The last several days were starting to blend together like a painting washed in watercolor. The days were barely distinct from the ones before them. I shadowed Dom around the hospital, visiting the same patients who dealt with the same issues as the day before. Whether the patients were chatty or hardly coherent, it mattered little because there was always paperwork, and those case notes, drug sheets, and forms only made the process more repetitive and less exciting for me. It was becoming dreadfully monotonous, and when I delicately voiced my concerns, I was told by the counselors that the progress that the patients made now won't be as evident in the big picture until the following months.
Such news was borderline disappointing to me. I mean, I'm no idiot. I understand that such a field measures progress in small dosages. Maybe I thought there would be more action, that even though my sister was a counselor and her patients tended to be of the lesser violent variety, someone would be startling. Maybe I came in with too big of expectations, for as awful as it sounded, by the end of the first week I almost wanted the patients to have a major breakdown, to regress in their treatment. To claw at the walls. To pull out their hair. To speak abruptly to their imagined friends. To run down the hallways naked like they used to when 19th century mental wards were shitty. Not that such a scene was possible at the St. Louis hospital. Due to the high level of security and the great care the staff had towards the less criminal of their in-house populace, no such scenes could be found there. Still, a young hopeful like me can dream. As an ungrateful intern as I was, I thought of such selfish desires as Dom and I moved on to the next session, and the next, and the next.
One afternoon came quicker than they normally do, thank God, and while organizing my sister's latest case notes in her office, she divulged a welcomed change in the next day's schedule.
"So instead of my usual eight o'clock, we're going to observe a session down at another interviewing room. Like the one that you were in a week ago, only bigger."
"Sounds good," I said. "Who's your eight o'clock again?"
"Francis Dolarhyde."
"Oh."
Instantly, I rebuked myself.
"Don't you only see him once a week though?" I backtracked, trying and failing to mask my disappointment.
"Yep," Dom replied coolly, not even shifting her eyes to look at me. "That's normally the case, but this week Dr. Chilton is paying Francis a visit instead."
I immediately stopped what I was doing, and in that moment my eyes raised to stare at my sister, to really look at her. For Dom and me, we appeared to be related, but it wasn't a quick assumption made by new friends and acquaintances. We had the same wild eyes, the same tone of sun-kissed skin. Those were the obvious similarities, but with them came the clear differences in our appearance. Statuesque and with long, auburn hair, Dom was a gorgeous woman whose kind smile managed to lessen the fierceness that her hazel eyes portrayed. I wasn't nearly as tall as she was, and my hair was a much darker brown, not at all red. Also, I lacked my sister's naturally kind disposition. She seemed to brighten a room by merely stepping in it. I, on the other hand, have been told that I am a bit of an enigma. A man told me that once, right before saying that I had "bedroom eyes."
Always the professional, my sister. She wore lipstick, but it wasn't anything flashy or too fetching. The shade was a gentle rose color, and under my watchful gaze, I saw that one corner of that rose mouth of hers twitched tighter than the other.
"What's that going to be like?" I pressed. "Seeing Dr. Chilton with Mr. Dolarhyde?"
"No clue," she answered, almost too quickly. "We'll just have to wait and see."
Dom never met my stare, and seeing as the next words that came out of her mouth were about our parents and dinner plans, I let the subject go.
Almost a full week had gone by since I saw Francis Dolarhyde. Almost a full week had gone by since I stood alone with the Tooth Fairy, a claim that most people wouldn't be able to live up to.
Leaving the hospital that night after Mr. Dolarhyde spoke to me was like recalling a vivid dream.
Did it really happen?
Did I really hear him speak?
Did he touch me?
I kept doubting what I had just witnessed, what I had just felt. The moments were on repeat. In my mind I saw those Atlantic eyes of his and how uncertain he was of me standing in front of his cell. It was as if he couldn't believe I was there either. I recalled how his hand covered the lower portion of his face, how it trembled as it shielded his mouth from me. Maybe this was the fear that Dom was referring to. Doubtful, but he did seem on edge.
But then, as it were, I couldn't help but wonder one other thing: What harm could I cause a man held within the confines of metal bars? What on earth could he fear from me?
