Hannibal
He heard the gunshot from the front yard, a pleased grin spreading across his face. He took his time moving up the porch, pausing to look down at the woman lying in a pool of blood and broken glass. He looked at the pictures on the walls as he walked down the hallway, exploring the faces behind the glass. He very clearly recalled only one child in the photographs, so it was a bit of a shock to see two more women in the room. Will was doing a clumsy job of stemming the blood flow from a slash on the throat of the young girl Hannibal recognized from the photographs. The second – a young woman several years older than the former - was standing to the side, her white patterned dress coated heavily with blood. She was watching the scene unfold with a glazed expression. She seemed to be in shock. He hesitated a moment, taking in this new information. He hadn't planned on anyone else being present at the Hobbs resident. He stepped forward, moving around the island in the middle of the kitchen to firmly place his hand around the neck of the girl choking on the floor. He cradled her head with his free hand, glancing up at Will as he scuttled away looking quite shaken.
He knelt there, waiting patiently for the paramedics to arrive. He glanced up at the girl across the room from him as she proceeded to take deep breaths. The tattoos covering her arms and neck, along with the Mohawk she was wearing in a long French braid down her back, the hoop through her septum, and the stud in her labret, painted a peculiar image with the pinup style dress she was wearing. She finally opened her eyes, looking about the room with that same dazed look. She fixed her gaze on him momentarily before pulling up a chair to lean against. Hannibal watched, his curiosity growing, as she unfastened her white heels and abandoned them by the chair. All the while she was muttering to herself about her dress, even managing to make fun of the fact that she was covered in blood [something he obviously took note of]. She rubbed her temples, smearing blood in the wake of her fingertips. He forced down a wave of excitement at the sight of it, fighting the thought to find it so visually pleasing. Nearly a minute passed as she anxiously stared down at the girl choking on the floor. He watched the way she curled and uncurled her toes against the tile floor instead. The tattoo across both of her feet – the grinning Cheshire cat – had his immediate attention. He gazed for several seconds at the elegant calligraphy that accompanied the image: "We're all mad here."
She finally made her way over to him [to the girl, rather, as she obviously knew her]. She made a face as she walked through the pooling blood, but she seemed to get past the feel of it. To his surprise, she sat right down on her knees beside him, easing herself more comfortably onto the floor. She smiled at the girl gasping for air, taking up her hand and squeezing it gently. It would be important to know who she was, should need arise in the future. At least that was how he reasoned asking for her name.
"Who are you?" he asked abruptly.
She looked up at him, apparently surprised that he was addressing her. Her eyes were an interesting shade of blue and green. In this lighting they shone like aquamarine. As they passed over him, he saw in them a more innocent curiosity than he knew to be behind his line of questioning. Once she met his gaze, she inhaled sharply and looked away. Her cheeks had a natural flush to them, but the scarlet in her ears gave away her blush.
"Keeran Lovett," was the only response she gave.
Hannibal waited patiently for her to say something more. She set her jaw. Clearly she was not going to be more forthcoming than that with any information. He almost laughed aloud at her gall.
"And what were you doing here?" he pressed instead, biting back the urge to add that she clearly didn't belong there.
"My grandmother is a friend of the family," she replied. "She lives right down the street. She asked me to return some Pyrex dishes to Mrs. Hobbs. I dropped them, obviously. That's why there's glass all over the front porch." She made a vague gesture to the front porch, looking down at herself. Mrs. Hobbs must have staggered into her. She looked back to the frightened girl, forcing a smile. "Christ, she'll have a heart attack if she sees us like this, won't she?"
Hannibal looked over to check on Will. For half a second he had almost forgotten he was there. He was huddled against the cabinet doors, quivering slightly as he stared around at all the blood [some of which had managed to splatter onto his glasses]. He could practically see his fragile state of mind beginning to crack. One simple action may prove to yield far more interesting results than he could have ever imagined. He glanced down to adjust his hand and then up to Keeran. She was watching the movement, a thoughtful expression settled on her face. After several moments of silence, she finally drew her eyes up to his. Seeing that he was watching, she averted her gaze to his lips instead. He smiled slightly, unable to entirely hide his amusement.
