At the aged feet of a brass statue, some dead government official, I think, I was seated in a park that was about a fifteen minute drive from my property. The air was frigid with bitter winds that tousled my hair, and while I shivered on the bench Bro padded about in the grass a few yards away, happy and seemingly ignorant of the temperature. With a gloved hand, I tucked the hair back in place beneath my knitted hat, my eyes again skirting the sidewalk and lawn of the park in search of Will Graham. I hadn't been there long. Maybe ten minutes or so. But, with the amount of excitement pulsing through my veins I felt as if I was waiting forever. When he at last emerged around the corner, dressed, too, winter ready in a pea coat and protective cap, I couldn't help but smile widely at seeing him.
"There you are," I greeted as the man approached.
Graham regarded me with a short nod as he drew closer and sat down. I quickly noted on the dark circles that pooled under his somber eyes, the telling marks of a troubled sleeper. I guess I'm not the only one.
"What's his name?" he asked, his hand gesturing to my pet.
"Oh, that's Bro. He's Adrian's, but I've been watching him."
"Your brother's dog. I suppose the name suits him."
I called my dog over, entertained at the sight of Graham petting him, a hint of a smile teasing at his lips and eyes while his gloved hands rubbed Bro's head and back. It was probably the closest thing to happiness that I would ever get out of the man.
"Sorry about earlier," I told him. "About before at the center."
"That was a very heated conversation," he said. "Can't say I blame you. Jack, he's-"
"An asshole."
"-ambitious."
"Is it because of your investigation?"
"Yes," replied Graham coolly. When I gave him a curious look, he added, "Unlike others in the past, this case, it, it hits closer to home for most of us at the bureau."
"Oh."
"And considering," started Graham with his attention detaching from my dog to latch on to my face, "the note that we parted on, Dr. Ives, I'm very interested to know the reason as to why you called."
I leaned back against the chipped wood behind me. Yes, the reasoning for my choice to call on Will Graham, the decision that I weighed this way and that on the scales of my mind like some valued gem. It wasn't easy to choose it. We all have those passages in our histories that set us stubbornly in our ways, and my passage regarding the FBI definitely made me want to turn the other direction.
But, I called him. I did. And by the end of our conversation on that park bench, I wish that I hadn't.
In the end, I wish that I never came back to Washington. I wish that I never boarded that plane. I wish that I never left Adrian in the first place. Not at Vashon, but way, way, way back when we were kids. I should have never left him there. I'm still so sorry.
Heated, the back of my thighs to the top of my shoulders steadily rose in temperature. I was at home, weeks before my time on that bench with Will Graham, during a night that was very different than the usual schedule my days had fallen accustomed to. While tangled in my bed sheets, I started to sweat, a thin layer glazing my skin like sticky jungle mist.
"Relax."
It purred in my ear, a cold, masculine voice. But it was special. There was something else, something different in how he spoke to me.
When it respired, its belly pressed lazily against my spine. The hairs on its arm brushed my stomach. They itched my skin and I could do absolutely nothing about it.
I couldn't move at all.
"Breathe, Ada," the being hummed against my hair.
My mouth parted to say something, anything, but I was immediately silenced by a shallow pressure pressing against my throat. Right on my pulse. It had risen from the other side of my bed, whatever was holding me, and its mouth, soft yet urgent, moved against my neck.
A kiss.
I felt the hot breath of its exhale, a shuddering release. Something inside me, something feral, tightened at how its skin rubbed against mine. I quivered. There was then a hollow noise, sharp, deeply breathing in as if it was inhaling my scent, like it was vital oxygen. When it breathed out again, a calloused hand pulled at my hip, pushing my backside hard against its groin. I gasped.
"We're making progress," the being groaned. It repeated the motion. I jerked. "Remember?"
My lungs filled with air as if I had breached the surface of the sea, a desperate and gasping pile of breaths that I took in greedily while my eyes flitted about.
Awake.
Safe.
Another dream.
I was welcomed by the morning, the sunlight lighting my room with the warmth and comfort of true reality.
Quickly, I shifted and with a great amount of relief I saw that the other side of my bed was empty. I touched the space, as if it would flutter away like startled birds, my sanity.
"Christ," I mumbled, laughing nervously after. I laughed again.
I couldn't help but laugh. A twisted, bizarre, sensual dream left me in a disturbed, prickly arousal. Everything had felt so real, effortlessly, incandescently real, his smell, his voice, and the skin on my throat still sizzled from the touch of the being's lips. I could feel my cheeks reddening. They stung as my fingertips traced the spot by my jawline. If I closed my eyes, I swear I could almost feel its mouth again.
My time of reflection would be cut short. I had mere moments of privacy before a soft knock sounded from my bedroom door. Immediately, I flinched.
"Who is it?" I blurted, my mind struggling to keep up with the present time. It didn't even register the fact that someone was in my house in the first place, much less outside my room. At least this possible murderer had the decency to knock, I half thought.
"It's me," answered the being on the other side of my door, clearly a man. My brow furrowed. "Hannibal," it simplified. "May I come in, Ada?"
Hannibal Lecter, I recalled. Duh. Who else would it be? He spent the night on my couch downstairs to look out for me. We had drinks with my sister. He was still at my home, waiting in my hallway.
