**Thanks for the reviews! This is a little bit of a filler chapter, I apologize for the length of it but I've not been doing well these past few days and I did the best I could. Thanks again for all the positive feedback, it makes my day!**
Nora woke to Hannibal's hand smoothing over her hair, drifting across her cheek affectionately.
"Nora," he called, rustling her hair gently when she didn't stir. "Nora, you need breakfast."
She blinked up at him, nuzzling into his hand, the smell of warm hazelnut and fruit drifting across her senses.
"You didn't have to do that," she murmured, but he urged her to sit up, placing a tray across her lap.
"I wanted to. And you always need breakfast," he retorted. He sat a covered plate on the tray, revealing what looked like a plate of fruit crepes drizzled with sugar and honey. "Hazelnut crepes and cream with honey. Strawberry and apricot slices for filling. It's all I was really prepared to make."
She watched him build her little tray up, setting a cup of whipped cream and a tall mug of hot coffee out before delicately placing her fork to one side. It was almost comical watching him fuss over something so simple, wrapped in his plaid robe, so stripped down compared to the Hannibal she'd gotten used to. She liked seeing him disheveled, no matter how slight it was. He felt human this way.
"I don't think anyone has ever made me breakfast in bed," she said quietly. "How early did you get up to make this?"
"I've only been awake for about an hour. You slept through my alarm, but that's quite okay. You needed the sleep. Speaking of which, we need to talk about what happened last night."
He sat down on the edge of the bed with her, settling his hand on her knee. Oh god, she thought, the 'I'm concerned about you' squeeze. Her stomach rolled nervously so she forced herself to at least pick at the plate, hoping that eating would settle her nerves.
"I'm worried about you," he started. Bingo. "I wanted to question you again, now that you are fully awake and calm. Do you remember what happened?"
"Part of it," she admitted. She took a tentative bite of his breakfast, savoring the light hazelnut flavor. "Or most of it, I guess. I remember thinking there was something in the room with me and when I looked up, the...thing was standing over by the fireplace looking at me."
"Can you describe it clearly now?"
She took a deep breath, fighting the feeling of panic that flashed over her when she recalled its face so close to hers, gazing at her across the pillows.
"It's humanoid. And it's like...I imagine its skin is like those peat bog mummies they find in Europe. The ones that are all leathery and smooth, but it's pitch black. It's...thin, skeletal, I can't really recall details other than the stag antlers and the eyes," she told him, squeezing her eyes shut as her body reacted to the images flashing through her mind. A stinging, almost painful shiver ran down her spine and she shuddered hard, Hannibal's hand tightening on her knee. "Its eyes are just white. Milk white. Like when you're out at night and you shine a light over the woods and you see something looking back at you, it's just a white shine in the dark."
He pursed his lips tightly, looking down and away from her briefly.
"Are you afraid of deer?" he asked finally. "Stags? Any animals at all?"
"Not at all. I hate spiders but I think that's normal."
"Have you watched anything or read anything with this kind of imagery?"
"I can't remember anything even remotely like it."
He sighed heavily, brushing his loose bangs out of his face. "When you're done eating, I want to check your vitals again. Look you over. It's uncommon for things like this to just manifest out of the blue but I suppose it could be related to drinking and eating before bed... But anyway. Come down to my office when you're finished. I need to call a few patients and look at the weather for the day."
Nora took her time with breakfast, lounging around in his massive bed pensively before finally dragging herself out of it. The fire had died down sometime in the night and the room was chilly now, discouraging her from investigating his room. The navy blues and earth tones were comforting and she thought to herself she could have slept in there forever but he was probably wondering where she was at by now.
She managed to find her way back downstairs, making note of all the details of the house she'd missed last night. The morning light really set the house off, gave it less of a dreary castle feel and more of an alive, welcoming vibe. Like a library, or a museum. Even the kitchen seemed a little brighter when she dropped off her tray.
Hannibal was pacing back and forth slowly on the mezzanine in his office, scanning a large dog-eared book.
"You'll catch cold," he chided her, shutting the book with a soft thunk. She stopped in her tracks, realizing she was wandering around in an unfamiliar house in her underwear and his shirt.
