Following Hannibal's "suggestions," I found myself on a trail near the house. I'd been getting out as much as possible the last few days, though it had done little to soothe the nightmares. I wasn't easily fooled into thinking they would go away just like that. After speaking with my sister (and ignoring her pleas not to do so) I had taken the initiative to bite the bullet and do my proper research on the case Mr. Hobbs was being linked to. I couldn't muddle through half of it. Lord if it wasn't the most gruesome thing I could imagine for a family I had once been so close to – that my grandmother spent so much time with. Some horrid reporter had taken photographs inside the Hobbs' cabin, obviously without the express permission of the police or anyone else, and posted them all over some tacky blog she ran. It was incorrigible, exploiting them this way. If I was this traumatized, I couldn't begin to imagine how Abigail would feel when she woke up. I snapped a photo of the setting sun peeking through the trees. The music in my ears calmed my nerves, though it didn't entirely force away all of my disturbing thoughts. One in particular seemed to stick.
What if Abigail had something do with her father's crimes?
It was ridiculous to think and I felt terrible as soon as it even crossed my mind, but a lot of time had passed. I never would have imagined Mr. Hobbs was capable of such atrocities, but here we were. Who was I to say she wasn't? I shook my head, squeezing my camera so hard it hurt my fingers. I wasn't prepared to make that kind of judgment against her. The more I lingered on the possibility, the more I came to realize that I wasn't entirely sure I wouldn't come to her defense. It was this thought that worried me. If I knew she was involved and I didn't come forward, it would be a world of trouble for me. I sighed and pinched the bridge of my nose. I was getting ahead of myself.
I headed back toward the house, an intensifying fear lingering at my back with the growing darkness. I fought the urge to run, taking my time instead. My heart pumped hard, throbbing uncomfortably under my jaw. I hadn't gone far. I would be back to the road any moment now. The thought did little to dissuade my eyes from darting through the foliage on high alert. Still lacking sleep, it was easy for my mind to play tricks on me. I gripped my camera tighter, clutching it to my chest. My feet slowed to a clumsy pace as my wide eyes chased shadows that weren't there. I told myself to breathe. There was nothing out here to be afraid of. It was all in my head. I jumped at the dark form skirting the edges of my peripherals. I spun to follow the movement; I saw nothing now. I blinked hard and shook my head, pinching the bridge of my nose.
"There's nothing there," I whispered. "You're safe here…"
A branch snapped somewhere in the forest. The way it echoed in the silence made it impossible to tell where it came from. Adrenaline exploded through my veins like fire. I nearly swallowed my tongue in fright as I took off sprinting down the path, spraying gravel out behind me in my wake. A wave of relief crashed down on me when I broke free of the forest, though I didn't stop running until I had crossed the street, rounded the corner, and found solace on my stoop. I held the stitch in my side, panting and shaking, and looked back to the trees swaying calmly in the evening breeze. I swore under my breath and wiped the tears off my cheeks. I felt like I was going to be sick. Jay was sitting in the living room drinking a beer and watching some reality show. I passed straight through and went to my room, closing the door behind me. I kicked off my shoes and curled up on my bed. Doctor jumped down off my bookcase to get some attention. I let him cuddle with me, closing my eyes. I was grateful he was affectionate. I welcomed the distraction he brought.
When the feeling returned to my legs and my body had stopped quivering, I emerged from my room to find something to eat. I turned from the cupboards to retrieve the water pitcher from the fridge. Jay was standing in the hallway across the room from me. I jumped, dropping the glass in my hand. It shattered on the floor at my feet. I squeezed my eyes shut and ran my fingers through my hair, attempting to force my nerves into submission. I took out my ear buds and looked at him expectantly.
"Can you hand me the broom please?" I asked.
I bit my tongue, frustrated with the waiver in my voice. He stared at me blankly for a few seconds longer before passing it to me. I stretched to reach it, careful not to take a step.
"Did you need something?" I continued while I swept.
"You still having issues with sleep?" he asked, watching the broom pass over the shards of glass.
I paused. "The night terrors? Yes… Why?"
"Are you doin anything about it? I mean I'm supposed to have my kids and I can't bring them over with you like this every day."