"Um," was all I managed to reply with as I looked down at my flushed, naked body. "Give me a minute."
Throwing my sheets off and leaping into action, I hastily searched for the clothes that I had discarded the night before. After slinging on a sports bra and t-shirt, and choosing bravely to go commando beneath my sweat pants, I opened the door.
And there he was, my fetching European guest standing regally in my doorway. Unlike me, he was no longer swamped in frumpy pajamas, no, of course not. Dr. Lecter was dressed fashionably in a navy chambray shirt with a granite, shawl collar cardigan draped snugly on top. He wore fitted dark jeans that trailed down to meet a set of leather dress shoes. A chic watch was the finishing statement piece, designer brand peaking behind his shirt's cuff. Not a hair was out of place. Prim. Proper. A heavy contrast to how I looked and felt.
"Good morning, Miss Ada," he greeted with a kind smile. I saw how his eyes skirted my body, probably taking in my messy top bun and wrinkled shirt in horror.
Before I said anything, a part of Dr. Lecter caught my attention more so than it ever had. His mouth. Lips that rested tenderly on his face, they drew in my focus right after he spoke. Without permission, my mind ventured to my erotic dream. I hungrily wondered what his lips would feel like against my skin. Like velvet, I imagined.
"Did you sleep well?" he added, a funny expression beginning to settle in on his face from my lack of response.
Leaving his mouth, my eyes flickered up at the man's ocher eyes.
"Yeah," I said. "I, um, had a weird dream, but otherwise I think I slept great."
The corners of that pretty mouth tugged into another tranquil grin. I refused to openly gawk at it again.
"I'm glad to hear it," said Dr. Lecter. "I hope you don't mind, but I took the liberty to make brunch for us this morning. Would you like to join me in your kitchen?"
"You made brunch?" I parroted. "What time is it?"
"11:30. Come, follow me."
The man began walking down the hall with me following close behind. I kept my eyes on his sandy, brown hair, noting on the strands of silver that glistened as he moved.
"How long have you been up?" I asked casually as we took to the stairway.
At the bottom step awaited Bro, apparently already smitten with my guest and joining us to our trek to the kitchen. My dog didn't even growl at Dr. Lecter as the doctor pat the top of his furred head in passing.
"Not for too long," Lecter answered.
"But you changed clothes," I said. "Wait, did you go home?"
My colleague peered at me from over his shoulder, an amused glint alit in his eyes.
"How about we sit first," he suggested. "That way when you interrogate me you will at least be comfortable."
"I'm so sorry," I said to him in a breathy exhale. With a meek smile, I added, "It's just, I feel like a terrible host. You've been awake for so long, and…you cooked?"
"Of course. What else did you think I meant?"
We had reached my kitchen and my eyes widened at the display that welcomed me. On one plate were piles of crisped bacon, browned sausage links, and cuts of ham, the meat seasoned and steaming. Beside it was a medium size bowl of fluffy scrambled eggs with various mixed greens stirred along with them, as well as a portion of small, hardy red potatoes on the side. Two separate pitchers of milk and orange juice also joined the selection, plus a few slices of buttered toast and a small serving of fresh strawberries.
I was astounded at the preparation and effort, how the table was even set, garnishes, folded napkins and all. Some of the bowls I recognized to be my own, but glancing at the loaded sink full of used silver bowls and cooking ware, it was clear that my kitchen supplies were not up to task for what Dr. Lecter had in mind for a decent breakfast.
The smell in the air was drool worthy, a heavy cloud of grease and seasonings. How could I have not noticed before? Oh right, I was too focused on his shiny hair and the fact that he was leading me through my own house.
"What the hell," I said, my eyes marveling at the sight of my kitchen turned B & B.
"Is everything to your liking?"
Turning to Dr. Lecter, I saw that he was waiting for a legitimate answer, focus sharpened in anticipation.
"Of course!" I exclaimed. "I'm just blown away!"
His mild smile returned in satisfaction. Pulling out a chair, he wordlessly encouraged me to sit, but it wasn't until after he poured me a glass of juice and took his place across from me did Dr. Lecter speak again.
"Tell me, Ada, about this dream you had."
The being's groans. The heat of his flesh. The sounds and sensations of my dream bubbled in me like champagne, but I withheld any hint of their existence from the man on the other side of the table as much as I humanly could.
As pleasant and natural as possible, I said, "It was nothing special. I hardly remember it now."
"That's a shame, but unfortunately dreams tend to be elusive that way. I wish you could tell it to me because when you first opened your bedroom door, you seemed shaken."
"Probably because I was. For a minute I forgot you spent the night."
"And I suppose having a disturbing night's sleep didn't help," Lecter suggested. "I apologize if I startled you."
"It's fine. But you know, now that I think about it, I think you were in it. In my dream."
Dr. Lecter paused from his meal to send me a slight, mischievous look. Those enigmatic eyes of his stared in my own and though it was subtle, I believe I saw the good doctor smirking. Inwardly, I was applauding my bravery for even mentioning it.
"I think it was your voice," I continued. "Not your face or anything, but that accent of yours made an appearance. I think. I don't know. The longer I think about it the more I doubt it was there."
"I hope I wasn't the one causing your anxiety."
"Who knows?" I offered before drinking more juice. "Maybe you were after all."
