The next morning, Emma woke up with a blistering headache. "Ow," she muttered as she crawled out of the safety of her copious amount of blankets. Padding softly to the brightly lit bathroom, she rummaged through the unobtrusive medicine cabinet to the left of the vanity, searching for a painkiller to alleviate the dull ache on the right side of her head. Knocking over a container of antidepressants and one of allergy medicine, Emma stumbled across the small, white bottle that held what she sought. She shook out the last two remaining ibuprofen, popped them in her mouth, and tossed out the empty pill bottle.
Walking back into her room, Emma decided since she was already up she might as well search her closet to see if she had anything suitable for Dr. Lecter's dinner party the next evening. She rifled through a number of dresses, sporadically pulling one out to examine it closer, each time growing more and more underwhelmed. She already knew she would be inclined to be shy, so she didn't want to risk her wardrobe being anything other than perfection for the night's events; the last thing she wanted was to embarrass Dr. Lecter when he'd gone out of his way for her and thought to invite her to his event in the first place. Maybe I'll pick up a nice bottle of wine for him while I'm out today. I'll have to brush up on my wine knowledge before I go, she reminded herself. Letting out a sigh of frustration, Emma trudged out of her closet, grabbing a black knee length skirt and silk, crimson top on her way. She donned the apparel, slipped on a pair of strappy black heels, and headed back to the bathroom to fix her hair and makeup for the day.
Having done that, Emma strode back into her room, grabbing the black pea coat that was draped on the chair, and walked to the living room. Donning the coat, she snagged her keys and phone, and was out the door.
Two hours later, Emma was home with the perfect dress for the next evening and a wine that the connoisseur at the local winery had assured her was top notch, as well as versatile enough to pair nicely with a variety of gourmet dishes. Emma just hoped it would be something the doctor would enjoy.
She walked down the narrow hallway to her bedroom, hanging the garment bag on the hook on the back of her door. The dress was expensive, and Emma would probably stab someone if so much as a wrinkle marred the dress's fabric before she wore it. It was quite the investment. She shrugged out of her coat, throwing it back onto the wicker chair in the corner, and kicked off her shoes. Going back into her closet, Emma emerged wearing a pair of black sweatpants and a white tank top, throwing the clothes from the day into her laundry basket. She threw herself onto her bed, grabbed her laptop, opened it, and rested it in front of her. Time to brush up on my gourmet knowledge; how awful would it be to be the only one there not fully up to speed on such things? She shuddered at the thought.
With a few painless Google searches, Emma now had four different tabs open, each dedicated to a different aspect of gourmet meals and accompanying wines. Emma narrowed her eyes in concentration, determined to learn as much as possible in order to be on par with Dr. Lecter's other esteemed guests. By dinner time, Emma now considered herself passable in all things gourmet, and felt her anxiety ease up as a result.
She meandered into her kitchen, warmed up some ravioli from the other night in the microwave, and popped open a can of Coke. As she took a sip, she pondered who all might be in attendance tomorrow night. The fact that she would know someone else there besides Dr. Lecter comforted her, and she tried not to fret too much about if she could hold her own in such well-regarded company. The microwave sounded, and she scooped the bowl out with a pair of potholders. She set it down on her modest oak table, taking a seat in one of the four matching chairs. Emma had been so caught up in educating herself that she hadn't noticed how absolutely ravenous she was; five minutes later, the leftover ravioli was devoured and Emma felt like she was about to burst. After washing out the bowl and the fork she used, she waddled over to the television, plopped down on the honey leather couch in front of it, and turned on "Criminal Minds."
When she had discussed her guilty pleasure with Lecter the previous evening, this was the program that had been at the forefront of her mind. Although she was sure that this was a far cry from the actual happenings at the Behavioral Analysis Unit of the FBI, she couldn't help but be absolutely enthralled. If she had to pick a career other than her beloved one at the museum, she would have chosen to pursue a line of work in criminal profiling.
