A/N: Before we begin, we did edit and add/change things in chapter 2 to make it flow better, fix errors, and add more to her story with Dittmer. Highly suggest re-reading Chapter 2 before beginning this one. Thank you.
Chapter 3
Ecstasy was a word Anino had recently become all too familiar with, revenge for the words said against her consuming all her thoughts. The slippery liquid between her fingertips, and the sudden warmth of flesh against steel, all of it was an exhilaration that sent the female's mind hazy.
The remaining blood slowly seeped out from the open wounds on the side of his neck. His death must have been rather unsettling, watching as your killer continuously stabbed you in the throat, red streaking over the bricked alleyway. It did not take much effort to hit the man with her heavy bag and knock him down. The rapid blood loss made it all too easy for the young black male to lose consciousness as his killer sat on top of his chest—gazing at the risk she had taken.
Marcus had been a tricky little bugger. The soft panting and groaning from the dying male below her sent chills rippling down her back. His bright eyes lost their familiar life and the adrenalin pulsating through him stilled. The boy was nothing more than a husk stuffed full of regrets and the beginning of a new drug.
"You'll do just fine, Marcus." Anino whispered over his cold face. "Thank you for your donation."
To merely separate the college kid from his companions was hard enough. The action of catching his eyes sickened her, offering herself as a piece of meat to be butchered, in an entirely different way. Marcus had eyed her earlier in the night, something she had noticed, and which made him a favorable target. The nightclub was packed with various people who were looking to get wasted into next week, and others who wanted simple physical flings. It seemed that her intended victim was of the latter sort.
"Hey, pretty baby." the young man gave Anino a suggestive look over as he licked his lips. "I noticed you kept looking at me. Is there anything I can... help you with?"
Anino had to will away the temptation to fling her drink at the man, break her glass, and slice up his arrogant features, reminding herself this was for a good cause. A mission to complete and suffer through.
The Asian female leaned in and traced her finger over the guy's belt buckle. Her gaze just as suggestive as she leaned into his ear and whispered, "You can help me with a lot of things. How about donating this for a physical examination, honey?"
The black male smirked down at Anino and ran his fingers over her backside, groping her in the public place. A small moan was pressed into the man's neck as Anino faked and exaggerated her motions. The slow grind against him had an added effect and the man yielded to her. Between the dancing and playful noises, Anino somehow managed to get her panting victim outside.
At first, he persisted on wanting to take her to a hotel, his hands never leaving her body as she pulled him further down the sidewalk and into a dark side alley. A quick exchange of names sent the female grasping the man's shirt as he pushed her against the alley wall.
"I want it here." It was enough suggestion for Marcus to pick her up and to straddle himself against her abdomen, her legs wrapping around his waist.
As he fidgeted with his pants and belt, the poor fool never noticed how his female friend reached forward for something; nor did he see how easily he bared his neck for the beast to strike.
The first stab into his jugular was messy, unpracticed. All she knew was red. The second strike went further in. Marcus began to scramble away from the woman, hands releasing her, trying now to hold his throat together, but she tightened her body around him like a vice. Her arm, the blade continuously going further in each time, stilled his head. After the third or fourth assault, he was a gushing fountain.
By this time Marcus had begun to slump against Anino. Slowly, she let him free to give him the small hope he would walk away, her feet hitting the pavement, his body no longer supporting her. He staggered a few steps, clutching desperately to keep his own blood from spilling more. Anino darted for the bag she had dropped, swinging it forcefully at his head. Marcus dropped on his belly to the alley. Her heeled boot kicked him over so he lay on his back. She hiked her skirt up around her thighs, the easier to crush his ribs beneath her as she sat, watching as the small pool of blood formed and her thoughts raced to keep up with what she had just done.
With Dittmer's death, so too had her old methods gone. She no longer killed only to honor her sister, but to show off her prowess as an artist, and to satisfy the sick curiosity growing inside her. Marcus was the first in a long line of new opportunities.
"Thank you for your donation."
†
The dim glow of the pharmacy lights cast a strange and sickly glow on Anino's hooded face. She had followed him for days, quietly lurking after him, understanding him, making sure that he was the one. His name was Albert Finnegan, a man in his early thirties, still living with his parents, and suffering from schizophrenia. He was the perfect match for her piece, her counterpart to the real life Will.
She leaned back against the brick wall as he exited the pharmacy, an unlit cigarette hanging between her plum lips. Her fingers curled in anticipation, her body remembering the rush she had felt from the death of the college student mere days before. Her boots made no noise against the damp pavement as she followed him in the dark.
