How funny that when compared to an evening with Hannibal Lecter the glamour of prop bloodshed, the drama, the gasps, the bright-eyed looks of horror found in the actresses of cinema works, is so meaningless. It all really is. Meaningless when compared to the real thing, that is. And when I say funny, I refer not to a belly-rumbling hilarity that reddens the cheeks and aches our ribs, but the short, dry breathing out, a single breath made when we see a moment, hear a comment that is a little bit humorous. Not by much, just a little, and I find the reactions of women in horror movies a little bit humorous. I find their blood-curdling screams at seeing the man in the doorway, shining kitchen knife in his grip, laughable.
That's not how it is. When we're scared, we hardly make a sound. We forget our voices altogether.
Trust me.
I know.
Case and point, when I was with Hannibal Lecter I was surprisingly calm. I was poised, polite, and tried my best to not let my true feelings show. I was my best self. True, Hannibal knew that I was scared. It was as if he could smell it on me, the way his eyes flickered upwards to meet my own in a sort of knowing fashion. But even in sensing how afraid I was of him, Hannibal was nothing short of a gentleman.
Everything Hannibal did was an act of a gentleman. He opened my car door and unnecessarily gave me his hand as I stepped out onto the gravel drive of the property. He walked me to the front of his home, arm in arm towards a large cabin surrounded by the blackened silhouettes of trees. He immediately offered me a glass of wine the moment I crossed the threshold of the house, the option of red or white. I said pink to spite him, yet Dr. Lecter obliged with a charming smile.
Charming. Yes, the word summed him up nicely, too.
"I don't know how people do it," I said, answering his inquiry regarding my abilities to recognize great wine. "I know some people can smell it and decide if wine is a "good year" or not, but I can't. Not classy enough I guess."
"The ability to appreciate the aesthetic is a practiced art, and I assure you, it is not one regulated by a social system alone, Miss Ada."
He said so while standing on the other side of a polished, copper countertop. On his side, he was busy at work, his hands moving while he cooked our meal using both the stove and oven to create his masterpiece. I smelled things that I do not have the ability to properly determine, fragrances I'm sure were both domestic and abroad. Definitely meat. Thick heat. The kitchen was warmed from his craft and while watching the man work, gracefully, mind you, I couldn't help but feel beyond out of place. Who wouldn't?
When I didn't say anything to his last comment, his eyes flickered to where I sat.
"Your mind has wandered again, I see," he said.
I met his gaze, albeit my eyes were not as kind as his.
"The situation we're in isn't ideal," I said. "You can't blame me for thinking."
"I don't blame you at all and I appreciate the way you think. However, I would like to participate in your wanderings with you, if you don't mind."
The glass in my hand swirled with the remains of my drink, mimicking the very thoughts that I tried to hide from him.
"Beyond questions of survivalism I don't have much to offer."
Hannibal surprised me with a tsk and a reproving look.
"How rude of me," he said, his attention returning to the dish. "I neglected to answer your question from our time in my car."
"You already settled on an answer."
"I did, but I didn't share it with you."
"I think I already know what it is."
"Perhaps, but there is a saying that goes with the woes of assuming the reasoning of another."
My lips threatened to pull into a smile, but I shut down that thought the moment it tempted me. I took another sip of wine instead.
"You asked me why you are alive," he began. "The answer is simple: Because I want you to be. I like you, Miss Ada. At least the version of you that I and others have observed. You are a polite, intelligent, patient, compassionate woman who believes that there is good in everyone."
"I sound so wonderful," I said listlessly.
"You do," he affirmed with a nod. "But behind closed doors, I imagine that you have suffered a great deal that has lent to your positive disposition. Silver linings and other such self-assurances that birth optimism. Tell me, how do you cope with the stress of your life?"
I must've made a face because upon glancing at me again, Hannibal stopped what he was doing and gave a small smile again.
"Have I said something funny?" he asked.
"No. You're just awfully forward tonight, Hannibal."
"I would apologize, but I would hate to lie to you."
"I doubt that you would hate it, but thank you."
