The light was harsh. It caused a burning sensation to flicker across the exposed skin of her pale shoulders. Her heels were modest and complimented her casual attire, though they still clicked as resoundingly upon the pavement as a pair of stilettos would have when she moved. The audible steps were swift in succession as her pace quickened in an attempt to avoid the blaze of overhead sunlight. Admittedly, it was a scotching afternoon - though the fever that lingered over her was not entirely due to the torrid weather as she approached the police station.
The red headed woman had desperately tried to displace the growing feeling of dread in her psyche as the months passed by without a word. But the disappearance of her only daughter had sent her into a spiraling world of turmoil.
As a single mother, she had always prided herself on the accomplishments of her child. The young girl had been exceptionally kind hearted, charming, and trusting – all attributes she had managed to conjure for herself despite the rather strict guidance of a strong-willed and worrisome mother. The girl had never gone astray from set standards and ideally she was what many parents would have defined as the perfect child. It was this reason that made her disappearance all the more unreal. Something so inconceivably terrible couldn't just happen to a young and innocent woman like her.
For Scarlett, it seemed a cruel fate for the sole source of light in her life to be snatched away from her. The unsettling feeling of never seeing her daughter again developed into one of morbid grief after receiving a call from Jack Crawford that morning.
Her daughter had been found.
The agent had said it over the phone line in tone that repressed any flicker of hope from emerging. Hope had always been there prior to the phone call. Not knowing where he daughter could have been was indeed horrific, but knowing that her daughter was positively dead slayed all the hope she harbored. She had tried to keep her composure as well as could be expected from her, whispering only a mere "thank you" after agreeing to meet with the FBI agent later on in the day.
Thank you, for extinguishing all hope.
She had not been able to stop crying that morning though her sobs were inaudible after an hour. Even up until the point that she had pulled into the driveway of the station, silent tears spilled from her eyes. She rubbed the wet patches away with her forefingers, knowing the makeup she had applied just before leaving her empty home had gone all to hell.
Unpainted lips were red as the hue of her clouded eyes as she stepped into the building. She kept biting her lower one, the ache she inflicted upon it noticeable to all around with its swollen appearance. After receiving a sympathetic smile from a woman stationing the front desk, she had resigned to waiting outside of the directed office in an uncomfortable, straight back chair that lingered a few feet away from the door.
Green eyes diverted, attentive only to the hands that rested upon her lap. The gruff sound of a voice clearing brought her attention upwards once more.
"Ms. Sage?"
Swallowing down the dryness in her throat, she stood abruptly and feigned an attempt at a calm demeanor before extending her hand outwards.
"Hello, Agent Crawford. It's nice to see you once more," she managed, though the breathy reply was shaky.
Crawford took her singular hand in both of his own in consolation. "I'm sorry we're meeting under these circumstances. I understand how difficult this is for you… how difficult this is still going to get."
With a subtle nod of her head, Jack released her hands. "It is difficult… I'll get through it."
"Please, come with me," he insisted.
Scarlett followed him, taking in the repetitive windows and doors that framed each individual office as the pair passed by. A turn followed by another turn only revealed more of the same. The building was large but hardly intricate.
An elevator was eventually approached. Jack gestured for her to enter before he followed suit. The older man pressed the A2 button down firmly, causing it to light up like the bulb of Christmas tree. On exit, the woman saw a vast difference in the interior design of the building – not to mention the rapid decrease in temperature. She was certain they now walked along the floors of the basement.
Jack glanced over to her, taking in the change in her façade. He also noticed the continuous way she bit upon her swollen lip, though he was hesitant to tell the woman before him to stop.
"This is where the majority of the staff of our research and medical department reside," he uttered in an attempt to refocus her attention.
"... That's interesting."
Scarlett spoke with little emotion before she shuddered lightly at the chill temperature, particularly after having come from such an arid and sweltering hot parking lo. The straps of her blouse did little to keep her warm. Jack perceived the slight twitch and gave her a worried look. She looked at him dismissively.
