I counsel to listen to Nathalie Dessay Ave Maria at the end. You will better feel the mood.
The prelude in E minor lazily filled the large space, low notes rebounding on the wall of his luscious office. Frances pushed the door gently, quiet as a mouse as she penetrated the space she'd spent so many hours in. She did not meet his gaze head on, allowing her eyes to linger upon the pillars, the large curtains that probably cost an arm, and finally settling on the carpet where he'd made love to her a few times in between patients.
Funny, how every single detail carved itself in her brain. Her heart rate was too high, her morale too low. For she knew that, the moment she would find his face, the great love she held for her husband would impair her resolve.
She did not want to say goodbye.
"My beautiful ?"
Hannibal's silky voice caressed her ears and she took a deep breath, closing the door behind her.
"My darling… have you killed yet ?"
Not a muscle moved in the beauty of his sinful features, eyes losing their twinkle. Frances' heart plummeted; his silence said it all. Hannibal set down his fountain pen with military precision, setting it beside his agenda without an ounce of remorse. Then his eyes met hers challengingly and he stood.
"How do you know ?"
Frances cringed; he did not even try to deny it.
"Bella warned me."
Hannibal's non-existent eyebrows rose in surprise. Frances could have smiled at his incredulous face. Ever rational, Hannibal couldn't foresee the guidance left by her intuition, neither the fact that ghosts would be guiding her. Of all the clues he'd been careful not to leave behind, he had not expected a spirit to be his undoing.
"Who ?" she asked.
"Your physiotherapist."
That blasted physiotherapist who couldn't take no for an answer. How long had Hannibal known ? How long had he plotted his revenge ? Reined in his urges ? Resented her for it ?
Long enough, his eyes said, the fire burning within scorching her heart. Frances took a few steps forward; he presented his elegant hands in an offer. She did not hesitate and grabbed them, sliding her palm over his in a caress. Now, enthralled by his warmth and his presence, Frances realised he could snap her neck in a heartbeat; he had the upper hand, and she was powerless to resist him.
I will not fight you, beloved.
But she couldn't, right ? Couldn't allow this shell to die before she'd set to accomplish her goal. But it was so tempting. On a whim, Frances embraced him and laid her head upon his chest. Why couldn't she lash out ? Had all anger fled her in the face of his unabashed confidence ? The young woman took a deep whiff of his fragrance, her heart rate settling. Safe, she felt so safe in the circle of his arms. Safe enough to be lulled to sleep.
"Have you ever lied to me, Hannibal ?" she whispered, her head cushioned against his beating heart. He kissed the top of her hair with a sigh.
"Sometimes."
How many of their ground rules had he broken through the years ? Ever the manipulator… Her feelings for him made her the perfect victim. Frances realised then how thoroughly incompatible they would always be; Hannibal would never change, even if he put his iron will into it. Tears fell down her cheeks as she buried her face in his neck.
"I am sorry I failed," she whimpered.
Warm hands reached for her cheeks as he pulled her face up. In the depth of his maroon eyes swirled emotions he so rarely displayed.
"You have loved me like no one has. But there are parts of me you cannot accept, you are simply not wired the way I am."
There was no disappointment in his voice, only clinical detachment. His eyes, though, held the thousand feelings he could never voice. To hear the truth laid out without fioritures was hurtful, but she'd be damned in it wasn't true. Her inability to love him entirely wasn't fulfilling, it wasn't fair to either of them. She could never turn into a killer, relishing in blood and suffering. He would never become anything else than he was.
And thus, the path opened before her very eyes like an evidence; there simply wasn't any other choice but to go forward.
"Do you accept my choice then ?"
The Hannibal she knew should have pushed her to reveal the details of her plan. His gaze delved into hers, searching for the answers, for the unthinkable. Her heart lurched at the very idea. It went against all her principles, survival instinct included. When Hannibal lowered his forehead to hers, his warmth breath fanning over her skin, Frances couldn't hold back the tears that trailed down her cheeks.
"Yes," he said, his thumb brushing the tears away. "I accept it."
Her chest shuddered, voice thick with grief as she smiled at the man she loved more than life.
"Choose your weapon, Hannibal."
The psychiatrist released his wife, only to tuck her against his chest as he bent over to grab the paper opener that laid upon his desk. Frances would have laughed had the situation been so dire. But her heart was breaking into a thousand tiny pieces.
"The one I saved you with," she choked.
"Only fitting, my beloved."
Frances' eyes widened, startled. He had never hinted, through many months of marriage, at this notion. Love. Ever since the day of their wedding, she had been the only one mentioning that she loved him. Was it a parting gift ? To send her into the afterlife without the weight of unrequited love upon her shoulders ?