"Your pajamas were too big," she muttered.
"I apologize. You are quite thin. If you don't mind, take a seat on the lounge."
She sat patiently, watching him climb down and root through a doctor's bag on his desk for a moment before producing a stethoscope and a blood pressure cuff.
"I thought you were just a psychiatrist," she remarked. "Did you have another job before this?"
"I was a surgeon before. I must admit that life is not for me. It is quite chaotic and losing a patient takes a hard toll on the heart. But, we'll get into that later. Push your sleeve up."
She pushed the sleeve out of the way, huffing when he wrapped the blood pressure cuff around her arm tightly. "I really hate this part," she grumbled. "It always feels like my arm is going to pop off."
"A necessary evil."
At least he was quick about it, she thought, watching the dial go up and back down slowly. He mumbled something about it being slightly below average before removing it.
"How low is it?"
"Not alarmingly low," he assured her, pressing the back of his hand to her forehead to check for fever. "Have you felt fatigued lately? Any problems with memory?"
"Not that I know of."
"Any vertigo? Stiff joints, heart palpitations?"
She grimaced when he pressed his fingertips firmly into her neck, feeling for swollen nodes and glands. "My heart has been kind of...jumpy lately? And I know that sometimes it's because of external stimuli but it's always when I lay down at night and try to go to sleep. It's like a hiccup," she admitted.
"Is it painful?"
"It's more of an annoyance. It keeps me from falling asleep sometimes."
"Look towards the light outside."
She obeyed and he watched her eyes carefully for a moment before turning her back to him, taking her hands firmly.
"Squeeze my hands," he ordered, and when he was satisfied he went to inspecting her nails. "Are these your nails? Not acrylic?"
"They're mine, my nails are healthy."
He methodically combed every inch of her, needling her with questions until she was almost out of answers. Everything from her hair to her skin to her gums and teeth. Obviously, he had a routine for this. Or maybe a script he'd memorized. If he hadn't been in his plaid robe she would have thought they were really in a hospital.
Then came the stethoscope. He slipped his hand beneath her shirt, pressing it against her heart and she gasped at how cold it was.
"Somebody should invent a stethoscope that warms itself," she complained. "They're always ice cold."
"It's part of the experience, just like having your blood pressure taken."
"I can't tell if you're joking."
"Maybe I am. Maybe not. Lie back," he told her, sliding her shirt up to reveal her stomach. "Do you have any abdominal pains?"
"No."
He prodded around with his stethoscope for a moment before kneading around on her stomach with his fingers. She'd had this done many times before, but every time the thought of her organs squishing around made her exceptionally uneasy. She knew he wouldn't hurt her but it was the premise of it that made her nervous.
"Have you had a surgery of some sort?" he asked, pausing just above her underwear.
"Why? What is it?"
"Scar tissue, I believe. Nothing important."
"I was sterilized a while back, that's probably what it is. It didn't go very well but it worked."
"Ah. It's not uncommon for scar tissue to form after ligation. But that's unrelated. You seem healthy, Nora, but what you mentioned about your heart concerns me. And I know you're fair skinned but by all standards you're very pale, even when you're flushed. Have you ever had a full blood panel done?" he asked, pulling her shirt back down before helping her up.
"I don't have insurance so it's not something I ever thought about going to the doctor for."
He shrugged his robe off, wrapping it around her tightly when she shivered. "If you promise me you'll go, I'll handle it," he said softly. "Vitamin B12 deficiency can cause some of the things you're experiencing. Heart palpitations, hallucinations. Pale skin. You may even be anemic. But I can't find any other physical signs for either."
"You can't start paying my medical bills," she sighed. "I know you're trying to be nice but I just don't feel like that would be fair. I would feel like I'm taking advantage of you."
"You wouldn't be. I'm offering to help. If you were taking without asking, that would be a different story. You being well is what I get in return."
"Am I really that important to you, though? This whole thing, this...I don't know, whatever it is we're doing is so new and I... Hannibal, I don't know."
He pulled her up to stand with him, circling his arms around her tightly. "If it makes you feel better, I have many contacts at the university. I could likely have it done as a favor if I ask the right people. Would you feel better about that?"
