CERVALCES LATIFRONS
x.
He couldn't stop himself from humming. The symphony that had placed itself so eloquently into his heart was etching a delicate mark upon the healing cut at Hannibal's throat. He had touched the angry red line with reverence as he shaved that morning, the mirror also giving him the blurred image of Will through the glass shower door behind him. The thought of joining him had not been out of the question.
Nor was it denied.
The matching wound on Hannibal's arm still stung, and even now as he was making breakfast it seeped tiny dots of blood onto the sleeve of his white shirt. He was still humming the tune of his as yet unwritten melody, one he would need to commit to the keys of his harpsichord later. He would wait until Will came back from his delayed meeting with Jack, and he would spend another night here. He would wait until the object of his adoration was present before he would commit himself to the music. One kiss per note until the pleasantly sweet moment degenerated into them fucking each other amongst the tangled harpsichord strings and breaking the ivory keys with their knees.
Hannibal composed himself as he finished Will's omelette, unsure of where that last base sentiment had come from. It was one thing to string each other together tightly with the guts of the instrument, their bodies cut into pieces as they entwined within the beautiful notes-this he could understand-but it was quite another to ruin a perfectly good harpsichord.
His desire, his dear Will, was now in the kitchen, dressed and ready to leave him for his playacting with Jack Crawford. "I have made you breakfast," Hannibal said, placing the omelette with a flourish upon a black plate so as to better accentuate the various colours within it. There were bits of bacon, homemade of course, cured from a the flesh of a rude court stenographer . He offered it to him with a chaste kiss on the man's rough cheek, only to be given his softer lips in return.
"I'm famished," Will said, and grabbed a fork.
"As am I," Hannibal said, but he made no move to eat, instead content to watch as Will stood with his plate, the fork eagerly entering his mouth, tongue sweetly darting out to take in whatever may have strayed. That lovely, precious mouth that had been so very willing to learn...Hannibal felt a renewed hunger within him, and the thought of sexually destroying a harpsichord was suddenly not only reasonable, but necessary.
Sadly, the romantic notion was destroyed by a vile, phlegm laden cough that erupted through the dining room. Pushing his way in, Callum Wilkes staggered into the kitchen, wearing naught else but a pair of rather grubby grey briefs and his long, leather trench coat of many pockets. His sallow skin was pickled in the sweat of alcohol poisoning, his flesh giving off a sour smell. His eyes were bloodshot as they tried to bring Hannibal and Will into proper focus.
He offered no morning greeting, and instead gave Hannibal's prized coffee distiller a miserable sneer. "Are you making coffee or planning on giving me an enema?"
Will swallowed the bite of his omelette with difficulty and put the rest of it, untouched, on the kitchen counter.
"Callum it is getting very late in the morning, you know I have to get back into Baltimore before two. I have already called our insurance company and they are sending a temporary vehicle within the hour. Did you know moose damage is fairly common in this area in the spring? They did express surprise it was a female. It's usually male bulls that attack cars, thinking they are honing in on their bovine women." A fairly well put together Dr. Palanchuk stormed into the kitchen, the 'Concise History of The Pleistocene Era' tossed onto the centre island with angry impatience. He braced his palms onto the marble surface and openly glared at both Hannibal and Will and launched without hesitation into a furious diatribe:
"You ate my librarian. I can understand many things, I have myself been made aware of human history and know that eat or be eaten comprises much of its innate, Darwinian ethos. Had it been anyone else, I would offer up no words of concern, nor would I take anything more than a passing interest." He handed Callum Will's abandoned omelette and the filthy creature began stuffing his face. "But a *librarian*? A person dedicated to the pursuit of learning, to the very beauty of what it means to collect and gather the vastness of human creation? How very awful to see an educated man descend so low. Really, Dr. Lector, that was a great misuse of murderous intent. I should hope you are very ashamed of yourself."
Dr. Palanchuk made a move to get a cup of coffee only to be completely befuddled as to how to work the distiller. He pushed the empty mug near it towards him in aggravated confusion. "I can't imagine what he did to annoy you enough to make a roast of him!"
Hannibal remained stoic, his face a mask of eerily polite calm. "He ridiculed my interest in The Apocrypha. I found that to be very rude."
Callum Wilkes let out a snort of derision.
"The Apocrypha." Dr. Palanchuk's spat out the words as though they tasted like paste. "You ended a man over non canonical, superstitious shit!"
Dr. Palanchuk's words hit Hannibal like a slap. Confused, Hannibal put his hand to his cheek, feeling the outraged, virtual sting.
"If that offends some latent religiosity within you, I refuse to apologize. This is some arrogant construction from your own cultural reference, from which you took misguided offence. If he lamented your misunderstanding of the Upanishads or the musings of the Siddharta Buddha, your reaction would be quite different, no doubt benign. Presently, my librarian's corpse is digesting the Book of Enoch. Thus, this is your prejudicial, skewed vision of spiritual enlightenment wrapped up in your archaic concepts of a godhead and your overwrought pride. Shall we tar and feather his roast, too, for calling you out on your foolishness!"
