Chapter 9: Treachery

Will couldn't be sure but it seemed to him that in the three hours he'd spent asleep on the back seat of his car waiting for Alex's call, the atmosphere inside 'Volto Larva' had noticeably altered. The subtle scent that always seemed to pervade the place was suddenly far stronger, and now even in the main room - away from the Circle chambers - the air seemed laced with the same mist that was a permanent feature elsewhere. HIs head already pounding with what felt like the start of a migraine, he felt an uneasy sense of claustrophobia as he descended the steps back into the club. The noise and movement in the room was almost overwhelming to him now, as if the volume control had been turned up on the whole place, and it was everything he could do to force his way through the bodies towards the room he'd met Alex in earlier that night.

As he neared the doors though, he noticed one of the two silver-haired twins standing there - sans mask - scanning the crowd. When she saw him, her eyes widened.

"Hey, are you Alex's friend?"

For a fleeting moment he thought she was going to bring up their brief encounter on his first night, but then realised to his slight chagrin that she either didn't remember or didn't recognise him.

"He told me to tell you the guy you're looking for is in Ninth now, in Treachery. He has to stay in Eighth till the end of his shift, but he asked me to keep an eye out for you," her eyes narrowed a little, "And to tell you… be really fucking careful."

Stepping away from him, she slipped back through the double doors into the room behind her, leaving Will prickling with low level irritation. He'd been hoping to confront his black-masked companion on his own terms, and now here he was again forced to seek him out in a place of his choosing, in the only room he had yet to explore within the club. And the irony that that last chamber represented the Ninth Circle of Hell; the place reserved for those who had committed acts of treachery against those who had trusted them, was not entirely lost on him.

The cacophonous noise of the Limbo room was doing nothing to lessen Will's splitting headache, and what was more it seemed as if they'd installed some kind of strobe-lighting in there, making him feel as if he couldn't entirely rely on what he was seeing. Squinting his eyes closed against it, he skirted along the wall of the club to the last set of double doors leading off the main room. They were made from the same dark polished wood as all the others had been, but into the surface of these was carved a single giant figure, one foot either side of the divide, straddling the entrance like a Colossus.

Pushing them open, Will sense of unease was only intensified by the long flight of stone steps, part of what looked like the original building, leading steeply downwards into darkness. At the foot of them, a thin bright line of azure marked the entrance to the ninth chamber, and reaching towards it Will had the unsettling impression that as he did so it moved away, retreating and forcing him to stretch further and further forwards. When his hand finally found it, the surface of the leather inner door felt unexpectedly cold under his palm, the texture of it like chilled meat. He pushed inwards, and the unexpectedly bright illumination of the interior blinded him for a moment.

For some reason he'd been expecting the ninth chamber to be the smallest and darkest, instead the huge space was flooded with what initially seemed like natural light, but on closer inspection of the vaulted ceiling above was actually created by a series of glass panels that cleverly aped sunlight. Although full of people, the height and breadth of the place was such that it seemed almost peaceful, like a chic modernist church, the effect emphasised by the large circular stained glass window set high into the wall at the rear of the room.

He didn't have to look far. At the far end of the bar a familiar black-clad figure stood surrounded by a small group of awestruck acolytes, every face upturned toward him like worshippers before a high priest. Clenching his jaw, Will wove his way through the crowd towards them, noting as he did so that his breathing was slower and steadier now that he had the flesh and blood man in his sights again, and not just the mythical figure he struggled to see clearly when he was in the real world.

Focusing his gaze on his mouth, he found himself asking how he could ever have doubted that this was Hannibal. How much time had he spent in his office watching those lips speak their careful quiet observations, staring at the tiny indentation in the centre of his chin and the sharp line of his nose, rather than into the eyes that seemed able to see to the back of his skull. And how could there be anyone else who could sound like him? The low, even tone that was somehow always audible no matter how many others were talking, the soft, clipped accent that subtly inflected certain words. Less than ten feet from him now, he found he could feel Hannibal's unique presence as clearly as if he were stood in his waiting room, with the other man poised on the other side of the door about to open it.

"Hello Will."

Two of his companions had stood aside, leaving a clear line of sight between them, and something inside Will's chest turned over like an animal stirring in darkness. The noise in the room around them seemed to recede along with the colour, as if some unseen hand had turned down the contrast.

