creative killers

Writing Prompt #288

A sickening grin stretched across their lips, leering down at me as they shuffled through a bag.

“Happy Friday the 13th.” They chuckled. “It’s time to play!”


Mother Nature is a serial killer. No one’s better. Or more creative. Like all serial killers, she can’t help the urge to want to get caught. What good are all those brilliant crimes if no one takes the credit? So she leaves crumbs. Now the hard part, why you spend a decade in school, is seeing the crumbs. But the clue’s there. Sometimes the thing you thought was the most brutal aspect of the virus, turns out to be the chink in its armor. And she loves disguising her weaknesses as strengths. She’s a bitch.

World War Z (2013) dir.  Marc Forster

The Karma Killer

They called her the Karma Killer
I knew her as Darma Miller
A woman who believed she was doing right
But became the beast who blocked out the light

She always said, “an eye for an eye”
But if saving lives meant some would die
Then revenge was what she was really after
When the killings were followed by her laughter

A week ago she had her last gig
The scene had released a riot rigged
Though in the end her karma fulfilled her
Miller’s actions came back and killed her

Alana Finds Out: Will’s Dogs

Another instalment of AFO in honour of Ladies of Hannibal week… in which Alana realises Hannibal has taken over dog duty and certain other roles which can only be described as… boyfriendly.

Also on AO3.

Alana wasn’t naturally a suspicious person but she had to admit, after a good two minutes of staring at Hannibal’s Bentley in puzzlement, there seemed no good explanation for its owner being in Wolf Trap. Even given Hannibal’s attempts to re-establish his friendship with Will, he certainly had no reason for a visit since Will was on a case with Jack Crawford, stuck overnight at a particularly trying crime scene.

From off in the distance she heard barking and turned, hoping the dogs hadn’t escaped and run off. Then she watched, feeling slightly dazed, as Hannibal emerged from the woods, preceded by all seven of Will’s dogs. Other than a stray twig in his hair, he looked as impeccable as ever and Alana’s breath caught a little at the sight of the stupidly attractive man engaged in something so domestic. Reminding herself that it would be entirely inappropriate to make out with Hannibal outside Will’s house, she exited the car and waved to her approaching boyfriend.

If Alana had been puzzled by Hannibal’s presence at Will’s home, Hannibal looked downright shocked to see Alana there. She grinned at his confusion and waved a hand towards the dogs milling around her feet. “I guess you heard about the delay over in Washington too, then?”

Hannibal seemed to take a moment to process this, then said, “Delay… Indeed, yes, I did. How did you find out?”

“Oh, Jack called to reschedule a meeting we had planned for tomorrow and mentioned Will was with him. Things between Will and me are a bit strained but I thought I might be the only one who would think to check on his dogs overnight. I guess I needn’t have worried. Never took you for the dog-sitting type,” she added, teasing gently, lifting up on her toes for a kiss and pulling the twig from his hair.

Hannibal reciprocated, though only barely, pulling back to say, “I thought perhaps Will would not feel comfortable asking for your help. As you say, your friendship is not so strong as it once was. As I had some spare time, I thought I would alleviate his need and your concern.”

“No patients this evening?”

“A fortuitously clear schedule. I had intended some paperwork but decided meeting the needs of my friends was more important. And now I find myself with unexpected but delightful company. Simply allow me to deposit the dogs safely indoors and then I would very much like to take you for dinner.”

“That sounds wonderful. I’ll help you get them in.”

“No, no, not at all.” Hannibal rushed to put her off. “I would not want your outfit covered in dog hair.”

“Hannibal,” Alana rolled her eyes, “you’re the one who worries about such things. I live with a dog, remember?”

“Yes… but… I really think…”

“Ssh. I’m better with them anyway. Let me just get the door.” She jogged up the steps, Hannibal still protesting, and threw the door open, to be greeted with the smell of cooking. From the mouthwatering smell, she doubted it was something Will had left to keep warm. Not that Will would do that anyway.

She turned, confusion and amusement mingling in her smile. “Hannibal, have you been cooking for Will?”