My host's face softened before continuing to prepare our meal. I didn't dare ask what all we were eating, though I did let myself ask if the meat was human or not. Dr. Lecter said that it was pheasant, and assured me that he would not dare trick me now that I knew the truth of his identity. Inwardly I called bullshit, yet pushed the act of cannibalism aside for a moment as I peered into the pan on the stove. Chunks of meat, pre-floured, seasoned, and wrapped with stalks of asparagus sizzled in the pan while something else stewed in the pot beside it. The oven, too, was hard at work cooking what appeared to be small potatoes and other chopped vegetables.
"How do I cope with my life?" I echoed. "Well, self-care as you know is a large part of surviving the line of work we're in. I draw. I listen to music. Read. I hike on weekends with friends and sometimes alone-"
"As did your brother."
Ah.
"I was wondering when his name was going to come up," I said plainly. "Yes, as did Adrian. We both like the outdoors from time to time. Him more so than me, but that goes without saying by now. Given his choice of work."
"A nature guide."
"Yep."
"Washington is beautiful, and nature has a way of bringing the best out of us all. It's no small wonder that artists create extravagant works from that which surrounds us every day."
"Like people?"
Hannibal's head tilted at that, a silent request for me to elaborate.
"We're surrounded by people, too," I said. "You and me constantly. And aren't people a part of nature?"
I could tell that he was absorbing my suggestion with more focus than my previous comments. Ever so silent, the man chose to adjust the dials on the oven so that the meat could simmer. Even as he motioned for me to follow him to the living room, a plain title for how richly decorated the room was, Hannibal's amber eyes were elsewhere in some void of thought unreachable by me. It wasn't until we sat down on a large sofa did he speak again.
"By our definition, yes. People are a part of nature and artists often depict human beings in their works," said Hannibal. "And I suppose that it is correct to say that other people can bring out the best in ourselves just as the shelter of pine trees can bring peace to the minds of troubled children."
My wine glass empty, I chose to place it on the small table near my spot on the sofa. I really just needed an excuse to have my eyes divert somewhere else other than on the eyes of the man across from me. Not that it mattered. God knows he knew what I was doing.
"I had friends. Adrian had the woods."
"Did Adrian ever have friends?"
I sighed.
"Yes and no. As Aristotle put it best, we have friends of utility, perfect friendships, and friends of pleasure. Adrian had a variety like everyone else."
"But not perfect friendships."
My lips pursed.
"Full ones, anyway," he added.
"No, not perfect friendships."
"But he had you."
"He had me. Has me."
When I dared a glance, I saw that a small smile curled at the corners of his carved lips. I didn't return it.
"Adrian is very fortunate to have entered this world with a sister that loves him as much as you do, Ada. And I believe that he is very much aware of this fact."
I waited. There had to be more.
"I wonder, was this always known to Adrian," said Hannibal. "Or was this fact proven true?"
Without meaning to, I gave myself away. The lids that surrounded my eyes widened in the slightest of nanometers, and my lips parted a bit at hearing Hannibal's observation. Nothing grandiose, but even the miniscule could be picked up by someone as observant and brilliant as Dr. Lecter. Victory, pure victory glistened in the brown eyes of the psychiatrist across from me, the hunger to know more surely burning his lungs as he inhaled to continue his dissection.
"Tell me about your parents," he started with an air of cordiality. "Your birth parents. I'd like to know your opinion of them."
"Is this suddenly a session? Are we in therapy now?"
"Oh, Ada," he hummed. "You know this isn't sudden."
"Then when did it begin?"
The tone in which I had asked the question was drenched in an attitude much like impatience, but maybe a little less unnerving. Maybe not. I don't know, but based on the pointed stare I got back, I knew my point was made. After a short silence, I decided to go along with whatever charade Hannibal was playing at. God knows that I've answered these questions before.
"I don't remember them," I said. "I remember where we lived more than who my parents actually were."
"Where did you live-"
"A crack house. Some trailer up the sound. They would forget about us. Forget to feed us. Clothe us right. Our education was inconsistent. They died in their sleep after overdosing on heroine."
"And how old were you and Adrian?"
"You know already."
"How old?"
My lips pursed again.
"Five," I told him.
