Chapter 5
Paradise Café
1210 Olive St., Baltimore, MD
Friday – 12:05 PM
"'Lilah, sweetie, take your lunch! You've been running around like a chicken with its head cut off all morning."
Delilah carefully set a customer's latte down with a warm smile and dashed back behind the counter. "Do chickens really do that?" She asked distractedly, quickly setting to work on another drink order as she peeked over her shoulder at the scowling woman.
"Delilah," Maggie warned, trying to be stern and failing as her wrinkled lips rapidly twisted into an affectionate smile. "Dammit child, get your ass out of here!"
"Wow, two curse words in one sentence, and in front of customers – I'm playin' with fire here, aren't I?" She teased, finishing up a cappuccino and popping a danish in the oven to warm. Maggie simply gave her a withering glare and Delilah chuckled lightly. "I will. Right after I bring these out to table three, okay? I have to make a phone call, anyway."
"Mmhm," the woman grumbled, shooting her a look that told her she'd better keep her word, before she smiled again and bustled over to the front counter to tend to the next line of customers.
It had been like this for the majority of the day, with a steady stream of customers and very little downtime; some ordering multiple beverages just so they wouldn't feel bad about sitting for hours mooching the building's WI-fi. It had been a few years since Delilah had been in college, but judging by the panic in the air and the fact that it was October, she guessed it must be midterms, or something.
Finally taking her lunch shortly after the time she would usually be leaving for the day, Delilah hung her apron up in the back of the café and blew Maggie a kiss before taking a short walk down the street, to her favourite little Italian restaurant. She ordered pesto tortellini and a glass of water, and opted to sit on the veranda to eat. While waiting for her meal to arrive, she pulled out her cell and dialed the number to Dr. Lecter's office. The phone rang several times and she was getting ready to hang up, when a soothing voice slid into her ear:
'You've reached the office of Doctor Hannibal Lecter. I am unable to tend to the phone right now, so please leave a brief, detailed message, and I will return your call as promptly as possible. Thank you, and have a pleasant day.'
The beep sounded and Delilah's mind suddenly blanked. "I- Er, hi," she stammered, feeling her face burn as she began absently toying with her cloth napkin. She took a deep breath and began again. "Hello, Dr. Lecter... it's me, er, Delilah... Bloom? I'm really sorry, but I'll have to be late to my appointment today. One girl called in sick again and the other called and quit, if you can believe that. It's just me and Maggie all day and I don't want to leave her to close up by herself. We close at three today, so I'll be maybe... twenty minutes late? Perhaps only fifteen if I run." She paused to laugh softly, then cleared her throat and added quickly, "Again I'm very sorry. If you need to reschedule I'll understand. Thank you."
She hung up the phone and tossed it onto the table just as her food arrived, and she cut her lunch break in half by inhaling her food as quickly as possible before rushing back to the café. When she arrived back at work, she found things had finally died down, and the rest of her shift went by pleasantly smoothly. She kept her phone in her back pocket and checked it periodically, but not once did it ring, so she assumed Dr. Lecter would not be rescheduling her appointment – which pleased her more than she thought it wise to admit.
A few minutes past three o'clock, the last patron finally left and Delilah locked the doors, flipping the welcome sign around to say 'CLOSED.'
"Whew!" Maggie exclaimed, dropping down at a table and kicking her feet up on another chair. "At least it mellowed out toward the end there, but damn what a day."
"Seriously," she muttered, eyeing the clock as she briskly set about scooping up dishes to wash. She had the dirty dish crate sandwiched between her right hip and wrist, being mindful not to use her wounded hand much though it still throbbed annoyingly. "Do you have any Advil or something?"
"Sweetheart, I am sixty-two years old, I've got an entire pharmacy in my purse," she said with a chuckle, as she waved lazily at the counter. "Go on, it's back there somewhere; help yourself."
Delilah laughed and thanked her as she dropped the last dish into the bin and circled around behind the counter. Finding Maggie's comically large, beaded bag, she soon realized the woman wasn't kidding, as she fished around through several blister packs and bottles of various medications and eventually found a small container of Tylenol. "That'll work," she mumbled, popping two into her mouth and taking a swig of water from the tap. She replaced the woman's purse and moved to load up the dishwasher, pulling out her phone and searching for some music to keep herself entertained.
