"Hello?" An accented voice answered, and immediately, Jack fussed over the phone.
"Hello, my name is Jac—" the older man started, but was immediately cut off, by Beverly snatching the mobile off of his grasp.
"Jack stop it!" She stated as she canceled the call. Frowning at the man she threw the handheld technology on the settee. The phone bounced at the cushion, settling around the middle, thankfully avoiding breakage.
"Beverly, it's been a month! I still can't find him!"
"Calling Interpol isn't going to help this situation!"
"Bev—"
"Jack!"
There was a deafening silence as they shouted at each other. The two glared at each other like children throwing an unwanted tantrum.
"He left, because he is being trapped in this job! In this life!"
"He is like a son to me, Bev." Jack reasoned, slumping down on the settee, effectively avoiding the previously thrown object.
"I know he is, and I know he stupidly followed Hannibal, but he's an adult, let him do what he wants."
"I don't understand why Will would even follow him!"
The secretary crossed her arms looking at Jack like he was stupid or insane. The older man had the genuine expression of confusion, the woman bit her bottom lip in frustration, before releasing a sigh.
". . . Are you fucking serious, Jack or are you just messing with me?" The woman uttered raising a brow.
Silence.
"Jack, I don't know what you're on, but I want some of that if it distracted you enough not to see it at all."
"Beverly just spit it out!"
"He's in love, Jack."
Silence.
"I didn't — I don't . . . He swings that way?" Another look of genuine confusion was painted on his face. Beverly sat beside the man, crossing her legs before adjusting her satin skirt. She leaned back and sighed, whilst looking at the crystal chandelier that decorated the ceiling.
"Sometimes it amazes that you're the head of his security team."
"Jack, when has Will ever brought a girl home?" Beverly finally glanced at Jack, who was still looking quite perplexed.
"Alana and Margot—"
"Don't count, even when they were both single and unmarried at the time, and Will was experimenting. . . They were young, he didn't know what he liked back then."
"He cares about them, Alana is Will's longest friend, and Margot is like a sister to him. Six years after that fiasco, he couldn't even think about getting any of them knocked up. He sees it like incest." Beverley continued, reiterating what Will told her one night at the influence of a drunken stupor.
"So, he's in love, and that's all the reason not to find him?! He might be dying in a ditch?!" Panic filled the older man's voice again.
"Jack! He is fine!"
"He isn't even leaving a paper trail!"
"Because he knows that you'd find him though it! Will Graham is a lot of things, but stupid is not one of them."
"Although . . . His an emotionally constipated mess . . . This is actually the first time he couldn't be stopped or coerced to do something. . . Will doesn't really do things for himself. It's always others, even with that blasé exterior he shows, we both know that he was never exactly right in the head." The woman sadly added.
"So please, give him time. He'll come back; I promise you."
"One week, after this week, I am going to make calls, and no speech can stop me by then."
"Ok, deal."
"You better be right about this, because if he is in danger, it is on you." Jack said walking off, after picking up his phone.
"That's what I'm afraid of." Beverly whispered to herself hoping for the best.
"Doctor Fell, nice to meet you." A smooth voice called out as the assassin approached the well-dressed man.
A three-piece charcoal suit, with a grey well pressed dress shirt and no tie. The man was tan, with a glow of ending youth and wonder, a smug air waft around him. His brown slightly slant deep hues compliment the slicked back hair with thick facial hair. In the assassin's opinion he looked like a child trying to intimidate his guardians into handing him sweets. It was comical in a way.
"Likewise, Mister?" Hannibal said, reaching the outstretched hand to shake. The hand lingered for a moment, as if testing the waters.
"Sagliato, Emilio Sagliato. I am in charge of the Palazzo Capponi Library. . . I will be showing you around for the time being." The other said with undoubtable confidence. He smiled in such a forced manner that the creases of the smile faltered after a while, but feeling the mutual resentment, opted to appreciate the old Italian building.