"I guess..."
Gently, he cradled her head against his chest, resting his chin against her hair. She settled into his hold then, happy to snuggle her face into his soft shirt and hot skin.
"I'll call them today, then. On another note, I spoke to the city earlier. They said the roads should be clear around 3 this afternoon. Would you like for me to take you home then?"
"If you don't mind. I have work tomorrow morning so I guess I need to go back... And I can't stay here forever."
"You're welcome to stay as long as you like," he corrected. "I'm going to get dressed. You're welcome to the guest bathroom if you would like to shower or get dressed."
"I might take you up on that offer."
As expected, even the guest bathroom was ridiculous. And filled to the brim with soft towels and all sorts of luxury items like bath salts and soaps and every manner of necessity she could think of. There was even a fresh, unopened pack of toothbrushes in a drawer beneath the sink. It was like a hotel but so, so much better.
A hot shower left her feeling like she'd been at a resort spa. Whatever shampoo he'd put in the shower for her had her hair softer than she'd ever felt and her skin glowed. She couldn't imagine what it would be like to live there, feeling so refreshed every morning. Never lacking. Always in excess. It was a strange sort of paradise, one that made her as uncomfortable as it did pampered. She almost didn't feel like she belonged in his home at all, but at the same time he had quite literally given her the princess treatment.
You're just not used to this kind of lifestyle, she told herself. It's overwhelming is all.
She slipped back into her sweater, twisting her hair up into a loose bun to dry before tiptoeing back downstairs and to the office again where she'd spotted a vinyl record player earlier. What kind of music would someone like Hannibal have? Probably all classical, she thought. But she was quite surprised to find a trove of all sorts of music in the cabinet beneath it, spanning from the 40s to the present. Some of the records had labels on them, obviously something to do with a therapy session. Maybe someone liked music and that was how they communicated. But there were others that seemed lovingly taken care of that he probably listened to on his own, most of them classical music as she had predicted, but then she spotted her favorite singer of all time.
Dean Martin's trademark smile beamed back at her. She couldn't resist. It wasn't labeled, so she pulled it out and read the track listing quickly before plopping it on the turntable and setting it to her favorite song.
Even with the volume low, the opening jazzy brass always sent a thrill of excitement through her. How many times she'd danced to this song, she wasn't sure. Many, many times. Alone in her house, for slow-dancing practice, it didn't matter. It would always be her favorite song.
She drifted around his office, eyes closed, completely engrossed in the music and Dean Martin's smooth voice and the soft strings in the background. She always imagined that one day, when she met someone that finally interested her, maybe when she fell in love with them, that they'd be listening to this song in a classy restaurant somewhere in Paris. Maybe they'd travel the world together. That was the kind of imagery that drifted through her mind as the song played, the idyllic Italian countryside, the narrow streets of Greece, exploring Spain with her lover.
She twirled dreamily, imagining dancing with her supposed lover on a dimly lit balcony, but suddenly a hand caught hers, twisting her back into a warm embrace deftly. She found herself pressed gently against Hannibal's chest, his hands settling at her waist, hers instinctively linking around his neck.
"I see you found my record player," he said softly. "I was using it as a therapy tool but if you like it this much...I'll keep it around."
His black button up shirt seemed so harsh against his face. Suddenly he wasn't so imposing, his face softened by the rich darkness of his shirt, damp bangs falling across his forehead. She pressed closer to him, swaying with him slowly.
"You did say you wanted to learn how to dance, and you need music for that," she reminded him, but he only smiled at her.
"I'd rather watch you."
Look at him, she thought. Just look at him. Listen to him. There's no reason to be scared of him or with him. He's completely head over heels for you. He's so genuine.
She couldn't form a response, blushing at the thought of dancing with him the way she'd been imagining. He seemed like the perfect candidate; classy, tall, strong, devilishly handsome, and the means to take her to all the places in Europe she dreamed of. Traveling with him would be like touring the world with royalty. Royalty with benefits.
He leaned in toward her, questioning, almost as if he was asking permission to kiss her. She hesitated, her thoughts still racing at the idea that maybe, just maybe, he could be her lover she'd always been looking for. Granted, she told herself, she still had a lot to learn about him. But he fit in her pictures so perfectly. As if he was a chameleon. Made to fit. Made to blend into her life.
