Chapter 15
Port Haven Psychiatric Facility
Baltimore, MD
- 10:03 AM
"So… Are you gonna park at some point, or do we die in here?"
"This is the end," Alana replied blandly, though she was clearly fighting against a smile that threatened to surface.
Will snorted and half-sang in a shaky timbre, "My only friend, the end…"
"A 'Doors' reference — Delilah would be so proud."
The mention of Delilah set off a mild ringing in his ears and Will fidgeted uncomfortably, before slapping his hands on his legs and clearing his throat loudly. "I-If you don't stop this car, I'll be forced to dive bomb out the window. And I don't think you want to be responsible for me cracking my head open on the pavement."
"If you're stupid enough to toss yourself out of a moving vehicle, I can hardly be held responsible. Besides, I'm barely going five miles an hour — you'd have to put in some serious effort to so much as scrape an elbow, let alone crack your head open."
"Alana. We've been playing ring-around-the-parking-lot for the last f—"
"I'm hoping you'll change your mind."
"I won't."
"God damn it," she muttered, dropping her foot onto the brake and jolting them to a halt. "I know you care about Abigail. I do, too, but you need to think about yourself first for a change. You're not well!"
"I don't want to argue with you."
"Well, tough! We're arguing right now — see this?" She gestured emphatically between them. "This is us. Arguing. If you want to have any sort of relationship, you can't just run off when things get uncomfortable!"
Will simply stared at her, unsure how to respond; he took a deep breath and unbuckled his seatbelt. "I-I'm sorry, Alana, but you're not my keeper. I know you worry and I appreciate that, but I'm a big boy. I can take care of myself." He started to open the door, but Alana reached out and clutched at his arm.
"I have a bad feeling about this, Will," she whispered earnestly. "I just don't think you should do anything right now that doesn't focus on you getting better."
"For the last time, I'm fine. Really, it'll be okay."
Alana opened her mouth to argue, but he quickly tugged his arm from her grasp and stepped out of the car, pushing the door shut behind him with a definitive thud. "Thank you," he said, turning back and ducking down to look at her through the half-open window. "For the ride and… everything."
She stared at him for a long moment, mouth still half-open from her failed attempt at a retort, then pursed her lips and he saw a muscle clench in her jaw. Inhaling steadily, she averted her gaze to the windshield and appeared to deliberate her next move. Eventually, she looked back up at him.
"You're welcome, Will," she finally said. "Let me know how it goes, I guess."
With that, she sped out of the lot and Will stood there for a minute or so longer, watching the little silver car disappear down the road.
The gentle call of a mourning dove redirected his attention to the trees nearby; he watched it drop to the grass beside the walkway and nervously twitch about, pecking at the ground. "Better watch out," he muttered as he passed, slowly making his way toward the entrance of the building, "dove hunting season is coming back around… sooner than you realize."
Alana and Delilah Bloom's Residence,
103 W. Cross St, #44, Baltimore, MD
— 10:46 AM
"I'm home," Alana called out, slamming the door shut with her foot and hustling through the apartment. There was no response, so she paused at Delilah's door to carefully take a peek into her room; she found her sister seated casually at her vanity, dressed in her work clothes and putting on makeup.
"Uh, hi?"
Delilah startled slightly and turned. "Oh, hey," she replied, smiling affably. "What's up?"
"Just stopping by to change before heading in to work," Alana muttered, squinting at her. "Are you… doing alright?"
"I'm great," she said, quickly swiping some mascara over her lashes before rising from the little bench. "How about you?"
"Just dandy… You're working today?"
"I'm bored as hell, so I figured I'd go check on Maggie." She pulled on a light coat and snagged her apron from the closet. "If she doesn't kick me out on sight I'll probably stay and work the day."
"Oh, alright," she muttered, pleasantly surprised. She thought to leave it at that, but a pesky little voice in the back of her mind urged her to ask, "So, how was it?"
For just a fraction of a second, Delilah's body went entirely rigid; if Alana hadn't been staring directly at her, she would have missed it. "I'm sorry?" She replied, sounding mildly puzzled and the slightest bit… concerned, oddly enough.
"I meant, how was it, staying at Doctor Lecter's house?"
Her eyes narrowed as Delilah let out a strange, relieved-sounding titter. "Oh, um. It was nice. Such a beautiful home, you know? Cozy. I slept like the dead."
"Uh-huh…"
"What?"
"You're acting a little peculiar."
Delilah snorted and rolled her eyes as she grabbed her purse. "Whatever you say, mom," she teased, giving her a nudge with her hip as she passed. "See you later."
"It's going to rain soon. I—" She started to call after her, but the front door opening and abruptly snapping shut cut her off. "…Could give you a ride, but never mind," she muttered, staring down the hall for a long moment before shaking her head and rushing to take a quick shower.
...
When Alana finally set foot in the building it was nearly half past eleven and, though she'd arguably made good time, she didn't dawdle; she speed-walked down the hall and up two flights of stairs, to the autopsy room, only to find Beverly Katz and the two goofballs chit-chatting near the freezers like lazy receptionists lounging beside a water cooler.
"Working hard, hm?"
The three startled and turned as one.
"Where's Will?" Katz asked bluntly, handing Alana a pair of gloves and quickly putting on her own.
"He's… taking a break," she muttered, stuffing her hands into the tight latex.
"A break? Is he alri—"
"Why, were you led to believe he would be here?" She asked, raising her voice slightly.
"Jack just said to wait until someone with a badge showed up," Zeller chimed in, as he and Price began retrieving the necessary bodies from the storage lockers. "He didn't specify, but—"
"You all just assumed it'd be him," she interjected flatly. "Well, it's me. Sorry to disappoint."
"We didn't mean—"
Alana waved a hand and shook her head. "It's fine." She quickly turned back to Katz. "So, have any of you managed to do anything besides stand around?"
"We've examined the bodies plenty of times, Doctor Bloom…"
"Then one more time shouldn't be a problem."
"You do realize that our job is just to gather information, right? We're not exactly homicide detectives," she said evenly, clearly trying to keep her temper in check.
Alana sighed deeply and yanked the zipper down on one of the body bags. "Yeah, well, neither am I," she mumbled, jerking her head back and cringing at the mangled face of Matthew Nelson. "Let's just get this over with."
Paradise Café
1210 Olive St., Baltimore, MD
— 11:08 AM
"What in the hell are you doing here?"
Delilah jumped and stopped short in the entryway, letting the door swing shut behind her. Nearby customers peered not-so-sneakily over their mugs and laptops, clearly wondering whether they should be concerned about the slightly damp female shaking out her hair.
"Jesus, Maggie, you tryin' to give me a heart attack?"
Shaking a rag at the eavesdroppers and urging them back to their own business, Maggie bustled over to remove the coat and purse she'd just hung up. "You're supposed to be on vacation. Get your butt out of here, missy!"
"But I've been gone for days!"
