(See the first chapter for disclaimer, notes, spoiler, etc.)
Chapter 3: "Heart"
"I shall see you later- this afternoon- after you've rested."
But he hadn't.
Instead, Olivia had curled up in the bed, drawing her knees against her chest. The bed linens fluttered down, draping over her head with a carefree ease she envied. Still, the sunlight burned through the fibers of the Egyptian cotton, ever taunting her. Eventually, the day burned out to nightfall, cool and silver. And then she was truly alone. The world went quiet, the halls outside her room dulling to a hush.
Two miserable days and it already became her room.
She threw the covers back, cool air gracing her face as she stared up at the distant ceiling. It was daylight again, she realized as she watched the early morning sun creep across the meticulous paint job. She breathed deep and closed her eyes, not that those simple actions could bring any measure of calm. Thoughts had swirled in her head earlier, twisting and turning in a tormented vortex. Why? For how long? What did he tell the children? What for? But the one question most of all: how could he?
And now, there was nothing. The questions that had fueled her first forty-eight hours of depressed hysteria had faded to the wayside. All she was left with was emptiness. It was a hollow feeling that weighed down her insides, corroding her innards and turning them to dust.
With an energy she didn't know she had, she pushed herself up and blinked sleepily. Her eyes burned in her sockets, exhausted from the tortured sleep that she let claim her. The sheets fell away from her as she stood, rising from the bed that had been her cocoon since she arrived. The wood floor chilled her feet and she shivered, wrapping her arms around herself.
Her eyes narrowed and she turned her back on the window, the beauty of the sun-stained river holding no appeal. An ornate mirror hung from the wall, the gilt finish glowing blissfully in the sunrise. A stranger appeared in the reflection, gazing back at her. She neared the looking glass, her head cocked in thought as she watched the reflection. Dark hair hung limply over the shoulders, shiny with unwash. A pallor complexion gave way to dull eyes, swollen and bloodshot.
Olivia looked up at the mirror, appraising it the way she would a piece of art in a gallery. Like art, it was either hit or miss. The mirror was a decided miss. She walked away, moving through the spacious bedroom suite with a cautious step. Her hand skimmed the marble surface of the vanity and she shrank away from the mirror there too. She could see the reality of her life as clear as crystal. She didn't need the clarity of a mirror.
She waltzed back to the bed, one leg poised to climb back in when a cautious knock disturbed the silence. She looked over her shoulder, frozen as another knock echoed throughout the room. Her mind raced to the doctor, whose haunting eyes made her shiver and whose penetrating stare made her heart stop. She moved slowly, reaching for her robe as her flesh rose to goose pimples.
The door loomed before her as the doctor's promise sang in whispered remembrance. "I shall not enter unless you permit me." Her hand danced over the doorknob and she leaned forward, her forehead touching the strong wood. Her lips moved, silently mouthing the words that struck her when he spoke them. Unless you permit me.
Her hand twisted the knob before she realized what was happening. She peered around the edge, gripping the wood as she looked into the hallway. A bouquet of scent greeted her, wafting from beneath covered dishes. She frowned, staring down at the service cart as the orderly explained in heavily accented English, "Breakfast for you."
Her arms fell to her sides and she stepped back as he pushed open the door, wheeling the cart through. The flatware shook against the china, causing a tinkling sound that reminded Olivia of church bells. She watched the orderly set the cart by the window and uncover the plates with a flourish. He nodded cordially and gestured again to the cart. "From the doctor."
He was gone as quickly as he came, closing the door firmly behind him. She looked at the spread, her stomach twisting in starved protest. Plump strawberries caught the rising sun, as did the silver dish they sat in. A plate of fluffy eggs and grilled tomatoes beckoned, a quiet reminder that her last meal had been days ago. The unmistakable scent of coffee tickled her nose, drawing her in. It was another moment before she flew across the room, jumped into the armchair and ravenously jerked the cart to her.
In a quiet wing of the hospital, as Olivia was digging into the breakfast she didn't even know she wanted, Dr. Lecter dug into her medical records. For the last two days, the voluminous file sat in his lap as he worked through sheet after sheet. It came as no surprise to him that she made no effort to meet him. For her to have met him that first day would have been in sharp contrast to the thick file before him. Countless doctors and psychiatrists had all reached the same conclusion in regards to the patient "Richards, Olivia": she was extremely uncooperative.
Dr. Lecter rifled through her psychiatric history, compiled by the few psychiatrists she had surrendered to over the last twenty years. None had managed to keep her as a patient for more than several sessions. And, none had done more than label her a bored housewife before closing the books on her. He placed their opinions aside, believing none of them crucial to breaking into the clearly tortured psyche of Olivia. Instead, he delved into her medical history.
A person's medical history was the polar opposite of their psychiatric history. Whereas their psychiatric history was subjective, tainted with the opinions of a doctor who ran the chance of being too indoctrinated by the Establishment, a medical history could only deal with facts. Dr. Lecter believed in medical histories with every fiber of his being. They did not lie.
He thumbed through Olivia's complete medical life, from her entrance into the world in Britain to the days and weeks in a small California hamlet that brought her to him. He discarded the Italian records of the food poisoning she suffered in Florence, though his eyes lit briefly at the mention of the city she spent her honeymoon in. He plunged onward, noting her three pregnancies and the hypertension she experienced with her last two.
Three pregnancies.
He flipped back through the file to the cover sheet that contained only the bare minimum of topical information. His dark eyes raced to the middle of the sheet, to the section of information that leapt out. Two children listed. Three pregnancies, yet only two children. Interesting, he thought as he skimmed her charts.