"I'm sorry ahead of time if this sounds rude, but do you mind my asking who you are?" she asked hesitantly.
His lips twitched. "Dr. Hannibal Lecter. William Graham is working with the FBI."
He nodded to Will, who gave no sign that he had heard the conversation. She nodded in response to signify that she understood and they fell silent. The sound of humming distracted him once more, drawing his gaze back to Keeran. Her thumb was tracing circles across the back of her young friend's hand in a soothing motion. Her eyes were closed, head lolling back carelessly as she hummed and rocked to the rhythm. Hannibal's eyes inadvertently traced the shape of her trachea, following it down to the supple curve of her collarbone. The sinuous musculature of her neck as she tilted her head lazily to the side was inexplicably enticing. He tightened his grip on the young girl's throat, struggling for a split second with the urge to release her and snatch up this strange creature seated beside him. The brilliant red covering her arms, chest, and face stood out in sharp contrast against her pale porcelain complexion, against her dark hair. A number of pleasing images flashed through his mind. Perhaps what surprised him most was that they didn't all include her cold corpse. Rather, one in particular required a very warm, very live touch.
The arrival of the paramedics saved him from having to explore that explicit thought any further. Keeran swiftly moved out of the way, muttering an apology for being in the way. His watchful eyes followed her movement as she stooped to pick up her shoes and press herself into obscurity, lingering momentarily on the bloody footprints she left in her wake. He took a deep breath to recollect his thoughts and explain the situation to the slue of paramedics working to patch up the girl on the spot. He followed the stretcher out, taking a moment to carefully clean his hands. He searched the chaos to find her. His eyes settled upon her almost immediately as she awkwardly shuffled across the front porch. She was pressing herself against the wall, gaze cast toward the ceiling to avoid looking at the body of Mrs. Hobbs as she fumbled over the hunks of Pyrex. The way her knees shook like a fawn taking its first steps stirred something in his stomach – a not altogether unpleasant feeling, at that. He watched a moment longer, a predator observing its prey. Hannibal crossed the lawn to take her hand and help her cross. She blinked, looking down at the hand he was holding out to her with a confused frown. She shook her head, rousing herself from her presumably dark thoughts and muttered her thanks. She carefully slipped her fingers into his grasp. The touch, however slight, was overtly exciting. Her skin was warm, slick with blood that had yet to dry. He watched her hop across the porch in just a couple of easy steps, watched the way her calf muscles flexed as she moved. He focused on her face for a moment. Her expression remained relatively passive, though her brow was furrowed in thought. He could easily imagine what it was she was thinking about, though her body language, constantly changing, didn't necessarily belie her emotions. He felt a flicker of annoyance. She wasn't an easy read. The fluidity of her person was going to keep him on his toes.
Her eyes darted over to meet his, surprised to see him gauging her so intensely. Now that she was safely on the sidewalk, he released her hand. She immediately averted her attention elsewhere. He watched the red creeping slowly up the side of her neck to her ears again. He smiled to himself, a small token of satisfaction. He joined the paramedics in the back of the ambulance, giving Keeran one last look. She may be of interest yet.
I sat up straight, wringing my hands in my lap. I could feel the grime – the blood – on them, on my dress, the way it clung to my body, made my shoes stick to my feet. The metallic scent of it had faded; or maybe I had adjusted to it. I lost track of how long we had been flying. It felt like hours. I didn't have a watch, so I had no idea what time it was. By the time we were landing the sun was creeping dangerously close to the horizon. I watched the clusters of buildings rising up to meet us. Once we touched down, I was led inside one of the many buildings. I felt more tired than ever. He opened the door for me and I slid out onto the pavement feeling more tired than ever. My head felt cottony and my eyelids were heavy. I felt like caving in on myself. Instead, I sucked it up and followed him in silence. I kept my eyes on my feet. I knew how horrific I must look. I didn't need the curious gazes of everyone we passed to tell me. I followed along impatiently down the dark marble halls until he seemingly found who he was looking for.