And it was so short, that moment. Part of me hated the guards for interrupting, hated them for doing their jobs. After removing me from the hall, one of them gave me a good reprimanding before sending me on my way. With a "yes, sir" and a formal apology, I left the hospital to meet up with my family at the restaurant. Dom never said anything about it, that night or the days to come. I didn't think the guards who found me told my sister about what happened. I prayed that they never would.
Unlike past mornings, Dom and I rode together the day of Chilton's interview. The radio was on and the mood was a somber one. It was raining, and once again, I was anxious as we drove to the hospital. To calm my nerves, I resorted to painting my nails in the car. A slightly messy ordeal, but I was desperate for a distraction. I was uncomfortable with my sister. She seemed so cold. Dom didn't say a word to me the entire ride to the hospital. She only drummed her fingers at every stop light, and cursed under her breath at the drivers who weren't going the speed she desired them to.
"He's already here," Dom announced once we entered her office. Her car keys dropped on her desk with a loud bang.
"Dr. Chilton?"
"Yeah, the front desk just texted me. Grab that folder there. We best not keep him waiting."
I barely had time to shrug off my jacket and do as I was told before Dom breezed past me. The hurricane inside her was brewing, I could feel it. Feel it in the way her heels clacked on the tile, how stiff her bottom lip seemed to be on her face. Dom was a beautiful woman, who, when bothered, could come off as frightening. Like a goddess of sorts, she had intent in every step she made. She made those confident steps all the way to the foyer.
Before entering the main area, however, Dom slowed her pace until she came to a full halt. She then turned to look at me.
"S'kind of weird, but I feel that I should warn you about something before we go in there," she said quietly.
"Alright."
"You know, don't you? You know what Francis did to Dr. Chilton?"
I saw anticipation in her eyes, how the energy of the subject danced within them. Perhaps they reflected my own, for as I recalled the headlines and the details of Dolarhyde's capture, a tickling sensation climbed its way up my spine.
"Um, yes," I answered. "I heard that Mr. Dolarhyde attacked him. Mutilated him, actually."
"Right," said Dom. "He suffered full body burns, and yes, facial mutilation as well, a serious one. The surgeries helped, but they can only do so much. I know that I don't have to remind you, but just try not to stare."
Not really sure what to say to her advice, I simply nodded before my sister led the way through the doors to greet the hospital's latest guest.
Standing on the opposite side of the foyer by three, tall windows stood a figure of average height. The sunlight made him a blackened silhouette.
"Dr. Chilton," greeted Dom with a pleasant smile.
Always so polite. The good sister.
The man immediately turned to face her. Dressed in a trim, gray suit and a striped blood red tie, Dr. Chilton dressed every bit the professional that his credentials called for him to be. His black shoes even shined. They glimmered as he stiffly bridged the gap between us and him to shake my sister's hand.
"Dr. Ashe," he said. "Good morning. And this is?"
Every bit of exposed skin on the man told a tale of great pain and suffering. His hands were peeling. The shriveled lines and flesh that surrounded his eyes and nose looked dry and multitoned, but to his credit if I didn't know of his recent torture, I would assume that the short wig on his head was his own hair. It was worth every penny. His mouth was another story. They, his manmade lips, were clearly the handiwork of an expert surgeon due to the precise sculpting and near seamless application. Even with mankind's best effort, however, the grafted flesh affected his speech, adding a weak inflection to some consonants.
"Hello, my name is Alexandra," I replied. "Alexandra Emme."
"She's my sister," added Dom. "And my assistant for the next few months."
"I see," said Chilton with something that resembled a smile. "You're very fortunate to have such an accomplished sister, Miss Emme. I believe that it's safe to say that this opportunity at the hospital would be a hard position to come across otherwise."
"I'm sure Alexandra would have found it one way or another," quipped Dom, maintaining a veil of cordiality. "She's very observational and empathetic. We're lucky to have her here."
"Of course you are," replied the psychiatrist. "I wouldn't want to sell you short, Miss Emme. Now, I hate to rush, but you can understand, I'm sure, how anxious I am to begin. Where is Mr. Dolarhyde?"
"This way. I'll show you."