"Just a little cold, that's all," she explained quickly. She halted as his form came to a stop, tearing her eyes from the agent and to the door they now were before.
"Ms. Sage, identifying your daughter is going to be difficult enough for you… If you need a moment alone or – "
She cut him off as she turned back at him, a slight frown on her features, "Mr. Crawford, I've had a 'moment alone' for the past six months," she hesitated a bit, noticing his grimace before adding, "I would like to see Julie."
The man looked as though he were about to reply but decidedly closed his mouth as he turned to the door. Grasping the metal handle, he pushed it open to reveal a cold interior filled with linoleum and metallic facets.
The body in the middle of the room was adorned with a white cloth.
Jack approached the table, rounding it so that he stood on the opposite side of the mother. He noticed her gaze was set in stone at the unmoving figure before them both as he placed his hands on the delicate white fabric that sheltered the victim. Pulling it back gently, the face and spilling crimson locks of the young woman came into view – the pale alabaster color her skin had taken earned a vocalized choke from the mother as she controlled the upcoming sob.
It was the only response she allowed before she silenced herself, remaining quiet for what felt like decades before uttering, "Yes, that's Julie."
She heard the definite sound of a scratching pencil upon paper as he wrote something down on a chart before him. She could imagine the headline of it.
Julianne Sage. Age: 17. Height: 5'4" …
"Have you… have you done an autopsy on her yet?"
Jack nodded once more, briefly. There was a strange look of hesitance hidden in his look, as if the results were some sort of secret he wouldn't be permitted to spill.
She pursued, licking her swollen lip, "Did she suffer?"
"… We have reason to believe your daughter was sedated at the time of her death. It's possible she didn't feel anything," the agent conveyed in a low voice.
The few lines that crossed Scarlett's forehead creased as she tilted her head in confusion, "Sedated?"
"A type of barbiturate - or sedative - was picked up through the toxicology portion of the autopsy."
"That's… why would they do that to her?" she felt her chest rise and fall, "What did they do to her?"
The older agent grimaced a bit, straightening up his posture as he did so.
"The killer removed her organs – lungs and liver. We suspect he wanted to remove the organs while they were still – "
Jack exhaled heavily before tacking on the grisly word, " – fresh."
Her mouth hung open in slight horror at the prospect, a frail hand now held up to her chest as she fought to stay in control of the situation.
"Then she was still alive..." her trembling voice pointed out.
"Our suspect is a cannibal. We've linked him to several more cases – one of our top priorities. We are going to find this guy," his final claim was strong.
Determined.
Scarlett glanced down at her daughter once more, feeling a pounding in her chest as she did so. She felt as though she would be sick, and so she turned away with a shuddering breath and looked towards the door.
"I have to go, Agent Crawford."
Hearing the rustling of a sheet in the back of her mind, she assumed the man covered Julie. They left her behind soon after.
As she took collected steps down the hallways she could not help but feel a mixture of angst, disgust, and sorrow. She had been told closure was something she'd find relief in. Scarlett felt nothing of the sort.
"Ms. Sage. If you need to talk to anyone, please give me a call. This is a traumatic thing. It can take a serious toll on a person," the agent beckoned her once her heels were met with the lobby's flooring.
Looking at him with a forced smile, she did all that could to refrain from screaming in anguish right before him.
"I'll be fine. I promise – and thank you."
When Scarlett Sage disappeared from behind the doors of the headquarters' entrance, Jack Crawford could not help but feel a sense of concern at her falsified statement.
She turned the music up in her car to the absolute max the moment she hit the street once again. It did nothing to aid her headache, but that was far from her intention. She was able to scream. And she did scream. She screamed twenty city blocks before her strained throat went raw and she was able to pull into the driveway of her townhouse and into the garage. She grimaced once the vehicle was put into park, clicking a button overhead that made the giant garage door fall from the ceiling to the pavement of the floor.
Scarlett collected a ragged breath, leaning back in the seat that she reclined a few inches as she stared at the ceiling. The resounding sound of the music did not die down. She made no attempt to turn it off. The vibrations of the car started to soothe her. Lost in dismal thought, her eyes fluttered about before closing fully in an attempt to block out all of what seemed so desperately unreal. A demented sleep overtook her – she was unconsciously grinding her teeth and biting her lower lip even after swallowed by the darkness.