"And how were your living conditions and the state of your parents discovered?"
"Adrian called 911."
His fair eyebrows lifted at that.
"Smart boy."
A small laugh left me. It was cold.
"Smart?" I scoffed. "He called to see if the police would deliver us a pizza. They didn't even know what happened until they asked to speak to our parents. Adrian said that they were sleeping, but the police knew better."
Hannibal's eyes drifted to the large fireplace that faced the room, and said nothing. I was beginning to dislike the silences that filled the gaps in conversation. They were his opportunities to think, to dive deeper, and just as thinking can be dangerous, any thoughts had by Hannibal Lecter could easily become lethal to anyone's health.
"From there we met Patti."
The words sprang from my lips in a rush. Amber eyes returned to study me as I shifted nervously on the cushion.
"I don't think I've met Patti," said Dr. Lecter. "Who is she to you and Adrian?"
"She was the social worker called in that day our parents were discovered and has been with us ever since," I said. With a light smile I added, "She was so sweet and gentle, even when Adrian was absolutely against her. She would visit us every week no matter what home we were in."
"She sounds like someone dedicated to her work."
"Oh, she was and more. If you think Adrian is "charismatic" now, imagine him as a little boy, then a teenager. God, he was difficult, but Patti pushed through. Outside of me, Patti's probably the only person Adrian really cared about."
"What about your adopted parents? Did he not form any attachment to them?"
"Not really."
As if on a projector, pictures of the Ives family came into focus inside my head. Complete with father, mother, and older sister, they came as some form of salvation to. Those first few months were scary, but eventually I allowed the comfort that our new family had to offer, the love they desperately wanted to give Adrian and I. My brother, however, was never truly warmed by them. In photographs, I could always see how his smiles never quite reached his eyes.
"He did the bare minimum," I said to Hannibal. "Those first few months Adrian didn't say a word to them. Didn't eat. Refused to sleep in a room without me. He even punched Mitzi one time and gave her a black eye when she tried to make him move off the couch to play with us. Eventually, things calmed down."
"But, now we're here," I said barely above a whisper. "Almost like we're at the very beginning."
"Is that how Adrian views the recent turn of events?"
"What do you mean?"
"Does Adrian view his current state as a patient in a mental hospital as a step backward in the relationship with his adopted family?"
"I don't think Adrian cares."
My tone was so flat that I hardly recognized the voice to be my own. I was no longer looking at Hannibal either, but past him into the depths of my memories. Those months were dark. Those months adjusting to our new family were heavy, so much that I doubt that as a child I fully understood what was going on. I was torn. Between my brother's raging defiance and the potential happiness that could be gained from the new people in our lives, I wasn't certain about my own feelings and what was best for me. I didn't know what the "right" decision was. Sometimes I wonder if there was anything I could've done to make Adrian come around faster, or at all for that matter. Then, I just laugh at the thought. Even I couldn't make Adrian do anything back then. I could hardly do so now.
"For children diagnosed with Reactive Attachment disorder," said Hannibal, "the foster care system can be a threatening place to find oneself in. I'm not at all shocked to hear that your brother had difficulty adjusting to a stable family dynamic. Were the other homes understanding of your brother's condition?"
"It depended on Adrian's mood."
"How so?"
"If he was in a good mood, he didn't cause too much trouble. If he was in a bad one, we tended to be transferred quicker."
"Hm. I wonder how much of Adrian's moods were based on what he could observe of your foster families, Ada."
Like a shell, I could feel my body harden at the small twists and turns our conversation about my brother made. I didn't say anything to his last comment, but whether I was ready or not Hannibal continued talking anyway.
"For a child as self-aware and untrusting as your brother, he must have been able to observe people in a more critical light than you did. Is it possible that he saw things in the individuals you stayed with that you did not?"
The conversation was heading somewhere. Where Lecter wanted it to go, I started to see with my own mind's eye.
"Probably," I said coolly. "He was pretty paranoid though."
"When were you officially adopted by the Ives?" he asked me.
"Ten," I said.
"And who did you stay with before the Ives?"
