Professional Curiosity
Chapter Two: The Vampire of London
It was as if I blinked and I had transported from the cold bearings of an airport restroom stall and into Hannibal Lecter's office. Familiarity of both environment and his presence comforted me when I woke, staring up at the high ceiling and the wrap-around library hanging above me. To my immediate right, Hannibal worked quietly, his hands skillfully threading a needle with pressure against my lower abdomen A weak smile tugged the corner of my lips. He found me. He rescued me. And whatever he had done while I had been asleep had alleviated some of the worst pain, which had it gone on longer I might have spilled my darkest secrets.
Hannibal was courteous enough to lay a towel across my naked chest; to which I surmised that when I was safely transported into his office, he had stripped my top off in order to secure the wound along my stomach. Propriety was a trait that I admired in my boss, though it was something I struggled with myself; there had been small moments in the last few years that I had been on his payroll that I wanted to move our work relationship into a more intimate setting, but I feared that he would find it inappropriate. Even when he discovered my secret, I thought that it would at least cement a closer bond; though, he merely admired the lengths I had gone for self-preservation.
I stirred, and Hannibal glanced up at me from his ministrations.
"Good morning, Evangeline."
"Morning?" My mouth was dry, I practically choked out the word.
"Your long flight and delay in the restroom lost you a dangerous amount of blood." said Hannibal, dropping his momentary gaze to continue his stitch work. "Though, in your lethargic state, you gave me a handful of trouble, I had to sedate you. All that moving around."
"I tried to fight you?" I asked.
"Considering history, my dear, I would have been disappointed if you hadn't." Hannibal replied. "I imagine that you haven't had access to an adequate blood bank or suitable donor, Evangeline. Your symptoms have returned. I went out of my way to bring you a supply to stabilize you until you can safely recover your own means."
He nodded his chin upwards to indicate behind me.
I turned my head to see an entire IV rack, holding a bag of blood. The tube trailed from the bag into an IV inserted in my hand. This wasn't cause for an alarm; nor was I shocked. In my condition, it would have been quite tedious to take me to the hospital, and they would ask questions about my wound, and even more about my delicate condition that I didn't want to answer.
"I thought that when you were heading out to the UK, we discussed how it was very prudent to have access to donors and blood banks every other day, didn't we?"
"He wasn't as understanding as I thought he was going to be, Hannibal," I said pointedly, hearing the chastisement in his voice. "It was hard to get away long enough to perform any sort of procedure to get what I needed from the donor. The wedding took up all my time…"
"Is he dead?" asked Hannibal casually.
I nodded, and my nose crinkled in disgust, "He looked at me as if I were this bug that needed to be smashed. The things he said…He vexed me."
"In your condition, I'm not surprised that you lashed out at him," said Hannibal.
"I thought that if some time passed, he could look over the fact that I have this…" I indicated the bag of blood hanging over my head.
"He would have accepted the fact that you suffer from a blood disorder, Evangeline. Perhaps you should have opted out the method that you use in order to stave off the harsher effects of Porphyria." Hannibal said. He slid something cold against my laceration, and then indicated with a gentle hand for me to sit up slowly. "Easy now. You're going to feel a lot of tenderness."
Tenderness. A searing pain that felt as if I were a Raggedy-Anne doll being pulled at the seams—Tenderness, indeed. Hannibal wrapped the towel that had been laid on my naked chest and kept it still until I could gather it in my hand. He was cautious, watching me with such intensity that my cheeks burned under his scrutiny.
"Later, if you are feeling up to it, I can serve you something better than what is in there," said Hannibal, smiling up at the blood bag. "Your symptoms seemed to have eased."
I felt my face burn as he tipped one of his fingers under my chin and moved my head accordingly, observing the healed patches on my face where extensive sun exposure from the outside wedding had made its mark. The worst of my symptoms had eased, indeed, as Hannibal had dimmed the lights and given me blood. The pins-and-needles sensation had ebbed away; the confusion and sort of mental rage that had plagued my husband and I eased. Perhaps if I had the access to my particular donor whom I still had locked away in my basement, I wouldn't have reacted so violently toward my former husband. But that was the past, and we all learned from our mistakes.
A renown surgeon with a clear understanding of psychological warfare—Sorry, psychiatry—and knowing what ailed me…Hannibal understood me where no one else did. Even when I had confessed to him how I would obtain my own blood infusions, he hadn't judged me. He more or less encouraged it.
They call it the Legend of the Vampire. Porphyria. A blood disorder. Symptoms come with a high sensitivity to light and sun exposure. It required blood transfusions, hospital visits, mind-numbing medications—And how I solved my issue…Well, obviously, I had taken a more unorthodox approach. Why would the public condemn me to avoid the worst effects? Lesions, vomiting, rashes, mental confusion, seizures, psychosis—If anyone else were in my shoes, wouldn't they have done the same thing as I have in order to avoid it all?
"I had to leave my dogs," I said. "Don't suppose I can find a way to get them back. They're good boys. Well-trained."
"If the police have discovered your crime, it is dangerous to try to retrieve them. In your case, they are considered evidence. You have a very notable motive and opportunity for your murders, Evangeline. To return to the UK, especially after the poetic end of your love affair would put you in danger." Hannibal said calmly, casually as ever. "It would have been easier if you had stayed closer to home—say, in the states. You've caused a bit of stir in international waters."
"I didn't think I was that reckless."
"Spree killing is," said Hannibal. He rose to his feet and strode the length of the room to retrieve a pot of tea. "I'd offer you something stronger, but as we've discussed and as you very well know, you can't imbibe alcohol."
"Tea is fine."
He returned and handed off a cup to me, which I took gratefully with a note of thanks.
"They've started calling you the Vampire of London," said Hannibal, as if he were quoting from an article, and I had no doubt that he was. "'A serial killer who has plagued the streets of Britain, using attack dogs to target joggers, dog walkers, blood banks… 'rips them open with a butcher knife, from neck to groin, no clear medical knowledge, though must have been instructed by someone with a medical degree…'"
Hannibal, despite the words flowing eloquently off his tongue, sat down beside me with a look of approval. "Oh, yes, the FBI is very interested in you."
"The Vampire of London. Not as notable as the Chesapeake Ripper, I suppose. Don't worry, Boss." I assured him. "You've kept my secret; I've kept yours."
A moment of silence passed with the sound of sipping tea. I volunteered,
"Not so much as 'ripping' as it is dissecting."
"As you cannot stay in my office to recover," said Hannibal, moving the conversation forward, "I will be more than accommodating to have you stay in my home. Your sudden appearance will no doubt discomfit some of my patients, and notably one of my patients works for the FBI. It would be best that he not see you."
"Would he so easily see me for what I am?" I asked.
"I assure you, he would," said Hannibal. "This patient of mine can stand in the shoes of serial killers and understand how they think, feel, what they do. It would be easy to empathize with you, Evangeline, because you have a very clear motive. I will procure the necessities for you. After some time when the chaos has died down in the UK, you may return to work for me, if that is what you choose."
His sentence posed a small infliction, a quiet question, to which I replied, "I would like that."
Hannibal smiled and took a sip of tea. "I'm glad to hear it. After all, it was sad to see you go, Evangeline."