"I heard you were looking for me."

A ghost of a smile touched those familiar lips, as he raised the glass of wine he was holding. He paused and inclined his head.

"So here I am. Was there something you wanted to ask?"

Bright amber-brown eyes locked with his, a strand of silver-blond hair fallen forward over his mask. Everything around them was suddenly perfectly and unnervingly still. Will could hear the sound of his own heart in his chest, a slow rhythmic drumming that seemed to move through him to vibrate the floor under his feet. He licked his lips,

"I did, but now I don't think I need to. In fact, now I'm wondering how I'd managed to convince myself otherwise."

Hannibal's lips drew together thoughtfully,

"In my experience, that is the nature of this place. While you're under this roof, what you know and feel are visceral certainties. It's only when you leave its sphere of influence that things become…confusing," an eyebrow arched into a question mark, "Are you confused, dear Virgil?"

The pulsing vibration through the soles of his feet intensified, and Will wondered why he couldn't hear the music in the room any more, only feel what must be the bass notes making their way through the stone floor and into his skeleton. No-one was dancing, or at least it didn't seem as if they were, for some reason he was having trouble dragging his eyes from the other man's to look around him.

"You don't seem confused to me."

Hannibal seemed to have taken a step closer, although he hadn't seen his feet move. Taking a deep draught from the glass in his hand, he paused for a moment before leaning forward to brush Will's lips with his own. The touch was feather-light, barely the suggestion of their previous intimacy, and yet his body's reaction to it was instant and treacherous. Bringing both hands up to either side of the other man's ribcage, Will dragged him into a hot, open-mouthed kiss that was only deepened when the mouthful of warm spiced wine in Hannibal's mouth was abruptly transferred to his own. The taste was not unlike that of blood.

"No," Hannibal's voice was a murmur in the back of his throat, full of amusement and desire, "Not confused at all I see."

The hot pulse of Will's veins seemed as if it should be audible. Sucking the last drops of the wine from Hannibal's lower lips, he forced a steadying breath. His fingers gripping the fabric of the other man's black silk shirt flexed, seeming unwilling to let him go.

"Feels like no matter how confused my head gets about what's happening here, the rest of me finds it easy to make decisions."

Hannibal's breath was a warmth flutter against his mouth,

"Felt sensations are often the best indicator of your true desires. While your logical mind is telling you to run, your feet know you better."

"Oh I don't want to run."

The gaze holding his own flickered, the pupils narrowing a little.

"No, I can see that," his lips moved in again, this time tracing a slow line along Will's jaw, "Tell me dear Virgil, why are you asking questions you don't want to know the answers to?"

His mouth had now reached the spot just below Will's earlobe, the place where he could still feel the phantom traces of teethmarks from the night they'd carved up Aaron Foley, and a deep involuntary shiver passed through him.

"What makes you so sure I don't want to know the answers?"

"Because you know that answers will mean an end to our game," his teeth skated skin, and the muscles in Will's neck tensed under them, "And you don't want it to end yet."

"Don't I?"

His voice came out stronger than he'd imagined it would, and he felt Hannibal's mouth pause for a moment in its slow advance.

"Maybe I'm tired of games, of playing pretend with you. Maybe I want something real."

A low chuckle sounded just below his left ear,

"Will, we both know your true reasons for coming here. For continuing to come here. 'Volto Larva' is your escape from reality, the dark bolthole you've made for when the dreams of mad men become too much," teeth closed lightly over his earlobe, "And I am the companion you chose for yourself in the darkness."

Will could feel his body warming under the light touch of the other man's hands, the familiar heat moving outward through his limbs, and he struggled to focus on his words. Was what he was saying true? Was his recent confusion at Hannibal's dual role in his life a genuine need for clarity, or just a symptom of the morality he'd always felt a duty to acknowledge, the remnant of a childhood tinted with shame and written over in the Christian values of the family. Surrounded as he was with so much darkness, his need to cling to an idea of decency and normalcy had seemed essential to him in the past, like a lifejacket that prevented him from sinking, but lately it felt like more of a hindrance than an aid. Like the slide into darkness was inevitable. Coming to this place night after night, allowing himself to wallow in physical pleasure, had done that to him, he knew that with a deep certainty.

