Chapter 19: Ready to come out of the shadows...

As soon as Alana fulfilled her part in cutting Hannibal's bonds, she fell back to Margot's side and if she hadn't the heiress would have instinctively pulled her there. While the two doctors had settled on a thin truce, she could not help but feel wary of unleashing the man, like opening up a tiger's cage and expecting him not to eat you. Margot felt skittish like a horse frightened of a thunderstorm. By contrast, Alana seemed unnervingly collected as before, wrapping an arm solidly around Margot's waist as if she sensed that she might bolt. Alana murmured into her ear, "It'll be alright… We are in this together, remember?"

The sentiment, the phrase that pushed them forward through each next hardship, their rallying cry, did little to douse the agitated fire flowing in her veins, though it eased some of her tension. Her corners of her mouth twitched up dimly, trying to convey that she'd been somewhat placated, though the gesture was empty. If Alana was unconvinced, she didn't say more, just pressed her lips to Margot's cheek. Her heart fluttered at the simple affection.

Margot had purposely not taken any of her sedatives and abstained from alcohol since the prior evening leaving her vibrating with unusual energy. Partly from a minor withdraw, but mostly from the feelings that rushed through her, foreign and familiar and intoxicating in their own right. Her emotions were generally far off; something to pick up and examined like an artifact from someone else's life. And now the pain, rage, sadness she'd endeavored to distance herself from were suddenly hers once more, there and vibrant. But amidst the turmoil, there was exhilaration. The sweet thrill of victory in that freeing Hannibal from his chains, it freed Alana from hers, the crush of impending death lifted from her shoulders. So when she held the doctor a little stronger, it wasn't from fear that Alana may be taken from her. Instead it was from the love she had for the other woman, felt more keenly and vitally in her chest than she ever remembered.

She honed in on that feeling, grasping it tightly, as she tried a more genuine smile for her partner, "Until death do us part?"

"Yes." Her answer was firm and settling, like a lock slotting into place.

"You two do make a beautiful pair." Hannibal announced, drawing their attention. He'd made quick work of slashing through the ropes that held him down and now stood in the pig stall, rolling his neck and stretching his stiffened muscles. Despite herself, his nude form startled Margot. When Hannibal had been her psychiatrist, his dapper suits and contrived waistcoats leant him the appearance of a dignified gentleman, camouflaging his bulky frame into something softer, nonthreatening. With the refinery striped away, the predator was revealed, large muscles rippling until his skin with the promise of lethal strength. Hannibal looked absolutely feral, like catching the sight of a hulking beast lurking on the edge of a forest and you prayed that it would turn back from where it came. He stepped out though, moving gracefully and unworried of his own exposed state, "If you'll excuse me ladies."

He walked passed them to some shelves along the wall were amongst the some farm equipment his clothing had been neatly folded. As he began to dress he asked, "Aren't you concerned for Will's well being? He may be spared from Mason but he'll fall right into my clutches."

"One morning we talked about burying a friend, about burying Will Graham." Alana said indifferently. "He's still buried to me. You can do with him what you wish. Do you plan on killing him?"

"I haven't quite decided yet."

She continued, "Do you plan on killing Mason?"

"No, I'll leave that honor to Margot. Though you can still rely on me to take the blame." He turned to face them while he buttoned up his shirt. "I'd advise waiting until your heir is secure."

"We'll be prepared." Alana's hand slid into hers, interlocking their fingers together and squeezing gently, "For anything."

Margot swallowed hard, forcing her next words out, not wanting to have to say them. "We should- we still need to get a donation from my brother."

"Perhaps I could help you with that." Hannibal said thoughtfully, instantly knowing what kind of donation they would need. He looked back to the shelves, scanning the various items. They were stocked with bags of grain, odd lengths of rope, canisters of something or another, farm tools, and a cattle prod that Hannibal selected from the items. "Do you know what happens when electrocute a bull's prostate? It forces ejaculation; they use it for breeding. In some circles men have appropriated a similar process for sexual purposes though in this instance we'd being utilizing it in the traditional procreation sense."

He showed them the black rod, activating the button on the handle so that electric blue crackled between the prongs at the top. When the volts stopped, he smirked. "Consider it a wedding present."

Margot opens her mouth only to close it uncertainly once again. She'd had the ridiculous impulse to thank the man, as if he'd bestowed her with some magnanimous gift like King Solomon returning the babe to the rightful mother. But Hannibal wasn't a biblical king or a generous benefactor; in fact he'd taken far more from her than he'd given back. She was left not knowing what to say or maybe there was nothing to say. Margot pressed on, "We should get back up to the house. Time is of the essence."

"Right you are." Hannibal straightened his jacket. He was fully dressed now in the bespoke suit Mason had made for him. He looked more like the man Margot remembered but with a vaguely undone quality. "Do you know where Mason would have taken Will?"

"Cordell has been setting up his surgical theater in the ballroom. I can direct you there." Margot replied, her temper sparking up once more at the prospect of getting back to the mansion.

"And what shall we do about our Italian friend here?" Hannibal circled the unconscious form still lying in the pile of straw he'd fallen into. Alana shrugged and Margot wanted him to get on with whatever thought whirled maliciously in his head. He went on a little too congenially, "It wouldn't do to have him running around telling any tales."

Then he leaned down and in a swift, easy movement, Hannibal snapped the man's neck. The crunching sound pervaded the barn and Margot's stomach lurched. She felt Alana shiver against her at the noise but her face remained passive. The doctor took a conscious step toward him, squaring up with Hannibal, staring at him with her bright, inquisitive gaze as if fascinated by him. "Could I have ever understood you?"

The met her eyes, taking a beat before answering. "Before that night, no. But now, you may have a chance."

