Today I walked to the beach as I always do when the weather is good and it is a quiet summer. When there are no adventures. Looking down at the pebbles beneath my feet I thought about how they seemed to glisten like precious stones, I wondered why some rocks were valuable and others were not but I quickly knew the answer. As for these stones, they were only beautiful in the water, but still I wish I could have taken them all with me or else stayed with them forever because they reminded me of how things would have been if the world had just been created and there was no one but me, when I looked out across the water I would not see buildings but wild unpredictable wilderness. To go here was to get away from the world, even though there were a lot of people at the beach they did not seem to see me, at least I did not feel that they did. It was wonderful to feel the wind and the water. Most days were similar when I went here, I would imagine stories in my head as I walked along the coast, I would hum and I would watch the people run and laugh and wonder what it was like to care so very little. I feel that I think an awful lot more than I ought to for me to be a happy person. Some of the things that I think of are silly, some or strange, but I know that there are secrets there too that no one else knows.

As I continued along the shore I saw someone who was doing peculiar things, a boy with light hair was writing a message in the sand with a stick.

It said "I WILL HELP YOU".

He wore a white dress-shirt with blue pinstripes and a pair of beige shorts, his feet were bare and covered in scratches as though he had been running through the woods, his shoes and socks were sticking out of a bag that lay on the sand beside him. I felt an urge to talk to him even though I was afraid, not of him in particular but of people in general, but I knew that if I did not ask him my questions they would bother me for many days to come. I looked at him from a far for a bit and he must have seen me as he turned to look my way. I was going to ask my first question but my mouth gaped like a dying fish as it usually does in such cases.

"Come here," he called out to me.

I did, relieved that I did not annoy him. We looked at each other for a bit longer like animals do, with wariness and curiosity. I noticed that he was staring at my fingernails and so I hid them under the sand, they had blood underneath them.

"Hi there," I murmured, forcing a smile.

"Hello," said the boy, his voice did not seem hostile or friendly, he smiled too but only a little.

"I need help," I blurted out, those words had been there in my throat since after I had read the words written in the sand and had felt like I would suffocate until I said them, like a voice inside of me insisted on it.

"What brings you here today?" he asked.

I did not know what he meant, whether he asked about why I sat next to him or why I went to the beach. I decided I would tell him everything and if he was not a good person to talk to I would run. He would think I am weird but that would not matter, I would not see him again. I would not go to the beach anymore. Maybe he would leave too, maybe he was only there with his family for a vacation.

"I don't really know what it is exactly, but I think I might have an anxiety disorder," I said in a very serious tone, this is what I heard my mother and my psychiatrist talking about. My psychiatrist is an old lady named Dr. Laroy that asks me many questions about my thoughts but I do not tell her the most important things though because I know she will tell everything to my mother and I would be embarrassed.

"What brought about this conclusion?" the boy sat up straight and smiled in a different way as though I had said the right thing. Also, his words had a strange accent to them but I did not know what kind.

"Well, since I was eight, I think, I've always been nervous around other people but the past few years have been worse. I'm twelve now, I always get this feeling that I'm sick when it comes to I guess any social situation," I replied.

He stayed silent so I continued.

"And there are more things I'm just terrible at explaining how I'm feeling."

He licked his lips.

"And just explaining things in general."

"What is the most frightening thing these people can do to you?" the boy spoke at last.

I did not want to say so I kept going.

"But also, I don't know if this has anything to do with this, but I have this problem where I –I have these freak outs, when it gets bad, and I try and wash off the terrible feeling that I get, and I wash so much that I bleed."

"Wash your hands you mean?" he seemed even more interested but not scared or disgusted which made me glad.

"Mainly my hands but during showers too," I told him.

"What are you afraid that the people will see?" he asked me. "What has to be washed away?"

"I don't really know. I just worry about what they'll think of me I guess – and that they'll come and talk to me."

"It may be a comfort to know that people are very afraid of people too, many studies say so," he wiped away the words in the sand as if to say that he was not helping people anymore or was busy helping me. "What is so frightening about them thinking or saying silly things, like birds chirping at you? Birds are not frightening, they are too afraid to hurt you even if they would have liked to. "

"I-I dont know. I just get so nervous and don't know what I'll say," I took the stick that lay beside him and started peeling it. He looked at me doing that and probably knew that I was nervous but I kept going.