"None of your weird shit!" Maggie hollered suddenly, and she turned to stick her tongue out at the older woman.
"What weird shit?" she asked, feigning ignorance. "You mean anything that's come out in the last decade, old-timer?"
"Eh, put a sock in it you brat," the woman teased good-naturedly. "Just play something good for a change, will ya? None of this Eddie Sheernan garbage."
"I don't even listen to Ed– oh, alright," Delilah conceded, scrolling down to a 60's playlist and hooking her phone up to the speaker system.
A high-pitched electric organ sounded first, before Jim Morrison's velvety voice flooded the café: 'You know that it would be untrue... You know that I would be a liar... If I was to say to you – girl, we couldn't get much higher...'
Maggie let out a hoot of approval and skipped behind the counter, singing along hilariously poorly and knocking her hip into Delilah's to get her to join in. Delilah rolled her eyes at the woman's ridiculousness, but sang along all the same as they shared the task of tackling the dishes.
The Doors eventually melted into Pink Floyd, then The Temptations' 'My Girl,' and the pair snapped their fingers and sang along, with Delilah improvising an admittedly silly little ballet routine as she moved about the cozy café, sanitizing tables. As she pirouetted away from one table to clean up the last of the day, she caught sight of a looming figure lurking at the windowfront and yelped in surprise.
Doctor Lecter was standing just outside, his hands in his pockets and one corner of his mouth quirked in amusement. "Jesus Christ," she muttered, holding her rag to her chest and taking a few deep breaths. Both his eyebrows raised as he glanced pointedly at the front door, and she hissed at Maggie to quiet down before rushing over to turn the key in the lock and let him in.
"My sincerest apologies for startling you," he said at once, though his lips were still twisted in a smirk.
"I-It's okay," Delilah mumbled, staggering backward as he entered the café. Steppenwolf's 'Magic Carpet Ride' began to play and she shoved a lock of hair from her face with her forearm, struggling to focus. "I, um... I just... I'm sorry, but what are you doing here?"
Hannibal chuckled as he casually observed the cheerily-decorated establishment. It looked like a sunflower field and a luau had made a baby, and Delilah had the distinct impression it was not his sort of place.
"Well, I regrettably do not have a magic carpet in my possession," he began teasingly, his eyes drifting up to the speakers in the corners, "but I thought you may like a ride to my office, rather than going for a run."
"Smooth," Maggie interjected, much too loudly, and Delilah groaned.
"Y-Yes, that would be-... um, I appreciate it. Would you excuse me for a moment?" He nodded and she quickly darted back around the counter to dispose of her dirty rag and carefully wash her hands.
She watched Maggie out the corner of her eye as she took care to scrub around her dressings; the woman was brazenly sizing up Dr. Lecter, and she let out another groan under her breath. As she was drying her hands, Maggie scooted over to her and whispered conspiratorially. "He's intense. Bit on the older side, though, not that I'm judging..."
"Maggie, he's my doctor," she replied exasperatedly.
"Yeah, I'll bet you could play doctor with –"
"MAGGIE, PLEASE!" She shouted, her face burning enough she worried she may set the whole place on fire. Touching her cool fingers to her cheeks, she lowered her voice again and leaned toward the older woman. "I mean he's my psychiatrist, so stop being so crass."
"Ohhh, oh oh oh," Maggie muttered, peeking around Delilah to get another look at the man. "...He's still handsome. And he drove all this way –"
"His office is like ten minutes away."
"Still, he didn't have to..." She trailed off, watching as Dr. Lecter bent to inspect a gaudy piece of what Maggie called 'art' hanging on the wall; some multi-coloured, macrame thing she had no name for. Turning back to Delilah, an appreciative grin plastered on her face, she added quietly, "Life's too short not to grab onto whatever... or whoever inserts themselves into your life, you know."
"Maggie, he didn't insert himself anywhere. He –" She caught herself and snapped her mouth shut, realizing what she'd said just as the older woman slapped a hand to her mouth to stifle a giggle. "Oh, don't you dare say –"
"Yet!" She exclaimed, dissolving into a fit of cackling laughter.
