Chapter 17
Mercy Hospital
Neurology Department
24 October, Tuesday
— 11:00 AM
When the alarm signaling that visiting hours had finally begun caused her phone to vibrate in her hand, Alana immediately bustled up to the receptionist and offered her an apologetic smile. "Uh, hey again…"
The receptionist sighed and looked lazily up at her. "Yes, Ms. Bloom?"
"Well, it's eleven…" She gestured up at the clock. "Can I see him now?"
Sighing heavily again, as though being asked to do her job was the highest of inconveniences, she rolled her chair back and pushed herself up. "Let me check if he's awake."
Alana glared after her but waited in impatient silence.
The receptionist returned several minutes later and sat back down, but said nothing.
"Um—"
"Just gimme a minute," she snapped, grabbing a sheet of name tags and rummaging around for a pen. She clicked the pen a few times, each click causing Alana's eye to twitch involuntarily. "Okay… What was your name again?"
"Alana Bloom," she answered through gritted teeth.
After taking her sweet time writing out Alana's full name, she slowly peeled off the sticker and finally handed it over. "There. 617, on the left," she announced brusquely, smacking her palm against the button to unlock the door without so much as a warning.
Alana slapped the sticker onto her lapel as she scrambled for the door, catching it just in time and tossing a nasty look over her shoulder as she wrenched it shut behind her.
"Bitch," she muttered, making a mental note to catch the woman's name before she left.
When she finally located room 617, the door was wide open and she entered to find Will seated in a chair by the window, eating a cup of fluorescent orange gelatin.
"Hey," she called, smiling as he first glanced casually over his shoulder; he then did a rapid double take and turned fully.
Will's mouth twitched into the approximation of a smile and he made to stand, but she quickly pulled up another chair and sat opposite him. He froze for a moment, hovering just above his seat, then dropped back down and poked at his gelatin with the plastic spoon before continuing to eat.
"…How are you feeling?"
"Um…" He took a moment to swallow a mouthful and shrugged. "Tired. When they give you drugs to help you sleep, they mostly help you have some fucked up dreams."
"Oh, yeah?"
He nodded slowly, finishing his snack and setting the cup on the window sill. "Dreamed I was a fish slowly being cooked on a frying pan, for a while."
"Huh. What kind of fish?"
"I think I was a… koi."
Alana's brow raised and she leaned back in her seat. "In Chinese symbolism the koi fish represents fertility."
"Does that mean I'm pregnant?"
"Possibly."
"Damn."
She laughed softly and watched as Will smiled more genuinely this time, if only for a moment. "But really," she said seriously, "are you okay?"
Will sniffed lightly. "Yeah, I'll be alright. I had a CAT scan, or whatever, earlier this morning. Just waiting on the results."
"Did they give you any idea of when…?"
He shook his head. "Nah. The technician just brought me back and told me the neurologist would be in to discuss my results 'shortly.' Suppose that means I'll know in five to seven business days, if I'm lucky."
She snorted and he gave her a serious look, which caused her to frown. "They don't really plan to keep you here too long, do they?"
"If it's what they think it is, apparently it may take weeks, or months, for me to fully recover."
"Jesus," she muttered, chewing on the corner of her lip as she gazed, unseeing, out the window.
"Alana…" Will began, sounding hesitant.
She turned back to face him, but he, too, was staring fixedly out the window.
"Yes?" She prompted, studying him concernedly.
"H-How are you doing?"
"I'm alright, now that I've seen you conscious again," she replied honestly.
Will winced and scrubbed at his face, leaning forward to rest his elbows on his knees. "I'm sorry you had to see that," he mumbled, barely above a whisper. "It, um… must have been scary."
"It was. I thought-…" She paused to swallow the lump in her throat, desperately willing herself not to blubber. "I thought you weren't gonna make it."
"I'm sorry," he whispered again.
Alana shook her head. "You don't need to apologize for this."
They sat in silence for a few moments, with Will slowly rubbing his hands together. He appeared to be deep in his thoughts and she wished he would just say something.
"Alana, I-…" he began, cutting himself off and studiously avoiding eye contact.
She opened her mouth to urge him to speak, but it wasn't necessary.
"I know that I'm not well," he said firmly, as if trying to remind himself of the fact. "I'm missing hours of time… I've been seeing things a-and I know I'm not the most reliable person right now, but I-… I need you to understand something."
Alana stayed silent, waiting patiently. Finally, and apparently with great effort, he brought his gaze upward and stared pleadingly into her eyes. "There is something not right about Hannibal Lecter."