After setting down the glass and looking over the food in front of me, I met eyes with Dr. Lecter again.
"I feel awful," I confessed. "Worse than before."
"Why is that?" he said while extending out his arm. His hand found the handle to the spoon in one of the larger bowls, serving me a generous portion of eggs. I smiled in gratitude.
"Because," I started, "You're supposed to be my guest and here you are serving me breakfast."
The man chuckled as if what I said was meant to be some sort of joke. Short and understated. I liked the sound.
"Miss Ada, I assure you that cooking is something that I take pride in. This was no chore, but a gift that I was happy to deliver to you. Also, with unconventional circumstances such as ours, I believe that social rules can be ignored, if temporarily."
"Did you really go home and change?" I asked.
"I did."
"And I didn't hear a thing."
"I was careful," said Lecter. "Plus, you must have been exhausted."
"Or intoxicated," I added with a grin before taking a bite of bacon. The grease smothered my tongue as it melted there. I could have groaned.
"You weren't intoxicated. Loose, maybe, but you certainly weren't obnoxious."
"Oh, good," I said with a touch of sarcasm. Less sardonically I said to him, "Thank you for the breakfast, Hannibal, and for staying last night even though I was opposed to the idea of needing anyone. You didn't have to stick around, but you did anyway and I appreciate that a lot."
"You're very welcome, Miss Ada. Should something happen to you last night and I had not been here, I would have never been able to forgive myself."
My mind thought briefly on the suspiciousness of my coming home, how clearly someone had been in my house while I was away.
As if reading my mind, Dr. Lecter asked, "Even though we didn't find any evidence, would anyone you know want to break in?"
"Why do you think it would be someone who knows me?"
Dr. Lecter glanced down at his plate, paused for a second, then stared back at me.
"As a person who understands the nature of our work," he began, "I see that those we try to help and lend understanding to tend to see the boundaries between client and therapist as blurred lines. In my own experience, my privacy has been invaded. I would hate for that to be the case for you, Ada."
"I think I'm okay," I said quietly. "I don't have anything to hide."
Negating eye contact, I saw the bowl of strawberries resting on the table. I then reached across and plucked a fat one from the pile, my teeth tearing into the flesh and letting the juices drip into my mouth. Some of the sweet liquid ended up running off my lips and down my chin before I could stop it. I made a face, part of me realizing that the time for maintaining my dignity before Dr. Lecter was long gone and dead in the ground. I could have laughed at how horrendous I must've looked.
"If you need anything," said the doctor, "You can always call."
"I don't have your number," I said while wiping my mouth with a napkin.
"Then I will give it to you."
"And you'll get mine?"
It was my turn to send him a knowing look of my own, but instead of appearing caught or even a bit embarrassed, the man displayed no emotion at all. His skin had smoothed once more into a mask of cool indifference.
"Naturally," he answered. "Ada, you do realize that you were mistaken last night?"
"Oh, I'm sure I was at some point," I murmured. "But how exactly?"
"About how long we have known one another. You said that you don't sleep with men that you've known only over a month's time."
I winced at his recollection, at hearing my own words repeated back to me. Damn alcohol.
"I did," I said. "I mean, I don't. I don't sleep with men that I've only known for that long."
"I believe you," he reassured with a smile. "However, you and I have only known each other for about two weeks. Do you realize that?"
My brow creased as realization slowly settled in. It really hadn't been that long, had it? Only two weeks? I counted them, the days, and sure enough he was right. For me, it was a hard pill to swallow, that I had ventured so far as to allow a near stranger to stay over in my home, my place of safety for myself and others.
Maybe that was it, that Dr. Lecter's position in my process at compartmentalizing people was so unclear, not a stranger but not quite a friend either. Or was he? A friend, I mean. A friend would stay and protect someone, right? Cook her meals. Meet her family. Ask for her number. I don't know. He is a gentleman, too. But I still don't know about him. I don't know about anyone, but Adrian.
"Really?" I managed to ask. "Huh."
"Our flight from the U.K. landed about two weeks ago, yes," he said, seemingly unfazed by my pause in thought.
Surprised, all I could offer the man after receiving his correction was a chuckle and a limp shrug of a shoulder.
"Welp, that's a shocker," I said. "I feel like I've known you longer than that. Especially now. You've seen me in my pajamas."
Lecter pleasantly gazed at me from across the table.
"As do I, Miss Ada. And I like your pajamas. Tell me, what are your plans for the rest of the day?"
"Clients at one, and a visit to see my brother."
"And tonight?"
I stopped mid-bite to lower my hand. His eyes were locked with my own, waiting but still managing to carry a soft spectacle of innocence.
"Dr. Lecter," I began. "While I've liked all of this-"
"All of this?"
"The sweetness," I told him. "You're a sweet man, Hannibal."
He tilted his head at that, his own subdued smile gracing his face as if my words were some sort of inside joke. I continued.
"You're a gentleman, and I feel like I should make something clear since you've been so good to me. To be fair to you."
"I'm listening."
"I don't date. Especially not those in my field of study."
A small silence followed my declaration, and after waiting for about three seconds, Dr. Lecter nodded and filled his mouth with another bite of sausage. He swallowed before his lips parted.
"That's good to know, Miss Ada," he replied lightly.