The gallery was large and particularly aged. The stone foundations were visible, and cracks edged and pieces of stone fell to the floor. Metal beams were bonded together, plastic cover was scattered on the floor. It was evident that renovations were at work, and rightly so. The weakening foundations posed a threat to all the civilians in it.
"You were not what I expected when they said a foreign specialist will be in charge of the medieval exhibit." The other man uttered, eyeing the unsurprisingly pristine look of the assassin. A pompous insinuated undertone was in lay.
High cheek bones, a rare maroon shade of eyes, fair and nicely built. So, unlike many of his colleagues, who, while well versed academics were old and frail. In all his years of working in this field, the curator was always the youngest in his team. To have someone close to his age was . . . Intimidating. He didn't know if he was appalled or intrigued by his new colleague, a new field yet, to be tested.
"Many people do say I . . . Am quite surprising." Hannibal hid his smirk behind a soft gracious smile, which made his features brighten. The assassin's mind went to remember the soft curve of a certain millionaire's back, and deep-set tired eyes that seemed to charm him even in its most prominent moments. On the other hand, the man's enigmatic charm affecting the hostile man beside him.
"Very." The Italian stated, accent clear, but the tone slightly doubtful and surprised at his own admission.
Preferring not to linger at the newly sparked interest, the curator immediately toured the man on his soon to be workplace. Pointing out certain items under his specialty and giving a brief description of each with a passive tone.
". . . and here are the historian's offices." The Italian said as the two entered the lounge, where the man sauntered to a similarly built man wearing tweed. His back turned at Elijah's tap to reveal a fairly familiar looking man to the assassin.
His hair was cropped in a short cut, dark skin and dark eyes seemingly challenging. His calloused hands littered with angled cuts that's seemed to be variegated. Hannibal knew this man, staring and memorizing every little bit of the content of his undoubtedly lengthy file.
"This is Professor Alexander Keller, he has actually just came to us last week." The curator introduced, mediating the conversation whilst being oblivious to the growing tension between the two pseudo-scholars.
"Nice to finally meet you . . . Doctor Fell. I have heard a lot about your wonderful work in the home country and around Europe." A wicked smile was placed on the American sounding man's lips, which Hannibal politely returned.
The copycat killer finally met his master.
"Where is he?" Will banged at every nook and cranny available in the objectively large vicinity.
Bedelia rolled her eyes at . . . What can only be politely described as 'out-of-the-box' thinking of the Millionaire, the other words being 'stupid' and 'unreasonable'. It was fairly obvious what the young man was looking for isn't even in their location. The blonde continued to sip her wine, paying no mind to the question irately screamed at her from one of the inner rooms.
"Bedelia, answer me!" Like the catatonic petulant child, he seemed to be possessed with, Will stomps in front of the woman and made a fit.
"What do you mean, Will?" Bedelia uttered pleasantly, seemingly unperturbed by the actions and tone of the Millionaire.
"Bedelia, I have no time for this." Frustratedly, Will marched out the door with coat in hand, already ready for departure.
This caught the woman's attention.
"Stop!"
The young man halted, but his hand was already on the knob, and the door was wedged open. The deceptively warm Italian breeze silently slipped in.
"Wherever you are going, I am deathly sure he isn't there." She uttered, with a hard tone.
"What do you mean, Bedelia?" He said, deceptively calm yet the snark of throwing the woman's own words at her direction was blatantly obvious.
"He is handling a few things concerning his less than legal employment." She said, already standing up to shut the front door, which she successfully did with a full-bodied push.
The man's mind was going wild with fear. He was fine alone, he had always been alone, and yet, after the trauma he experienced, the assassin was his anchor. His hold on reality. Because in his mind, any other fictitious reality he entered always had a singular difference from the rest, and it always revolved around the assassin's demise.
Bedelia took in the image of the man, perfectly still, dark circles around the eyes, all packaged in a messy set of clothes. In her true opinion he looked pitiful, woeful and utterly drowning in obsession.
"I am giving you a choice. Go home, to your actual home, you don't know what hell will fall on you if you stay by his side for too long."
