Chapter 15: The countdown had begun.
Time took on an erratic rhythm over the next couple of days while the occupants of the Verger mansion waited to hear word from Italy. Mornings would collapse and condense into fleeting moments while the late afternoon would drag and resist, passing sluggishly to dinner until it was startlingly, definitively night. Then under the waxing moon, Alana would cling to her time with Margot though it seeped away too quickly with no friction to slow down the velvety, fluid pleasure that flowed in the dark hours.
During the day, Mason kept his sister exceedingly busy, which she took with no complaint though it put Alana on edge. He sent her to the city to run errands, sometimes to the bank to transfer funds or to place a Verger artifact into a security deposit box, another time to meet with some official from the justice department that he had in his pocket, or often it was something as banal as picking up his dry cleaning. Margot would no sooner enter a room then Mason would send her back out with another task, her long, graceful strides carrying her off once again. While Margot endlessly went to and fro, Alana sat stiffly on leather armchairs or chaise lounges in the company of Mason Verger in the extended afternoons forced to listen to him ramble on about his various philosophies on revenge and torture. Other times they sat in stagnant silence with Mason's chair situated in front of a tall window so he could brood into the snowy expanse of the estate's grounds, Cordell loomed attentively along the wall waiting for a barking order from his boss, and Alana just sat, pointedly bored and withdrawn.
It was one such afternoon and the light grew thin, signifying their vigil would hopefully be coming to an end soon. Alana was plucking at a golden thread that had come loose in the embroidery of her selected chair when Margot stepped into the room. For a moment no one reacted to her presence and she merely stood by the door waiting to be recognized. Finally Mason snapped roughly, "Well?"
"La polizia have served their warrants at the residence of the Fells. Roman Fell isn't there and Lydia Fell, or the woman pretending to be her, is not cooperating." Margot reported.
"Not cooperating?" His annoyance was apparent.
"She won't answer any questions about Hannibal's whereabouts and insists she is Lydia Fell. Also she seems to be stoned."
Mason swiveled his chair around to face Alana, peevishly asking her, "Who is this woman again?"
"Dr. Bedelia Du Maurier, she went missing the same time Hannibal fled and its presumed they are traveling together. She was Hannibal's psychiatrist."
"A unique position to have access to Hannibal's private thoughts." He sounded intrigued. "What do you know about her?"
"I know they have a twisted history. There was an incident with one of Dr. Du Maurier's patients; he died under her care. The story is that he attacked her during a therapy session and in the process choked on his own tongue. Dr. Lecter was there to smooth it all over and no charges were brought on her, no malpractice suits." Alana recounted her findings in the background research she had done on the woman in question and the warped relationship she had with Hannibal. Though she was his psychiatrist, Alana sincerely doubted the Bedelia Du Maurier had been the one in control, analyzing and guiding his thoughts. He probably revealed very little of his true self to her. Until it was too late Alana thought bitterly as she continued.
"With the benefit of hindsight, I'd say something more sinister happened, obviously with Hannibal orchestrating the events. I don't see her as entirely innocent in all of this. Perhaps not overtly involved but complacent."
"Riveting synopsis but how do we get her to talk?"
"The way you get anything from anyone; give her what she wants. Let her spin the narrative and offer her a way out. She'll sing for you."
"Go. Call them back." Mason ordered but Margot didn't move.
"There is one more thing."
"Christ Margot, out with it." Her brother growled.
As usual, she barely blinked at his foul behavior and went on in her droll pace, "The inspector reports that two men were seen leaving the apartments. From their descriptions it sounds like Agent Crawford and Will Graham are closing in as well."
"God damn it!" Mason fumed. Alana could see the violence trapped in his immobile body as his neck strained and face turned splotchy red. "Did you know about this?"
He asked Alana accusingly with a blood-shot glare. She returned his hot anger with unimpressed coolness. "Yes. But you knew that we were not the only ones after Hannibal. We've always been in this race with Will Graham."
