Chapter 7

Dr. Bedelia Du Maurier's Residence

Baltimore, MD

Sunday – 1:00 PM

Click, click, click...

Hannibal listened to high heels hitting solid wood flooring with cruel amusement, as Bedelia made her way over to answer the door. She wasn't expecting him today and, though he couldn't see her, he could perfectly imagine the flash of sheer panic in her eyes once she peered through the peephole to find him standing there.

'Honestly, Bedelia, it's midday. Surely I won't harm you, in your own home, on a Sunday...' He sneered internally and counted a solid thirty seconds of silence before lifting his arm to knock once more, but the deadbolt slid undone with a heavy thunk and she slowly pulled the door open.

"Good afternoon, Hannibal," she greeted him quietly, and he was pleased that, for all her – admittedly warranted – paranoia, she still managed to be polite.

"Good afternoon," he replied, his tone conversational and light. "May I come in?"

She stalled by swallowing down a lump in her throat, as she visibly calculated her response. "...Of course," she finally said, tugging the door open further, as she stepped back to give him a wide berth.

Appearing entirely unfazed by her nervousness, he breezed past her and paused just beside his usual chair in her sitting room. He waited patiently as he listened to her slowly shut the door. Unsurprisingly, she didn't lock it.

Click, click... Click, click, click.

Bedelia paused at the entryway and stared at him for a long moment, before reluctantly crossing the room to lower herself into the chair across from him. Once she was seated, he unbuttoned his suit jacket and casually sat himself down as well. The two were polar opposites, with Bedelia stick-straight, awkwardly resting her elbows on the arms of her chair and nervously tracing the curves of her ring fingernails with her thumbs – her entire demeanor oozing unease; whereas Hannibal seemed perfectly at home, with one leg crossed over the other and his hands folded loosely in his lap.

"I... wasn't expecting you," she said quietly.

"It's not as if we have proper session hours set aside, Bedelia."

"Yes, but you generally call first."

He shrugged and glanced out the window, watching the breeze whip the leaves from a maple tree beside her house. "I was in the neighborhood and I needed to talk," he said simply.

Dropping her palms to the arms of the chair, she cleared her throat and situated herself a bit less awkwardly. She crossed her legs and rested both her forearms on the left side of her seat. "You were just 'in the neighborhood,'" she repeated his words slowly, her eyes narrowing a fraction. She didn't believe him. "So, what is it you needed to discuss?" She continued, looking altogether unwilling to actually hear what he had to say.

"No, not discuss. I need to talk."

"With feedback, or shall I only listen?"

"You may interject as you deem necessary," he replied flippantly, and he sighed as she squinted at him again. She was deciding whether he truly meant that. "I'm not here for anything but a bit of talk therapy, Bedelia; you can lay down your arms."

"I can never do that around you. Not completely."

Hannibal smirked, her words a precise example of what made her so useful. She had once told him she believed he wore a 'person suit,' and she hadn't been wrong; the fact that she was shrewd enough to recognize it was the closest Hannibal felt anyone had come to truly understanding him – thus far, anyway. It was a little thing, rather inconsequential by all accounts, but it kept her pertinent for the time-being.

"Touche." His eyes drifted back to the shuddering maple just beyond the window, as he chewed delicately on the inside of his upper lip. "I've recently had a new patient imposed upon me, and I find myself... conflicted."

"Conflicted, how?"

"I find her, in a word, captivating," he said. "I have a strong suspicion that there is much, much more to her than she allows others to see."

"A captivating, female patient leaves you conflicted..." She let her words linger, and he brought his gaze to her face to find her eyes tight with obvious concern.

Hannibal merely quirked a brow, choosing to feign ignorance. He couldn't very well read her mind, of course, but he was quite sure he could make a moderately accurate guess as to what she was thinking – 'poor little lamb has stumbled into the wolf's den.'

"It is not uncommon for a professional – in any line of work, really – to suddenly find they have an... unbidden, blatantly unprofessional interest in a particular client," she said quietly. "I would go so far as to call it an unequivocal eventuality, even for you. This is a prime example of the usefulness of–"

"No," he cut in sharply, with a firm shake of his head.

"No?"

"My patient has placed her trust in me; I will not abandon her."

"A referral is not abandonment, Hannibal. If you find you cannot let go of this... fixation, it would be in the girl's best interest for you to find her another psychiatrist."

"I disagree."

Bedelia stared at him for a long moment, evidently puzzled. "Why did you come here if you have no interest in what I have to say?"

"It's not that I have no interest in your input. I simply disagree with your assessment of the situation."

"What is the situation?"

Hannibal fell silent as he smoothed his palms together and studied the reflective surface of the glass coffee table to his left. An image of bijou, bright-eyed Delilah Bloom, drenched in blood and ruthlessly hacking a man to pieces, suddenly thrust itself to the forefront of his mind – and it was stunning.

The woman was inarguably impulsive, and moody, and evidently prone to reactionary behavior dictated by her feelings – but these were things they could work on, together. He had witnessed just how collected and poised she could be, when she felt she needed to be. Once he taught her to better keep her emotions in check, and helped her work through whatever her mind was punishing her for, he imagined her transformation would be breathtaking. Delilah Bloom was not a mere caterpillar, destined to become a butterfly – she was already a butterfly that would grow into something so much more.

