That evening, an unknown number called me several times. Upon its sixth unanswered call, the number sent me a message. "Is this Abiel Urbonas?"
Thinking that it must be someone I know from the university or a contact for my dissertation, I replied to the affirmative. "Yes. Who is this?" Was exactly what I typed on my phone and sent to that unknown number. Little did I know that the reply it was about to get would be one of the most disturbing messages I have ever received.
"This is Freddie Lounds of Tattle-Crime dot com," was the reply. "I want to talk to you."
I did not reply immediately. Instead, I set my mind upon the interview with Hannibal Lecter scheduled for the next day.
As I had reckoned, my father was more than willing to provide me with all the information he could. He made sure I did not miss out on any aspect of my study and even recommended some related literature which I later found very much useful. For once, I felt that I had a parent who was helping me with homework.
"My adviser would raise a brow or two once I provide her with the transcription." I said after I had turned off the recorder.
"What's so surprising with a father helping his son with schoolwork?" Hannibal Lecter asked, smiling.
I smirked. "The subject is suspiciously cooperative, she'd say."
"Just say you caught me in a good mood." He replied.
I chuckled. We fell silent for a while until I spoke, "Academics aside, how should I call you?" I asked. When I was a boy, I told myself that it would be one of the first things I am going to ask my parents if I ever met them.
The smile that the question has caused on Hannibal Lecter was eerily bright. It was not the smile of the Chesapeake Ripper, it felt like that of a father. "Papa." He replied. "Will and I had deliberated on this even before you were born. In the end, we decided that you'll call Will 'Dad' and me..."
"Papa." I repeated. The moment that word escaped my lips, I was filled with inexplicable warmth. It was the same alien feeling I got when I talked to Will Graham.
My father smiled and closed his eyes as if he was savoring the tune of a beautiful musical piece.
The warmth I felt was too alien, too foreign for me to take, that I had wished coldness would overcome me once more. I was more used to the cold. It was a more familiar feeling. I cleared my throat. "I ran into Dad a few days ago," I said.
He merely nodded albeit with what had seemed like sorrow to me.
"And Freddie Lounds contacted me last night." I added.
"About your dissertation?" He asked.
"No," I replied. "I have no idea on whatever it was about, but I may have a clue." Then I proceeded to tell him of my encounter with Jack Crawford in the university parking lot and how I am certain that somebody was listening. "I searched the place," I said. "If I caught whoever was it that had heard us, I could have killed that person right there." The coldness had crept on my fingers once again and I felt oddly comfortable.
"Now, Abiel, you wouldn't want that." My father told me. "At least, not in the parking lot."
"I should find that person." I said in my spite.
"Abiel, you must deal with Freddie first. She's not someone you can just ignore." He said. "I would not be surprised if she's waiting for you outside."
"She saw me last time I visited you, and posted it on her site thinking I'm Dad."
"The fact that she contacted you first before publishing anything about you means she's still trying to honor her word," my father said. "Although she had unwittingly broken it."
"But I don't want to deal with her." I replied.
"Then tell her." He said sternly. "Anyway, we made her promise." He looked at me to say this was a strict reminder.
I nodded in understanding.
Papa was not mistaken. The moment I stepped outside the hospital, I was greeted by a red-haired woman.
"Hi," she said. "Are you Abiel?"
"Yes." I replied.
"How long have you been paying visits to your father?"
Needless to say, I felt the cold again. I was determined to answer her bitingly, but I heaved a deep breath instead. "You saw me the first time I did."
She smirked. "Have you seen your other father?"
I stopped and turned around to look at her. "I was told my parents have made you promise not to mention me in your articles."
"I have already broken that promise, haven't I?" she replied. "If I write about the son of Will Graham and Hannibal Lecter, I'm pretty sure the broken promise would not mind breaking any further."
"Then I want you to promise again," I said. "This time, to me."
Freddie Lounds laughed. "What do you have against me?" She asked. "Your parents were able to make me swear not to talk about you as a bargain. And you—"
"Freddie," It was Will Graham who had come to us from the other side of the street. "Please." He said to her as he put a hand on my shoulder.
She grinned at us. "Well, if it's not a very interesting sight we have here." She said. "Father and son. The resemblance is strong."
"I told you before to leave my son alone." He said. Through the fabric of my shirt, I felt my father's palm grow cold as mine did.
Freddie Lounds shrugged. "Very well," she replied. "Anyway, it's not like you often get to see the murder family together."
My father's grip on my shoulder tightened as he looked at Freddie Lounds with a piercing glare.
As she began to walk away, I called her. "Ms. Lounds, wait!" I said.
She turned to me with half a smile.
"Who told you about me?"
"A contributor," She replied. "A schoolmate of yours." She gave me a curt nod before leaving.
When we were left alone, my father and I continued walking in silence.
"Thanks there, Dad." I said and I partly hoped he did not hear me.
Will Graham stopped and looked at me with wide eyes. "Did you just call me-?"
I smiled. "When I was young, I told myself I would ask my parents what to call them if I ever get to meet them." I said. "And Papa had just answered that question."
My father inhaled greatly and placed a hand over his mouth. He was close to tears. When he exhaled, he removed the hand from his face and smiled at me. "I'm so glad." He said.
Though I smiled back, I still wondered if I should ever be able to forgive my parents.