As Emma settled in and allowed herself to become lost in the program, she couldn't help but compare Will Graham to the agents on the show. He lacked the personal confidence of those agents, but his keen mind seemed to put him at a level that altogether exceeded theirs. She remembered the way he had answered her questions about the recreation at the crime scene, and was lost in thought as she recalled how mesmerized she had been at how sure he was about the killer's thought processes. I'll have to ask him about that when I see him next. I wonder how he does that. Are all agents like that? I swear, my curiosity will be the death of me one day.
Before Emma knew it, she had marathoned half of a season, and it was now a little after midnight. Sighing, she stood up, stretched, and padded to her bedroom. Shutting the curtains and turning the light out, she pulled back her covers and slid into bed. Moonlight crept in through the tops of the curtains, casting a slight illumination on her ceiling. Staring up at it, Emma couldn't help but agonize over if she could hold her own in what she assured herself was Lecter's select few companions. Only time will tell.
The entirety of the next morning and afternoon was spent in her bathroom; legs were shaved, skin was exfoliated, hair was washed and conditioned, nails were painted, eyebrows were plucked, and head to toe was moisturized. By 4 pm, Emma was finally content with the state of her. She had an hour before she would dress and do her makeup and hair, so until then she had to find an occupation of her time.
Normally she would just clean to ease this level of fretfulness, but after spending the whole day making sure she smelled nice, she wouldn't ruin it by stinking herself up with the pungent perfume of household cleaners. Instead, Emma decided she would test her knowledge of classical music. While she was immensely familiar with the works of Chopin and the like, she was sure Dr. Lecter would choose something a little less well-known. After careful perusal, she found a playlist on the internet full of a variety of composers. She used it as a guide to test herself; she had taken a handful of music history classes in college, but that was two years ago and she was rusty.
While she put away some clean clothes, the symphony of music caressed the walls of her bedroom, floating to her ears much like a lover's touch. She found herself recognizing and identifying the majority of the music, and when something baffled her, she walked across the room and familiarized herself with the composer. In no time at all, it was a little after 5, so she decided to start getting ready. She fetched the garment bag from the back of her door and laid it on the bed, carefully unzipping it.
Inside laid a scarlet colored knee length dress with a sweetheart neckline. The fabric gathered slightly at the waist, creating a very flattering silhouette. She slid it on with care, zipping up the side slowly as not to catch on the ends of her hair or the fabric of the dress.
She walked to the closet, pulled out a pair of matching peep-toe pumps, and slid those on her polished feet. Hurrying to the bathroom, she started on her hair. Deciding an up-do would be most suited for the style of dress she picked, she smoothed out her luscious waves with product and tightened up a few slacking spaces before piling it onto the top of her head. Once her hair was flawless and her bangs held a sophisticated swoop slightly covering her right eye, she began applying the smoky eye and naturally glossed lip she had decided on.
She eyed herself in the full-length mirror, giving herself on final critique. Deciding she looked acceptable, she grabbed a knee-length black wool coat, put it on, and put her keys and phone into a matching black clutch. She snagged the bottle of wine she had picked up for her psychiatrist, and was out the door.
Twenty minutes later, she was pulling up outside of Hannibal Lecter's home. She had managed to get herself turned around, but found the correct road without too much trouble. As she parked her car and started walking up to the formidable door, she felt as if her heart was about to burst. She briefly considered turning back, but as soon as the thought crossed her mind it was dismissed. She was raised better than that; she had given her word that she would attend, and that was that.
As she stepped up to the solid mahogany front door, she checked her watch: 6:29. Better to be a minute early than a minute late, she thought to herself, and knocked lightly. A few seconds later Lecter opened the door, dressed to the nines in the most expensive looking suit Emma had ever seen. She didn't even want to think about what it could possibly be made of, let alone the cost. She grinned up at her host, presenting the bottle of wine to him as she stepped over the threshold. She shrugged out of her coat, placing it in Hannibal's proffered hand with thanks.
