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Will sat bolt upright in bed, his heart pounding, his breath heavy, and his chest and forehead slick with sweat. He didn’t recognize his surroundings at first—beige ceiling, a blurry painting on the wall, the steady hum of an overworked air conditioner filling the air—but as his mind steadied he remembered exactly where he was. Baltimore. Not neighboring Wolf Trap, either. Baltimore: Where all his demons were housed.
His nightmares came more and more frequently these days, especially when he wasn’t with Molly. The shitty motel he found himself in now was certainly far from his happy home, so he wasn’t surprised he’d had a bad dream—whatever the content had been. He usually remembered them in the morning, and they were usually repeats of the same scenario, but tonight he couldn’t get a handle on what his unconscious mind had thrown at him. It didn’t feel like his usual nightmares. It had been something more immediate, more intense, and his soaked-through sheets were proof of that.
He reached for his glasses on the side table and slid them up his sweaty nose, then pushed himself back against the headboard to sit up properly. He blinked a few times as his vision cleared. The painting on the wall came into focus. It showed a glass house on a cliff surrounded by stormy seas. It wasn’t the most pleasant painting he could imagine hanging in a hotel room, but it had a certain pull to it. It felt oddly familiar. He shook the thought from his head and swung his legs over the side of the bed.
His shirt and boxers clung wetly to his body. He felt dirty; a shower was in order. He peeled off his shirt first. Weak as it was, the movement from the air conditioner still felt nice against his bare chest. He ran his hand across it to find it just as damp as his forehead. He paused over his heart to feel his breakneck pulse, then slid his hand down his body, hooked his fingers under the waistband of his boxers, and just as he was about to tug them off…
“Will?”
The voice had come from behind him. He spun to the source, shirt in hand. There was no one there. He whipped his head around the room and found it completely empty.
All the same, the voice came again. “Will? Can you hear me?”
It was a girl’s voice. It sounded familiar, somehow, like he’d heard it before.
He probably had. It was probably one of his demons invading his mind as they so often did. But he’d never actually heard a voice before. The thought of an aural hallucination spooked him, and it left him feeling very cold. A hot shower seemed even more appealing now. He began to walk to the bathroom, still clad in his boxers. The idea of getting naked in the same place he’d just heard a young girl’s voice made him uncomfortable, even if the voice had just been a hallucination.
He reached for the doorknob, and behind him the voice repeated, “Will?”
He froze up. Again he turned to check the room, and again he found nothing. He felt something, though: A little prickle on the back of his neck, like there was something there he couldn’t see. Or someone. He took his shirt—still balled up in his fist—and pulled it back over his head. He felt exposed out in the open when whatever or whoever was speaking to him was hidden somewhere in the shadows. Most likely in the shadows of his own mind, but still... That prickle unsettled him.
“Is someone there?” he asked. The question made him feel ridiculous. Of course there was no one in the room, but he had to know for sure.
A breeze rushed up against him hard enough to send him reeling back on his heels. Then, almost casually, the voice said, “Yeah, I’m here.”
Will did recognize the voice now, but he tried his best not to think about the person it belonged to. Still, he asked, “Where are you?”
“Nowhere,” the voice returned. “Or maybe everywhere. It’s hard to tell.”
Will buried his hand in his hair. “You’re clearly in my head.”
“No. That’s one place I’m sure I’m not. Otherwise I wouldn’t have my questions, would I?”
“Questions?” Will’s voice was little more than a murmur. He’d feel strange talking to himself in a normal volume, and he was talking to himself, wasn’t he? “Why am I hearing you out loud?”
“I’m not sure about that, either,” the voice said. “I think… I think there’s something special about tonight.”
“Tonight?” Will said. “Tonight’s Halloween.”
A hissing noise filled the room, like a breath through clenched teeth. “Halloween, huh? That must be it. Funny. I’ve always heard about hauntings, but I… You can’t see me, can you?”
“How could I? You’re a voice in my head.”
“That’s what you think I am? A voice? A memory?”
Will shook his head. “That’s all you can be. You’re—“
“—Dead, I know,” the voice completed. “Have been for, what, three years? I know that.”
“Then you know you’re a figment of my imagination.”
“I’m not your imagination,” the voice said. It sounded testy, at least as testy as a disembodied voice could sound. “You know what—who—I am.”
“I know who I’m hallucinating you to be.”
“I told you, I’m not—“ The voice cut off mid-sentence, then continued, “Again, you know who I am, don’t you? Say it. Say my name.”
Will swallowed hard. He felt his eyes moisten, even in his certainty that the whole thing was an illusion. He opened his mouth to speak, closed it, opened it again, and said, “Abigail. You’re Abigail Hobbs.”
“That’s me,” the voice—Abigail’s voice—said. “Or maybe it used to be me? I’ve never thought about that before. Did I stop being me when Hannibal cut my throat, or am I still the same Abigail I used to be?”
“Abigail…” Will’s voice quaked as he said her name. “I think you stopped being that girl well before you died.”
