Ophelia stumbled into the kitchen, her heart pounding on full speed and her head whirring with a hundred different thoughts all at once. She danced wildly to the thumping music as Leo, the bartender from the club, grabbed a beer from the fridge and tossed it to her. She barely caught it; the glass bottle was a blur flying through the air toward her hands.

"Thanks!" Ophelia took a swig and let out a wordless, adrenaline-filled whoop, "Man, I feel great! I wanna dance, Leo, I wanna dance!"

"Let's go, America!" Leo grabbed ahold of the sash on her kimono and pulled her from the kitchen and out into the foyer. She could have sworn she heard someone calling her name, but she ignored it, following Leo to the top of the stairs, where he turned up the music and set her free to spin in circles, dancing wildly.

"Woohoo!" she threw her hands in the air, then took a deep swig of her drink, standing at the top of the stairs, at the pinnacle of the group of people. She suddenly felt as if she was standing at the top of the world. She felt as if every particle of her body was tingling, and for a moment every care in the world was erased.

But then they were brought crashing back. Through the crowd, at the back of the room, stood Hannibal Lecter. Ophelia's face slowly crumbled as his eyes met hers. She let her beer slip through her fingers and shatter on the marble steps below her bare feet. All of the fear, anger, and sadness that rushed into the hollow of her chest replaced her momentary high. And she knew she had to get away.

Ophelia turned and threw herself into the crowd, pushing up the stairs and dashing down the first hallway. She cared not that people were in her way; she shoved, dodged, and weaved. Nor did she dare to look over her shoulder as she went, for she could almost feel him behind her. People greeted her as she passed, much to her dismay. She only wished to disappear. For the slightest of moments, the gash on her stomach throbbed in time with her heartbeat.

How had he found her here? She had changed her name and her appearance well enough. She had gone as underground as she possibly could, and yet somehow here he was. Perhaps she could slip out of a back window and escape into the night. She would run far away, far from Will. If anything, she had to save Will, even if she was doomed.

"Where the bloody hell is Nora?" Leo's voice rang down the hallway as he turned down the music a few decibels, "Where'd you disappear to, girl? Come back and get a drink! Nora!" Ophelia ducked into a bedroom, shutting the door behind her and scrambling underneath the bed with the dust bunnies.

"She just came down this way!" a drunken voice responded from in the hallway that Ophelia had just passed through. She cursed the nameless voice.

And then the door to the bedroom opened, and time seemed to slow to a halt. Fine Italian shoes entered the room, stopping as the door shut behind them.

"Ophelia," Hannibal's voice was resigned, as if he was unbearably tired, "Don't make me hunt you any longer. I know you're here somewhere."

She clasped her hand over her mouth, the sound of her breath suddenly far too loud. She could do nothing about the enormous pounding of her heart however.

"I hear my good friend Mister Vegas had been to speak with you," Hannibal continued, pacing from the window, to the closet, and back, "He informed me of your location, in fact. I suppose you could say I was... less than pleased with his report."

Hannibal's feet disappeared from her line of vision, but she daren't turn to see where he had gone. But then, in a flash, his hands latched onto her ankles and she was wrenched from underneath the bed. She started to scream, but Hannibal clamped his hand over her mouth.

"I don't want to hurt you," he growled as her wildly flailing legs were pinned down beneath his weight, "But I will if it means that I can take you home, to safety."

Ophelia tried again to scream, but his hand tightened on her face, his fingers pressing hard into her skin. Her screams turned into sobs as he studied her sunken eyes.

"I never want to frighten you, Ophelia, but I have to do what I have to do. If you refuse to comply with me, there is a man who is, at this very moment, poised to kill Will Graham. It will be swift, and it will be painless, but he will die. Unless you come home. Now, I am going to take my hand from your mouth, and you will stand. You will not scream. You and I will leave this cesspool, and together we will go home. If you struggle, or if you scream, I will have Will Graham killed and his head sent to us in a wrapped package. Do you understand?"

Ophelia nodded, tears flowing down the sides of her face.

"Alright. Here we go then," Hannibal slowly removed his hand from her mouth and sat up. She stayed silent and still, only moving when he yanked her to her feet. He led her by the arm out of the bedroom and down the hall, keeping his eyes forward and his fingers digging harshly into her forearm.

Leo appeared from the woodwork when they reached the top of the stairs, "Hey, Nora, where you going? Who's this? Wait... wait, you're that suit guy! From earlier! Glad to see you found Nora, mate. She's a wild ride."

Ophelia shot Leo a look of distress as they passed, and his cheeky grin fell as sobriety began to hit him. He watched for a moment as Hannibal pulled Ophelia through the crowd and out into the night, his knuckles turning white.

The cold night air hit Ophelia like a bullet, but Hannibal paid no attention to her shivering. He pulled her down the sidewalk with purpose, taking back alleys and side roads to avoid the gazes of passersby. Every time they turned onto another street, Ophelia would tug against Hannibal's vice-like grip, but it would only tighten.