"I'm sorry that I didn't inquire previously as to what type of wine you preferred; the local connoisseur at the winery told me this was a very versatile wine. If you don't like it, please let me know and I'll pick up something more along the lines of what you prefer. I just wanted to get you something since you were kind enough to invite me tonight."
Hannibal was slightly taken aback; no one ever usually thought to bring a wine or something of the like when attending his dinners. He examined the bottle and was impressed. He had been meaning to pick up a replacement of this exact wine for the past week. He smiled a truly genuine smile. "How thoughtful of you, Ms. Chamberlin. This so happens to be one of my more preferred red wines. I shall have to put it to good use!" With that, he ushered her into the sitting room where Will, another gentleman, and two ladies sat quietly discussing. As he escorted her to the sitting room, he couldn't help but marvel at her appearance. His eyes traced the tanned column of her neck, subtly admiring her profile. She screamed elegance. It was clear that she had put both time and effort into her look for this night, and Hannibal felt a small surge of gratitude.
"Let me introduce you to the rest of my guests. You're already familiar with Will, of course." Emma turned from Lecter to Graham, greeting him with a bright smile and light wave. Will smiled somewhat awkwardly back, although one look in his eyes told Emma that he was very much glad to see her in attendance. Lecter turned to the ladies sitting on the couch opposite him. "The brunette is Dr. Alana Bloom; she is a colleague and assists the FBI much as I do with psychological evaluations and profiles. Alana, this is Ms. Emma Chamberlin, a patient of mine." Emma greeted Alana with a gentle handshake and a sheepish smile.
"It's a pleasure to meet you, Dr. Bloom."
"Oh, please call me Alana. No need for such formalities," she said with a gracious smile.
Lecter faced Emma again, this time directing her attention to the woman beside Alana. "This is Ms. Freddie Lounds. She's a journalist for Tattle Crime, and this is her first time at my home as well." With this introduction, Emma had noticed Hannibal stiffen slightly. As she greeted the woman the same way she did Alana, Emma studied her. The woman gave off dishonesty and duplicity in waves. With a mental note to herself to keep a wary eye on Ms. Lounds, she turned back to Hannibal for the last of the introductions.
"And this gentleman is Special Agent Jack Crawford. He is in charge of the Behavioral Analysis Unit of the FBI, and is another colleague."
Emma stepped up the rather imposing man, putting all of her mental strength into maintaining eye contact and a kind smile as she extended her hand to him. His eyes gentled as he accepted her hand, shaking it firmly.
"It's nice to meet you, Ms. Chamberlin."
"You as well, Agent Crawford. Please call me Emma."
"Alright, Emma," said Crawford with a small smile.
With a smile in return, Emma turned her gaze to Hannibal, waiting for direction.
"If you'd like, you may stay in here with the other guests and converse; dinner should be ready in about ten minutes."
Emma nodded, thanking him kindly, before walking to an empty chair next to Will. With Hannibal out of the room, Will was her social safety net. She felt better sticking close to someone she had previously met rather than taking her chances on the brand new individuals she knew next to nothing about. As she took a seat, Emma grinned sheepishly up at Will.
"I'm afraid I'm not very good at these sorts of things. Meeting an entire group of new people all at once tends to put me on edge."
Will contemplated her with understanding glistening in his warm eyes, nodding slightly. "I suffer from the same affliction. I tend to have a hard time even with those I am familiar with though as well."
Emma was rather astonished. "Why is that?" she asked with concern. "You're a very kind, likable individual…at least from the impression I received. I usually am pretty skilled with reading people." She lowered her voice so that only Will could hear. "Take Ms. Lounds for example. She makes me uneasy. Is that an unfair assessment, or should I be wary?" asked Emma with worry. "I don't want to judge hastily, especially when it is unfounded."