She bit her tongue to not remind him that he was the one that wasted time with the whole Pazzi fiasco, figuring he would not take criticism well at this point. Mason took a ragged breath and asked, "What does Will Graham want with Dr. Lecter?"
"To kill him I would guess." She shrugged.
"Margot get on the phone with the Italians now and tell them they must secure me Lecter by any means necessary." He delivered the line with impassioned distain like B-grade villain he was. Margot dipped her head in acknowledgment and moved to make her exit.
"Wait." Mason called out and the woman paused with her hand on the doorknob. She looked at her brother expectantly as he continued slowly, "I think Mr. Graham has earned himself a place at my table. He cajoled and colluded with Hannibal to put me in this chair. They took my face!"
Mr. Verger breathed heavily now with spittle and phlegm spraying from his lips from his rage. Margot waited with stoic patience and Alana idly checked her manicure, her nails still perfectly painted a deep red. Doemling stepped forward, producing a handkerchief from his pocket, and calmly wiped the man's face until he jerked away from the attention. The nurse faded back to his spot along the wall and Mason spoke with more composure, "Tell them I'll pay double if they bring me the doctor and his squirrely little friend."
"And Agent Crawford?" Margot asked.
"Hmm, while I would love to see him pay in my vendetta it wouldn't really do to have an FBI director dead on my doorstep. Whatever befalls Mr. Crawford will have to happen in Italy, understood?"
"Yes Mason." She said dutifully and backed out of the room with her instructions.
Alana felt her heart pull in her chest to follow her out but she remained statuesquely still. She sighed as Mason broke out into a gleeful grin. "Seems like we could get two psychopaths for the price of one."
"You're paying twice the original amount to get Will. I'd say you're paying full price." Alana said tiredly.
"Why so sour?" Mason pouted at her.
She shot back with a question, "Are you sure you know what you're doing Mason?"
"Concerned about your dear Will Graham?" Mason's voice was tinged with pleasure at the possibility of her distress; his eyes gleamed maliciously. "Worried about him falling into my diabolical clutches?"
"I'm worried you're inviting trouble. They've bested you before and they could do it again. It's an unnecessary risk." Alana stayed above his taunts, only offering her sensible concerns.
He scowled at her and snapped dangerously. "I'll decide what risks are necessary."
"Of course Mr. Verger." She conceded to him.
"Cordell take me to my rooms." He huffed. "Dr. 'loom is ruining my good mood. Besides we need to discuss our plans for Mr. Graham."
"Shall I grab the recipe book sir?" His nurse asked primly.
"No, I've got something else in mind." Mason crooned conspiratorially. Turning her face away from the men as they departed, her lip involuntarily curling in disgust at their banter. Another player added to the game, the white bishop moved to the center of the chessboard; Alana set her jaw as she thought.
She didn't want to be involved in the killing of Will or Jack for that matter. The history between them was dark and complicated but not without affection. Thinking back now though she still struggled to connect with the old feelings. The only thing left was a sense of respect for the men and killing them betrayed that respect. Her moral structure while decidedly distorted had a practicality to it; being complicit in her old friends' murders did not adhere to the structure, which was honestly inconvenient for the brunette at this point.
"I don't have to tell the Italians about Will or Crawford." Margot's voice scared her and she whipped around to see the woman stepping out from behind a hidden panel in the wall.
Alana exhaled heavily. "You should wear a bell. Has anyone ever told you that?"
The heiress smirked, walking around to stand in front of her. "What do you want me to tell the Italians? I can say they are to be left alone."
The doctor considered her question. It would be simple to have Margot exclude some of the instructions from her brother, allowing Will and Jack the chance to slip away in the fray or even complete their mission in taking down Hannibal Lecter and it could be over and done with. But as Mason had moments earlier, Alana revaluated her stance, scenarios filtered through her mind quickly. If Hannibal died in Italy then their plans for Mason's incarceration would stall, potentially forever. If the Italians did manage to get Hannibal to the states, then Will and especially Jack could be liabilities in revealing hers and Margot's involvement. And if Mason somehow discovered his sister violated his demands, then the outcome could be deadly for her. In chess one does not sacrifice their queen for a bishop; in the center of her mind she flicked her fingers against the onion-domed tower of the bishop piece and it toppled over with grave inevitability.
