What the Doll Means

avegetariancannibal:

For Hannictober Day 19: Voodoo Doll

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Jack gave it to him before the trial with a grim look of apology. “We had the lab look it over. X-rayed it, put it under the microscope. There’s nothing weird about it except… the whole thing is weird. He just wanted you to have it, and I wanted—”

“You wanted to see my reaction,” Will said, cutting him off. “To see if it meant anything. I promise you, Jack, this isn’t a secret message telling me how to break him out of jail.”

Jack had the decency to look moderately chagrined, or at least pretend to.

“I can tell him you wouldn’t accept it,” he offered. “Throw it right into his cell… or whatever you want me to do.”

Will was already putting the thing in his pocket. “I’ll dispose of it myself.”

***

“It” was a voodoo doll, about as high as Will’s middle finger was long.

The construction was crude, most likely given Hannibal’s limited access to crafting supplies. He shouldn’t have been able to make it at all, but Will imagined Hannibal had bartered with Alana for what he needed. The end result was a muslin figure stuffed with paper, wrapped in a scrap of Hannibal’s own clothing, and topped with a tuft of his hair.

Will had lived in New Orleans long enough to have seen things he couldn’t explain. The membrane between magic and reality was sometimes as permeable as a single layer of skin.

Still, he wasn’t sure about the doll until he brought it back to court with him.

He sat near the back corner of the room, but with a line of sight to Hannibal in profile. Watching carefully, he slipped his hand into his pocket and rubbed his thumb along the back of the doll’s neck.

Hannibal shifted in his seat. Coincidence…

Will rubbed again, his touch feather-soft, tracing slow circles against the doll’s fabric throat.

Hannibal shifted again, tilting his head back just slightly. He licked his lips and seemed not to be listening to the prosecutor’s opening statements.

Will dug his thumbnail into the doll’s throat, right where its Adam’s apple would be.

Hannibal’s eyes closed. His lips parted. During a pause in the prosecutor’s comments, Will could hear Hannibal gasping for breath. He dug his nail in deeper, deeper until the color rose in Hannibal’s cheeks and his lips darkened and the veins stood out in his temples.

Will eased up on the doll’s throat, and Hannibal’s breathing seemed to return to normal.

The judge and prosecutor both gave Hannibal inquisitive looks, but didn’t pause the proceedings.

It was enough for Will to believe the doll’s authenticity. It was enough for him to believe Hannibal had given him the means to hurt him. He could drag it out for years. Hannibal had given him the means to kill him at any time. He could kill him in court, if he wished.

He didn’t wish.

But…

He could push Hannibal to the brink of suffocation again, push further than he just had. Perhaps not today. Perhaps months from now on a random day. Medics would come. An ambulance would come. At an opportune moment, Hannibal would recover as if by magic and fight his way to freedom. And Will would be waiting for him, because what he’d told Hannibal about not missing him was a lie. Even if he didn’t give in to the temptation to set him free, there would still remain the temptation to touch him by proxy. Touch him with kindness when missing him was unbearable, or with cruelty…when missing him was unbearable.

Will fled the courtroom without waiting to hear the rest of the opening statements.

A few moments later, Jack followed him.

“Give this back to him,” Will said, taking the doll from his pocket and thrusting it at Jack.

Jack frowned at him. “Did you figure out what it means?”

“It doesn’t mean anything,” Will lied. “It…it doesn’t mean anything.”

-end-