We Are Red
He rarely dreamed about Mischa any more, but Abigail was another matter. She'd begun appearing on a fairly regular basis.
This time, she was on the grounds of the Lecter family estate. Though he hadn't visited the place in decades, he easily recognized the little grove where weather-worn statues of Artemis and Aphrodite framed a Japanese maple. She stood in front of that tree, which, though the ground was covered in snow, still inexplicably wore its rust-colored leaves. Abigail was dressed in a long, fitted red coat. Her dark hair spilled over her shoulders. She stared at him. She was not smiling. Instead, she wore the same heart-struck expression she'd had the day he told her that he could no longer protect her as she was.
"See?" Abigail whispered after what seemed like an eternity of silence. Then she spoke again and a man's voice came out of her mouth. Will's voice came out of her mouth. "See?"
When he opened his eyes, he saw the bedside alarm clock. The time read 7:06 am. The dream was over, but Abigail's voice echoed in his mind.
See? See?
Those were the words Will Graham had gasped as he lay bleeding on the same spot where another man had died just months before. And those had been Garrett Jacob Hobbs' dying words as well, had they not? He frowned at the memory. This was a warning. But a warning about what?
He turned his head to the other side of the bed, which he'd just realized was empty, though the rumpled sheets indicated recent occupancy. Had she left while he was asleep? That was not something she would do. It would've been rude.
No, it was something he assumed she wouldn't do. It had taken the events of last night to put them in a position where he'd find out for sure. He was suddenly intrigued with the empty side of the bed, so he was taken slightly off-guard when the door to the en suite bathroom swung open.
"Hi," Alana said with a sigh as she stepped out. "I mean, good morning."
The first thing he noticed was the way she was avoiding his gaze.
"Good morning," he replied, choosing an even but noncommittal tone as he sat up in bed. "I trust you slept well?"
Alana's cheeks turned bright red as she looked at him at last. Abruptly, she pivoted and began striding towards the other side of the room.
"I slept fine, thanks," Alana said over her shoulder. She had re-dressed in the blue wrap dress and black tights she'd arrived in the night before. The ensemble was fetching enough, but he knew red was her color. He made a mental note to tell her that another time.
She crossed to the fireplace at the far end of the room and plucked her purse from the chair she'd flung it on last night. Her boots lay nearby on the floor. As Alana sat and began to put them on, she glanced up at the painting above the fireplace, where a woman dressed in classical garb was depicted beheading a nearly-naked man sprawled on a white bed. Another woman knelt nearby, holding an outstretched cloth, presumably to catch the man's soon-to-be-severed head. The women's expressions were placid, while the man's was one of almost comical shock.
"Oh, that's...interesting," Alana muttered after a moment.
"Judith slaying Holofernes," he told her. "A little reminder to myself to never take a woman for granted." He waited for Alana's reaction.
"I guess I didn't notice it last night," was all she said. Alana was now more interested in checking her cell phone. It was obvious she was looking to beat a hasty retreat, all while trying show him she was unfazed by what had passed between them last night. How disappointing, he mused. And after we had such a lovely evening.
He'd always liked Alana. And he liked women as a rule, liked their company and mannerisms and the bright sound of their laughter. Most of all, he liked the ways women responded to the things he said and did—things that most American men never thought to include in their seduction repertoire. But perhaps he'd made a misstep this time. He decided to try again.
"I'll see to breakfast." It was a long-standing rule of his. Even if he had no intention of continuing his liaison with a woman, he never let her leave without breakfast. That would be the epitome of rudeness.
"No, I can't stay." Alana pulled her long hair into a messy ponytail as she spoke. "I've got a thing this morning. I'm meeting Beverly to discuss Will's defense. Plus I have to let the dogs out and..."
"Beverly?" he ventured.
See? See?
"Beverly Katz. She's one of the investigators on Jack's team. I thought you'd met her before, but maybe not." She stood and slowly smoothed the front of her dress with her palms, a deliberate, affected gesture. It made him want to strip her bare all over again.
"Ah, I will have to make her acquaintance." He swung his legs over the side of the bed and stood, stealing a glance at Alana. She looked at the floor, avoiding the sight of his naked body. She's embarrassed, he realized. She's ashamed. He quickly moved to the closet and pulled out his dressing gown. "Nothing I said last night changed your mind, I take it?"
Alana finally raised her head when he'd secured the robe's tie around his waist. "I can't walk away from him," she said. "I feel responsible for...so many things."
He felt the corners of his mouth twitch, then forced them back into place. This would not do at all. He closed the space between them. "Abigail is dead," he said firmly. "Who's responsible for that?"
"Don't." Alana crossed her arms and hugged herself. "You don't need to remind me."
He straightened himself to his full height and put his hands into his robe's pockets. "I don't want you to participate in Will's defense. It would not be good for you." The unspoken subtext was, of course, that he would be good for her.
"Will wasn't himself when..." Alana sighed and stepped away from him. "When those things happened. There's plenty of evidence—the encephalitis, for one." She added, "You don't have to see me out; I remember where my coat is."
Ignoring a colleague's advice was one thing—he ignored Dr. du Maurier's all the time—but ignoring a lover's plea was quite another. That had been the whole point of this little exercise; he needed a wedge to keep Alana away from Will. Apparently, it wasn't working. He allowed himself to frown at Alana's back as she turned to pick up her purse. How very disappointing.