Dr. Lecter closed the file, tucking the errant sheets into order. He leaned back in the chair, the leather groaning beneath him as he did. Overhead, a ceiling fan with blades that resembled veined leaves helped offset the late summer heat. In all places north of the Equator, March was at the juncture of winter and spring, drenched in rain and cold. But in the South, they were experiencing the height of summer. Strong sun filtered through the clouds, fueling the heat that propelled them all to a South American autumn.
He rested his head back, closing his eyes as he stole away to his memory palace. The walls and ceiling of a new room came together, bare except for the throbbing heart encased in a glass cabinet. It beat soundly, filling the emptiness of the room. The heart was the very soul of Olivia, giving in excess to two of her children. In time, the rest of the room would come together, but for now, the heart would suffice.
From down the hall, he heard the clock strike the hour. The chime pulsed through the wing, bringing a slight vibration to the windows. His eyes opened slowly, glowing through the shadow that ensconced the corner of his office. She was through with breakfast, he knew. The orderly had told him as much after he collected the empty cart from her room. After some gentle prodding, the orderly also revealed that she had changed her clothes.
The good doctor was pleased. Olivia had not refused breakfast and she changed of her own volition. She may not be ready to talk with him, but she was ready to see him.
He rose from the armchair fluidly, the file tucked beneath his arm when the phone on his desk rang. If he was annoyed by the interruption, his face did not show it. He picked up the handset, alternating between hushed words and silence as he listened. "Very well," he said finally. "Send him in."
He sank into the chair behind the desk and placed Olivia's medical file square in the center, where it would be impossible to miss. Urgent footsteps echoed down the hall, growing closer with each step. He picked up the phone, speaking quietly into the handset. "Please arrange for Mrs. Richards to meet me on the terrace in thirty minutes."
Dr. Lecter was hanging up the phone when there was a brief knock and the door flew open. He stood as Gregory Richards stepped into the room, his eyes searching the perimeter as he did. "Mr. Richards."
Gregory met his eyes and the doctor watched him quietly as he nodded. "Where is Dr. Hammond?"
He came around the desk, a deep sigh in his chest as he addressed the husband. "I believe he may be with a patient. The secretary can provide you with that information."
"I was assured that my wife would be under his care," he insisted, glaring at the doctor.
"As a patient of this institution where Dr. Hammond is the director, she is. However, he is not her doctor of record."
The husband looked up at him, stepping close as he stared. Dr. Lecter leaned back against the desk, ignoring the intimidating gaze that no doubt had been perfected over the years. "You are?" he asked quietly.
The doctor simply turned away, walking back around the desk. He placed his palm over the file, the tip of his middle finger sitting just below the tag identifying the patient name. His fingers drummed the surface as he tilted his head and watched Gregory, who was searching the wall behind the desk. The doctor smiled internally and stepped aside. Apparently the husband shared his admiration of facts, he noted as he glanced at the framed diplomas and various accreditations. They were the handiwork of the best forger in Argentina and would stand up extremely well under scrutiny. These would have to do as his rightful and earned diplomas were collecting dust in a federal storage unit at Quantico.
He let Gregory inspect the diplomas and a barely there smile touched his lips when he was apparently satisfied. "With a proper course of rigorous and intensive therapy, your wife-"
"I would like to see her."
Dr. Lecter shook his head and said, "I can not allow that."
Gregory's jaw tightened and his eyes darkened. "I want to make sure that she is alright."
"I assure you, she is as well as can be expected."
Silence.
"When will I be able to see her?" Gregory asked through clenched teeth. "Allan assured me that I would be able to visit her."
"So long as the visits do not cause a setback." He met Gregory's gaze and said clearly, "I will permit a visit when I am sure it will not hinder her therapy."
He watched as Gregory's head went back, barraged with the force of his words. "I'll speak with Allan about this." He eyed the doctor, this small man that stood between him and his wife. He spared him one more glare before he turned on his heel and stormed from the office.
Dr. Lecter looked down and allowed himself the smallest of smirks as he tapped the medical file. It would be something to get both spouses on his sofa.
There was a breeze outside. You couldn't tell there was one from the window in her room. Olivia stepped onto the terrace, blinking at the strong sun from overhead. The stone slabs glowed beneath the soles of her sandals, soaking up the rays. She inhaled deeply, taking in the perfume from the garden below.
Like a bolt of lightening piercing her flesh, she felt his eyes on her. They sucked her in, pulling her to him like a moth to flame. She turned, watching as the doctor stood and faced her. She slowly crossed the stone terrace, one foot in front of the other.
His gaze was still, enveloping her as she neared him. Her step slowed, the breeze stirring the tendrils that escaped the bundle of hair on her head. Her heart thundered in her chest and she rested her palm over it, feeling the pulse. It was tangible, alive and well. And so was she. At least alive.
She began walking again and reached the doctor, watching him expectantly. He rested his hand on the back of a chair, inviting. With a delicate caution, she lowered herself into the seat, curling back against the sun-warmed cushions. A cool breeze off the river balanced the heat from the sun and she sighed, turning her face up to the sky.
From the next chair, Dr. Lecter watched Olivia from the corner of his eye. Her eyes were closed as she basked in the warmth, no doubt shedding the skin of her first two days in isolation. The terrace was deserted except for them and he ensured it would stay that way.
Olivia stretched in the chair, leaning back further as she gripped the arms. Her mind drifted, lost in the sunny warmth. She reveled in the silence, the familiar sensation of sun on her flesh reminding her of the Splendour. A familiar feeling of calm bubbled within her and she couldn't help but smile.
Dr. Lecter looked out at the river and sat back. She couldn't realize that her therapy had already started. It began the moment she stepped out of her room to meet him on this terrace. He reviewed her medical history in his head, particularly her three pregnancies and decided that could wait for now. She had come to him once.
She would again.