Like a shadow, I followed my older colleagues as we maneuvered through the building towards the interviewing room. Instead of taking the stairs, however, the three of us along with a guard, rode a small elevator to the lower level. The guard looked familiar to me, but I failed to recall his name.
"Do you have the folder that I asked for over the phone?" said Dr. Chilton when the elevator doors parted.
"I do."
"Excellent. I would very much appreciate your insight, Dr. Ashe. Your attention and what relationship you managed to create with Francis Dolarhyde may prove to be useful one way or another."
Seeing as I was standing behind the good psychiatrist, I allowed a smile to spread. The man had a somewhat snobbish air to him. I heard it in his voice, in his off compliments. It wasn't out rightly rude, nor was it quietly subtle. We stepped from the elevator car and were walking down the cool hallway towards the interviewing rooms. Dom, I knew, could see me clear as day, but I didn't care.
"This folder and the rest of my notes are all yours, but to be honest, I doubt you'll find much use out of my session recordings," responded my sister. "As you know, Francis hasn't said anything to me-"
"Oh, I'm aware," said Chilton. "Still, even your notes might shed a small light on what sort of man Francis is since his encounter with Dr. Lecter and Will Graham. I imagine that we are not dealing with the same beast that the FBI had to wrestle with. Most likely, we're stuck with something worse."
Dom's brow furrowed for a moment before saying, "Dr. Chilton, despite what you might already know of Francis, he hasn't caused any problems since arriving in St. Louis. When treated respectfully, Francis-"
"Respect," said Chilton bitterly. "Is something that which is typically earned, Dr. Ashe. I don't intend to simply give it away because he hasn't bitten anyone here. Yet. And although I've been told that hypnosis has resolved much of his identity-linked problems, such progress isn't enough to say that Francis Dolarhyde is by any means a good man. I'm sure you heard what happened when he was incarcerated in Buffalo, hm?"
Chilton's brown eyes were staring at me when he asked. Mine retreated to the tile.
"It was how he ended up here in St. Louis," he continued. "Gnashed his way into an orderly's face after complaining that his cell was too hot. The poor man, as moronic as he was to turn his back on Dolarhyde, never stood a chance. Dolarhyde's a behemoth after all. The worker lost an ear and a cheek."
Dr. Chilton then turned and opened the door to the interviewing room.
"DID diagnosis or not," he said. "The man is a criminal. He's a monster, and I intend to keep that fact well in check."
Before either of us could say anything, Dr. Chilton stepped inside the room and shut the door behind him. We were both stunned into silence. I was the first to speak up.
"Should, should we let him talk to Mr. Dolarhyde knowing that he has such a strong bias against him?" I asked Dom. "Is that fair?"
"Well," Dom said after a sigh. "You tell me, did Dr. Chilton say anything untrue about Francis Dolarhyde?"
"No, but-"
"The man murdered two families, Al."
She made sure to capture my full attention, unyielding eye contact to get her point across to me without much room for mercy.
"Two families with kids. He almost got to a third before he was caught. I mean, the man shot children in their beds, for Christ's sake! Now, regardless of what happened to Dr. Chilton, he's still a professional, and I trust that he'll keep any emotion he may have towards Francis in check. But remember this, okay, Al? Yes, we are in the helping profession. Yes, we do what we consider best for our patients, but we don't do it because it is the "fair" thing to do. For men like Francis Dolarhyde, there isn't such a thing as "fairness" anymore. Men like him tossed fairness out the window all on their own with their actions. From there, they have to deal with the consequences like everyone else. For Francis, sitting down with Dr. Chilton is one of them. Come on, they're starting now."
For a second time that morning, I didn't have the words to respond to my sister. I should've known then and there that the theme for the day would be confliction.
A bit setback, we both settled in the observation room. The chair was just as cold as I remembered, but I was too focused on what lied past the mirrored glass to really think about it. The buzzer had sounded, and in was walking Francis Dolarhyde.
"Good morning, Francis," said Dr. Chilton who stood behind one of the metal chairs.