"This woman must be something," Bedelia muttered, the grim edge to her tone prying him from his reverie.

"Something, indeed." He tilted his head to the far right, stretching out his neck and listening to it crack as he cleared his throat. "I find I am... wanting to be more open, more myself, around her."

Bedelia let out a puff of mirthless laughter. "That must be exceedingly difficult for you."

"My 'person suit' has a snag, it seems."

"I wonder... will she unravel it entirely?"

They sat in silence for several long moments, before Bedelia cleared her throat and asked pointedly, "Has this gone past simple unprofessional intrigue, Hannibal?"

When his response was nothing more than a quirk of his brow, she sucked in a breath and shifted in her seat. Her professionalism was ingrained, and he had a feeling she was at war with herself over whether she should report him for misconduct.

'Or perhaps she wishes to pry the lamb from the wolf's maw.'

"Not in the way you seem to be thinking," he finally replied, his lips twisting into a contemptuous smile. "Don't tell me you're jealous, Bedelia."

"Of all the words at our disposal, that could be used to describe what I am," she began cautiously. "That... is not one I would choose."

His grin fell at once and he ran his tongue along his upper teeth as he regarded her. "You are afraid for her."

Bedelia lifted her chin a fraction, but made no move to confirm or negate his theory; he could hear the wheels turning in her head, and his nostrils flared in temper.

"I am going to make this simple for you, Bedelia," he began, his voice deathly quiet as he leaned forward in his seat and looked her square in the eye. "Whatever it is you're thinking of trying – don't."

"I am not going to try anything," she whispered.

"A lie of omission is still a lie," he clipped, rising from his seat. "And I shouldn't need to say, but I won't tolerate it from you. Have a pleasant day, Bedelia."

Hannibal saw himself out at once, choosing to leave the door ajar rather than slam it shut, and swiftly paced back to his car. He glanced up just in time to catch her peeking out at him from around the door – which she then quickly snapped shut and, he imagined, locked as fast as her bony little fingers would allow. The car rumbled to life at his turn of the key and he scowled at the dash, noting by the clock that he had wasted nearly twenty minutes with her –

No, not wasted. Though the visit had undoubtedly tested his patience, it had been more beneficial than Bedelia would ever possibly know – more than he had initially allowed himself to realize. In the forty-odd hours since he'd kissed Delilah Bloom, he had argued endlessly with himself over whether or not he had made a conscious decision, or had simply acted in the heat of the moment. Speaking aloud about Delilah, however cautious he may have been with the details, had solidified in his mind that he did indeed know what he was doing. Errant sparks of impulsivity were inherently human and he was, after all, still human.

Folding his palm over his mouth, he leaned back against the headrest and stared up at the roof of the car. He knew that, in time, Bedelia would try to somehow find Delilah, to foolishly warn her of all she presumed to know about him. And though he knew the woman would have scarce little to say that could frighten Delilah off – operating as she was, on assumptions alone – on the off-chance she succeeded, he would kill her for it.

Until then, however, Hannibal had a full Rolodex at home calling his name.

Paradise Café

1210 Olive St., Baltimore, MD

Monday – 4:50 PM

"If you leave, where will you go?"

Delilah fought not to scowl. Alana had been dealing with work-related emergencies all weekend, and they hadn't had a chance to talk since their wine-soaked conversation Friday night; evidently, she was intent on making up for lost time by nagging her at every opportunity today, and it was terribly irritating.

"Like I told you this morning, I'll figure it out."

"That's not good enough." Alana crossed her arms over her chest and glared at her, looking altogether like a perturbed mother figure; not their mother, perhaps, but Delilah was fairly certain she looked like someone's mother just then. "You need to have a plan."

"Well, I'dunno..." Delilah sighed, feigning contemplation. "I suppose I could just find a nice box and set up camp on some street corner... Pop out occasionally and scare the neighbor children. Could be fun."

"Hilarious," Alana grumbled, clearly not amused.

She snickered as she began pouring milk and foam over the espresso cradled in her hand. "Keep pestering me while I make you a free coffee, and I'll turn your fancy latte leaf into a big ol' dick."

"She's gotten real good at those!" Maggie hollered, sticking her tongue out as she tossed them a wink. "I think she's been studying."

"What is she talking about?"

Before Delilah could intervene, Maggie nudged her out of the way and leaned over the counter to whisper at her sister. "I'm talking about that six-foot hunk'a somethin' or other; the doctor that picked her up last week."

Alana blinked at her, her lips twisting into a frown as she looked to Delilah. "Hannibal... picked you up?"

"I was going to be late, so... yeah, he gave me a ride – " She caught Maggie opening her mouth to most likely say something untoward, and hastily added, "In his car! He just drove me to my appointment, Maggie."

"Uh-huh..."

Delilah groaned, hoping her cheeks weren't as red as they felt, and shoved past her to hand the cup over to her sister. "Just ignore the old bat. She's senile."

