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“I sense it,” said the gaudily dressed woman, waving her ring covered fingers about, with rather frantic motions. “Over there!”
She pointed to the dust covered window sill, directly before her.
Hannibal, standing behind the group of six “ghost hunters”, gave a careful amount of consideration as to which one would suffer an 'accident' first. His ghostly form had been bristling from the moment the group came in, defiling his rooms with their camcorders, voice recorders, magnetic field detectors and temperature gauges. He could not move, without a piece of electronic equipment touching his ghostly body. The 'hunters' had then started arguing about where they were going to start their 'investigation'. It was at this point that the 'psychic' started picking up on his 'aura'.
Not his aura, Hannibal thought.
Its aura.
It.
According to this group, he was not an ex-human, still with the requisite desires and needs that being formerly of body entailed, but an it.
“Yes, I think I sense him too!”
Well, at least the teenage boy, with the overgrown nose and unfortunate acne, had not labelled him an 'it'.
If Hannibal concentrated, he could effect physical contact with objects, even people.
Yes, causing contact with a sharp object, directed towards the gaudily dressed 'psychic', would be very gratifying, at this point.
No, no, he told himself that this would not be pertinent.
If another one died, there would be, once again, more disturbing his habitat; police officers, coroners, forensics.
Hannibal decided, for the moment, to back down.
*
“It's just that the female serial killer mind is... interesting. There aren't many about,” Freddie leant back in her chair, taking another sip of her red wine.
“That is true, but, in my experience, sociopaths bare many of the same qualities, regardless of gender,” Bedelia, sitting opposite, reached for the wine bottle, on the coffee table between them, pouring herself another glass.
“I've requested to meet her, in the prison. Perhaps you'd like to join me. May be an interesting case for you to study.”
Bedelia smiled apologetically.
“I'm not going to convince you to come out of retirement, will I?”
Hannibal then entered into the room, straight through the door. The two women instantly reached for their coats, pulling them on.
“Ghost hunters bothering you, Hannibal?” Bedelia asked, looking around herself, blankly. “There isn't going to be another 'accident', is there? Caused such a ruckus, last time. You do know how I like my quiet time.”
“Oh didn't bother me,” Freddie smiled.
“Yes, I read that article. Don't know if branching out into the paranormal is doing much for your readership,” Bedelia looked back to her friend.
Hannibal drifted over and sat, on the couch next to Bedelia. As usual, neither looked at him directly, though Bedelia shifted her arm, slightly, away from him.
“This may interest you, Hannibal,” Freddie said. “Frederick has placed the apartment back on the market again.”
Hannibal slumped his head. No, this was not 'interesting' to him.
Far from interesting.
He rose and moved out of the room.
“Well, he was quiet, tonight,” Freddie laughed.
*
In the next few weeks, Hannibal watched the comings and goings of the prospective buyers,with a desolate air. He didn't even bother letting himself be known to them. The general atmosphere of the place, alone, seemed to be enough to stop a lot of them from returning.
On the third week, the man arrived.
He stepped into the lounge room, from the foyer, looking about with clear interest. There was a vulnerable quality to him, in the slightly demure way he tilted his head, the nervous energy that permeated his movements.
As Frederick walked him through the apartment, Hannibal followed, admiring the man's form. In life, Hannibal had been an aesthetic man, appreciating beauty, in all guises, including human. He decided that if this man wanted to stay, perhaps he wouldn't mind.
“What did you say you did?” Frederick asked.
“I'm a lecturer,at the university.” The man's voice was soft, cultured.
“Ah... what is your expertise?”
The man hesitated. “Criminal psychology.”
Hannibal felt as spike of excitement rush through his spirit body.
The man pulled his black coat tighter around himself, as a visible shudder ran through his slender frame.
Criminal psychology.
Could it be possible that this man knew of Hannibal's history?
Surely so. Hannibal was not one to believe in coincidences.
“Well, I'll certainly think about it," the man said.
“Please do, Will,” Frederick's smile did not reach his eyes.
Will.
Beautiful, vulnerable man, in appearance.
However, there was something to this one, a transgression that hid in the seeming calm blue eyes.
Hannibal thought back to his profession, when he was alive. Yes, this one would be fascinating to look into.
“It certainly has an atmosphere to it, doesn't it?” There was a certain terseness to Will's laughter.
Hannibal leant forward and breathed in his curls. His clearly recently washed hair smelt of lavendar, mixed with citrus. He could also detect a hint of mint.
