#freddietattledonme

"Oh dear," Freddie gives him a harsh laugh. "You’d...

"Oh no, that's poison ivy," Will mutters to himself, feinting concern as Freddie marches through a bush of the poisoned plant.

Will looks at what he is holding in his hands. Freddie's camera is new and flashy, something quite different than what he had as a kid, but he can figure it out. Pointing the lens in Freddie's direction, Will takes a clear snapshot of her on the crime scene before she disappears.

Over the phone, he had lost his temper. Since then, Will has learned that it's sometimes best to hold one's tongue. In this case, the punishment will actually be worse without any verbal fencing. It will be a nice red rash to match her nice red hair.

Edging along the woods and still a good fifty meters from the house itself, she moves closer to the front lawn. There are a few agents hovering around one particular evergreen tree, and she pulls out a pair of high-end binoculars to see what it is that interests them so much. Adjusting the focus, the first thing Freddie's gaze lands on is a patch of red, strikingly beautiful against the snow still fresh on the ground. She follows the trail of red up the tree, where she can see it congealing on the branches almost as if the tree itself had been lit on fire. But she knows fire isn't what did this, and that's what makes her hands go cold as she finally reaches the treetop, crowned with a sickeningly macabre display. 

There are three heads, human heads, stuck atop the tree. She finds she can think of nothing but their gaping mouths, and she feels sick. She knows the child's lolling tongue will haunt her dreams for months. Her fingers are fumbling for her camera, focusing the lens and tapping at the shutter, and then the whole thing slips from her hands and crashes onto the ground. A pair of shoes steps into her field of vision, and then a foreign hand appears, picks the camera up, and dusts the snow off.

Freddie is panicking now, but not how she should be. She's worried because she's not worried enough, because her tongue is not yet spilling over with excuses for her presence at this crime scene. All she feels is numb. 

The flight to New Hampshire is uneventful because Will makes sure of it. The great thing about being anti-social is that no one questions you when you’re actually being anti-social.

Will always tries to let his mind go blank before he walks into a crime scene, where it is forced to be filled with the most sick and twisted parts of humanity; but Bev has already given him the canvas. Supposedly, Dr. Lecter is going to give Will the ability to separate himself from the pictures.

Jack has already barked the order for everyone’s retreat. Will is standing in the snow, looking up at the evergreen tree, its branches decorated with flesh. At the very top of the tree sits three human heads, arranged in a way that resembles an ugly star. Atop the first two heads is the head of a woman, the only one whose eyes are open.

Will closes his eyes.

The flashing lights are gone.

Will inhales the scent of fresh pine rank with death.

The hum of conversation disappears.

The pendulum swings and Will begins to paint.

“The family left the door unlocked,” Will says, turning the knob and entering the home. “We stay here every Christmas. Everyone feels safe.” He stalks into the cabin, the television flashing colors onto his face . Will hangs back in the shadows, watching the family laugh at Ralphie presenting his Red Rider BB Gun theme to his teacher. “They’re happier without me,” he murmurs.

Crouching lower, Will grabs a knife from the adjoined kitchen. “I have to kill him first and fast, or I will never bring myself to do it." He nods towards the father. “He could also stop me.” Will leaps forward, grabbing the man’s head from behind and slashing the knife across his exposed neck. “He might not die instantly, but he won’t be a problem.”

As Will pushes away from the couch, the man’s wife screams. Smothering her mouth with a bloody hand, Will wrestles her to the floor. “Your eyes are open because I want you to see what you’ve made me do.” Tears are now running down the woman’s face, mixing with the blood of her husband. She whimpers helplessly against Will’s palm. She begins to struggle and Will panics. What he has hoped to be a quick kill has become more difficult.

“I’m small, making it harder to keep my victims down and my methods become sloppy.”  Will frantically stabs the woman over, and over, and over again. Once in the shoulder, once in the stomach, until he finally buries the blade into the woman’s heart.

The child is the easiest to kill.

Will drags the bodies outside, their blood seeping into the virgin snow. He drops their ankles once they are under the tree.

“There is no method to my disembodiment,” Will grabs a hand saw from a nearby shed and begins to hack into the bones. “Everything can be used as decoration. I don’t care about the organs.” He throws miscellaneous body parts into the snow: hearts, livers, kidneys, until the bodies are nothing but empty cavities. “For you to see, I must make them see.” After adorning the tree with organs, Will ties the three heads together and finds a latter. He climbs slowly, making sure that the heads are not rattled or hit by anything. “These are my trophies,” Will recites, setting the heads on top of the tree. “This is my design.”

Will shutters and opens his eyes. Hunks of bone and human pulp are still scattered about him. He tries to spin around, wanting to see where everyone has gone, but he stops when he is yanked backwards. His right hand is once again inside the glass box. Will's mouth falls open and he shakes his head because this isn't real.

Then, the box is gone and his hand is free.

Now, someone is shouting.

“There’s a kid!”  

     Freddie Lounds is having a hard time containing her excitement, which is exceedingly unusual. She is known for letting no emotions show besides "pure evil" (someone actually told her that once), but now she is staring at her reflection in her rear view mirror as she idles in the parking lot of the Port Haven Psychiatric Facility, steeling her expression into one of detached interest. Nothing more. She will not let this one get away.