Alana snorted and took the mug, eyeing them suspiciously before wandering off to sit at a table by the window. Delilah watched her pull a laptop from her messenger bag, and waited for her to start working before she rounded on Maggie and swatted her with a hand towel.

"Jesus Christ! Would you keep your dirty thoughts to yourself?" she hissed, stuffing the towel into the pocket of her apron and angrily setting about cleaning up.

"Sheesh, sorry..."

Delilah let out a huff and shoved her hair out of her face. "Listen. Hannibal Lecter is my psychiatrist – nothing more. If you keep making comments like this someone is going to suspect something and he could potentially get into serious trouble. And he's the first decent doctor I've had, so just... just don't, okay?"

"Alright, sweetie, I'm sorry."

She sighed heavily and gave Maggie a sideways hug. "It's fine."

...

When the stragglers had finally gone and the cleaning was through, it was half past five and Delilah flopped down into the seat across from Alana to stretch out her aching legs.

"So... Where will you go?" Alana asked again, her eyes glued to whatever it was she was working on.

Delilah sighed and scrubbed a hand over her face. "Maggie offered for me to live upstairs," she finally confessed, watching her sister freeze for a moment before furiously clicking away at her keyboard again.

"That's... convenient," she muttered, suddenly snapping her laptop shut and knocking back the last dregs of her latte. "Most of your stuff's already here."

"Mhm. I think it would be good for us to live apart."

"You've said that already."

"Doesn't make it any less true."

Maggie, who had blatantly been eavesdropping, decided to insert herself into their conversation as she shuffled over to take Alana's mug. "I can promise you she'll be safe here, Doctor Bloom. It's a damn fine apartment up there; my husband fixed it up himself."

"It's not exactly shoddy carpentry I'm worried about," Alana mumbled, and Delilah frowned at her. Before she could ask her to elaborate, Alana cleared her throat and smiled up at Maggie. "Did your husband build the apartment?"

"Oh, hell no, my Bobby was never that handy, but he knew a thing or two in his day." She laughed and pulled up a chair, resting the cup in her lap as she stared wistfully up at the ceiling. "When we got this place from his parents – willed, you know – it was a two bedroom, and one'a the rooms was tiny as shit, so he knocked the wall down to make it one big master bedroom; added some nice fixtures and fresh paint and such. We lived up there for a few years ourselves before his practice finally took off."

"Practice? He's a lawyer?"

"Was a lawyer," she corrected. "Heart attack, a couple years ago."

Alana opened her mouth to presumably apologize, but Maggie silenced her with a wave. "Death is just a part of life, sweetie, don't fuss. At any rate, it's a swell place. There's a gorgeous bathroom up there, great lighting, and even a walk-in closet."

"Sounds like a great fit," Alana said, smirking at her sister. "This one hoards shoes like it's her job, and takes about five hours to get ready to go anywhere."

"Oh, I believe it."

Delilah rolled her eyes as they shared a laugh at her expense. "Are you two harpies done talking about me like I'm not here?"

"Yeah, yeah," Maggie gave her knee a firm pat, then used her as leverage to stand. "Well, let me know what you girls decide, when you do. I'm off."

"Night Maggie, we won't stay long."

They watched her deposit the cup in the dishwasher, then grab her bag before tossing them a wave as she exited the café.

"...Doesn't anybody else work here?" Alana asked as she gathered her things.

"Well, one girl quit and the other keeps calling in sick," she replied, stretching and yawning as she stood up. "Supposedly she'll be in later this week, but who knows."

"I don't like you working so much. It can't be good for you."

Delilah snorted as she snagged her purse and they headed for the door. "Oh please, I could say the same to you."

"Fair enough – oh, I almost forgot." They paused just outside the café as Alana began rifling through her messenger bag. "Dr. Lecter invited us to dinner next weekend," she explained, fishing out a small cream-coloured envelope and handing it over.

Delilah Eleanor Bloom

Her full name was written across the face of the envelope in strikingly beautiful script; she ran her fingers along the swooping black letters, feeling the gentle indents in the parchment that indicated it wasn't printed. "Damn," she muttered, turning it over and carefully sliding her fingernail along the edge to break the seal. Inside was a stark white square of sturdy cotton card stock, tastefully embellished with an Art-Deco-style, silver foil border. The note itself was handwritten, as well, with Hannibal's address expertly penned in the center, along with the date and time of the event:

6 Midvale Court, Roland Park

22 October 2017

Sunday – 6:30 PM

And it could be called nothing else but an event, upon seeing such a formal invitation.

"If you think that's ridiculous," she heard her sister mumble, "just wait until you see the spread – excuse me, the 'feast.'" She looked up to find Alana making a show of rolling her eyes, and she scowled slightly.

"I think it's nice," Delilah replied defensively, carefully tucking the invitation into her purse. "No one ever does this sort of thing anymore."

"Yeah, there's a reason for that – it's called group texting, or email."

Delilah scoffed as she locked up the café, and they started down the street toward Alana's car. "I can't imagine Dr. Lecter sending a text, at all, let alone a group text."