Graham laughed coldly. "Ms. Lounds is a piece of work. She has weaved an elaborate tale questioning my sanity and my competency to perform my job. She's slippery; watch what you say around her. She will twist just about anything you say into a labyrinth of intricate lies, each facet proving more damaging than the last . I can only imagine the amount of times she has been sued for libel," muttered Will.
Emma's eyes widened fractionally. "I appreciate the warning, Will, thank you." Before Emma could continue the conversation, she heard one of the women address her; it was the one Hannibal had introduced to her as Alana.
"So, Emma, Hannibal said you were a patient of his?"
Emma brushed her bangs out of her eye, saying, "Yes I am. I only just recently moved to Baltimore and Dr. Lecter was the psychiatrist that my colleagues recommended to me. I have to say, his intellect proves to be a smidge intimidating."
Alana smiled warmly at her. "Yes, Hannibal can do that on occasion. What's your occupation, if you don't mind me asking?"
"I work at the art museum here in the city. I identify, date, and authenticate artworks. I have actually just recently been endowed with the task of arranging the next exhibition." Emma's eyes sparkled with excitement. "We're due to receive a shipment of new artifacts from Egypt in the coming weeks. I'm counting the days," said Emma with a giggle.
Hannibal had arrived to inform his guests that dinner was ready, but halted just outside the doorframe when he heard Emma speaking with such enthusiasm. Her anxious nature disappears entirely when discussing her work; fascinating. He observed how she sat on the edge of her seat in order to bring herself closer to her captivated audience, gesticulating widely with a grin stretching from ear to ear, her warm brown eyes sparkling as her voice filled with passion. In this moment, she was the epitome of magnificence to him. Loathe as he was to interrupt, it would not do for dinner to get cold.
As he entered the room, Emma glanced up, meeting his gaze, and immediately silenced herself with an apologetic smile. "My apologies, Doctor. I got so caught up in describing a new exhibition I'm to be organizing."
Dr. Lecter clasped his hands behind his back, the corners of his mouth tugging upwards. "No apology necessary, Emma. I just came to inform you all that dinner is served. If you all will follow me, I'll show you to your seats."
The group stood simultaneously, filing out in a neat single file line. Emma exited in front of Will, drifting behind the others as they emerged into an open, inviting room complete with an elaborately set dining table. As Hannibal ushered each person to their appropriate seat, Emma let her eyes wander. The floor paneling was a luxurious mahogany, which matched the large table at the center of the room. A stunning piece of artistry hung on the impeccably painted wall, and it took much of Emma's self-control to not amble over and fawn over the work. Lecter showed her to her seat, and seeing where she was to sit, Emma mentally sighed in relief. The doctor noticed her visibly relax when shown her seat, which was to be right between Will and Lecter himself. Crawford was to sit on Lecter's other side next to Ms. Lounds, with Alana sitting on Will's.
As his guests took their seats, Lecter exited the room to grab the first set of plates. He returned with one in each hand, and one resting on his forearm. He placed the dishes in front of Alana, Will, and Emma.
"This is a seared lamb loin with sautéed peppers and onions and rosemary finishing oil."
Emma was in awe at the sight of her plate. She shouldn't have been surprised; she knew nothing the doctor did would be mediocre or half-assed, but in the few dinner parties she had attended since establishing her career, none had been of this caliber. She thanked god that she had brushed up on gourmet foods the previous afternoon.
Lecter returned with the rest of the plates, setting them down in front of Ms. Lounds, Agent Crawford, and himself. As he was about to seat himself, Ms. Lounds spoke up.
"Dr. Lecter, I hate to be a bother, but you wouldn't happen to have a vegan alternative to this dish, would you? It's just that I don't taint my body with any sort of meat," she said with a condescending smile.