I frowned. He sipped his milk.
"Oh," I said. "This is good news?"
"Why absolutely," he answered. "I don't date either. We have yet another thing in common."
Dr. Lecter finished what was on his plate and set his napkin on the table. I watched him, my mind trying to absorb what his words could mean. Before I was able to offer any form of saving grace, the man rose from his seat, and seeing that my glass was empty, Dr. Lecter then took the opportunity to fill it with more juice.
What he said next, I didn't see coming.
"I pursue."
His voice sounded above me, near and with a new seriousness in his tone. He was standing behind my chair, his arm reaching over my shoulder to put down the pitcher. I looked him in the eyes, the spell of those reddish brown orbs of his cast and taking me in.
"You pursue," I echoed.
"I do. Dating is so banal these days. Society treats it like a formula, an obvious equation with an unsurprising outcome. I find it boring."
"So in pursuing…"
"In pursuing, Miss Ada, there is a constant chase in which the outcome is not so easily calculated and where permission is seldom taken into account. It's a forgotten courtesy."
I didn't know what to say. Not immediately, anyway. There was so much thought into his words, the subject of dating clearly pondered before in his head. It was refreshing to be startled this way, making me dwell on choosing my own words carefully.
"Sounds pretty animalistic, Hannibal. By your definition, I mean."
"Are we not all animals in the end, Miss Ada? Going by our basic instincts to get what we want?"
"So I don't have a choice?"
A feigned expression of shock lit his features.
"You always have a choice," said Dr. Lecter. "Over yourself and your actions. But for me, I intend to pursue the things I want with the utmost cordiality and ruthlessness."
"Cordiality mixed with ruthlessness. Can't wait to see that. And with seldom bits of permission allotted, too. Just so I know, how much is seldom?"
"What do you think?"
"I think you like to dance around my questions," I mused. "The important ones, that is."
I knew that he was being playful, or at least I guessed that Dr. Lecter was teasing me. I hoped so. I haven't known him that long, apparently, but the quality of the time that I have spent with the man has been pleasant and fun so far. Would hate for things to get too serious.
"I like to keep you guessing, Miss Ada. I will admit to that," he said, offering a coy wink in my direction.
The bite of a blush tickled my cheeks and instead of looking at him anymore, I finished my plate like a shy preteen in a middle school cafeteria.
After insisting, strongly insisting, that Dr. Lecter leave the dishes for me to clean without his help, he announced that he best be off.
"I never heard an answer regarding your evening plans," he said in the front lobby as he shrugged on a brown leather jacket.
"That's because I never gave one, Mr. Hannibal."
At seeing his expression smooth, I quirked an eye brow.
"Oh no, don't give me that look!" I said. "I have the right to be reserved just as you do. And to be honest, I really have no idea how long I will be with my brother this afternoon."
Hesitantly, Dr. Lecter softened a bit at my explanation, but I still saw a trace of impatience tense the skin around them.
"Fine then," he said. "The chase continues."
"That it does. We have each other's numbers now though. Plus, I do need to get your dishes and stuff to you someday, don't I?"
"Yes, I am thankful for that much. For now. Have a wonderful day, Miss Ada Ives. Please call if you ever feel unsafe."
"Will do."
Once the deadbolt to my front door was secured and Dr. Lecter's car drew out of sight, I permitted myself to fully smile. To grin like a giddy teenager because goddamit was the man courteous, intelligent, playful, and absolutely good looking.
What does one do with someone like Dr. Lecter? It was too good, too ideal. His charm seems to know no bounds, and his gentlemanly manner is so stimulating that it leaves me breathless in the most elusive ways. In my mind I pictured his face after I opened my bedroom door, amused but not condescending at seeing my disheveled appearance, especially since he was dressed and ready for the day. There was something about him, a show of manners that I have failed to witness in the men around town.
I mean, I'm sure there are good guys in Seattle. They just seem to repel from me.
"And you like him, too, don't cha?" I said to Bro on the couch. His sticky tongue lapped at my cheek as I held his rubbery face in my hands. "I guess I do as well, Broseph. The man can cook after all."
As swimmingly as things seemed to have gone that morning, it would be awhile before I saw the man again. About a week after he stayed the night, he called early one afternoon. Hearing his voice over the phone excited me, mostly because by then I had dissolved the thoughts of romanticism regarding Dr. Lecter, and listening to him say that he wished to get together for dinner soon was a happy surprise. Apparently he was travelling out of town for a bit to visit friends and wouldn't be in the area for another week or so. I would have to wait it would seem. I was told to be patient, and even without seeing his mouth I had a strong feeling that it was smiling as he said goodbye.
I was sitting on my porch when I hung up, my eyes peering out from under the safety of the roof to stare at the fat droplets of rain hitting my lawn. It had been pouring all day, a sight that I was all too used to yet never loathed.
Before the feelings of excitement could really flutter in me, my phone began to ring again. Seeing the name of the contact, Vashon Mental Recovery and Rehabilitation Center, my concern rose to a more sickening degree, a total turn around in a moment's notice. Things pretty much went downhill from there.
"This is Dr. Ives," I said into the receiver.
"Dr. Ives? Hi, it's Dr. Beckett."
"Is Adrian alright?" I pressed.
