Therapy session with Hannibal Lecter
I was sitting in front of him, watching him, noticing all the details of his brown custom-made suit and perfect matching tie. The room was quiet; we were reading each other for a period of time without saying anything. The room we were in was big, with a desk, several chairs, a piano and some paintings here and there. I swallowed, still tasting the well prepared meat Hannibal had made earlier for our lunch. It is one of our usual therapy sessions. I had been working most of the day, as today was the 13th of May and I had been presenting about the recent murder from the Chesapeake Ripper at the police station. My gift of having an overactive imagination was a big help for the police, however it gave myself problems. I often fantasized about killing others, just like the murders who we investigated. This was the reason why I was going to therapy. After a while, when Hannibal had studied me enough, he finally asks me.
He looks into my eyes and leans a bit back, as he asks if I fantasize about killing him too. I stare right back and say yes.
''Tell me, how would you do it?''
''With my hands.''
There is the silence again.
I cross my legs and lean back. He reaches out for his wine glass and takes a sip of the wine, which is colored dark red, just as blood.
''Does it feel good, when you imagine killing someone?'' he asks. I nod.
''Killing must feel good to God too. He does it all the time, and are are we not created in his image?''. His words are terrifying and makes everything feel like it's just a game, however I have learned to play it and stay calm.
''Depends on who you ask.'' I answer.
Later, when the therapy session is done, he sees me out. I take one last look around in the calm looking room and then head out. The sky is filled with grey clouds and a church clock strikes 6 pm. Hannibal walks with me to my car and smiles as I get in. I start the old rusty car and look up to him.
''Till next week, Hannibal.'' I say, as he smiles.
''Till next week.''