Emma's jaw dropped. She couldn't believe the audacity of this woman. She glanced at Will, trying to gauge how the faux paux registered with him. Seeing a scowl grace his otherwise kindly, if brooding, features, Emma turned her gaze down to her lap. The situation was mortifying, and it didn't even involve her directly. As Emma focused on not blushing as the embarrassment that should have been the redheads drowned her in waves, Hannibal went back to the kitchen to prepare something more suitable to Ms. Lounds' desires.
Agent Crawford noticed Emma's change in behavior. "Emma, are you alright?" he asked with concern.
She barely met his gaze, smiling weakly. "Yes of course, Agent Crawford. Thank you for your concern." She looked back down at her lap, praying that the suffocating cloud of awkwardness would lift. Emma felt a light touch on her shoulder, and looked up to meet Will's worried eyes. The corner of her mouth quirked up into some semblance of a smile as gratitude lit her eyes.
Hannibal returned with a plate of sautéed vegetables for Freddie, setting it down in front of her. As he poured a red wine into glasses for his guests, his eyes fell upon Emma, who was still staring into her lap blushing scarlet, with Will's touch remaining on her bare shoulder. Hannibal's eyes narrowed slightly, assessing the situation. He took in Will's worried expression, and deduced Emma's reaction wasn't caused by anything untoward. Deciding the best way to alleviate her embarrassment would be to start a conversation with his guests and act like Ms. Lounds' outburst hadn't occurred whatsoever, he turned to Agent Crawford.
"How is Bella doing these days, Jack?"
Crawford finished his bite of food, wiping his mouth with the corner of his napkin. "She's doing well, Doctor, thank you for asking. She sends her regards of course."
"Good, I'm glad to hear that she is well. It's a shame she hadn't felt up to joining us this evening. Perhaps another night I'll finally get to meet Mrs. Crawford."
Jack shifted imperceptibly out of discomfort, nodding in agreement. "Yes of course. I'm sure we can work something out for one of these days."
As the conversation between the individuals became more effortless, Emma's discomfiture abated. She sighed with relief. Taking her first bite of food, Emma felt as if her mouth had been showered in an explosion of complementary tastes and textures. She chewed slowly, savoring the tastes. She looked up, meeting Hannibal's gaze with a bright smile.
"Dr. Lecter, this is exquisite. The utilization of orange and thyme in this dish is incredible. I've never tasted anything so delicious!"
Hannibal was impressed. "Ms. Chamberlin, your palate is divine. Not many with such formidable palates have joined me for dinner. With the exception of Dr. Bloom, of course; her palate rivals even the most experienced critics, especially in regards to beer." He sent a good-natured smirk in Alana's direction.
Alana let out a titter of laughter. "I do love my beer," she said with a sly wink and grin.
Emma smiled widely at the interaction. "Thank you for the compliment, Doctor; it means quite a lot coming from you. I never really have the chance to utilize my palate. One of the many reasons I'm incredibly grateful for the invitation for tonight."
"It was my pleasure, Emma. You'll have to join us for the next one as well."
"I'd like that very much, Doctor."
Freddie, having watched the entire interaction with shrewd interest, decided to see if perhaps there was a story worth publishing between the two. She figured the fastest way to do this would be to distress Emma and check Lecter's reaction. She smirked to herself.
"So, Emma, you said you're a patient of Dr. Lecter's. Are you as mentally unstable as Will Graham, or are you just flat-out insane?"
Emma, halfway through a bite of food, froze and paled. After a few seconds, she finished her bite of food without choking and stared wide-eyed at the redhead. "Excuse me?"
Freddie watched her and Dr. Lecter's reactions calculatedly. Lecter was as composed as ever; she'd have to dig harder. "I think we all have a right to know if we're to be subjected to someone psychotic, don't you agree? By the looks of you, I'd say either the crazed stalker sort, or perhaps so emotionally unbalanced you're not only a harm to yourself, but to others as well."