"Adrian is fine, but there are two men from the FBI here and they've requested to question him. I said that you must be present for any conversation with Adrian, but one insisted that they start without you. The man, um, said that talking to Adrian is imperative to an investigation-"
"I'm on my way."
I didn't even bother to say goodbye. My phone was tucked in my back pocket, keys snatched, and I was off a moment later.
Sometimes, well, often, I feel that I'm very obvious about what I'm feeling, as if I radiate emotion like the toxins at Chernobyl. For example, when I arrived at the mental health facility about thirty minutes after I hung up the phone, I believe that the staff there could sense my hostility the second my foot hit the tile of the front lobby. Or maybe it was when I parked in the parking lot. Either or, they all seemed to have widened eyes and an air of caution about them, as if I was some savage creature thirsting for blood. Which, I mean, I was, but they didn't know that. Not exactly.
"Good afternoon, Dr. Ives-"
"Where's Dr. Beckett?" I asked briskly of the woman behind the counter.
"He's, he's just past the front perimeter, mam-"
"Thank you."
I was buzzed past the security measure without another word, and at seeing Dr. Beckett waiting for me at the end of the long hall past the barrier, I could see his face fall into further dismay.
"I'm so sorry, Ada," he said as led me across a foyer and through another entryway. "They just came in, flashed their IDs, and said that they couldn't wait and-"
"It's okay, Adam," I told him. "Not every day that you have a man at your facility that's so popular with the government like my brother is. Like a fucking celebrity."
"He really is, isn't he?"
"Yep. Unfortunately."
Finally, after weaving about more security measures and hallways, we came to an interrogation room nestled in the depths of the facility. Dr. Beckett opened the thick door for me, saying to call him if things got out of hand. I stepped in and immediately looked through the wide, glass window and saw Adrian sitting at a metal table, his eyes dull and blinking at a man who sat across from him. Their words carried over a speaker system.
"…not in any kind of trouble, Adrian," said the stranger. Conversational. Casual. "I'm sure your sister is on her way, but before she gets here, I'd like to just talk to you about-"
"You're hiding from my sister?" asked my brother plainly. "That's awfully cowardly of you, Mr. Crawford, to go behind a family member's back like that. Crafty, but not that classy in the long run. Can't blame you though. Ada is a bit of a hell raiser."
I took in a breath, my agitation growling at seeing Adrian being interrogated. Never liked the picture, the portrait of my twin painted behind one-sided glass and spoken to by someone who had the power to hold back his life. It burned my blood.
"Good afternoon, Dr. Ives."
I flinched, not even realizing that I wasn't alone. It was dark in there, on the other side of the glass where I stood, and watching from the shadows with his eyes trained on the next room was Will Graham. Looking just as gloomy as our first encounter, the man's melancholy eyes turned away from the interrogation and to my face. I would say that he almost appeared apologetic.
"Hi, what are you doing here?" I asked, closing the door behind me. "And who is that talking to Adrian?"
"That man is Jack Crawford. He's the head of the Behavioral-"
"The Behavioral Science Unit. Right, knew he seemed familiar. Now, tell me, why the fuck are you two here, Mr. Graham?"
His brow furrowed at my words, his posture straightening.
"Dr. Ives," he said quietly. "I promise that our presence is not meant to upset you. We're here only to disqualify your brother from our ongoing investigation. Nothing more."
My lips parted to speak, but the sound of a loud bang turned both of our heads back to the glass. The other man, Jack Crawford, was now standing over my brother, hands on his hips and jaw set. Adrian's eye brows were high, a nervous smirk tugging at one of his mouth's corners.
"I just asked if you had been in a hospital recently," said my brother with a touch of laughter on his tongue.
"I'm the one asking questions, Adrian. Not the other way around."
"Then don't make it so easy to piss you off, Jack. I can't resist poking at authority, remember? Oppositional defiant disorder, my biological disposition and whatnot."
Jack Crawford lingered over him, his dark eyes never breaking from my brother's. The tension carried over to the room I was in, heavy and invisible.
"Your sister seems to be doing just fine, Adrian," said Crawford. "Blaming biology probably isn't the best stance for a defense."
"You don't know Ada at all," replied my brother. "And am I on trial here?"
"Not today. I don't know the future, but I wouldn't be surprised if one day you were."
At that, my brother's amusement dimmed. That side of him that I don't want others to see, the methodical, pathological side, it started to open its eyes. Leaning towards Crawford, he looked like he might bite him.
"You smell like death," said Adrian in a lower voice. "That's what hospitals smell like. I smell it on your skin. Stale. Clinical, like this place. Clean, but not fresh. Clean like bleach."
"According to your file, Adrian, you are very acquainted with hospitals," said Crawford.
"Oh good, I was wondering if you had or not. Read my file."
"I did. Quite the read. Orphaned at five. No kin to step up and claim you and your sister. Moved from home to home. Eventually, you were adopted into a warm, caring family, but that didn't stop you, did it? Having a home didn't keep you from getting into a lot of trouble growing up."
"I'm just a stereotype," whispered my brother. "Another product of the state-"
"Your first hospital visit was after the death of your parents, but when was the second visit? Yeah, I remember, you were what, ten? When one of your fosters died? Mr. Porter."