"Ha, true."

They hopped into the hybrid and buckled their seat belts as Alana pulled out into the street, and Delilah eyed her sideways for a moment. "Now that I think about it," she began tentatively, "I remember Will mentioning something about Dr. Lecter having a penchant for throwing dinner parties... He said they're supposed to be really impressive, or something."

Alana's lips pursed into a tight line and she simply nodded once, switching the radio on and filling the cabin with some sort of kitschy pop music as she made a left turn, effectively bringing their conversation to an end.

No. 107

Herb-Marinated Rack of Lamb

Ingredients

2 Racks of lamb, frenched

Marinade

¼ cup olive oil, plus 2 tbsp

4 garlic cloves, crushed

1 tbsp ea. fresh thyme & rosemary leaves, lightly crushed

2 bay leaves

Maldon sea salt

Freshly ground black pepper

Method

Combine ¼ cup olive oil, garlic, bay leaves, rosemary & thyme in a large bowl. Add lamb, and coat well. Grind black pepper over all, seal with clingfilm, and place in the refrigerator to marinate overnight.

Remove lamb from the marinade and preheat oven to 400 degrees. Heat a large saute pan over medium-high and add remaining 2 tbsp olive oil. Season well with salt, and sear fat side down. Turn fat side up and roast in preheated oven for 20 mins. Let rest for 10 mins before cutting and serving.

Tuesday

/BREAKING NEWS:/

"Baltimore PD is currently investigating a death at Sandy Point State Park, near the Chesapeake Bay Bridge. At approximately 5 AM this morning, a nineteen-year-old woman stumbled across the body of an as yet unidentified male while out jogging on the south side of the park. No word on cause of death. Stay tuned to WBALTV-11 News for further update."

No. 63

Beef Heart Tartare

Ingredients

1 beef heart, trimmed

3 egg yolks

1 cornichon, chopped

1 tsp salted capers, rinsed

1 red bird's eye chili, seeded and thinly sliced

1 tbsp red onion, finely diced

Maldon sea salt and freshly ground black pepper, to taste

Grilled baguette crostini

Method

Thinly slice and chop heart until fine. Gently stir in egg yolks, cornichon, capers, chili and onion. Season to taste with salt and pepper. Serve immediately with crostini and a dish of extra sea salt.

Wednesday

/WBALTV-11 BREAKING NEWS UPDATE:/

"Our top story this morning is pretty darn gruesome – if there are any children present, now would be the time to send them out of the room. Just yesterday, we told you that the body of a man was found in Sandy Point State Park and, as it turns out, there appears to be a lot more to the story. We have Jim on-location where a SECOND body was found less than an hour ago. On to you, Jim."

"Thanks Dave. Baltimore PD has just issued a statement urging everyone to stay away from Sandy Point for the time-being, as this is now an ongoing homicide investigation. The victim from Monday was found strung up in a tree, just a few feet from where I'm standing right now."

"Wow."

"Yeah, and it gets worse. There's talk that the FBI is getting involved. Our sources say that the woman discovered today appears to have been killed by the same person, or persons. Both were hung in the same fashion and PARTS were surgically removed, postmortem – no word on which parts exactly, but we do know that none have been found so far."

"Gosh, Jim. Sure sounds like we may have another serial killer on the loose..."

Paradise Café

Thursday – 5:59 AM

With the café all set up for any early bird patrons jonesing for a caffeine fix, Delilah flipped the front door sign over to read 'Open, please come on in!' and leaned heavily against the door to let out an obnoxiously loud yawn.

"Don't you start that," Maggie griped, setting two large mugs of freshly brewed black coffee on a nearby table before settling into one of two overstuffed armchairs by the 'library,' as she called it. In reality, it was just one tiny bookshelf in the corner full of battered old paperback novels and severely outdated magazines that she refused to throw away.

Delilah apologized around another yawn, which she attempted and failed to stifle, as she dragged herself over to the chair catercorner to Maggie's; she then snagged one of the mugs and sat down, carefully folding her legs under herself to hunch over her coffee and glare at it.

"...Did that particular cup sass you or somethin'?"

"S'too hot to drink yet," she grumbled. "Why am I here so early again – where the hell is Britney?"

Maggie snorted and began flipping through one of the magazines. "She called last night and said she'd be in later today. Some kinda stomach bug kicked her ass for a bit there, but she said she's better now."

"If she's better now, why didn't she come in when she was supposed to?"

The older woman merely shrugged and Delilah rolled her eyes. "Maggie, I love you, but you can be really naive sometimes."

...

Their first customer entered at a quarter past six, and from then on there was a steady trickle of patrons until Delilah took her first break at ten. On the whole, it was shaping up to be a fairly calm day so far, but constantly needing to wake up at four am just to get to work on time was taking its toll on her. She was both relieved and annoyed when Britney showed up, just as she was stepping out back to get some fresh air.

"Hey girl!" Britney shouted, the bottle-blonde straw she called hair flopping around her face as she skipped merrily up the walk.

Funny, she sure didn't look like she'd been deathly ill; her usual fake orange tan was much more naturally golden today, and Delilah thought she counted an extra piercing in each of her ears.