After he had rounded the corner Anino darted after him, a slender arm wrapping itself about his torso, surprise causing him to drop the pharmacy bag. Her blade came up quickly, practiced fingers easily sliding it from her boot. It ran effortlessly against the flesh of his throat exposed, by his loose sweater, blood spraying down the dark street, mixing with the rainwater that had fallen hours before.
Albert's body writhed in his death throes, Anino still holding him in her arms, as she felt sick satisfaction almost akin to an orgasmic pleasure. His body stilled, and she dragged him carefully down the dead street, to the car she had parked earlier. She threw him into the backseat, onto the tarp she had laid down and got in, driving back to her home where she would put him away with Marcus, until she could find a viable counterpart for the good doctor.
†
The gentle chimes of the church bells rang through the white stone as the three men posed elegantly on either side of each other. The plethora of colors from the stained glass windows drenched the sanctuary in a colorful flush. Yet something tainted the holy air of this righteous complex.
Where church goers should have been standing to illuminate the candles for prayers and blessings, stood at the center were otherworldly garbed strangers that held steadfast with their swords touching at the ends; a trio of friendly steel. Their expressions literally frozen in place by ice and thread. An artfully crafted piece that took not only the grotesque and morbid but the careful eye of noting human expressions.
Their costumes were nothing short of extravagant and exact. The embellishments of gold thread pulled through the royal blue fabric made the decomposing bodies look out of place within them; a modern soul in the vessel of a bygone age. Each outfit held a certain individual style yet related to each other in both color and cut. It was easy to see from the grandeur of their feathered hats that these men took after a certain era. An era deemed long forgotten in history books that had little to no time in the present and modern world.
"The Three Musketeers?" Will turned his questioning gaze to look at Jack briefly. "Really?"
Hannibal quirked a brow, his eyes languidly taking in what was set before him. "It could be that this is how the killer sees us – which is possible. We were at the first crime scene together. So whoever did this watched us, and listened to our critiques of their work."
Will grunted. "Obviously he wasn't happy with what we thought."
Jack was not too pleased by the sordid show of death in a church. Somewhat a mockery to the Jesus that hung from his cross, looking down at the slowly thawing men. The very men some believed he had died to save. Something like this did not need to be thrown about so recklessly and disrespectfully in a church, especially one that had the highest attendance in the main Baltimore area. There need not be any more public view on rancid murderers going free on every corner. The public needed to stay calm and remain within their reason. This sort of show... it meant chaos and disruption from all sides.
"Father Dumas," Jack held out his hand to shake the head priest's hand and pull the shocked man off to the side. "Thank you for your time, Father. I can't say it's a pleasure what with this situation."
The old priest lowered his head down as he clasped his hands together tightly. The priest's body trembled, his scattered nerves overcoming him as Jack tried to question him.
"Tell me about when you discovered the bodies, father."
"I came in to ready for morning Mass." Father Dumas replied softly, his eyes lifted to look at Jack brokenly. "It's a horrible thing, to do something so unsightly to those men... especially... that one."
Jack followed the elderly man's eyes towards the musketeer in the center who was more indistinguishable than his two friends were. There was a raw anger, physically taken out on him more so than the others were. A few of the younger officers had been told to leave the scene, Jack fearing that bile would contaminate any evidence to be found.
"Was there anything out of the ordinary, Father? Anything at all? Perhaps someone who stayed later than usual last night? Maybe even a new employee? Anything at all?" Jack calmly persisted in questioning the priest who had to turn his back away from the mutilated victims.
"None at all, detective." Father Dumas rubbed the tears from his eyes as he set in motion a quiet prayer. "Nothing out of the ordinary."
Noticing the discomfort of the priest, Jack thanked the man again before asking an officer to escort him away from the crime scene.
Jack quietly turned on his heels and walked back to the other men. Will rubbed his eyes with the back of his sleeve as he breathed heavily. The tumble back from his transcendent profiling taking a number on him as of late. The things he saw would be the next layer of foundation for his nightmares.
"Are we sure it's our man?" Jack's voice boomed loudly enough for Hannibal to shoot him a side-glance and for Will to jump, surprised, from his reverie gulping.
"Well, that depends if our man has taken on a new approach, Jack." Will placed the glasses back comfortably on his face before motioning towards the bodies. "They aren't plastinated like the others. I doubt they earned that right."
Jack raised his brows at Will once again before inquiring, "What do you mean?"
The curly haired profiler turned to face the detective head on as he gave a dry laugh, "We aren't appreciating his work."
Almost as quickly as he spoke, Will abruptly closed his mouth and willed his body to ease itself back; feeling the familiar bile start to rise in his throat. The crime scene was starting to affect him now. However, Jack stared down the bodies once more. Feeling his questions were being unanswered further frustrated him, and he settled for watching Hannibal closely, trying to glean what the man was thinking.
