The god of death swept his gaze over Hannibal Lecter. His mouth was pressed into a gentle frown and his brow was lowered over his eyes.
A nearby hellhound whimpered softly, evoking one of the god's hands to reach out and stroke it between the ears. The beast was subdued and the attentions of the god was only temporarily averted from the soul before him.
Hannibal felt a delightful chill when the eyes found him again. A crown of antlers was nestled comfortably in the dark curls that graces the head of the god appraising him, and Hannibal wondered what was to become of him.
"It is not yet your time," the god said offhandedly, continuing to rub the hound under his palm, "You will return to the world of the living. You will most likely recall our meeting as a fever dream, brought on by your near-death experience. May you live a long life that I may not have to see you again soon."
The god waved his hand, ushering Hannibal out of his sight.
The scent of freshwater, forest underbrush, and dogs was accented with a nearly imperceptible scent of pomegranates. The last seemed a bit stereotypical and Hannibal nearly grinned at the thought.
Hannibal was frozen, staring rather rudely, his mouth slightly agape, at the god of death. He only regained his senses when a hellhound snarled at him.
Hannibal jumped, turning his gaze to the hound that was much nearer than he would have liked. The canine bared its teeth menacingly and Hannibal resigned to leave as he was bid.
As the hounds escorted him to the exit, Hannibal cast one more glance over his shoulder at the glowering god.
He couldn't help but think he would like to meet him again.
Hannibal straightened his tie as he walked, hoping the slight breeze would not make him appear less presentable for the walk.
As he approached the street he intended to cross, he found himself a witness to a misfortune. There was the sound of tires screeching and the unmistakable scent of burnt rubber closely followed by the smell of blood.
As he watched, a man crossed the street beside the motionless figure, three dogs obediently at his heels.
Hannibal's gaze swept upward, taking in the image of the man. He was wearing a rumpled, grey dress shirt and a baseball cap was tugged down over his eyes. The dark curls that protruded from the cap were what caught Hannibal's immediate notice. A memory flitted across his mind as the man's head tilted up and he caught a glimpse of his face.
The same dark eyes looked back at him as from the memory of his fever dream. The same frown graced the same lips as the ones he could see in his mind.
Then he was gone.
The man bustled through the crowd, past Hannibal, and was gone.
A familiar scent reached his senses over the throng of people, only further instilling the recollection of his hallucination.
Hannibal moved toward the accident, pushing through to the man lying on the asphalt.
"Please," he said, "I'm a doctor. I want to help."
Feeling for a pulse, he was unsurprised when there was none. The god of death had claimed this soul for himself. There would be no rescue for this man.
Hannibal went through his do-diligence, doing everything in his power to save the man's life, but he knew nonetheless that it was a hopeless endeavor.
Hannibal had thought his fever dream to be poetic nonsense, the elegance of the scene being generated from his own mind. His interest in cultures of the past giving way to the type of vision he had seen.
After seeing the same man at the accident, Hannibal could feel his logical resolve wavering.
He didn't typically believe in such things as gods, he certainly didn't believe in God, but he thought a coincidence such as this deserved to be looked into. The only detail that needed to be sorted out was how.
Having left the hospital setting for the much more agreeable psychiatric field, he knew he was unlikely to be witness to another death while at work. He was equally as unlikely to witness another accidental death, as yesterday's occurrence had been uncommon and he didn't travel on foot like that frequently.
He took another draw from his wineglass as he decided his course of action.
He would have to kill someone.