Chapter 20: For better or worse, in the life waiting for them and in the death at their feet...
She didn't know how long they'd sat crumbled in heartache on the floor, with Margot crying deep from her chest and Alana clutching her as if she were trying to hold her together, a few of her own errant tears dripping into her auburn hair. But eventually the last of Margot's sobs tapered off then subsided completely, leaving a hollow silence in the room. They unfolded themselves from the ground on shaky legs, feeling like they rose from a blood-soaked battlefield. Margot swaddled the infant in the blanket, tucking the soft cashmere around him, staring down at him with reverent sadness and Alana let her have a moment alone with him.
She felt compelled to move, not wanting to stay still in the ferocious misery pervading the air. First she spotted the garish cradle Mason had provided for the room, tiers of lace and silk and bows cascading ostentatiously down the sides with a little wood-cut sign exclaiming 'It's A Boy!' hung from it; all of it arranged to his cruel specifications. The brunette tore at the frills, removing the taunting plaque so Margot would not have to endure it and tossed them over the sow then found a sheet to cover the mess of blue fabric and viscera. She turned to along the wall where more medical equipment had been set up, some more surgical apparatus but also refrigeration units that could be used to store biological material. The doctor combed through it all, searching of the last bit of hope that anything of Margot had been preserved. She came up empty. Whatever had been stored in them had been discarded long before they'd gotten there, everything sterilized and pristine as if it had never been used.
When she finally turned back to Margot she'd laid the baby down in the now plain bassinet, her tall figure bent morosely over it. Alana tried to reconcile the faint pain pulsing under her sternum. There had not ever been hope for the boy and his mother, she knew that logically. Though it didn't stop her thoughts from floating around her like phantoms, what happiness the baby could have brought to Margot, what he could have been to Alana, who he would have become. Margot surprised her out of her trance, asking, "Did you find anything?"
"No." Alana approached the other woman. "It's all gone."
Margot nodded, messily wiping mascara from her cheeks though missing the smudges just underneath her eyes. Then after a somber pause she said, "I can kill Mason now. I didn't know if I could before, I mean I've always believed I could given the chance but I've also wondered if there was a small part of me holding me back, some moral compass or thread of a familial bond I couldn't quite shake. I can kill him now."
The frenetic, hot energy that Margot had exhibited before had now solidified to icy certainty. Alana rested her chin against Margot's shoulder and covered her hand where it had a white-knuckle grip on the cradle. "He won't get away with this."
"No, he won't." She agreed dangerously, covering the face of her son with the top of the blanket. "We should go."
The house was silent as the couple solemnly walked through down to the ballroom in search of Hannibal. Evidence of his work was immediately apparent on the grand doors with blood splashed across the pale oak. Alana toed the slightly ajar door further, the heavy wood creaking on its hinges. The space inside was gorgeously constructed and ornamented like the rest of the Verger estate; a white alabaster floor swirled with veins of dark gray, tall arched windows the spilled in the moonlight, the intricate design molded on the ceiling gilded with gold leaf, and a stained-glass dome skylight at the top like a crown jewel. And like the rest of the Verger estate there was some dark slant to it; blood was smeared across the white floor as if bodies had been dragged over it and a makeshift surgical suite surrounded by frosted, plastic curtains that were painted with more blood was ominously constructed in the middle of the room. Then Hannibal appeared from a sliding side door also covered in the red of his victims and smiling, his teeth alarming white against the crimson stains on his face.
"Ladies, did you find what you were looking for?" He asked.
"We found Mason's last taunt." Alana said vaguely.
"And it will truly be his last I imagine." Hannibal smirked. "Come let me show you."
The women walked toward him, avoiding the puddles of blood, to peer through the door he came in from. Hannibal had been busy while they'd been upstairs. Framed in the wide doorway was a banquet table and on one side sat twelve lifeless men, eleven of Mason's guards and Cordell Doemling, though only way to recognize the nurse was his bald head and the hospital scrubs he wore as the skin had been precisely peeled from his face. They'd been propped up and slumped over one another to create a familiar image and at the center of the table was a vacant place.
"The Last Supper." Alana acknowledged.
"Mason loves to talk about his connection with Jesus. I thought I would give him the chance to experience stepping into the role in his last moments even posthumously. You will finish my design, won't you? You understand?"
"Yes, I understand." She drank in the graphic details; the unnatural bend in some of their necks, their dead limp sprawl, the dripping crimson and fright on their faces. "Where is Mason now?"
"In his room recovering from the anesthesia. Don't be alarmed by his appearance. I gave him the new face he wanted, well not the one we wanted. He should be waking up soon."
She looked at Cordell once more, at the exposed, striated muscles and his eyes wide and bare teeth grimacing in a perpetual expression of terror. He was seated third from the left in the dishonorable position of Judas. Hannibal continued, "Come there is more."