I looked from the dustpan up to him. How much effort would it take to lodge a chunk of glass right in the side of his neck? I blinked, finished scooping up every small sliver I could see, and dumped it in the trash. I looked at him again, seriously considering beating him with the broom in my hands. I swallowed hard, forcing down the voice telling me to let it go. I thought about what Dr. Lecter had suggested. The burning anger in the back of my mind surged.
"I don't think that's really any of your business," I replied tartly, placing the broom back in its proper place. I turned to get a new cup (making an executive decision to grab a plastic one). "This is my issue and I'm working on it. It's not going to just disappear. If I can be honest, I would appreciate it if you would stop giving me shit about it. I'm aware that it's disturbing the household. Trust me when I say as bothered as you are, it is nothing compared to the way I feel."
He raised his eyebrows in surprise, but otherwise said nothing. He watched me for a moment – sizing me up, it felt like. "All right, it's cool," he finally conceded. "I was just asking. No need to make a big deal out of it."
He returned to the living room, leaving me glaring at his retreating form. Regardless, I smirked to myself triumphantly; small victories.
By the time I was leaving for my next appointment with Dr. Lecter I was welcoming the reprieve in ways I couldn't put into words. In the days since I had taken a stand against Jay, things had only gotten worse. If I had thought for even half a second that things might change, I had never been more wrong. He was more than willing to make me twice as uncomfortable as he had been before. It was clear to me now that he was really putting effort into it. The first incident I had brushed off as him just being him. I had just cooked dinner – that in of itself was a big step, as I had hardly been doing anything that I really wanted to do or enjoyed. He had just come home from god knows where. He didn't hesitate to ask if I was going to make him a plate. I was already eating at the table and paused to look at him like he was ridiculous.
"I hadn't planned to," I replied.
He nodded, muttering something under his breath as he made one himself. He took a few bites, frowning at the food on his plate.
"Did you season this?" he asked.
I stopped again to glance at him. "Season what? The meat?" He nodded. "I don't know… I don't think so."
"Oh." He smiled and laughed. "You supposed to season it. People in my family always season it. It's still good."
I smiled at him sweetly. "I meant to. Must have slipped my mind."
I suddenly wished I had made his plate so I could have spit in it. There were similar instances in which he made jabs at my food. Sometimes he came to stand behind me while I was cooking, watching over my shoulder while I worked. If I ventured into the living room to attempt to watch TV, he would come out to sit and talk through the entire show until I was frustrated enough to give up and go back to my room. Something told me it was only going to go downhill from here. I felt like I couldn't tell Kayri about it. Worst of all, I knew that he could sense how effective his behavior was and he was thriving off it. I exhaled slowly and eased my grip on the steering wheel. Save it.
Again, I arrived early enough to allow myself a few minutes in the waiting room to gather and separate my thoughts. I stood instinctively when the door opened, though it wasn't Hannibal to walk out. Instead emerged the man I recognized from the Hobbs residence – Will Graham. My stomach clenched involuntarily at the memory. He hesitated when he saw me. I could see the connection forming in his mind, sense the same internal debate of whether or not it was improper to greet each other in this setting. Dr. Lecter appeared behind him a moment later, presumably to see what the holdup was.
"Keeran," he greeted. "You're early."
I felt like I was being scolded. I had only been sitting there for a couple of minutes.
"I thought it best to be a few minutes early rather than be late," I replied, looking from him back to Will Graham.
I averted my eyes to the doorframe. I felt like I was being rude staring at him. I couldn't help it. I had to bite my tongue to hold back all the questions burning at the back of my throat.
"You were there."
I shifted my eyes back to Will. I nodded once. "I was. You're the man that shot Mr. Hobbs."
He returned the same nod. "I am."
Something about him felt… broken. He didn't appear to be handling the incident well. I didn't know what else to say. Everything I had wanted to ask suddenly slipped away.
"I'm sorry," I blurted out. Upon seeing his confusion, I scrambled to reassess what I wanted to say. "That it played out that way, I mean. I'm sorry it was your responsibility."