"Doctor?" Jack called over at the psychiatrist steadily, who in turn pointed at the young African American victim.
"I believe this is you." Hannibal tilted his head ever so slightly to the side as he turned his eyes back onto the frozen victims. Their particular mutilation piqued his interest, the difference subtle but telling. The threads holding their faces into somewhat grinning expressions made the air crawl with excitement. "And this charming man is you, Will."
Hannibal noted with a hint of dry curiosity that he seemed to be the least harmed, and in fact seemed to be in almost perfect condition, compared to what 'Jack' and the other man had gone through.
The young profiler walked over to where the yellow tape stopped in front of the corpses and squinted. The Caucasian male Dr. Lecter had gestured to boasted a distinct mop of curly hair and slightly darkened stubble over his distorted face. A sweetly sickening feeling rushed over Will as he turned to smile darkly at Hannibal. His hand came up, one finger lazily motioning towards the middle figure.
"Leaving you, Dr. Lecter, the most mutilated of the three." Will surmised casually. "What did you do to piss him off, Doctor?" His stormy ocean eyes looking hard at the Dane, bearing down on him.
Jack's footsteps echoed from behind them. The cold stone below their feet catching every tread as he walked fully up to the tape.
"He spoke to the press about Mr. Laus," Jack offered candidly, a smug look replacing the serious one he held previously. "You were the only one to do so, and from his point of view—that was possibly quite uncouth of you."
The Danish man bit his tongue to keep it from slithering about, however his eyes glared down in slits, focused on the body said to be 'his'. He had to remain calm or else there would not just be three dead bodies here. It was not as if Hannibal would have minded either way, and he was sure the artist would not mind the addition to his canvas.
"Strange." Will leaned into the crime scene a bit further. "We're missing a musketeer."
The psychiatrist cocked his head to the side as he studied Will for a moment and agreed, "You are correct, Will. However, d'Artagnan was feistier than the others were—more playful. Perhaps our killer thinks himself as the fourth? Watching on as his friends take the spotlight, waiting for the opportune moment to reveal himself."
Jack gave Hannibal a sidelong glance before taking a voice in the conversation, "Are you saying that this is his sick way of entertaining us, Doctor?"
"Indeed, Jack. A showing of his art in a different brush stroke, using different mediums. The beauty and detail still reside regardless of technique." Hannibal finally pulled himself away from the bodies as he began to put on his coat effortlessly.
"Some say the world is their oyster. This man thinks the world is his canvas."
Nearing the exit, he noticed his last comment had the detective rubbing his chin, "Our friend d'Artagnan is teaching us to appreciate something new. I think it best we learn from this, Jack. He's evolving."
Will gave one final glance towards the bodies before he too followed the Dane. Having already said what he needed to and leaving the rest up to autopsy to finish the smaller details of the victim's untimely demise. Autopsy would confirm his suspicions about how and when the men had been killed. This was a slow trek into a darkness he had yet to experience; Will was sure however, that it would be pricked with moments of light and clarity. He only hoped the dark did not consume him utterly as he tried to further understand this artist, he had begun to call d'Artagnan.
Hannibal turned to Jack, a question on his lips. "Are you any further in figuring out who was at the party last week, at the music hall?"
Jack nodded. "We've already spoken with a few of the ticket holders; some gave their tickets away and we're currently tracking everyone down to bring them in for questioning this evening."
The trio made way out into the sprinkling afternoon day, Jack pulling his collar up to shield himself from the biting wind. An officer came up to hand all three men umbrellas as they made way to their vehicles.
"If you two have nothing better to do today, I'd appreciate your opinions at the interrogation this evening." Jack said, his tone indicating that he expected them to show up.
"Of course," Hannibal nodded his head at the detective respectfully.
"I'll be there to observe, Jack. You know questioning isn't my forte." Will explained.
Jack conceded with a nod of his head. "I'll call you both as they begin to be brought in."
†
"Hmm," Hannibal hummed softly to himself, absentmindedly licking his bottom lip. He carefully fingered the wool fabric between his index finger and thumb, idly contemplating the dark rustic colors for this evening's tryst.
Granados' The Maid and the Nightingale, played in the background, the masterful piano strokes striking cadence within Hannibal, making tonight feel special. It was a meeting of friends, of co-workers, of lovers.
He held up a new tie against a salmon pink dress shirt, and hummed his approval. Stepping over to his Chester drawers, he opened the top drawer and carefully skimmed his fingers over a number of pocket watches. Finally, he picked one up with a burnished gold appearance, and a Victorian floral carving.