Still, all was not in vain. He'd been curious, and that curiosity was now more than satisfied. What would happen if they threw caution to the wind? The thought had crossed his mind more than once during his professional and personal dealings with Alana. But she'd always seemed to respect him for not acting on the notion that had clearly crossed her mind as well. Had he lost that respect now? Had he gained something else in return? He considered it for a moment while Alana rifled through her purse.
She's very kissable, Will had once told him. Now he could emphatically agree.
Abruptly, Alana looked up at him. "I can't find my earrings. But listen, we should forget that last night happened."
He blinked at her. "We should?"
"I want to forget, okay?" Alana sidestepped to a dresser, making a show of scanning its surface for her missing earnings. She was distressed and hiding it poorly. "Hannibal, please. Let's be honest with ourselves. We said we weren't going to talk about Will, then we did. We got emotional. I shouldn't have had that second beer. Or the third one."
He turned his tone to a mixture of concern and alarm. "If you feel I took advantage of the situation..."
"No, no, no. That's not what happened. I wanted—"
"We wanted it to happen," he prodded. "Alana, if you are seeing someone else, I wouldn't presume to interfere."
She squeezed her eyes shut and shook her head. "No, no! There's no one else. I just..." Her face began to flush again. "I think I left my earrings in the bathroom." She brushed passed him and he silently watched her go. She closed the bathroom door behind herself, a bit too hard.
Then the phone on his bedroom desk rang. He saw the caller ID and moved to answer it.
"Hello, uncle," he said upon picking up.
"Aunt," the voice on the other end corrected him.
"Ah, hello Akako." Perhaps it had something to do with his aunt and uncle's 20-year age difference, but he'd never been able to think of Akako as his aunt. He bore her no ill will, of course. She was an elegant woman, with a hypnotic hybrid accent that spoke both to her Japanese origins and her British schooling. And once new acquaintances learned of her august family linage, they were always more than happy to call her by her honorific, Lady Murasaki. But she had always simply been Akako to him.
"I hope I'm not calling you too early," Akako said. "What time is it for you? It's three in the afternoon here. Anyhow, a certain someone wants to speak to you. She was quite insistent. I thought I should be the one to call you though, just in case."
"And how is my..." His eyes flicked over to the closed bathroom door. "Cousin doing?"
"Cousin? I thought she was your sister." There was mirth in Akako's voice. They always did have similar senses of humor. Then she paused. "Are you with someone right now?"
"Yes," he said. "Put Mischa on the phone, please."
"Hi!" a youthful voice trilled after a moment's silence.
"Mischa." He smiled at a faded photograph of a young girl that hung beside his desk. "Are you well?"
"Yup! I got your present. The coat is beautiful. Thank you so much!" Her voice was higher now, more childlike and with a different cadence. The conditioning was holding strong. He was pleased. Of course, the subject's willingness had played no small part in that. And yet...
I am sorry you could not continue being Abigail. I am so sorry I had to kill her.
"Do you like it?" he went on. "It's Armani. The Duchess of Cambridge has a coat just like it."
"I love the color. It's the perfect shade of red." Then Mischa let out a pretty, theatrical sigh."But it's already getting warm here. I have to put it away for the year."
"You can wear it next winter," he promised her. The bathroom door opened again. "My dear, I'm afraid I have to go now. Thank you so much for your call."
"But when are you going to visit us?" Mischa whined.
"Soon. Within the next few weeks. I promise." He said his goodbyes and hung up. He turned back to face Alana, who now had a pair of miniature gold starfish adorning her earlobes. But white gold suited her complexion better. He would have to make it a point to help Alana realize that. Then he noticed the pinched, searching look on her face.
"What is it?" he asked solicitously.
See? See? What was Abigail trying to tell him?
"Just...everything," Alana admitted. "Look, last night was unexpected, but..."
He saw her wavering and favored her with a smile. But you enjoyed it.
"Can I at least make you a cup of coffee before you go?" He swept to Alana's side and put a hand on the small of her back. He felt her start under his touch, but she allowed him to steer her towards the bedroom door all the same.
"Coffee I can do." Alana sounded relieved, and nearly back to her usual sanguine self. They'd always had a way of commiserating over drinks.
"Excellent," he said as he opened the door for her. As they walked down the staircase, he considered Alana's form descending in front of him, as well as his own next move. If he could not keep Will isolated, then he instead had to alienate Will from anyone who could help exonerate him.
She's very kissable. How would Will's opinion of Alana change if this encounter blossomed into an affair and maybe more? Would Will spurn her? He was curious...
And he could not wait to see the look on Will's face when he found out.
Hey guys, hope you enjoyed my little foray into Hannibal fanfiction. Can anyone guess what Abigail's warning was? Let me know your theory in your review and I'll tell you if you're right!
If you liked this story, feel free to check out my other fics, which are in the Resident Evil fandom. But if you absolutely must have more Hannibal, follow my Tumblr: suits-and-madness dot tumblr dot com. I've also started a Hannibal podcast with fellow FFnet author Captain Tots. Just search for "Suits and Madness" on iTunes and click Subscribe!