He was ever the escape artist, always ready to bolt outside the door given the first opportunity, it wouldn't be the first, nor would it be the last time Will has chased the dog out into the open field, through dense walls of pine trees and shrubbery, knee-deep in the snow.
That was Wolf Trap, a town in the middle of nowhere, a place where someone like Will could isolate himself from the rest of the world. All he needed was this, vast open wilderness, his dogs, and a stream.
It took him all but a moment to lose his train of thought, he was doing that more and more these days...seeing was difficult, and in that moment he lost the trail and his path. Not that it mattered, he knew these woods, as he knew himself and he knew himself very well...or so he liked to think. It was a mantra he parroted over and over again in his moments of doubt.]
Buster!
[He shouted into the void, but rarely did the void answer him back, not between the nightmares that often occupied his unpalatable thoughts. The further away he drifted from the beaten path the colder it became, Will tucked his jacket around him and pressed on doggedly. A sane person would have left the dog to its own devices, but some would argue his sanity.
He wouldn't dwell on the state of his own mind, he knew exactly where he was with himself.
Eventually, he found himself in the clearing that gave way to an endless chasm, and then there was the other side.
Normally Will wouldn't be tempted, but he could see the waxy haunting figure of a man he knew to be dead, suspended out of reach as if on dust.]
Hobbs...
[The figure was in his head, he knew it, but he could still hear his voice, a hiss that visits him in his dreams...see...see...
Ignoring his instincts Will reached for the apparition that existed only within his imagination and there was nothing after that...
...like waking from a dream Will finds himself standing in front of the small town not knowing how he got here, but from the gray edges of his mind he could hear a voice, muffled at first, as though his head was submerged underwater, then clearer as he finally came to.
Perhaps the owner of the voice snatched him from the edge of the cliff and steered him this way, perhaps he found his way on his own and the voice was merely that of a concerned denizen, whatever the case Will finally acknowledges the presence with a...]
Sorry...what did you say...?
BODIES WITHOUT SOULS
[Book shops, not a normal haunt for Will as he had shelves upon shelves of books in his farmhouse preferring at-home reading over the potential for social run-ins. Still, his feet brought him here, if he was going to wander aimlessly anyway he might as well have wandered here.
Anything that can happen has to happen.
And if there was information to be had one could always find it in books.
Not caring about the state of himself or the state of his clothing Will raised a forearm to the glass and rubbed away the dirt, clearing away some of the obstruction so that he could see inside and the figures dancing out of his view. Will was used to the phantoms his imagination could conjure, the faces of the dead, the circumstances of their death, and things normal people didn't dwell on.
Normally one would be disturbed by figures out of the corner of one's eye, noises that could not be accounted for, flickering disembodied lights, Will merely spoke to them...or to no one in particular...he knew they didn't exist. He was so damned certain of it.]
One day we'll all be ghosts.
[There was a song that came to mind and for a moment it was entertaining, a way for him to take whatever fear he might have normally felt and push it down. He could be the ghost for all he knows, it's entirely possible.]
THE END APPROACHES
[With the book store providing him with more questions than answers Will winded his way around town a creature who appeared just as hollow as this deserted town. Finding his way to town hall he trod lightly through the vestibules and the reception hall, driting through offices where he combed through whatever scraps of paper that were lying about, anything that might clue him in to what was going on.
He stopped at the bulletin board puzzling over the scraps and notes for quite some time as though trying to see the people who wrote them, posit their intentions until he came upon the map. Will didn't need a keen eye, unfortunately, he knew blood by the sight of it, he'd seen enough of it now to know what it was without thinking too hard about it...but it was also a point of interest, it made the map stand out as something that required his attention.
His eyes stopped on the words:
he is coming
He mulled over this before turning his gaze back to the notes, zeroing in on the names.]
Johnson...Coulson...Constantine...
[It was like like he was looking at a Crazy Wall, but there were no pictures of sad, dead faces, just names and notes.]
Will Graham | Hannibal
[Buster.
