the limbs that litter the floor. He crouches by a severed arm, poking at it with a gloved hand, face turned down into a frown. 

“Meet Caroline and Daisy Duffield, identical twins, dirt poor, prositutes.” Katz’s voice carries over the quiet air as she flips through files. “They were reported missing a couple days ago when their landlady went to go pick up the rent from the two. Last seen in a nearby club, too drunk to recognize each other.”

“No traces of DNA from our killer?” He questions, still studying the body parts on the ground. 

“None. Our killer was very careful.”

“He even got the details right.” The voice belonged to Zeller. “We found ground meat inside. Ground human meat. He’s feeding them to the pigs.”

“Just like Robert Pickton.”