NOTE: A little peek into the mind of Simone Nascosto.
CRACK!
"Do you not wish to be loved?"
CRACK!
"Worshipped by all who would look upon you?"
CRACK!
"Riverito and envied for the beauty you bring to the world?"
CRACK!
The girl walked from behind the boy to stand in front of and above his body, his breath ragged and shallow, his naked chest draped over and pressed into the canvas beneath him. Blood trickled from his back, tears fought their way through eyes tight shut against the pain, both mingling with the sweat coating his exhausted, broken body.
The girl gripped his chin and raised his head to look him in the eyes, which remained firmly shut.
"Simone."
She exhaled an impatient breath.
"Simone. On your back. Per favore." The boy complied, unquestioning the demand. He knew better than to deny his sister anything.
His heart beat quickly in his chest, pulsing through his veins, pushing his life-force through the wounds that lined long and narrow across his once beautiful back, the blood seeping into and becoming one with the canvas beneath.
Minutes passed as his breathing returned to normal.
"Stand." He rose, unsteadily, to his feet.
"Aprire il tuo occhio. Now. See."
Ignoring the scorching pain rippling across his back, Simone forced his eyes open. He saw.
"For art to be truly beautiful, it must reflect life itself. You must be willing to sacrifice a piece of yourself to your work every time," she said, authority and poise lacing her tone. "You must die a little so that God knows you are completely devoted to your creation."
She watched him as she spoke. "Do you understand, little brother?"
He nodded.
"Bravo ragazzo."
"You taught me well, sorella. I owe you so much. I feel this is but small recompense for all you have given me."
"Simone… Stop… Pleasssseeee…"
"Immortalisation by your own creation is truly the most beautiful thing in the world, is it not? Do you think God would be pleased with how far I have come under your guidance and tutelage?"
"Simonnneee…Fratellooo…."
He reached for one of the larger brushes, running his fingers through its hair, hair that had once graced his sister's head.
He smiled benignly at her, sitting dazed and barely moving on the soft leather chair next to him. A dozen pots of red liquid lined the table between them, from each one a thin plastic tube led back to a needle protruding from her body.
"I only wish to make you proud," he said. "And make you beautiful in your own immortality."
He leaned over and placed a soft kiss on her head before gently drawing the brush across the canvas before him.
"I make you now as you made me. We will always be together, mio caro…."
Hannibal took in the scene before him.
A bare canvas, the same dimensions as those he had not long since admired in Judith's gallery, stood in the corner patiently awaiting its artist's attention.
Amy was unconscious yet serene of expression, in a comfortable-looking leather chair, undoubtedly drugged to keep her incapacitated. A number of anticoagulant tubes sat on the floor on either side of her, each one at varying degrees of fullness. The blood flow from the needles, arranged in perfect symmetry from various points of her body and along her Chakra points, appeared to have been stopped while Nascosto was not there to supervise.
Hannibal surmised the man would not be away for long and was no doubt keen to make good on bringing his final piece to life. Hannibal also correctly surmised that the artist had no immediate intention of killing the girl or draining her dry. He would require a fresh and constant supply of blood for the time it would take to complete the piece.
In this respect, Hannibal was at least grateful, he had time to decide what to do next. As he committed the scene to memory, his mind turned to Will. Undoubtedly, he would soon discover her missing. But, not just yet. The hour was early and Hannibal had time. A gift precious and not to be squandered.
Thrilling. Hannibal smiled. The thought of a righteous act of violence with his empath coursed hot through his body and brought goosebumps to his skin. He turned from the room and paused. The music had since stopped. He sought out the source and using his knuckle, hit the play button to resume the sounds of the raspy voice of Janis Joplin.
He cast one final glance at Amy. "Let's see how strong you are, Miss Raddison," he whispered, before turning on his heel and leaving her in the hands of fate.