“Everything alright?” Frederick asked, as Will again visibly flinched.
Will shook his head, smiled. “Nothing, it's nothing.”
*
Hannibal opened up the bathroom cabinet, and started perusing Will's medications. The other man was in the lounge room, shelving his various books, from their packing boxes, into his large, rather ornate antique bookcase. Along with the usual cold and flu tablets, panadol, anti-histamines and cough medicine, Hannibal also found valproate and zoloft.
Hannibal felt humbled that his initial assessment of Will as having some psychological, as well as medical problems, was apt.
Footsteps sounded down the hall, and Will entered the room, gasping at the open cabinet door, the medications tossed about.
“What the hell?” He started to rub his face. “It's alright, Will. Keep it together, keep it together.”
Will took a deep breath, then picked up pills scattered all over the bathroom sink, and placed them back inside the cabinet and closed it.
He then looked about himself and shook his head,
“Crazy. You are truly going crazy,” he laughed.
Will closed the bathroom door, then started to unbutton his shirt. Hannibal, now standing by the shower, took a deep, ghostly breath. As the flesh appeared, bit by bit, as though Will was performing a deliberate strip show for him, he felt an emotion rush through him; one that he did not think possible, in his current state of being.
In the past ten years, he had, in fact, catalogued every emotion, but this one.
He had been able to hug Jack, when his wife died (no lingering in the building for her), the man stating that he could genuinely feel Hannibal's touch. He had been able to effect other objects, moving them to impale people. At times, in moments of pure rage, he had even been able to lift people and throw them across the room.
Now, watching Will step out of his jeans, he started to wonder if he could touch another in a sexual way, to reach the peak of desire that he would, when he was alive. Will pulled his boxers down and off, revealing the part of himself that pushed Hannibal's lust up a notch. He suddenly wanted to kneel down, take the man's member into his mouth, to bite down, deep, devour.
No, not just this man's member, every part of his body. To tear open his abdomen, feast on his intestines, drink his blood, lick the tears from his face-
Well, well... this was interesting...
Hannibal's ghostly body had responded to his fantasy.
After the unfortunate incident with the police (as he referred to it as, in what constituted his ghostly mind) he suddenly found himself standing over his bullet riddled body. This 'spirit' body, held the same functions of his other body, apart from the need to eat, drink, defecate or urinate. However, he could talk, breath, feel emotions, touch, smell, hear, see, even taste, if need be.
Now, it seemed, there was one other act he could be capable off.
He watched Will step into the shower, turning on the water and lathering his body with soap.
No, he decided, ghostly eyes travelling down the lines of the physique. He didn't wish to eat this young man, he wished to have him, take him hard.
The thought was suddenly so alluring that he groaned aloud.
Will gasped, suddenly turning to look directly at him. For a moment, Hannibal was certain that the other man had actually seen him, before Will turned away, quickly turning off the shower and fumbling for a towel.
*
Hannibal stood over the sleeping beauty, watching him spasm under a clear nightmare, his face scrunched up in clear anxiety.
“Sh...” Hannibal said, reaching down to stroke his cheek. “What do you see?”
Will didn't reply, simply continued to twitch. Hannibal lay down on the bed beside him, placing his ghostly arms around his waist and pulling him closer to him. Will moaned, the timber of the sound seemingly more of fear than pleasure.
“It's alright...sh...” Hannibal breathed in his hair again, that same earthy smell. He kissed the side of his neck. Will ceased twitching. “You are very aesthetically pleasing to me.”
He pulled up Will's pyjama top, stroking the flesh of his stomach, before moving his hand down further, to fondle his penis.
Yes, interesting. Hannibal found himself once again responding to this.
Will moaned, once more.
Hannibal pressed his ghostly erection into the small of Will's back, pulling him tighter to himself, lips descending on his neck.
Will started to tremble.
Would it be possible? Hannibal wondered, moving himself down, so his erection now rested against the back of Will's pyjama pants. Could he do this?
He moaned aloud, biting down hard into Will's neck.
In that instance, Will's eyes flew open. He screamed, a sound of such raw terror, that Hannibal reluctantly backed off.
Will sat up, reaching across to flick on the bed light, on the cluttered bed stand, his breath coming in pants, his eyes wide, face flushed. He looked around himself, for a moment his eyes locking on Hannibal, standing by the bed, before sliding away to stare blankly around the room.
