There's a fine line between expectation and actually doing something about your problems.

For example, I expected Adrian to have issues with any relationship he had the fortune of forming. Friends, family members, teachers, social workers, therapists, bosses, coworkers, clients, you name it, Adrian could charm the socks off of anyone who didn't know better. He could manipulate his way into a higher test score, smile at the women who found his eyes alluring and get 'em in his bed without issue. Chat himself out of a write up at whatever job he had that year, it didn't matter.

And you're thinking, "Wait, what issues? I don't understand."

To the unseeing, he was an all-around good guy. For those who knew his background, his story, his tactics, and the curls of his smile, he was the devil.

For Adrian to have issues with people was a no-brainer. Firstly, he didn't see them as people. Secondly, he used them to get what he wanted. He didn't get to know them. He only learned names because he had to. They were the means. Nothing more.

A fine line. A spider's web between knowing what is to happen, and doing something to have a say in the outcome.

I tried my best with Adrian. Counseled him, tried to persuade him to be smarter, to stop and think, but now that I think about it, the end was always inevitable. That fine line was thinner than air.

Half a mile from a winding backroad away from the city, its lights, and the comfort of modern day urbana is one of Adrian's favorite camping sites. A secluded little spot nestled in the pines with flattened grass and worn away parts of earth, it has a great view of the sound. The same sound where our parents overdosed on heroin.

Wearing hiking boots, jeans, a heavy sweat shirt, and with a backpack slung over one shoulder, I slammed the driver's side door shut. I had parked us in a field by a thick tree line. Like a wall. Some barricade of green.

The trees were lively in the sunshine. A shelter. A mythical place dreamt up by the likes of C. S. Lewis. Aslan's backyard. Not at night though. With the sun down, the woods were ominous, haunting. Even after I shined my flashlight at their branches the forest ahead was immersed in pitch.

A chilly night. Had a sting in the air, something wet smelling and thick. The kind that alerts the senses and prickles the mind. A rainstorm was on its way, it's rolling dark clouds breaking up the moon beams. The sky, it groaned.

"Ada."

His voice broke through my train of thought, pulling me away from my observations. I glanced over and saw Hannibal looking at me in expectation. His fingers still held on to the frame of my car.

"This is the best place to start," I said.

His head tilted a little at that, the celestial light icing his cheekbones.

"How do you know?"

I didn't like his tone. Immediately caught on. Clinical.

"Because it just is," I said shortly. "He'd get this far by now."

"Perhaps, but he could be ahead of us."

"He could be, I guess, but either way, we're close. That's all that matters."

The man took a few strides to stand next to me, both of our eyes gazing at the tree line.

"Have you hunted him before?" asked Hannibal. "Will it be easy to track Adrian down?"

I turned and stared at the psychiatrist for a moment, eyes transfixed and face neutral. My tongue wet my lips.

"Come on," I said lowly, and started making my way into the national park.

A strange feeling mulling about in the woods at night. You never truly know what to look out for, yet are haunted by the constant feeling of being looked at. Creatures big and small roamed these parts, and with every branch that snapped under my boots and with every yowl that echoed its way through the brush and into our ears, I was very aware of how unalone we truly were.

Stranger still was that even with someone with me, I felt very alone in my thoughts.

Where did you go, Adrian?

The thought repeated over and over as my eyes skirted wherever the light from my flashlight touched.

Where did you go, Adrian?

We moved through the foliage, my memories guiding me. Adrian used to take me through the woods off the beaten path countless times since we were teens. To Hannibal, it might've looked like I was moving at random. I hopped over logs. Zigzagged around trunks of trees. Retraced steps if I wasn't certain, then fell back in step with my brother's methods. I looked odd, but I saw every marker: slashed bark, lichened stone, shallow ravine, etc. As my fingers brushed mold, I imagined my brother's hand doing the same some hours before. I felt him.

Maneuvering this path towards the camp site wouldn't be a problem. That was the easy part. Actually locating Adrian was another issue. The search could take hours.

If he came quietly, that is.

"So," I began. "Why are you with me?"

Twenty minutes had come and gone without a single word between Hannibal and me. I aimed to rectify that.

"You need my help," Hannibal replied from a few feet behind.

"No, I don't."