She couldn't help it. Her eyes closed at once, to hide her knee-jerk reaction to roll them, and she let out a groan. "Oh god, Will, don't—"
"No. Please, just listen to me. I know I saw things and I think they weren't real—"
"You think—"
"I mean, I know!" He corrected in a frustrated snarl. "I know they weren't real, but-… but that doesn't change the fact that it's my job to see what isn't there, even when my brain isn't melting, and there is something going on with him!" He paused for a fraction, then added, "And your—"
"If you say—"
"—your sister!"
"Oh hell," she groaned again, standing up and pacing a couple feet away. She paused at the other side of his hospital bed and turned, arms crossed. "This is ridiculous."
"There's a thread, Alana. Something… There's a link. I can see it, damn it!"
"You're talking nonsense."
"I am not!" He shouted, jumping up from his seat and causing her to flinch involuntarily. He noticed this and held his hands up apologetically, lowering his voice. "I promise, Alana, it's not nonsense. I think he-he's… grooming her? Is that the word—"
"Stop it," she cut him off tersely. "I know Hannibal. I've known him for years. Longer than you have and longer than I've known you. He would never risk his reputation like this. He's—"
"He's human, Alana. Why have you put him on this damn pedestal?"
"I haven't!"
Will exhaled heavily through his nose and gave her a sardonic scowl. "Oh, come on. I swear, you and Jack treat him like… Like some sort of god, or something. He's a perfectly fallible human being, but you can't bear to admit that he may have fucked up."
"Of course he may have. Nobody's perfect, Will!"
"Right. And I'm telling you, that man is using—"
"Hannibal would never do that to me!"
She realized the moment the words escaped her lips, just how suggestive they sounded. Sighing exasperatedly, she shook her head and snapped before he could comment, "I don't mean it like that."
"Then how did you mean it," he asked through clenched teeth.
"I mean he would never be so tactless as to use my sister like that. I begged him to help her— for fuck's sake, he didn't want to! But he did because he's a good person. And he's done so much for her. She's… We're finally…"
Tears stung her nose and she closed her eyes tight to fight them off. "Things are finally getting better," she said sternly. "I can't let whatever is going on with you sow seeds of doubt in me. She's come so far, I-… I can't be anything but grateful to him."
Will just stared at her in silence for a long moment, breathing as though he'd just run a mile. "You're never going to believe me," he eventually muttered, shock colouring his tone, "are you?"
Alana refused to answer, but rather lifted her chin a fraction and stared him down. He scoffed and shook his head sadly.
"I need to sleep," he announced quietly, moving to the hospital bed and using the remote to lower the top half to a more comfortable sleeping position. "You can stay, or go… Do whatever the hell you want."
Alana watched him punch his pillows a few times before crawling under the covers and laying down with his back to her. She huffed in frustration and turned instinctively to leave… but stopped mid-step and whipped right back around, marching over to the chair and planting herself in it again.
He squinted at her for a second, then made the concerted effort to shuffle himself around and flop over, so he could turn away from her again.
"You're acting like such a child," she muttered scathingly.
"And you're willfully ignorant," she heard him fire back. "Which is worse?"
Paradise Café
1210 Olive St., Baltimore, MD
— 12:13 PM
The morning rush had finally ebbed as lunchtime arrived and Delilah took the few minutes of respite to make herself a latte. She could feel Maggie watching her as she pulled her third double from the espresso machine, but dutifully ignored her and poured the scalding liquid into the waiting mug.
"Six shots, honey?"
"I had a long night," she mumbled, immediately shooting her a warning look. "Definitely not a fun one, either, so don't start."
Maggie held up her hands and waved them a little. "Hey, don't shoot," she teased, "I wasn't gonna say anything dirty." She then sighed heavily and leaned back against the counter, watching as Delilah poured milk into a steam pitcher. "Hell I can't blame ya needing a pick-me-up. it's been a long day already, as is," she added, covering a small yawn with the back of her hand.
"Want me to make you one, too?" Delilah offered, raising her voice a little to easily be heard over the gentle screaming of the milk steamer.
"That much caffeine would have me bouncing off the walls. And I can't bounce with this hip, y'know. So, no, but thank you."
Delilah frowned and sat the pitcher down, abruptly grabbing her arm. "C'mon," she insisted, dragging Maggie over to the stool by the register and urging her to sit.
"No, I'm fine!" She griped as she tried to stand, but Delilah gently nudged her back down.
"There's a lull, you sit. You promised." She gave her a stern glare, then marched back over to the machines and gave the pitcher a few good whacks on the counter before finishing constructing her latte.
"I swear you grow more and more insufferable every day," Maggie said with a huff, though she was positively beaming when Delilah glanced over at her. "I'm proud of you, sugar."
