I believe I always have been your exception to the rule, haven't I, Will? So I think it won't be very hard for you to understand that you are my exception as well. You shouldn't have been fucking the killer you were looking for, and I shouldn't be talking to the Federal Agent who wants to rob me of my freedom.
Ah, this only shows that no one is perfect, least of all you, Will. I do wonder if you will show this note to your superiors. After all, I don't think you ever told them of all the times I bent you over my couch or my desk or took you to my bed and fucked you until you couldn't walk or sit straight. Tell me, Will, how are you ever going to explain all those wanton cries of yours begging me to take you, to hurt you, to make you forget.
I haven't forgotten, Will. In fact, I think of it often.
Did I ever tell you I stopped by Marathon, Florida after I was released from my incarceration? I suppose I didn't. Of course, your house was empty, but you were still there, Will. Your scent was still lingering inside it, and it brought back a couple of wonderful memories. As did the stains in the carpet. Blood does turn a beautiful shade of black after it dries, doesn't it?
I have no intention of stopping our communication, Will. Your letters are satisfactory for now, but should you choose not to write me, I suppose I can always drop by for a talk. You have a lovely house, after all. Six Union Road, with a brown front door, and a nicely tended front yard.
Exception to the rule or not, I've never claimed to be perfect. If I had have known that it was you, if I had have caught on before I stepped foot in your office, believe me Doctor, you would have been surrounded by Agents and locked away before you could even think about fucking me anywhere.
But what's done is done and 'ifs' and 'maybes' never did anyone any good, did they? Just remember that the blood on that carpet wasn't all mine, Doctor. You've had your chance and I won't give you a second one.
This is where you are wrong, Will. You never gave me even one chance, so how on earth will you be able to deny me a second one?
You reached for your gun without asking me, without hearing me out, without so much as looking at me. Did you really expect I would surrender myself, and not defend my freedom? I think you knew me better than that, Will, and your victim act is getting old, really. Learn a new tune to sing.
You knew what I was, but you failed to act on it. Why? Where you unable to accept what that said about yourself, Will? What that said about your attraction to me? What that said about your desires and your needs? I believe you didn't give me a chance, not because of what I am, but because of what it made you confront about yourself.
The truth does taste rather bitter, doesn't it, Will?
I know the blood in that carpet wasn't all yours, Will, and believe me when I say that if you hadn't been able to take Dolarhyde out, I would be having him over for dinner right about now.
I believe I always have been your exception to the rule, haven't I, Will? So I think it won't be very hard for you to understand that you are my exception as well. You shouldn't have been fucking the killer you were looking for, and I shouldn't be talking to the Federal Agent who wants to rob me of my freedom.
Ah, this only shows that no one is perfect, least of all you, Will. I do wonder if you will show this note to your superiors. After all, I don't think you ever told them of all the times I bent you over my couch or my desk or took you to my bed and fucked you until you couldn't walk or sit straight. Tell me, Will, how are you ever going to explain all those wanton cries of yours begging me to take you, to hurt you, to make you forget.
I haven't forgotten, Will. In fact, I think of it often.
Did I ever tell you I stopped by Marathon, Florida after I was released from my incarceration? I suppose I didn't. Of course, your house was empty, but you were still there, Will. Your scent was still lingering inside it, and it brought back a couple of wonderful memories. As did the stains in the carpet. Blood does turn a beautiful shade of black after it dries, doesn't it?
I have no intention of stopping our communication, Will. Your letters are satisfactory for now, but should you choose not to write me, I suppose I can always drop by for a talk. You have a lovely house, after all. Six Union Road, with a brown front door, and a nicely tended front yard.
Until we meet again, my dear Will,
H.
Reply
Exception to the rule or not, I've never claimed to be perfect. If I had have known that it was you, if I had have caught on before I stepped foot in your office, believe me Doctor, you would have been surrounded by Agents and locked away before you could even think about fucking me anywhere.
But what's done is done and 'ifs' and 'maybes' never did anyone any good, did they? Just remember that the blood on that carpet wasn't all mine, Doctor. You've had your chance and I won't give you a second one.
There will be no meeting again.
Graham.
Reply
This is where you are wrong, Will. You never gave me even one chance, so how on earth will you be able to deny me a second one?
You reached for your gun without asking me, without hearing me out, without so much as looking at me. Did you really expect I would surrender myself, and not defend my freedom? I think you knew me better than that, Will, and your victim act is getting old, really. Learn a new tune to sing.
You knew what I was, but you failed to act on it. Why? Where you unable to accept what that said about yourself, Will? What that said about your attraction to me? What that said about your desires and your needs? I believe you didn't give me a chance, not because of what I am, but because of what it made you confront about yourself.
The truth does taste rather bitter, doesn't it, Will?
I know the blood in that carpet wasn't all yours, Will, and believe me when I say that if you hadn't been able to take Dolarhyde out, I would be having him over for dinner right about now.
You never stopped belonging to me, Will.
H.
Reply
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