Delilah grunted in response and pulled out her phone in an effort to look distracted.

"So... How's it goin'?"

Resisting her initial compulsion to tear the girl a new one for being an immature and lazy piece of shit, she forced a smile and shrugged. "It's going. How are your lungs?"

Britney suddenly let out an awkward, exaggerated cough and patted her chest. "Still a little congested, but not too bad..."

"Oh, that's interesting," she said snidely. "Seeing as you claimed you had a stomach bug."

The girl blanched and stared at her for a long moment, looking much like a toddler caught with her hand in the cookie jar. "...Okay, listen. Can I, like, confess something to you?"

'Here it comes,' Delilah thought irritably, quirking a brow and flapping a hand at her as if to say, 'if you must.'

"I wasn't actually sick, technically..."

"Colour me surprised."

"Thing is, my boyfriend wanted to go to Florida, for a concert, you know? And it was totally supposed to be during my days off, I swear – but when we landed it turned out it was this big birthday surprise, and he had all this stuff planned and... Well, we just got back this morning. That's why I'm here so late."

"Well, that's fucking stupid," Delilah replied flatly. "If you'd just told Maggie the truth, you know damn well she would have been fine with it; you didn't have to tell some bullshit story that actually made people worry about you."

"...I guess, but-"

"No. I don't want to hear it," she snapped, slamming a fist into the door and holding it open for her. "Just get in there and attempt to be useful. I need to make a call, and my break is almost over."

The girl's jaw dropped and she floundered for a moment, clearly dumbfounded, before hanging her head and trudging into the café.

Delilah scoffed and glared after her, shaking her head as the door swung shut and turning away to focus on her phone. Her thumb hovered over the single contact she had listed as a number rather than a name, and she only hesitated for a split second before tapping the screen and lifting the phone to her ear.

It rang twice before Will Graham's puzzled voice filtered through the speaker. "Uh, h-hello?"

"...Is your refrigerator running?"

"Wha-? Who is this?" He demanded, his confusion rapidly twisting into irritation. "How did you get this number?"

"Did you have pizza this morning?"

Silence perforated the call and she almost worried they'd been disconnected, when he finally replied, "...Delilah?"

"Yep." She snorted and began absentmindedly pacing the walkway. "I broke into my sister's phone with her own thumb while she was passed out and I stole your number. Guess I'm a criminal now, or something."

Will laughed. "Or something... Wow, my very own stalker. This is new."

"Don't flatter yourself, Graham, you're not my type."

"What do you want, Bloom? I have another lecture in about five minutes."

Delilah chewed on her lip as she thought a moment. Gathering the nerve to call him was about as far as she'd gotten in the way of planning – honestly, she hadn't even expected him to answer the phone. "Uh, well... I thought maybe you could come visit me at work and I can treat you to a coffee and some sort of baked good, as an apology –"

"You have nothing to apologize for," he cut in firmly. She opened her mouth to argue when he continued. "But I do like coffee. And baked goods... Do you have cake?"

"We have cake, yes. Also pie, cookies, danishes... Most of it's freshly baked – not the danishes or cookies, though. Those are from Costco."

"Alright, I'm sold."

"Sweet. I work at a place called Paradise Café – twelve-ten Olive street. Looks like the sun threw up on it, so it's hard to miss."

"Ha, alright. My last class ends at two today, and it'll take me about half an hour to get over there... Is that a good time? Or did you mean tomorrow, or –"

Delilah cut him off with a laugh. "Two-thirty-ish is fine, spaz. See you then."

"Later."

Approximately five miles east of Paradise, in a quiet residential neighborhood, the last in a series of three entirely premeditated killings would soon come to fruition, as a man named Matthew Nelson arrived home from taking his dog to the park. He found the front door unlocked, and cursed under his breath about the good-for-nothing bitch – his ex-wife – whom he assumed had come by to grab more of her things, as he let his mastiff off her lead. The huge, slobbering creature began snorting and sniffing the air excitedly, and Matthew watched in confusion as she suddenly went barreling out of the foyer and into the kitchen. He set the lead on the table by the door, locking it behind himself and kicking off his shoes before following her as he distractedly rifled through his mail.

"What are you up to, you dumb old dog?"

Confusion lingered, as he entered the kitchen and glanced up just enough to find his dog happily scarfing down what appeared to be a pile of freshly cooked steak on the tile floor... directly beside a set of plastic-covered, black leather oxfords.

The fear came next, like a sharp jolt to his insides that instantly made him nauseated, as his eyes jerked upward to observe the presence of a man he didn't recognize standing beside the kitchen island; the stranger was dressed in a strikingly bold and, he guessed, stupidly expensive three-piece suit – which was covered from ankles, to neck, to wrists in a bizarre second suit that appeared to be made of plastic. The man had his gloved hands folded in front of himself, with a rope dangling from his fingertips and a disturbingly serene expression on his face.

"Dogs are such simple creatures, aren't they? So easily won over by food," the stranger mused in an accent he couldn't place. "Good morning, Matthew."