He strode past them to the to the cordoned off area and drew back the curtain. Two reclined dental chairs sat under white florescent lights, Will Graham lying unconscious in the further seat. The man looked haggard, his skin pallor and a new gash had been added to the side of his face that lazily oozed blood, but Alana could see the subtle rise and fall of his chest signifying he was alive, for now. Hannibal wheeled a metal cart in front of Alana and Margot, drawing their attention away from the former FBI agent. On it sat three vials of a white, translucent substance.
"As promised, a donation from Mr. Verger."
"How generous of him." Alana appraised the little jars, revolted and fascinated by it. She eyes flicked back to Will curiously. "What are you going to do with him?"
"I'm going to take him home. It's time our feud came to an end and we could all use a rest." He sighed, looking back at Will with something that could be construed as soft adoration in his eyes.
A rest. A rest sounded divine as Alana felt aches growing in her metal bones and weariness settling in the back of her skull but she ignored the fatigue. She and Margot had another leg of this journey to complete before they could take their rest. Alana turned to the heiress who had been quiet in observing the aftermath Hannibal created. "Are you ready?"
She nodded though her gaze was fixated on the samples Hannibal had managed to collect from her brother, ensuring their victory over the tyrannical Verger patriarchy. Alana felt an inkling of worry for Margot's precarious condition. She seemed like a void, filled with nothing and ready to spin out recklessly in space uncaring of the destructive path she may carve. Alana needed that destruction from Margot but not at the cost of losing the other woman to it. She couldn't let whatever happened next to lead to her collapse.
"Until we meet again then." Hannibal proclaimed with a little bow.
"Goodbye, Hannibal." Alana said softly then turned to follow Margot who had abruptly turned to exit the room, away from the killer and his captive or friend or partner or whoever they were to one another for the moment. She led them through the halls to Mason's room and Alana idly remembered the first time she'd passed through them with Margot and thought of how much had changed since then. Then the extravagant decadence of the house had impressed her and now it'd become commonplace; instead of going to meet Mason to form an alliance now she went to kill him; and Margot who had been an intriguing stranger now was the woman who matched up with her soul.
When the pair reached the hall that ended in Mason's room they could hear him yelling for his nurse, apparently having just awakened. However Margot didn't start down the corridor, telling Alana as she kept going straight, "I'll go around to the side door in his room in case he tries to get out that way."
The doctor hardened her resolve and made the rest of the trek alone knowing her partner would meet her on the other end. As she stepped into the bedroom, Mason still hollered for Mr. Doemling, "Cordell? Cordell? Cordell!"
"Hi, Mason." Alana greeted him calmly, opposing his wild-eyed panic. Blood coated his face and what looked like an oddly life-like mask lie next to his wheelchair.
"What the hell is going on out there? Where is Cordell?" He demanded as if the man's skin hadn't just slipped off from his own.
"Cordell's dead. They're all dead out there." Alana informed him then casually twisted the knife. "Hannibal got away."
"Well get on the horn to Washington and get four of those bastards with guns up here now! Send for the helicopter!" Mason shouted frantically at her still not quite understanding what was going on, that she was no longer at his service. Margot came from the darkness of the other room then, looking more undone than Alana remember from the moment before they parted, the dark smudges under her eyes like war paint and the emptiness in her replaced with a chaotic torrent of rage. Her looking at Margot prompted Mason to turn his wheelchair to discover his sister stalking toward him.
"I found your surrogate, Mason." She said, her tone flat and cold.
He chuckled throatily then spat out in a gravelly low voice, "Your surrogate, Margot. I promised you I'd give you a Verger baby."
"No, I'm taking what you promised me." Her voice rose angrily but she finished with serene satisfaction. "And I've got everything that I need from you now."
Mason growled self-righteously. "You can't kill me, Margot. You'll lose everything. In the absence of an heir, the sole beneficiary is the Southern Baptist Church."
"Southern Baptist Church." Margot finished with her brother mockingly. "But there is going to be an heir, Mason. A Verger baby. Yours, mine… mostly yours."
As Mason stared at her uncomprehendingly, Alana approached proposing the question, "Do you know what happens if we stimulate your prostate gland with a cattle prod? Hannibal does. He helped us procure a healthy dose of your semen. You've become irrelevant."
"Ah, you're dead, Dr. 'loom." He snarled dismissively but his eyes shifted nervously between her and Margot like a mouse realizing two cats cornered him.
"Oh, Mason, we all are… You're just a little more dead than the rest of us." Alana cooed to him, not feeling dead at all, feeling more like the embodiment of death herself.