His nose brushed hers and she relented easily, basking in the heat of his kisses. She'd never felt such a blind desire for a person and it nearly engulfed her, burning her from the inside out as he drew her closer. She wondered to herself if this was what a real relationship was supposed to feel like or if this was a fling that had started purely out of the mutual curiosity between them, but the way his fingers tangled in the back of her hair and his hand burned at the small of her back made her think maybe yes, it was more than just a fling.
At least she hoped it was.
The day went by far too quickly after that and soon she found herself curled up in the heated seats of Hannibal's car, absently watching the city pass by. The city had cleaned up most streets but she figured work would be painfully boring the next day since more snow was expected.
Hannibal seemed loathe to drop her off, pointing out that he wasn't fond of her living alone and walking everywhere in the cold.
"I've done it for years. Nobody's going to bother me," she reassured him. "Besides. Most of the time if I wear tall boots I have a knife that I hide in the top."
"I suppose that's better than nothing. When will I see you again?"
She wasn't overly surprised at his question, but it threw her off guard. She had expected him to drop her off and maybe ask later, wait a few days or something to get her on edge, but it looked like he was all in. No more dancing around it. He really wanted her around.
"I mean...I have no life," she shrugged. "All I do is work and go home unless Alana has something to do but she's been so busy I don't really think I'll see her for a while..."
"Do you have any hobbies outside your house?"
"Not anymore. Like I said, I used to have ballet but since that's out of the question I don't really leave except for work and to get groceries."
"Then come with me to the gym. I like to swim, the pool is heated and it's usually empty during the winter. It would be something to get you out of the house," he said, finally pulling into her driveway. "It's not far from here, if you want to walk after you close the store."
"So tomorrow afternoon? I don't have anything remotely okay to wear. I don't even have a bathing suit."
"Don't worry about that. I just want to see you again regardless."
She gave him a warm smile, her heart swelling in her chest. Jesus Christ, this felt nice.
"Sure. I think that would be fine," she chirped. "I do need to get out of the house."
He gave her a quick kiss and they reluctantly said their goodbyes before she slogged through the snow to her porch, waving to him as he disappeared down the street.
The familiar smell of potting soil and green leaves washed over her as she opened her door and she felt a deep calm settle over her. His house was nice, super extravagant, but she'd missed her own house. Hers was just so much more cozy, so welcoming compared to his.
She spent her afternoon potting new cuttings and making more, her tile kitchen counter dusted in rooting powder and pruning seal. Alana would get a kick out of this, she thought. But she couldn't bring herself to call her. As much as she wanted to gush, it seemed like Alana wouldn't take to it kindly after their last conversation. She sure as hell wasn't going to tell Dan or Angie at work; they'd just use it as ammo for teasing her.
It dawned on her then that she really, really had no one to talk to other than Alana, and she was very suddenly overcome with fear that she might push her away by getting further involved with Hannibal.
She forced herself to look at it rationally. Surely Alana was more mature than that, more understanding than that. She may have been interested in Hannibal but Nora couldn't see a man coming between them that easily.
After she had arranged her new pots to her liking, she settled into her bed, picking a new book to read that she'd picked up at a thrift store. "We Have Always Lived in the Castle" had stuck out to her on the shelf and as she delved into the first few pages, she found herself quite intrigued.
A family tragedy, poisoned by arsenic. Two girls and their uncle living in isolation, away from a village that taunted them and ostracized them for what had happened. The main protagonist, a girl named Merricat, dabbled in magic to protect her and her sister. Nora wasn't sure what the danger they alluded to was yet and eventually reached a good stopping point, snapping the book shut and curling into her quilts comfortably before slipping into a light sleep.
After the incident at Hannibal's, the icy fear that crept over her body was almost familiar.
She hadn't had a single dream all night but suddenly she was standing in the snowy fields in Wolf Trap, twilight bathing the landscape in gloomy purples and blues. The cold stung her skin and she realized she was standing nearly knee deep in snow, dressed only in one of Hannibal's button down shirts and a pair of underwear.