Emma blanched. She set her fork down, placed her hands in her lap, and worried her lip before speaking; she was trying so hard not to lash out at this woman. She kept reminding herself that she was a guest in her psychiatrist's home, and needed to behave like the lady she was dressed as. With a deep, calming breath, she resorted to the techniques her previous psychiatrist had taught her in order to deal with conflict. Once she was thinking logically again, she responded.
"Ms. Lounds, I assure you that you are not in any physical danger whilst near me, nor are I the type to harass, let alone subject someone to unwanted attention like you're suggesting. I appreciate the concern you express for everyone else here, and while you may feel they are well-founded accusations since I am a patient of Dr. Lecter's, do you really think that he would invite someone he thought to be a danger to others into his home?" She gave an apologetic glance to Hannibal, who was observing the exchange between the two women with a hint of a frown on his austere visage.
Freddie openly laughed at Emma, causing the other guests to eye her with even more incredulity. "Oh please, don't play that card. If you're really not a danger to us, then prove it. Why are you seeing Dr. Lecter in the first place?"
Emma flushed violently, looking down and away. "Dr. Lecter, I'm so sorry to cut this evening short, but I feel that you and your guests would have a much more relaxed dinner if I were no longer present. I apologize for my rudeness; I'll make it up to you. If you'll excuse me," said Emma as she rose from the table. She walked quickly away, head down, heels clicking on the mahogany floor. Hannibal rose swiftly, buttoned his suit jacket, and gracefully strode after her.
Will and Jack glared daggers at Freddie, while Alana just looked thoroughly horrified. Freddie picked at her plate, placing another bite into her mouth. With a glance up, she saw their faces. "What?" she asked innocently.
Hannibal caught up to Emma right as she reached the coat rack. "Emma, please do stay. Ms. Lounds is a sycophant, only out to further her own career at the Tattler by reporting on and discrediting anyone who runs in this circle. She uses coercive and sordid methods. Don't let a woman like that gain control over you."
Emma smiled weakly at Hannibal. "Dr. Lecter, I merely chose to leave so as not to embarrass you or myself. I was doing my very best to keep myself in check and act like the lady I try to be, but she was wearing me thin, and fast." He eyed her curiously. Now that he was looking into her usually warm eyes, he saw the unrelenting fire burning in their depths. "Don't worry, I'm not the physically violent type; after my situation, who would be? But I have a sharp, merciless tongue that causes much mutilation to those in its way. I didn't want to humiliate you by slipping and ruining the evening with my lack of control. I'm sorry that it got as out of hand as it did."
This was a new side to Emma, and Hannibal observed it appreciatively. This woman was so multifaceted, so enthralling. She was constantly in flux. Ordinarily she was the epitome of delight and kindheartedness; she was well mannered and genteel. Sometimes she was reminding of the shy, awkward, socially inept individuals that plague middle schools. Hannibal had made the error of assuming that she was merely a kitten, and the most damage her claws could do were scratches reminiscent of paper cuts. Now, however, he saw the predator in her eyes: a merciless, ruthless panther that lay dormant until called upon. He wondered just how far that panther would go to protect itself.
"Ms. Lound's unacceptable behavior at my dinner table is nothing close to your responsibility, Emma. Needless to say Ms. Lounds will not be invited back to my home after tonight. I do wish you would come and join us; dessert is quite the treat, and I think you would very much enjoy it."
With a moment's thought and study of Hannibal's encouraging gaze, Emma concurred. "Alright, Doctor. I'll join you for dessert. Please excuse my rudeness if I blatantly ignore Ms. Lounds' attempts at conversation. I've embarrassed you enough as it is, and would loathe to do so further."
Hannibal smiled warmly at her. "Excellent."
He ghosted a hand over the middle of her back, guiding her back to the dining room. Everyone glanced up as the two returned, Hannibal helping Ms. Chamberlin back into her seat with a murmured "thank you" on her part. As Hannibal seated himself, he addressed his guests with a hard gaze and unrelenting tone.