Very slightly, I saw his eyes narrow as I hesitated with my answer. After swallowing the new lump that was starting to coagulate in my throat, I replied in a delicate voice.
"Um, with a man named Albert Porter."
My discomfort was obvious. I knew that any efforts that I could make at that point to hide how I felt about the turn our conversation took would have been futile. And if I knew I was obvious, God knows Hannibal Lecter saw my uneasiness as well.
"Adrian must have been very perceptive and at such a young age," the psychiatrist commented breezily. "Perfect for an aspiring nature guide."
He said that last statement with a glint of humor in his eyes. I appreciated his slight lightening of the mood. The breath that I didn't even know I was holding was released as I allowed a small bit of laughter leave my lips.
Hannibal then rose from his place on the couch and nodded towards the kitchen. I dumbly blinked up at him, his intentions unclear.
"I believe dinner is ready, Miss Ada," he said to me in a warm voice. A welcomed gentleness softened his features as he offered me his hand.
Taken back by the change of mood, I took his hand, inwardly praised it, and allowed him to lead me to the glass table on the other side of the kitchen.
The previous topic set aside, our meal was graced with delicious food and delicious conversation. We discussed medical journals, scholarly works of psychology, music, and travelling in Europe. I relished in Hannibal's views on ethical psychology, the whole end-justifies-the-means debate. I became filled with wonder, absorbing his stories like a sponge when he described his time spent in Italy, of his experiences walking the streets of Florence. Hannibal recalled faraway lands as if they were from storybooks, magical, untouchable, and full of a mysterious enchantment spared by the realities of this world. I was living through him. He let me.
"Are you interested in dessert?" the man questioned courteously as he started clearing the table.
"Dessert, too? I feel so spoiled."
"Good. That was my intention."
There was a faint glimmer of satisfaction in his eyes when I told him that dessert sounded excellent. He suggested that we eat out on the back deck of his home where we could see the stars and the moonlight. I called him a romantic. He only smiled in return.
A slice of tiramisu, creamy and with a rich coffee liquor melting on the tongue, was slowly being finished by the two of us as we sat in wooden chairs on his home's back deck. I felt like we were sitting at the universe's edge. On the other side of the deck's rails was nothing. A black abyss of trees that blended together into oblivion save for the navy horizon line littered with little freckles of white stars. A full moon hung heavy above us, the only light source for miles.
"Hannibal," I prompted airily.
His attention shifted away from the moon, his fair eyebrows quirked from hearing me say his name.
"Why are you so interested in learning about my brother and I?"
The man thought on his answer, which I appreciated greatly.
"I am worried about the two of you," Hannibal said in a low, serious voice. "Constantly."
Sitting up a bit in my seat, I tried my best to study his face. The light kissed his cheekbones and shined on the smooth bridge of his nose. I could barely make out his eyes for they were dark hollows, empty things that hid so much from me.
"I don't need to go into much detail when it comes to discussing how valuable you and Adrian are to the scholarly world of psychology, Ada. You already have had your share of prying minds who like to search you out with blunt tools. I understand the feeling."
"Please know," he continued. "That I don't mean to come off in any way condescending. I see you and your brother as equals. In fact, I'd like to infer that I am more capable than the typical psychiatrist when it comes to understanding the minds of people like Adrian."
"And what are "people like Adrian" like, Dr. Lecter?"
"Unappreciated. Undervalued for how intelligent they really are amongst the general populace. Some might suggest that they are unconstrained by that which holds back others."
I glowered, my mind finally catching up to where Hannibal was going.
"Constraints such as emotions?" I said. "Meaningful relationships?"
"Sure."
"Are you suggesting that my brother is a psychopath?" I questioned, not bothering to hide the bite in my tone. "Like you?"
"Yes," said Hannibal. "I am."
I wanted to smack him. The anger that started boiling from my belly and climbed up my throat threated to spill out and burn the man beside me.
"How dare you," I told him. "How dare you drag me out here like this and accuse him of-"
"Ada, please-"
"No!" I snapped as I rose from the chair.
His head tilted up to look at me with unseen eyes, but I didn't need to see them. I could feel them crawl all over me.
"He is fine," I said stiffly. "Adrian is fine."