Delilah took a sip of her coffee and smiled genially. "Not sure where this is coming from, but thank you… How about some tea, instead," she added vaguely, turning to peruse the glass jars of loose leaf. "English breakfast with whole milk and… no sugar, right?"
"That's right," she replied, her smile still evident in her tone.
She could feel Maggie staring, yet again, as she set about preparing the electric kettle, but she didn't have to wait long for her to speak.
"I don't quite know what it is or what's caused it," she mused, "but you've changed heaps since you first started working for me. You're such a confident and outspoken young woman, now."
Delilah glanced from the kettle and they shared a smile before Maggie continued. "You know, Britney told me about how you told her off. I think that's why she quit… Probably shouldn't have laughed in her face, now I think about it," she added with an amused snort.
"Wait, she quit?"
Maggie nodded. "Sure did. Couple days ago."
"Damn, I'm sorry." She frowned at the tea leaves as she scooped some into a little strainer, setting it into the mug and slowly pouring hot water over it.
"Ah, it'll be fine," Maggie replied flippantly. "I've got you, don't I?"
"Of course," she said, crouching down to locate the milk. "But I do think maybe we should look into hiring a couple more people, hm?"
"Eh, I suppose."
The bell above the front door jangled, signaling a new customer, and she popped up to find a strangely familiar, middle-aged blonde woman walking up to the counter. Finishing the tea with a generous splash of milk and giving it a quick stir, she moved to set the cup beside Maggie and hovered there, watching the woman curiously.
"I'll just have an americano, please," she said, rummaging in her purse and producing a sleek, leather wallet.
"Will that be for here, or to-go?" Maggie asked as she swiped the woman's card.
"Here, please," she replied, staring at Delilah in an oddly meaningful sort of way, as she took her card back. She pulled her gaze away just long enough to messily jot down her signature, then pushed the receipt back across the counter and looked Delilah dead in the eye once more.
"Alright, we'll have that out for you shortly," Maggie said with a smile, apparently oblivious. "Have a seat wherever you'd like."
"Thank you."
The woman stayed a moment longer and Delilah's lips parted, ready to ask what her problem was… but she promptly walked off without giving her the chance, her heels clicking dully as she headed straight for a table at the far end of the café, away from the majority of other patrons.
If Delilah wasn't mistaken, she was fairly certain that this was the same strange woman she'd run into on the sidewalk, just last night.
Maggie started to get up from her stool, presumably to make the coffee, but Delilah laid a hand on her shoulder and gently nudged her back down yet again. "I'll take care of it," she muttered distractedly. "You just enjoy your tea."
After filling a fresh mug halfway with water from the already piping hot kettle, she carefully packed down another double shot and twisted it in, setting the mug beneath it to allow the espresso to pour directly over the water. When she'd achieved an even ratio of water to coffee, she switched off the machine and took care cleaning the portafilter before finally gathering the nerve to deliver the drink.
"One americano," Delilah announced, carefully setting the mug on the table.
"Thank y—"
"Are you stalking me, or something?" She blurted out, crossing her arms and squinting suspiciously down at her.
"In a manner of speaking," the woman replied calmly, as if she'd fully expected such a question. She took a small sip of her coffee, then cleared her throat and looked up at Delilah. "Would you mind having a seat with me?" She asked, gesturing to the open chair across from her. "I'd like to speak with you for a minute, if that's possible."
"Er, well…" Delilah hedged, glancing over her shoulder to gauge whether she really could be bothered to entertain this peculiar woman. "We might have a rush any mo—"
"It's about Hannibal."
— 2:48 PM
Sandwich in hand and a sparkling water tucked into the crook of her arm, Alana pushed open the door to Will's room to discover he was still lying down. Assuming he was still asleep, she took care to walk as quietly as possible back to her chair and sat down to tuck into her late lunch.
"Thought you'd left," he said suddenly, his quiet but unexpected voice giving her a start.
In her surprise, she'd jumped slightly and nearly lost her sandwich. "Christ," she grumbled, carefully setting it and her water down on the other chair. "Do you want me to leave?"
He stayed silent until she looked nervously over at him, and he shook his head. "Jack will want to know how long I'm gonna be out of commission," he muttered.
"So will the rest of us."
Will grunted and pulled himself up to a sitting position, digging his palms into his eyes as he yawned loudly. She watched him climb out of bed and disappear into the bathroom, shutting and locking the door behind himself.
Not five minutes later, while Alana was busy trying to scarf down her meagre lunch, there was a rapid knocking at the door and she glanced up to find a doctor stepping into the room.
"Oh, hello! You must be the famous Alana Bloom. I'm Doctor Bennett, Will's neurologist," he said, smiling as he stepped over to offer his hand. "Where's the man of the hour?"