Will shook his head, slumping back down on the bed.
“Nightmare,” he said. “You're alright, Will. You're alright.”
*
“I can see why you've let him stay,” Bedelia said, as she poured her first morning coffee into her mug. “He's very pretty.”
“He works for the university. Lecturer on forensic psychology,” Hannibal watched her spoon cream into her mug. This, he approved of. He did not, however, approve of her instant coffee. For a few years, he had unsuccessfully prompted her to buy a proper coffee machine.
“Ah... so brains as well as beauty. Does he know about you?”
“I don't think so,” Hannibal said. “Which is a shame, as I know I would be an excellent case study for him.”
“If you like, I can get Freddie to have a chat to him, about the history of the place.”
“He has anxiety and a tendency towards nightmares. It's clear that he empathises deeply with his subjects, which adds to his anxiety.”
“Psychoanalysing him, already?”
“I fear that learning of my crimes may also increase his anxiety.”
“And cause him to leave,” Bedelia finished for him. “You do realise that he will find out eventually?”
“Yes, I do. That is not what I wish to discuss with you.”
Bedelia took a sip of her coffee, then moved to the kitchen table, pulled the chair out and sat down.
“I fear his own social disorders are keeping him from hearing, or feeling me,but for when he sleeps, where he becomes very distraught, if I touch him.”
Bedelia frowned, taking another gulp of coffee.
“As a psychiatrist yourself, I do not need to remind you that people do become distraught if you touch them without their permission.”
Bedelia still referred to him as a 'psychiatrist', despite his current lack of profession. It was enough to cause a rare, ghostly smile.
“I am also the Chesapeake Ripper,” he reminded her. “ In life, as well as death, I tended to work outside what would be deemed 'normal' behaviour.”
“But you never molested or raped any of your victims.”
“There is always a first for everything.”
Bedelia was professional enough to mask any discomfort she felt from this conversation.
“May I ask what you have been doing to Will, while he sleeps?”
Hannibal realised that she had deliberately used Will's name, to humanise the man to him.
“It fascinates me, in this state, that I can achieve sexual arousement. Last night, I technically molested him but did not take it any further. He screamed, when I rubbed my erection on him. It was clear that he was terrified.”
Something flashed in the blue eyes then, a momentary sign of her disgust.
Hannibal told himself that she was slipping.
But then, she had been retired now for five years.
“Why didn't you take it further?”
“Because it may increase his anxiety further and I don't wish to harm him, in such a way.”
“How do you feel about him being terrified by you, by your own words, molesting him, while he slept?”
Hannibal considered this. “Fascinated. That he can sense me, but not hear me, like you can.”
*
“Well I guess that explains why the price was so damned low,” Will shook his head.
Hannibal stood next to the warm fireplace, arms folded, glaring at Freddie.
“There's more...” Though Hannibal knew that Freddie could only hear, but not see him, she still glanced in his direction. “This apartment is meant to be... haunted, by Hannibal Lecter.”
Will looked at her with a curious expression, before breaking up with laughter.
“Just what I need! Still, would be good for my classes, I guess. The Chesapeake Ripper, you say?” He grinned. “Look, I'll be fine. I'm not scared of ghosties or ghoulies.”
“Well,” Freddie looked at her watch. “I've got to go. Let me know if you have any more questions.”
Will nodded. “Thanks for telling me. Actually, I may look into this further. If I asked you, would you share everything you know about the case?”
“Don't trust her,” Hannibal said.
“Sure thing,” Freddie thrust out her hand. “Nice to meet you.”
Hannibal followed her out of the room. As she walked down the hall, to her apartment, Freddie suddenly stopped and spoke. “He had to know about you, Hannibal. Just be thankful I didn't tell him what you did to him, while he slept. Yes, Bedelia told me what a creep you've been.”
Hannibal allowed his wrath to build, the lights in the hallway flickering. The one directly above her suddenly exploded, sending glass down towards her head.
“Oh stop that!”
She didn’t sound the least fearful of him.
*
Will sat on his lumpy lounge chair, aimlessly flicking through the television channels.
“Will...” Hannibal said.
The other man didn't respond. He placed the remote down.
Hannibal sat next to him, placed a hand over the long fingers. Will moved his hand away.
“Will...” He leant forward. Will's aftershave had a pleasant, slightly bitter odour. He pressed his lips against the soft flesh of Will's neck. The other man brought his hand up and rubbed at the place where Hannibal had just been, frowning.