"I never said that he wasn't. A high-functioning psychopath doesn't automatically imply a lack stability."
"Right. Because clearly you're doing so well. Hiding out in the woods like a man on the run. Hiding behind ball caps and false identities. How "stable" do you think that sounds?"
Slowly, Hannibal rose from his chair to join me by the railing. I didn't like how much my head had to tilt upwards to meet his stare. His features were illuminated by the moonlight, the power in his eyes striking me down with a silent challenge. I did not waver.
"You said that you're worried," I told the man. "Why?"
"For reasons that I cannot say, Miss Ada."
"That answer's not good enough for me."
"I'm afraid that it is going to have to be. For now."
We stood by the rail, by the pit of darkness in silence. I felt like I was being teased. Like how one feels when there is a mention of a surprise, but not when such a surprise will be delivered. I got a taste of what is to come. I felt the punch in my chest, the knots in my stomach as I pondered what Hannibal could possibly be so worried about.
Ha, worried. What could worry a man like Hannibal, save for his own issues with the FBI-
My eyes instantly went to his.
No.
"What do you know?"
Hannibal cocked his head at my sudden question.
"What do you know?" I repeated harshly. "Tell me right now what it is that you think you know about us."
"I know enough-"
"No," I snapped. "No, that's not an answer. Hannibal, I want to know exactly what you think you know about my brother and me. No more games. No more "civility". Just tell me. Now."
There in the moonlight, I watched a sort of change come over the man before me. Like a macabre metamorphosis, it began with his eyes and gently drifted to the corners of those lovely lips, a darkening of sorts. The air around us seemed to chill.
"If I didn't know any better, Miss Ada, I would say that your last statement had an edge to it."
My teeth grit when he took a languid step closer to me. Every muscle in my body stiffened.
"And if it did?" I questioned.
"Well, if it did, then I suppose we have a new problem in our relationship."
Subtle. Hardly noticeable, save for the murky shift in the background and the small tremor felt beneath the soles of our shoes. Without those signs, we wouldn't have known. We wouldn't have sensed him at all.
Acknowledgment flashed in Hannibal's eyes before he slowly turned around to see the new figure who joined us on the back deck of his cabin.
Shirtless and slightly out of breath stood my brother. The moonlight made his skin glisten, a layer of sweat hot and shining all over his toned body. He wore no shoes. In fact, all that Adrian was wearing was a pair of tattered cargo shorts and blackened mud that slicked his hands and feet, all the way up to his elbows and knees. Hair a mess. Disheveled. He looked like a wild man.
And those eyes. Dark. Brooding, they glowered at Dr. Lecter not with hate, but with something less personal and far more menacing.
"Adr-" I began to breathe out before Hannibal immediately silenced me with the lift of his hand.
The name died in my throat. All I could do was watch the spectacle as not a word was exchanged.
Then, as if finally noticing me, Adrian's attention shifted and weakened to take me in. Soundlessly, my brother gestured for me to join him at his side. I hesitated.
"It's alright, Ada," said Hannibal.
He dared not take his eyes off of Adrian.
"I don't mind," he added.
My legs steadily carried me towards my brother. When I reached him, his fingers quickly entangled themselves with my own.
"It was nice to see you," said Hannibal, though I had a feeling he wasn't addressing me anymore. "I can't wait to hear more about your story, particularly the part about Albert Porter."
The two men continued to scrutinize one another. It was as if they were having a conversation that I was not privy to, their minds exchanging words unheard by anyone else in the world. The silence, though short, felt painfully long to me. Beyond ready to leave the cabin, I concluded the conversation myself.
"Goodbye, Dr. Lecter," I said politely. "T-Thank you for dinner. It was lovely."
Hannibal's amber eyes broke contact with my brother's to grant me the attention that all good manners call for. Yet, I saw that there was no smile in them anymore. Nothing but a chilling coolness remained.
"Goodbye, Ada. Stay safe."
And with that, Adrian pulled me by the hand away from that place. Like children again, we moved hand in hand in the night down a shadowed null in the back of Lecter's property. We stopped once so that I could take off my heels, but for the rest of our hike we kept a brisk pace. For about half an hour, the music of the forest, the movements of unseen creatures and the snapping of twigs below our feet was all the noise that my ears could hear.