The change of subject changed Adrian, and for the first time in years I saw him shudder. Mechanically, his mouth shut and the muscles around his neck and shoulders stiffened. His eyes fell on the table in front of him, and that's when I knew that their conversation needed to end.
However, as I stalked to the door, Will Graham moved to block my way.
"Dr. Ives, he's safe-"
"Don't talk to me like you know us, Mr. Graham," I said coldly. "Because you don't know me at all, and I am warning you that if you come in between my brother and I then I will make sure you will never forget the consequences."
Will Graham stared at me, a look of shock quickly being washed away by what appeared to be pity.
"I want my sister," muttered my brother. I could barely hear it. His voice crackled over the speaker.
My attention shifted between Graham and the glass, torn and unsure.
"Did something happen to Adrian, Dr. Ives?" Mr. Graham asked softly. "When you were young-"
"I want my sister."
My eyes flickered to the glass at the face of my brother who was growing more restless by the second. The emptiness in his eyes was now filled with a familiar energy, the power of an old rage that I've seen ever since we moved in with Mitzy's family. It shook his body and whitened his knuckles.
Without warning, I shoved past Graham and entered the room, my own fury brimming.
"Dr. Ives-" began Crawford.
"Do not speak to me," I snapped, a new venom stinging my tone. "You have violated my brother's rights, as well as undermined his road to recovery."
"Your brother has in his possession a document that is relevant to my case. I was only asking him about it, a subject that he was actively deflecting."
"Mhm, and I'm so sure, Agent Crawford, that wandering down the memory lane of his childhood was going to spark his recollection about your document."
A wrinkled forehead and flared nostrils made up the department head's face. I knew that he was agitated, no thanks to my brother's tendency to pick at scabs. I wasn't helping either.
"Adrian," I said while resting my hand on my brother's shoulder. I could feel it relax under palm. "Do you know what he's talking about?"
"No," he said with a shrug. "On my mother's life, I have no idea what he means-"
"Your group therapist told me today on the phone that you received a questioning document this morning!" countered Crawford. "Adrian, if you are lying-"
"His mail is his business!" I exclaimed. "And if he says that he doesn't have it, then-"
"Dr. Ives, I understand that you're trying to protect your brother-"
Crawford moved closer, hands up in a harmless gesture, but the second he took a step towards me things could only escalate.
I know my brother.
"Hey!" Adrian yelled.
Immediately, Adrian flipped his chair back as he moved to be between me and Jack Crawford, the sharp sound of the metal hitting the floor echoing in the small interrogation room. One of his hands ushered me behind him as he stood fiercely in front of my frame. I could see the back of his neck reddening.
"Adrian," cautioned Crawford.
Past my brother's shoulder stood a man with widened eyes whose own temper had visibly dialed down. Gone was the anger in the face and eyes of the FBI agent, instead replaced with the therapeutic carefulness universally used for crisis moments. I eased back at hearing it in his voice, the tone of the helping profession.
"I mean no harm towards your sister," continued Crawford evenly. "I'm sorry if I came off as threatening, but what I need here is for you to work with me-"
"Fuck off."
They slid off Adrian's tongue like fire, the offensive phrase that would be a part of Crawford's final warning.
"You piece of federal shit," Adrian hissed. "Fuck off."
The rigidity started to come back over Crawford, but just as he was going to open his mouth to say something, Will Graham stepped in.
"Jack," he prompted gently.
The head agent didn't move an inch, his eyes still trying to bore holes in my brother's head.
"Jack," said Graham. "We need to go."
No one moved. Not my brother and neither Crawford. They held one long last look at one another, their heated stares cooking the room's atmosphere. Finally, Jack Crawford's eyes glowered at me one last time and he stormed out of the interrogation room. The loud slam of a door was heard a breath later.
"I'm sorry," muttered Graham as he peeked in our direction, his eyes seeming to linger on me. Quietly, he too, left the room, his own exit much more understated than his colleague's.
The next fifteen minutes were even more exhausting. Orderlies had been dispatched to escort my brother back to his room, and since he was clearly "distressed", they threatened to sedate him with medication. Of course, this all was said in front of Adrian, who responded with even more hostility. It was a train wreck in slow motion. The yelling, the reddened face of my brother as he threatened the orderlies, me trying to convince Adrian to calm down while warning the orderlies that physically touching him would only make things worse. I tried to argue with the staff, saying that if they just allowed Adrian to walk around outside, to get some fresh air that his mood would change for the better. I was getting virtually nowhere until I finally called Dr. Beckett. Upon his arrival, my brother visibly relaxed, even listening to Beckett's suggestion to take a seat at the metal table. After pleading my case, Dr. Beckett half-heartedly agreed that after the interrogation, a more open environment would be best instead of his white walled room in the facility. He permitted Adrian and me to walk about the facility's campus, orderly free.
My brother grinned at the news. I punched him in the ribs the moment we stepped outside.
"How did you know I wanted to come out here?" he gasped while rubbing his side.
"Because I could tell that you were lying in there," I replied, stuffing my hands in my jacket's pockets.
"How?"
A tired sigh ghosted past my lips while my eyes stared at the graveled path of the facility's outdoor trail.
"You never called her mom," I said. "At one point in there you said 'on my mother's life', but not once have you ever referred to Claire as mom. Never."