Delilah let out a frustrated growl and quickly snatched her phone, abruptly cutting off the music. "I will see you tomorrow," she said firmly, giving the woman a quick hug before gathering her purse and rushing back to Dr. Lecter. Maggie was hot on her heels, however, and she grimaced as she watched her march right up to introduce herself.
"Maggie Cartwright," she announced, thrusting her hand out toward him.
Hannibal took her hand and shook it politely. "Doctor Hannibal Lecter. It's a pleasure to meet you, Mrs. Cartwright."
"Likewise," Maggie replied, tossing a wink to Delilah.
Either he was being polite to spare her further embarrassment, or he didn't quite know how to respond to that, but he simply inclined his head with a tight smile. "Shall we, Miss Bloom?" He then inquired, turning to Delilah and moving to hold the door open for her.
Maggie clicked her tongue appreciatively. "Such a proper gentleman," she cooed. "That's rare these days."
"I always endeavor to do my best, in all things, Mrs. Cartwright," he assured her, and her eyes flashed as she shot a playful grin to the younger female.
"Oh, Maggie, enough," Delilah sighed, shaking her head. "Have a good night."
"You too. And thank you, Dr. Lecter," she added, her tone a touch more serious, "for looking after my Delilah. She may not be blood, but she's my baby."
Hannibal nodded and gave her one last kind smile before resting his hand on Delilah's lower back and guiding her out to his Bentley.
If her face wasn't flushed enough, her entire back tingled and burned where he touched her, and she had to focus very intently on each step she took. When he deposited her in the passenger's seat and shut the door, she closed her eyes and took two long, deep breaths before groping for the belt and buckling herself in. Hannibal slid into his seat and she could feel his eyes on her as he buckled his own seat belt.
"Quite a character," he commented lightly, pressing the key into the ignition and sending the car purring to life.
"Mmhm," she hummed in response, finally chancing a glance at him as they started for his office building. A highly amused grin was plastered on his face and she ducked her head, cramming a curl behind her ear. "Th- uh, thank you, for picking me up. You didn't have to."
"I know quite well what I do and do not have to do," he said simply. "But you're welcome, of course."
Silence blanketed the car as they finished the short drive to Dr. Lecter's office, and she spent the time agonizing over Maggie's behavior. She thought she should apologize for the woman being so forward, but it hadn't seemed to bother him in the slightest – if anything, he only seemed entertained by the whole ordeal. She thought perhaps it would be better to just let it slide.
When he parked, they kept pace with each other as they walked up to the office, and he led her through the stark white door. Depositing her purse on the table beside the gray leather clients' chair, she looked up while trying to untie her apron and spotted several curious items set atop Dr. Lecter's desk: a beautifully ornate, cream-coloured porcelain tea pot painted with pale pink roses; two matching cups, and saucers; and at least a dozen, or more, tins of what Delilah assumed must be every variety of tea known to the western world.
"You weren't kidding," she breathed, and a chuckle sounded just behind her, causing her to startle.
"I am nothing if not a man of my word," he said softly, as his larger, much more dexterous hands suddenly joined hers and made quick work of undoing her apron. He pulled the loop over her head and she adjusted her hair as she turned to watch him quickly hang the garment along with his coat.
"Thank you," she muttered, staring at him a moment before turning back to the desk.
Delilah wandered near as she felt Hannibal follow close behind, and they stood staring down at the spread before she chose a metal tin of loose leaf, pomegranate black tea and peered up at him. "Do you have a four course meal hidden away in that back room, too? Or a couple of corpses, perhaps?"
Hannibal looked entirely taken aback as he stared down at her for a long moment. He then carefully took the tin from her and began filling an infuser with the leaves. She watched him set the metal utensil in one of the cups and carefully pour hot water over it; after stirring the infuser a bit, he then left it to steep. "The refrigerator isn't nearly large enough," he finally replied ambiguously, offering her a smirk as he shook the tea infuser around thrice more and handed her the cup.
Taking the proffered beverage, she held it close and breathed deeply. "Mm," she sighed, "I'm usually a coffee kind of girl but this smells wonderful."
"Pomegranates are a fascinating fruit," he said quietly, carefully steeping his own Earl Grey tea in a second china cup. "Nearly every culture has their own mythos regarding it, but I find the Ancient Greeks' to be the most interesting..."