Alana swallowed with some difficulty as she shook his hand and gestured toward the bathroom, taking a swig of water to stop herself from choking.
"Ah, I always seem to have impeccable timing." He laughed and Alana offered an awkward chuckle, taking another drink of water before setting her lunch aside.
They stood together in silence for a moment or two, waiting for Will to return.
"He's been in there a while," Alana eventually muttered, her brow knitted in concern.
"Oh?" Doctor Bennett frowned and moved to the door, giving it a gentle tap. "Will? Buddy, you okay?"
Silence answered and Doctor Bennett repeated himself, more loudly this time, "Hey, Will? You okay in there?"
Finally, they heard Will respond in a tiny voice, "No."
Alana's heart skipped with worry and she took a quick step forward, but the doctor held out a hand to keep her at bay.
"Can you open the door for me, bud?"
"No," he repeated, a bit more forcefully.
"Alright, that's okay. Would you like me to get someone to open it for you?"
Will was silent for another moment that felt like an eternity and Alana opened her mouth to call out to him, when he suddenly answered with a shaky, "Please. I c-can't…"
"Okay, bud, no worries. Just give me just a second."
He tossed Alana what she guessed was supposed to be a reassuring smile and grabbed the phone off the wall, pressing a button and speaking into the receiver. "This is Doctor Bennett. I need a nurse in 617, with keys. Patient has locked himself in the bathroom and I need some help getting him out. Thanks." He hung up the phone and turned to Alana. "I'm sorry, but I'm gonna have to ask you to wait out in the hall, alright? Just in case he becomes violent."
"He wouldn't hurt me," she replied defensively.
"I'm sure that's true, but I'd rather be safe than sorry. Please." He gestured toward the door and she reluctantly obeyed.
Outside, she paced nervously nearby, listening for any signs of struggle and only pausing to watch a nurse bustle up to the door and disappear inside; nothing happened for what felt like forever. Once or twice she tried to eavesdrop but could hear nothing through the heavy door and, not wanting to get whacked in the face if someone left the room, could do nothing but resume wearing a dent in the linoleum floor.
Finally, the door swung open and Doctor Bennett stepped out, smiling kindly. "He's okay," he assured, and she let out a sigh of relief.
"Oh, thank god."
"Turns out he had a little temperature spike and suffered another hallucination, but he's calm now. He wants you to come back in—"
She started for the door at once and he quickly sidestepped to stop her. "But," he continued firmly, "I'm going to have to ask you to leave after I explain the results of his scan. We're going to begin treatment right away and he's going to need to relax."
"I understand."
Doctor Bennett lead the way back into the room and Alana rushed to Will's bedside, grabbing hold of his hand. She smiled gratefully when he didn't immediately pull away, but instead gave her a squeeze.
"You good?" She whispered.
"Yeah, I'm good."
"Alrighty, let's have a look-see," Doctor Bennett interrupted, flipping the switch for the light box on the wall and clipping up two scans of Will's brain.
"I'm happy to report that you don't have a tumor, but if you look here, and here," he circled around a couple spots with his pinky, "you'll notice, in the sea of gray, some lighter gray. Near the parietal and occipital lobes, you have some significant swelling — now, don't be too alarmed," he added quickly, likely noticing Alana's terrified expression, "it's only significant because it's visible. I'm confident we're catching this in the early stages here."
Alana sighed shakily and Will squeezed her hand again.
"That's… That's good, then," he muttered hesitantly.
"Yes, it's good," the doctor replied. "The results of your blood draw showed that you're also majorly lacking in antibodies, which doesn't surprise me in the slightest. I can now say, with a hundred percent confidence, that I was right — this is Anti-NMDA Receptor Encephalitis. Basically, your immune system is borked and your brain is suffering like hell for it."
"That's, uh… an eloquent way to put it, doc," Will said, an amused lilt to his voice.
"I know," Doctor Bennett said with a grin. "Now, the first step is to poke you with some more needles and stick some tubes into you. We'll start with the steroids to help with the swelling, and an IVIg, which is uh… it's pretty much just a literal immune boost. We'll let you get some dinner and more rest while those do their thing, and tomorrow you'll have your first round of plasmapheresis."
"His first round of what?" Alana asked, perplexed.
"It's a bit like kidney dialysis," he explained. "We take some blood, clean it out, and pop it right back in. Each treatment takes a few hours and, I'll admit, it's not very pleasant but it gets the job done."
Will cringed. "How often will I have to do that?"
"I think we'll start you off with twice a week, do that for two weeks, then re-test you and go from there. Sound good?"
He nodded.