"What if you say something absurd and they laugh and think you awfully dull, what will become of you? Will it hurt? More than bleeding?" he smiled, a smile I did not like.

"It'll probably be stuck in my head for quite a while," I admitted. "The things I think about them."

"Why?"

"Another problem I have is concentration. I spend most of my time thinking about bad things like your example happening," I noticed how strange his face looked, his skin seemed stretched too tightly over his cheeks in a way and his lips reminded me of girls' lips. Still I liked the way he looked, as though he came from a different country or a different world. I imagined he was a demon who had come to tell me his secrets in exchange for mine.

"The thoughts never leave and then I start over-thinking and that is one of the triggers to my freak outs," I murmured, distracted by other thoughts, wondering how much he would tell me in exchange. I had to give him more and more.

"You shall not be stuck in their heads, they will forget you," he took my hand, startling me. I almost pulled away but managed to stop myself in time, I knew that he was trying to tell me something important. "They will wonder more about what is in your head about them when they speak to you, but then they forget. There's not enough room in most heads for too many people."

I said nothing, mulling over his words. In my head there was room for two people at a time, me and one other person. I never enjoyed spending time with groups but a friend at a time was sometimes pleasant.

"Do not think very long about these things," he went on. "Imagine the very worst thing that can happen first and then see that it is not particularly bad. It is not to have your arm crushed in a car door or to burn off your fingers. It is children laughing and children are very cruel. The more afraid people are the more cruel they can be."

"That may be true, but 'what if' is always in my head," I furrowed my brow, thinking of cruelness, in books and in real life.

"Remember that they are afraid too, if not of you then of each other," he insisted.

"But that thought won't change the feeling."

"Then remember two things: what is in your control and what is not. Remember to keep them separate and worry only about the first."

"I don't have control over that at this point," I looked down at my feet, I did not want to lie but my words made me feel sad because I was weaker than him.

"A lot of people pretend to be puppets," he said with cold eyes. "They pretend that they have to feel angry or they have to be afraid when that is truly absurd. There was once a man, a philosopher, who was told that he would be hanged the next day. That day he did not run because they would catch him, he did not cry or rage because no one that mattered would hear. He went for a walk, had a pleasant lunch with his family, read a book and then was hanged in the evening. To worry about something that cannot be changed is to add to one's burdens."

"Was there really such a man?" I asked him.

He only smiled.

"But sometimes I feel things and I know they are silly but they do not go away. Don't you feel that way too?"

"No," he seemed hurt when I said that, as though I had offended him.

"I'm sorry," I hurried to say.

"For what?"

"For saying you have feelings," I felt very stupid as soon as I said that, I put it in the wrong words and it seemed like even more of an insult.

"I do have feelings," he put his hand on my knee and I bit my lip a little because it felt strange.

"Do you have any friends?" I asked him.

"No."

"I don't either," I smiled, in a way relieved that there was something wrong with him too. I could tell but I wanted to make sure just because it is satisfying. "What is your name?"

"Hannibal Lecter," he answered.

"I'm Will," I smiled, finding it funny that he would say his last name. "How old are you?"

"Thirteen."

"I will be thirteen in two months, you can come to my birthday party."

He smiled strangely at me and I imagined that meant he would not come.

"Did I help you Will?" he asked me.

"You did," I was not sure yet but I did not want to hurt his feelings. I still had to think about what he had told me.

"I am glad. You are my first patient."

"Patient?"

"I want to be a psychiatrist when I'm older. I have read a lot of books about it and now I am ready to put them to use."

"Psychiatrists don't help people, they're there to check if you're broken or normal."

"What if you're broken?"

"Then I'm broken."

"I will try to fix you, will you see me again?" he looked at me with expectant eyes and I knew I could not say no even though he made me uncomfortable.

"Yes."

"Do you promise?"

"I promise," I bit my lip again.

"I'm sorry."

"Why?"

"For making you nervous."

"I—it's okay. You're nicer to me than most people. I guess I'm just not used to it," I forced a smile.

"I see no reason to be unkind," he reached out and ruffled my hair

I ruffled his in return, I often mirror people when I do not know what to do, in cases like these. He looked surprised that I did but I do not think he was annoyed with me.

"I must go now Will but I shall see you tomorrow at 3:00pm for your next appointment," he stood up, taking his bag of shoes and socks.

"Where will we meet?"

"Here, remember our spot."

I nodded.

That was the first day I met Hannibal.