Hannibal's eyes glinted black, his fury held at bay within him in sickening waves of calm that barely skimmed the surface of his boiling rage. He glanced at Will, seeking his divinely appointed lover's approval, only for Will to shake his head as he silently mouthed "I told you so."
Hannibal braced his shoulders, his eyes steel as he took in the occupants of his kitchen. He glanced behind him at Callum, who suddenly seemed to be an image from one of Will Graham's feverish visions. Shadows gave the impression of elongated crow's feathers that sprung from his back. Sunlight streamed over his profile through the open kitchen window, and a small cloud of flies flew in, surrounding him.
"So what is the crime I have truly committed?" Hannibal tersely asked Dr. Palanchuk. "I am aware you are not going to report the murder and I, too, am curious to see how your theories play out when put to the test. But it seems your version of morality is not satisfied. So, if you could explain, what reason do you have to chastise me?"
Dr. Palanchuk glanced towards Callum at the window, the buzz of flies a death's halo around the unkempt man. As though drawing strength from this crow that had flown into their midst, Dr. Palanchuk clenched his fists on the marble countertop and said, in a voice crackling with hurt: "It was rude."
"I beg your pardon?"
"You heard me, Dr. Lector. You ate my librarian and it was a *rude* thing to do." Dr. Palanchuk stared at the bubbling black coffee in its strange little round beaker with such longing Will took pity on him and poured him a cup.
Hannibal was gobsmacked.
"I had no idea he had any connection to you. The murder was not a slight directed at your person. Conversely, I found myself in that position when I met the man. You may not have taken the drastic measures I felt necessary, of course."
"I am not a cannibalistic serial killer, so no, I'm afraid not."
"Then we are at an impasse, Dr. Palanchuk. I do not know how to provide you with restitution."
This game had gone on long enough, and Hannibal had grown weary of it. He was about ready to forgo all plans of retaining their bodily twin insurance and simply murder them then and there, tossing their fetid corpses into the basement and quickly making a hash of them. They had definitely overstayed their welcome and the least that miserable, whining little communist reject could do would be to hand over his damned book and get out!
Hannibal grabbed it, the slim volume an uneven weight in his hand that was steadied by Dr. Palanchuk.
"This book would be an excellent recompense."
"Since you have such an unnatural attachment to it, I would be more than pleased that you continue to enjoy it." Hannibal released it, and Dr. Palanchuk eagerly tucked it under his arm.
"That is very kind," Dr. Palanchuk said, and all animosity was immediately quashed within his genuine smile. He raised the mug as though to toast the morning and took a sip of it, black without sugar. "Incredible. There really is no elixir better to bring a man back to himself."
Hannibal's anger had not abated so quickly, however, and the minutes seemed to drag into hours as inwardly he begged a deity he knew didn't exist to get these creatures out of his house. It was becoming increasingly difficult to keep his decorum, especially as he found himself flanked by both Will and Callum. On his left stood Will, clean and blissfully softened by the events of the morning, his intellect and body sending a flame into Hannibal's heart that he longed to feed. Conversely, to his right, stood Will's vile, disgusting double, a man so proud of his putrescence and apathy even the flies buzzing around his head had second thoughts of landing on him. Callum gave Hannibal a sick feeling in the pit of his stomach and this, coupled with the conflicting sensations that welled within him when he looked to his left, gave him a severe case of emotional vertigo.
Callum scratched the side of his head, one eye half open as he stared out into the brightness of the morning. "The car is here."
Such a miracle!
Callum grunted in tired disapproval. "It's another fucking Volvo."
"It's always a Volvo," Dr. Palanchuk replied and continued sipping at his coffee.
Will frowned. "Did you request one?"
Dr. Palanchuk looked up at him over the rim of his white mug. "No."
There was no sweeter vision than watching them leave, goodbye's politely exchanged with a pointed absence of invitation to come back again. The unbearable strain of nicety had worn Hannibal to the whites of his bones, and he collapsed onto the uncomfortable couch in his drawing room in exhaustion. "You're right," he said to Will. "I should have killed them."
"They couldn't go on your table," Will said. He sat carefully beside Hannibal, who dared to sink closer to him. "Dr. Palanchuk lived in the exclusion zone, his body is so full of radiation we're at risk of getting cancer just from him handling your silverware."
"And that vile bottom feeder he sleeps with...I wanted to choke the life out of him and yet the very thought of putting one hand on him was like petting a fermenting slug."
Will rubbed at the back of his neck with his palm, unfriendly kinks still wedged in his spine. Hannibal brushed his hand aside and gave him a proper massage, the muscles lining his vertebrae melting into his touch.
