Chapter 1: A witchy beauty about this place...
The drive through Maryland was long as the winding roads gradually drew Alana further away from the concrete and right angles of the city to the woods, brittle with winter, but still softer and quieter. Her fingers drummed impatiently on the steering wheel, thinking she should have taken that left turn about a mile back. Supposedly she had arrived at Muskrat Farms fifteen minutes ago according to her GPS but as of yet there was no sign of the Verger Estate, just the dense, slumbering forest flanking either side of the two lane road. Right before Alana decided to turn around another road appeared, though not clearly defined, it was little more than a slender crevice in the fortress like tree line; a crack in the wall for a mouse to slip into to. The dirt and gravel that comprised her route jostled her car unsteadily, so much so that she felt a pinch of pain in her hips. The narrow path led her into the forest until eventually she could see an opening that framed a sort of courtyard with a grand looking stable. And through the treetops beyond that were the looming gray stones and spires of the Chateau-esque mansion looking as if painted onto the opaque white sky.
As she crossed a wooden bridge, Alana caught a glimpse of a figure riding a mahogany horse through the trees below her. Something about the woman and animal elegantly dashing just ahead of her caught her imagination, like the rider was a mythical fox in a fairy tale heralding her along her journey. Finally the road widened into a cobblestone square with staff milling about tending to horses. They contented to ignore her, which suited Alana's intentions fine as she firmly placed her cane to the uneven ground, catching sight of the woman from the woods. She had paused at the door of the barn just long enough for Alana to spot her, as if in invitation, and she was compelled to follow after her.
Coming to stand in the open doorway, she paused to appraise the woman. Taller than she, but only by a couple of inches, and striking, her dark green blazer and black riding pants set her apart from the obvious employees who donned polo's and pullovers with regulation khakis. Everything about the woman spoke to privilege and wealth; with her pin straight posture and face arranged into the blank mask of disinterest. Except for her eyes, Alana noticed they gleamed in the pale light emanating in the late afternoon, alive and verdant as they appraised her in return. Alana sensed rather than saw her expression shift from feigned boredom to expectance, prompting her to speak, "I'm Doctor Bloom."
"Ah, you're the new psychiatrist." She sauntered over to her.
"I think I missed the turn off from the main highway then came upon the service road. I'm not sure if this is my entrance."
"This can be your entrance. It isn't easy to find the first time you come." Something about her voice purred with innuendo.
"Margot Verger." She extended her hand and Alana reached out to grasp it. The contact was brief yet lingering in a way. The leather of their gloves strangely acted as a second skin, an alluring tease of the real thing.
"A witchy beauty about this place." Alana commented.
"Yes, isn't there?" Margot breathed out as she turned to walk down the aisle of stalls, touching the horses' noses with idle affection as she passed. "You should see it in the spring. A riot of lilacs and wind smells nothing at all like the stockyards and slaughterhouses one usually associates with the Verger name."
Margot's words felt like a veiled riddle that she had to solve to gain entrance. She appreciated the imagery but elected not to comment on the complicated politics of being a Verger, instead speaking to the reason for her visit. "Can you please let you're brother know that I am here?"
"He knows." Margot said dryly, breaking step with Alana's deliberate pace to open the door ahead of them. She followed the fox as she led on to the mad king.
Inside their small talk ceased and the Verger fell back in step with Alana, the other woman's casual saunter for once not feeling as if the other person held back on her account. She imagined Margot did everything in this unhurried manner. It gave Alana time to step carefully and to take in the lavish surrounding; 17th century baroque painting, Tiffany crystal chandeliers, and possibly a Ming dynasty vase, if Alana wasn't mistaken, decorated the way as they stepped from ebony-finished wood floors to white marble. They arrived at their destination, a tan parlor with the French doors to a veranda flung open despite the cold. The male Verger sat in his wheel chair out there, seemingly unaware of the two women approaching.
Margot stopped short beginning to give her warning. "Some people have trouble talking with Mason so if it bothers you, or you can't take it, I'd be happy to answer any questions you have."
"Thank you." Alana intended to tell her she doubted there would be an issue. But Mason shouted in interruption, his voice a ridiculous caricature of aristocracy.
"Margot, you can leave us now."
She didn't depart immediately, offering a last bit of advice. "If my brother offers you chocolate, politely refuse."
Alana didn't question her, just watched as she ascended the short staircase they had just come from. Margot turned and looked back at her as well, something compelling them to track each other's movements until she stepped out of frame and her surroundings snapped back into focus. Alana had this feeling that it had all been too fleeting but set the thought aside for another time. She headed back out into the cold to speak with the master of the house.