Ever so slowly, Hannibal unbuttoned the light blue dress shirt he was currently wearing. His fingers expertly freeing the buttons and making quick work to unhook his mother of pearl cuff links. The dress shirt slipped effortlessly off of his soft shoulders, gliding down his toned arms, until he easily swooped the shirt to the side with one hand. The fabric was gently laid to rest against the back of a leather-upholstered chair.
It took a matter of seconds for him to discard the rest of his clothing. The silver watch was swiftly unhooked, and found its way back home into the top drawer. The piano picked up its crescendo in the background, and almost as if he was trying to keep up with the pace, Hannibal's movement flowed like water along a riverbed. The bright salmon shirt was lifted up by one hand as both arms steadily filled the empty spaces. The fabric swooped down to cover Hannibal's back, and rested nicely against his lean frame.
The thrill of the chase sent the blood pumping through his veins. There was a slight tingle in his gut, perhaps because tonight he would come closer to seeing who was on the other end of the brush. The d'Artagnan to this distorted federal quartet, someone who stayed close enough to see, to hear, and to observe.
He succinctly buttoned his shirt, tucking it into his nutmeg brown suit pants, doing up the matching belt with a practiced ease. It truly was exciting; the Dane smirked to himself now, admiring his taut reflection in the mirror. He noted how the collar fit snugly around his neck, a burgundy silk tie draped over him as he overlapped the ends, until finally looping and knotting them into a posh double Windsor knot. The intricate light pink flowers that veined throughout the deep burgundy color added a fun flair to the dark suit.
There was a pleasure in how the soft fabric stretched comfortably against his skin. Like a flower bush freshly pruned to exact the attention towards the red buds, standing out in a foliage of uninterrupted sophistication and grace. He was almost done.
The pocket watch gave a gentle weight as it resided within his pants' pocket, the chain hooked to the vest, so as to give off an air of pure sophistication. The dark glossy sheen of his Louis Vuitton loafers catching the light just enough to make a subtle statement from the floor up. There oozed a sort of dangerous sex appeal from the psychiatrist as he swayed gently with the dying piano notes.
His masterpiece was done. Hannibal looked the epitome of suave grace and deadly guise.
†
Jack looked down at the manila folder before him, swiping it up as he left the interrogation room, and entered the viewing room. He had interviewed nine people so far that evening, and the last for the night was about to head in. He stood in between Will and Hannibal as she was led into the gray metal room.
"Her name is Anino Flor, twenty-three years old. She was given a ticket by her friend Kiki Jones, who won it through the salon where they both work. She has another job as well, working for Reconnaissant l'artiste, a famed art restoration company out of downtown Baltimore.
"Her mother died when she was young, her younger sister shortly after. She hasn't spoken with her father in the two years since her sister's death and lives alone on a farm in the country."
"Is the farm working?" Will asked a note of interest in his voice. "Does it have cattle, produce, anything?"
Jack skimmed over the file. "It says here when she first bought the place she had a few horses, but had to sell them to be able to keep the place, and ended up getting the second job at the salon."
Hannibal breathed out through his nose, staring through the glass, the room still empty. "Unwilling to move then; she likes the location for a reason."
"Maybe she enjoys the privacy." Will suggested.
All three of them quieted as the interrogation room door opened, and a petite Asian woman was ushered inside by an officer.
Anino felt strangely out of place in the vast metallic room. The bright lights accentuated the colorful splotches of paint, chalk, and whatever else the female could get her hands on. The white jersey t-shirt she wore was ruined from over-use. Her old distressed jeans had more scratches and loose threading than Hannibal thought possible; too much to be considered fashionable. She was a woman who fit into the starving artist category, he decided. Her long black hair in a peasant braid over her left shoulder, the loose hairs stained blue from her nights work.
He thought it hard to believe that this young woman worked for a notable art company. He eyed her carefully through the double sided mirror, his arms crossed at the waist.
"Miss Flor," Jack casually opened the door and smiled easily.
The slouching woman jumped up to stand awkwardly as he entered, unsure of herself and what to do.
"Please, sit down." He gestured to her chair.
The small Asian nodded her head and eased gently back into her chair. The obvious black ink stains on her hands made her feel wild and dirty in front of the suited detective. The obvious way he held himself meant he had a sort of authority and class; he clearly outranked the others she had seen in this building, which meant she had mocked some sort of official through her work. She smiled inwardly at the thought.
The questions were harmless of course. At first, they were almost endearing towards her. Maybe this man could feel the uncomfortable atmosphere between them. Jack's dark eyes bared down on her menacingly, seeing only an innocent child.