Sinking into the heat of Hannibal's mouth, he closed his eyes and breathed in deeply. The pound of blood in his ears suddenly seemed like the beats of a great drum and any trace of coherent thought distant and dim, like muffled voices trapped in a jar.

"I feel like if we go any further with this, I'll lose myself."

Hannibal's voice vibrated against his throat, "Perhaps instead, you will find yourself."

And then, without warning, the floor dropped away and darkness engulfed him.

This time there were no dreams, just a painfully slow crawl out of a mental darkness that felt uncomfortably like a deep hole he'd fallen headfirst into. The first sensations he became aware of were painful, the muscles in his neck ached like he'd been in a car wreck and his mouth and throat felt parched dry, but the next were more confusing. A rigidity in his limbs that felt forced and uncomfortable then, as feeling begin to return, oddly familiar.

At first he wasn't entirely sure whether he was lying or standing, there was pressure on the soles of his feet but the muscles in his thighs and calves were slack and relaxed, then he tried to push himself off the surface he was laid against and realised that he was held securely by his wrists and ankles. Once again, he was strapped into leather cuffs of the St. Andrews Cross, the thick padded restraints holding him face down against it, powerless to do anything but await his fate.

In the room behind him there was no sound, and straining his senses he tried to hear if there was any noise beyond it. It has been close to the club's closing time when he had returned to it, and by now it had to be nearing dawn. What if Hannibal had strapped him in and left him for the night, payback for breaking the rules of their game? Pulling at the restraints he considered that it was a very definite possibility, especially considering the fact he'd obviously planned the whole drugged wine thing before he'd even arrived.

The sound of the door opening in the corner of the room pulled his attention to it, and craning his head round, Will tried to see who had entered. In the silence that followed though no face came into view, and all he could hear was quick nervous breathing. Several second ticked by, and then the sound of hasty footsteps across the floor made his whole body stiffen in anticipation of a blow, but to his surprise instead of pain he felt fingers pulling urgently at the straps on his ankles.

"I fucking told you, didn't I?!"

The voice was instantly familiar, and the tightly held breath left Will's lungs in a sudden rush. Reaching up to free his wrists, Alex the barman's handsome face came level with his own, flushed and clearly anxious.

"You need to get the fuck out of here before he comes back. I told you before, he's bad fucking news."

He pulled the last strap undone, and put a hand under Will's arm to support him as he stepped down to the floor.

"I don't know what your deal is with him, frankly I don't want to know, but if you've got any sense you'll get the fuck out of here right now, and you won't look back. You're not the only one that's been asking questions about him, and if you want to protect that government job of yours, you'll get as far from this place you can."

Even though Will was standing on solid ground now, the whole room seemed to be shifting, the metal walls undulating as if they were made of liquid, and staring at the movement he frowned in confusion.

"Graham?! Are you listening to me? Did you hear what I said?"

And then Hannibal's voice from behind him supplied the answer to his question.

"Yes, I believe he did."

The flat brushed-metal surface of the closed door contrasted starkly with the man stood in front of it. His head inclined slightly, Hannibal appeared like a black bird of prey, the front of the mask he was wearing forming a sharp-hooked beak, and looking at him Will felt a mounting sense of portent.

"He was just…leaving."

Alex's eyes darted to him, the expression first angry and then suddenly unsure.

"I was. I should go," his body angled sideways, back seemingly still turned protectively in front of Will, "I…look, I apologise if I've stepped out of line. I thought…maybe I misread the situation."

Hannibal's voice was a low controlled purr, he still hadn't moved.

"I'd be interested to know what your reading was. Were you perhaps under the impression that this liaison was non-consensual?" his lips curved into the facsimile of smile, "Or that my friend here is anything less than an extremely willing participant."

Alex's skin flushed, but even despite Will's current lack of focus he could see he was now fearful more than embarrassed. His lip curled into a snarl,

"Fuck it, I don't pretend to understand anything you guys get up to in this place, all I know is I spent almost 3 hours last week mopping blood off the floor in here, and now law-enforcement is coming round after hours, asking me the kind of questions I feel like it'll cost me my job to answer."

His hands spasmed at his sides, and his eyes slid sideways to meet Will's again, pointed now in their expression,

"And I like my job. And…you, Mr. Special Agent FBI Will Graham? Yeah, I Googled you. Seems like you're kind of a rockstar over at the FBI Academy. So I'm guessing that you kind of like your job too."