When he couldn't find words to respond, the stranger smirked and took a few jarringly quick steps toward him. Matthew dropped the letters and adverts from his shaking hands as he stumbled backward, into the fridge. "Wh-wh-uh, what do you-... How-... Who are you?" He finally managed, watching nervously as the man continued to advance on him.

The stranger paused a couple feet before him and canted his head. "Does it really matter?"

"M-my wife will be home any minute, you know," he lied hastily.

"Wife, you say?" The man pursed his lips and squinted off to the side, as if trying to remember something. "Ah, yes... The woman you treat like so much garbage – that chose to leave you two days ago – and would rather raise her child alone than suffer your abuse... That wife?"

Matthew thought to be indignant – it wasn't like he actually beat her, or anything – but he couldn't exactly argue semantics with an intruder. He glared over at the dog, wishing he'd chosen a doberman or something, as he muttered, "Er... Yes. Sh-she's-... We're working it out, okay? She'll be home any –"

"You're lying, Matthew." The man tutted softly, looking down as he busied himself with tightening the slack on the rope in his hands; the fact that this man felt confident enough in himself to take his eyes off him, while clearly getting ready to kill him, was utterly terrifying.

"P-Please, if this is about Eliza – I'll apologize to her. I can treat her better, I swear!"

"Doubtful. That's not why I'm here, anyway."

"Then why..."

The man looked him square in the eye and said simply, "Your heart, Matthew, I'd like to eat it. As a nice tartare, I think."

All the blood drained from his face at the stranger's words, but something about the factual tone of his voice finally propelled Matthew into taking action. Swinging wildly, he attempted to whack the man in the face, and caught nothing but air before turning and hurling himself back out the direction he'd come in. He slipped on the papers that littered the floor and smacked his head hard on the wall, sliding down to the tile as the room spun around him.

A chuckle sounded behind him and the man asked conversationally, "Another head wound?"

Before he could fully gather his bearings and attempt to stand, the stranger was upon him and he felt himself being dragged upward as the nylon rope was swiftly wrapped around his neck. His hands instinctively reached up to claw at the rope, but it was already too taut for him to get his fingers under. Panic flooded his system as he began thrashing frantically, his feet slipping every which way beneath him.

"That's fine, Matthew," he heard the man speak calmly, as his vision rapidly blurred and darkened. "The harder you struggle, the quicker this will go."

When Matthew finally stopped flapping around, Hannibal eased him face down onto the floor and rested a knee in the center of his back, keeping a tight hold on the garrotte and settling in to wait for several minutes longer – just to be sure he had passed. As he waited patiently for the man's brain to cease functioning, the mastiff wandered up to flop down at his right and stare at him. He peered back at the massive creature with wry amusement. "You really are a dumb old dog, aren't you?"

After five minutes had gone by, he let the rope fall around Matthew's head and fetched his standard black bag from the counter. He quickly set about flipping the man over and taking scissors to his shirt, before carving his chest open and peeling back the layers. Checking the time on his watch, he noted he had about two hours before his next patient would expect him at the office, and wasted no time removing and unraveling the man's intestines.

Laying them in two piles on the other side of the corpse, he shooed the dog away from investigating them and fished around under the man's ribs to find his spleen. "Here," he said, quickly slicing it away from the stomach before snipping it into bits and scattering them around the kitchen for the dog to find. With the animal distracted, he took the no-nonsense approach of cutting straight through the ribs to peel back the breastplate; he left it resting unceremoniously against the man's cheek, then took up a scalpel and set about harvesting the heart with consummate efficiency.

Placing the organ in a small ice chest, he rose and stretched his back out a bit as he deliberated on what to do with the body. He had decorated the park with the last two purely out of theatrical convenience and, though Matthew did have a sturdy-looking elm tree out front, he didn't particularly care for the idea of dragging him out in broad daylight just to string him up.

"I think you would be best left to the dog, anyway," he muttered, watching the great horse of a canine amble over, as if on cue. It began snuffling around in the open cavity, and Hannibal's shoulders shook as he laughed, giving the dog a pat before gathering his tools and depositing them in his bag. Setting the ice box inside as well, he snapped it shut and swiftly exited out the back door.

As it was mid-morning on a Thursday, the neighborhood was pleasantly empty, and Hannibal encountered no potential loose ends that would need tying up. He was still cautious and alert as always, however, as he went about his usual routine of systematically removing the evidence from his person and stowing it all away in the black leather bag he carried. When he arrived at his Bentley, several blocks down the road, he peeled the last bits of plastic from his shoes and stuffed them into the bag as well, gingerly setting it in the trunk.

A quick glance at the dash told him he had another full hour before he needed to be back at the office, so he headed home first, to clean and store Matthew's heart in preparation for the impending dinner party.

911 Call Transcript

Incident number: 09-555006

October 19, 2017

Time: 1:31:07

Operator: 911, what's the address of your emergency?

Caller: (Inaudible, sobbing)

Operator: Ma'am? Hello?

Caller: I just (inaudible) things. (inaudible) Dead. He's. Everywhere. (inaudible) Eating him.