"Hey Miss Katz," he finally said. "Have you spoken with Mr. Crawford?"
I glanced around him at the woman he was speaking to. She was tall, probably only an inch or two shorter than me. Despite my obviously disheveled state, she offered me a genuinely warm smile.
"He called ahead to let me know you'd be coming," she replied. "Go on, I can handle it from here." She passed him by to usher me down the hallway. "What a shame… It's such a lovely dress!"
I laughed lightly. "Tell me about it…"
I let her take me down to a sanitary room where she explained she would be swabbing my skin and taking samples from under my nails. I pasted on a smile and tried to imagine that I was elsewhere, as I had been doing for a while now. The pace was grueling. The ticking of the clock on the wall grew increasingly louder with each passing hour. I just closed my eyes and tried to keep humming to myself. When it was all over, she took me to a facility shower to get cleaned up. I stood under the scalding water, my body shaking as I watched the red swirl around my feet until the water started to run cold. A pair of sweatpants, socks, underwear, a sweatshirt, and even a pair of crocs was waiting for me when I got out. Thankfully my strapless bra had been salvageable. I was grateful for small favors at the moment. The sweatshirt and sweatpants were a little big, but they'd do just fine. I wasn't complaining. Anything that wasn't sticking to me and covered in blood was a step up. They stuck me in a cold, empty room at a metal table in a metal chair with nothing but a cup of coffee. I was starting to feel like a criminal rather than someone who had just witnessed a very horrific and traumatizing murder.
I sighed heavily and pinched the bridge of my nose. My migraine had only gotten worse in the hours since I had arrived. I suspected the harsh fluorescent lighting had something to do with it. I wasn't even sure what time it was anymore. I got the feeling that I was in some kind of underground government facility, hidden away from all daylight [though I was really almost positive that wasn't the case… almost]. Perhaps it was the stress of the situation grating on my nerves, but I was starting to feel like I was about to have a nervous breakdown. I stood up, coffee cup in hand, to pace the length of the room. I avoided looking at any of the mirrors, assuming they were two-way glass. I felt like they were watching me, scrutinizing me like a slide under a microscope. I didn't know why. I just wanted to get the fuck out of there as soon as possible. I growled quietly and knocked on one of the mirrors.
"Can we get a move on?" I said loudly. "I'd really like to go home if you don't mind."
I had returned to pacing the room a few minutes later by the time Jack Crawford opened the door to join me. He smiled tensely and gestured for me to sit. I closed my eyes for a moment and sighed impatiently before doing as he requested. I didn't much feel like sitting. I pictured myself for a moment running through the woods along a familiar path, chest heaving, before the idea that I was being chased rather than enjoying myself startled me out of it. He sat down across the table from me, watching me wrap my arms around myself, rocking back and forth. I could feel him watching me, that is, but I didn't much care. My own comfort mattered more to me than whether or not this man thought I was insane. I stared blankly down at the table with tired eyes; eyes that struggled not to relive my afternoon over and over and over again.
"Are you all right Miss Lovett?" he asked quietly.
I looked up at him curiously, snapping out of my reverie. I was crying. When had I started? I sniffled and quickly wiped my face, pressing my palms against my eyes for a couple of seconds to collect myself. I nodded vigorously.
"I'm fine," I croaked. "Slightly scarred for life, I think, but I'll make it. Mostly my mind is just…" I dropped my hands onto the table and looked up at him. He finally looked empathetic, if only a little. I shook my head. "It's tired of fighting for today. It wants to sleep it off and I'm becoming more and more inclined to allow it."
He nodded, shuffling papers in a folder he had brought with him. "I just have a couple of questions for you and then you'll be free to go."
I nodded, rubbing my temples. "Fire away, Mr. Crawford."
"What is your affiliation with the Hobbs family?"