"Ms. Sage… Scarlett."
The familiar voice woke her with a groggy start. Her tired eyes took in the harsh light of the room when she began to blink. It was excessively bright and Scarlett turned her head to the side in an order to avoid it as she tried to adjust her vision. A moment or so passed before her blurry surroundings came into clarity, taking in the sitting form of Jack Crawford.
A low, repetitive beeping noise soon hit her. She was in a hospital.
"What am I doing here?"
Her confused eyes widened a bit, shocked at the raspy sound her voice had made when she asked the question. Perhaps she should have controlled her screams.
Jack Crawford frowned, "You almost died."
She shook her head lightly, feeling incredibly weak but far from that of death. Physically, at least. "No I didn't…"
"Yes, you did," he replied almost harshly, the look on his face was plagued with both worry and anger. She couldn't understand why and so her response was that of silence and a blank face. He sighed.
"You tried to kill yourself. If your neighbors hadn't called and complained about the noise from your car, you could've died from carbon monoxide poisoning. You were out cold when we found you."
She took in his claim before allowing herself to exhale heavily, "I wasn't trying to kill myself, Agent Crawford… I… I just fell asleep in the car. I was upset. I would never do something like that intentionally."
"Accidents like that don't happen often. You're a professor. I assume you know about the affects of harmful gas emissions – "
Shaking her head, she cut in "Of course! I was just…"
"Unstable," the man finished bluntly. She frowned.
"No. I'm fine. And I don't appreciate the accusatory tone," she reciprocated coldly.
Jack sat back in the chair, "Well I'm worried about you."
She propped herself up on her elbows, rising from her completely laid back position, before sighing. "You don't even know me."
He shrugged his broad shoulders lightly, "I can still be concerned – it's my responsibility to make sure you're okay knowing full well what you're dealing with."
She was silent.
"I'm recommending a psyche evaluation," he firmly stated.
Looking at the ceiling in an attempt to control her rolling eyes she huffed aloud, "Why? Because you think I'm suicidal?"
"No – because it'll benefit you. Anyone in your position would need to talk to someone. Though I admit this escapade is my reason for giving the consult to you, legally."
She sat up fully so that she was right in his line of sight. "Talking isn't going to help me. It'll just keep reminding me of it."
"I have to take the safe route with you," he contradicted her, standing so that her eyes were forced to look upwards.
"Right. So what happens if I don't go?"
Jack Crawford shrugged nonchalantly, "Well, I've got no problem with you staying here – I can have you moved to the psyche ward for next month or so," she looked a little shocked at his serious suggestion and he noticed. "But I feel that a one-on-one professional consult would be best."
She looked to the side in annoyance before stubbornly looking back at the agent, "When and where?"
Jack Crawford offered a sincere, minuscule smile before withdrawing a card from his pocket and extending it out to her. She took it with a slightly affected hand, turning the card over and reading the inscription upon it.
"Unfortunately, you have to stay here for another 36 hours under observation – it's a hospital rule. The following day you'll meet up with your new psychiatrist. The address is right on the card," he pointed out.
Scarlett sighed, "This is entirely unnecessary…"
He offered her another light smile, ignoring her comment, "Feel better soon, Ms. Sage. I'll be sure to catch up with you later on."
With that, he was out of the door in reply to her curt nod. She sent her eyes back to the card in hand. She rubbed her thumb along the raised ivory lettering of the words upon it half-heartedly before reading it aloud.
"Hannibal Lecter, Doctor of Psychiatric Medicine."
Flinging the card back to the end table beside her in distaste, she found herself lying down once more upon the uncomfortable twin mattress. She was not one for therapists, having instead lived a lifestyle of internal reflection. She just wanted to forget – displace the emotion as she had done for the past six months. Feeling another stray tear gracing her cheekbone, she felt contempt for having to be put through an ongoing charade of coping with the loss of her daughter. She didn't want it, and she didn't want this doctor either.