"Ah! Good afternoon, Dr. 'loom." He said, dropping the first letter of her name. His chair spun to face her and she blinked for just a moment, adjusting to what or rather who, she was looking at. As twistedly handsome as Mason had been before Hannibal inflicted his chaotic will, he was now as equally disfigured. Like the opposite of himself, it looked as though his face had been turned inside out. The skin was pocked with gouges and livid with scars where doctors had tried to stitch his face back together. There was a vague lump of flesh with two holes where his nose should be gave him a grotesque, reptilian expression. Though Alana didn't feel any more horror than perhaps seeing an abandoned bike on the side of the road; the inkling of a possible tragedy but mostly curious as to how it got there in the first place. What had Mason Verger done to deserve this fate from Hannibal?
She greeted him smoothly. "Good afternoon, Mr. Verger."
"You know, I thank God for what happened. It was my salvation." She found Mason's exaggerated enunciation came from him trying to compensate for not having any lips; the skin around his mouth jagged and uneven giving him the appearance of a perpetual snarl. "Have you accepted Jesus, Dr. 'loom? Do you have faith?"
She managed to suppress rolling her eyes at his line of questioning. She generally found religion to be an incredibly trite motivation. "I was raised in a religious atmosphere, but whatever that left me with, it's not religion."
"Left me with more. You see I'm free. I'm right with the Risen Jesus and it's all okay now. And nobody beats the Riz. He will raise me up and smite mine enemies and I shall hear the lamentations of their women. That was once you, I'm told. Dr. Lecter got deeper inside you than he did any of us." Mason chokes on his on saliva under cutting his little sermon and the obvious disparagement of her. With wet, pathetic coughs he tries to clear his airway, phlegm spewed from his mouth and dribbled down his chin.
Alana awaited unconcerned for a few beats too long before she finally asked patronizingly. "Do you want me to get the nurse?"
"No, no, no, I'm fine now. It's all okay now." He spoke with the ridiculous fervor of an Evangelical preacher.
"You're supposed to share any relevant information you find on Hannibal Lecter with the FBI." It was well-known the Verger heir posted a one million dollar reward for information leading to the location of Hannibal with strict instructions from law enforcement that he was not to act as his own agency.
"Huh." He said noncommittally.
She pressed. "Have you always done that?"
"Not exactly. I want you to understand Dr. 'loom, that this is not a revenge thing. I've forgiven Dr. Lecter as Our Savior forgave the Roman soldiers." She didn't believe him for a moment and wasn't prepared to keep up the charade any longer.
"Forgiveness isn't all it's cracked up to be, Mr. Verger." His eyes suddenly glinted with rapt malice at her words. "I don't need religion to appreciate the idea of Old Testament revenge."
If Mason were capable of moving more than just the jerky movement in his fingers that allowed him to steer his motorized wheelchair, Alana imagine he would have clapped with excitement. "That's what I'm talking about."
He continued. "Aren't you curious about how I came to be like this? The official story is I took a tumble into the pigpen. You know very well that Dr. Lecter did this to me but do you know how?"
"I don't know the specifics."
"Well the good doctor and I got in a little quarrel you see. I wanted to feed him to my pigs, which he thought was rude. I admit I didn't quite realize what I was dealing with when I started the feud." Alana could see how Mason would have been accustomed to being the ultimate big bad, the thought never occurring to him that some one worse could be prowling out there. Hubris was one of his intrinsic flaws. She didn't say anything and let him go on.
"Anyways, Dr. Lecter, that sly wolf, gave me some sort of concoction. A kite-flying cocktail if you will because whoa baby I was soaring. The best my people could figure out the mixture was a combination of angel dust, acid, and some rarified hallucinogenic fungus spores. Whoa baby I was soaring." He said it almost nostalgically.
"Sounds like a good time." Alana spun her cane with disinterest but Mason didn't seem to care about her attitude.
"Oh it was until Dr. Lecter recommended I use my knife to cut off my own face and feed it to Will Graham's dogs. I hear you and Mr. Graham had a bit of a tête-à-tête as well. You certainly attract a type." He pried.
Alana tried not to get too prickly. "Will was no more than a professional curiosity."
She'd given the line so much it was becoming tiresome and the truth now. There had been a point in time when Alana had truly cared for the empathic man and been charmed by his wry handsomeness. Any lingering feeling she'd held towards him felt far away and foreign to her, like it split from her body when she landed on the pavement.
"And what would I be to you?" Mason asked suggestively.
"A business associate." She said flatly.
He tries his best to convey disappointment with his mangled face but eventually goes on with his story. "I think the worst of it, beside of course being paralyzed when Dr. Lecter snapped my neck with his bare hands, was when he ordered me to eat my own nose. They pumped my stomach to see if the nose could be reattached but it was too chewed up as you can imagine."
"A rather literal interpretation of cutting off your nose to spite your face." She said dryly.
"Ha-ha!" Mason wheezed with perhaps genuine amusement. "You are a hoot Dr. 'loom, a real hoot. Say, would you like some chocolate?"