Based on how the man frowned and blatantly stared at the one who addressed him, you would think that Mr. Dolarhyde didn't know who Dr. Chilton was. His steps ceased and his brow knit together. When he didn't move any further, the guard who rode with us in the elevator shoved him forward, earning a sharp glare from over the shoulder. Still, Francis Dolarhyde did as he was silently commanded, sitting across Dr. Chilton without further resistance.
"I see that you've kept yourself in shape since being incarcerated," commented Chilton.
As expected by me and most likely my sister, Mr. Dolarhyde said nothing. Like last week, the surface of the metal table held all of his attention.
"Now, now," began Dr. Chilton in a firm, superior voice.
He then slowly leaned across the table, causing Dolarhyde to shift his gaze upward.
"There's no need for that, Francis. Let's not make this conversation any more awkward than it already is. We can talk, you and I. Man to man."
The strong being in the jumpsuit seemed uninterested in any form of conversation. That scowl of his was firmly in place and his eyes narrowed at what Dr. Chilton was saying.
Remembering his string, I checked to see if he had it with him underneath the table. I saw it, the small threadlings of yarn, but his fingers had stilled.
"You do remember me, right, Francis?" asked Chilton calmly. "They told you I was coming. I know that my face is different, but the name rings a bell, doesn't it?"
I watched as Dolarhyde glanced away from Chilton's face, first to the side as if recollecting, and then to the window for some form of validation.
"You don't have to answer right away, Francis, don't worry. We have a whole hour, and there is no one is on the other side of that glass. You and I are alone. Man to man. No women this time."
"Women are fickle creatures, aren't they, Francis," continued the psychiatrist with an almost trivial tone of voice. "Even for a man such as myself who is well versed in the inklings of the human mind, women still leave much to the imagination as far as their reasoning goes. I imagine, even with your little experience, that the women who you've encountered have left you wondering, hm?"
Mr. Dolarhyde's eyes looked down at the table, then slightly to the mirrored glass again.
Did he know we were there? Despite what Chilton had told him, did Mr. Dolarhyde know that we were watching him? Waiting to see what would happen next?
I wondered if he hoped so.
"What is Dr. Chilton doing?" I whispered to Dom.
Turning to my sister, I saw that she seemed just as bothered as I was. I received no answer.
And then he said it. It was a short statement. A pointed one. An accusation that was very heavy in its intent. Dr. Chilton said a statement that I believe rekindled the fire inside Francis Dolarhyde that day.
"You hate women, don't you?" asked Dr. Chilton.
I swallowed, my eyes bulging and quickly shifting to see Dolarhyde's reaction. The tension Chilton's question caused felt like the static one feels before lightning strikes the earth. Dolarhyde had no obvious change in mood. His eyes widened briefly in shock and his posture straightened. Not much though. If anything, he looked just as unsure as Dom and I did. Little did I realize what emotion was really steeping beneath the surface.
Seemingly unaware, Chilton was still leaning halfway across the table, his eyes relentlessly boring into the face of the Tooth Fairy.
"I don't blame you for not wanting to talk to Dr. Ashe due to your history with the opposite sex," continued the psychiatrist. "She's smart, beautiful, and in a position of power greater than your current circumstance. You don't have to talk to her, but you will have to talk to me, and I promise you, Mr. Dolarhyde, how comfortable you will be during our conversations is entirely up to you. I know what sort of man you are, and trust that you will make wise decisions. Do you have any questions before we start?"
As his blue eyes broke away from Dr. Chilton's gaze again, Francis Dolarhyde shook his head. Chilton grinned at his response, but I didn't see anything to feel victorious about.
"Very well then," stated Chilton. "First off, let's-"
"What kind?"
The man spoke. Barely. It was so low, so quiet. I almost thought that I didn't hear it.
"Come again," said Chilton, the skin where his eyebrows used to be pulling upward. "Did you say something, Francis?"
The patient hesitated awkwardly. His eyes went to the window, almost pleading.
"Francis!" snapped Dr. Chilton, making all of us jump. "Don't look at that window. Look at me. Look at me and repeat what you said."
I turned to my sister again, awaiting a clarifying explanation for the foul tone in Chilton's voice. And again, Dom remained silent.
"Please," prodded Chilton. "Try again. What did you say?"