I leaned back in my chair, sighing heavily. "I spent one summer babysitting for them when I was… thirteen? Fourteen? I'm not sure. It was a long time ago. Until today, I hadn't seen them since then."
"Which begs the question… Why were you at the Hobbs residence today?"
I raised an eyebrow at him. "I was returning some dishes to the Missus for my grandma. I don't live in the area. She doesn't really have any family here. Mrs. Hobbs… she sort of… made her feel welcome."
I took a deep breath and closed my eyes. I saw her corpse in my lap. I immediately opened my eyes again, blinking the image away.
"Did Mr. Hobbs ever display any… strange behavior?"
I rubbed my forehead again and leaned on the table. I shook my head slowly. "No, not that I can think of. Like I said, I haven't seen the family in over ten years. That's a lot of time for something to change. Abigail was just a little girl then. Mr. Hobbs… He seemed like a good father. I never had reason to believe that he…" I paused, trying to wrap my head around this, around the words. That he would murder anyone. I looked up at Mr. Crawford. "I'm not sure what happened to Mr. Hobbs, but I can tell you that the man I saw in that house today…. That's not the man I remember. That look on his face was… mad… animalistic… I've never seen anything like it. You never expect to see that look on the face of someone you know…"
He was quiet for several seconds. I heard him breathe in deeply before he spoke again. "I have to ask, Miss Lovett… Why were you covered in Mrs. Hobbs' blood?"
I flinched, hugging myself a little tighter. The gesture didn't really bring me any warmth. It was a bit of empty consolation, but I'd take a hug where I could get one right now. I shook my head and let out a strained, high-pitched laugh. "When the front door opened, I thought maybe my grandma had-had called ahead… or that maybe someone was just on the way out… And then there was Mrs. Hobbs, staggering toward me, blood everywhere. I've never… I mean that is the exact reason I did not become a nurse. I'm not good under pressure. I-I tried to stop the bleeding; I pressed my hands over the side of her neck but i-it was just shooting everywhere in time with her fucking heart beat and then…" I took a deep breath, struggling to regain my senses. I didn't remember standing up, but I slowly sank back into my seat. "She stopped moving… and I just held her for a moment." I looked up at Jack Crawford, wiping my face dry. "Is that what you want to hear? That I held her in my arms while she died and I didn't know how to help her?" He shifted uncomfortably, eyes looking anywhere but at me. I glanced around the room, wondering which mirrors had people on the other side. "When can I go home?"
He sighed, that grim smile taught on his face once more. He tapped his file against the table and stood, heading toward the door. "We've just got a few calls to make and you'll be free to go. Thank you for being so patient. I know this hasn't been easy."
I nodded and watched him leave the room. I shook my head and sighed heavily, slumping forward onto the table to rest my eyes for a while. I had anticipated that I would still be seeing the gruesome scenes of the day every time I closed my eyes, but somehow it still didn't really prepare me for it. After a couple of minutes I gave up and just stared at the wall instead. It was easier to ignore the images that way. Mr. Crawford returned shortly. I couldn't quite tell if he looked pleased or not, but I didn't much care at the moment. I just wanted to get the hell out of there.
"All right, Miss Lovett," he said slowly. "You're free to go. I'll have someone show you out. We've had your car brought to the facility. After speaking with your grandmother, I assumed you might want to cut your visit short. We're only a few hours from your home now."
He offered me one last smile, though there was a tenseness behind it that made me worry. I nodded, pushing away from the table to stand.
"Do you by chance know where they've taken Abigail?"
He raised his eyebrows and rubbed his forehead anxiously. Clearly he was a man under a lot of stress. I could understand. A job like this couldn't be easy. It must take its toll. He needed to work on his people skills, nonetheless.
"They've moved her to Johns Hopkins in Baltimore."
I sighed in frustration and combed my fingers through my hair. "That's… excellent; really great. Any particular reason the hospitals in Minnesota weren't good enough?" I narrowed my eyes. "You want her close to keep an eye on her?"
His jaw clenched and he stood up a little straighter. He wasn't going to answer any of my questions. "Your car is waiting."