"Not long enough!"
"Maggie—"
"No."
"Maggie, please!" She whined in frustration, yanking her things from her and forcefully hanging them back up. "I just wanted to see how you were doing, dammit!"
Maggie glared suspiciously. "Oh, really, then what's that for?" She asked, wagging a judgmental finger at her apron.
"Uh… Force of habit?"
The woman scoffed irritatedly and marched back behind the counter, causing Delilah to frown; she plucked the envelope from her purse and followed, cautiously slipping the obnoxiously bright yellow apron over her head but leaving it untied. She took a quick glance around the cafe — noting that Maggie was, unsurprisingly, working alone today.
"Just-… Just let me help out for a little while," she urged tentatively.
Maggie turned to stare her down for a long moment. Something seemed to occur to her out of the blue and her eyes softened; she opened her mouth to speak, but evidently changed her mind and merely grinned as if she'd been let in on a joke.
"What? What's that look for?"
"Mm, nothin'… What's this?" She asked, ignoring Delilah's bewildered squint and plucking the envelope from her hands.
"Just read it." Deciding to let the weird little moment slide, she slowly tied her apron as she watched Maggie unfold the paperwork and look it over.
"Well, I'll be…" She mumbled as she gave it another quick skim, mostly around where Alana had signed, before smiling up at her. "How'd he manage it? Booze? Duct tape?"
She smiled brightly and shrugged. "I couldn't care less, to tell you the truth."
"Well, same here, sugar." She beamed at her, then carefully tucked the document into the envelope and handed it back. "So, when the heck does my baby finally move in?"
"I'm not sure yet. I haven't spoken with Alana about that but… As soon as possible would be preferable."
"I'll get some people up there to evict the dust bunnies."
"Like hell, you will. I'll start on it after we close." She stepped away to stow the envelope in her purse, grabbing empty cups from a table on her way back. When Maggie didn't protest, she set about washing up, humming softly to herself as she did.
"Chopin, eh?" Maggie asked amusedly, leaning against the counter to stare at her with a goofy, knowing grin.
"What?"
"Pretty sure you're trying to hum Nocturnes there, sweetie. Since when do you listen to classical music? Heck, I don't even bother with it."
Delilah kept her mouth shut as she furiously scrubbed caked-on cinnamon from the rim of a mug, unsure how to respond without inadvertently telling her everything; though, judging by the look on her face, Maggie had already guessed well enough.
After a few moments, Maggie was still just waiting patiently and she let out an exasperated huff. "You'd just better keep this to yourself," she hissed.
Maggie blinked innocently. "Keep what to myself?"
"Don't play dumb with me."
"Oh, honey, It might as well be written on your forehead," she said with a laugh, giving her a firm pat on the shoulder. "You've got that shine in your eyes."
"What's that supposed to mean?"
"I'm gonna take a stab and say you had a very eventful night… Maybe even morning, too. He does seem the type."
Delilah somehow managed to choke on air and coughed awkwardly. "I-I'm sorry, who?"
"Oh, stop. I may play dumb once in a while, for fun, but I'm not stupid."
They stared each other down, with Delilah refusing to speak, and she suddenly remarked, all too casually, "Y'know, I'd bet my last dollar that that handsome psychiatrist of yours has an affinity for classical music."
"I-I… I wouldn't kn—"
"Bingo."
"Fuck," she snapped, shooting Maggie a warning glare. "Just keep your mouth shut about it, will you?"
The older woman mimed locking her lips and tossing the key. "Hey, like I said, life's too short. I'm glad you found someone… and that doctor, no less. Didn't you say he used to be a surgeon? I'm sure he's great with his hands, eh?"
Delilah groaned and rubbed her forehead, trying to scrub out that last sentence, when the bell above the door chimed and they both glanced up. A veritable hoard of new patrons were rushing in from the ever-increasing rain. "Oh gosh, would you look at that? Guess it's a good thing I stopped by."
"Ah, hell," Maggie griped, pushing a lock of gray hair out of her face and absently dusting off her apron. "We'll talk later," she whispered pointedly, tossing her a wink before smiling brightly and bustling off to greet the new customers.
Port Haven Psychiatric Facility
— 10:26 AM
Pushing the door open and shuffling in, he offered what he hoped was a pleasant smile to the receptionist.
"Good morning," she said politely. "Who are you and what can I do for you?"
"Hi. Uh, Will Graham. I'm here to see Abigail Hobbs… I work with the FBI?" He fished out his wallet and showed her his driver's license. "I-I've been here before, with, uh, Doctor Bloom and Doctor Lecter?"
"Ohh, right, yes," she said, giving his license little more than a cursory glance before handing him a visitor's list to sign. "Good to see you again, Mr. Graham."
"Just call me Will," he mumbled, swiftly jotting down his information and handing the clipboard back to her.
"My my, our Abby is quite popular today," she muttered absently to herself, as she scratched his name onto a slip of paper and stuck it into a flimsy, plastic badge.
Will took the badge and clipped it to his shirt. "Pardon?"
"Oh, it's just that she hasn't had anyone come to see her since her last appointment with Doctor Bloom. You're her second visitor before noon today."
"Who—"
"I think you'll find her in the commons; through the only open doors, down the hall and to the left," she cut him off distractedly, already focusing on her computer screen again.
"O-okay… Thanks."
Rounding the corner to enter the common area, anger swept over him when he caught sight of an unpleasantly familiar mane of flaming red curls. Hands clenched, he stormed across the linoleum floor and barely registered Abigail's pleasantly surprised expression turn to startled bewilderment as she watched him approach.
"What the fuck are you doing here?" He spat quietly, only just managing to stop himself from grabbing Freddie Lounds and yanking her out of her chair; he settled for slamming a hand upon the table directly in front of her, instead.
"HEY," an orderly hollered from his folding chair beside the entrance. "Nuh-uh. None of that."
Freddie had startled slightly but, to her credit, hardly seemed otherwise fazed. "Good morning to you, too, Mr. Graham."
"What is she doing here?" He turned and snapped at Abigail, feeling an immediate twinge of guilt as she jumped and stared up at him with fear in her eyes. "I-I'm sorry," he muttered, taking a step back from the table. He hesitated for a moment, then moved to gently grab Abigail by the arm. "C'mon, let's go for a walk."
"Um, excuse you. We were in the middle of an interview," Freddie said, tapping her finger on a small recording device in the centre of the table.
"Sh-She says I can write a book," Abigail piped up, having sense enough to look ashamed as she spoke. "Or… I can have a book written about me o-or something."
"For fuck's sake," he mumbled, releasing her and turning to Freddie.
"She's just a young girl and she's lost her whole family!" Freddie declared, as if he wasn't already painfully aware. "She needs to be able to take care of herself — start fresh — and this could—"
"Give me a break," he interrupted with a scoff. "Don't you dare try to tell me you actually care about her."