We stopped hiking at the base of a rocky, rooted knoll, the moss clinging like carpet up its face. Seeing the knoll, I was satisfied with our progress. My flashlight shined on the vegetation, creating shadows that danced up its cold wall. It then fell on the face of my companion.

"You said that you're worried about Adrian and me," I continued. "You said those words to me on your back porch the other night."

"I did."

"Why?"

"Because it's true. I worry about the both of you."

I took a small step forward so that I could see better into those mystic eyes. The flashlight made them glow past the bangs that had fallen over his forehead. Sort of red, they were different in the woods that night.

"But why? What's there to worry about?"

"The FBI thinks-"

"We don't care about the FBI," I stated. "And they have nothing on him or me. So what is it, Hannibal? Why are you here? Tell me."

"I cannot say."

His words were soft and careful.

I scoffed.

"For your own well-being, Ada, I cannot say," clarified Hannibal. "You must trust-Turn off the light."

Before I registered what he had told me, Hannibal snatched the flashlight from my hand. He clicked it off immediately, letting darkness fall.

Enshrouded in the night, neither of us said a word. I then felt a cool hand with cold fingers wrap around my wrist, and next a short tug as Hannibal had me crouch down beside him.

For a while, I heard nothing. Nothing but our soft breathing and the sounds of small creatures scuttling about. Owls hooted overhead. Something else screeched loudly around us, its voice carrying for miles.

Then, I heard it. Movement. Snapping twigs, loud and graceless.

The funny thing is that I knew it was not my brother. That was it, my first thought. It wasn't Adrian. He would never be so disruptive.

With the clouds crawling overhead, the moon gave the sight we needed to see the newcomer as he continued to loudly stumble through the trees. A distant figure. Tall. A man? He was ahead on a steep hill past the knoll, his movements uncertain and reckless.

"Stay here," said Lecter.

I watched as he rose and approached the source of the noise. Hannibal moved through the brush with less grace, more purpose, and upon hearing Hannibal's movements the stranger immediately stilled.

"Who's there?" cried a hoarse voice. "Who's there?"

Hannibal didn't reply, but slowly made his way closer to the being.

"Who's there?" rasped the stranger in desperation. "Please help me!"

I heard the click of the light before a bright beam ignited between the figure and Hannibal. A tall, lean body was illuminated by the flashlight, revealing a mess of filth and wound. Hannibal's hand reached forward and touched the stranger on the arm, and immediately the man yelped and fumbled backwards onto the ground, his legs kicking him back.

"Don't kill me!" he screamed. "Don't kill me! Don't kill me, please!"

Rising from my spot, I was quick to join the pair.

"You're okay!" I said. "You're okay. You're not in any danger."

It was then that I truly saw the stranger and what had befallen his sorry state. I saw that he was of athletic build. His skin was a mess, layered in cuts and dirt and dried blood, no doubt from wandering blindly through the foliage for God knows how long, and his wrists were tied with what appeared to be paracord, so tightly fastened that it dug into his skin. A pair of soaked, boxer shorts clung to his trembling body, along with bits of grass and leaves from his wandering. His underwear wasn't the most peculiar thing, unfortunately. A cloth was wrapped over his entire head, an outdoor canvas of some sort, bound with multiple twists of paracord and a carabiner.

"You're okay," I muttered after I studied him some more. "You have been found. You are not alone."

The man's shoulder jerked.

"I, I," he stammered. "I, where am I? Who, who are you?"

"We're safe people. Here…"

Disgusted by the material around his face, my hands moved to take it off. Hannibal, however, stepped forward and gestured for me to wait. I frowned, but obeyed.

"Who did this to you?" he asked of the stranger.

Another tic of the extremities.

"What? Um, I, I don't know. Please help me-"

"Was it a man or a woman?"

"A m-man."

"Was he old? Young?" I chimed in.

"I, I d-don't know? Young. Y-Young. I think, um," he answered weakly, slurred. "Why aren't you helping me?"

"We are," I said calmly. "Here, let's get this off your head."

When I touched him he didn't move. Cold skin. His chest heaved.

I started undoing the fabric as quickly as I could. I used a small pocket knife that Adrian gave me and the light of the flashlight. I could feel the man shaking as I worked, his breathing raspy and uneven. The fabric was fastened together with a carabiner and more paracord, some of the rope pressing into the top of his throat, rubbing the flesh raw. As I undid the knots, my pity for the man matched my confusion over the entire situation.