I stole a look and saw that Adrian's eyes had cast off towards the trees. For what it was worth, I took it as a silent agreement. We didn't say anything for the next few minutes, choosing to walk amongst the trail and the brush with Mother Nature navigating the conversation.
"What did you lie about?" I eventually asked after we passed a small thicket of dying grasses.
"That dickhead. What was his name? Crawford? He was right about me getting a letter this morning. The group therapist must've seen me reading it. I was right next to the man so he probably read it, too. Never trusting him again."
"He was doing his job," I said. "He's required to report something like this. Adrian, why did you lie though? I still don't get it. Do you realize how much this hurts you, lying to the FBI?"
"Because you needed to see it first. The letter. Ads, you're in it."
My steps ceased.
"What?" I asked.
"You heard me," answered Adrian nonchalantly. "You're in the letter."
When Adrian and I were kids, he liked to pretend he knew things that I didn't, like he had the keys to the universe and took pleasure of dangling them in front of my nose. Even as an adult, he occasionally wore that same smug grin. He wore it then on the trail, eyes lazy and mouth crooked.
"Well," I started, clearly annoyed. "Where is it?"
"Hidden up here. Just past the bushes."
We resumed our walk and came to a small grove of pine trees. At their skinny bases was a large rock that looked out of place, the soil around it clearly disturbed. I watched as Adrian stepped off the beaten path and slid his hand into the black dirt by the rock. From the earth, he pulled out a piece of paper, and after he brushed some of the torrential crumbs off, I saw that it was a folded envelope. He smiled at my expression, a response that irked me.
"Who sent it?" I asked while he handed it over.
The envelope felt thick in my hand. I could tell that the paper was expensive by how heavy it was, how the smell of it still lingered on the paper's surface.
"Dunno," replied Adrian with a shrug. "The name doesn't mean anything to me. The letter though, came in this morning in the most strangest of ways-"
"Adrian, I swear-"
"A guard," he finally answered with the roll of the eyes. "At breakfast he pretended to hand me a napkin. The envelope was inside it. Crazy shit."
"Can I read it?"
"Yeah, but not here. I only got about ten more minutes before they make me go in for the day."
I nodded and tucked the letter in my coat. The terrain was mostly dead, but even in the winter decay, the forestation managed to hide the facility from view. For a small moment, Adrian and I were truly alone. I relished it.
"You should use this," I then said to him. "Could be advantageous."
"That's what I thought, but it won't be enough to spring me out of here."
"Probably not. I'll work on it. In the meantime, try to talk more in group. Look the part of someone trying to get better."
"I'll try. No promises."
"Okay."
And that was that. Together, my brother and I went back to the place we loathed, to his non-prison prison that would monitor his every move, word, and passing of time. I got in my car, feeling the envelope's weight in my jacket like a small anchor.
It was golden, that anchor, because sometimes life likes to give a bit of treasure to make something out of, to steady you in the storm, and to profit a person in whatever endeavor he or she is facing. Would hate to miss a chance when you have one because the bare bones of it all is that we have no one to blame but ourselves should we not cash that treasure in. How stupid are those who are given opportunity and let it walk on by like a lazy, Sunday afternoon.
So, as I sat in my living room staring at the crumbled envelope on my coffee table, dirty and unopened, I thought on opportunity and thought on the decision that I had made the moment it slipped into my waiting hand. With certainty I hit the Dial button on my phone.
"This is Will Graham," said the voice on the other end of the line.
"Yes, Mr. Graham, this is Ada. Ada Ives. Do you have time for us to meet today? Just you and me?"
A pause. I smiled.
"There's a park that I like to walk my dog at around this time," I added. "We can meet there if you want."
Another pause.
"Which park?" he said.
The man that the old statue in the park was built after did some things in his life that were worth recognizing. What those achievements were, I had no clue, nor did I care to research. I've seen the statue plenty of times, but never did my eyes read the plaque that was placed boldly at his shoes.
My eyes were staring at it when I spoke to Will Graham on the bench, and I still didn't bother to read the lettering.
"I have a proposal," I said. "Say, Adrian does know something that can help you with your case."
Graham's eyes turned away from my dog to fully take me in, dreamy and uncertain. They had narrowed, too.
"This is something that should be brought to Agent Crawford, not me-"
"But I don't want to talk to Agent Crawford, Mr. Graham. I don't appreciate his ways of gaining information."
"Interrogations aren't often appreciated."
"Yes, and neither is rudeness. Adrian's spoken to the FBI upon request before. If you had formally requested I'm sure that we could have had a more civil conversation."
Graham appeared thoughtful before he leaned back into the bench. His rain cloud eyes stared ahead at the tall statue, too, as if it held the words to his part in our talk. I waited for him, more interested than impatient.
"So," he breathed. "Hypothetically, if your brother had some information that would benefit the investigation, what would he want in return?"
"I think you know what the hypothetical answer is, Mr. Graham."
He chuckled, but the sound didn't seem friendly.
"Would releasing him really be in his best interest, Dr. Ives?" he asked.
"I'm biased."
"As a psychologist, not a sister, would you agree that the transition would benefit him? Or the community?"
"What do you think?" I countered. "You're good at reading people, I've heard. What's your prognosis?"
The faded mocking expressed on his face weakened. It fell away until his face returned to its usual somberness.
