Hannibal saw his patient to the door, bid them a good evening, and quietly closed the door to his office. It was 5:00 pm and his final patient, Ana, wasn't due for another thirty minutes. He poured himself a small amount of wine and took to reviewing his notes from Ana's last session; he could still hear the violence in her voice while he sipped his wine, alone.
Before their session, Hannibal made it a point to leave his office door ajar, as a welcoming gesture for Ana. However, he was greeted by the sight of her already shrugging off her coat in the waiting room. Seeing her bare, lissome shoulders, he became progressively more and more aware that he had never seen Ana without her coat covering every inch from her neck to her knees. He thought it was somewhat shameful that he hadn't as she was rather beautiful; delicate in appearance like spun sugar. Underneath her specious appearance, she was quite strong, covered in lean muscle. Her arms drifted a little way out from her body, resting more to the front of her hips than her sides. Hannibal suspected it was ingrained from ballet. She was small, certainly thin enough to join the ballet, and moved with an acquired grace not often seen outside a danseuse.
She hung her coat and hat on a rack near one of the far windows of the waiting room. Her hair was tightly wrapped in a French twist with the exception of her short bangs, which were swept gently toward one side. She had on a black bateau dress, fitted around her hips with a straight skirt. It was longer than most women care to wear - ending just below mid-calf. She looked like a woman out of her own time, trying desperately to cling to the elegance of an era long since passed.
She placed her gloves inside her purse before turning to check the door. The pair made eye contact, surprise was visible in her eyes.
"Good evening, Hannibal, I must not have seen you there."
"How long have you been dancing?" He asked, changing the subject.
"Nearly fourteen years now. I'm only a part of a small company, we do some shows around the area, mostly excerpts from larger works. You have a discerning eye, Doctor."
"One should take time to enjoy the finer things in life. Please, come in." He said, motioning toward his office.
She thanked Hannibal and moved to enter the office, pivoting her body at an angle to pass him. He inhaled deeply as she sidled closely by. Her natural scent was enticing; warm with robust notes of powder and petrichor accented by hints of musk and white flowers. He felt as though her warmth had touched his skin. The sweet scent of her skin reminded him of an exquisite wild mushroom dish he had prepared a few nights earlier using an earthy red wine.
Hannibal donned his suit jacket and collected a few items from his desk while Ana inspected some art on the walls. He placed his glass and notebook by his own chair and the glass ashtray from their previous session next to Ana's seat. Ana herself, however, was at the end table where the open bottle of wine rested. She lifted the bottle to chin height, inhaling deeply.
"Blackberries, a trace of violets, and..." She inhaled once more, "Tobacco leaf. It's delightful; cabernet franc is an underrated wine."
"Please, feel free to help yourself."
Ana thanked him and poured herself two fingers of the deep, red wine. She seemed unperturbed by the unorthodoxy of drinking with her psychiatrist during a session. She took a small drink of the wine.
"It's even lovelier on the palate." She commented, taking her place across from Hannibal.
"How have you been since we last spoke?"
"Anxious, mostly. I will admit that several times since my last session I worried that you were going to report our conversation to someone. I'm not sure what constitutes the intent to harm someone."
"I have no intention of reporting you to anyone, Ana. My obligation to report someone with the intention of harming herself or someone else only comes with the mention of specific names or plans."
"That is certainly a relief." She professed, sipping her wine.
"Have you been dealing with the same violent ideations?" Hannibal questioned, making a note in his record.
"Yes, and I feel as though they're becoming more elaborate, more distracting. I wonder if this is how serial killers felt before their first murder and, subsequently, in between killings. It's like a weight on my chest and everyday it grows heavier."
"It sounds very similar to how serial killers have been profiled, in terms of violent thoughts. It's also important to remember that we have very limited knowledge of serial killers. We have even less information about homicidal ideations in those who have never killed, as they have never been publicly evaluated. For all we know, you're perfectly normal, but the pressure society has placed on caring for every single life has made you feel as though you're abnormal."
"Do you ever think about killing? Not just wishing someone was dead, but imagining how it would feel to wrap your hands around their neck and look them in the eye while you choked the life out of them?"
There was silence between them for a moment while Hannibal mulled over her question. It wasn't long ago that he was in nearly the exact position she was describing, choking the life out of a man with the very belt he was wearing. In fact, his kidneys were still in the refrigerator. Hannibal made a mental note to use them soon.
"Everyone thinks about killing at some point their life, Ana. It's the extent to which you think about it that makes the difference."
Ana eyed him over the top of her wine glass while she had a sip. Her brows were slightly furrowed and her eyes held some form of anger. She was obviously displeased with his vague answer but bit her tongue, nonetheless.