He seemed to understand what I was trying to say. He smiled halfheartedly and nodded. "Thank you." He turned to acknowledge Dr. Lecter. "I'll be in touch."
I watched him until he disappeared around the corner.
"Are you ready?" Dr. Lecter asked, drawing my attention back to him.
I blinked and took a breath, clearing my head. I nodded and stepped past him into his office. I shed my jacket, which Dr. Lecter took from me to hang on his coat rack by the door. I automatically took the same seat I had previously, deflating in the softness of the cushy chair with a sigh. He followed after, sinking into his own chair, folding his long legs one over the other.
"Any improvements since I saw you last?" he asked, clasping his hands in his lap.
Curiosity showed in his features, which had yet to switch to the thinly veiled malice I saw so frequently. I smiled weakly and tucked my bangs behind my ear.
"Things weren't as bad for a while," I started off, taking to looking around his office. "I listened to your advice. I got out as often as I could force myself to, walked the trail, stuff like that."
I remembered the last time I had been out on the trail and shuddered involuntarily. He tilted his head to the side at the gesture, but made no mention of it.
"What changed?" he pressed.
I smirked and looked back to him, holding his gaze steady for what might be the first time since we'd met.
"Jay's still trying to make me feel bad about my night terrors. He asked me if I was getting help because he didn't feel like he could bring his children over. I told him it was none of his business and I would appreciate it if he would stop asking me about it. He hasn't mentioned it since."
He smiled and gave a nod of approval. "I hesitantly congratulate you. Forgive me, but there seems to be something bothering you still."
I twisted the hem of my shirt, falling into my nervous habits. "Since that moment he's been making a show of causing me as much discomfort as possible."
He frowned. "How do you mean?"
I barked out a laugh. "He's been living there long enough to know how what makes me uncomfortable, the little things that irritate me. I've been venturing into the front room just to get out of my room some. It never fails, every time I'm out there he'll stop what he's doing to come sit out there and question what I'm watching, what I'm doing, when it's going to be over. It doesn't end. Eventually it wears me down and I'll just retreat back to my room. I know he's only doing it to bother me because as soon as I'm gone, he goes back to what he was doing. He started complaining about my cat again. If I'm cooking in the kitchen, he'll come stand right behind me and just… hover… watching over my shoulder. Like that's not bad enough, he's always asking me if I'm going to prepare a plate for him – like I'm supposed to because I'm a woman and that's my job – and then when he actually gets to eating, he insults my food. God help me if I don't cook anything. He acts like I'm not even a human being."
Dr. Lecter paused for a moment to take a breath. "I'm sorry to hear that, Keeran. I rather hoped your defense would improve the household."
He didn't smile, but the corners of his eyes crinkled. It made me doubt his sincerity. I smiled glumly and nodded nonetheless. I looked out the tall windows at the slowly fading sunlight.
"Do you mind if I walk around while we talk?" I asked, gesturing around the room. "I feel like I've been more confined than usual. Ironic, really."
"By all means."
I stood, my feet immediately taking me to one of the bookcases. I ran my fingers up the wood of the ladder.
"Sleep is becoming more of an issue," I continued, eyes roaming the rows of books. I crossed my arms so my hands wouldn't wander. "It's more… sporadic. Some days I'll sleep twelve or more hours. Most often I don't sleep for days at a time, with the exception of a nap or two throughout the day – maybe an hour tops. When I do sleep, I wake frequently. I've never been a very sound sleeper – very restless, waking throughout the night. This is different. If I wake up, I can't just roll over and go back to sleep. I wake up and I'm up for an hour, sometimes more. Sometimes I'll wake up feeling like I've been running from something." A shadow in the corner of the room caught my eye. I looked over out of habit and shook my head. There was nothing there. I pinched the bridge of my nose. "It's hard to relax when your body isn't getting the rest it needs. The tension is unbearable."
"How long has it been since you slept?"
I lazily crossed to one of the windows, failingly horribly to ignore the shadows traipsing after me in my peripherals.
"Almost three days."
"With this lack of sleep, do you ever hallucinate?"
I glanced back at him, cringing visibly, I was sure, at the way the shadows I had grown accustomed to seeing lingered around his form as he stuck his hands in his pockets and crossed the room toward me. I turned back to the window to avoid the sight, focusing on the sunset instead.
