[ WEEK SIX – KILL LOG (HANNIBAL) ]

[sheriffexe]

[ When Hannibal wakes up, he will find himself lying in the dirt. His vision is blocked by the black cloth bag over his head and his hands are bound with some rope. This might feel like a betrayal of sort from the Sheriff but, well.

The rope isn't terribly tight.

He is lying in front of the hotel and what he won't be able to see is this: the bear trap, laid simply in front of the door to the hotel and beckoning anyone to come closer with it's gleaming metal teeth.

A bit of a fitting way to catch a monster like Hannibal. ]

Comments

[robitussin]

[She barely registers his words. Standing feet away from his corpse, she wraps her arm around her waist as she dry heaves onto the ground. It keeps happening until she can breathe again without immediately gagging. For the rest of her life, she will remember the sight of his body riddled with bullet holes, the pool of blood circling around him slowly. It will stay there, she knows, even after she's dead. Vaguely, she wonders if that's what he wanted.

Once she can stand straight without being sick, his words come to her. It could have ended with me. No, she thinks bitterly, it couldn't have. She knows Damian would never have done this. As soon as she was chosen, she knew what her decision would be. Killing an innocent person was never an option, nor was dying while he was still a risk to everyone.

Regardless of that logic, a cold sliver of doubt creeps inside her. It mingles with the terror, hatred, and regret she's already feeling. Thoughts race by in screaming vividness - killer, sinner, murderer. Fighting off another wave of nausea, she looks around the scene at the knife, the sword, the gun, the puddle of blood and vomit, and the loose strands of her hair laying there. She thinks for a moment about moving it and hiding it, but in the end, is there really a point? She knows how this will end.

With a pained grimace, she reaches down to grab his arm in her hand. Everything is tinted through a fog of anxiety and despair, but somehow, the adrenaline racing through her provides her with enough strength to drag him to the clinic. Once she's there, she looks around for bandages to treat her wounds, but realizes it's impossible with one injured hand. If only we had a doctor here, she thinks, and suddenly the hysterical laughter has returned, along with a flood of tears she's been holding back all week.

She stands in the middle of the clinic for a while, alternating between laughing and screaming and crying.

Eventually, she tires herself out. She doesn't have the strength or motivation to lift herself onto the bed, so she sits in the doorway to the office, back braced against the wall. Hiding would serve no purpose. She leans her head back, closes her eyes, and falls asleep. She'll stay that way until morning.]