Dolarhyde's mouth twitched. The skin on his throat was textured with scars, and it bobbed as the man swallowed before he spoke again.
"What kind of man am I?" he questioned darkly.
Chilton limply shrugged one shoulder.
"Why do you ask?" he said.
"You s-said that you knew what kind of man I was," said Dolarhyde. "Tell me what you mean by that statement."
"Why, you're a man who has been through a vast amount of trauma. If we are going to dig at the bare bones of it all, it is evident from the remains of your own personal journals mind you, that most of it was experienced when you were a child. Long term abuse and neglect from the grandmother. That is, at least, believed to be one of the causes for your mental illness, Francis."
"But," began Dolarhyde. "But that doesn't mean that I hate women-"
"No, not necessarily," said Chilton. "Your actions, well, your past actions suggest that to some extent you admire them. In your own repulsive way, of course. However, I think that if you were honest with yourself, Francis, then you'd have to admit that part of you resents them. I mean, look how they've treated you! Your mother, grandmother, Reba McClane, all of them. They just couldn't love you for what you are. For what you were becoming."
"I didn't hate-"
"Speak louder."
"I didn't hate Reba," said Dolarhyde, his brow furrowing deeper and his eyes shutting as he did.
"Are you sure, Francis?" quipped Dr. Chilton.
"Mhm."
"Because, the last thing I learned about Miss McClane was that you lit a house on fire with her in it, yes?"
Francis Dolarhyde's eyes clenched so tightly as if he were in some sort of deep pain.
"Francis," chimed Chilton, "Yes or no?"
"Reba didn't understand-"
"Yes or no, Francis."
"No, I-"
"No, you didn't set the house on fire? No, you didn't try to kill Reba McClane?"
"I, I did try to kill her-"
"You what?"
"I didn't want the Dragon…No, me, to hurt Reba-"
"Has she even visited you since you've been incarcerated?"
"What?"
"You heard what I said."
"No-"
"I can't hear you. Speak up."
"I-"
"Louder."
"S-Stop-"
"Louder!"
"No!"
"What does the Dragon say?" demanded Dr. Chilton, those dark eyes of his intense and brooding. "What does it say, Francis?"
They, his eyes, dared to stare into the eyes of Francis Dolarhyde in a way that didn't seem as fearful as I thought they would be. After suffering like Dr. Chilton had at the hands of the Tooth Fairy, the man that squared up against the Fairy now certainly wasn't trembling. Though Mr. Dolarhyde was seething on the other side of the table, Dr. Chilton's breath was level and demeanor in control. There was bravery there, a bravery that I couldn't help but admire in the man.
"I need that folder," he announced without averting his attention. "Send it in, please."
Dr. Chilton seemed to be waiting, and it wasn't until I felt a hand on my shoulder did I realize what it was he was waiting on.
"Give the folder to him," prompted my sister.
It took a second, but I realized that the folder that Chilton was referring to was the one in my lap.
"What?" I said dumbly. "Now?"
"He needs it. Go!"
As strange as the request sounded, I obeyed. Rising from my chair, I stole one last wary look at Dom before I left the observation room. I could hear my own heartbeat and feel my blood racing through me. With a sharp inhale, I turned the knob of the next room and entered.
"Ah, here we are," greeted Dr. Chilton lightly.
The door's latch clicked behind me as I took a small step into the room. The temperature inside was unignorably warmer and it was oddly quiet despite hearing Mr. Dolarhyde's shallow breaths from the other side of the glass. My eyes refused to look anywhere but at Chilton's red tie as I handed him the folder.
"Thank you, Miss Emme," said Chilton. "Your services are appreciated."
I nodded my head and dismissed myself. It wasn't until I was back in the observation room did I allow myself to breathe regularly.
"Sorry for the interruption," Dr. Chilton said flippantly as he fingered through the folder and downcast his eyes.
"You said-"
"Hm?"
A pause. Dr. Chilton didn't even acknowledge Mr. Dolarhyde. Probably a good thing given the heat in Dolarhyde's eyes.
"You told me," growled the Tooth Fairy, "That there was no one watching today."