"Where were you on the night of the Golden Bell event, Miss Flor?" Jack looked down at his folder and readied his pen to make notes.
Anino chewed on her lips slowly and replied, "I was at the event in question, sir. A friend gave me her ticket so she could spend more time with her husband. I took it off her hands because I have always been a lover of music, sir."
"Because of your sister?" Jack asked.
Anino visibly bristled at the mention of her. "Fatima, yes."
Hannibal stood up straighter, his interest piqued slightly as her body language shifted marginally before returning to her previous, uninterested state.
"Damn shame what happened to her." Jack lamented, flipping pages in his file.
Her eyes fell downcast as she was reminded of the event that haunted her nightmares, the memory seared forever onto her brain.
This particular witness held a sort of traumatized air about her, the way she avoided Jack's soft gaze, moved her hands aimlessly about her, picked harmlessly at her clothes…the mere mention of her sister seemed to have made the young woman fray slightly at the edges. Hannibal clearly noted the signs of abuse, possibly of her own design.
"Yes, yes it was." She whispered in reply.
Jack caught her eyes, and quickly changed the subject, continuing his line of questioning. In the observation room, there was a knock at the door, which Will answered.
Baldur strode coolly into the room, his spring green dress shirt, and black suit pants accentuating his lean frame and dark green eyes. His light brown hair was pulled back in a bun, tendrils falling into his eyes. Hannibal fought the urge to roll his eyes at the cocky young man. He had been brought in for every witness questioning to identify the partygoer, and tell what he could remember about them.
"Do you recognize her?" Will asked, gesturing towards the young woman.
Baldur stepped up to the glass, crossing his arms, hands gently grasping his elbows. He cocked his head as he stared, sorting through that night at the party. Slowly he nodded his head.
"She spoke to my grandfather for a long while, and afterwards he left, claiming he felt ill."
Hannibal cocked his brow, regaining interest in the chameleon before him. Are you d'Artagnan?My, my, my… Suddenly the little girl had become more riveting, and he stepped forwards toward the glass partition. Maybe dressing up this evening would not have been a waste of time after all. Hannibal mentally agreed with himself and watched the remaining interrogation in silence.
Will knocked on the glass, alerting Jack that they needed to talk to him. He thanked Baldur for his time, and gestured him out of the room as Jack stepped in.
"What is it?" Jack asked.
"Baldur recognized her as a guest at the party, who talked to Mr. Laus for a time; afterwards he claimed he felt ill and went home." Will recounted.
"Meaning she's a possible suspect in his death, being the last one to have conversed with him." Jack stated. "That's good Will, that's good."
He stepped back into the interrogation room, a different swing in his step now. He sat down across from Anino, and re-opened the file, making note of the new information from Baldur.
"It is my understanding Miss Flor, that you spoke to Dittmer Laus the night of the party?"
Hannibal noted no change in her demeanor as she answered calmly.
"Yes I did. I wanted him to know that my sister had been a fan of his music." She needn't waste her time trying to explain her life and history with people like him. There was no room within this man to fully comprehend the intimacy between life and art. It was etched so plainly on his face.
Jack nodded, writing a few things down.
"Did you know that he left the party shortly after speaking with you?" Jack kept his eyes on Anino this time, observing her mannerisms to the slightest twitch. If her breath even hitched, the detective wanted to experience it firsthand.
Anino shook her head. "No, I'm afraid not. I spoke with a few of the other guests, but left after a few hours." She shrugged. "Parties have never been my idea of time well spent. I only went in honor of my sister, who had favored his music."
Jack finally looked down as he jotted some notes on the paper. "Well, that's all the questions we have for now. However, we'll contact you if we have any more inquiries."
"Of course, anything." She affirmed softly as she smiled at the older gentleman.
"I hope you have a good rest of your evening Miss Flor," Jack said as he shook her hand.
"Likewise Mr. Crawford."
"The officer in the hall has your bag and coat." Jack reminded her, opening the door for Anino to leave. It was a freedom much needed. The female almost danced her way down the long hallway, wanting to be free of the old building. She craved the independence and open air of her home.
Surprisingly, her items had found their way into the suited arms of a familiar face, a man who was not the officer from earlier. Anino felt her blood heat up from the quiet, constant stare of the tall statue of a human being. Hannibal Lecter was the last person she thought she would encounter.
"I thought I might escort the young lady outside." He said with a bow of his head, and a smile in her direction. "Baltimore is quickly becoming a dangerous place to walk alone."
Anino feigned being flustered, and shifted her feet, as she waited for her coat to be relinquished. It was already getting nippy standing near the main lobby entrance. The brisk air making its way to her small frame and forming goose bumps upon her exposed epidermis. The down filled parka was like a comfortable blanket wrapping her in squishy padding. It served well to fend off the cold wind. Unfortunately, her purse was still being withheld from her grasp.