"Awesome. Now, uh, Doctor Bloom?"
She pried her eyes away from Will to find Doctor Bennett smiling warmly at her. "Yes?"
"I can tell you care a lot about our friend here, and I won't force you not to come by tomorrow, but… I would really prefer if you didn't."
"Oh?"
He nodded apologetically. "It's a long, draining process — er, pun not intended," he added with a laugh, "but… Anyway, he'll likely sleep for quite a while afterward and be a little out of sorts for a bit longer than that."
"Oh, right."
"I'd recommend limiting any visits to Fridays and Tuesdays, just to give him time to recover."
"I understand," she replied, forcing a smile.
"Good, good. Alright, well, uh, would you like me to give you two a few minutes to say goodbye before we get started?"
"Please," Alana muttered, and Will abruptly leaned up on his elbows a bit, looking between them in confusion.
"Goodbye? But I don't start the plasma-thing until tomorrow."
The doctor opened his mouth to explain, but Alana nodded and smiled sadly. "Yeah, they're kickin' me out," she said, her voice quavering a fraction. "They want you to get some good sleep a-and I guess I'm too distracting."
Will slowly laid back down, looking perturbed but reluctantly understanding.
"Alright. Back in a few, bud," Doctor Bennett announced. "It was nice meeting you, Doctor Bloom."
"You, too," she replied, watching over her shoulder as he pulled the door shut behind himself with a click.
Alana turned back to Will and compulsively reached out to smooth his hair away from his forehead. "So um, I-… I'll see you Friday, okay?"
"I'm sorry, Alana," he whispered suddenly.
"For…?"
"I acted like an asshole."
"I'm used to it," she attempted to tease, but tears prickled at the corners of her eyes and she sniffed to fight them off. "Uh, do you need anything? I-I can go back to the house and get some stuff…?"
Will sniffed a little as well, pursing his lips and shaking his head. "No, I'm fine, but… my dogs—"
"Don't worry, I'll take good care of them. As lo-," her voice cracked and she cleared her throat, swallowing thickly. "As long as you n-need me to."
"Please don't cry," he insisted, tightening his grip on her hand again and bringing her knuckles to his lips. "You heard him… we caught it early. I'm gonna be okay."
"I know," she croaked, but the dam had burst and tears spilled over her cheeks. She let out a frustrated little sob and suddenly folded herself over to give him a tearful kiss; his stubble tickled at her upper lip and she felt his fingers slip into her hair, cradling the back of her head as returned her affection.
When she pulled back a bit to swipe the moisture from her eyes, he let his hand slip to rest at the nape of her neck and he canted his head. "Alana," he whispered, staring determinedly up at her, "I think-… I think I l—"
Whatever he was about to say, he stopped himself abruptly and retracted his hand, looking a bit panicky all of the sudden. "Think I l-left my keys in the-… in my uh-… i-in the- that bag over there," he mumbled in a rush, fumbling hard over his words.
Alana's brow twisted and she stood up straight, her stomach flip-flopping as she was buffeted by an unexpected wave of self-consciousness. "Where?"
He angled himself away from her and pointed to a plastic hospital bag resting against the wall. "O-Over there," he repeated. "Y'know, s-so you can, um, check in on my dogs."
"Oh, right," she muttered, shaking off her discomfit and quickly stepping around the bed to rummage through the bag. Finding his keys in the pocket of his jeans, she stood back up and gave them a little shake. "Found 'em."
"Thank you," Will said quietly, scratching at his cheek as he looked her in the eye for a brief moment before twitching his gaze to the window behind her instead.
"…Don't mention it," she replied, ducking her head and quickly exiting the room.
Hearing Hannibal's name pass through this stranger's lips was absolutely the last thing Delilah had expected. Her eyes narrowed and she pursed her lips, silently giving the woman a pronounced once-over with a sea of fresh questions running through her mind.
She seemed to be near his age and Delilah couldn't say with any certainty that they weren't related. Perhaps she was Hannibal's sister, or distant cousin? Maybe an estranged friend, or colleague?
The only alternative Delilah could think of was that this woman was an old flame. The thought was so pathetic, however, it nearly made her laugh out loud. She caught herself and instead cleared her throat delicately.
"If I am to sit and speak with you, about anything, I would like to know your name first," she said carefully, scrutinizing the woman's face as she awaited her response.
"My name is Doctor Bedelia Du Maurier," she replied quietly. Her face gave absolutely nothing away, apart from blatant unease; her eyes would periodically jerk toward the entrance, for the briefest of moments, as if she expected something — or someone — was coming for her.
"Now I have told you mine… May I know your name, as well?"