"They had sex in your guest bed, I'm sure of it."
Hannibal's stomach instantly lurched as he dry heaved at the thought. "I will burn the sheets."
He draped an arm around Will's shoulders, and pulled him in close, the nagging thought that this new, special intimacy was the direct result of his guests' influence. No, he couldn't entirely fault Dr. Palanchuk, much as he wanted to.
He kissed into Will's curls and his heart surged, on fire.
"He's a very dangerous man." Will's head shook slightly, his eyes blinking at some insight that had suddenly attacked him. He buried his face in Hannibal's neck, and he allowed the delicious comfort. "You are, as I define you, the devil himself. Whoever comes into your path is touched by your evil. Your destruction is primal and personal." Hannibal could feel the furrow of Will's brow against his skin. "Dr. Palanchuk's touch is full of decay. You felt it, I know you did. You do terrible things waiting for the proof of God, waiting for him to stop you. Palanchuk pulls God out of everything around him, one random thing after another and ties it to an end point." Will raised his head, his eyes wide and piercing deep into Hannibal's own. "You destroy people. Palanchuk destroys the world."
Hannibal chuckled at this. He slid an affectionate finger along Will's cheek. "A tad dramatic, don't you think?"
Will pressed his forehead against Hannibal's and closed his eyes. Hannibal closed his as well, a soft smile on his lips as drew Will into a tighter embrace.
"He has your fingerprint on the book," Will said.
Hannibal felt a slow shock creep over him, a feeling grossly mismatched with the warm pleasure of Will pressed tight to him. He sank his face into the man's dark curls, drowning in his worried, pensive scent, and tried, desperately, to not think of bombs and wastelands and the intricate, piecemeal unravelling of his universe that Dr. Vasyl Palanchuk had so thoughtlessly begun.
Callum Wilkes wriggled into his pants in the front seat. He'd been so eager to leave Dr. Lector and his house of horrors behind he hadn't even bothered to get dressed. Now he fussed within the confines of yet another stupid little Volvo, buttons and zippers not co-operating.
They passed the ruined husk of metal, which was being hoisted onto a flatbed truck, shards of glass and chunks of engine spilling onto the forest floor. There was no sign of the dead calf. Callum slid on his white shirt, still stained with the dried blood of its mother. He glanced towards the back seat, and thought about picking up the Concise History Of The Pleistocene Era, only to sink with a sigh back into his seat and ignore it.
"Do you think they've caught on we picked up some insurance?"
"Undoubtedly. Dr. Lector is a very intelligent man."
"He's going to try to kill us."
"Of course he will. And I do appreciate you using the word 'try', it makes me feel that my optimism is rubbing off on you." Vasyl reached over and squeezed Callum's shoulder, the man's cheerfulness getting on Callum's last, fractured nerves. "I believe Dr. Lector will forever try to destroy me. Don't give me that look, Callum, I assure you he will be frustrated in his efforts."
Callum pulled on his seatbelt and tried to relax. Which was difficult since they'd just spent an entire evening and morning pissing off a vicious serial killer. That sort of rumination had a habit of keeping a man on edge. "What makes you so sure?"
"He is a man dedicated to control. It is an unfortunate belief system, and only tragedy can be its outcome. He will inevitably be crushed by the weight of variables."
Callum closed his eyes and leaned back in his seat, his soul full of angsting worry. "Let's just hope he gets crushed before he can do us in. You're sure you saw a spot of the librarian's blood in that damned book?"
"I did."
"He'll hunt us down for it, he's that kind of devil."
"I hope he does. It will be an interesting further test of my fractal theory."
With his eyes closed, Callum tried to envision what it would be like to live a life like Dr. Hannibal Lector's. One so pristine and full of clean lines that ended in murder in a calculated, reasoned out fashion. Not for Dr. Lector the fractal shit slinging that was Callum's life at present, the tempestuous revolving door of destruction.
'You made your choice,' his inner voice said, and he cursed it.
Will Graham was no different. They were perfectly matched. Dr. Lector had carefully cocooned his partner in crime in the silken threads of his careful structure. He had conquered him and Will Graham was the prized object within that pristine, orderly elegance.
"What are you thinking about?" Vasyl asked, breaking the pensive silence that had erupted within the small car.
Callum didn't open his eyes. "I'm thinking of how much I hate pork."
The Volvo wound its way along the roads leading out of the forest, putting the distance of the universe behind it and before it. Beneath its wheels possibilities were ground into dust and discarded. The Volvo veered past the sharp tips of millions of trees, a colourful horizon that beckoned them towards its anarchy. It sped towards ruination and unexpected turns and the feeling of being lost. It took them on four speeding rubber wheels into the very maw of life's fury.
He was looking forward to going home.