"They call it the fruit of the dead, don't they?"
"Correct," he replied, clearly pleased. "Do you know why?"
Delilah shook her head and he spoke as they moved to nurse their beverages in the comfort of their seats.
"According to the Fates, if anyone apart from Hades himself were to consume food or drink within the Underworld, they were doomed to spend eternity there. Hades had set his sights on the beautiful goddess Persephone, and he stole her away with the intent to make her his bride; by convincing her to eat six pomegranate seeds, he was thereby permitted to keep her as his own –"
"Only six?" She interrupted, peeking curiously over her cup at him.
Hannibal nodded. "When Persephone was first taken from her parents, her mother thought her lost forever and fell into despair. It was arguably serendipitous that Persephone only consumed six seeds of the fruit, as this allowed Zeus to foist a bargain upon his brother; he convinced Hades to only keep her for six months out of the year."
"A month per seed..." She muttered, taking a sip of her tea. "Her mother was Demeter, yes?"
"Very good, Delilah, yes. The goddess of fertility. And this is how the Ancient Greeks explained the seasons. When Persephone was permitted to return to her mother, crops grew and the Earth flourished –"
"Spring and summer..."
"Precisely. And when she returned to Hades, her mother would mourn again and the Earth was infertile."
"That would be autumn and winter."
He nodded once more and she laughed softly, staring down at the deep red liquid in her cup. "If I didn't know better, Dr. Lecter, I'd say this little mythology lesson may be dancing on the periphery of flirting."
Delilah glanced up when he didn't respond and her breath caught as she found his eyes were fixed on her. There was a severity in his gaze that made her pulse quicken, and she shoved her purse aside to set her cup and saucer down on the glass table with a startlingly loud clink.
She watched his lips twist into a slight grin, as if he were sharing a joke with himself, before he took another swig of tea and sat his cup down as well.
"Speaking of dance," he began, promptly rising and carefully removing his suit jacket; she eyed his crisp, white dress shirt and camel vest appreciatively as he crossed to hang it up, and he kept her waiting in silence still as he retrieved a journal and pen from the top of his desk, before finally sitting back down to finish his thought. "I would like you to tell me what happened at Arthur Murray, with someone named... Mark, I believe?"
Bile rose in her throat at once and she scowled, snatching her tea and taking a deep swig to force it back down. She coughed lightly and frowned down at her cup. "Alana has a big mouth," she grumbled.
"To keep pertinent information from one's psychiatrist is to stymie the potential for personal growth, Miss Bloom."
Taking a deep breath through her nose, she nodded her assent and exhaled in a great whoosh through her mouth. "Yes, alright," she muttered, finishing her tea and plonking the cup back down on the side table. Adjusting her skirt and slipping off her shoes, she folded her legs under herself and glared at a spot on the floor.
"His name is Matt, not Mark," she corrected first. "And he was my interim ballet instructor at the studio. The woman who'd been teaching me for almost a year fell pregnant, so she had to take an indefinite leave of absence." She let out an annoyed huff and rolled her eyes.
"You feel she should have stayed?"
"No, I feel she shouldn't have gotten herself pregnant."
"Why?"
She listened as he began scratching things into his notes, and she sighed heavily.
"Because her boyfriend is a prick," she finally answered, glancing up to find he was staring at her; his eyebrow jumped a fraction, silently urging her to explain. "She just-... Eliza can't drive. Anxiety or... something about a car accident. I don't remember. But he treated her like shit for it.
"Nearly every time I happened to be around when he'd pick her up or drop her off, I'd always hear him making snide comments about how she was inconveniencing him; how lucky she was to have him; and what would she do if he weren't there to cart her 'fat ass' around every day?"
"Delilah, breathe," Hannibal interjected. "And relax your hands – you're going to damage your sutures."
It was then she realized she was shaking with anger, and she focused on loosening her hands as she took several steadying breaths. Her hands eventually fell open and she stared at the crescent shaped indents she'd unwittingly created in her lower palms. "Sorry," she mumbled.
"Don't be," he replied simply. "This Matt sounds like a pathetic excuse for a man, and an even poorer excuse for a boyfriend."