She had never seen Hannibal – Dr Hannibal Lecter, her vaunted mentor – look sheepish before.

“Will is still not in the habit of feeding himself properly. I wished for him to come home to a decent meal.”

As the dogs finally noticed their home was open and surged past Alana, she walked with them into the house and across to the kitchen. Taking a dishcloth, she lifted the lid of the simmering pot and concluded, “Boeuf bourguignon. This takes hours to prepare, Hannibal. Just how long have you been here?”

“A few hours, only. I…”

“Jack only called me a couple of hours ago, Hannibal. How did you know Will wouldn’t be coming home in enough time to do this?” Alana was beginning to feel her stomach twist. Hannibal could seemingly only gape at her in response. “And Will would never have the ingredients for this ready to go. You…” She spotted the brown bags on the counter, neatly folded and stacked. “You went grocery shopping for him?”

Something clicked and Alana looked over to Will’s small dining (cum-boat-engine-repair) table. It was set with a fine linen tablecloth and two candles. In candlesticks she recognised from Hannibal’s house.

“You walked his dogs, stocked his fridge, cooked him dinner and you did… that,” Alana said, gesticulating at the table. “This isn’t just what a friend does, is it? Hannibal,” she looked up at him with furious incredulity, “are you Will Graham’s boyfriend?”

She stared at Hannibal as his mouth worked, then they both jumped as a new voice interjected, “Actually, I’d like an answer to that too.” Will tilted his head, leaning against his front doorframe. “Just exactly which one of us is your bit on the side? Hello, Alana,” he added, “I’m truly sorry about this.”

Hannibal was first to recover. “Hello, Will. I thought you were not expected home until later.”

“It seems pretty clear I wasn’t. I convinced Jack I wouldn’t be of any further use and got straight out of there. You didn’t get my text, then?”

“Text?” Hannibal asked weakly, fishing out his phone. “Ah. No. Your dogs are rather distracting.”

Will’s expression softened as he said, “Did you walk my dogs for me?”

“I did. It is, I believe, what boyfriends do.”

That answers that, then.

“You don’t even have the decency to break up with me first?” Alana growled into the suddenly-charged silence, seemingly reminding both men of her existence. She looked from Hannibal across to Will, who had stepped forward into the room. “Did your oh-so-special empathy not extend to how much this would hurt me?”

Will winced and looked at the floor. “Yes,” he muttered, “just not enough to stop.”

“Alana,” Hannibal’s voice cut through the air, calm but carrying a note of warning, “it is I who has committed the sin here. Will is not blameless but I am the cheat. You would do better to take out your wrath on me.”

Alana pinned him with an icy expression. “Oh, I will. Wonder how long your medical licence will stand when I report that you’ve been fucking your patient?”

“Alana, that’s not…” Will began but she quickly cut him off.

“Shut up. Don’t speak. We’re done.” She turned to go, knowing if she stayed she would inflict violence on one or both men. In doing so, however, her gaze alighted on Will’s bed and she froze.

“Are those… rose petals?” There was a delicate spray of red covering the sheets.

Behind her, Hannibal cleared his throat and explained, “Tonight was to be… special. We have not yet…”

“Oh god,” Alana groaned. She sped past the two men, trying and failing not to notice the utterly besotted look they were sharing. Reaching the door, she turned to make some cutting remark but it died on her lips as she saw Will claim Hannibal’s mouth with a kiss. Instead, spotting a rubber bone on the floor, she picked it up and threw it at Hannibal’s head, enjoying the squeak as it hit home and hoping it was covered in dog drool.

“You know,” she told Will, hating how bitter she sounded, “relationships that start as adultery never last.”

Will had the grace to look shamefaced at that but Hannibal cupped his face in his hand and, ignoring Alana, told him, “This one certainly will.”

Alana just stared and then left them to it, praying for a lightning strike, double spontaneous combustion or a very localised outburst of the plague.

Or one of those creative serial killers they’re both so fascinated with.

Hell, I’d even help him display their bodies.