Three days had passed.
Despite herself, she had shown up at the front door of a Victorian-like building. She'd assumed the psychiatric practice would take place in some droll hospital that smelt of sickness. But no. It was nestled between the suburbs and a forest; a picture-perfect scene. She wondered if the patients of this man ended up feeling better simply due to the scenery.
The halls were carpeted as she stalked through them in search of his office. It was particularly quiet there and she wondered just how many people comprised the practice. The silence was calming to her, at least. To others and perhaps at different times in the night, roaming the halls would have been a petrifying experience. Her two o'clock appointment sheltered her from such a fear, however.
A light murmuring was picked up by her ears before she rounded a corner and came face-to-face with a door. A glossy bronze lettering plagued it, stating only, "Dr. Hannibal Lecter, PhD."
Scarlett was hesitant to knock, having felt certain to have heard the light murmuring to have come from this doctor's office. Glancing at the watch upon her frail wrist she noted that it was only four minutes until two – she was content with the knowledge that she had indeed arrived on time.
Four precise minutes later of silence passed by as she stood with her unmade mind in solitude before the door opened, the releasing click of the handle's lock catching her attention.
A short man stepped out bidding some sort of teary goodbye before turning down the hallway in haste. Scarlett frowned at the distressed man, curious as to what was making him fall apart and why the man that now stood in the door frame alone appeared so inert to the occurrence.
He stood tall. His eyes were like steel as they tore from the retreating man's back and took to settling upon her. She felt a chilling rush hit her as those orbs connected with her own. She was unsure of the emotion they held.
"Ms. Sage, I presume?"
The accented voice was one of pure cultivation and civility, though it was also incredibly passive. For some reason it irked the proclaimed 'unstable' woman. Offering a slight nod of her head and letting the corner of her mouth turn up into a weak smile of compliance, she replied, "Yes. It's nice to meet you Doctor Lecter."
He offered her a curt, thin smile. She felt that it disappeared as soon as it came.
"Please, come in," he insisted, stepping back from the doorway while holding the oak open for her to pass through into. She did so, stepping into an office that rivaled anything her imagination could've conjured in terms of finery.
"Oh… Your office is beautiful," she managed, taking in the high rise of the ceilings and the bookshelves that adorned the high point of the wall. They were encased by a railed balcony.
"That is very kind of you. I feel it is important that my office reflect an atmosphere suitable for both myself and my patients," he commented, staring at her with unblinking eyes. Within a second he gestured to the two loungers that sat facing one another in the middle of the room.
"Please sit down, Ms. Sage. I've been looking forward to meeting you," he stressed the command as he took his place in the seat he had approached, watching her as she hesitantly settled into a chair as well.
"Looking forward to it?"
Pursing his lips, the psychiatrist sat forward a bit as he took in her demeanor with a calculating gaze.
"Yes… I work with Agent Crawford, at times. It is from him that I've heard you were less than enthusiastic upon realizing you were to come to this session."
Feeling slightly put on the spot at the accusation, Scarlett adjusted her posture and leaned against the arm of the spacious chair.
"It's not a personal attack, Doctor Lecter. I just don't think this sort of thing is necessary."
"And are you a doctor, Ms. Sage?"
She faltered for a split-second, "No."
"Then perhaps you should adopt an open-mindedness to these sessions. They might certainly be much more beneficial to you than you realize," he explained in his collected accent, his delivery definitive.
Scarlett crossed her arms in slight agitation at his tone, "That's a matter of opinion, Doctor Lecter," she practiced hesitance before adding, "And I have made myself open-minded to this, by the way. I am here, does that count for anything?"
"You are here on the account of Jack Crawford, not yourself."
She fidgeted once more in annoyance in her seat, sending her gaze to the wooden floor panels.
"May I ask how old it is that you are, Ms. Sage?"
She gave him a quirky look as she looked at him, thrown off by his change in demeanor. He had relaxed himself somewhat in the chair he sat in, his hands pressed together in anticipation as he awaited her answer. Blinking once, she replied, "Thirty-Five."