"I need my keys," Anino said blatantly as she reached for the now extended bag.
Hannibal watched how she trailed her eyes over him cautiously. The trust was obviously fleeting the more she looked on. Finally, her gaze ended at his grinning face, where it solidified her instinct to run, and run fast.
Hmm, smart girl. The Dane thought to himself, internally grinning.
"I appreciate the company." Anino smiled slowly at her companion.
She was upset that she seemed to be unsure of herself around him. His angular features and hooded eyes were archetypal of a high-class European man; combined with his sense of dress, he seemed every bit an aristocrat shoved out of time. His accent even seemed put there by God to tempt her – the lilting hard and soft words so familiar, having come from an older, thinner mouth. Anino chided herself on being unable to keep her thoughts in order around the older man. He made her…nervous.
"I do not believe we have been introduced. My name is Doctor Hannibal Lecter." the way his voice deepened and his mouth formed around his own name, sent a tingling crawl down Anino's spine. Something she had never felt with another human being. It was a feeling known to her only through the craft she practiced. His presence was as electrifying as it was shrouded; his reasons hidden in a miasma of sophistication and depth.
Anino wasn't quite sure how to place him. He was different, indeed. The introduction was neat and practiced, treating her like a first time patient. She knew his name; he was acknowledged around town as a good psychiatrist. There were whisperings of him in the papers related to Jack Crawford and Will Graham. Of course, she remembered how he had defaced her adoration of Mr. Laus, the memory still buzzing in the back of her mind. Through all of this, she still painted a serene expression and calmly shook his larger, surprisingly soft, hand.
The slight pressure could have been taken as a gentle kiss against his palm; the artist was as small and feminine as a young woman could be. His mind still doubted that she could have crossed the line of what was considered morally correct with the way she exposed herself. Self-preservation seemed to be her reason for this approachable façade. A ruse, he decided, and not the woman standing before him. Hannibal wanted her. He wanted the meat of her.
A small part of him hoped that this was not the best she dressed. A killer was supposed to have sophistication, was supposed to take pride. This was as much in the way they killed, as in the way they looked. This young woman seemed not to care, firing off thoughts in Lecter's brain.
"It's a pleasure, sir. I'm Anino Flor." The reply was swift, demure.
Hannibal raised his eyebrows at the smaller female, "Just Anino? There must be a title to such a unique name."
Anino pursed her lips at him. "Well, I'm a simple artist. Not a doctor that tends to people; perhaps my patients are instead the canvases sent in to me."
"If I may, you wear a proud badge of the many, assumed, successful operations you've done." Hannibal brought a hand up and lazily rubbed the ends of her braid between his fingers, feeling the dried blue paint. His other hand carelessly rubbed at her shoulder, pink chalk coming away on the pads of his fingers.
When his eyes darted up, he almost missed the reddening tinge to her cheeks, her skin being such a beautiful brown. Hannibal felt a slight pride in having made her blush, and slowly withdrew his hands to his sides.
The mischievous humor reflected in her chocolate brown orbs surprised him, in a pleasant way he decided. Her full cheeks rounded as she smiled, and let out a shaky giggle. A sound, he decided, he would have to extract in its purest form.
"It keeps me busy since I'm alone now." Anino fingered her keys aimlessly. The repeated action set the cogs inside the psychiatrist's mind spinning.
"You seem to suffer from some mild anxiety, Miss Flor. Perhaps I can help you learn to master it." The nurturing tone was a change from the seductive voice of before. She bit her plump bottom lip, not interested in the least in what he was offering.
"It's something I've dealt with most of my life Dr. Lecter." He noted how easily her vocal tone changed from breathy to distant; all in the span of a few seconds she had decided his interactions not worth her time. "I'll be alright."
"Here," Hannibal reached inside of his suit pocket. "Take my card. Just in case you ever want to talk…about anything."
The firm parchment felt smooth against the grain of Anino's fingers. She felt as if the vellum were singing to her senses, and the gilded frame was impressively done. The red font was obviously deceiving; the invitation to take a bite out of a poisoned apple was tempting.
She said nothing, instead holding the card up for him to see, as she placed it in her bag.
Hannibal's responding smile was patient, a light tug at the corners of his lips.
"Now that we have gone through the social discourse of introductions, would you like to be escorted to your car?" He held out his arm for her to take.
Even though it seemed an easy invitation, Anino knew it was one she could not refuse.
"Please." She stated, only a slight tremor in the arm that took his.