A strange cry rang out and she whirled, finding herself at the edge of a dense tree line. She searched frantically for the source of the sound, her eyes flitting over the dark trees, until she made out the shape of a black stag trotting out into the field.
It bleated at her again, the sound piercing her ears. She took a wary step back as it neared, its pace increasing, prompting her to turn and run when it showed no sign of slowing down.
She stumbled clumsily in the snow, screaming at the very top of her lungs for help, but no sound came out. It's going to kill me, she thought, screaming so hard she felt her throat burn raw. But she couldn't make a single noise and there was obviously not a single soul around for miles.
A quick glance over her shoulder told her that it was too close now, there was no escaping, but she still felt compelled to run even though her entire body was screaming at her to rest. Her lungs burned, her legs ached so hard that even though they were numb from the snow she could feel every stride.
Thinking she could maybe confuse it, she veered to the side, scrabbling through a dead hedgerow. She could still hear it behind her, but the farther she ran, the quieter it got.
She chanced another look back and saw that it hadn't been charging her.
The creature she'd grown so tired of seeing was standing a the far edge of the field, staring blankly down at the animal running straight toward it. She could feel herself scream at the sight of it, falling back into the snow in shock, but again she heard nothing other than the sound of snow crunching and her own breathing.
It turned to look at her then, and even from all the way across the field she could feel the power of its gaze.
She struggled to her feet, ready to run again, but suddenly it was behind her and its arms wrapped around her tightly. It was as cold as the snow, maybe even colder, and its skin felt exactly like she remembered. Leathery, dead. Wrong. She kicked at it, struggling, but it was completely unfazed.
It turned her around roughly, positioning her between it and the stag. The stag barreled through the snow at them but when it saw her trapped in the creature's hands it slid to a halt, bleating again, stamping its foot angrily.
The creature was taunting the stag.
There was a wordless exchange between the two, the creature pulling her closer to its too long body, the stag keening at them from just a few feet away. She hung wordlessly in the creature's hands, fear numbing her mind.
When the stag charged again, she knew there was nothing she could do.
Its antlers pierced her effortlessly, but she felt no pain.
After a moment, she felt herself drop to the ground, the snow framing her body. She lifted her head weakly to see that the creature had been gored as well; it grasped at its body, shaking its head at the stag in disbelief, blood like pitch pouring dramatically out of the wounds. Betrayed. Was it trying to negotiate something with the stag? What had gone wrong between them?
She kicked the covers off of herself when she came to, drenched in a cold sweat. Her alarm clock blinked 4am at her from her night stand and she groaned, wishing that she could call someone to calm her nerves, but that was obviously out of the question. She would just have to suffer and wonder what her dreams were trying to tell her.
Hannibal would probably have advice, she thought, but she didn't want to press him for it. He wasn't her doctor and she didn't want that to take over their relationship. But she really didn't have another option.
Desperate to calm down, she took an allergy pill, knowing it would lull her to sleep. But even that wasn't strong enough. She tossed and turned until she finally decided to just get up for the morning and make herself some tea, propping up in her living room to watch a documentary or two until it was time to get ready for work. But she couldn't resist googling creatures that resembled the one in her dreams.
She came across a few purely fictional creatures, like a "leshen" from some video game about a white-haired guy who hunted monsters, but that wasn't quite it. It wasn't until she came across the description of a wendigo that she had a eureka moment.
Ashen skin, gaunt, skeletal, like a dead man walking. Where the antlers came from, she wasn't sure, but that fit her monster and she stuck with it. She'd heard of them before but had never really had a picture to go along with it until then and the thought of it terrified her. Had she pissed off a spirit somewhere?
Her spiritual beliefs, though she was disconnected from religion, still hung around and she thought about cleansing her house but she laughed at her own recommendation. It was just a weird fluke, she told herself. Something she must have seen or read that she didn't remember. It was only scary because of appearance.
That didn't stop the thought from rattling around in her head all day, though. The idea of a wendigo haunted her. A greedy, excessive cannibal. Why would something like that be pursuing her? Or was it?
Just talk to Hannibal about it tonight, she told herself. He'll know what to do.