"Of course I do. I'm here, aren't I? She told me not ten minutes ago that she never has any visitors unless it's Doctor Bloom, and even then she's only here for psych evals."
Will winced and looked imploringly at Abigail. "I'm so sorry. Things just—"
"Keep coming up? I know… It's fine, really," she muttered, sounding very much to him like it wasn't.
Frowning in a way that Will had to admit seemed genuine, Freddie slowly rose from her seat and stepped closer to him. "It seems like I'm the only one around here who's concerned about her future. Therapy is all well and good, but if she's supposed to have a life after all of this, she needs money for college… Preferably somewhere out of state, so she doesn't get treated like a freak for the rest of her life."
"She's not a freak."
"I didn't say she was."
'Just kill this bitch already, jeez.'
"What?" Will whipped around for the source of the voice — a voice he vehemently refused to admit was all too familiar — but among the various patients quietly meandering the facility, he could find no one who seemed to have been talking to him. He turned his attention back to Abigail and Freddie, both of whom were staring at him in confusion.
"I said, I didn't say she was a freak," Freddie repeated slowly. "I just meant, well… People talk, you know."
The voice laughed and Will took a step back, closing his eyes tight and shaking his head in an effort to fight it off.
'Can't ignore me. And I'm over here, dumbass.'
He looked up cautiously and finally found Garrett Jacob Hobbs waving at him from an armchair by the window. "Go away," he muttered through gritted teeth, trying desperately to keep his voice down.
'Nah, I'm good.'
"Pardon?" Freddie asked, her eyes darting from him, to the chair, and back again. "Is everything alright?"
Abigail's brow twisted with concern. "You look sorta… clammy," she said, leaning up to touch his forehead.
He lurched away from her hand and cleared his throat. "Don't touch me," he snapped, much more harshly than he'd intended.
"Yo! Whatever soap opera is going on over there, y'all better keep it down," the orderly warned, standing up and crossing his beefy arms over his massive chest; the display would have been very threatening, but now Will could see that the phone in his hand was open to some sort of colourful candy game — which made him decidedly less intimidating.
Still, Will nodded jerkily and apologetically raised a palm at the glowering man. "Sorry," he called, before lowering his voice and looking back to Abigail. "Really, I'm sorry. I'm just, uh, feeling a little under the weather. Wouldn't want you getting sick."
She inhaled deeply and sighed, offering him a sad smile. "Sure. But, um… If you don't mind, I think we were almost done. I-I could meet you in the greenhouse when we're through?" She offered, gesturing to the doors with her thumb.
Garrett snorted from somewhere much closer and Will fought not to react when he found the dead man now standing beside Freddie Lounds.
'Sheesh, what a stench. This chick wears more cheap perfume than a desperate teenager.'
Shutting his eyes tight enough to see colour bursts, Will pivoted away from them and accidentally slammed into a patient walking by. "Shit, sorry," he muttered, catching the girl before she could fall. Sheets of platinum blonde hair shrouded her face as she stared down at the floor, seeming to mutter incoherently to herself. "A-Are you…"
Before he could finish, her head suddenly whipped to the side and there he saw what he thought was Delilah's pale face, spattered in blood. It splashed in viscous strings across her lips and poured like red syrup down her hair. "Everyone thinks they can trust him but they can't," she whispered. "They can't…
"Can't…
"Can't…
"Cat's… gonna be out of the bag soon. You know. You know he's not what he seems."
He vaguely heard someone ask what he was doing, but he could only focus on her. "W-What? Who?"
"But who is? No one," she continued, ignoring him. "Not me. Not them. Not even you. Thinking you're a saint… You've sinned, like the rest of us." Her mouth split into an impossibly wide, twisted grin and he watched in horror as her tongue lolled out to lave the strings of blood from her lips. "He's just so much better at it…"
With blood thickly coating her tongue, she began to laugh, but it was a discordant, consuming sound that pierced his eardrums and caused his head to throb. He slapped his hands to his ears and opened his mouth to scream at her to stop — when, quite suddenly, she did.
She fell completely silent, her once contorted face now blank, and turned away, prompting him to grab her roughly by the shoulders and swing her back 'round. The face staring up at him then looked nothing like Delilah anymore; wide, red-rimmed, hazel eyes gazed at him in terror and her thin, dry lips were moving rapidly, but he couldn't comprehend a word she was saying. "Wh-What the hell was that?" He demanded, giving her a shake. "What were you talking about? Who are you?"
"Look man, now you're harassin' patients and I'm gonna have to ask you to leave," the disgruntled voice of the orderly cut in.
Will's grip on the girl tightened and he shook his head. "I need to know what she was talking about."
The man laughed humorlessly. "Real funny, my guy. I know you see her mouth move but you ain't never gonna hear a sound — that girl is mute. Now get your hands off her and get the hell out of here before I put you out."
He stubbornly shook his head again. "No, I know what I heard!" He gave the girl another shake, but still she just stared up at him. "Who were you talking about; who can't we trust? Is it Han-"
A large hand landed heavily on his shoulder and, in a knee-jerk reaction, Will let go of the woman and threw his arm backwards; he both felt and heard his elbow smash into cartilage.
"Alright, now you fucked up," the man snarled thickly. Before Will could even attempt an apology, two-hundred-and-fifty pounds of muscle slammed into him and his head bounced off the linoleum like a ping pong ball, sending blinding sparks of pain shooting behind his eyes before everything disappeared.
Special Agent Jack Crawford's Office
Quantico, VA
— 10:58AM
A knock sounded at the door and Hannibal glanced up from the iPad in his hands, open to the Tattle-Crime website, as Jack instructed the visitor to enter. An older gentleman with fluffy, salt-and-pepper hair quickly stepped in, pulling the door shut behind him. "Crawford," he muttered brusquely, giving Jack's hand a brief shake before dropping into the seat beside his own and flipping a notebook open; he slapped it down onto the desk and began rooting around in his pockets as he leaned near. "You must be that famous psychiatrist I've heard so much about," he said, pausing to offer his hand while blatantly sizing him up.
Hannibal chuckled. "I don't know about famous, but yes. Doctor Hannibal Lecter," he replied, accepting the man's firm handshake. "And you must be—"
"Theodore Clarke, but you can just call me Ted. Jack speaks very highly of you, Doctor — ah-ha," he exclaimed, producing a pen from one of the inside pockets of his coat.
"Pleasure to meet you, Ted. And, please, call me Hannibal."
"Alright, Hannibal. Now that pleasantries are out of the way—" He clicked the pen and yanked his notebook off the desk, setting it on his knee. "Let's get down to brass tacks. What was the name of this tabloid broad?"
"Fredericka Lounds," Jack supplied, taking the iPad from Hannibal and showing him the blog post. "She writes for this online rag, Tattle-Crime…"
Ted's eyes briefly skimmed over the screen and he snorted loudly as he looked back down, his pen flying across the page. "Boy, sure looks legitimate and spooky with all those capital letters, don't it," he muttered sarcastically. "And you've got how many cold?"