He wasn't sure who it was who stepped toward him first, whether it was himself or Hannibal, but maybe they moved simultaneously; the self and the shadow-self in perfect accord, although their movements felt blurred by the dreamlike quality that had hung over the entire evening. Turning Alex to face him, Will rested hands on his shoulders that didn't feel like his own, made a soft, consoling sound that didn't sound like anything he would ever make. The look of confusion on the other man's face lasted for only the briefest of moments, before being replaced by an expression of a wide-eyed shock as fingers spread wide and locked around the column of his throat.

"No. No…don't…"

Will heard his own voice saying the words, a soft plea to himself or a command to the other man, he couldn't be sure. Alex's pupils were blown wide, his shoulders heaving back, struggling against the body of the man behind him, whose hands were…were they his hands? He couldn't be sure. Sinewed forearms strained from the cuffs of a black silk shirt, but were they his arms or Hannibal's, Virgil's or Dantés? He heard himself make the sound again, a soft reassuring shushing noise, shaking his head, firmly denying the reality of what was happening, and over Alex's shoulder, a pair of bright amber-brown eyes fixed on his with a look of such naked adoration he couldn't tear himself away.

"Kiss me Will."

As he sought out and found Hannibal's mouth, Alex's body between them went rigid with fear, his arms pinned as he struggled against the iron grip of the two men who held him prisoner between them. The heart inside the ribcage pressed against him thrashed wildly, seeming to match the rhythm of Will's own, as Hannibal's tongue snaked into his mouth, hungry and insistent. Then, his knees buckling, their captive sank to the floor as their combined weight bore him downwards like two lions felling their kill.

For a moment all three lay locked in a twisted embrace on the floor, muscles straining against rigid muscles and the thick cloying odour of sweat in their nostrils. His bicep locked around the dead man's neck, Hannibal's lay pinned underneath the body for a second longer, face flushed and hair clinging damply to his forehead and then, inhaling deeply, he pushed it off to one side. Sitting back on his heels, Will drew several long shuddering breaths into his lungs.

"Is it as you'd always imagined?"

He knew it was Hannibal that had spoken, but the voice seemed to have come from inside his own head at the same time. Looking at him, Will noticed that one side of the black mask he was wearing was broken, the left eye socket cracked and falling away from the face underneath. Blinking in confusion, he tried to understand what it was he was seeing.

"Is…what…?"

"Taking a life with your own hands. Are you filled with righteous horror?" sitting upright to mirror him, Hannibal's one good eye regarded him steadily, while the other now seemed to swim in darkness, "Or has it merely revealed the glorious monster you always knew crawled beneath your skin."

The floor beneath Will's knees felt as if it were pulsing, taking another deep gulp of air, he laid the palms of his hands on it to steady himself. The surface felt ice cold under his skin, and the sensation was like a knife cutting through the warm fog surrounding him. He allowed one hand to stray out to the side, tentatively reaching to feel for the figure that lay on the floor beside them.

Was he real?

Jesus, was any of this real?

What the fuck had just happened here?

"I don't…I don't feel so good…"

Raising his eyes to look at Hannibal, he felt his heart stammer into a fast uneven rhythm as the other man leant towards him. Tilting his head to one side, his friend brought one bright amber eye level with his own and regarded him steadily. After a moment of silence, he spoke.

"I'm very sorry to hear that Will."

His voice echoed hollowly inside Will's head, the thick seam of disappointment running through it emphasised by the soft, downward curve of his lips. Reaching a gentle hand to his cheek, the other man brushed his cheekbone with the back of his knuckles.

"Perhaps I have pushed you too far, too soon. I'd hoped that given the proper stimulation you might be persuaded to discard the mask you'd constructed, and finally embrace your true self. It seems that integration is still a ways off though. Maybe at a later date. When other factors have been…properly dealt with."

A frown lightly creased his brow, and after what seemed like a slight hesitation he again brought his lips to meet Will's in an almost wistful kiss, the other hand lifting to press against his collarbone. Leaning into the kiss, Will felt a deep tremor pass through his body as the other man murmured words against his skin.

"I have so enjoyed your companionship here, dear Virgil. But we always knew it was inevitable we would have to return to the fair world…"

And the bright, unmistakable sting of a needle punctuated his sentence, bringing darkness with his final words.

"…and behold the stars."