"You are accomplished for a woman of your age," he noted, tipping his head at her and causing the redhead a rivet of unexpected shock at his compliment.
"Thank you," she spoke lightly.
"Considering you were a single mother, as Jack has led me to believe, that is particularly impressive," the doctor continued, a trace of genuine interest etched onto his face – elevated cheekbones that exaggerated the subtle smirk gave it away.
She shrugged it off, "I am not that impressive. I have been lucky."
Hannibal clicked his tongue, "You have to be one of the youngest women, let alone a single parent, to earn her PhD and obtain a position among the Ivy Leagues. Luck did not constitute the obtaining of your goals – at least not entirely."
"Working hard pays off, Doctor Lecter. I'm sure you know all about that," she mused, glancing around once more at the grand office. The man opposite her chuckled lightly.
"Indeed. That is a commonality we share, I think."
She feigned a smirk in reply, but it left her quickly, noticing the man's passive features once more taking over.
"... I assume you don't care for such successes."
"What do you mean?"
He took a moment before clarifying his statement. "You would give all that you have accomplished for the opportunity to erase what has happened to your daughter, would you not?"
Those words haunted her as they reached her ear.
"Yes," she steadily replied, swallowing down the dryness in her throat once more. She was surprised by his following point.
"That is where your fault lies, Ms. Sage. You must understand that what has happened, as unfortunate as it is, cannot be changed. Accepting that will relieve you of a great deal of unnecessary stress."
A frown took its toll on her, "I do understand. It's just… very - " she felt a tear fall, "- difficult. Unfair."
Hannibal appraised her lightly shaking demeanor with a calm eye before glancing over at the table beside him and collecting a tissue box. He extended the small cube to her and after a moment she took it and placed it on the table beside her chair, foregoing the use of tissue and merely using a finger to wipe away the wet stain on her cheek. Hannibal watched the movements intently.
"Life and death coincide as a singular enigma. The reasons behind them might never be understood by humans. It is unfair, yes, but it is also unfair to linger upon what cannot be altered, is it not?"
The woman continued to silently spill tears, much to her own surprise. She had been indefinite in her decision to not become emotional in this session out of pure spite of being forced to attend. But the idea of what happened to her only child was beginning to haunt her, much more so than her disappearance had ever managed.
"… Do you know what happened to Julie?" she asked quietly, eyes fixed upon her lap.
She heard his "Hmm?" of inquisition as a reply.
"She was… murdered by a cannibal," she practically spat the word before continuing on, "… someone removed her organs while she was still alive – she was treated with more cruelty than an animal would have been."
Scarlett ran her hands over her eyes once more as she finished her statement, fighting away all water lines and leaving behind red blotches. She looked up at Hannibal, a man who appeared still calm and collected and virtually unmoved.
"… You feel as though the sanctity of your daughter's life was somehow degraded by this crime."
"Julie didn't deserve that," she whispered harshly.
"It can be difficult to assume the perspective of those responsible. Perhaps they felt justification in their actions, just like the justification you feel with your grief."
"That is not the same... and ... I could never understand… I wouldn't want to understand."
Hannibal raised his brows, "Why? Because it would be frightening?"
She released yet another shaky breath. "No. Because I'd prefer to remain sane. Isn't that what these sessions are for?"
Scarlett felt as though the temperature of the room dropped at the silence that followed the pair, for the relatively calm doctor seemed void of response at that moment. The grey-suited psychiatrist eased himself out of the chair, walking across the room until he met his desk. From the distance, Scarlett noticed him retrieve a glass of some sort, bringing the liquid contents of it to his lips. It was not long before he spoke aloud and over his shoulder, directing his words towards the wall in front of him rather than the disheveled redhead still perched in her seat.
"Indeed they are, Ms. Sage."
He had placed a thick emphasis on her surname, causing a shudder of unknown reason to course through the woman. The psychiatrist turned to face her, his cool gaze penetrating that of her green-eyed orbs as he added, " - though you might find it remarkable how often the two traits of madness and sanity coincide."