Operator: I'm sorry, what? Someone is eating someone?

Caller: The dog.

Operator: Someone is eating a dog?

Caller: No! The dog is eating him!

Operator: Ma'am, uh, who? Who is the dog eating?

Caller: My husband. My. Ex. Oh god, oh god, oh god. (Inaudible)

Operator: Ma'am, I need an address please.

Caller: Rappolla Street.

Operator: And the number of the house, ma'am?

Caller: I can't remember. I. I'm going outside.

Operator: OK, that's fine ma'am. I'm dispatching units to you right now. Just stay on the line with me, alright?

Caller: OK. OK, oh god (inaudible) I just –

Operator: Ma'am, did you see anybody else in or around the house?

Caller: No.

Operator: OK, can I get your name while we wait for police to arrive?

Caller: Eliza. Elizabeth Nelson.

Paradise Café

– 2:40 PM

After lunch, the traffic in and around the café had kicked up exponentially. Nearly every seat was full and Delilah was sequestered behind the counter, methodically churning out lattes and macchiatos, while Britney did the running around for a change. Aside from the gnawing frustration of having to cater to all the little moronic alterations people insisted on giving their coffees, she didn't really mind it much – at least she didn't have to deal with customers face-to-face, or schlep back and forth at the same time.

As she was steeping an Earl Grey tea bag for some pretentious asshole's London Fog, Britney came bustling up to the counter with a large black coffee in her hands. "Holy shit, when did this place get so popular? Hey, that guy said there's something wrong with this again..."

Delilah chucked the tea bag into the trash before adding a splash of vanilla to the cup and sloshing steamed milk over it. "Are you fucking kidding me?"

"Nope. He says it's too cold now."

After quickly sopping up the mess around the London Fog, she switched mugs with Britney and stormed around the counter. "Table seven," she heard the woman call after her. "The dude with the floppy brown hair."

"It's just a goddamn cup of drip coffee, for fuck's sake... First it's too bitter, then it's too hot," she grumbled, first under her breath and progressively getting louder as she approached the table. "Now listen here, Goldilocks –"

Delilah's words died in her throat as a familiar, scruffy face turned to grin mischievously up at her.

"You son of a bitch," she said, unable to stop herself from smiling as she slammed Will's cup down in front of him. It spilled over the rim and he jerked backward with a yelp as he laughed.

"Uh, can I speak to your manager? This is no way to treat paying customers."

"You aren't supposed to be paying anyway, you dink!"

Will snickered as she ripped a hand towel out of her apron pocket and threw it at him, catching it and cleaning up the mess as she sat down opposite him.

"You look awful," she said flatly, studying the dark circles under his eyes.

"That's the general consensus," he muttered, setting the coffee stained towel down on the table and eyeing the copious patrons around them with obvious discomfort. "I... haven't been sleeping very well."

"Or at all, by the looks of you."

Will let out a halfhearted chuckle before frowning down at his coffee. "You're not wrong."

She watched him chew on the inside corner of his mouth for a moment, before she stood again and gave him a pat on the arm. "Let me get you that cake, yeah? Maybe a bit of sugar will do you some good."

"Sure, thanks."

"We have chocolate and carrot." His nose crinkled at the latter, and she laughed. "Chocolate it is."

As she turned to fetch him a slice of cake, she caught sight of an open laptop in the center of a nearby table, being watched by two college students with rapt attention. She wouldn't have thought twice if the screen weren't showing the local news, rather than some stupid television show, but she figured it must be important if they were so invested and wandered the few feet away from Will to listen in.

"...woman, who's name is being withheld while investigations continue, frantically called 911 after she entered the house just behind me and found her ex husband mutilated in the kitchen. No official word on whether this is connected to the two other bodies that were discovered just earlier this week, but sources say..."

"Hey, isn't that your dad?" One of the students poked his finger against the screen, at the image of an officer milling around in the background.

Another, a redhead, nodded vigorously, swallowing down a mouthful of tea before responding. "Yeah dude, he's been dealing with this shit all week. He called my cell before I got here and reminded me for, like, the billionth time not to go anywhere alone. I guess it's pretty serious."

"Got any gory details?"

"Well, I'm not really supposed to say, but... technically he wasn't supposed to tell me, either..."

The other shut the laptop and scooted in close, as Delilah stayed frozen behind them.

"It's super gross, but remember you asked for it," the officer's son warned. "So, first they found that dead dude in the park, right? Turns out he was totally gutted and hung from a tree by his insides."

"Ew, what? Can you even hang someone by their... y'know...?"

"I mean, he also used a rope. But, whatever, it's still gross. Anyway, the next day, they found a woman done the same way. She was a nurse from all the way over in Reston, Virginia. Weird, right?"

"Super weird."

"That's not even the worst part, man. Dad told me that all the bodies, including the one they found today, had parts removed – like, after they were killed, whoever did it took stuff."

"Dude, I've been reading up on that one serial killer – I don't remember what they call him, but it's been forever and they still haven't found him. He took stuff. Maybe it's that guy."

"Maybe... So far, the only thing he can see tying them together is that they all had their hearts removed."