"Three bodies. Two were found in Sandy Point State Park; the third was left filleted in his own kitchen… his ex wife found him, with the family dog using his face as a chew toy."
"I'm amazed this hasn't hit us yet," he mused, his hand still moving even as he looked up at Jack. "About how long has it been since the first body was found?"
"Couple weeks."
"Damn."
"Baltimore isn't exactly known for its safety," Hannibal added. "I imagine it would take a particularly showy mass murder for anything happening here to make national news."
Ted nodded. "Right, sure. Seems like it's headed that way, though. With so many of your local stations covering this schlock," he gestured dismissively at the so-called article on the iPad, "it was only a matter of time before one of ours decided it was worth the effort to regurgitate it."
"Which is why you're here," Jack hedged, clearly nervous.
"Which is why I'm here," he repeated, finally pausing his pen with a sharp tap against the paper. "So! She's claiming you aren't doing your job. Classic. 'Oh no, the FBI hath forsaken us — we'll all be fodder now!'" He made an exaggerated face of horror and waved his hands emphatically, chortling to himself.
Jack and Hannibal both chuckled politely, the former glancing apprehensively toward the latter before clearing his throat. "Ah-ha, yeah. So…"
"So," Ted repeated, immediately serious again. "I've seen this a million times, Jack. Don't sweat it. I just need all the dirty little details of the murders and some proof of his usefulness here." He jerked a thumb in Hannibal's direction.
"Well, I can give you a redacted copy of the reports before you leave," he said, patting a folder already prepared and waiting on his desk.
"Perfect." He turned to Hannibal and smiled. "So that leaves you, Doctor Hannibal Lecter — Tell me about yourself. Whereabouts do you work; how long have you had your practice; any noteworthy accomplishments? And give me one feel-good success story to really butter them up."
Hannibal opened his mouth to reply, when Jack suddenly cut in. "Forgive my ignorance, Ted, but I'm not quite seeing how any of this is going to help?"
Ted sighed heavily and closed his notebook, dropping it and the pen on the desk before lacing his fingers and leaning forward.
"Listen," he said, tilting his head down and peering sternly up at Jack. "We gotta control the narrative here — or you do, rather. I can't just write some bullshit column about how wrong Ms. Lounds is, call her a lying bitch, and leave it at that. That would only add fuel to the fire. And we don't want that, do we?"
"Of course not."
"Right. So, what I'm gonna do-… I'm gonna report the shit out of these murders. Now, I can't make 'em headline news — like Hannibal said, murders here are a dime a dozen — but I can guarantee you it'll be in the first couple pages.
"And I'll make sure everybody knows that the FBI's BSU Head is working tirelessly on this case, himself — not some no-name agent, but the goddamn head of the behavioral sciences unit, himself.
"Oh, and who is he working with?" He continued relentlessly, refusing to give Jack a chance to butt in. "Why, none other than famed psychiatrist, Doctor Hannibal Lecter. The pair have been agonizing over this case, with the good Doctor offering his necessary expertise to compose a thorough profile on this vicious killer."
Jack was evidently stunned into silence and jumped as Ted smacked the desk triumphantly. "Bitch won't know what hit her. This is The New York Times, Jack. Nobody will trust anything she says after they've read this; hell, maybe even CNN will cover it… maybe not. But regardless, come tomorrow afternoon, Lounds' article will be — poof," he gestured with both hands as if he were scattering confetti into the air, and leaned back in his seat, "forgotten."
"Tomorrow afternoon?" Jack inquired, his brow raised in surprise.
"Yeah, no big. I'll get this written up a-sap. So long as it's done by midnight tonight it'll be in tomorrow's edition— we're a daily paper, Jack."
"I know. I just hadn't expected it so soon. Thank you, Ted." He shot a cocky grin toward Hannibal and jerked his head pointedly at the clock, which showed it was just shy of 11:20 now. "See? Told you it wouldn't take long."
"So you did," Hannibal said, acknowledging the time before turning his attention back to Ted. "Of course, your assistance is greatly appreciated but… may I ask why?"
"Why what, doc?"
Tamping down the impulse to roll his eyes, Hannibal smiled affably. "Why are you willing to do this? And so promptly? Surely you realize, should anything occur to further attempt to discredit Jack's ability to do his job, it may look poorly on you in the end?"
Ted chuckled brightly. "I don't give a hoot about that. Haven't covered a story like this in years. If anything goes south, they won't come for me; they'll just attribute it to my old age and move on."
"I see." Hannibal blinked in confusion. "Then why-"
"I mostly focus on simple, uplifting stories these days — you know, young teacher helps troubled teens get four-point-oh GPAs, or whatever — but my editor trusts me and I owed Jack a favour. We're square now, yeah?" He added, eying Jack.
"Absolutely," he replied, leaning over the desk to offer his hand; they shook once more as they both rose from their seats, with Hannibal rising as well.
"A victory for all involved, then," he commented, shaking Ted's hand. "Would you like me to e-mail you my credentials or…?"
"That'll do just fine," Ted replied, pulling a business card from another pocket and handing it over.
"I'll send everything as soon as I get back to my office."
"Great. It was nice meeting you, Hannibal."
"Likewise."
As he took the folder of crime scene reports from Jack and turned to leave, the phone suddenly rang and Jack answered. "Yeah, Agent Crawford speaking." There was a brief pause before his tone changed and he spoke a bit louder. "Oh, hello Miss Lounds."
Ted stopped to watch amusedly, as Jack put her on speakerphone and carefully set the receiver down on the desk.
"—think you need to put your 'special agent' on a shorter leash," Freddie's irritated voice filled the office.
Jack's eyes narrowed and he leaned forward, resting his knuckles on the desk. "I beg your pardon, Lounds?"
"Will Graham assaulted an innocent patient at Port Haven today."
"He did what?"
"That's right. Some poor mute woman was manhandled by your employee, right in front of Abigail Hobbs no less. She was really shaken up, too. Poor thing…"
Ted snorted lightly and Freddie scoffed. "This is hardly a laughing matter, Jack."
"No, darlin', that was me. Ted Clarke, nice to meet ya."
Her immediate dread could be felt in the profound silence that came through the phone. She seemed to collect herself quickly, however, and said smugly, "Ah, doing damage control, I see."
"Well, Miss Lounds, you left us no choice," Hannibal interjected smoothly.
Another stunned silence. Several moments passed and Hannibal thought perhaps she'd hung up; Jack seemed to think the same as he scoffed and moved to grab the receiver, when Freddie suddenly hissed, "Will Graham is a menace to society!" There was a loud clack, which told them she actually had hung up this time, and Jack laughed humorlessly.
"God damn it," he muttered, slamming the receiver on the hook.