“You mean after he kidnapped me?”
“That’s right. He changed you.” Will grimaced. “Christ, what am I doing? I’m having a conversation with my imagination, and I’m not even drunk.”
“Will,” Abigail’s voice said with urgency, ignoring his hypothetical. “Why did you do what you did? Why did you give him up?”
Will stared at the stained carpet. “I don’t know. I really don’t. I guess I just… I thought I was doing the right thing.”
“What, like you were being noble or something?”
Will chuckled under his breath. He was feeling crazier with each passing moment. “Exactly like that.”
“I need to ask you something,” Abigail’s voice said.
“Will it make you go away?”
“Maybe. If you want me to.”
Will shrugged. “I guess it doesn’t matter. Ask away, then. It won’t be anything I don’t already know. You’re just a fi—“
“I’m not a figment!” The voice boomed, then quickly: “Sorry, I didn’t mean to be so loud. But I’m not. I’m real, alright? Maybe I’m not, I don’t know, corporeal, but I’m still real.”
“If you say so,” Will said. “But Halloween or not, I don’t believe in ghosts.”
“Whatever makes you happy. But anyway… I need to know: If you’d known about me—if you’d known I was still alive—would you still have led Jack Crawford to Hannibal? To try to catch him? To try to kill him?”
Will couldn’t bring himself to speak.
“I need to know, Will. Please. I don’t know how long I can stay here, just… Please. Would you have turned him in, or would you have come with us?”
Will scoffed. “Gone with you? Gone with you where? The FBI would’ve cast a wide net.”
“He wanted to take us to Italy,” the voice said. “I never got to see Europe. It would’ve been nice.”
“I…” Will paused. He chewed at his cheek for a moment before saying, “If I’d known about you… Abigail, if I’d known about you, everything would’ve been different. All of it.”
“So you regret it? What you did?”
Will closed his eyes. “I’ve never said this out loud, but yes. I do regret it.”
“That’s… nice. I have one more question, though, and It’s a little harder. Will… Would you have been happier with us than you are with your wife?”
Will’s head jerked up at that, and his eyes snapped open even though there was no one to look at. “How can you ask that?”
“It’s important, Will. Please.”
“Happier? I… I don’t know how to answer. I don’t know if I can answer. But if it helps, I miss him sometimes. But only sometimes. Mostly I miss you. I miss you so much, Abigail. Every day. I… Maybe I would’ve been happier. Maybe. I’m not a happy man as it is. So… Maybe.”
“Thank you for being so honest. It’s good to hear.”
“As if I could ever lie to you,” Will said, and chuckled again. It sounded more like a crazed giggle. “Figment, ghost, whatever you are. I couldn’t lie to any kind of Abigail.”
“I’ve heard what I needed to.”
“What you needed to? You mean you’re…?”
“Done, yeah. I don’t think I could stay here for long even if I wanted to. It’s just tonight. Tonight’s special. But even then, I don’t belong here, you know? So… This is goodbye, Will. I don’t know whether it’s for now or forever.”
Tears filled Will’s eyes, but he couldn’t speak the word he knew he was supposed to say. Goodbye.
There was another breeze, and the prickling sensation on the back of his neck left him. Whatever had happened was over now.
He knew ghosts weren’t real. He knew ‘Abigail’s’ voice had just been a hallucination. He knew he was only going a little crazier than usual. That was all. He just went a little wacky.
He stood up and tore off his shirt and boxers, threw them on the bed, and hurried into the shower. He stood in the tub and twisted the hot knob all the way. It came out icy cold, but the shock was welcome in its own way. It jolted him out of the state he’d been stuck in. Then came the searing heat—and that was even more welcome.
He stayed under the water for a solid thirty minutes, just trying to keep his mind blank. It worked. Mostly. But when he finally stepped out of the tub and started to dry off, he noticed something strange.
A single word stood out in the foggy mirror: Goodbye.
His stomach dropped. It must’ve been left over from a previous guest. That was it. Someone had drawn on the mirror, and it hadn’t been properly cleaned. The rest of the room was dirty enough, so it only made sense.
It made a lot more sense than it having been left by the ghost of Abigail Hobbs.
But still…
Goodbye.
He reached out and traced the ‘G’ with his fingertips.
“Goodbye, Abigail,” he said, much as he should have before his shower. But he added something else—something he wished he’d gotten to tell her before Hannibal had taken her away from him. Something that would’ve let her know just how much he cared for her as a true surrogate daughter.
“Love you, kiddo,” he said.
To his disbelief, something invisible traced a slow, lazy heart on the mirror.
Will’s eyes widened. “Thank you,” he found himself saying.
Nothing else happened after that. He didn’t even cry. He just got dressed and sat on the side of his bed until morning. He’d be off to see Hannibal in Chilton’s institution in a few hours—the first time in three years. He wasn’t worried about it, though. Abigail—whether she really was a ghost, or just a fragment of his broken mind—had left him feeling free.
And he hadn’t felt free in a long, long time.