Dr. Chilton hardly regarded Mr. Dolarhyde's words, offering only a shoulder shrug as he shut the folder and crossed his arms. When he faced the other man, he was absolutely indifferent to Dolarhyde's hostility.
"Oh, well," he told him. "I lied."
Four words. Four words and civility was dead.
In an instant, Francis Dolarhyde became unhinged. He rose and grabbed Dr. Chilton by his jacket, and with a snarl, he yanked Chilton across the table with white knuckles and with his neck as red as scarlet. Chilton thrashed inches from Dolarhyde's mouth as the man's teeth flashed in the light. I remembered immediately reading how Dolarhyde earned his nickname. I remembered immediately how Chilton lost his lips. The buzzer rang and two more guards rushed in to help the ones already trying to get a hold of the stronger man. Twice Dolarhyde snapped his teeth near Chilton's face. So close. Barely out of range. All Chilton could do was lean away with widened eyes as the hospital staff pulled and tugged at Dolarhyde's muscled arms. In the end, it took five minutes, five orderlies, and a mild sedative for the room to settle down.
The interviewing room was filled with the huffing gasps of men. Dr. Chilton stared at Dolarhyde who was bent over the table, wrists cuffed behind his back, and with the hands of three orderlies pinning him down.
"I believe we're done for today, Francis," said Chilton as he adjusted his tie. His hands were shaking. "It was nice to finally see you again. I'm looking forward to our time together."
So much hate burned in the eyes of Francis Dolarhyde. I could feel the hate from where I sat in the next room. With hellfire, he glowered at Dr. Chilton, and despite the haughty smirk he got in return, Mr. Dolarhyde managed to have the final say. Just as the staff pulled his body off of the table, Mr. Dolarhyde curled back his lips and spat in Dr. Chilton's face. He was sneering when the orderlies finally dragged him out of the room.
My sister was up before me. The door opened into the hallway and as I stood, she was already addressing Dr. Chilton.
"What was that?" demanded my sister, the cordiality completely removed from her voice.
Dr. Chilton stood in the hall, a smug expression touching every feature of his face as he wiped it down with a silk pocket square.
"Just a simple stress assessment," he said plainly. "As we agreed. Nothing more."
"Do you realize what damage you might've caused that man? Irreparable damage?"
"How so?"
"Months of therapy, countless sessions from multiple professionals, all possibly reversed and down the drain because of your "simple stress assessment." Accusing him of being a misogynist. Bringing up McClane. I'm sorry, but are you shitting me right now?"
The man's invisible brow raised at my sister's anger, and to my own personal disdain he allowed a crooked smile to tug at his mouth.
"Francis Dolarhyde is a smart man, Dr. Ashe. He proved to be rather cunning during the FBI's manhunt, and though I do believe he did suffer from a rare strand of Dissociative Identity Disorder and has been successful in most of his treatment, part of me couldn't help but make sure we were past the dramatics-"
"You said that you would "ease him in" with non-specifics!"
"And you really believe that he wouldn't see past that? I'm sorry, but if you think Mr. Dolarhyde is as fragile as you think, then he already has you pegged for a fool."
"I understand that he possesses a high intelligence," declared my sister. "This doesn't mean, however, that he is immune to all of the stressors that provoked his episodes when he first started."
"Ah, but provoking that man was exactly what we agreed upon over the phone, Dr. Ashe. And in provoking him, we learned what we needed to. We learned that Francis Dolarhyde is still just as unstable as he was on Day One."
"I don't agree with how you went about it!" said my sister. "It was underhanded and reckless. Fragile or not, sociopath or not, that man is still under my care-"
"For now," sniped Chilton, his smile dimming. "I may be the bully, but men like Dolarhyde need to be reminded who holds the keys to their freedom, Dr. Ashe. How did he react when you mentioned me last week?"
"Barely interested," said Dom dryly. "It was hard to see if he recognized your name at all, and based on his initial response to you when he entered the room, I'd say the depth of his dissociative memory still needs examination."
Dr. Chilton grimaced at my sister's answer, but recovered his condescension quickly.
"Or," he started, "He could be more distracted by other people he has come into contact with recently."