"Ms. Chamberlin has agreed to grace us with her company for the remainder of the evening. The topic of her treatment is not to be addressed." As he finished his sentence, he directed his gaze at Freddie, driving his point home.
Freddie raised her hands in a relenting fashion.
Dinner and dessert were finished uneventfully, other than the occasional uncomfortable surveillance of Emma by Freddie. Emma got to know Alana a little more, discussing a wide variety of topics with her and Will as they enjoyed the crème brulee. By the end of the courses, Jack Crawford was still somewhat of a mystery to her, but she had the impression that he remained that way for most of the individuals he came into contact with. Everyone was preparing to leave, but with Freddie being the first one out the door, Hannibal invited the rest of them to join him for an after-dinner brandy. Emma and Will accepted the invitation, while Jack insisted he must get home to his wife and Alana had some paperwork to attend to before a pressing engagement in the morning. Both left with heartfelt thanks to Hannibal for having had them, and would see him the next day for a case briefing.
Hannibal led the remaining two guests into the sitting room, gesturing that they should seat themselves in either one of the large black leather chairs or the couch of matching material as he poured the brandy out of its decanter. Emma sat herself on the right end of the cool, sleek sofa, Will in the chair facing her. Hannibal handed a glass each to Emma and Will, snagged his own, and seated himself in the chair between the two. All three took sips of the warming liquid. Emma hadn't indulged since she moved to Baltimore, and reveled in the fiery feel of the brandy sliding down the back of her throat, settling itself deep in her belly. She closed her eyes as she savored the seductive sensation.
Both Hannibal and Will observed her reaction to the liquid, each captivated by how thoroughly she experiences every miniscule thing that interacts with her. Both wondered how she perceives such things; were the drops of alcohol forming constellations of burning suggestion on her tongue, or was the experience something else altogether to her? Hannibal glanced at Will and saw a peculiar fondness lighting his eyes as Will looked upon Emma. This piqued Hannibal's interest; he'd have to find out what exactly Will was feeling for his patient.
Hannibal crossed his legs, swirling the brandy in his glass. "I apologize for Ms. Lounds' untoward behavior. She has very little tact. I do believe this will be the last time I extend a dinner invitation to her."
Will scowled, heady dislike swirling in the depths of his blue eyes like a hurricane. "Freddie Lounds is a menace, and a disgrace to her profession. You'd think she'd have more pressing matters to report on instead of the mental state of your guests, Hannibal."
Emma observed the two casually, crossing her legs gracefully as she took another swig from the glass. "I get the impression it was more than that. She was looking for a reaction, but not just any reaction, a specific one. It was like I was bait…but bait for what?" She murmured the last sentence to herself, eyes glazing over and brow furrowing as she contemplated the situation.
Hannibal leaned back in his seat, pondering Emma's statement. He had noticed the same thing, and was rather astounded that she had picked up on it as well. Apparently she was quite adept at reading people; this made him wonder if she had any perceptions regarding his extracurricular activities.
He had a feeling he knew what Ms. Lounds' next article would focus on, and was rather curious as to how Emma would react to such speculation. He was sure he would hear about it at her session on Tuesday. As he wrapped up his train of thought, he heard Will speak again.
"Emma, I wanted to thank you again for your assistance on the case. I was curious as to if you had any artistic insights as to why the killer would choose this particular painting to recreate in stages? I have my own theory, of course, but I'd like to see if they match up."
Emma leaned back on the couch, cradling her glass close to her chest as she rested a finely polished nail against her full lower lip in contemplation. "Well as you know, the painting is of a miracle performed by St. Mark, as told in the 'Golden Legend.' The story goes that a 'servant' of a Knight of Provence in France was sentenced to be punished for leaving without permission and travelling to Venice for a pilgrimage to St. Mark's relics. When he returned, the Knight ordered his 'other servants' to exact punishment on the disobedient servant, specifically through the gauging out of his eyes, hacking away of his thighs, skewering him with rods, and knocking his teeth out. Rather brutal stuff," Emma mused sardonically. "Anyway, as the other servants tried to carry out the punishment, none of the tools would bring harm to the man. At least, that's how the story goes.
