Disclaimer: No animals were hurt in the making of this chapter. Funny, I can kill people on a whim, and not bat an eye, but I cringe at the thought of even thinking of harming an animal. Hmmmm, makes you wonder, doesn't it?
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The ferry building at the Port of San Francisco, as the red neon letters proudly proclaim, seems to be constantly undergoing renovations. There are a number of halls leading from the ferry docks to the Embarcadero in front, and it always seems that you are directed to take a different hallway every time you come in. Down the barricaded hall for the day there is a faint noise, as if you were standing outside the theater doors while a horror film was showing. A semblance of a scream, but not quite identifiable. The noise is gone as quickly as it comes and none of the disembarking passengers pay it any mind as they scurry through the rabbit's warren of passages.
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An old oak desk sits massive in the midst of the small office, overpowering it with sheer size. A fluorescent tube in the lighting overhead flickers madly, indicative of nearing the end of its life span. In the far corner, away from the desk, a golden retriever strains at its harness, unable to bark or snap from the duct tape wrapped around its muzzle. Low growls are issued from its throat though and its fur bristles as it continues its vain struggles.
A young woman sits duct taped to the rolling office chair, with another piece of tape secured over her mouth. Strangely, the line that comes to her captor's mind is 'When the going gets tough, the tough use duct tape!' and it causes a brief chuckle. She is wiping down a large heavy duty stapler, the kind that can handle large amounts of paper. The cloth she is using is stained with blood, and she is careful to turn the rag over to find dry areas to continue her clean up efforts. In moments, the stapler is returned to the shelf from whence it came. The tormentor looks down on her detainee once more as she checks the office for any other sign that she had been there. The pale skin of the girl's face is almost ashen in color now, and her eyes hazed from the pain. Pale blue, like the sky this morning as she had driven over the bridge this morning. Blonde roots were beginning to show against the red hair, indicating that the captive needed to visit the salon once again. Well, that little errand might have to wait a little while.
Blood was seeping across the desktop at an agonizingly slow pace, and the tormentor was restraining herself from lowering her head to it and lapping at it like a cat at a saucer of cream. No, not today, not with this one. A month had been much to long to keep herself in check. So long without any outlet for the rage inside, the monster clamoring to be released from its dungeon cell. She had once more bowed to the shadows' whims and released it, letting her control slip. Really, if the dog hadn't been barking at her the entire time on the ferry, and if the girl hadn't been so rude when Emily had asked her to silence the dog. Ah well, such is life. Emily reached out and tapped the girls finger, eliciting a cry of pain from beneath the tape.
Emily had stapled the dear's fingers to the desk and had been amusing herself with the pain by poking under the girl's nails with a paper clip. A row of pencils lay lined up before her on the desk, all freshly sharpened, but Emily couldn't bring herself to kill the child. It would have been interesting, though, to use the pencils to reenact the old Wound Man illustration. Emily saw the blood on her fingertip and she raised it to her lips. A check of her watch indicated that she needed to get moving if she still intended to beat Hannibal home from the office. She smiled at the girl and then turned for the door.
"Hope you've learned some manners, Anouk." she used the name she had heard the other girls call her by on the ferry. It always paid to be observant. "Keep a tighter leash on your pup next time." and with that, Emily was gone from the office, easily winding her way through the halls and out into the twilight on the Embarcadero. Five minutes after that, she was in a cab and headed for her home and daughter. The girl would never be able to inform the police as to her attacker's identity when they found her some twenty minutes after that, owing to the fact that she was blind.
*****
She was settled into the couch, lounging against Hannibal later that evening, just watching the glow of the fireplace. Barney had retired to his room in the renovated attic and Mischa was tucked soundly into her bed. All was at peace with the world, as far as appearances went. Emily's left hand played with the wedding band on her husband's hand as she reached with her right for the glass of port that sat on the coffee table. It had been the last bottle of Danielle, and Emily had reminded herself that she needed to plan a trip up to Healdsburg soon. She sipped at the wine as she relaxed, feeling Hannibal's hand close around hers. She closed her eyes and relaxed even further, happy and content in the moment. She had no qualms about her evenings activities, showed no outward reaction as she had seen the story on the late night news.
No, her only fear was that the police would find the butchered body of Lisa soon. Hannibal had assured her that they wouldn't, at least not anytime within the near future. Bringing her out of this thought, she felt him stirring beneath her. Emily adjusted her position, realizing that he had said something to her. She met his eyes, and they were slightly terrifying in the firelight.
"Hmmmm?"
"If I offered you the chance to take my life again Emily, would you do it?" he repeated, voice low in her ear, gaze never wavering.
It was food for thought. Although Emily couldn't quite conjure up an answer for him at this time. She mulled over it for a moment or two, reaching for her glass of port again, and only after sipping it did she find a response.
"Ask me again later. Now is not the time for thoughts like those."
He took the glass from her and sipped at it as well before he responded to her answer. "Why not, Emily?" His response came as she rolled over and captured his mouth in a kiss, hands reaching up into his dark hair. Hannibal's hand managed to return the glass unsteadily to the coffee table before reaching up to entwine his fingers in her own hair.
"Oh, Emily." he murmured as she left his lips, trailing kisses down his neck. She snuggled against him and sighed. It had been so long.
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