Author's Note: A huge thank you to everyone that read/favorited/followed/reviewed this story! I really appreicate it all. This section is diverting from the dinner scene with Hannibal to Alana's home; both events are roughly happening at the same time. Next update will be back at Hannibal's. Thank you again.

Will Graham awoke from his dreamless sleep by a violent scream erupting from his lips. The young man opened his eyes from one place of darkness into another. His arms, drenched in sweat, flailed about him as he fought to push himself into a sitting position on the bed. Dark eyes darted about the room, his chest beginning to swell as his fingers gripped the sheets below him. His rough hands immediately recognized the fabric as unfamiliar, eyes simultaneously adjusting to the blackness of the room.

He wasn't home.

The silhouettes of furniture were not his, the shadows that danced along the wall were not his. The soft sheets he twisted in his hands were not his. His bare chest—where was his shirt?—heaved as he struggled to pull oxygen into his lungs. Moonlight reflected against a vanity mirror on the far right side of the room; Will could see necklaces draped over the top of the mirror. Below, make-up brushes were lined up in a neat row next to a hairbrush. A shaky breath finally entered Will's lungs as he pushed his legs over the side of the bed, feet dangling above the wooden floor. He was definitely in a woman's room.

Why was he in a woman's room?

The uncertainty of this thought propelled him to his feet and he staggered towards the door. His feet ached as he settled his weight on them so halfway across the room he began to trot gingerly, hands spread out to grab the door to push himself into the hallway. Fear began to overwhelm his senses and he felt himself nearly tripping. What, why, how…he had been at the Academy. Yes, finishing up his lecture on…on what? Will brought his hands to his head, the heels pressing into his temples. What was he doing? Pressing his back against the wall he took several breathes before he glanced down the hallway, vaguely wondering where the owner—owners?—of the home were. A frightening and comforting realization tackled Will's mind at the same time. Suddenly he recognized this hallway. He remembered the iron railing to his left that dropped off into the parlour below, he remembered the pictures lining the right side, the precision of their spacing. He knew where he was.

This was Alana's house.

A sense of relief begged to take over the second emotion that was clawing its way to the forefront of Will's mind, but the latter was stronger. If this was Alana's house and it was this dark outside, she would have had to been here. Alana wasn't a sociable type. She was studious, she would have been home on a Tuesday night going over patient files or working on her lecture…without remembering to favor his sore feet—why were they sore?—Will flung himself down her staircase, taking two or three steps at a time. He gripped the railing the entire way down and used the momentum to swing himself toward her kitchen area. The entire house was dark save for a small light illuminating from the laundry room at the far end of the kitchen. Will swallowed drily and tried out his voice, fingers splaying along the walls as he moved toward the light.

"A..," he cleared his throat and tried again, his raging heartbeat beginning to deafen his hearing. "Alana!"

No response.

The young man ground his teeth together, another scream threatening to break free as he rushed toward the only lighted room. As he entered the laundry room his body reacted to the scene before his mind could register. Will shoved himself backwards so hard he collapsed to the floor on his backside as if someone had pushed him. His bare feet had stepped on a silky light blue button-down shirt. Dried blood was splattered along the midsection of the fabric as if it were some type morbid design. Beside of it laid his own grey pull-over, blood adoring the front of it as well. Will's pulse began to increase, reverberating violently inside of his head. Sweat began to seep from his pores and he felt his stomach clench as he pushed himself backwards on the linoleum, his hands grabbing for nothing.

"N-no, no…NO!" He screamed. He pushed himself back farther, allowing himself to be enveloped into the darkness.

Away from the light.

Could he have…yes, he mentally yelled, yes he was capable of murder. You don't put yourself into the shoes of killers, you don't visualize yourself strangling someone, you don't watch yourself gouge out the eyes of an innocent person without bringing some of that back. Will Graham doubled over, fingernails digging into his chest as his shoulders began to shake. Who had he become, he wondered darkly, when he did this.

He jerked his hands away from himself and stared at his palms, then flipped his hands over to look at the backside he could see red blood dried underneath his nail-beds. He had apparently been aware enough of his actions to try and wash his hands, to cover up whatever it was he did. Will's hands immediately went back to his face and he squeezed his eyes shut as tears began to burn against his eyelids.