“I know you can hear me,” Hannibal said.
Will stood up and moved to the coat rack, by the front door.
Hannibal watched, with some consternation, as he put on the coat, picked up his keys, and opened the front door, before slamming it behind himself. A few minutes later, Hannibal walked over to the window, and watched the slim figure walk down the street outside. Hannibal continued to look through the window, until Will was out sight. A long time ago, he had discovered that he could not leave the building. Every time he tried, he simply found himself once again in his own ex-rooms. He had since given up on attempting to leave, not having the need to...
Until now, that was.
*
An hour later, the key in the door turned. Hannibal had spent the time pacing the floor, considering his next move.
“Here, we are...sh!” Will stepped in, beckoning behind himself. Scuttling sounded, before a small terrier dog ran into the apartment. It reached the edge of the lounge chair and suddenly stopped short.
“Ok, so I'm going to give you a wash-” Will began. The terrier stared up in Hannibal's direction.
Hannibal stepped towards the animal. It scuttled back.
“You can see me, can't you?”
The animal started to howl.
“Sh! Sh!” Will ran over and bent down, attempting to reach for the dog. It broke away from him and ran for the front door, barking and scratching at the wood with its paws.
“It's alright...” Will said, calmly, coming over to the terrier again, and kneeling down. “Let me-”
He reached around its waist, in an attempt to pick it up. The dog spun its head around and dug its teeth deep into Will's forearm. He cried out in clear pain, dropping the dog. It then turned back to the front door and started to scratch at it, once more, yapping loudly.
“Alright, alright...” Will opened the door and the dog bolted out.
He then closed it behind himself and then leant his back against it. For a moment, he appeared distraught, before his face broke out into mirth.
“Silly dog...”
He started to walk across the floor and suddenly stopped, frozen, on the spot.
“Will?”
Will swooned to the floor, starting to jerk, uncontrollably. Recognising a grand mal seizure, Hannibal knelt down and gently rolled him onto his side, placing his knee up, into recovery position.
“It's alright,” he said, gently stroking Will's back. As Will froze, in the 'tonic' part of the seizure, Hannibal took the opportunity to loosen his shirt, unbuttoning the first two, then three buttons, before unloosening his belt. Hannibal hesitated, then undid the rest of the buttons, as Will started to jerk about, once more.
“Sh.. sh... it will be alright.” He tenderly ran a hand through the soft curls, considering what to do. Morally, he should go to Bedelia or Freddie's, tell them to ring for an ambulance.
But then, Hannibal didn't consider himself a moral person.
Will stopped seizing and went very still. The seizure had lasted less than one minute.
“It's alright,” he repeated, lying down beside the smaller man and tenderly wrapping an arm around his waist. Will's breath was now deep and even.
“Will?”
Will did not respond.
Curious, Hannibal's hands started to wander. Will did not respond. He bit gently into the soft skin of the neck before him.
Nothing. Will was still deeply unconscious.
“May I?” Hannibal asked, gently pulling Will's track pants, then boxers down to his knees.
It would be too easy. Yes... and why not?
He could do everything he wanted. Hadn't he always? Besides, none of this was real.
He wasn't actually taking Will.
The tightness and heat, as he tenderly breached the opening felt real, however. Will did not make any noise, breath even, heart a steady pulse beneath Hannibal's fingers upon his neck.
He started to move, groaning, clutching at the erection made possible by the seizure. Shuddering, Hannibal latched his mouth onto the neck before him, once more, wishing to bite down hard, to draw blood. Instead, he gently sucked.
A small whimper escaped Will's lips.
“Will?”
Nothing more.
He moved faster, taking almost scientifically detached pleasure in how real it felt, the soft flesh covering bones beneath his hands, the taste of skin and sweat on his tongue, the heat and tightness around the most pleasurable part of himself. Hannibal grunted, Will still quiet beneath him, the only noise in the room the slap of ghostly skin on skin, Hannibal's frenzied grunts. Even as Will climaxed, shooting his release onto his own stomach, thanks to Hannibal's stroking hand, he panted briefly, then was silent, once more.
Hannibal rolled him onto his front, placed his head to one side so as not to occlude his airway, then started to fuck him, hard. Another whimper escaped Will's lips, his fingers clenched on the ground. As he neared completion, Hannibal wondered whether it was possible to even release anything, as a ghost.