"Sometimes. Nothing of real substance; the same sort of shadowy figures I see in my nightmares."
His reflection appeared behind mine in the window, trapping me in place. I tensed, holding back the flinching motion, if only just. His lips twitched.
"It is not uncommon for the sleep deprived to suffer from visual or auditory hallucinations. Have you tried any over the counter sleeping pills?"
I shook my head. "I have an appointment with my neurologist the day after tomorrow to discuss it. I need to know if it's safe to take any with my medication."
He looked away thoughtfully, wandering over to the bookcase I had previously been browsing. "Perhaps you could try natural supplements? L-theanine is the active ingredient in green teas proven to induce relaxation. In its concentrated form, it's been shown assist those with insomnia in falling asleep and staying asleep longer. Perhaps an herbal tea with valerian root derivatives could help. Both are alternative routes to consider."
I nodded absentmindedly, watching a flock of birds flit to and fro. I heaved a heavy sigh and finally turned my attention back to him. He was watching me from his spot by the bookshelf, dark eyes appraising me from a distance.
"Do you mind if I ask you a question?" I said slowly, crossing to the bookshelf but keeping space between us.
He smiled faintly. "Ask away."
"What kind of work do you do with the FBI exactly?"
He mulled the question over for a moment before carefully selecting his words. "Light consultation work. As a psychiatrist I am able to offer a unique insight into the mind of serial killers – profile them, establish a pattern of thought, and predict behaviors to aid in catching criminals."
I acknowledged his response, looking to the balcony around the room. I wanted to ask what Will Graham did for the FBI, but doubted he would discuss that with me.
"Is that what you were doing with Mr. Hobbs?" I asked instead, stepping forward to focus on the spine of a bright blue book. I honed in on the texture of the leather, the brightness of the gold lettering. "Profiling him? Telling the FBI things about him that no one else knew?"
In the silence that followed, I fought the urge to look at him. I clasped my hands behind my back tightly.
"Will Graham was consulting on the Hobbs case," Dr. Lecter said simply. "I was consulting Will Graham."
I stiffened, pulling my eyes away from the book in front of me to look at him curiously. The corners of his eyes crinkled, voicing the amusement his lips hid. I was sure he simply meant that he was working with Will, but it almost sounded like he was suggesting that he was treating him, profiling him. Was there something about Will Graham that denoted he might require psychological assistance? Not that I had any room to judge, but I couldn't help the thoughts blossoming in my mind. Realizing my mouth was open in preparation to speak, I quickly snapped it shut and nodded. The nervous tension in my body was starting to make my muscles ache. I closed my eyes and exhaled slowly, rubbing my temples for several long seconds. I was getting a migraine.
"See," a voice whispered harshly.
It sounded distant, as though echoing down a long corridor. I squeezed my eyes shut tighter. It was the first time I had been able to pull anything of substance from the muddle of voices I heard. Now it jumped out at me with biting clarity, hissing in my ears. It made my skin prickle and I wasn't sure why. My knees shook. I reached for the bookcase to steady myself, breathing shallow. I struggled to pull myself back to reality.
"Keeran."
A deep voice near my ear sent a shiver down my spine, the hand on my shoulder igniting a primal fear that spread throughout my body. My eyes snapped open and I spun around, balling up my fist as I instinctively lashed out to protect myself. I stood breathing heavily for several long seconds before the ringing in my ears faded and I realized what I had done. I paled slightly. Dr. Lecter was cradling his jaw, a small cut on his bottom lip (presumably from my ring) slowly oozing blood. He looked surprised by my reaction, though I wouldn't say alarmed in the least. I clapped a hand over my mouth in mortification.
"Oh God," I muttered, pinching the bridge of my nose. "I'm so sorry Dr. Lecter. You're bleeding."
I darted over to one of the tables to grab a tissue, trying to gauge how angry he was as I looked up at him. His expression was calm, his eyes surveying my movements. I swallowed hard, hesitating.