Peculiarly, both doctors looked my way. While Dr. Chilton appeared humored, Dom wasn't so light hearted. She looked pissed.
"Did you notice how he stared at you, Miss Emme?" said Chilton. "Disarming, isn't he?"
"I didn't look at Mr. Dolarhyde," I replied.
"Why is that?"
"Given the emotional state of, of the room, direct eye contact didn't seem like a good idea. I didn't want to upset him."
"You were afraid."
"Yes," I replied with a touch of hesitation. "Yes I was."
Satisfied, the psychiatrist lifted his wrist to check the time.
"Dr. Ashe," he then began tiredly, "I don't mind continuing with Francis Dolarhyde. He's atrocious, but makes for a good book study. However, from here on out his "fragility" is going to be a continued headache for you if you were uncomfortable with today's session. Now, I have an interview to tend to, so I'll be leaving. Give my offer some thought, won't you?"
I was told to return to her office while my sister walked Dr. Chilton to the door. As I started gathering supplies by her desk, I couldn't erase how defeated my sister seemed.
The last time that I saw my sister so mutedly angered by another person was when we were teenagers. Our father had banished her then-boyfriend from our house after he returned Dom home past curfew. Dom didn't scream or yell or cry. Not openly anyway, but she did remain silent around our father for an entire month. Stiff-lipped and with venom in her eyes, she would only talk to me and our mom. To our father, the only communication he received was that via nods and shakes of the head.
The memory alit within the walls of my mind while watching Dom toil at her desk. She hadn't said a word since escorting Dr. Chilton from the hospital, and seeing her so quietly upset made me uncomfortable again.
After gathering some courage, I opened my mouth to speak.
"Dom?" I said.
"Yes?"
"You okay?"
"No, not really."
"Okay. Can I ask you something else?"
"Sure."
"What's the offer that Dr. Chilton made you? He mentioned it right before he left."
The ballpoint pen in her hand stilled.
"Dr. Chilton thinks that he knows how to get Francis to open up," she told me. "And at this point, I'm so desperate that I think I have to take him up on it."
"What is it?"
I watched as her fingers laced and how she hesitated in her thoughts before answering me. The pause watered my anxiety into a new level of nervousness.
"I saw you," she said quietly. "I saw you the night that you went down to his cell and he spoke to you. There's cameras, Al. Did you honestly think we didn't have cameras down there?"
I exhaled slowly. I didn't know exactly how she felt, but hearing that Dom knew that I snuck to the wing where Francis Dolarhyde dwelled relieved a great burden of worry deep inside me. Even as she watched me process her discovery, I couldn't help but feel slightly elated.
"I'm sorry," I said. "It was stupid. I don't know what I was thinking."
"What did you give him?" she asked.
"String. He was playing with it under the table and it fell when the guards took him away."
"What were you planning to accomplish by giving it to Francis?"
"I don't know," I said plainly. "Just seemed like the right thing to do. I felt bad for him."
"Why?"
The way in which Dom asked was probably the most expressive she had been with me all day. Her brow was knit together in confusion, and her self-control failed to conceal the shock in her voice.
"I can tell that he's bothered by something," I said.
"Well, yeah. Incarceration is bothersome."
"I think it's more than that. Something less heavy, but more important somehow."
Her brows raised. My confidence faltered.
"And you got all of that during my interview with him?" Dom said doubtfully. "Really?"
"Not just from you. Today with Chilton showed it, too. Something offensive. I don't know. I'm probably wrong."
A silence followed my weak explanation. Dom sat behind her desk surrounded by her paperwork, a contemplative expression on her face and her eyes glancing off to the side. That engine of a mind was hard at work, thinking of either my demise or some other thought that I was not privy to. I prayed it was the latter. My sister then pulled out her cell phone and clicked at the screen, typing a text message in rapid fire. She waited. We waited. A minute or so later, her phone lit up with a response. She read it for about one second, a spark of satisfaction glinting in her eyes. At last, she rose from her chair and walked towards the door of her office.
"Come with me," she said bluntly and kept on walking out the door.
In the end, I didn't bother asking. I had no earthly idea what mood Dom was in, her face impassive, and I had no intention of digging the hole I got myself in any deeper.
