Hannibal smiles and shakes his head. "Now is not the time for childish riddles," he scolds gently. His tone is more encouraging than anything else. He knows where she is quoting from, and wants to watch Frederick flounder. He notices Will, who is staring at Alice in silence. He notices Hannibal's gaze and says, "We were supposed to look after her." Hannibal knows he is referring to Abigail. He turns his attention to his favorite design, savoring the softness of Will's voice, the exhausted suffering.
"Will, you cannot blame yourself for the things you have done during your illness. I must take responsibility for not seeing the darkness hidden behind the fear, but I was hopeful that if I could help you break the illusion of your hallucinations, I could heal your mind and make you see yourself in a light you never knew was there. You would have been free…but your mind wouldn't let you. Your fever kept you weak and confused, but you have to accept that you fell into a dissociative state when you lost time, and you can't ever truly know what you did, though the evidence proves that you did them." When his eloquent speech nears the ending, he places a reassuring hand on Will's shoulder. "Once you accept reality, we can begin rehabilitation."
For a moment, Will almost believes that the man standing in front of him is his friend, pleading with him to come back to reality, that he had truly gone insane and needs help. That moment is short lived, for it is followed by the belief that that was the subtext of what Hannibal was trying to convince him…did he need convincing because he needed a handle on reality, or because Hannibal wanted to show him his reality? I could heal your mind and make you see yourself in a light you never knew was there…His motive was hidden in plain sight, just like he was.
"You want me to accept that I am the Copy Cat Killer so that you can show me who I truly am?" he asks.
Hannibal's eyes flicker to Dr. Chilton's, who has a look of rapt attention. Might they actually be breaking through to him? "I want you to want to accept that," he says in his mellifluous voice.
"And why do you want that?" Will returns, truly wanting to know. For a horrifying moment he knows, or at least thinks he does…so that he can make Will believe he is a killer and likes it…so that they can kill together? And if Will turns against him, he'll either admit him to a hospital or kill him and eat him for dinner. It seemed those were his only options.
Dr. Chilton breaks in, not being able to stay on the side lines any longer. "This isn't about Dr. Lecter, William. You need to focus on your own motives and reasoning if you want to recover."
Will can't control the laughter that emerges when he hears this. He gives Chilton an incredulous look. "Everything that has happened to me, all of the…damage" he can't even look at Lecter when he says this, "is because of Dr. Lecter. He murdered my neurologist because he didn't want me to find out that I was sick and receive treatment. He liked that I was losing my mind, hallucinating that I was a killer…" his words trail off as he stares out the window in confusion.
"Do you remember killing Abigail? Even if you think it was a delusion?" Hannibal asks gently.
Will swallows hard. He remembers lifting Abigail up and impaling her on the antlers…a tear rolls down his cheek. "I wanted to take her in, to love her, but I only brought her suffering and death."
Alice has been watching the scene unfold in front of her through a haze of red. When she hears Will say something that sounds very much like a confession, she is brought back to reality.
"Don't say things like that," she warns. "They're filming this. They'll use it against you."
Hannibal gazes at her curiously. How was she been able to remain so lucid? He has Will saying everything he needs to present at the trail. The entire conversation sounds like a symphony to him, every sentence, poetry. Will doesn't hear her, but he's also done talking, too lost in the memories of Abigail.
"Will needs to express how he feels about Abigail's death. You did not know her, but Will grew very attached to her. He wanted to be a father figure to her because he had stolen that from her when he killed her father," he tells Alice carefully. She doesn't know how to respond to this, so she remains silent.
Dr. Chilton smiles broadly, showing teeth. "Thank you, Will, Alice, for taking part. You both made steps towards recovery. We'll talk soon." With that, he gestures for orderlies to remove their IV's and restraints and take them back to their cells. When they have been removed and the door is closed, Chilton compliments Lecter, saying, "That was some excellent psychotherapy, doctor. In the future, let's stick to individual therapy sessions. This was an excellent platform in which to begin treatment."
Hannibal nods, though does not look particularly convinced. "We need to move slowly with Will. I think he's close to accepting his loss of reality, but he cannot be pushed. He must come to the conclusions on his own." He smiles unconsciously. "He really is unique, a true challenge."
"You remind me of how it felt like to treat Abel Gideon," Dr. Chilton says, reminiscing his failure.
Hannibal's lips twitch into a frown of distaste. "You wouldn't suggest that I was using psychic driving on Will." This is not a question, but a statement of fact.
"Of course not, that would be unethical," he replies with a smirk.
Hannibal clears his throat and adjusts his already perfectly laying tie. "If Will is reading any subtext in my therapy, it is because he wants to find the answers there that will help him see himself. He came close today. When I asked him about Abigail's death, his eyes drifted as though reflecting on a memory. If I can make him see that what he remembers is real, than I can help him see that what he doesn't remember may also be real." Then he would have him exactly where he wanted him. He wanted Will to become a work of art that created works of art. Maybe when he was well enough, he would enroll Will in a cooking class…or teach him himself…
…
What just happened? Alice asks herself as the orderly locks her in a cell. She supposed Dr. Lecter couldn't risk keeping her in a minimum security facility like Port Haven now that he knew how far she would go to protect her brother.
Her cell is a tiny box with a wire cot, a toilet bowl without a seat and maybe ten square feet to stand. Alice was always bad at math, but she knows it is an unfortunate amount of space. Everything is gray. A guard stands watch outside her cell.
"So, you watch me even when I need to drop a deuce? 'Cause that's gonna be awkward," she jokes bluntly. The guard doesn't look at her, doesn't even twitch. "I get it. You've probably heard everything by now, right?" No response. "I'm not trying to bother you. Everyone's gotta have a job. I'm an actress in New York. Before I got so lucky I was an extra, well, atmosphere artist," she chuckles. "I basically just stood around, like you."
"I don't just stand around," the guard replies under his breath, seething.
"Sorry, didn't mean to offend you," she replies quickly. "I'm sure this is a pretty scary place to work." She wants to emasculate him, get him to step close enough so that she can grab him and snatch the keys to unlock her cell.
The nameless guard steps into the light, smiling smugly. He has Liam's face. "It isn't scary for me. You're the one behind bars. And yes, I do watch- everything you do. Trust me, it'll be far more uncomfortable for you."
Alice swallows hard, feeling terror wash back over her. She remembers what she asked Dr. Lecter, right after Liam was murdered. She is beginning to believe that her first impression is correct. Hell, she thinks, collapsing onto the thin mattress of her cot, metal sticking into her back. The guard steps back into the shadows. Only the muttering of madmen breaks the silence that surrounds her.