Suddenly Mason raised a gun. She hadn't noticed the pistol before but he pointed it with a wobbly, loose grip, trying desperately to aim it at her in a last ditch effort to make it out alive. Alana blinked but before she had time to react Margot lunged at her brother throwing off his trajectory. The gun went off with an acoustic bang, the bullet whizzing into the glass of the in ground eel aquarium. When the Verger siblings crash-landed onto the glass, it easily gave way, shattering underneath them so they fell into water below. Alana propelled herself forward now, watching Margot struggle to pull herself from the water as Mason held onto her, dragging them both down.
She grabbed one of Margot's flailing hands and heaved her up until she could climb out of the tank, gasping and spluttering salt water from her mouth. Mason had surfaced too though not long enough to catch his breath as Margot viciously shoved him back down. He thrashed against his sister's grip and Alana put her hands over Margot's to help keep him submerged. The water sloshed and rippled violently but Alana could see the snake like shadow of the eel swimming toward Mason. The creature then made a lightning quick strike into Mason's screaming mouth, worming its body deep into the man and down his throat until bubbles stopped rising up and it was replaced by a cloud of blood. Mason Verger finally stopped existing.
The women fell back, panting lightly, their eyes met in a moment of wonder at what they'd done together. Margot reached up to cup Alana's cheek and she mirrored the touch on Margot, leaning into her so their forehead touched, breath in the same warm air. This was their wedding vow to one another, for better or worse, in the life waiting for them and in the death at their feet, they were eternally bond together.
In the next two hours they moved with elegant efficiency, as if in a practiced dance their bodies fluently took the next step seeming to innately know what it should be. It did take some terrible effort for Alana and Margot to hoist Mason from the pool where he eerily floated in the buoyant salt water. His corpse was heavy, deadweight and clothing soaked and the eel whipped back and forth in his mouth, adding to the difficulty but together they managed to get him into the wheelchair. Then careful to not touch the handles so Hannibal's fingerprints would not be disturbed they pushed him down to the banquet room where his seat at the table waited for him. They placed him into the middle of the scene. His head was tilted back and the long fish tail hanging indignantly from his lips had finally stopped twitching, finishing their violent adaptation of the Leonardo da Vinci mural.
Alana volunteered to take Mason's specimens up to where the stillborn baby lay wrapped up in his temporary shroud to put the vials into the cold storage for preservation while Margot went to start a shower. She couldn't linger long in the unbearable room though she paused to tenderly caress the blanket-covered infant in a strange, sad moment of goodbye. She then went to shower as well.
Once the women were restyled and redressed in new clothes, Margot took their wet and bloody clothes to burn outside while Alana made sure no incriminating evidence like burner phones or laptops were in their possession. Then they checked and rechecked everything, staging it to their narrative before Margot finally made the call to the police, her voice wavering and panicky to perfection as she told them her brother was dead. She was well versed in trauma behaviors by now, they both were. So when the parade of police cars came speeding up the gravel drive with their red and blue lights flashing, sirens screaming, it was easy for them to greet the officers with tears welling in their eyes and lips trembling. Thick wool blankets were draped around their delicate shoulders and they were led to a quiet sitting room away to the thumping boots and jangling tactically gear of the police rushing in to investigate. Alana and Margot huddled closely on a couch like two frightened doves while an officer asked them gentle questions about what had happened; Alana's voice cracked, Margot cried into her shoulder, and the man gazed at them with sincere sympathy as they told their story.
Of course, convincing this officer and the other agents milling around outside the door that they were victims in all of this was not the real challenge. It was when Jack Crawford entered the room and the game changed. He'd gotten there quicker than she anticipated, mostly likely having stepped off a plane and come right over. He quickly and politely dismissed the interviewing officer and took his spot in the chair across from them, leaning forward with his arms braced on his knees. He let the silence fester between them for a long pause, staring them down with a critical but weary gaze before saying, "It's a goddamn mess out there."
Alana allowed a tear to fall down her cheek though she returned his look with cold eyes while Margot had gone semi-catatonic, neither women addressing his obvious statement. The agent continued, "I'd like to hear from you what happened."
"We've already talked to the other officer." Alana said shortly.
"Humor me." Jack leaned back, gesturing that she had the floor.
The doctor ran her tongue across her front teeth annoyed but began to retell their version of events. "Margot and I were upstairs when we heard a gun firing then shouting."
"What were you two doing upstairs?" He already interrupted.
"Just keeping each other company." Alana scraped a fingernail suggestively on Margot's knee, daring the man to question her further on the subject.
His eyebrows rose at the revelation but didn't comment, "Right, so what did you do when you heard the gun fire?"
"We heard the shots then Margot took us to some old servants passages in the walls and we hid in there."
"And you didn't call for help at that point?" Jack raised the question with a dubious lilt.
"We'd left our phones behind in the panic." She easily smoothed over.
"And how long were you hiding for?"
"It felt like a long time, I couldn't say for sure, 2 maybe 3 hours. After it had gone quiet long enough we came out and found-" She swallowed like she was having a difficult time revisiting the memory. "We found the scene downstairs."