     When she is sure she is under control, Freddie slips out of the car and into the parking lot, practicing a sure-footed, clinical walk on the asphalt. She makes it past the front desk and gets instructions to the correct room without incident. The fake ID was almost unnecessary, Freddie thinks as she smiles to herself. The nurse at the front desk had given her the once-over, and Freddie knew she was home safe when the woman spotted her Dansko Clogs. Doctors wear Danskos, and once Freddie figured that out she had bought a pair and used them to sneak into hospitals under the name "Dr. Lounds" ever since. People see those shoes and their assumptions carry her through effortlessly.

     Freddie goes straight through the building, getting lost only once, and takes a deep breath once she reaches the correct door. She raises a fist and taps twice, sharply. She hears an affirmation from inside, and enters. The room is light and airy, and the young woman sitting upright in bed in a white hospital gown looks almost ethereal. Well, except for the expression on her face, which is a mix of apprehension and utter animosity. Freddie likes her immediately.

     "Abigail Hobbs. My name is Freddie Lounds. I'm a reporter." Freddie steps through the door but doesn't close it behind her, approaches the end of the bed but does not extend a hand to shake. She has already picked up the signals Abigail is giving and designed her actions accordingly. "I know what you have been through, and survived, was awful. Well actually, I can't even pretend to understand. I have never experienced such trauma. Few people have. It must be hard, isn't it? To have people pretending to understand you, day after day, when really they have no idea."

I'm estatic to see that the RP has continued while I was gone! It's so far been such a pleasure to read. I'm constantly telling Cecilie how awesome all of you are. *twirls imaginary wine glass in a snooty fashion*

Anyway, I'm back and it's clear that progress can go on even when one person isn't here. I hope that this blog's activity during my absence has made it clear. 

More characters are coming in. Alana's been set up to come in shortly and Freddie will sneak in because there's a crime scene that she's not allowed to see and she doesn't give a shit.

As always, track your usernames so you know when you're needed.

Continue to be  superior beings of RPers. Seriously...what the hell. I read everything and it's just... 

Hello.

You guys might have noticed that we haven't exactly moved ahead in the last few days. If you follow Courtney, you have most likely seen this post informing that she's taking a short break (with a reference to The Jerk if I'm not entirely wrong? These cans are defective!) - which of course means that she is also taking a break from this blog. Which will mean that the roleplay will also be pausing for a little moment.

I can assure all of you that we will be starting again sometime soon. If you have any questions (regarding the roleplay) feel free to contact me on my other blog.

Bev knocked on the door again, a bit more insistent this time. Impatient, she twisted the handle, hoping Will was still there and Dr. Lecter's next appointment had yet to start.

"Will," she said, smiling a little. Thank god. He had been impossible to reach on the ride over. "I am sorry to interrupt your session, I know it is incredibly disrespectful, but we need you. I have a car outside. There should be enough time to stop by your house to pack some clothes before we leave."

She walked into the room, not waiting for an invitation, tucking the small file Jack had given her under her arm.

"Dr. Lecter," she held out her hand to shake, "My name is Beverly Katz. I work in the lab in Quantico, specifically hair and fiber. Jack Crawford sent me here to request your assistance and Will's. We have an unusual case, more than likely a serial killer, up in New Hampshire. Dr. Bloom is currently out of town and as this is an urgent matter, we would really appreciate your help.

"Like I said, we are short on time, and I can really only brief you here with questions on the flight to Concord. Jack wanted me to wait to explain the full case then, but I'm sure you want an idea of what you are getting into." She looked over at Will. He wasn't supposed to be doing field work, even Jack had seemed reluctant to ask for his help. There was no one else, though. There was no one better.

"Our victims were found in Newbury, New Hampshire. It appears there were four of them, but that is yet to be determined as the owners of the cottage they were found it were a family of five." Bev moved over to a low table, opening her folder. She pulled out a picture, placing it on the table so Will and Dr. Lecter could see.

A smaller evergreen, about 8 or 9 feet in height, stood in front of a cabin. It was decorated as if it were Christmas, but instead of conventional decorations, it consisted of human bodies. Livers, stomachs, and other organs were featured ornaments paired with limbs sliced into chunks. They were accented by garlands made out of the small intestines and thin strips of skin, most likely left over from the removal of the organs. Four heads sat on the top, pulled together in a four pointed star. The woman at the top was the only one with her eyes open.

"The tree was found... decorated this morning," Bev paused for a minute, looking down at the picture. It seemed like such a cruel word. "A neighbor was taking out his garbage at 0530. He thought he was seeing things, so he waited for his wife to arrive home from work at 1000 before calling the local police. Jack heard around noon and came looking for you at the end of class." Time was easy to discuss. Far easier than looking at the scene. If she wasn't used to seeing crime scenes like this, she wouldn't have believed it either.

"They know this is not their full time home. If this is the family that lives in the house on the same property of the tree, there is a fifth member- the oldest daughter- that does not seem to be part of the tree, but it is too soon to tell." It was never easy to keep moving, but it did become easier. She had learned not to give them a true face or identity, only to examine them for evidence. To understand the killer was Will's job. There was little to understand about the family.

"It is likely that this was a vacation home for the family and the killer, the Grinch as Jack called them, was waiting for them when they arrived for the weekend. Plenty of time to work." She looked down into her notes, making sure she wasn't forgetting anything before looking at Will for any physical response.