Delilah blinked rapidly as the scene around her shifted; the sunny yellow décor morphed into actual, harsh sunlight, and she squinted against it, looking down to find her once empty hands holding something wrapped in several plastic bags. "No, no, mm-mm," she mumbled, hands shaking violently as she began tearing at it.

As bits of plastic fell and floated away, she vaguely thought she heard someone, somewhere, calling her name; she ignored it, unable to peel her eyes away from her hands, as what appeared to be a hunk of meat steadily came into view.

A heart –

A human heart.

Of course it was human.

"Not mine," she whispered. "It's okay... Doesn't need it, now; never really used it..."

The lump of flesh made a squelching thump, as she tipped it over onto her palm and let the last bit of plastic drop to the ground. She smoothed her hands over it, momentarily fascinated by how warm it still was, and how it looked nothing at all like the hearts everyone drew around their crushes' names in grade school. It was just meat, and fat, and sinew. She wondered what it would taste like –

"No. Put it in the ground," Delilah told herself, glancing up to seek out a proper space off the side of the road. It had to be somewhere no one would find, giving the local fauna a chance to dispose of it, but she didn't want to dawdle. What would someone think, to find a twenty-something woman standing by the road with a bloody heart in her hands?

Susquehanna State Park was just a few miles away; she could find a nice spot to bury it, or perhaps dump it in the river...

Something bumped her arm and she cried out, whipping around and searching frantically, only to find nothing but the hazy, empty street. She thought she heard her name yet again and her eyes darted about, but still she saw no one.

Deciding it was just the wind, she ventured forward and had only taken half a step before she was suddenly there, in the park, staring at the river.

Thump-thump... Thump-thump...

Puzzled, her brow knitted as she peered down at the mass of flesh still nestled in her palms and was startled to find it was suddenly beating again. Blood began gushing from the ventricles, spraying her clean clothes. "No, no, nonono –" She let out a horrified shriek and chucked the heart as far as her arms would allow, then turned and started to run.

At once, she slammed face-first into something both firm and yielding at the same time; something warm, that smelled of cedar and sage...

"Shh, Delilah, it's alright," she heard a familiar voice, low and soothing. Strong hands were holding her arms and she blinked rapidly to find a red, paisley tie directly in her line of sight.

"D-Doctor Lecter?" She croaked, her throat raw from screaming.

"Yes, good," he murmured, bringing a hand to her face and tilting her head to either side as he studied her eyes. "Do you know where you are?"

"I..." She tried to look around, to remind herself, but he held her head firmly in place.

"No. Eyes on me, Delilah," he commanded, and she focused on his mouth as he asked calmly, "Where were you, just now?"

"The... river." She cleared her throat and winced, glancing past him and finding the familiar light fixtures of the café. "It was just in my head," she muttered, looking back to his face.

"What were you doing before you came to be at a river?"

"I... I don't remember," she replied honestly.

Hannibal chewed his lip a moment before he released her face and pressed two fingers to her throat, checking her pulse and finally giving her a chance to survey her surroundings. The café was empty now, save for three people huddled around a table to her right. Maggie, Britney, and Will were all staring at her – the two females looking utterly terrified, while Will just seemed incredibly uncomfortable.

'Of course he's uncomfortable,' she thought while stifling a yawn, 'this is the second time you've gone off your rocker around him.' She frowned then, realizing she'd forced Maggie to close the café early – though, to be fair, the woman was known for keeping the place open late, or closing it on a whim as early as she pleased; but on top of that, she'd never even had the chance to try playing matchmaker with Will and her sister.

She wished she could remember what had brought it on, but the harder she thought about it the quicker it slipped away.

"I'm sorry," she whispered to the group. A chorus of 'no's and 'don't you dare' sounded at once and she smiled sadly at them, before looking back up to Hannibal; he had already finished checking her pulse at some point, and was now merely studying her.

Delilah swayed on her feet as she tried in vain to tamp down another yawn, but he caught her around the middle and began silently guiding her out of the building. She leaned heavily against him, her feet dragging on the concrete as her eyelids fluttered shut.

"Ah-ah, not yet," he murmured, giving her a nudge. She forced her eyes open and found they were outside now, his black Bentley just a few car lengths down the road. "Don't make me carry you."

Her lips twisted into a sleepy grin. "I wouldn't mind..."

"Behave yourself," he chided, though she could swear she heard a hint of a smile in his tone as well.

After a slow and arduous trek, she finally fell into the passenger's side of his car, and watched lazily as he leaned over her to put the key in the ignition and turn on the heater. His face passed less than an inch from hers as he slowly ducked back out of the car, and she leaned up to catch his lips – but his hand landed square in the center of her chest, keeping her pressed against the seat.

"We have an audience," he said, as he busied himself with fastening her seat belt for her and dutifully ignored her pouting.

When he backed fully out of the car and shut the door, her head lolled to the side to find Will and Maggie standing on the sidewalk. Their concerned and nervous gazes, as Hannibal stepped up to speak with them, were the last thing she saw before she settled into the plush leather seat and fell fast asleep.