Amuse-bouche

September 29th | 6:00 AM

Will stared up at the bright red numbers projected onto the ceiling above him, reminding him that he had been sleeping in fits and starts all night. Alana had told him it was an unhealthy thing to watch the clock like that the last time she'd come over, and perhaps he should've listened to her, since she was the only of them who was successful by any measure. Still, Will preferred to ground himself in this reality after his hallucinations and night terrors, and time was an easy way to do it.

His mouth was dry, he had to piss, and the dogs were starting to rouse at the sound of his changed breathing. There wouldn't be any more sleep for him.

Will followed his morning routine without any distraction: putting on his housecoat, using the toilet, brushing his teeth, turning on his woefully decrepit coffeemaker and letting the dogs out. The chill of the grey autumn morning hit him at full force as the dogs rushed out past him.

His phone buzzed from his housecoat pocket. He frowned, watching the dogs for another moment, trying to figure out what kind of message he'd be receiving this early in the morning.

Congratulations on another excellent review! Keep up the hard work to continue climbing the leaderboards in Baltimore, Will G.!

Another excellent review. Will swiped the notification away, rolling his eyes and angrily shoving his phone back into his pocket. His irritation with Lecter had only been heightened by his fitful night. Will prided himself on his ability to put himself in other peoples' shoes, to imagine their motivation for whatever they might do, but he could pick up almost nothing from the doctor. He had money and a superiority complex, but Will struggled to find much more.

The delivery driver managed to resist the urge to Google Dr. Lecter until all of the dogs were back inside, fed and watered. But then Will found himself backtracking to his room, grabbing his phone and beginning to search as he sat down in his chair. Dr. H. Lecter. It wasn't hard to find him; there didn't exactly seem to be an abundance of Lecters in Maryland. His first name, Hannibal, seemed just as conspicuous as the rest of him. He was a therapist, previously a surgeon, with unbelievably high rates, no social media, and a suspicious lack of online reviews. His website was outdated and unhelpful, full of the kind of psychobabble that made Will wary after years of ineffective treatment. Will thought it might be a special kind of torture to be his patient, being watched like he had been at their last encounter. He could hear the doctor's voice in his head. How does that make you feel, Will?

There was some throwaway article on an opera website that mentioned something about Lecter's patronage and his penchant for elaborate dinner parties. That explained all of the fancy vehicles in front of the house.

Winston came sniffing at Will's hand, clearly on a serious mission to find any food that Will might've missed. "Sorry Winston," Will sighed, closing out the browser window and locking his phone. "I promise I won't keep thinking about the strange man. You wanna play?"