Chapter 9
"What do you think?" Will asked in a bored tone.
Holly turned to the left, confused. Will sat slightly slouched in a black throne of bone, legs apart. His elbow was settled on one arm, propping his cheek on his knuckles. Atop his head crookedly sat a crown of black bone as well, and his eyes seemed darker to her, more brooding than normal. A large, curved black nail was strung on a cord around his neck, laying on the chest of his white tunic. Despite the slight scowl on his face, he looked comfortable and sure of himself, he had a confidence he usually lacked.
"What?" Holly replied stupidly, blinking.
"It's your decision, Holly," Hannibal added, from her right.
His throne, in contrast, was bleached white bone and high-backed. He sat up straight and proper as always, arms settled calmly on the arms of the chair. A pair of antlers perched at the top of the throne, and a string of raven feathers hung from one of them. His crown sat regally on his head, imitating the antlers affixed to his seat. He black robes rather than a tunic, and around his neck he bore a single raven feather.
"What is my decision?" she asked, turning to look at Will again in confusion.
He met her eyes for a brief moment before he nodded his head towards something in front of them. Holly followed his gaze, down the steps leading to their trio to a red carpet, where a man kneeled, head bent to kiss the floor. As if sensing her eyes on him, the man picked his head up, and she was met with her father's face.
"I'm doing this for you and your mother," he said desperately, rising to his feet.
She opened her mouth to say something, even though she didn't have the slightest clue what she could say. Then the staccato beat of gunshots rang through the throne room, echoing up to the vaulted dome ceiling and bouncing off the pillars of black and white marble. Bullets pierced through her father's body and he fell back, a pool of crimson darkening the carpet. Stunned, she spun to where the gunshots had sounded, Will.
"Excellent choice, Holly," he praised, tossing the gun away carelessly, so that it skittered across the polished floor to land beside her father's corpse.
"Yes, he would have destroyed you otherwise," Hannibal agreed proudly, nodding to her respectfully.
She returned gaze to her father's body again, but in his place stood Alana Bloom, in a white dress with a tarnished bell on a blue ribbon around her neck. To her left, Holly noticed Will lean forward in his seat with great interest, and Hannibal sat back on her right, lacing his fingers together. She turned to him, wondering if this was to be her decision as well. Noticing Holly's questioning look, Hannibal gave her a clever smile before reverting his attention to Alana Bloom again.
Except, when Holly's turned as well, she was not looking at Alana but was standing next to her, and they were facing three thrones, three people, all appraising the two women from their lofty positions. Holly found herself staring up at herself, between Hannibal and Will, but it wasn't her. Not really.
The woman that looked down on them with a cold, calculating expression was not the same woman that Holly saw reflected in the mirror every day. This woman sat on a throne of bone like the others, but hers was neither bleached nor black, but almost gray, and on her head rested a crown of hawk feathers. Her dress was sophisticated and silvery, with a plunging neckline and two slits in the skirt to allow each leg to be seen. One arm rested on the chair, the other propped her chin up as she regarded both a shaking Alana and perplexed Holly.
"Oh look, a lamb has entered the wolves den," the other Holly remarked serenely, almost offhandedly, voice clear and bell-like as it bounced around the room.
One cue, there was a vicious snarling sound and Alana cried out as two wolves leapt from the shadows. They tore the woman to pieces in a matter of moments, leaving Holly in shocked, blood-spattered silence. The fleshy, shredded mess that remained didn't look even remotely similar to the pretty doctor. The rolled languidly across the floor, leaving a thin trail of blood until it stopped by Holly's feet. Letting out a shuddering breath, she slowly turned back to the three people.
"Why did you do that?" she inquired carefully, voice no doubt giving away her horror.
Will stood, fingers twitching slightly as he referred silently to the Holly that sat next to him. Hannibal sat forward in his seat with that smirk on his face again, while the other Holly remained unmoved, platinum eyes glittering in the light shining from stained-glass windows.
"Why wouldn't I have done that?" the doppelganger replied, a hint of amusement coloring her tone.
"Because there's been enough bloodshed!" Holly cried in answer and Will looked truly shocked for a moment, "If you and I are the same person, then we know there's been enough!"
Will took a step towards her, but stopped, glancing back at the woman.
"Has there been?" the other Holly replied, "You never took a life and yet your own father tried to take yours. There's nothing you can do to stop it, so why shouldn't you join in? Be the one to spill blood rather than have yours spilt."
Her mouth dropped open, but no words came out for several moments as Hannibal got to his feet as well, straightening his clothes. She breathed heavily, clenching and unclenching her fists.
"But why did it have to be Doctor Bloom?" she managed.
"Because she wanted to play among the wolves," the doppelganger replied easily with a callous shrug, "and because she tried to make lambs of wolves."