"Oi!" Leo's voice suddenly rang out from behind them in the darkness, "Nora! You alright?"

"She is perfectly fine," Hannibal stopped, shoving Ophelia behind him as he turned to face the greasy boy.

"She don't look fine to me," Leo appeared, his hands balled into fists, "In fact, she looks like she wants to get away from you. And cold too."

"Go back to your party, boy," Hannibal hissed, "This is a matter far too complicated for you to fathom."

Leo took a few steps forward, slowly raising his fists, "You let her go now, and there won't be trouble."

Hannibal chuckled, shaking his head. But then he leapt forward, shoving Leo back against a dumpster that sat against the wall to their left. Leo caught himself against the wall, crying out when his wrist was jammed between the brick and the metal of the dumpster. Hannibal advanced swiftly, not allowing Leo any time to react. He grabbed his head, one hand on each side, and jerked it at a harsh angle. His neck snapped, and his body went limp.

Ophelia took off at a sprint in the opposite direction, the soles of her bare feet stinging as they slapped against the rough pavement. A scream hitched in her throat; she must not draw attention to herself. She could just barely hear Hannibal's footsteps far behind her as she turned a corner, flying onto a major London street and dodging through the crowds. Disgruntled curses floated along behind her as she ducked and weaved.

She threw a furtive glance over her shoulder when she was well in the midst of the crowd. Silently, she thanked her lucky stars for the sheer amount of people who were still out on this clear Friday night. And Hannibal was nowhere in sight; she had lost him in the crowd. Ophelia's head was pounding and her vision was beginning to spin as the high she had felt from the drugs came crashing down around her. The rushing sound of the crowd disoriented her. She rubbed the underside of her nose, inhaling jerkily.

Through the crowd, she caught a glimpse of Hannibal, menacingly cool with his blue tailored suit and steely glare. She broke into a run again, this time heading for the train station. If she could get to Will, she could help him. And they could run. Again.

The station was less densely packed than the streets; Ophelia had to slow down and try to blend in, though it would be quite difficult in nothing but a kimono and lacy lingerie. Though she received a bevy of odd looks, she kept walking a straight path, her eyes only on the space in front of her. As per her usual schedule, Ophelia boarded the train to Cambridge, ducking underneath the arms of passersby in order to squeeze into the center of the group.

Ophelia reached up and grabbed ahold of the chrome bar above her head, nodding cordially as the businessman to her right began to look her up and down. She scanned the compartment, quickly memorizing each face. None of them belonged to Hannibal Lecter. She exhaled loudly. It had been a blessing from some higher power that the train had been there just when she needed it.

For the length of the ride, Ophelia did not move an inch. She wanted to be ready to exit the train quickly when they stopped in Cambridge. From the station, it was only a short walk home. But tonight, it would feel dauntingly long.

The sound of Leo's neck snapping beneath Hannibal's hands resonated in her mind and sent quakes up and down Ophelia's spine. The animalistic way that he had pounced on her innocent comrade had been utterly disturbing. She had known Hannibal was capable of killing; she just never imagined that she would witness it.

When the train stopped, Ophelia bowled over the sluggish businessman and sprinted out into the night. The streets of Cambridge were significantly less crowded, and once she passed the town limits, she felt as if she had run off the edge of the world. Every so often, as her kimono began to slide off of her shoulder, she would glance behind her, only to be washed with relief that Hannibal was nowhere to be seen. Perhaps he had not even been able to board the train and was still in London. Or perhaps he was looming in the dark somewhere, just waiting to come up on her.

Soon, she came upon their small home, all the lights on as usual and smoke rising from the chimney. Ophelia felt her muscles begin to turn to mush; she had not slowed since disembarking from the train. But she leapt up the stairs with as much vim as she could muster, bursting through the door and into the foyer. Her feet caught on the edge of the rug that lay before the entrance, and she went flying, landing face-first on the floor.

"Will!" she called, pulling herself to her feet, unaware of the carpet burn that had taken off much of the skin on her shins.

"Ophelia! Upstairs!" Will's voice was strangled, muffled as if coming from behind a screen. Ophelia scrambled up the rickety oak stairs and hurdled into Will's bedroom, her chest heaving.

There he loomed, Hannibal, by the window. Will stood by the doorway, his hands above his head and his glasses cracked and knocked askew.

"Close the door," Hannibal commanded. He held a gun pointed at Will's face, and his hands did not waver. Mister Vegas stood beside him, his hands toying mindlessly with the handle of a knife.
Ophelia obeyed, slowly shutting the door without turning her back to Hannibal.

"I thought the instructions I gave you were rather clear, my dear," Hannibal sighed lightly, as if Ophelia had simply broken a vase or spilled a drink, "I thought you understood. I was confident that you would not run."

"You killed Leo," Ophelia accused, her voice shaking, "You just... snapped his-"

"Yes, well he was going to try and take you from me, wasn't he?" Hannibal glowered at Ophelia, "And I couldn't let that happen. Not again."

