The first sound that occurred to him as he topped the stairs in approach to the bed room was the echoing sound of the door at the end of the hall in the dungeon slamming shut. It's quite frightening to hear such a sound in context to your free life. His feet feel leaden as he approaches the door to the bedroom, and he pauses outside of it. No, he cannot go in, he cannot face her right now. He digs through the linen closet and removes a few sheet and a blanket or tow before heading to the living room. He lay in the darkness wondering about the awful question of what would happen next.

*****

It was the screams that woke her, causing her to bolt upright in her bed, sheets wrapped in a tangled mess around her. It took her moments, long tedious moments in the morning sunlight, to realize that the screams were coming, and from her own lips nonetheless. It frightened her madly as she managed to close her mouth, clamping it tight against her voice. It only served to silence her own, as they continued in her mind, echoing through the corridors of her palace. She could name the owners of the screams with deadly accuracy, and that too frightened her. Screams from Rich and Lisa, from the unnamed caterer laying in the alley way. Above them all, angry screams, the vile sounds that she had known as her company for so many years. The voice of Marian Christophersen rang above them all, condemning her.

Emily threw the sheets aside and literally ran to the bathroom, barricading herself in the shower and turning the stream full blast upon her body. The icy water streamed down her cheeks as she leaned against the cold tiles that lined the walls, feeling the hot tears stream down her cheeks to join the cold water of the shower, combining and being washed down the drain. The screams began to diminish, save for her mother's voice, which still rang through the corridors. A heavy sob racked her body and she felt the lines on her face as her eyes pinched shut. The image of the old woman gnarled and wasted behind the dark steel bars. The bitterness in those cobalt eyes as she glared out from her imprisonment. Emily could hear the coarse voice as she leaned close to the bars.

"You always knew you'd be just like your mother, little Emily. How could you ever believe you could be anything else?"

Emily struck out blindly with her fist and struck the tiles underneath the shower head, above the faucet knobs, and se felt the tile crack. She felt the pain run through her arm and her legs go out beneath her. She felt the rushing of the icy water as her head struck the back wall of the shower and she slipped into a black void filled with her mother's screams.

*****

When Emily finally came back to the here and now, she found herself no longer on the floor of the shower being pummeled by the cold water, but tucked securely in bed. She blinked slowly, trying to come to grips with her surroundings and get her bearings. A wave of pain and nausea washed over her as she tried to raise herself up to a sitting position. A groan escapes her as she lays back down, letting her head sink back into the pillows. The muffled sound of feet on the floor drew her attention from the ceiling and towards the windows. Hannibal was rising from a chair in the corner, face grim.

"You're awake, Emily." she could only affirm his observation with a grunt, not really wanting to speak at the moment. The man seemed eerily calm as he neared the bed. A penlight was taken from the bedside table nearest him and he was all business as he checked her pulse and then proceeded to her eyes with the light. Satisfied with her pupils he clicked the light off and raised a slim index finger. "Follow my finger please, Emily. Up and down, side to side. Good. You have a concussion from your fall in the shower. May I inquire as to why you were taking an ice cold shower?"

She looked at him, edging out from under the covers slightly, at least to free her arms. Strange she felt none of the animosity towards him that had been occupying her thoughts of him for the past several weeks. Silence sat between them, an uncomfortable guest.

"No? From what I can gather, you punched the wall and broke one of the tiles, and probably set forth a chain of events that led to your fall. Accurate enough?"

"Yes." she looked guiltily at the down comforter that was clenched in her fingers, then raised her eyes to his. "I broke a tile?"

"Yes, and luckily not your hand, although, you do have some awful bruises now. Seeking pain as a remedy, Emily?"

"Sort of. I was trying to make them go away."

"Make who go away?"

She thought she sounded like a child who had been caught stealing and was now being ordered to confess. Amazingly, her gaze never wavered from his eyes, but she was not finding any compassion there. She wasn't finding much of anything in them, just cold and staring maroon eyes. "Her screams. They were in my head and I couldn't get rid of them."

"So that is why you took the cold shower?"

"Yes, all those screams. God, what did I do…?"

Still nothing in his eyes, she looked away and at her hands, flexing the fingers before her, staring at them as if she had never seen them before.

"About last night, Emily. The woman in our basement.."

"Lisa." she supplied, not looking from her hands.

"She said you did it for revenge. Revenge, Emily?"

Lisa. Blood. Harpy. Mischa. Mischa. Mischa… Emily's eyes went wide as she saw her daughter in the basement once again. Saw the wide eyes of a child who did not comprehend what she was seeing. Setting her on the table.

"Cover your eyes Mischa."

She was out of the bed in an instant, losing balance as she pulled herself to her feet and made her way unsteadily form the room. "Oh god, oh god, oh god, oh god, oh god, oh god…" She gritted her teeth against the nausea as she stumbled into Mischa's room, finding the child still asleep in her bed. Peaceful and angelic. She felt strong hands grasp her arms and hold her upright.

"What did you do to our daughter, Emily?" The voice was cold, glacially cold and calm in its tone, with all the same power behind it. The grip tightened, she would discover the bruises tomorrow, and she looked back over her shoulder at him.

"She saw… she saw.." she couldn't get anymore out than that before she collapsed into sobs.

Hannibal's pallor now matched his wife's, and he let her loose long enough to turn her to face him. "What did she see, Emily?" it was a low hiss, and the sound of it hummed madly in Emily's ears.

"Lisa, she came downstairs last night and saw Lisa. I told her to cover her eyes."

*****