"Regarding the painting itself, it's obvious the artist's goal was to incorporate the admirer into the work, as if he or she were observing the events first hand. Now the way St. Mark was depicted actually caused some raucous disapproval at the time. The fact that the saint had his back turned and was depicted as falling was not seen as a positive image. Seeing as the killer recreated this image first, I'm rather confused. If it had been the miracle itself occurring, I could see the killer likening themselves to St. Mark; rescuing the victim from the tortures of man, and making themselves someone powerful and holy, if you will. But the fact that the killer depicted the saint first… now, that says something altogether different. Perhaps the killer feels as if he or she is a victim of the cruelty of his fellow man and is recreating St. Mark to come and rescue him? Maybe…maybe he regrets some action in his life, so he depicted St. Mark coming down to perform the miracle as if on he? But that makes no sense, because obviously he's not going to get into the heaven he imagines is waiting for him now that he's murdered someone and used her body as his own personal craft store." She snorted. "Honestly, I find it vexing. I just can't quite make it all fit neatly together."
Will was once more slack-jawed at the amount of knowledge and intelligence Emma possessed. Her intuition was astounding as well; he had reached similar conclusions, but had only voiced his theories thus far to Jack Crawford. "That was…that was incredible, Emma. I was of similar mind to your former theory; I think he likens himself to the servant depicted in the painting, and feels that he has been unjustly persecuted for some act he has committed. He wants the saint to grant him this miracle. The next crime scene should tell us more."
Hannibal regarded the pair with rapt attention; he was intrigued by Emma now more than ever. The woman was full of mysteries and inscrutabilities, and the more that were presented the more Hannibal wanted to dissect her mental processes. People with her combination of disorders were never dull to treat, and this evening altogether made him consider that it would be quite something to pursue knowing her in private life.
After winding down the evening with idle chat and emptied brandy glasses, Emma rose, pulling her dress down as she did so; the clinging fabric had ridden up due to her crossed legs. Both men's eyes flickered to her long, lean legs. "I'm afraid I must be getting home, gentlemen. I have to start preparations on the new Egyptian exhibit tomorrow much earlier than I would have deemed necessary," said Emma with a slightly bitter tone and a wrinkle of her pert nose.
Hannibal stood as well. "Let me walk you to the door."
"Thank you, Doctor."
He placed a gentle hand on her back, guiding her to the coat rack that was further up the hall and in the foyer. Hannibal pulled her coat down for her and helped her into it. As she shrugged her shoulders into the wool coat, she turned back around to face him.
"I can't thank you enough for inviting me to your home for dinner tonight, Dr. Lecter. I had a marvelous time. And since I'm sure Ms. Lounds didn't apologize, let me once again express my contrition for both her and my behavior. Please let me know if there is some way I can make up for the rudeness that was exhibited on both of our parts." Emma's doe eyes brimmed with concern and apology, taking him once again by surprise at how strongly she felt emotion. He opened the heavy oak door for her, joining her on the porch. As she stepped further outside, she turned back to him.
He smiled softly at Emma, grasping her shoulders lightly. "Ms. Chamberlin, there is no need for apology on your part. You were perfectly civil to Ms. Lounds, and I appreciate the effort that must have taken," he said with a chuckle. He removed his hands from her shoulders with a slight squeeze.
Emma giggled at the implication of his statement. "I'll see you on Tuesday, Dr. Lecter. Thank you again for everything." She smiled shyly at him before proceeding down to her car. As both the car door of Ms. Chamberlin and the front door of Dr. Lecter closed, a head of long, curly, red hair emerged from behind a tree, camera in hand and a smirk on her face.