Holly struggled to find something to say, anything, but the woman sitting on the throne above her made a twisted sort of sense, reflecting thoughts that she hadn't even dared to let cross her conscious mind.
"Be with us," Will said suddenly, taking the first step down from the dais and reaching a hand out, expression pleading, "don't be something you're not, Holly. Trust me, it does more harm than good."
Holly bit her lip, wanting so badly to go to the warmth that she saw in his eyes.
"What do you mean," she questioned, "by 'something I'm not'?"
"Come," Hannibal called before Will could answer taking a couple steps towards the stairs but not actually descending any of them and holding out a hand as well, "join us, Holly."
Still she hesitated.
"You're asking me to kill people," she choked out, a tear slipping down her cheek, "I don't know if I can do that."
The other Holly stood at that moment, and descended the stairs, graceful and elegant, her strength of presence so powerful it was hard to endure. She approached Holly, one arm extended, palm up, a gentle, goading smile on her lips.
"You are either prey or predator. Haven't you gotten tired of being the prey?"
Holly bolted upright in the bed, breath coming out in ragged gasps. She touched her face and made sure there was no blood, looked at her clothes, ran her hands through her tangled hair. She reached over and turned on the bedside lamp, reassuring herself that she was in her room. She wasn't scared, not in the usual terror kind of way, but she was disturbed, worried of what would wait for her if she dared closed her eyes again, though the temptation was nearly overwhelming.
Deciding that she needed to be with someone, Holly slipped out of her room and padded down the hall, pausing at Hannibal's door, and debated with herself. She couldn't be alone right now, not with her own mutinous (and murderous, apparently) thoughts. Steeling herself and swallowing her own reservations, she lightly knocked at the door. From inside, she heard rustling, muted footsteps, and then she came face to face with Hannibal's bare chest.
"Holly," he sounded surprised.
"I…" she trailed off, unsure what to say without having to recount the entire experience.
"Did you have another nightmare?"
"Something like that," she answered softly, unable to look at him as she rubbed at her arm.
"Were you hoping to spend the rest of the night with me to keep the dreams away?"
She faltered.
"I…don't know. If that would make you uncomfortable, then no. I just…can't be alone right now…"
Hannibal regarded her carefully, knowing that this was different from the usual nightmare. She didn't purposefully seek him out when she slept poorly. Something new had occurred in her dreamscape that had unsettled her and now she needed an anchor, a friend, because she didn't trust herself alone. Never before had he heard her say that she couldn't (or even didn't want to) be alone.
"Come in," he invited, stepping out of the way so that she could enter.
Holly moved past him, into the proverbial lion's den, surprised and intimidated by how much darker it seemed to be compared to her sleeping quarters. She stopped in the middle of the floor, eyes drifting around the room.
"Would you like a glass of water before bed?" he inquired, stopping just behind her.
She shook her head, unconsciously leaning towards him the slightest bit. She hadn't realized how much she wanted physical contact to reassure her that she was awake and real.
"Then let us rest," he answered, but didn't touch her yet.
He waited, knowing that she would naturally be hesitant to join a man in bed, especially when she seemed so conflicted in her feelings towards both him and Will. After another moment, she haltingly approached the bed, slipping beneath the silk sheets stiffly. He followed, sliding under the covers easily, trying to hide the smirk on his face as he lay down beside her.
Holly breathed slowly, deeply and soon enough, she was drifting off again, comforted by the cool, rich scent of Hannibal surrounding her. Before she could fully drop off into unconsciousness however, there was a falling sensation, and her body jerked automatically in response, startling her. Holly was so tired, however, that she was barely roused from her half-asleep state, and the only thing her exhausted mind managed to process was that she needed something to hold onto.
Unconscious of her movements, she moved closer to Hannibal, snuggling up against him. He was solid, reassuring, and she drifted off to sleep again with her head settled on his shoulder and her arms tucked in between their bodies.
Hannibal, despite that unperturbed he was with the situation, could not simply ignore the delicious scent coming from Holly's skin and hair. She smelled of roses in bloom and wild jasmine with the sharp edge of lavender. He experimentally ran his fingers through her hair. It was soft and smooth, silken to the touch, and she was warm and supple against him, a strange contrast to the coldness and hardness of his room.
She shifted, nestling closer into him, one arm stretching partially across his stomach and she murmured something under her breath that sounded vaguely like his name, but he couldn't be sure. Hannibal reflected on his luck that he'd chosen to do his work that night earlier rather than later, so that he would not have to try to detangle himself from Holly and risk waking her.
She'd know about the dinner party soon enough, but he knew that if Holly was aware he was leaving her alone at night, the nightmares would return with a vengeance. It was better that she just believe he slept down the hall rather than collecting ingredients for the upcoming meal.