"They're big boys." Alana said cavalierly as she stood and moved to stand in front of the other woman. "They can take care of themselves."
"From past events that doesn't seem to be the case." The heiress arched her brow.
She wrapped her arms around Margot's waist. "These are precarious time. We can't afford to make any mistakes. It's best to give your brother what he wants for now, the more distracted he is the better."
As she spoke Alana pressed kisses along her jawbone until lips finally met lips. Margot moaned when the brunette nipped at her lower lip and pulled away before their kiss got too heated. "Go make your calls. You'll need to talk to Interpol as well to adjust the manifest if there is going to be additional cargo."
Alana sauntered around Margot, her cane tapping against the floor as she made her way to stage her own exit. She could feel the other woman's eyes following her, "And what will you be doing?"
"I'm going to a place where Mason can't find me. I've had enough of his inane company for the day."
"And where is that?"
"You have a knack for finding me." The corner of Alana's mouth drew up with enigmatic delight. "So find me."
"And what's my prize for finding you?" Margot crossed her arms with feigned impatience.
"You'll see." Alana gave her a rakish grin before leaving. The Verger didn't follow, apparently opting to go back through the secret passage she came from to conduct her business. After wandering the halls for while to stretch her legs and hips, Alana settled into the bedroom she and Margot had stayed in the passed few nights; she figured there was no need to make it difficult for her to be found. And it wasn't long before Margot joined her to collect her reward.
Delicate, electric chimes plucked at Alana's unconsciousness. She curled tighter around Margot's back to try and hold onto her warm slumber but the other woman was shifting away.
"Pronto." She answered her phone, her voice still husky with sleep but intent on hearing news from the caller. "Dimmi tutto."
Alana blinked her eyes open to see Margot getting out of bed, covering her slender, scarred figure with a robe that had been tossed over a chair and stepping into the other room to take the call. Light crept into the bedroom signifying the morning was pressing forward. She turned onto her back and stared at the shadows on the ceiling. The vision of Hannibal's face had returned in darks shapes created by the branches outside or maybe Alana looked for it; in her mind creating the flat line of his lips, the angle of his cheekbone, and the hollowness in his eyes. His image didn't frighten her now as she calmly gazed up at it. She would be ready for him this time.
When Margot finished on the phone, Alana had already stretched and stood waiting by the window. She announced as she reentered the room, coming to stand at Alana's side. "They've done it. They're on their way."
Her words were plain and simple and yet invoked a greater meaning. Alana let them soak in; feeling the relief in knowing Hannibal had been ensnared, and a little, surprising thrill that she'd captured her quarry. But there was little time to celebrate as it also meant they would have to take on the next challenge. "Mason has what he wants then. I think it's time you get what you want."
"He has Hannibal. He has Will, too." Margot confirmed her suspicions. Alana studied her for a moment. She looked worried; the stark light from the winter outside finding the dips and furrows her face.
"Your brother is a sadist. He'll torture them and take the time to enjoy it. That gives us time." Alana gave her a small, assuring smile and Margot tentatively returned it before kissing her temple and retreating from the window, her attempt to placate Margot falling short. And even as they dressed for the day, buttoning up silk blouses and smearing on lipstick with precision, the doctor could not shake the feeling that she was wrong in some way. They were running out of time.
In the days before everything came crashing down, Alana felt a frenetic ticking in the backdrop of everything. In her stilted conversations with Will or Jack, when she declined a phone call from Hannibal, as she lectured to a class, the ticking in her mind went maddeningly faster, each second stumbling over the next, seeming to be keeping time for an imminent disaster.
She felt that maniac ticking now as she set out into the day. A countdown had begun. Alana just couldn't know what horrifying events it would count down to.