Delilah couldn't help but laugh then, just a soft titter of bewilderment. "You're 'not exactly' stalking me, yet you don't even know who I am?"
"I did not say I don't know who you are," Bedelia corrected her softly. "But no, I do not know your name."
Curiosity was fast overshadowing Delilah's instinctive hesitance. "Okay," she muttered, stepping to the chair across from Bedelia and sitting gingerly, "I'll bite." She adjusted the rag hanging out of the front pocket of her apron and casually slipped a hand inside to keep hold of her phone — just in case.
"Delilah," she finally answered.
"It's a pleasure to finally meet you, Delilah."
"Y'know, I would say the same but… seeing as you've been nothing but creepy since we met… I, regrettably, cannot."
A corner of Bedelia's lips twitched upward. "I suppose I can see what he sees."
Delilah huffed, losing patience already, and pressed her free hand to the table in preparation to stand. "If you plan to continue with this cryptic bullshit, I'll gladly call the authorities and have you escorted off the property, so I can comfortably get back to work."
"No, please," Bedelia exclaimed, reaching over to place a chilly and slightly trembling hand on hers; Delilah immediately wrenched her hand away and the woman blanched. "I'm sorry — I'll get to the point. Please don't go."
Sighing, Delilah slipped her phone out and glanced down to check the time. "My lunch hour is nearly over and I haven't even had a chance to drink my latte," she said, shoving the device back into her apron and glaring irritatedly at her. "You have ten minutes."
"That's fair," Bedelia muttered, shifting a little in her seat and repetitively smoothing down the hem of her blouse, evidently trying to decide where to begin.
Delilah chewed idly at the inner corner of her lips as she waited, feeling her interest slip further away with each passing second.
"For context," Bedelia finally began, "I should let you know that I am — or rather, I was — Hannibal's psychiatrist. Not exactly by choice, as I've technically been retired for quite some time, now." She gave a little sniff and cleared her throat. "But circumstance and… self-assumed obligation, I suppose, has led me to this predicament."
"What predicament," Delilah asked flatly. "Pardon my annoyance, but we're roughly two minutes in already and I still can't fathom what any of this has to do with me."
Bedelia wordlessly studied her for a moment and Delilah waved a hand in the general direction of the clock behind her. "Tick tock, Bedelia."
"During my last and final session with Hannibal, weeks ago, he expressed some rather disturbing thoughts to me about a new patient of his," she continued quietly. "He referred to this woman as 'captivating' and it was heavily implied that he had something other than a strictly professional interest in her." She paused briefly, quite obviously trying to gauge Delilah's reaction, but Delilah merely stared right back and pressed her lips into a hard line — mostly to stop herself from grinning.
"…Since then, I have been cautiously observing from afar—"
"Stalking," she cut in tersely. "Call it what it is, doctor. You've been stalking Hannibal."
Bedelia sighed and trudged on, ignoring her. "I have reason to believe that you are the woman he was talking about. I have seen you come and go from his office… I have seen you get into and out of his vehicle… I have seen him come here, of all places, and—"
"Oh great," Delilah interjected, rolling her eyes. "Are we at the part where we shoot thinly-veiled, snide remarks at each other, then?"
"No," she replied calmly, shaking her head. "I didn't mean that to sound so disparaging. It's just not a place I would have expected to find him. That's all."
The somber tone of her voice gave Delilah pause; she let out a quiet huff and crossed her legs as she leaned back in her seat, gesturing for Bedelia to continue.
"I have observed a… closeness… between you two — the likes of which I never would have expected Hannibal to be entirely capable."
"I can't imagine why you should care whether we're close, or not," Delilah mused, her brow knitted in perplexity. "Unless…"
"I care because I don't think he is capable of such closeness, Delilah," she said earnestly. "Not without an ulterior cause. There are things about Hannibal that you don't know… Things even I can only speculate upon, but…
"But I believe I have been afforded enough glimpses through the veil of humanity he puts on, to make fairly accurate assumptions."
Delilah nodded absently, dragging her teeth over her bottom lip as she deliberated. "Glimpses are just that, you know," she said softly. "Pieces of a whole, but not the full picture… And, for the record, I would argue that assumptions are the mark of a terrible psychiatrist."
"Ordinarily, I would agree with you," she admitted. "However, I am not just making flagrant suppositions here. Therapy has a tendency to rip out the thing you most seek to keep hidden, as you may well be aware."
When Delilah did little more than blink at her, Bedelia took a deep breath and shifted in her seat. "I am trying to warn you, Delilah," she said gravely. "Hannibal Lecter is unequivocally a danger to your health — both mentally and, I believe, physically. Manipulation is not only second nature to a man like him, it is his nature… But I believe that he is capable of so much worse."