"I—"
"Please. Don't. I know what you're going to say. How secure are your . . . Affections with him? How deeply does it run? I'm not even sure you reciprocate its intensity."
"Are you telling me I don't love him?!"
"The word affection varies in nature, via context." Bedelia uttered passively, with a slight grit due to the building exasperation.
"I don't even think you understand that word properly to differentiate the feelings that you two have for each other. . . I would akin your 'feelings' closer to obsession than anything."
"Fuck you to hell, Bedelia." Will muttered unusually calm and ran out trying to go after the man that was long gone.
The woman shut her eyes and exhaled. Trying to mask the feeling of frustration with a sigh. She was a respected handler with years of experience with assassins and mercenaries, and yet handling a lovesick petulant depressive millionaire was more than she could handle. Actual children were easier to handle.
On the other hand, a thought came to mind, sociopath and a psychopath obsessed is such an interesting case to study. Her oldest profession always was the pinnacle of her career life.
Amidst the in-depth thoughts that lingered, another presence made itself known.
"What do you want Abigail?" the woman snapped.
"I have questions." Abigail said with purpose. The older woman observed the youth, hands holding pieces of aged paper.
"And?"
"Obviously I want them answered."
"Yes, interestingly enough human nature dictates us to be . . . Obsessed with forbidden knowledge."
"How long have you known Da-Hannibal?"
"For longer than your very existence. . . even before the consummation prior to knowing about your gestation." Bedelia humored.
"you didn't answer me! Am I my father's child?" Abigail's frustrated tone, simmered coldly.
"Abigail, what answer do you want me to give?" The blonde woman said, wearing what seems to be another one of Hannibal's expensive dress shirts. It was a lilac silk shirt, light seemingly bouncing from it immaculately. It was long enough to reach the woman's thigh, and large enough to cover anything remotely arousing to an average viewer. Her neck had a band of white, which covered the sutures that the former doctor sewed.
"the truth." The youth dead panned.
"then let me ask you a question first, what do you know?" the woman sighed loudly, standing from her languid seat on the settee. She was the image of a fair-haired Greco-Roman goddess, before moving closer to the youth.
". . . nothing."
"exactly. So, your assumptions of not being your father's child, is seemingly out of nowhere. You have no cause to question your linage." She said smirking, before passing the youth to reach one of the decanters on top of the minibar. Any would do just fine as a pick me up for this conversation, she was sure she shouldn't be involved in.
"then, let me ask you. Who is my mother?"
"I don't know."
"lies! You are lying to me!"
"your accusing me, when I really don't know." The exasperation is reaching to an irritating level, and given the chance, she would personally discipline this child. But it wasn't her job to do so.
"I heard you and father talk; you know something. You have to tell me!"
"at what cost? My life? I am not dumb enough to sacrifice my life for a child's questions." Bedelia took a swig at the decanter, internally comparing herself to an uncultured barbarian. She doesn't usually engage in such a habit, but her patience was running thin, and she didn't have the tact to retrieve a glass from the kitchen.
'clearly this child doesn't have a fear for life or death. Such a typical response for this family.' Bedelia thought, as she heard out a series of frustrated muttering from the teen.
"why won't you answer me!?" Abigail finally cried out, tears streaking her face with frustration and pent up feelings.
"because it's not mine to tell." A blasé response was all that is given, before she took another swig from the decanter.
"being ignorant is the best thing your damn father ever gave you! Don't you dare lay a hand on me again, or I will, for god's sake make sure you will never find the answers!" the older woman continued, feeling the tensions raise and ready to erupt into something unsavory.
The woman looked at the youth and felt all her instincts tick even in her inebriated state of mind. She felt the oncoming danger and the uncharacteristic crying of the youth. She has known the child throughout all the youth's life. She was there when Hannibal first 'acquired' the youth from her mother. . . in uncouth terms that is.
The child's mother was in an unstable state, and on the brink of madness. She was . . . freighting to see. Her face was still as striking as it always was, especially in recent, where she is bright and carefully dressed in their meetings. And by sheer instinct she knew she was in danger; she finally noticed a thick knife hidden by the youth's letters. It was a hunting knife. A knife that the youth's father usually uses in his supplementary hunts for his . . . nutrition. Another quirk that the child's father had that she just accepted and didn't question.
