"May I be frank with you?"
"I'm not sure it would do me any good if you weren't."
"Most patients are reluctant to delve fully into their reasons for seeing me for the first few session; often they feel unable to confide in someone they've known for so short a time. We have had six sessions now and I am still predominately unaware of why you are here. Never once have you taken off your coat, set down your purse, or taken off your hat. Even now, you haven't removed your sunglasses for the past ten minutes. Every session you seem to hunt for something to talk about and for the most part they are not the type of troubles most would seek therapy over. I'm concerned that you have a much more antagonizing issue you're avoiding discussing. Please, let me reiterate: nothing you say will leave this room and I promise you my strictest confidence, Ana."
She sat patiently, absorbing every word. Her hands were resting on a small, black purse made of soft leather. She wore a knee length wool coat, cropped at the cuffs to show elegantly boney wrists. The neckline was wide and round and through it, a string of pearls could be seen resting on the slopes of her clavicle. The overcoat was cut loosely, in a vintage fashion, and hung to her knees when she stood. Now that she was seated across from him, he could see a more fitted black dress or skirt was underneath the light tawny coat. She wore short black gloves made of satin and a petite pillbox hat, made of fur, with a slightly domed top. The sunglasses were horn-rimmed with a wire frame at the bottom of the lens. She had an aura of elegance about her, and not just in this moment. Every session, Hannibal was surprised by the young woman more than twenty years his junior. She was polite, almost to a fault, having spent ten minutes past the scheduled time of her first appointment in the waiting room because she refused to knock on the door, so as not to interrupt. She was certainly cultured, often mentioning museums she had recently visited and books she was reading while the chatted idly in the first few minutes of every session. Her first language was English, which she spoke flawlessly, never um-ing and ah-ing, always choosing her words with care. She spoke Swedish nearly as well and as a result they were able to share a few short conversations in Danish.
She removed her glasses with a sigh, then her gloves, placed both items carefully in her purse, and set it on the floor beside her chair.
"I feel like a predator." She voiced after a moment of consideration.
"What do you mean by that?"
"There are times when I can't stop thinking about ending someone. Things that would be insignificant to others send me into downward spiral of anger and the only thing that calms me down is imaging pushing a blade through someone's neck and ripping it out the front."
She spoke evenly, obviously having given thought to what she would say when the topic came up, right up until she described driving a knife into someone's throat. With those words her even tone dropped, her voice grew deeper, darker. Her hands made a small, crude motion, pantomiming the goring and tearing actions. She settled her body back in the chair, inhaled deeply through her nose with closed eyes, and exhaled when she opened them. Her face relaxed, muscles unclenched, but her eyes ferocious.
"What sort of things make you angry enough that you would imagine killing someone over them?"
"It's the smallest things that set me off. Mostly it's the everyday rudeness that society has grown to except rather than weed out. There's no excuse for poor manners: when a person hands you something, you say 'thank you', when you want something, you say 'please, may I have...' not 'give me that'. I cannot stand when ignorant people are allowed to voice their opinions, as they are almost always founded with fear and built on lies. Yet the thing that makes me most angry has to be when someone underestimates me; when I'm offered unnecessary help lifting a 'heavy' object or when a person tries to explain something I'm already aware of to me. I hate being treated like an invalid because of my size, my age, and most of all, my gender. There's a part of me that just wants to stop fighting and massacre fifty people just so I could show everyone what I'm truly capable of."
Hannibal mulled over her words in silence for a moment. Ana reminded him much of himself at that age: furious, filled with indignation, and homicidal.
"How does your reaction to these moments make you feel?"
"It's hard to explain. Both my mother and her mother before her suffered from a severe lack of ability to control their anger so have I always been angry, the rage is nothing new or unexpected. However, when I was younger and would get angry, I never imagined hurting anyone. Perhaps that was due to young age though because as I got older my imagination seemed to get darker and more violent. Since I've always been this way, I can't envision a different life, therefore I don't necessarily feel good or bad about the reactions."
"If you aren't bothered by your reactions, why did you decide to seek therapy?"
"On a fundamental level I understand that what I feel and a majority of my thoughts are abnormal. That isn't to say that I strive for normalcy but rather that the extent to which the thoughts are abnormal and my lack of grief or guilt over them has piqued my interest."
"Is that to say that these thoughts have become more present in your life recently? There must have been a change that would push you to seek an understanding."
"I don't just feel them when I'm angry anymore. It's often, everyday there is at least once that I think about killing, somedays the thoughts never end. I decided to see you because I think that if I can gain some understanding I'll have more control over whatever it is. I'm not holding out hope though."
"Why is that?"
"Because as of right now, the only thing keeping me from killing is thought of prison. But it's waining, Doctor. My internal voice is growing darker every passing day. It's seeping into every moment of life, contorting every thought." She paused for a moment, once again closing her eyes and inhaling deeply. She exhaled, opened her eyes, spoke, "I wish I could smoke in here."
There was a silence between them while Hannibal wrote down small notes. Sometimes jotting phrases or whole sentences that he enjoyed hearing her say, trinkets of their time together. She had proven more interesting than he had originally thought.
He stopped writing and looked at Ana. She peered back with a mixture of emotions behind her eyes, all very well concealed to untrained eye. She placed both forearms on the arms of the chair and tapped one index finger inaudibly. Hannibal stood and walked to his desk, removing a small glass ashtray. He placed it on the table next to Ana.
"Old habits," He said, "Many people say the hardest part of quitting is drinking their morning coffee without a cigarette, I've found writing essays for journals has been my downfall. It doesn't feel the same without the smell and the taste."
"It's always been long drives for me. If I'm in a car for more than twenty minutes, I'll want a cigarette. I try not to smoke too often though, it dulls the taste of food." She said, unbuttoning her coat and removing a small silver case from an interior pocket. She had only just placed one unfiltered cigarette to her lips when Hannibal offered her the flame from his lighter. She leaned in and took a drag from the cigarette. Ana exhaled the smoke away from the pair and thanked him for the light.
Hannibal resumed his seat across from Ana and watched her revel in the smoke for a moment. The two spoke more at length for a quarter of an hour before she donned her gloves and glasses again.
"Ana, if it suits your schedule, I think it may be best if we saw each other twice a week. There are many things you brought up this session that we should cover individually at length. I think sessions twice a week would provide a more stable schedule to discuss them." Hannibal stated at the door before she left.
"Unfortunately, I don't have a very open schedule at this time. I'm not sure how late you see patients but as of right now, I'm only free Friday evenings after 5:30."
"I generally only schedule appoints up to 5:00pm and close by 6:00 but if you were interested in meeting twice a week, 5:30 on Fridays would not be a problem."
"Oh, I really don't want to put you out and I would hate to make you change your whole evening around."
"Nonsense, it wouldn't be a problem at all. I'm often here much later than 6:00 for paper work and research." He said, giving her a small smile.
"Well, then I will see you Friday evening. Thank you, Doctor Lecter." She said offering him a gloved hand.
"Please, Hannibal is fine." He said shaking her hand.
"Thank you, Hannibal." She corrected, before leaving. Hannibal stood in the doorway and watched her go, even as his next patient walked through the door.