"I don't know if you want to hear it," he said flatly.
"The truth is hard to hear, but I wouldn't ask, Mr. Graham, if I wasn't aware of that."
"You're not the first person to say that, Dr. Ives, and people tend to quote it before I say anything at all."
I stared at the man, unmoved by his comment, and he stared back at my challenge before at last giving up a surrendering sigh.
"From what he admitted, he was diagnosed O.D.D. and clearly still opposes authority figures. He's hostile. He doesn't trust much of anyone, and shows some potential to be manipulative of those around him."
I nodded as he listed his thoughts, surprised that he didn't list one thing in particular.
"Do you think he's a psychopath?" I asked.
His brow furrowed at my question.
"No."
"Why?"
"Because he appears to have some level of care for you. Someone who is psychopathic wouldn't be so passionately devoted to a single person. Not like he is to you, genuine and protective. That's what I got out of observing him, anyway."
"I'm glad you see that," I told him. "Not many do."
"According to his paperwork, Adrian was put into the facility's program because of attempted murder."
I frowned at his bluntness and the abrupt statement.
"That's right," I said.
"Who was it that he tried to kill?"
I swallowed and automatically called Bro over. My dog rested at my feet, panting while I stroked his back.
"Um, my sister. Mitzy," I murmured. "He tried drowning her in her pool."
"What did she do?"
"What?"
Raising my eyes, I saw that Mr. Graham was gazing ahead at the statue, a blank faced man who sounded far off somewhere else.
"Adrian is very reactionary," he answered. "If I was Adrian, I would be charming because I know that's how I need to behave to get by. I've perfected my methods over the years, bouncing from house to house until I was nearly perfect. But I'm not perfect. I have my moments. I have my triggers. I can be unstable. What caused him to want to drown his sister?"
"He never said," I said softly. "I wasn't there exactly when it happened. He was, um, he was aggressive at the time. They, the emergency staff, injected him with Halidol on the scene. I've been advised by his primary doctor not to broach the subject until he's farther along."
The only response I received from Graham was a weak nod. I took the opportunity to ask my own question, more so to change the subject to something other than my brother's misdeeds for a change.
"Mr. Graham, can I ask about your investigation?"
"You can, but I can't promise many answers, Dr. Ives."
"I'm just struggling to see how much a letter could benefit you," I said.
"That all depends on the content of the letter."
"Are you looking for anything in particular?"
"The recent murder of the student at Washington University has similarities to those involved in our investigation. We believe that the original perpetrator is active in the northwestern area of the country."
"Oh," I said. "Do you think you're close to catching him?"
"That's hard to say."
"Would I know his name?"
"Most likely not. He would try to keep a low profile since the Himes murder, and he's aware of our presence in Seattle."
"Tell me anyway."
Mr. Graham at last turned and stared at me, curiosity clearly drawn all over his face.
"Chances are," I began. "After the way things panned out this afternoon, Adrian won't want to talk to the FBI unless he can be released from the Vashon center. Until then, I'm the only one who he'll respond to, and if he won't talk to you, you won't be losing anything should he choose to talk to me instead."
"You want to be involved in the investigation-"
"No, I want to get my brother out of the center and back into a normal life. And no offense, I kind of hate the FBI for how they've treated him and my clients."
"Dr. Ives," he said quietly. "This really isn't a decision that I am qualified to make on my own-"
"Which part? The telling of the name part? Because I'm pretty sure its public information if you're on a man hunt."
"Then why don't you know? You seem to have an idea of who I am, Dr. Ives."
"You're being awfully stubborn," I remarked with a slight roll of the eyes. "All I know about you is that you have a gift at seeing people for who they are, Mr. Graham. My own life was a bit chaotic-"
"With Adrian?"
"Yes, with him. I don't know anything else regarding whatever the FBI is searching for here."
My patience was finally beginning to wear down from the man's avoidance. Sure, I get it, protect the people and blah blah blah. But, in his efforts to still my curiosity's movements, it only agitated it. It became a beast that was hungry for answers, and with glee, it smiled at seeing Graham's final defenses weaken and dissipate.
I wish he hadn't now. I wish I never knew.
"His name is Hannibal Lecter," said Will Graham. "He has killed a few of my friends, and several other people back in Baltimore. Probably even more overseas."
A pause. It prevented me to speak, to breathe. One of the hardest pauses I've ever felt.
At first, I don't think I heard him.
"He's intelligent, confident, refined."
I didn't think I heard the name right at all. I tried to convince myself.
"Because of his background in medical sciences, the method in which he disposes of his victims is purposeful. Clean. He takes pride in his work."
It couldn't be. Ocher eyes blinked in my mind. A pretty mouth curled into an easy smile.
"How," I started weakly. "How does he dispose of them, the people?"
I thank God every day that Will Graham wasn't looking at me when I asked that question. If he stole even a glimpse of what I looked like, maybe things would have panned out differently. I wasn't ready for anything else. Wherever he was in his recollection, I strongly hoped in that moment on the bench that he would remain there.
"He eats them. He eats them all."
So. Long.
Sorry, but I couldn't/didn't want to find another way around writing so much in this chapter. It is all just too much fun. Hopefully, I'll be able to better tame what goes on in my head in the next few installments. Thanks for reading. -TCR