Who was he?

How long had he been out here?

Who would do this to someone?

At last, the fabric was loosened and I was able to slowly lift the material from the man's face. What was revealed made me gasp. His eyes were blackened and swollen to the point in which he could not open them, the flesh of his face reddened and puffy. The lower lip was split. Under his nose and running down his chin was a trail of crusted blood, thick and cracking in his nostrils. Little cuts also lined his cheeks and his brow bone, but they didn't look intentional. Not that it mattered.

"You're okay," I mumbled. "You're safe."

"N-Not until I'm out of here," he stuttered. "N-Not until I'm away f-from him-"

"Who?"

His throat bobbed as the stranger withheld a sob.

As we talked in the woods, his head would tilt at every sound. This way and that. Like a bird. Tilting, turning, constantly listening and wary.

God help this man, where had he been?

Since he ignored my question, I redirected.

"What is your name?" I asked in a steady voice. "What is your first and last name?"

His attention settled forward where I was, towards my voice.

"I'm, um, my name is Blaine." His tongue coated his lips in saliva. "Blaine Darling."

I couldn't believe it, but the moment he said his name, I saw him. His face was so disfigured from his wounds that he was unrecognizable. Only after I absorbed what he told me did I see him. Blaine. His hair was matted and dirty, but I could see the blonde wisps that it normally was. I could make out his jawline and some of his original handsomeness in the facial parts that were not as bruised. I saw the troubled young man who helped me move my filing crates around my house, who drove a motorcycle, and who had been my intern for several months. I saw the boy with the perfect smile, who was well liked by his peers, and a star student. I saw the heir to the fishing industry empire that his parents controlled, who loathed his family's success almost as much as he hated his parents. I saw the tragedy. I saw my fish in the sea.

"Oh my God," I cried. "Oh my God, Blaine? Blaine, it's me, Dr. Ives. It's me."

My hands cupped his injured face, the coldness of his skin stinging my palms. Blaine flinched at my touch and shrugged away.

"I don't know you," he choked. "I, I, I need to go now. Pleas-se take me away from this place before he finds me, me again."

"Blaine, it's me. Dr. A-"

"I don't know you. I don't know you. Just get me out of here!" he yelled as he rose his tired body from the ground.

From the slits of his swollen eyes, tears began streaming down his cheeks. His head kept moving around, tilting towards whatever sounds he thought he heard. A sob finally escaped him. My heart broke.

"We will set you free from this place," said Hannibal. "But you need to tell us-"

"Hannibal-," I interjected.

"-You need to tell us this: Who was the person that did this to you?"

Blaine shook his head quickly, another cry passing his split lips. I sent a fiery look to Hannibal, silently commanding that he give the questioning a rest. Hannibal only returned my look with a raised hand. He then gestured for me to join him to the side away from Blaine.

Blaine didn't seem to notice our absence. He was too focused on listening to the sounds of the forest.

"What?" I hissed under my breath.

"Look at him, Ada," said Hannibal quietly. "Observe: His mannerisms, his speech. I believe that he's under the influence of something."

"Drugs?"

"Most likely. A hallucinogen, perhaps. I'm guessing that he was a client of yours?"

"Yes," I said solemnly. "A few months ago we had our last session. He's a great guy, just, well, troubled. I have no idea why he's out here."

"Neither does he, it seems."

"We need to get him out. He needs to be at a hospital. Oh God, his parents-"

"You're ahead of yourself, Ada. We have a much bigger problem at our feet."

Those last words were said while his amber eyes were cast towards the trees around us. I frowned.

"What do you mean?" I said.

Another moment ticked by. Blaine shivered. Rain began pelting our heads.

"Good Blaine is free to roam the woods at night. He is blind and bound. Helpless in the most obvious of ways."

"Okay," I murmured.

"It would perhaps be best to assume not that he was able to escape his captor, but that his captor has permitted him to wander in the dark. Blaine wouldn't be able to wander far, not without harming himself."

"You're telling me that he might be out here on purpose?" I said in disbelief. "He didn't escape?"

"That is exactly what I am saying."

