Will had taken statements and data from the nervous boyd. Now he bent down to examine the hand protruding from the ground. The skin and muscles from the finger to the knuckles had been removed, exposing the bone. A thick ruby ring rested on the bony forefinger. He put on gloves and started taking photos with his phone.
His eyes narrowed as he noticed what looked like a small piece of paper with a Chinese symbol written on it. Next to the tiny paper was a nut and another piece of bone.
Will rummaged through his pocket for a quarter coin. He placed it on the side of the objects for a comparative photograph.
- "Jack ... what do I owe this pleasant visit? Are you coming for work or will you accompany me to lunch?"
The former forensic psychology consultant to the FBI asked. A suspect in a case in which he had managed to elucidate the identity of the criminal, had broken into his office and attacked him. After a fight to the death, the man lay dead on the floor, while Hannibal was panting lying on his stomach on the carpet with a serious bleeding wound on his lower back. A bloodstained deer ornament lay a few inches from Hannibal.
In the following months the doctor had undergone operations and rehabilitation to regain mobility in his legs. Most of his days spent in bed reading, drawing and consulting on the phone. Most of his patients had refused to be referred and he attended to them by video calls. Sometimes Jack called him, but usually he visited in person.
Jack smiled at him. They shook hands.
- "I'm afraid it is for work, but the talk will last until lunch. If it's not inconvenient."
- "It is always a pleasure to have a friend for lunch."
After eating and having reviewed the photos and reports, Hannibal asked curiously.
- "Who took these pictures ?."
They had been done impeccably and with a meticulousness uncharacteristic of the team's photos with which Jack normally worked.
- "A rookie officer."
Jack smiled. Hannibal raised an eyebrow. It wouldn't be any rookie if Jack already had them in his sights for the BAU.
- "I would like to meet him .."
Jack sighed and pulled his chair closer to the bed.
- "Are you looking for a ward? Are you planning to stop helping us? .. You know that you could only return ... No one would think anything if you return in .."
Hannibal laid his head on the back of the bed. He closed his eyes to further dramatize his performance.
- "I do not even want to consider a wheelchair .. I have been analyzing the possibility of an exoskeleton that allows me to regain my autonomy ..."
Jack nodded and stood up. He started to put on his jacket. Hannibal had already provided him with the information that the photographs could give, but he needed to interview Will to get a better view of the scene. The idea of bringing those two minds together in a team was starting to form in the agent's mind when he left the loft apartment.
Will entered his apartment after a tiring day of work. Jack had harassed him from the academy and would not leave him alone now that he was in a case involving the FBI. He dropped the keys on the plate on the small table by the kitchen.
The bed was made and there was a bouquet of red roses on it. He took the note that said "I am sorry, I love you." He turned it over to see the reverse ... nothing else. He threw bouquet and note in the trash and went to shower.
He cried a little ... from frustration and from his hurt pride. His feelings for Frederick had been fading for months. He had a job that consumed most of his time and an apartment that although tiny were things he had accomplished on his own ... by himself.t Things he loved.
No one would ever tell him what to do with his life.Where to go, where to live, or who should he be ... not again.
He remembered his father and his rejection, although with much less intensity, it hurt him again.He only had himself. He would follow the same path he had carved out for himself and no one would stop him from enjoying it. Even his police station colleagues had accepted him without much fanfare after he clarified his pronouns. His father could keep roting in jail. He didn't hate him, but he wouldn't forget what he had done to him.
He touched his shoulder, where it was the scar from the kitchen knife that his own blood had nailed there years ago. He lifted his chin and took a deep breath. He turned off the shower and left the bathroom wrapping himself in his dressing gown.
He would have dinner and then watch some tv before going to bed . Or so he thought when there was a call on his cell phone.