"Will," Jack sighs, exhaustion wearing his voice thin. "We have examined and cross-examined Dr. Lecter. He has been interviewed and run through the lab. Are you doubting my team, now?"
He takes a step closer to the bars and continues, “Should I bring Beverly here to tell you herself?”
The shadows that rim his eyes speak of a man who sleeps restlessly. The loss of Will is grinding his bones against the stone. Fatigue is heavy on his soul, but he is still standing before Will.
The moment that sinks Will knee-deep into the muddy river bottom is Beverly’s name. He feels cold creep up him, dread and sad, feels his clothes sodden with water, too heavy for him to stand up straight. He sits back on the edge of his cot.
"You don’t have to bring Bev here. Or any of the team, I know abundantly well just how much they believe me."
At the moment, Jack looks less like a man and more like an obstacle, a dam in Will’s path.
"There’s no traceable motive. No evidence except for what he’s planted." Will’s mouth twitches at the corners, and it could be called a smile. "No wonder no-one believes me."
Jack heaves a great sigh, breathing stale coffee into the cold cell. “You’re killing me, Will.”
"I want you to be innocent," he admits with a frown, catching Will’s eyes with his own. "I want to believe that you didn’t do it."
The unspoken hangs in the air.