"Yeah, so-" She paused and blinked up at him. "How'd you..."
"Acuity is the hallmark of any psychiatrist worth his salt," he said simply. "Were you planning on keeping it from me?"
"No," she replied quickly. "No, I was going to say... I just didn't expect it to be so obvious."
"Why didn't you tell me at the beginning?"
Leaning on the left arm of the chair, Delilah set her chin on her palm and dug the tip of her fingernail into her bottom lip, thinking for a moment, before shrugging. "I don't know. I suppose I felt the need to make you understand just how much of an asshole he is, before telling you he's the piece of trash I bloodied up."
"I'll admit I was assuming whatever he did to provoke you into attacking him would have made that plain."
"Well, that's the thing," she said quietly. "He didn't."
"He didn't provoke you?"
"No, not really. I just saw an opportunity and took it... His shitty behavior toward Eliza had been pissing me off for months; and we ended up alone one day, so I bashed his face into the wall."
"How exactly did it happen?"
Delilah sighed, glaring at the impossibly tall red and gray curtains, as she calmly recalled the series of events. "I was practicing en pointe when I noticed it was just him and me left in the studio; he was crouched by his bag, looking for something. I waited for him to turn. He did. And I kicked him in the groin, grabbed his shirt and shoved him as hard as I could under the barre.
"As I'd shoved him, he tried to jerk away from me, so there was quite a bit of momentum when his thick head shattered a good chunk of the mirrored wall." She sniffed lightly and shrugged, folding her hands over her lap as she added benignly, "He fell unconscious quite abruptly after that."
Hannibal snorted as he scratched a few notes into his journal. "Can't imagine why."
Mirroring his amusement with a small smirk of her own, she pressed the tips of her ring fingers into the corners of her eyes and carefully swiped away a few angry tears.
"From my understanding, you were found covered in blood," he said quietly, and she stilled in her seat. "Care to tell me how that came to be?"
Delilah blinked rapidly and slid her legs out from under herself, stretching them a bit before rising and smoothing her skirt down around her hips. "I- uh, s-sorry, what?" She tried and failed to feign ignorance. Desperately searching for a change of topic, she padded around behind the chair and gently gripped at the buttery material, as she slipped her stocking-clad toes along the dark wood grain beneath her.
"You merely cracked his head open on a mirror," he replied simply, undeterred. "How, then, did you come to be covered in his blood? Or was that an exaggeration?"
"H-Head wounds bleed a lot..."
"I'm aware. That doesn't explain –"
"I w-was... curious," she mumbled, her voice whisper-thin.
"Pardon?"
Delilah swallowed thickly and shut her eyes tight as she raised her voice. "I was curious."
"...About the blood?"
"His blood," she corrected softly. She gnawed on her lower lip as she ran her hands along the smooth leather, outward and back inward, timing the movement with her breathing. "I wanted to know if it felt... different. Warmer or colder, or stickier than..." She trailed off and chanced a glance at Dr. Lecter, finding him leaning forward in his seat, with his elbows resting on his knees, watching her with fervent interest.
"Than...? Than what, Delilah?" He goaded her softly.
"Th-than... other... blood," she skirted awkwardly, tucking her hair behind her ears. She couldn't be sure if she imagined the look of disappointment that flashed cross his face, but he leaned back in his seat and sighed heavily.
"There is something you're keeping from me, Miss Bloom," he stated firmly. "I trust that you will tell me everything, when you're ready."
'Definitely not imagined,' she thought, and she found a strange comfort in knowing that, to some extent, he knew. Furthermore, that he had this inkling and, rather than force it out of her, was willing to let her tell him in her own time.
"Do you regret what you've done?"
Delilah let out a puff of laughter and shook her head. "Not in the slightest."
"Good," he replied swiftly. "He deserved it. What did you tell the police?"
"...About what?"
"About why you were covered in blood."
"Oh," she scratched at her temple and tried to regather her thoughts. "Um, well, I didn't really tell them much of anything. And it didn't matter because when he came to all he said was he didn't want to talk about it and that he wouldn't press charges, as long as I didn't come back. The police left shortly after. Which confused me, honestly... I expected them to take us – or at least me – in for some kind of questioning. I mean, it was pretty obviously one-sided..."