He opened the door to the chill Baltimore air, and then they were alone in the dark. His stride was patient, clearly wanting to take his time with her in the evening air. However, he also quickly fell into step beside her, their feet hitting the smooth pavement at the same time. Anino suddenly began lamenting the fact that she had decided to park a few blocks over, as her body involuntarily nestled closer to his, the cold wind biting through even her thick parka.
Hannibal cast his eyes down at the top of her head, marveling quietly at the show of intimacy, and was surprised by how much he adored her soft touch. Yet something sweet lingered around her, a kind of freshness that made the Dane breathe in more deeply, a need to catch another trail of that invigorating scent rising within him. Ah, yes, there it was. Something akin to that of the countryside and lush green trees purifying the smog-filled air that filled his world. He almost feared that more time spent in her presence would purify the grime that he felt surrounded him.
He was broken from his thoughts, new ones crashing over him. The way her small hand tightly gripped at his arm brought to mind the memory of a young child whom had passed many years ago. If she were to say his name now, her eyes shining, lips parted as she begged fro some sweet confection, Hannibal would have mistaken her for someone else. Someone with whom he could let his guard down, and share the most exclusive of intimacies.
"Do you do this often?" Anino perked up her head, not anticipating just how closely the psychiatrist had leaned down.
The sudden speed of her heartbeat echoed through her and into Hannibal. The adrenalin that he knew was coursing through her, akin to that of a cornered animal, had the Dane licking his lips. He admired the effect it had on the Asian artist, noting just how her eyes widened, and her mouth parted, her gaze lowering to his now wetted mouth. The action seemed to Hannibal to appear as if an invitation danced on her lips. A card she was not aware she had sent out.
"Do what?" Hannibal's voice became deeper and his face contorted to that of a wolfish grin, possibly echoing the face of the man he used to be. He seemed different and almost approachable without the dark tinge that prickled the evening air. The way he stared at her held the perversion of an experienced man who saw his next physical morsel.
"Escort young vulnerable girls to their cars." The teasing tone was followed by the slight quirk of her eyebrow. She was still unbelieving of his motive for walking her out here.
"Only the ones I find interesting." Hannibal easily replied.
Anino dreaded what the slight glint in his eyes meant, and she treaded carefully with her next words. "What… what makes me so interesting, Dr. Lecter?"
Time seemed to stop for the both of them as they stood there on the sidewalk. Anino wanted to pull away from the thickening emotion than welled up inside of her. The enigmatic stranger was meticulously staring her down at, almost as if she was a specimen being viewed through a microscope. It made her skin crawl at the thought.
The long pause from Hannibal only furthered her stress. His mind was connecting the many crime scenes from months before, the intricacies of each victim, regardless of if they were brutalized, or patiently posed. Thinking back now, there was the smallest bit of a feminine touch, a gentleness expressed in the victims who had been treated as brush strokes on her worldly canvas.
Poison, they said, was a woman's murder weapon. There were so many poisons, and ways to make them, or buy them, that it would be almost impossible to track down. Did this woman's delicate hands seem as if they could commit murder of the easiest sort? Hannibal scoffed slightly at the idea of it. He had always thought poisoners a more cowardly sort of killer, not brave enough to feel the life leave a person. Not brave enough to play God.
Yet Hannibal pondered if he wanted her to be the killer. The disregard for taking care of her appearance could be easily forgotten. But the way she smelled, fresh, leaving just a hint of spice on his tongue, telling him that she was not all she seemed. Trying to compare her to the other women he knew seemed difficult. The taste could not be placed with Abigail Hobbs. No, her scent and after taste left something sweeter than spice on his tongue. Perhaps long ago Alana had elicited a similar feeling, but no more.
If this dim creature before him really was a killer, she was smarter than Hannibal had previously been giving her credit for. However, her blatant innocence towards him and the smallest form of physicality between them made him question the idea that she really was a killer. It was too difficult for him to imagine her doing it, but she was an artist, and the information seemed to fit slowly together in his mind.
Hannibal turned his gaze forward once more, and continued their steady pace. So, if he assumed the viewpoint that she was the killer, it meant she was smart. In addition, that she was highly skilled as an artist to be able to transfer her work to the real world. If she was working for such a prestigious company, the young woman had to be good at what she did. She was also young; Jack had said twenty-three. Anino had not been killing for long, meaning she was inexperienced, and that her most recent work had been her first foray out of the jungle of poison, into the field where the masters played.
He smiled, his eyes lighting as the thought came to him. "You remind me of d'Artagnan." He said simply. After a moment's pause, he added, "I can appreciate good art when I see it, Miss Flor, and I must say yours is excellent. I would hate for something to occur that prevented you from finishing your pieces."