"What do you want from me?" Ophelia took a step toward Will, slowly stretching her hand out to him, "You don't have to hurt Will. He's a good man, and he's done nothing wrong."

"See, that's where you're wrong," Hannibal licked his lips, "By now, I'm sure our friend Will has shared certain things with you that he should not have meddled with in the first place."

"He told me that you've killed people," Ophelia gritted her teeth, taking another step toward Will. Her fingers were just barely able to touch the side of his sweater.

"Yes, well-"

"How many people have you killed," she tried her very best to sound strong, "Doctor Lecter?"

"More than you," with a sigh, he began to lower his gun, "But that is quite beside the point. See, I forgave you your murders, now you must forgive mine."

"You were going to kill me!"

"Not entirely false," Hannibal pursed his lips, his eyes brooding, "At first, I thought you were like the others. Rude, banal, insignificant. But you made me feel, Ophelia, feel alive and feel real. I like to feel real, Ophelia. And I love you for it."

A sob escaped Ophelia's throat. It was a sob of terror, sadness, and regret. A sob full of self-deprecation and things unsaid. She loved him, no matter what he had done. She had fallen in love with what she knew of him, and what she had suspected. But she felt as if the love had begun to wither and turn to poison.

"I didn't want to hurt you," Hannibal took a step toward her, and she took a step back.

"The drawings," Ophelia latched her fingers onto Will's sweater. He slowly began to lower his arms.

"Yes, those," Hannibal regarded them as nothing but a fleeting nuisance, "A regrettable artistic fallacy. Rather gruesome, but realistic."

"Why?" Ophelia demanded, "What did they mean? Why me, and why like that?"

"I add only the finest to my collection, Ophelia, make no mistake of that," Hannibal laughed, "But I added you a bit prematurely, I think. You don't belong in my collection. You belong with me. With me... is where you need to be."

"I need," tears began to flow again, "to be free, Hannibal! You're a killer! You were going to kill me, and you were going to kill Will if I disobeyed you! You terrify me!"

"You hypocrite," Vegas took a step forward, "I know your story, Ophelia. You're a dirty whore, is what you are."

"Don't... call her that," Hannibal froze, his eyes darting to the floor. His composure suddenly began to melt.

"What?" Vegas scoffed, "She used you to clear her name. Then she banged ya' and left you to come slut around with that guy." He gestured to Will, smirking.

Hannibal whipped around, shooting the gun squarely into Vegas's chest, "Unforgivably rude, speaking of a lady that way." Ophelia let out a wail as Will grabbed her around the waist, pulling her down beneath him as Hannibal unloaded a few more round's into Vegas's already motionless body.

Ophelia sobbed wordlessly against Will's chest, which was pressed protectively over her.

"Oh, for goodness sakes," Hannibal tossed the gun onto the bed and strode to where they were huddled. He grabbed Will by the hair, pulling him away from Ophelia. She let out another wordless, screaming cry, her hands flailing after Will as he was wrenched from her.

"It's going to be alright," Will pulled himself away from Hannibal's grip, falling onto the edge of the bed, "You're going to be okay, Ophelia."

"Will is right," Hannibal towered over her, "You are going to be alright. If you come with me."

Ophelia fought the urge to shrink away from him even further. "Leave Will," she muttered.

"Sorry?"

"Leave Will alone," Ophelia demanded, her voice stronger, "Let him exist in peace. I'll come with you. Compliantly."

"And how am I supposed to believe you after your little stunt earlier?" Hannibal wiped a stray splatter of blood from the corner of his mouth, "Wouldn't want you running off. Especially not in an airport, where you could so easily disappear."

Ophelia slowly got to her feet, her entire body shaking with fatigue, fear, and withdrawal, "You have my word, Hannibal. If you promise me that Will gets out of this unscathed, I'll stay with you. I'll do whatever you want. If you respect me, and if you... love me, you'll leave him be." She held out her hand, and he took it, shaking it firmly.

"I'm glad you've come around, Ophelia, I really am," Hannibal smiled, "I've already got two tickets booked for us in the morning. Perhaps you should clean up. We've got a long twenty-four hours ahead of us. For now, I'd like some tea, though. I need to unwind. See? I'm an agreeable person."

Ophelia stood still, frozen, as Hannibal walked from the room, the gun dangling nonchalantly from his fingertips. When he was out of earshot, she flung herself onto Will, and they stayed locked in an embrace of solidarity for quite sometime. Much unspoken grief was in the embrace, as were goodbyes and apologies. It wasn't until Hannibal reappeared that they released each other.

That was the last time Ophelia saw Will Graham. Overnight, she had slept under the tireless watch of Hannibal, who had locked Will in the upstairs bedroom until their departure. Hannibal had watched while she packed her things, and had stood watchfully outside the bathroom while she showered. For a moment, she considered climbing out of the bathroom window, but then she thought of Will, locked in his room, his fate hanging in Hannibal's hands. She watched his bedroom window as they drove away.

Ophelia could have sworn she saw the glint of sunlight off of his glasses.