In another world, my brother and me. Hidden by the tall bodies of trees with eyes ahead and facing the blue cusp of the horizon, we walked. At any other time, I would say that it was peaceful. The moon above and surrounded by stars. The lack of city lights and urban bustling, it was tranquil. And with Adrian. With Adrian like old time. I couldn't see him, only feel him as he silently led the way with me in tow. The skin of his palm sweating against mine.
When we finally struck pavement, my soles numbed by ground, I parted my dry lips to address my brother.
"What are you doing, Adrian?"
My hand loosened its hold. Adrian tightened his.
Then, he smiled.
"Making a point, sister dear."
Adrian pulled me down the road some more, a destination clearly in mind considering how sure he walked ahead of me. He never let me go.
I tried again.
"So you know," I said to him. "You know who that man was-"
"Well I do have eyes, don't I?"
Again, he rendered me speechless.
Vision adjusted well, I could make out the dark lining of a car parked fifty yards or so from where we were. When we got closer, I recognized the vehicle as my own.
"How are you out here?" I asked him. "You can't take the tracker off, Adrian, without them-"
"I found a way."
"Yeah, but the FBI will know-"
"I did it without them knowing-"
"It'll set off an alarm-"
"Jesus Christ, Ada!"
My feet halted just as Adrian turned to yell at me. Though I did not flinch at my brother's volume, I was stilled instantly at the familiar rage that occasionally seeped out of him. Less than three times was it ever directed at me. This was one of them.
"I'm sorry," he huffed immediately. While rubbing his eyes, he said, "I'm sorry. Look, I'll explain everything when we get back home, but for now, please. Just let the questions rest for a bit. Just let me take you home. Away from him."
That last part was said with dark eyes looking beyond my shoulder. Towards the woods, my brother was on high alert.
Watching.
Listening.
"Are you afraid of him?"
Obsidian eyes returned to me. Narrowed.
"Of Hannibal," I clarified. "Does he scare you?"
Adrian scoffed.
"No, of course not," he told me. Walking again, he added, "Why would I be? He's my newest friend."
So many times I was rendered speechless that night. Out of the previous moments, this admission by Adrian was certainly the most bizarre. It wasn't until we reached my car did I say anything.
"Your friend?" I asked just before I clicked the button on my car's fob to unlock the driver's side. "Why the hell is he your friend?"
And the moment I clicked the button and the lights of my car came alive, I wished that I hadn't.
In a slathered mess mixed in with the blackened mud of the earth, I saw blood on the fingers and forearms of my brother. It clotted in the beds of his fingernails and left thick trails up to his elbows. Some spattered on his stomach, too, little marks of evidence left behind for me to see. Creeping along my mind was the sharp aches of realization for when I looked down at my own hands, they were stained with the same crimson that marked my brother.
He was unfazed by the spectacle. After observing my horrified expression, Adrian simply glanced down at his palms and behaved as if nothing was wrong in the world.
"Can we go home?" he asked.
My brother is a good man.
He means well.
*actively avoids eye contact whilst hiding behind the corner of a wall*
So...it has been awhile, hasn't it? I could give you a few reasons as to why I haven't touched this story for so long, but truly it boils down to a lack of inspiration. If you have ever tried to write a story, then you know how hard it is to put down your ideas into readable, feasible paragraphs that one, make sense, and two, keep in line all the details that you want while painfully leaving out the ones you might want to have in there, yet are ultimately unnecessary. It can be exhausting and discouraging to write sometimes, to find that happy place where you're satisfied with what you have. That's just me though. The woes of a perfectionist, as it is.
Anywho, thank you to all that have stuck around. I'll try to write in a more timely fashion. Currently, my writing is torn between No and my other Hannibal fiction Fervor, as well as a Sherlock fiction that has bumped around in my brain these last few weeks. Don't worry: I told myself that I can't publish anything regarding Sherlock until one of the Hannibal fictions is complete (though I already started chapter one..whoops.).
Happy reading, TCR