In his refrigerated cell, Hannibal broke out into a sweat.
The light had gone out and it was dark. The stench of aged excrement permeated the air and the cold boxes and packages around him felt like just so many frozen bodies. A beam of light shone through a small crack in the door and he closed his eyes, willing himself out of his nightmare.
A voice spoke in the darkness, and his eyes flew open. He didn't recognize the voice and could see nothing in the darkness.
"I said, 'Why don't you take a look at what's going on out there?'" the voice repeated.
"Who are you?"
"I'm only here to help. I suggest you follow my advice and take a look."
"No. I know what's out there."
"Now, how could you possibly know what's out there if you won't look?"
"I've seen it thousands of times. I will not see it again," he huffed now, chilled to his bones.
"You mean to say that you've witnessed this before and never stopped it?"
"I—I couldn't!"
"Why not?"
"I was too small. I was just a little boy!"
"Well, are you still a little boy?"
Hannibal thought for a long moment, and whispered, "No."
"You mean to say that you know what's happening out there, and you're now a grown man, and you still won't stop it?"
"I—I can't. I'm locked in."
"How do you know? Have you even tried the door?"
"It's locked. I heard him lock it!"
"You mean to say that you'll accept what's happening out there without even trying the door?"
"Who the hell are you?"
"I told you, I'm only here to help. If you like, you may call me Marcus. But won't you even try the door?"
Hannibal got up and slowly reached out for the handle, he hesitated and received another gentle urging, "You must hurry, or it will be too late."
With that, he swung the door open to the bright, bright kitchen. Mischa lay on the butcher block screaming as a man held her down with one hand, wielding an axe with the other, and Hannibal screamed her part in the drama:
"Noooooo!"
He ran towards them, but it was as if he were running through water, the harder he tried to hurry, the slower his movements became. Meanwhile both faces had turned to him, and Mischa was pleading with him.
"Hanni! Hanni!" Tears pouring from her wide, frightened eyes. The man swung the axe down and silenced Mischa's cries, then gave him a frightful grin and ran off at top speed.
Just then, it was as if Hannibal had broken through a barrier and was able to move freely again. He rushed to where his sister lay and held her head to her body, willing for some miracle to occur, but her beautiful, bloodied face remained in silent repose. He brushed a hand tenderly across her round cheek, his vision blurring as he bent to kiss her.
He stood and turned, his movements intentionally slow now as he picked up the axe that lay on the floor.