I do not own Hannibal. I only own Simone Hale and her mother.

Story start

"Mom, I don't want to see a psychiatrist," I whispered softly while brushing my dark red hair away from my grey eyes. My hands had to do something whether it was moving my hair or twisting my long sleeves. I was nervous. My mom had finally had enough with my issues as she called them, but I knew differently. My reason for visiting a psychiatrist was that my mother thought I was going insane, but what I saw was real.

"There is no way that a person can see what you see and then the next day it is on the news," my mother was whispering frantically from the driver's seat. What she did not know was that I saw further than the next day occurrences. What I saw was not always pleasant. Most of the time I saw the most gruesome examples of cruel human beings known to man, but I had to deal with it.

I was not always like this. When I was younger, I had normal nightmares and dreams like any child. I even had normal daydreams, but after an accident, I was never the same. My parents were never what you would call the perfect family. I was able to experience chaos every day as my father screamed at my mother, who always tried to calm him down any way she could. However, one day it was not enough. He grabbed a gun, threatening to kill her with a single bullet to the head. He had no idea that I was standing outside of the door listening with tears in my eyes.

I never truly cared for my father since he only yelled or glared at me since I was old enough to realize I was just a mistake in his eyes. My hands shook as I turned the doorknob to open the door. My mind shut down as I jumped in front of my mother, who would have been shot in the chest with the bullet. Instead of her dying, I was shot in the head. I should not have lived. I really should have died as soon as I was shot, but something else was working against my father's cruel wish for my mother's or my death to occur. His death reached him swiftly though when he shot himself between the eyes.

My mother rushed me to the hospital crying how I was going to die. The surgeon who put together my skull where it had cracked was a wonderful person in my eyes. I was happy to know I survived until the visions arrived. My first vision was after I was at a new home, which my mom had found while I was recovering in the hospital. My first night in my new room, I had a vision while being awake about a man strangling the life out of a little boy in a cornfield. My screams echoed through the house, and many nights and later days was the same.

Trips to doctors and psychologists were frequent, but I was too afraid to tell what I saw. Everyone wrote off my issues to be because of my near death experience. Soon my mother accepted that answer, and I stopped screaming. I grew desensitized to what I was seeing. It made me nervous to have this gift if you could call it that. The truth of the visions always hit me whenever I watched the news so I stopped watching it after a few years of my visions.

Now I was twenty-two years old. I had graduated college, and I had to take online college courses from home because of my random visions and my mom's overprotectiveness, which drove me insane. I loved her and I was thankful for everything she had done for me, especially for putting up with my fits when I was younger. However, I was old enough now where I could deal with whatever I saw from my visions, and I was ready to live on my own terms.

Good visions or bad visions, I was ready for my own life to start. My mom had other plans. She wanted to get me checked at one last psychiatrist to see if I could truly mentally handle the visions. I was not going to volunteer the information that I can see visions. She can tell anybody she wants, but so far, nobody had believed her. I believe she is going crazier than I am after living with a child who sees people being slaughtered in their own homes or by friends every day.

"I know you don't want to do this Simone, but you have to, please just for me. I just want to make sure that you are all right. I just worry about you," my mother said as she parked in front of the building where my new psychiatrist was located.

"Thank you for your concern mom, but I'm fine. I've dealt with them this long and not lost my mind, and I think I can continue on that path," I told her as calm as I could before exiting the car. She locked the vehicle and followed me to the waiting room for the patients.

"I'll go with you too," my mom said putting her hand on my arm.

"Mom, no, the psychiatrists never even listen to me when you go, so please for both our sakes, just wait here or in the car," I whispered as I heard steps approaching the door, which led into the psychiatrist's office.

"Ms. Simone Hale," a male voice said as the door to the doctor's office opened. A tall man in a dark suit, who looked perfectly put together appearance wise, was standing in the open doorway.

I stood up as my eyes met the doctor's eyes. My mother was speaking for me once again, but I was already becoming lost in a new vision. My vision was of the doctor in front of me cleaning and chopping up lungs to cook for dinner guests. The finesse with how he prepared the meal and then fed it to his unsuspecting guests made me tilt my head. My eyes focused back on the real worldview as the doctor was giving me a small smile, which I could tell was not interested in me at all.

"Hello Dr. Lecter, I'm Simone Hale, may I enter your office?" I asked wanting to be away from my fretting mother, who was already trying to tell the man that I could see things that I should not see.

"Yes, please take a seat," Dr. Lecter said motioning for me to enter. I tried to ignore the fact that it sounded as if he sniffed me as I walked by him before he shut the door. I took a seat in a leather chair in the center of the beautiful office. "So Ms. Hale, or would you prefer I call you Simone?" he questioned while he grabbed a black notebook and a pen off his desk before taking a seat across from me.

"Simone is fine," I answered while glancing around at his beautiful office. I was dying to camp out upstairs and read all of the books that lined the bookshelves.

"Simone, what brings you here today?" he questioned while writing down something in his notebook.

"My mother wants me to have one last psychological evaluation before she allows me to live on my own," I answered honestly, even though it was embarrassing. I had already tried to leave the house a few times, but every time I did, she called the police and acted as if I had been kidnapped or worse.

"What keeps you from leaving home without worrying about her permission?" he asked with a raised eyebrow.

"Oh, I've tried leaving multiple times without her consent but she always calls the police and acts as if I've been kidnapped or killed," I replied staring straight at him to show that I was not joking. "The police know me too well by now. I even have some officers who will take me out for dinner instead of taking me straight home since they know my mom is just having a panic attack," I continued.

"Why would your mother worry so much about you at this age? Why would she worry about your mental state?" he wondered while taking down a few more notes or just doodling, I could never tell. I had seen plenty of psychologists who would just doodle instead of actually taking notes.

"She believes incidents from my childhood still haunt me, but they stopped bothering me years ago. It always seems like what happened to me affects her more than it ever did me," I said looking at the door behind the doctor, which is where my mother was probably already coming up with ideas on how to get me more help. I could live without this constant I'm sick or messed up mentality from her every day. I was fine with what I had to live with, but I wanted to live with it on my own.

"And what happened to you that would cause her so much worry about you?" he asked and I saw a little bit of interest enter his eyes but not much. I always enjoyed the next part to this question. The reactions always varied from the doctors.

"My father tried to kill my mother with a gun, but I jumped in the way and took the bullet in the head. I should have died, but even with a cracked skull, which was fixed, I survived," I said simply with a small smirk.