"As much as I hate to say it, little miss tabloid blogger has a point," Ted warned. "Whoever she's talking about… You should probably try to reel him in before he causes you the kind of problems not even a column in the Times can fix."
Jack inhaled deeply and nodded. "Yeah, yeah," he mumbled reluctantly. "Anyway," he continued, smoothing out his tie and straightening up a bit. "Thanks again. I'll touch base with you soon."
With a curt nod to them both, Ted swiftly exited the room and Hannibal watched the door snap shut behind him. He turned to speak to Jack, but he was already on the phone again.
"Yes, hello ma'am. This is Special Agent Jack Crawford. I've just been informed that one of my employees caused a scene today… Yeah. Yes, Will Graham. No, no, he's not dangerous — I have business to take care of first, but I'll be there as soon as possible… If you could, I'd appreciate that, yes. Thank you." He dropped the phone on the receiver and sighed heavily, casting an exhausted glance in Hannibal's direction.
"I daresay you could use a vacation, Jack."
"No rest for the weary," he mumbled, rapping his knuckles on the desk before pushing away from it. "I need to check in with Alana. Care to join me? Perhaps you can shed some light on this mess."
"Sure," he replied, crossing to open the door. "Lead the way."
"You know, these cuts remind me of something…"
Price glanced up from the gaping chest cavity of Marilyn DeMarco and squinted suspiciously at Zeller. "If you bring up another episode of House I just might kick you in the face."
He snorted loudly. "You can try, short-stack. No—"
"What? You're maybe two inches taller than me, if that!"
"Oh shut up, both of you," Katz snapped.
Ignoring the bickering, Alana stepped over to Zeller's side. "What do they remind you of?"
"That mechanic, a few weeks back…? Dude was gutted behind his shop and his liver was removed, if I remember correctly. Jack thought it—"
"Might be the Chesapeake Ripper," she interrupted quietly. "Right, but it was just the one body and he was discarded on the ground."
"So, we figured it was just an anomaly, but… But what if… Hold on." He suddenly ripped off his gloves and threw them away as he hurried out of the autopsy room.
Alana tossed her own gloves and waited rather impatiently with her arms crossed. Just as he pushed back into the room with a file in hand, Jack sauntered in from the main door with Hannibal trailing close behind. "Hey. We were just—"
"Oh, Jack, hi! Perfect," Zeller exclaimed, turning to him instead as he flipped the file open and thumbed through it. "Here we are," he announced, pulling out a particular photograph and setting the file aside. He gestured for Jack to follow him and Alana watched as they moved to the nearest body. "I mean, just look at these cuts. Compare and contrast, if you will."
"I suppose they look similar," Jack muttered, looking from the photograph to Matthew's chest and back again.
Alana stepped up beside them and took the photo from him. Every corpse laid out before them had had their chests cut open in the exact same fashion as Joseph the mechanic's; there were no tears or other blemishes around the incisions; and every one of them had clearly been done with expert hands. "Huh…"
"The only difference between any of them is the ribs," Zeller explained excitedly. "The guy left this one's breastplate intact, but he could have just been pressed for time. The incisions are identical."
"I don't know," Katz said, sounding thoroughly unconvinced. "Just because the cuts are similar hardly means—"
"What do you make of this, Doctor Lecter?" Jack interrupted, snatching the photo back from Alana and handing it over.
Hannibal accepted the photograph and studied it briefly, then took his time walking amongst the corpses, pausing every so often to compare a certain aspect of the photograph to the injuries they could see in the flesh. He stopped back at Matthew's mangled face and glanced up with his brow raised. "I don't think it's a stretch at all to suggest that these may have been accomplished by the same person. Perhaps a prior or practicing surgeon, a medical student, or even a veterinarian… It would have to be someone with knowledge of anatomy, at the very least."
A little hiss of victory escaped Zeller, but Katz shot him a glare and cleared her throat loudly. "So, okay. Surgical veterinarian, or whatever, killed one guy… then three more about a couple weeks later? Weird pattern."
"Perhaps they're a fledgeling."
Alana's eyes widened as she looked to Jack. "Wait. I think you were right."
"I usually am, but go on."
Sidestepping his arrogance, she retrieved the photo and pointed to the date penned at the bottom right corner. "Listen. He kills one person earlier this month, checking off almost all the boxes for the Chesapeake Ripper — surgical precision, organs removed — that's two, but he's missing some key points."
"The Ripper kills in threes," Jack muttered. "And he makes a spectacle of the bodies."
"Right. So, he waits a little while and he tries again… Checks the box for three victims this time, but he only displays two. Either he got lazy, or scared, or it was just another practice run, so…"
"You're suggesting that whoever murdered these people is seeking to be a copycat of the Chesapeake Ripper," Hannibal offered, canting his head as he peered over at her.
"Well, that was my initial thought," Jack muttered.
Alana rolled her eyes. "Yes and, as I said, I think you're right. But I think the mechanic was the first victim, not the nurse. He's practicing."
There was a long bout of silence before Jack suddenly clapped his hands together and startled the lot of them. "Alright. I think our priority, now, is to figure out if any of these four people have anything significant in common," he announced. "See if we can't make an educated guess on who his next three victims will be."
"Should probably check out all of the surgeons in the hospital the nurse worked at," Alana suggested. "Check if anyone there has a flimsy alibi for the times these murders took place."
"Yes. I'll get someone on it; run some background checks…" He was muttering to himself now as he turned away and pulled out his phone, presumably to call for the poor agent, or agents, who'd be required to put in absurd amounts of overtime in the coming days or weeks.
"Alana," Hannibal suddenly said, stepping out of the way for the others to re-refrigerate the corpses and coming to stand by her side. "Jack received a call from Miss Lounds while we were in his office," he explained, lowering his voice enough to almost blend in with the racket of Jack barking orders and the tables being moved about. "Evidently Will had some sort of breakdown at Port Haven."
Her heart skipped. "Wait, what? He-… Is he okay?"
"I don't know. But she claimed he accosted a patient in front of Abigail Hobbs. I just thought you might like to check on her." He spoke very pointedly and still very quietly, keeping his gaze fixed on her and tilting his head just slightly, as if to remind her that they were in mixed company.
"Right," she muttered, swallowing uncomfortably. "Abigail. Of course." She turned to leave at once, but caught herself and tried to wait for Jack to finish his conversation.
"I'll let him know where you've gone," Hannibal assured her. "He'll be heading that way to have a chat with Will after all of this, anyway."
"Thank you," Alana hissed, walking calmly from the room until she was about halfway down the hall, then breaking out into a run.
Port Haven Psychiatric Facility
— 12:36 PM
Will awoke with a jolt and a migraine so severe, the white light of the room felt like knives being rammed into his eyes; his first instinct was to slap a hand over his face, but neither of his arms would budge. Shutting his eyes tight, he wrenched his wrists and an icy dread filled his stomach as he realized they were securely fastened to the firm cot on which he was laying.