The young woman steeled herself and watched the blade. Hannibal's eyes settled upon the stainless steel instrument, mulling over the instant.
"You always knew, didn't you ?" he asked. "You always knew it would come to this."
Was it his way to ask if she'd ever lied to him as well ? Frances shook her head, remembering how this nightmare had haunted her dreams for years.
"I knew I was on borrowed time. That this couldn't last. But I never knew it would end this way."
Hannibal nodded, lowering the weapon in signs of a truce. Frances' breath hitched, relief flooding her at the reprieve. There was no escape; every precious minute was a gift.
"Sing for me, one last time," he requested.
"Which one ?"
"The Ave maria from the forest, little fairy."
Frances' jaw went slack, her eyes darting to his face. Her hand brushed the high cheekbone that used to be tattooed with arrows. Ever since his regression, she'd so rarely caught a glimpse of the knight he used to be. Hannibal always denied him a seat at the table, claiming that Tristan had been an uncouth, previous shell of his soul.
"Tristan ?" she murmured.
Hannibal's free hand circled her own, warm.
"He's in there," he whispered, kissing her lips. "I'm here."
And even though her heart had exploded in a thousand tiny pieces, Frances reached for his nape and deepened the kiss, her tongue searching for his. Hannibal obliged, granting her a taste of his sensual mouth as his arms snaked around her waist, holding her close. She kissed him into oblivion, unwilling to relinquish her greatest fear and joy, grief mingling in her soul.
Eventually, Frances felt steady enough to part from his lips, finding the fire in Hannibal's hooded eyes even more unsettling than usual. A shiver ran down her spine, the reminder that he was the predator and she, the prey when he walked away from her and silenced the piano. Then he watched her, unblinking, as he leant against the desk.
"Sing, my beautiful."
Frances closed her eyes and exhaled, curbing the wild beat of her heart and the tightness in her lungs. There was nothing in this controlled setting to remind her of the icy forest when she had sung this very same piece to a set of desperate knights. Nothing but the intensity of his gaze, nothing but the strings tugging at her soul as she opened her mouth.
One last song for the road, the last occasion to convey how deeply she loved him. But of course, Hannibal would choose the most difficult of them all. And yet, even though she toned down the song, the high notes escaped her lips with surprising fluidity.
"Ave Maria
Gratia plena.
Dominus tecum
Benedicta tu."
The words flowed, regardless of the pain and strain upon her vocal chords. They coated the room in soothing tones, acceptance of both peace and grief. There was no dam to stifle her tears, but still she sang.
"In mulieribus
Et benedictus
"Fructus ventris
Tui Iesus"
A hand landed at the small of her back and circled her belly. His nose settled at her nape, ghost lips singing low, warm breath brushing her cheek. His whole frame dwarfed hers, bringing its reassuring presence at her back. As if he wasn't the reason for her shortened life in the first place. Would the higher being hear her prayer ?
"Sancta Maria, Sancta Maria
Ora pro nobis, Pecatoribus"
Frances took a deep breath, her hand finding his upon her belly. Lacing their fingers together, she prepared herself for the demanding volume of the next verse. He curled around her, lending the strength necessary. There was no doubt that he knew the how strongly she felt for this song, how the plea ripped her insides apart with memories of another time, another place. Giving the last of her power, Frances sang the fated words that would see her end.
"Nunc et in hora
In hora mortis nostrae"
At the time of our death. He could not ignore the words, for he spoke latin much better than she did. The energy was gone now, the prayers sent. Only remained a salute. As she performed the last lines, Hannibal shifted to face her. A lone tear shone upon his cheek, a brilliant droplet of water than trailed down his tanned skin.
"Ave, Ave"
Hannibal grabbed her wrist. The sharp pain passed soon enough, hot liquid leaking down her hand. And still, she sang, holding the note with reverence.
"Ave, Ave"
Hannibal slit her second wrist, his gesture so swift, so precise that she almost did not feel it. For now came the last word, the highlight of the prayer. One last salute, an octave higher, controlled and decrescendo. The most difficult line of all. Blood dripping down coated her fingers in warmth and she breathed in, resolved to perform the very best line.
"Ave."
Silence greeted her as she stumbled into Hannibal's waiting arms. The psychiatrist guided her to ground, pulling her small frame against his as he lay down. His lips landed upon her forehead, his hand closing bloody fingers around the letter opener.
"Until death do us part," she whispered in his ear.
"And beyond," Hannibal responded.
Their wedding vows were finally complete.
One last chapter to go, and we'll have reached the end.