We walked through familiar halls and foyers, but then used a staircase that I never saw before. The air was chilled in the hallways from there, and the halls were bright with fluorescent light unlike the dim, cozy lighting of the regular floors of the hospital. Four times my sister had to use her security card, and we passed many guards who were on duty. The area we were in had more security in general, and many more orderlies monitoring the wing.
Eventually, after about ten minutes of walking, we came to a small security desk with two officers on duty. Again, I saw the guard whose name I had forgotten.
"Dr. Ashe," said the other guard with a nod.
"Hello, Frank," said Dom politely. "Which one?"
"The third, mam."
"Great. Thank you."
"Of course."
Her heels clacked past the desk and through a metal door that buzzed before the lock unsheathed. Though Dom proceeded confidently, I became gradually unsure the further we entered the narrow hall on the other side. On the left were several rooms with small windows in the doors. There were five doors total. Dom stopped at the third. She then placed her hand on the handle and waited. Another buzzer sounded. Dom pulled it open, holding it wider for me and with an expectant look on her face.
"After you," she said.
I frowned.
"Where are we?" I asked. "What wing is this?"
"I'll explain inside."
When I shot her a disapproving look, she smiled.
"I promise, Al. Just trust me."
I sensed the bullshit in her words. I'm no fool. Still, at the rate that I was going with my time at the hospital, I was fortunate that Dom had yet to really rip me a new one. That was the thought going through my mind as I slowly approached the door she held out for me, my eyes peeking in and seeing some of a tall glass wall and a folding chair.
Without warning, I felt something on my back push me past the threshold. I stumbled forward just as I heard the door slam shut behind me.
"Dom!" I shouted. "What the hell?"
My hand went to the handle, but the locking mechanism was already in place.
"Hey, I know you're mad at me, but come on!" I said into the metal door. "You're just going to lock me in a cell? Seriously? Dom!"
No answer.
"Are you fucking kidding me?" I yelled. "Dom!"
Again, nothing.
I groaned loudly and tried seeing through the small window, my eyes searching angrily for my older sibling. She wasn't in view, which only frustrated me further.
"Whatever," I mumbled under my breath. My hand banged on the door as a last attempt at freedom. Nothing came of the action, and I sighed again.
Turning further in to the room, I saw the glass wall and the metal folding chair. The glass wall reached from the floor almost to the top of the ceiling, a few inches of space between them. I couldn't see the whole room from where I stood by the door, and as I walked around the small corner by the room's entrance, I short gasp sounded from my lips.
A body. On the floor on the other side of the room and behind the glass was a body. It was curled in the corner, knees brought to chest and forearms resting on knees. Between the fingers was a red string, and in his fierce eyes I saw raw confusion, a look that I had seen before.
Francis Dolarhyde. Again it was Francis Dolarhyde with me in an enclosed space, unashamedly scrutinizing, and silently asking questions.
"Hi," I found myself saying softly.
I was conflicted in my emotion. While my embarrassment for having had a near meltdown in front of a stranger existed in a pale shade, it was made paler still by the climbing fear that burned in chest. An instinctual fear that no physical barricade could ease.
I was in a room with Francis Dolarhyde. He ripped people open with his teeth.
My greeting stirred him into action. With a cautious slowness, the man rose from his position on the floor to stand fully before me, his body taking careful steps closer to the glass. I felt as if I was at the zoo, like when an animal comes close to where you are, curious and mildly frightening despite the fact that you are safely out of harm's reach. His steps ceased. He stood a few feet away, but near enough to the glass to make it fog.
His scarred throat flexed. He swallowed before parting that scarred mouth of his.
"Hi."
THE FINALE, THOUGH. It was lovely, and I especially enjoyed how Fuller showed Dolarhyde's military experience in the episode. I had this chapter drafted and almost completed nearly a week ago, but chose to hold off until the Hannibal finale aired last weekend. I'm glad I waited. Most of what I wrote had to be scrapped to align better with what occurred on the show. Thank you for the patience, and I'm even happier now that I started this work. Dolarhyde has certainly grown into another villain that I enjoy. -TCR