His words hung between them, seeming to solidify their alliance. Alana finally turned from him.

"Let's go." She stated and started to walk back down the aisle of the barn with Hannibal and Margot following silently. Hannibal pushed open the door, letting the cold air whip around them. The three of them stood on the edge of the evening, peering out the clear, navy landscape with the Verger manor warmly lit in the distance. Margot allowed herself to revel in the thought that they had nothing to fear; they were the things that go bump in the night, death on the wings of the raven, and they were ready to come out of the shadows.

Back at the house, Hannibal parted from them, heading left out of the kitchen with directions to the ballroom and armed with Alana's revolver and the cattle prod should he inevitably run into any guards. Margot and Alana went to the right, to the grand staircase of the front hall. The heiress had an idea of where Mason would be keeping the surrogate. Her brother had been doing renovations to the east wing of the house. He'd said it was to install hospital equipment and other therapeutic devices to help with his decrepit body's flailing health and she had not thought much of it at the time. Mason's medical needs had become vast and all-encompassing so it had been reasonable for him to have an en suite hospital. Her surrogate had to be there somewhere.

As the women reached the top of the stairs, the distinct popping sound of a gun going off startled her, indicating Hannibal had begun his carnage. It gave her pause though not for long. Margot couldn't care about Hannibal as she moved steadily faster and faster, setting a frantic pace and opening up any door she saw along the way. Each room was as empty and lavish as the next though. Alana struggled to keep up with her but Margot couldn't slow down. Her thoughts and heart raced away from her and she moved as if trying to catch them, traveling deeper into the maddening labyrinth of her home.

Until finally she opened an inconspicuous door at the end of a hall and staggered back at the display lain out before her. At first, the bizarre scene didn't make any sense, so much so her brain could barely commute it. She recognized all the things but couldn't congruently put them together. Then Alana lightly ran into her shoulder, surprised that she halted so abruptly, a soft gasp escaping from her lips at what she saw and it all clicked into place.

Like stumbling into a nightmare, a large sow lay on a short table hooked up to medical machines. Red lights cast ominously over the pig, crimson curtains draped dramatically around it, and above was a mobile, like one you'd hang over an infants crib, each of the branches dangling with a little plastic piglet. The air in the room was dead and alarmingly still, no huffing of a breathing animal, no reassuring beep of the heart monitor, and the image on the screen of an ultrasound was eerily motionless. Alana floated passed Margot who remained frozen in place like the rest of the scene. She looked helplessly at the horror Mason had painted for them, everything so red like it had been drenched in blood.

This was her surrogate.

She imagined her brother would have wanted to present to watch her make the discovery, his teeth bared with glee at the realization and pain ripping through her. She could hear him talking in her ear, spitting out his words with excitement for her to see the travesty he'd carefully crafted. Here is your legacy, Margot. Pigs and death, it was always only ever going to be pigs and death.

"Is he alive?" She asked, her voice barely there.

Alana carefully looked over the monitors, but Margot knew the truth before the doctor answered delicately. "There is no fetal heartbeat."

"Take it out." Margot said hollowly and when Alana gave her an uncertain glance she stepped forward, demanding roughly. "Take it out."

She knew the request was a terrible burden to bear but she couldn't leave the baby in this dark, horrendous place. And then without her needing to explain, Dr. Bloom nodded in understanding. She began to move about the room with quiet professionalism, like she'd become some stranger only there to do a job. Sorting through the various medical paraphernalia, Alana found long, blue latex gloves, a scalpel, a blanket and set herself to work. Margot's mind went blank watching her, feeling as though she observed everything from far away. The doctor took her time pressing along the animal's abdomen to find where to start her cut. She heard Alana murmur something about the pig being cold, like it'd been in cold storage making it difficult to tell when it had died. Then first slash of the scalpel produced a river of inky blue blood that faded quickly since the heart had quit pumping. Slowly she began to peel through the layers on the beast's innards that glistened indistinctly to Margot but Alana seemed to know where to make her next precise cut.

"Can you get the blanket ready?" Alana asked her hands slipping into the sow, disappearing up to her elbows. Margot didn't remember coming to stand that close to the operation but she was suddenly there by Alana's side with the baby blue blanket waiting in her hands. The doctor pulled out an organ, the uterus, laying it on the table and continuing her incisions. Alana made a few economical movements with her blade, gently pulled away a milky-colored membrane, and then the lost infant came into the world. She placed the baby in Margot's surprisingly steady hands.

The Verger could only stare in wonder at his little form, a chasm of sadness caving in her chest. His skin had an underlying purplish hue, deprived of oxygen, deprived of life. And he was too small, features not defined enough but Margot looked, thinking she saw the curve of her cheek and maybe Will Graham's worried furrow brow on his expressionless face. Or she could be imagining it all.

Alana stayed silent, having removed her gloves, she tried to lead Margot away from the graphic aftermath of the surgery. The women did not make it far though before the heiress swayed, her knees buckling and Alana led them to kneel on the floor. With a ragged breath Margot finally spoke, "His name would have been Mathias… He- he was going to be my gift."

Margot felt an arm curl more tightly around her. When Alana responded her voice was a little deeper, heavy with remorse and her own sorrow that Margot couldn't recognize at the moment, "He is beautiful Margot. I'm so sorry he was taken from you, from us."

A whimper escaped her lips, then a cry, and then she was burrowing her face into Alana's neck and sobbing harshly, angrily, with a raw devastation she'd tried to bury long ago. She gasped as she felt everything, so painful and yet so glorious. Alana pulled Margot to her as close as they could in their awkward position on the ground, fisting one of her hand in Margot's hair and holding her quaking shoulder with the other, like anchor points stopping her from drifting away. All tangible thought vanished as the women succumbed to the carnal grief over their dead son lying across their laps.