"You believe," she muttered, bouncing her foot to keep her anger in check. "You know… what I believe to be deeply fascinating, is your blatant avoidance of responsibility here."
"I beg your pardon?"
"You're dancing around some extreme allegations, yet you're the one who has openly admitted to stalking — which is, at the very least, considered an actual crime. Or are you too wrapped up in your own self-importance to see that?"
Bedelia ruffled a bit and sat up stock-straight, a muscle spasming in her jaw as it clenched.
"…Is there a problem, Bedelia?"
Her nostrils flared as she let out a disbelieving scoff. "I came to warn you out of concern for your well-being and you're deliberately insulting me."
"I mean, is it really much of an insult if it's true?" Not giving her a chance to respond, Delilah leaned forward and continued relentlessly, "I think you're operating under another assumption — one that I can assure you is incredibly unfounded — would you like to know what it is?"
Bedelia's chin jerked upward and she drew herself as far away from the table as possible, staring down her nose at Delilah but not speaking.
"I'll be bold as you and take your silence as a yes," she said with a smile. "You're clearly operating under the delusion that I'm just some innocent poster child for the mentally unstable and, quite frankly, I'm fucking offended."
Delilah caught Bedelia's eyes flitting nervously to the front entrance again and she laughed. "Do you really expect him to show up here, looking for you?"
"Stupid girl," she spat quietly. "You think you're special because he's shown a little interest in you, is that it? Suppose you're different from anyone else? You have no idea what he—"
"You said that already."
"Because you must understand. This is not a game."
"No, it's not," Delilah agreed. "You know, for a psychiatrist, you're dreadful at reading people. Is that why you retired?"
Bedelia scoffed indignantly, but evidently could find no suitable response.
"Do you even know why I'm seeing Hannibal for therapy?"
"No."
"Exactly. Your big warning is that I have no idea what Hannibal is capable of, correct? But what you fail to realize is that you have no idea what I am capable of." She paused to let that sink in for a moment, before continuing. "The perceived closeness between us, that seems to concern you so, is inconsequential. I think you will find it interesting, however, to know that he does seem to find me… relatable."
"Relatable…?"
"…God, what's that saying?" Delilah suddenly wondered out loud, peering up at the ceiling and tapping a finger to her lips. "'Behind every successful man, there stands a woman'… Is that it?"
Delilah dropped her gaze and was pleased to witness the birth of renewed fear and confusion in Bedelia's eyes. "Yeah," she continued softly, "I think that's it. It's quite dated, though, wouldn't you agree? Personally, I intend to walk beside my successful man."
She watched as Bedelia's eyes tightened, her chest twitching with short, rapid breaths.
"Do you understand me, now?" Delilah prompted, canting her head and smiling pleasantly.
"Not in the slightest," she eventually replied, sounding deeply disturbed. She pushed her chair back and stood so abruptly that she bumped into the table, her barely drunk americano sloshing over the rim of its mug. "Clearly, I have exercised an… extreme error in judgement—"
"Well, if that isn't the understatement of the century," Delilah spat, tugging the rag from her apron pocket and slapping it over the mess before cold coffee had a chance to spill onto the floor.
Bedelia laughed humorlessly. "I hope you two enjoy Hell together."
"Aw, thank you," she replied, her voice drenched in faux sweetness. "It was lovely to have met you… I'll be sure to tell Hannibal you stopped by," she added, dropping the saccharinity in favour of a more admonitory tone.
Delilah was vaguely aware of Maggie hovering at a table nearby, but she kept her eyes locked on Bedelia who, in turn, stared at her searchingly — it was quite plain that this was not at all how she had envisioned their conversation going.
After a long, tense moment of silence, Bedelia let out an uneasy scoff and turned tail, stalking swiftly out of the café without another word.
"Just what in the hell was all that about?" Maggie asked bewilderedly, bustling over to actually clean up the coffee mess.
"Jealous ex," Delilah mumbled carelessly, her mind racing as she retrieved her phone and sent a quick text to Hannibal's cell.
— 'Please call me when you get a chance.'
…
Barely fifteen minutes later, while watching a customer's blueberry scone warming in the oversized toaster oven, Delilah felt her phone go off in the pocket of her apron. She fished it out just as the oven pinged and saw that Hannibal was already calling from his office.
"Well, you have to answer that. Go on, have a ten," Maggie insisted, flapping her hands to shoo her out of the way. "I'll take care of this."
"I already took a stupidly long lunch break… Are you sure?" She asked out of politeness, though she already knew the answer.
Maggie snorted and gave her a swat on the arm. "Out!"