"But, but who would do that? Why would anyone do this?"

"What person would do this? A person who has nothing to fear. A man who believes himself untouchable would do this, Ada. And he does so because he can. Because he knows his environment well and knows that he is the only one looking out and that no one is looking back. Even now."

The rain began falling faster. The drops created a white noise, a rush of rain that hummed as it hit every leaf, branch, and stone. It hit our bodies, soaking Hannibal and I as we stared out into the abyss. Blaine didn't seem to notice. He simply swayed.

"What do we do now?"

My words were soft, but I knew that Hannibal heard me. He took a small step closer, his focus never leaving the trees.

"Are we being watched?" I added quietly. "Are we alone?"

"No, not alone."

The anxiety that was burning in my belly flared. I swallowed.

"What do we do?" I said.

Wordlessly, Hannibal's fingers found mine. I felt him intertwine them and slowly pull me with him. I resisted.

"Hanni-"

"We must go."

Low. Without inflection.

"We can't-"

"We must."

A fine line. A hair away from fear to action is what led me to believe that what happened next was necessary. I was not wanting to leave the woods. I couldn't leave. I expected there is to be violence, and Hannibal pulling me by the hand, trying to make me go with him was the catalyst to what unfolded next.

I saw. I knew.

Quick and slathered in the blackened mud of the earth was an arm that snaked its way around the throat of Hannibal Lecter. The arm snared Hannibal from behind and pulled him down to the ground, Lecter's eyes wide and fingers reaching up to pry him off. Blaine shuddered and wailed beside the men as they struggled on the forest floor, the thunder from the storm barely able to drown out his cries.

My shaking hands found the flashlight that Hannibal dropped. I shined it on them and simply watched.

"Adrian," gasped Hannibal. His nails dug into my brother's skin. Palms smacking his forearm. "Adrian, stop. I can help you."

My brother said nothing. He only tightened his hold, locking the former psychiatrist's head against his blackened chest.

Peter Pan's shadow. A black mass. I had watched Adrian peel himself from the knoll, from the lichened stone from which he hid. Painted in moss, rock, mud and grasses, a man camouflaged watched us. Waiting for his chance.

I saw him. I knew.

The doctor watched me as he succumbed to my brother's attack. Amber red eyes full of a certain knowing, of an accusation that made my skin crawl with emotion. They glared then dulled until they closed. Adrian held on a little longer, just in case. When he let go of Hannibal there was no care. He let his head fall onto the ground with a thump.

My brother rose from the forest floor, breath heavy and wiping his hands clean of the person whom he attacked. He then looked at me.

"Ada."

"Adrian."

Hey, strangers. I'm happy to have finally posted something in either of my Hannibal stories. You know how it is: Life's busy, my mind's busy, my hands on a keyboard, however, are not. Sorry!

Either way, I'm glad to continue adding to this fiction. Thank you for sticking around because I understand how hard it is to be patient, especially when its a storyline and you're wondering what's going to happen next. I don't like making promises, especially ones that I'm unsure about, but I can promise that this story will end. It won't be in suspended Internet space for eternity, unfinished and lonely. Nope! I love this story and the characters that I've created. I love the television series and the opportunity to add my own spin to it. I put too much time and thought into this to let it float away into nothing, so, if you can wait long enough, just know that No will have its conclusion (eventually). Fervor on the other hand, will probably take a longer break since I'm rehashing its conclusion. I have to choose between two outcomes, and I can't decide which direction I want it to go.

On another note, some readers have messaged me about the nature of my original characters and what inspired them. The process of creating characters can be different for different people which isn't much of a fun answer, I'm sorry. For me, I draw much of my inspiration and thought process from music. And the moments come much like inspiration does: Unperceived and with a force. For example, Adrian's dark nature is inspired solely from one song, and the moment I heard that one song, I instantly began picturing him in my head, his mannerisms, his thought process, and I immediately thought, "I need to make a story with someone like him in it". The whole story itself can be linked to several songs, some forgotten and difficult to conjure to mind, but I know that some chapters were created while listening to particular songs on repeat.

Thank you for reading. And I hope you enjoy this latest chapter.

Here's what inspired the creation of Adrian Ives:

Pistol (A. Cunanan, Miami, FL. 1996) by Modest Mouse

TCR