"Then you called 911?"
"Yes."
"Why didn't you call before going downstairs? It could have still been dangerous." He pointed out.
"Margot was so afraid for her brother, she had to go looking for him… But we were too late." She feigned regret.
Margot spoke up, her voice raspy with emotion, "I wish I had been able to save him."
"You save us." Alana consoled her knowing Jack was watching them keenly. "And they will find who is responsible."
"Would it surprise you if I said Hannibal is the person responsible for it?" Jack interjected.
"I'm surprised Hannibal risked coming here but not surprised he is responsible. I recognized his handiwork." She said evenly.
"So you never saw Lecter or Will Graham in the house?"
"Why would Will Graham have been here?" Alana played into his query to her benefit.
"Hannibal and Will were kidnapped from Italy together. I assume they ended up in the same place."
Alana waited a suitable pause to absorb the information. "Mr. Verger had been talking extensively about revenge fantasies during our sessions, and he and his caretaker, Mr. Doemling, were behaving erratically… I didn't think they were actually capable of executing any plan."
"Maybe they had some insider help." Jack said in a barely veiled accusation. He didn't give her time to respond before he went on. "You've been acting as Mason Verger's psychiatrist. Do you think that's appropriate considering both of your histories with Dr. Lecter?"
"You're one to lecture on what is appropriate." Alana snapped. "Considering your treatment of Will as your personal blood hound. You didn't seem to care much about what was appropriate back then when I warned you how precarious it was to put him in the field."
Jack seemed to puff up in indignation, his barrel chest expanding and nostrils flaring, but he quickly deflated, his shoulders drooping with the responsibility he bore for all that had transpired. He tiredly rubbed at the salt-and-pepper stubble on his jaw line, and then leaned forward again, speaking calmly, "You saw how Hannibal arranged the bodies. What are your thoughts on that?"
"I'm not your blood hound." She glowered.
"You know Hannibal nearly just as well though. You said yourself you recognized his handiwork." Crawford prompted her again with a grim smile. "Humor me."
"The Last Supper depicts the moment after Jesus tells his apostles that one of them would betray him. It appears Mason was betrayed tonight, perhaps by Mr. Doemling, seeing as he is positioned in the role of Judas. Or maybe he just had the right number of people and seized the opportunity." Alana analyzed with an air of indifference.
"Mmm," He nodded along with her. "Do you think it's odd the way Mason died? The others were killed by a small caliber pistol or by hand. Mason was taken to his bedroom and drowned then brought back. Why would Hannibal do that?"
"Hannibal is insane, a mad man. Not all of his behaviors can be explained."
"You don't believe that." He countered.
"You don't know what I believe."
"So you think Mr. Verger's manner of death, the drowning, the eel is meaningless?"
"I think Mason thought he could contain a predator and he ended up choking on his own ego and privilege." Her head tilted slightly in thought. "Fitting I think."
"Interesting… And where were you when that was happening?" Jack prodded and doubted, trying to find a loose string in their story to pull for the whole thing to unravel.
Exhausted and in pain, Alana pushed herself to her feet, leaning heavily on her cane she declared, "I'll show you where we were."
"No." Margot suddenly said firmly, her eyes glaring distrustfully at Jack.
Alana reached for her hand, offering genuine reassurance now. "It'll be alright. Trust me."
Gradually she nodded her consent and Alana kissed her knuckles in promise. She turned sharply back to the FBI agent indicating for him to follow her. The former colleagues march slowly through the mansion, Alana leading him away from the din of the officers scuffling around, snapping photos, and collecting evidence to the muted halls up toward the east wing. The doctor gritted her teeth against the throbbing emanating from her hips and back, the adrenaline that fueled her before having worn off long ago. She felt viciousness simmering just under the surface ready to lash out at Jack Crawford if he spoke or sympathized with her along the way. Fortunately he stayed silent until they reached their destination.
"We were in here." Alana announced.
"And where is here?"
She opened the door, pushing it open while keeping eye contact defiantly. "See for yourself. But don't touch anything."
Alana waited, leaned against the doorjamb while Jack disappeared into the room. He returned after about a minute with a stunned expression on his face, "What the hell is all that?"
"Mason's idea of a family legacy."
Jack adverted his eyes from her a lame apology tumbling from his lips. "I'm sorry."
"You'll leave this out of the report?" She asked though it came out more as a command.
His head ticked down in agreement still in shock. The murders were sensational enough; there was no need to publicize the final heartbreak and vileness that Mason had left behind. Cautiously, he implored her one last time. "I just want to know what happened here, please."
"You know what happened, Jack." She shoved off the wall and started back down the hall, ready to walk away from him.
"Alana, where is Will?" He called to her softly.
She barely glanced over her shoulder as she retorted, "How should I know? Have you tried him at home?"