Will Graham killed Garrett Jacob Hobbs in September, and in January, Abigail Hobbs had to go back to school.
Dr. Bloom raised high hell and probably spent about twelve hours in different county offices, but it didn’t matter; some county official had found some old bylaw, and a senior about to graduate from the county of Wilmont couldn’t be homeschooled for their last semester. Abigail had to go back to high school.
It was such a stupid thing. Her father was a serial killer and she had blood on her own hands, she had no family, lived in a psychiatric institution, and yet she had to go back to goddamn high school. She’d almost started laughing when Dr. Bloom had told her because it was just so ridiculous.
She didn’t cry in front of Dr. Bloom, who was so angry she looked like an avenging amazon from an old comic book, and she definitely didn’t cry in front of Will Graham when he came to see her because he looked like he might cry himself, but she did cry in front of Hannibal at their weekly dinner and he let her, draping a gentle arm over her shoulder as she sobbed into her hands on his expensive couch. He didn’t tell her it would be alright, but when the tears had finally subsided to a trickle and the sobs were shuddering gasps, he took her face in one hand and fixed her in his strange hazel stare.
“If anyone hurts you,” he told her, and there was something in his voice that was both reassuring and chilling, “I want you to tell me. Can you do that, Abigail?”
She’d nodded and his eyes had searched hers, warm and measuring, and then he’d nodded too.
“Good,” he’d said, then he rose to his feet and made them dinner.