"What the fuck," he whispered, trying to move his legs and finding they were strapped down as well. "What the fuck?! Hey! Help!" He shouted hoarsely, immediately regretting it and wincing. The ice in his stomach churned violently and he gagged on the bile that threatened to escape his throat. "H-Help," he choked out, trying to take deep breaths through his nose.
A door boomed open and footsteps slammed against linoleum, every sound feeling like a hammer cracking into his skull. "Well, well, well," a confusingly familiar male voice spoke, "look who's finally awake and still causing a god damn racket."
He hesitantly cracked one eye open and quickly recognized the gigantic orderly who'd knocked him out. The man had flecks of dried blood in and around his nostrils, with the beginnings of some impressive bruising all around his nose. "Ugh," he groaned, wishing he could massage his throbbing temples. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to elbow your f-face. Please let me go. I-I'm not dangerous."
"Man, fuck my nose. You scared the shit out of Emily, you know that?"
Chancing opening his other eye, he squinted up at the man and nodded once. The movement made him nauseated again and he groaned, squeezing his eyes and mouth shut, breathing heavily through his nose.
"Don't you dare barf on me, dude," he warned, forcing his eyes open one after the other and shining a pen light in them. He chuckled as Will hissed with pain. "Yeah, I'll bet you have a nasty headache right now, don't you? Serves you right. You're fine, though. Nurse put a bandage on your head. Y'know, I've seen my share of head wounds, but wow are you a bleeder."
"Sorry," was all he could think to say.
"I don't know what the fuck is wrong with you but I'd probably have more sympathy if you hadn't broken my nose, just so we're clear."
"I thought this wasn't about your nose," he said before he could stop himself.
"Listen, you smart mouth little shi—"
"Hey," a woman's voice cut in from out of Will's line of sight. "There's a Doctor Bloom here to see him."
"That his boss?"
"No idea. She has an FBI badge though, so…"
Heels clicked smartly on the linoleum, slowly at first, then rapidly as a third person scurried into the room. "Oh my god, Will? What's going on in here?"
He winced at the volume of Alana's voice and tried to cringe away, though he could do little more than turn his head.
"Dude attacked a patient and then swung at me when I tried to pry him off of her. Combative gets you cuffed."
"I highly doubt that," she snapped, the sharp click of her shoes growing nearer until Will felt a hand on his arm.
"He's telling the truth," Will muttered despondently. He could feel her eyes bore into him and, although he'd truly rather do anything else at the moment, he forced himself to look her in the face. "I… thought I saw s-something."
"Something…?"
The orderly cleared his throat loudly. "This man is forbidden from the premises, just so you're aware — with or without a badge, and with or without you. Until he's been seen by a professional and given a clean bill of sanity, I don't want to see him within twenty feet of this place." Alana opened her mouth to argue and he quickly put a hand up to stifle her. "If I have to, I'll call local authorities and press charges, ma'am. Only reason I hadn't yet was 'cause he apparently works for the Bureau…
"Now, I have things to do. Security will escort y'all out."
He unceremoniously ripped Will's wrist and ankle straps open, then stormed out without another word.
Alana helped him to sit upright and he turned to apologize again, but she simply pursed her lips and shook her head. Silently, they walked out of the room and were followed closely by a security guard through to the entrance of the building; the guard held the door open, waited until they'd both set foot on the sidewalk, then slammed it shut behind them. There was a long, heavy silence, punctuated intermittently by the coo of a mourning dove and the rumbling of the storm not too far away.
"I think you were right about—"
"You need to go to the hospital."
The pair blinked at each other for a moment before Will chuckled halfheartedly.
"Yeah," he mumbled, "that."
"Yeah." Alana sighed sadly and pulled her keys from her pocket. "Come on, I'll drive you."
They'd only taken a few steps toward her car when a large, black vehicle suddenly screeched to a halt in front of them. Neither needed to check the windows to know who it was.
"Just what in the hell is wrong with you, now?" Jack threw himself out of the still-running escalade and slammed a hand on the hood as he rounded it to meet them.
"Hi."
"Don't you 'hi' me," he snapped. "Leave us alone," he added, only barely jerking his head in Alana's direction, his furious eyes fixed on Will.
Biting back her clear urge to argue, she tossed Will an irritated yet sympathetic gaze, then marched over to her car and leaned against it to scowl silently over at them.
"Why didn't you tell me it was this bad? Hannibal said you weren't feeling well, but this… Attacking patients, Graham? Really?"
"I d-didn't attack anyone. She… It looked like…" He let out an exasperated groan and scrubbed at his face before dropping his arms to his sides in defeat. "Alana is taking me to the hospital."
"The hospital," he repeated quietly. For a wild moment, it seemed as though he would protest. It appeared to pain him when he finally huffed and said, "Yeah… Yeah, alright. That's probably for the best."
"You think?" Will muttered sarcastically. "I've been sleepwalking and seeing things. I stupidly thought a good night's sleep would help but… clearly, it didn't."
"What exactly did you see?"
"Which time?"
Jack merely stared at him.
"Uh, just… One of the patients looked… odd and was talking to me in riddles. I-I don't remember what she said," he lied hastily, "but, uh, y'know… Apparently she's mute, so…"
"I see."
"Yeah."
Jack inhaled deeply and let out a slow, defeated sort of sigh. "Just keep me updated. It's likely we have a copycat Ripper on our hands and I'm going to need you."
"Wait, what?"
"Jack…" Alana warned loudly and Jack shot her a scathing look before turning back to him.
"Never mind, just take care of yourself."
Will nodded stiffly, fighting the urge to ask for details. Offering him an awkward half-smile and a wave, he shuffled off toward Alana and slipped into the passenger's seat. He watched in the rearview mirror as the two shared a quick, whispered argument, before Alana stomped back to the car and threw herself inside. Mumbling angrily to herself, she mashed her seatbelt into place, then whipped the little hybrid out of the parking lot, and they were off.
Paradise Café
— 5:36 PM
"Now, just remember, I haven't been up here since y'all moved everything in. Don't judge."
Delilah paused mid-step and snorted lightly. "You're ridiculous," she muttered, hastening up the last couple stairs to follow her into the apartment.
Apart from a bit of dust and the slight, musty closet smell, everything seemed to be just fine. Delilah crossed into the living room to casually fluff the cushions of her modest little loveseat, as she watched Maggie carefully inspect the appliances in the kitchen.
"I'll get some baking soda for that fridge," she mumbled to herself, moving to check all the burners on the range.
"I can take care of all the cleaning, Maggie."
"Shush," she muttered, disappearing into the bathroom.
Listening to her checking the taps and the shower head, Delilah opened the kitchen and living room windows wide, allowing a cross-breeze to air the place out. Wandering to the bedroom to open the window in there, she heard the water shut off and it was eerily quiet for a moment. As Delilah turned, there was a sudden squeak and a thud, followed by Maggie crying out in surprise; she rushed through the adjoining walk-in closet, to the bathroom to find the woman standing precariously, half in and half out of the tub, with her hands pressed firmly against the wall in an effort to keep herself from falling completely.