Hannibal nodded pensively. "If I had to venture a guess... I would say they probably thought you two had had a lovers' quarrel. With him not wanting to press charges, and you not speaking, they most likely assumed he was just embarrassed he'd been put down by a woman – and that you were afraid of getting into trouble. Not to mention, domestic violence cases are all too often overlooked or blatantly ignored."
"That's terrible."
"Quite," he muttered, staring down at his journal as he jotted a few more notes down.
"...I haven't talked about this to anyone, you know." She watched his chestnut eyes dart back up to her, and he offered her a small, but warm, smile.
"I consider myself honored, then, Miss Bloom."
Delilah smiled and finally moved back around her chair, taking up her cup and crossing to retrieve his as well. As she leaned down, his hand suddenly shot out and encircled her wrist, and she looked to him questioningly. "Let me check your sutures," he insisted, reaching over with his free hand to take her cup and set it on the table.
"Alright," she consented, twisting her wrist in his grip to allow him access to her bandaged palm. Hannibal stood abruptly and guided her over to his desk. He moved the tea pot and copious tins aside and motioned for her to sit.
"On the desk?"
Hannibal gave her a look that she assumed was the closest he would ever get to actually saying the word 'duh,' and she shrugged before attempting to seat herself in the space provided. She couldn't very well get enough leverage with one hand, which he seemed to comprehend after her first try. "May I?" He asked, holding his hands out to her.
"Um, yes please," she replied, letting out a small squeak as he picked her up at the waist with ease and deposited her gently on the edge of the desk.
He smirked and brought the desk lamp around to her right side, before sitting down in his high-backed chair in front of her and holding her hand directly under the light. She watched as he took great care removing the tape and gauze, and he let out a pleased hum.
"You're healing well," he assessed quietly, carefully laying his fingertips over hers and tilting her hand from side to side against his palm. "As it's already been a week, I expect you'll be ready to have these removed in just another few days – so long as you're careful."
"I'm careful. Today was a nightmare and I managed to keep my hand from splitting open, so I'd say that's a win."
He smiled affably and started to release her, saying something about redressing the wound, but she flexed instinctively, catching his middle and index fingers in her grip. He paused, staring fixedly at their hands, and when he didn't pull away she slipped her knuckles over his and lightly stroked his hand. She watched his brows knit as he seemed to deliberate his next move.
A small part of her thought to be embarrassed; to assume she'd overstepped some obvious sort of boundary. But she would need all her fingers, and quite possibly a few toes, to tally the amount of times he'd touched her willingly and without any actual necessity. A gentle hand upon her back; fingertips brushing skin; a knuckle tracing her bottom lip... She could even swear she'd felt his mouth upon her once, somewhere on her face, but perhaps it had been a dream. Somehow, she still highly doubted she had anything to be shy about now.
"Thank you," she said softly, and her voice seemed to snap him out of his pensive daze. His gaze drifted up to her shoulder as she added, "for taking care of me."
He cleared his throat and nodded, the hand cradling hers sliding slowly up her forearm, his thumb slipping up and over to trace along the bluish veins visible just beneath her skin. "You are... easy to care for," he said quietly, and warmth slithered down her spine, causing her to shiver.
"You're a good doctor," she replied, tilting her head and dipping a bit in an effort to catch his attention.
Hannibal reluctantly looked up at her face and slowly shook his head once. "I think the APA would argue I've violated nearly a dozen sections of their code of conduct with you, Miss Bloom."
Emboldened by the flash of crimson in his russet eyes, she slid carefully off the desk and placed herself directly between his knees; as she moved, her arm traveled up along his, and she twisted as her hand reached his bicep, digging her nails into the soft Supima cotton of his shirt sleeve, any pain momentarily forgotten. He stared up at her in wonder and her tongue darted out to wet her bottom lip as she leaned near and whispered unabashedly, "Then why not make it a clear dozen, and be sure?"
At once his hand under her arm gripped her elbow firmly, holding her there; his free arm slowly reached up to cup her face, his thumb dragging across her cheekbone as his fingers lost themselves in the sea of curls at the nape of her neck. "You consistently manage to surprise me, Miss Bloom..."