"What game are you trying to play?" Bedelia said quietly, slowly reaching for her small revolver tucked on the strap of her underwear. She wasn't stupid, she was prepared for any form of attack, especially to her being. But what she didn't anticipate is the attack of the youth she was supposed to be protecting.
"What do you mean Bedelia?" The girl replied, her crying immediately ceased, batting her lashes innocently.
"Let's stop that innocent act for a moment, Abigail." Bedelia said passively, as she sat down again on the settee, making sure her back didn't face the child.
She gestured to the seat adjacent to her, keeping eye contact to this dreadfully tense moment. The girl was shifted her feet and walked towards the love seat being offered. The elder leaned her back to the plush seat.
"Alright Bedelia, what do you want to know?" the teen turned the tables on the elder.
"What do you mean?"
"you want to know what I know correct?"
"well, for one, I am sure that Da― Hannibal, is not my father. . . or biological father. And you know my mother, and I know for a fact that she is alive, unlike what my fathe― Hannibal kept telling me." Abigail petulantly complained, each word hardening in her mouth.
"your wrong. . . she did die a long time ago." A cold tone slipped from the woman's lips. She was irked by the woman they are speaking off. She had always had the air of confidence and psychosis.
"the woman that was your mother died a long time ago, what you're soon going to see is a shell of a woman that your father once loved dearly." The elder said solemnly, taking in the expression that the assassin had the first time she heard the story. And a story it remained until she finally met the deranged woman.
"your naivety is to be admired if you think meeting that woman would solve all the insecurities you have about the missing piece of your family. . .you will start something that cannot be brought back." Bedelia commented harshly, hitting the mark of the child's weaknesses.
"are you going to betray the trust of a man who fostered you? The man who parented you and aided you into living in luxury? . . .if so, you are an ungrateful bastard child." The woman added for a more dramatic effect.
"What did you say?"
"you are a bastard! And illegitimate child of a woman who has disowned you the moment you left her being." Her words hurt the child with immense precision.
"are you satisfied?"
"no―I" her words were muffled by her tears. The knife in her hand dropped and echoes through the house, as it landed on the marble floor. She has never even thought about being illegitimate or being ungrateful. She just wanted to find out who she really was. And now the more she knew about herself, the more her identity is crumbling.
"then this conversation is over." Bedelia finally released her hold on her gun, and turned to leave the foyer, but Abigail's screeching voice echoed through before she reached the arch of the doorway.
"I did something wrong!" Abigail said in desperation.
"what did you do?" this alarmed the woman even more than the girl's previous actions.
A beat of silence came from the child's mouth, as words died within it. A chill passed through her spine, as fear finally peeled in, just with the look that Bedelia gave her. It was the rare look of pure, unadulterated fury.
"you told that idiot where to find your father?!"
Bedelia assumed that the little robin will come back after a while of futile searching, or he heeded her advice and went back to American soil. But because of this little hitch, the woman felt anger bubble.
"You know better than to interfere with matters that are out of your control." The woman lectured, seeing no remorse on the child's end. although knowing that Hannibal used this naivety to aid his fancy's protection, meddling in the thin line of aid and disaster is a calloused affair.
"This is revenge isn't it?" Bedelia pointed out, looking quite unsatisfied with the turn of events.
"Against my father, possibly. Against you, maybe." The girl said, with unstable voice. Mixed emotions of regret and anger pursed internally.
The look in the girl's eyes reminded the woman. A young aspirant of life, he trying to fix his mental and emotional deficiencies. . . Which she saw get slain in front of her, with a single shot to the head.
"You have a choice, come with me or die."
The memory would forever be ingrained in her mind. A soft voice and pretty maroon eyes coupled with long platinum blonde hair. The figure she met far too similar to the man she is currently serving.
'Manipulation must run in the family' she thought, taking in a sigh and looking at Abigail halfheartedly.