"Jesus christ," she hissed, rushing to grab hold of Maggie and help her down, away from the tub. "What the hell were you trying to do?"
"I was just gonna open the damn window," she grumbled, trying to hide a wince as she pressed a hand to her lower back and stretched out a bit. "Wasn't payin' attention and I slipped, is all."
"You're lucky you didn't break a hip—"
"Quiet, I'm not that old!"
"Or your neck!"
Maggie upturned her nose and stalked out of the bathroom, clearly making an effort not to limp.
Delilah shot her a scowl, then carefully stepped onto the rim of the tub, planting one hand on the wall to steady herself, and reached up to tug on the window. It flew open with startling ease and she delicately stepped back down, smacking the light switch off and marching back through to the bedroom. She found Maggie casually poking around the dust bags that housed her shoe and purse collections. "Are you sure you're okay?"
"Oh, I'll be fine, don't make a fuss," she grumbled, waving a dismissive hand in her face. "Y'know, you never did tell me how you managed to afford all this crap," she added pensively, picking up one of the bags and peeking inside. "I sure as hell don't pay you enough to afford these fancy names."
"You sure don't," she replied with a snort, "but I have my ways."
The older woman turned abruptly, her eyebrows to the heavens, and Delilah laughed again. "All completely legal, I promise."
"Mmhm…" Maggie gave her a suspicious squint, then snickered lightly. "Alright. Well, apart from some cleaning, I'd say just leaving the windows open for a while should do right to freshen it up around here."
"Do you suppose we should worry about the rain?"
"Nah, the awnings'll keep it out. Unless it starts raining sideways, but the weatherman said it shouldn't get too crazy. You hungry?"
Delilah shook her head. "I'll just make a sandwich or something when I get back to Alana's," she said, grabbing Maggie's arm to help her out of the apartment.
Despite all the woman's protests to the contrary, she clearly needed the assistance. Once they'd finished their slow descent back down the stairs and to the front of the shop, she frowned with concern as she helped her put on her coat. "Why don't we open late tomorrow and you go see your doctor first thing in the morning?"
"Screw that," Maggie snapped, grabbing her purse with a huff. "I just need a hot soak and a good night's sleep. I'll be right as rain tomorrow — don't you worry yourself."
"Fine. Well, go on then. I'll lock up. Call me if you need anything."
"Yeah, yeah." She rolled her eyes before leaning in to give her a peck on the cheek. "Reckon I'd just be wasting my breath if I offered to drive you home…?"
"A little rain never hurt anybody," she assured her with a smile. "I can manage."
"Alright, love ya sweetheart. See you in the mornin'."
"Oh, so I'm allowed back, then?" She teased, laughing at Maggie's scowl.
"Don't test me, child."
"Alright, alright. Love you too, Maggie. Drive safe."
Delilah stayed at the door and watched uncertainly through the glass, waiting until Maggie had successfully driven away before grabbing her things from the coat rack. Transferring Hannibal's letter to the pouch pocket of her apron, she zipped her jacket up snug to her throat, to be sure it was safe should she get caught in a downpour, then stepped outside and locked the door before starting off down the sidewalk. She passed several people on her way, but didn't pay any of them much thought — until someone suddenly walked square into her shoulder.
"Hey, jeez!"
"Oh, pardon me," the woman replied quietly.
"Maybe watch where you're going?"
"Yes, of course." She smoothed out her shoulder-length, champagne blonde hair and stared down at Delilah, a searching look in her eyes. "Sorry, have we met? You… seem remarkably familiar."
Delilah quirked a brow at the stranger, observing her dull, tweed coat and skirt ensemble — complete with a pair of the most boring black Louboutin's she'd ever seen in her life. "I don't believe so… I work at the cafe up the road, though. Perhaps you've seen me there?"
"Perhaps," the stranger replied, her eyes drifting past Delilah, toward the shop. Some sort of comprehension flashed in her eyes and her lips parted as she glanced back to her, evidently startled. "I'm… sorry, again, for bumping into you. Seems I was lost in my own head for a moment."
"It happens," Delilah muttered, unsettled by the woman's behaviour. "Well…" She thought to say 'take care,' or something of the sort, but chose instead to just continue on her way. When she had quickstepped a few paces down the sidewalk, she chanced a glance back over her shoulder to find the woman still standing there, watching her go…
Not exactly frightened, but certainly bewildered and uncomfortable, she snagged her phone from her purse and made a point to hold it out in plain view as she hastened across the street. After another minute or so, she peeked over her shoulder one last time and was relieved to find that the strange woman was nowhere to be seen.
The rain decided to kick into overdrive once she'd made it about three-quarters of the way to Alana's apartment. Wishing she'd thought to bring an umbrella, she took shelter on a nearby porch and stuffed her purse under her coat, then ducked her head down and power-walked the rest of the way. Though she knew she should be more worried about Maggie making it home safely, all she could really be bothered to think about was a warm bath, a glass of wine, and the sketchbook Hannibal had sent her home with — she made a mental note to check on her at some point later, though.
...
As she set foot on the walkway leading into the apartment building, she caught sight of Alana pulling into the lot. She slowed down and waited for her to park, then crossed the lot to wait by the driver's side door, expecting her to step out. Instead, the headlights stayed on and there was virtually no movement; she squinted through the rain to find Alana just… sitting there, hands clutched to the steering wheel, staring straight ahead.
"Hey," she hollered, giving the window a swift tap.
Alana startled and turned, then yanked the key from the ignition and stepped out. Immediately, Delilah took notice that she'd been crying; she knew her own makeup was smeared to hell from the rain but, along with the black smudges on her cheeks, Alana's eyes were bloodshot, with a pronounced puffiness.
"Alana, what—"
She gave a small shake of her head that looked more like a twitch, then grabbed Delilah's arm, pulling her along as she rushed to get inside.
When they were safely inside, Delilah followed her sister into the kitchen and silently watched her pull a beer from the fridge. Twisting off the top, Alana paused to stare blankly at the massive bouquet on the counter, then turned away and tossed the cap in the bin. Leaning back against the counter, across from Delilah, she took a long, slow pull from the bottle and stared silently at the ceiling.
Delilah thought she looked as though she'd seen a ghost, but she held her tongue and waited, trying her best to stifle shivers as the warmth of the apartment slowly began to thaw her extremities.
Taking in a slow, ragged breath, Alana finally looked down and spoke, her voice hoarse and tired, "…Will had a seizure."
"He what?"
Alana took another swig and wiped her lips on the back of her hand. "He'd had a little freak out at Port Haven this morning. I was just supposed to take him to the hospital, but I let him convince me to take him home first so he could shower and eat something. We both figured he-… he'd be there a while."