He was ever the escape artist, always ready to bolt outside the door given the first opportunity, it wouldn't be the first, nor would it be the last time Will has chased the dog out into the open field, through dense walls of pine trees and shrubbery, knee-deep in the snow.
That was Wolf Trap, a town in the middle of nowhere, a place where someone like Will could isolate himself from the rest of the world. All he needed was this, vast open wilderness, his dogs, and a stream.
It took him all but a moment to lose his train of thought, he was doing that more and more these days...seeing was difficult, and in that moment he lost the trail and his path. Not that it mattered, he knew these woods, as he knew himself and he knew himself very well...or so he liked to think. It was a mantra he parroted over and over again in his moments of doubt.]
Buster!
[He shouted into the void, but rarely did the void answer him back, not between the nightmares that often occupied his unpalatable thoughts. The further away he drifted from the beaten path the colder it became, Will tucked his jacket around him and pressed on doggedly. A sane person would have left the dog to its own devices, but some would argue his sanity.
He wouldn't dwell on the state of his own mind, he knew exactly where he was with himself.
Eventually, he found himself in the clearing that gave way to an endless chasm, and then there was the other side.
Normally Will wouldn't be tempted, but he could see the waxy haunting figure of a man he knew to be dead, suspended out of reach as if on dust.]
Hobbs...
[The figure was in his head, he knew it, but he could still hear his voice, a hiss that visits him in his dreams...see...see...
Ignoring his instincts Will reached for the apparition that existed only within his imagination and there was nothing after that...
...like waking from a dream Will finds himself standing in front of the small town not knowing how he got here, but from the gray edges of his mind he could hear a voice, muffled at first, as though his head was submerged underwater, then clearer as he finally came to.
Perhaps the owner of the voice snatched him from the edge of the cliff and steered him this way, perhaps he found his way on his own and the voice was merely that of a concerned denizen, whatever the case Will finally acknowledges the presence with a...]
Sorry...what did you say...?
BODIES WITHOUT SOULS
[Book shops, not a normal haunt for Will as he had shelves upon shelves of books in his farmhouse preferring at-home reading over the potential for social run-ins. Still, his feet brought him here, if he was going to wander aimlessly anyway he might as well have wandered here.
Anything that can happen has to happen.
And if there was information to be had one could always find it in books.
Not caring about the state of himself or the state of his clothing Will raised a forearm to the glass and rubbed away the dirt, clearing away some of the obstruction so that he could see inside and the figures dancing out of his view. Will was used to the phantoms his imagination could conjure, the faces of the dead, the circumstances of their death, and things normal people didn't dwell on.
Normally one would be disturbed by figures out of the corner of one's eye, noises that could not be accounted for, flickering disembodied lights, Will merely spoke to them...or to no one in particular...he knew they didn't exist. He was so damned certain of it.]
One day we'll all be ghosts.
[There was a song that came to mind and for a moment it was entertaining, a way for him to take whatever fear he might have normally felt and push it down. He could be the ghost for all he knows, it's entirely possible.]
THE END APPROACHES
[With the book store providing him with more questions than answers Will winded his way around town a creature who appeared just as hollow as this deserted town. Finding his way to town hall he trod lightly through the vestibules and the reception hall, driting through offices where he combed through whatever scraps of paper that were lying about, anything that might clue him in to what was going on.
He stopped at the bulletin board puzzling over the scraps and notes for quite some time as though trying to see the people who wrote them, posit their intentions until he came upon the map. Will didn't need a keen eye, unfortunately, he knew blood by the sight of it, he'd seen enough of it now to know what it was without thinking too hard about it...but it was also a point of interest, it made the map stand out as something that required his attention.
His eyes stopped on the words:
he is coming
He mulled over this before turning his gaze back to the notes, zeroing in on the names.]
Johnson...Coulson...Constantine...
[It was like like he was looking at a Crazy Wall, but there were no pictures of sad, dead faces, just names and notes.]
Maybe he already came for you.
[Maybe he already came for this town.]