He felt satisfaction as the woman shivered next to him, and not, he knew, from the cold.
"What are you, Doctor Lecter?" She asked, coming to stand by her car.
With an almost predatory grin, Hannibal leaned forward to open the driver's door for her. As he pulled back, his lips ghosted against her ear.
"I am not unlike yourself." He whispered. "And please, call me Hannibal."
Anino whipped herself around to look at him, his expression, the way he held himself, betraying nothing about the words he had just spoken to her. She got into her car, he closed the door softly, and walked away. Anino gripped the steering wheel tight, mind racing, thoughts going over what had just happened. He knew.
A/N: All right guys, this took forever – like about 24hrs of straight work between the both of us to get this chapter just right. We did way too much research into what Hannibal's bedroom looked like, the suits he wore, the exact knot of his tie, how he would match ties to shirts and pocket squares. Vanyiah and I spent fifteen minutes hunting down the GIF of him putting on his dress shirt from En Kort En Lang to be able to describe him putting it on. She spent 3mins slowing it down in photoshop to perfectly describe it, and about twenty minutes just on those few sentences.
Hours went into editing and switching paragraphs, choreographing their first meeting, looking up the color of Hugh Dancy's eyes. We had a very serious conversation about how to describe them just right.
Her first murder at the beginning of this chapter? That alone was a good 3-4 hours of writing, reading, re-writing, re-reading, switching, and looking up words in the thesaurus. Vanyiah looked up video on how to put on cuff links, and Louis Vuitton making shoes. We searched the internet for him walking into the courtroom, and argued for about five minutes over whether or not to call them loafers! We argued over the difference between the colors wine and burgundy, and I flipped over the exact shade of brown for his suit. We went pocket watch shopping to pick out which one he would wear! We had a five-minute conversation about if Anino was a horse person or not. I had to have Vanyiah describe what Baldur does when he is looking through the glass, with his elbows crossing holding thing, because I could not English – it was about midnight.
So much time was spent formatting, because we use different programs to write – I use Word and she uses OneNote. It all ends up on my laptop since I upload it so I have to change the spacing, font style, font size, color, and make the paragraphs stick together.
I love working with this crazy person because she makes me better. I look at paragraphs and sentences that we've worked on for hours and still think this could be better, because we can do better. She's my best friend, and I'm so happy to be working on something with her, and so incredibly proud that it's turned out this well. It's all her guys, she's awesome. Seriously – she made like ten pots of tea when I was over there and I had about 7-8 of them all by myself. She made me some of the most delicious breakfast and dinner dishes I have ever eaten in my life. I need her for more than just her ability to mold the English language. I literally needed her that day to feed me delicious food I might never have thought would count as a dish. Seriously, she is one of the best people I know, and I'm so glad I get to see her in person and not just exchange emails about this story.
The point of this long AN is, I just wanted you all to know how seriously we take this book, and how much time goes into the smallest of details to make sure everything is Hannibal. We may not update on a timely schedule, but we put effort into it to make sure it is the best that we can make it, so when someone reviews, or favorites, or even reads to the very bottom, we want you to know how much we appreciate every single one of you. Thank you.
Vanyiah A/N: So basically what we're saying is that we've become such serious writers we've given our souls up to the fanfiction gods. Yup! A lot of effort and detail has been put into this so much to make sure all characters are as canon as possible. Every small character expression, and action has been carefully observed from the show. Making sure it still remains true to all the people we've used in the fanfic.
As Nerdy praises me, I in turn have to take a moment to say the easy flow and pace of this story has been to her talents. She adds more than enough bling to a sentence to make it really leave an impression. Not to mention always just sprucing up a dialogue. She's just been the back bone to the random things I write out and throw at her.
We don't want to cut corners or quickly throw scenarios that are unrelated at you. We always try to second guess ourselves to make sure our OC isn't Mary-Sue like or boring. We want to make sure we drag things along and give a slow even burn to each chapter.
We hope you enjoy the story and really take time to read into each detail. There are obvious and subtle puns strewn about, evident foreshadowing of things to come, and serial killer flirtations.
Please leave us your thoughts and reviews. Heaven only knows how encouraging and helpful they are to our writing! Please feel free to leave even your fangirly spews as well! Tell us how well we describe Will and Hannibal! Tell us if we overlooked a silly yet simple detail! Feedback is what keeps us pushing through.
All my thanks to Nerdy for being patient and critiquing everything I've done! And many thanks to our reviewers (from Europe) who have said we did well with keeping Mads Danish origin. Many thanks to the folks from the US of Awww for being curious of Anino and leaving their encouraging comments, as well :) You're all too kind!