"Oh, hell… Was he seeing things again?" She asked quietly, and Alana nodded.
"Evidently, he harassed a mute patient at the facility. I can't believe I let him talk me into…" She shook her head and cleared her throat. "We were almost to the house and he started thrashing around a-and… There was blood coming out of his mouth. I panicked like an idiot and just rushed him to the closest clinic. They said he bit his tongue, that's why there was so much blood."
Delilah stared at her in bewilderment. She wanted to ask Alana what the fuck she was doing here — why wasn't she with him? "Is… Is he okay now, then?"
"No idea," she clipped. "I waited for hours but they wouldn't tell me anything and wouldn't let me see him, because he's still unconscious and I'm not family. They eventually just told me to leave."
"Oh."
"All they would tell me was he's supposedly stable right now, but the tests didn't look good and they won't know anything concrete until the neurologist comes in tomorrow."
"Jesus Christ," she muttered.
"I called Jack, but of course they won't tell him a damn thing, either. I thought he would have tried a little harder, but he just left." She sniffed lightly. "Then I tried calling Hannibal, but he didn't answer."
"Probably busy with patients. I bet if you called him now, he'd answer…" Delilah suggested, watching her sister closely. Alana just shrugged and slumped toward the living room, kicking off her shoes and setting her beer on the coffee table, then dropped onto the couch to rest her head in her hands.
Delilah busied herself with moving their shoes to the spot by the door and undid her coat, hanging it on the hook; removing her apron and folding it carefully, mindful not to damage the envelope still nestled in the pocket, she laid the garment over her purse and turned back to Alana.
"Well, no sense in just sitting around worrying…" She hedged quietly, but Alana didn't respond. "Why, um… why don't you go take a nice, hot shower and try to get some rest?"
Wordlessly, Alana stood up and shuffled down the hall, snapping her bedroom door shut behind her. Delilah waited by the door and, after several long minutes, finally heard the water running. Pulling out her phone, she made a quick call to Maggie to make sure she'd arrived home safely — she had — then snagged Alana's beer from the coffee table and tipped it into the kitchen sink. With how Alana was handling the whole ordeal, she figured she probably shouldn't be drinking alcohol right now.
Finally taking the time to peel off her rain-soaked work slacks, she hung them up on the towel rack in the guest bathroom and pulled on a pair of comfy sweats, then removed the mess of makeup from her face. When she stepped out of the bathroom, she could still hear Alana's shower going, so she distracted herself with meticulously clipping the ends off the flowers' stems, as Hannibal had instructed. After making space and placing the bouquet in the fridge, she realized the apartment was now silent, so she meandered back to Alana's door.
"Alana…?" She gently rapped her knuckles on the door, but received no response. Carefully, she twisted the knob and took a deep breath before pushing the door open and found her sister sitting on the edge of the bed, dressed in her pyjamas, absently holding a towel to the ends of her sopping wet hair.
Delilah cleared her throat and moved to her sister's side, frowning as she tugged the towel from her hands. Resting a knee on the duvet, she began gently squeezing the water from Alana's hair; she then grabbed a comb and ran it through a few times, before stepping around to crouch in front of her.
"Thanks," Alana eventually mumbled.
"No problem," she replied.
Alana continued to sit in silence and Delilah sighed heavily. "Hey, listen…" She cleared her throat and plopped down obnoxiously next to her, making Alana bounce slightly and shoot her a dirty look. "There's my sister," she said with a smile. "C'mon now, they said he's stable—"
"Jack is a monster," she suddenly muttered, her voice drenched with anger.
"Wha-?"
"He knew this would happen. He knew Will would eventually break. But he just kept pushing and pushing and-… I'm so worried about him, Delilah. I-I thought he was dying. Who knew tongues bled so much?"
"Any wound on the head is gonna-… Never mind, sorry."
Alana jumped to her feet and swung around. "And Jack just-!" She shrugged exaggeratedly, smacking her hands on her outer thighs as her shoulders dropped. "He just-!" She imitated him again, smacking her legs harder. "'Not related. HIPAA violation. Sorry.'" She scoffed loudly and ran her fingers through her hair, scratching at her scalp. "I mean, doesn't he give a shit about him? He claims to need Will — no one can do what he does. But when he's unconscious in a hospital bed it's just — 'well, I'm sure he'll pull through!' What?"
She was staring at Delilah as if she should have an answer and Delilah swallowed nervously. "You're not gonna want to hear it, but—"
"Jesus fucking christ," Alana hissed, turning away.
Delilah stood from the bed and crossed her arms, trying to tamp down her annoyance. "Unless you can contact a relative tonight, there's nothing you, or Jack, or anyone can do right now. Once he wakes up and can consent to one of you visiting, everything will be fine— it will!" She shouted over another scoff from Alana. "They said he's stable, Alana. Stable. Not dead. So I suggest you take that knowledge, curl up in bed with it, and get some fucking sleep."
With that, she left the room and was unsurprised to feel the door slam shut behind her. Alana could stay mad at her as long as she liked; it didn't make a difference because, as she'd been yelling, a thought had occurred to her. She immediately ducked into her own room and grabbed her phone. Checking the time to find it was just after seven-thirty, she opted to try Hannibal's office number first.
"Good evening, this is Doctor Lecter speaking."
"Hello, it's me. I'm sorry to disturb you at work, but have you heard about Will?"
"Delilah?" He mumbled, evidently surprised. "Ah, yes, the incident at Port Haven?"
"Not just that."
"Then, no. What's happened with him?"
As she relayed the information Alana had given her, complete with her little fit about Jack, Hannibal stayed very quiet. When she was through, he cleared his throat gently and said, "That's very unfortunate."
"Yes, but, I remembered that you're also Will's psychiatrist… aren't you?"
"In a manner of speaking…" He paused, then sighed and said, "Ah, I know what you're thinking and, I'm sorry to say, I won't be of much use. Even if I were his primary physician, they wouldn't just hand over information to me. Only immediate family members and spouses, in the event that the patient is still unconscious."
Delilah huffed and dropped onto her bed, laying back to stare up at the ceiling; she could hear the faint scratching sounds of a pen on paper, as Hannibal went back to whatever he'd been doing before she called.
"I mean, I could just show up and claim to be his sister," she thought out loud. "Honestly, I don't know why Alana didn't try it."
"Panic leads to self-sabotage. She probably wasn't thinking all too clearly, in the moment."
"She's a wreck," Delilah muttered worriedly.
"Hm." There was a gentle clunk of what she assumed to be his pen hitting the desk, when he suddenly announced, "Well, I'm finished for the day. I'll see you in about fifteen minutes, give or take."
Bemused, she sat up and fumbled stupidly for a response. "Wha-… Why? Well, I mean, I wouldn't say no, but—"
Hannibal chuckled warmly and waited for her babbling to cease before speaking again. "I think we should take this opportunity to put your acting skills to the test, Delilah — shall we?"