“Please... no...” Will suddenly sobbed.
Hannibal roared his completion, before collapsing against the other man a few long moments. He then gently pulled out, looking at the tissue from where he'd forced his way in. It appeared tender but not bruised or torn. He rolled Will back onto his side, back into the recovery position.
Hannibal ran a finger down Will's inner thigh, bringing his hand up.
If he wasn't mistaken, ectoplasm now dripped from his fingers.
*
After re-buttoning Will's shirt, and pulling up his pants and underwear, Hannibal sat back on Will's couch and waited for him to regain consciousness.
It did not take long. After less than a minute, Will started to stir. He rolled onto his front and then started to rise to his hands and knees, his body trembling.
Hannibal simply calmly watched.
Will now sat up onto his knees, violently coughing.
Hannibal did not feel concerned.
Nor did he react when Will started to vomit all over the mohair rug he'd been lying on.
He stared at the vomit, face dazed, vacant.
Hannibal rose up,when Will did, the former with much grace, the latter with much clumsiness. He followed Will into the bathroom, where the younger man listed to one side, as he walked. Will opened up the toilet lid and was sick into it, once more. He then leant down, with his head against it, panting.
“Thank you,” Hannibal said. “That was most pleasurable.”
Even though he was certain that Will couldn't hear him, the other man still flinched.
*
Bedelia wasn't in her rooms, so Hannibal decided to go back to his own apartment, to where Will had been listlessly watching a cooking programme on television, for the past hour (Hannibal could not even bare to see the absolute lack of any finesse in any of the recipes.) However, a quick sweep of the rooms showed that they were, in fact, empty.
Hannibal clamped down on the disappointment that this caused. No matter, he told himself. He'll be back soon. To fill in time, he decided to visit Jack, living directly above.
Hannibal entered and stopped short.
Will sat on Jack's lounge chair, a mug in hand. Jack, seated in a leather recliner opposite, rested his eyes on Hannibal. He nodded, to show that he was aware that he was there, then focused his attention back on Will.
Unlike the others, Jack could see Hannibal but not hear him.
“So you're no longer working for the FBI?” Will asked.
“No, I'm still there. I've just taken some leave.”
Hannibal waited for Will to ask the nature of the leave, and for Jack to talk about the death of his wife. Instead, Will simply nodded. Both were silent a moment.
“I always hoped you would come back, help us with a few cases.”
A slight flush discoloured Will's cheeks. “You know I couldn't do that.”
“I know that your empathic nature can be-”
“You don't know what I have to deal with!” Will suddenly snapped.
“I'm sorry,” Jack said. “I just thought you were brilliant at what you did, that's all. Saved a lot of people's lives.”
Will was silent a long moment. “Thank you.”
“Are you alright, Will? When I found you in the hall, you didn't look too well.”
“To be honest, I really don't feel well. I feel... some thing’s not right.”
“Do you think you need a doctor? Because I can take you to the hospital-”
“No...I'll be alright. I'll be fine.”
*
Bedelia closed the front door behind herself, before placing her keys on the hook beside it.
“How is Will?” She asked, taking off her coat and hanging it on the rack directly opposite the door.
“He suffers from epilepsy. Had a clonic tonic seizure today that lasted around one minute.”
“I assume he has medication.”
“Yes. But he isn’t taking it.”
Bedelia walked past where Hannibal stood, in the centre of the lounge room and went into the kitchen, opening the fridge.
“What did you do, when he had the seizure?”
“Placed him in recovery position, made sure his airway was patent.”
Bedelia nodded, taking the bottle of wine out of the fridge.
“Then we made love.”
“He can see you and speak to you now?”
“He can feel me, yes.”
Bedelia then placed the wine bottle back in the fridge and closed it.
“I'm sorry, but I'm a little confused here. When you say that you both 'made love', what exactly did that entail?”
“I had sexual intercourse with him, while he was still in a post-ictal unconsciousness from the seizure. I did not think it would be possible, in my current state. However, I was able to penetrate him and achieve orgasm.”
This time, Bedelia did not bother to hide her clear disgust. Hannibal watched the diffuse emotions flood over her face; disgust, anger, horror. In her very human angst over what she had just learnt, she was the very essence of artful beauty, in that moment.
“You do understand what you did? You understand that Will was not able to consent?”
Hannibal laughed. “I am a serial killer! I have no issues with the taking of a life. What made you ever think I would not stop at rape, if I so desired it?”