"Alright, thank you," she muttered, striding off and hastily answering the phone before he could hang up. "Hey, just a moment," she whispered into the receiver, smiling and mouthing 'thank you' to a customer who moved out of her way, so she could slip out the back exit.
"Ok, I'm free," she announced, shivering a little as she sat down on the concrete steps.
"Is everything alright?" He asked, sounding a touch concerned but more so curious, likely as to why she'd sent such a message.
"Um, well…" She laughed softly. "I think so? Had a very peculiar customer, earlier. Practically begged me to sit and talk with her… about you."
"Me?"
"Mhm. Some woman by the name of Bedelia Du Maurier? Excuse me, Doctor Bedelia Du Maurier."
Hannibal's silence was heavy enough that she momentarily thought the call had been dropped. She glanced at the screen to see that it hadn't and placed the phone back to her ear in time to hear him ask, "And what did Ms. Du Maurier have to say?"
"Apparently she's been following you around ever since your last therapy session."
"I know," he replied quietly, entirely unbothered. "Although, I would argue she hasn't been following me, so much as she's been following you."
"Wha-? Why didn't you tell—"
"Your safety was never at risk, please know that. I just wanted to see if she would be arrogant enough to actually speak with you."
"O-Okay, well… She also told me what you said about me during therapy — so we can tack on a cute little HIPPA violation, along with the stalking." She snorted lightly. "Seems her goal for today was to try to scare me off from you. Warned that you're hazardous to my health, in all ways, and only seek to eventually flay me alive, or something."
"Is that so."
"Well, I'm paraphrasing here but you get the idea."
He hummed in thought, then asked very softly, "Are you concerned?"
"Concerned?" She frowned slightly. "I mean, I'm a bit disturbed to know that this woman has been creeping around for who knows how long—"
"It's been going on since the day I picked you up from work," he explained nonchalantly. "But you misunderstand. What I'm asking is, are you concerned for your safety, from me?"
"Oh," she laughed. "No, should I be?"
She listened as Hannibal inhaled slowly and exhaled with what sounded, to her, like relief. "No," he replied, a smile evident in his tone, "you, most assuredly, should not."
"I do have to wonder why you allowed this to go on…"
"What would you have me do about it?"
"Well…" Delilah thought for a moment, rising from the concrete steps to stretch out her legs. "I suppose the common solution would be to call the police and file a restraining order."
"Yes, but common solutions are so…"
"Dull?"
"They certainly can be."
"Not to mention," she continued with an indignant sniff, "police tend to be as useful as breaking your knees to stop a headache."
Hannibal chuckled softly. "Agreed… Which begs I ask the question again, if you don't think I should bother calling the police on Ms. Du Maurier, what would you suggest I do?"
He seemed to be goading her toward a very specific answer and Delilah had an inkling she knew what it was.
"I imagine it would be very easy to make it seem as though a retired woman has had a horrible accident," she replied quietly. "Either by loneliness, or perhaps a newfound hobby gone wrong…"
"Bedelia has always seemed quite comfortable with isolation. What sort of hobby do you have in mind?"
"…Juggling chainsaws?"
After a beat of silence, Hannibal simply laughed again and Delilah couldn't help but grin. "Hey, you asked."
"That I did," he muttered, his amusement ebbing as he seemed to lose himself in thought.
"Well, anyway, I just thought you should know…" Delilah eventually said with a sigh, reluctant though she was to end the call. "I'd better get back inside."
"Thank you," he said earnestly, his tone deeply serious now, "for your continued trust in me. I would not have faulted you for any reservations after such a confrontation."
"Of course, but… next time — if there is an unfortunate next time — maybe let me know that I have a stalker, hm?" She teased, expecting a laugh.
"Perhaps I should have been more transparent," he admitted, quite serious. "However, I expect you will try to be more aware of your surroundings, in the future… I truly never expected she would make contact — that was my mistake and, for that, I do apologize."
Delilah smoothed a hand over her face, feeling properly chastised, and started to mutter something along the lines of 'it's alright,' when he added firmly, "Trust that the situation will be taken care of — you will never see that woman again. I hope you have a much more pleasant end to your day."
"You too," she murmured. She wanted to know just how he intended to keep the nosy woman at bay, but the conversation had clearly come to a close; she needed to get back to work, anyway.
Rather than pry, Delilah added softly, "See you later, then."
"Friday, at the very latest."
Quick A/N: (I know people hate when writers do this, I'm sorry) I just wanted to mention that FFN keeps screwing up my formatting and eating my line breaks. With this chapter and the last, I had to delete immediately after posting so I could fix shit and upload again. I'm sorry if this has been as painfully annoying for any of you as it has been for me. Bleh!