Hannibal could see it in her eyes – the fear of his reaction. He took slow, deep breaths to recollect himself, ignoring the burning ache in his face where she had stricken him. Her continued resistance to addressing him by his first name only added insult to injury. He watched her internal struggle - the widening of her eyes, the habitual chewing of her lip. Finally, she spoke.
"Do you mind?" she asked, gesturing to his face.
He nodded his consent, watching her closely. She kept as much space between them as possible as she reached out to carefully dab at the corner of his lip. He flinched overdramatically at the touch. Her shame was visible in the increasing flush at her ears and neck. The rest of her face remained drained of color, horrified by her own actions.
"I'm sorry," she repeated quietly, staring at the small split in his lip where her ring had caught him. "I don't know what came over me. I'm not normally a violent person."
"Anyone may become violent under the right circumstances," he replied. She paused to look up at him. "You haven't slept for nearly 48 hours. Your current state of mind is understandably a bit lacking."
She nodded, looking more embarrassed by the second. The dark circles beneath her eyes were the first telltale sign that she hadn't been sleeping well. On top of her usual nervous habits, her eyes never seemed to fully focus on one thing, flitting about from one corner of the room to the next. Up until this point she had appeared relatively in control despite the hallucinations she was suffering from and the obvious effect they were having on both her sleep patterns and her conscious mind. Now her countenance was crumbling like so many pieces of brittle clay. She stepped away to dispose of the tissue she had been using to clean his face. Her body quivered from anxiety and sleep deprivation. She retrieved her coat, flicking it over her shoulders and sliding her arms into the sleeves in one fluid motion. She wrapped her arms around herself, eyes straying to his feet.
"I should go," she said, more to herself than to him.
Hannibal watched her for several long seconds, tucking his hands into his pockets. It would be beneficial to keep her here at least long enough to collect herself, to keep her talking.
"There's no need," he said, nonchalant as he crossed the room to stand beside his chair. Her body stiffened at the movement whether she meant it to or not. "Sit. Take a moment to relax before you get behind the wheel. I do hope you're not making the drive home tonight?"
She let out a deep sigh and sank into the chair across from him. "No. I got a room for the night." Her voice shook, though not nearly as much as her body. She rubbed her eyes and laughed drily. "Not that I, you know… sleep much…"
"How frequently do you experience anxiety attacks?"
She closed her eyes, doing her best to relax the tension from her body. She was doing a poor job of it.
"Once a week maybe; sometimes more, sometimes less." She paused to consider a thought, watching him silently for several seconds before she continued. "I've been researching the Shrike case – what they think Mr. Hobbs is guilty of."
He raised his eyebrows, moving to languidly slip into his chair. "And what have you found?"
She shook her head. "Too much information to sift through. I found a blog run by some reporter who is obviously not going through the proper venues, but she had a lot more facts than any other articles I came across." Her brow was furrowed, her eyes glazing slightly as she twisted her shirt and locked onto a spot on the floor near his chair. "She had pictures of their cabin," she continued in a soft voice. "I was supposed to go there at the end of that summer. Mr. Hobbs invited me, but I got the flu and had to stay home." She sat back, tilting her head to the side thoughtfully. "I wonder if he would have killed me back then…"
He watched her, assessing the changes in her body language. She seemed less ill at ease when the focus wasn't directly on her. Her foot continued to bounce nervously, but the tension in her shoulders had eased, if only slightly.
"Thankfully that is a question you will never have to know the answer to," he replied, briefly addressing the notion.
She nodded, acknowledging that she had heard him. Still, the thoughts churning in her head were nearly tangible. She ran her tongue across her lips, focusing on the ring. His eyes were drawn to the motion. She breathed a heavy sigh, dragging her hands down her face before she looked back to him and pasted on a tense smile.
"Thank you. I'll look into the herbal supplements you suggested. Hopefully I'll be better rested and less of a space case by the time next week rolls around." She hesitated, eyes darting to his lips almost sheepishly. "If you'd still like me to come back, that is."
He smiled slowly and rose to his feet. "You won't scare me away so easily, Keeran. Tuesday of next week – same time."
She fumbled a moment at the change of day, but didn't object. She stood and obediently followed him to the door. "I'll see you then."
His smile broadened. "Drive safely."
