Compassion for a Killer
Of course she knew that he would appear. From the very moment Jack Crawford had hunted her down, she knew that Hannibal would know where to find her. Her smell had lingered on Will Graham's skin, his lamb, his student, his sacrifice, it had just been a question of when. She had curled her hair. She had poured a glass of wine. She had watched the rain fall and the hours go by, counting down slowly, almost in slow motion. And then he had appeared. Standing wet, soaked, drenched in the doorway, his nose bloody and his hair sticking to his forehead. His eyes familiarly devil like. And she had pursed her lips, taking in the sight. "Will Graham?" She had said, her eyebrows lifting and her breath on pause. "I had to end our relationship," Hannibal had answered. His shirt was bloody. Was it Will's blood? "Jack Crawford?" She said, but she knew the answer. Dead. She imagined a bloodbath in his beautiful kitchen. A stabbed Will Graham on the beautiful wooden floor. A silent Jack Crawford, his eyes misty gray, turning white.
Bedelia moved towards the demon man, knowing very well that he could snap her neck within mere seconds. He didn't. His eyes softened when she got close enough to reach out and stroke his soaked hair back. "Hannibal," she said, "why are you here?"
His eyelids fell shut and he stepped closer, letting her embrace him quietly. "I want you to come with me," he said, whispered almost. She closed her eyes. Something within her felt compassion for this man, this killer, this devil, this demon. He intrigued her. And she had warned them, she had warned them all. "Come with you where?" She asked and felt his lips against her neck. "Anywhere."
Backing away from him a step, she looked him in the eyes and nodded. Not sure if it was out of love or fear for this man, but something told her that whatever he was up to, she was intrigued to see his plans. His intentions. His beauty. Because he was beautiful.
Together they walked, they were calm and they looked like they belonged together. They ran away, they found a flight, they fled the scene. Bedelia smiled softly as he took her hand, their fingers curling perfectly, but she wondered. How many breaths did she have left? How long would she survive in his arms?