She suddenly appeared very pale.
“I think that you should leave this room. Please, I’m asking you.”
“I understand,” Hannibal demurred.
*
Hannibal climbed into the bed, placing an arm around the sleeping Will. The younger man flinched from the contact.
“Sh...” Hannibal stroked a hand down his arm. “I will not harm you, tonight.”
He felt content to simply lay with the younger man, for the rest of the night, to feel the rise and fall of his chest, the strong thudding of his heart.
*
“Be careful,” Hannibal said, watching the long, beautiful fingers chop up an apple, to go with the other fruit he had already placed in the blender.
As he was used to, by now, Will gave no indication that he was aware of his existence. Will threw the chopped up apple inside the machine, clamped the lid on and pressed the button.
“A little bit of ginger, love, just to give it that extra kick...” Hannibal suggested.
Sharp rapping sounded, on the front door.
Will switched off the juicer, frowning, then crossed to the entrance.
“Yes?”
“Will, it's Jack Crawford.”
Hannibal glanced at the clock. It was seven am. Jack was never up before nine.
“Will! How are you?” Jack bounced into the room, as soon as Will opened the door, with the unusual energy of a puppy.
In Hannibal's experience, Jack was a rather dour, serious person.
Something was not right.
“Tired...I don't know why I'm always tired,” Will said.
“Good, you're already dressed. Well, I was hoping to take you out to breakfast, my treat,” Jack said.
“No, I-”
“I insist.”
“That's very nice but-”
“Alright, grab your coat. Let's go.”
Will clearly sensed that Jack wasn't going to take no for an answer. Scowling, he went into his bedroom.
Jack suddenly turned to look directly at Hannibal. The look that he gave him was of the deepest loathing. Hannibal smiled back. To him, it was obvious what had happened. Bedelia had told Jack what he had done to Will.
“You are not going to touch Will again,” Jack whispered.
Hannibal smirked, as the young man returned into the room, wearing a thick winter coat and scarf. He came up behind Will and placed an arm around his waist, kissing his neck and looking at Jack, as his victim flinched.
“You alright, Will?” Jack asked, glaring at Hannibal.
“Nothing... just, you know that feeling when someone's walking over your grave, so to speak?”
Keeping contact with Jack, Hannibal ran a tongue along Will's earlobe.
Hannibal was willing to give the FBI profiler credit. He did not break eye contact, as Hannibal continued to molest Will in front of him.
“Come, Will. We're getting out of this building.”
Hannibal let go of Will and stepped back. He felt that he had made his point.
Besides, there was another he felt compelled to visit.
*
Bedelia sat on her bed, cross legged. Freddie was in the computer chair opposite her, jigging her leg up and down, in seeming nervous fashion. Another, dark-haired woman stood up against the glass wardrobe, arms folded. It occurred to Hannibal that all three were clearly waiting for someone. It further occurred that this person, or spectre, was him.
He came into the room and sat down beside Bedelia, on the bed.
“Can you feel him?” Bedelia asked the dark-haired woman.
“I more than feel him,” she said. “I can see him.”
“Hannibal, this here is Alana,” Freddie said. “She used to be a psychiatrist, too.”
“Whatever you have planned, it won't work,” Hannibal said.
Both Freddie and Bedelia suddenly rose up, and moved to stand beside Alana.
“We think it's time for you to go now, Hannibal. You are no longer wanted in this building,” Freddie said.
Hannibal laughed. “You can't make me go.”
Alana took out a small pouch and started to pour a white substance out of it, walking around the bed, murmuring.
“A wiccan? I would really not recommend angering me,” Hannibal warned.
“More a high priestess,” Alana looked straight at him.“With power enough to banish you.”
“But I don't wish to be banished.”
“Too bad,” Freddie said.
“I'm trying to decide, right now, which of you three I wish to kill first. Actually, the answer is too easy.”
With a flick of his hand, he threw Alana across the room. She went sprawling against the chest-of -drawers opposite the bed. With catlike grace, she picked herself up.
“You will be banished from this place!” She picked up another small satchel from out of her pocket, opened it, and threw the belongings onto him. He winced.
“What is this?” He asked, more fascinated than fearful, as the dark, dirt like substance started to eat way at his ghostly body, feeling sharply painful, like acid.
“You are banished from this place!” She shouted again.
All three women now stood around the bed, staring at him with fierce concentration.
“You are banished from this place!”
Hannibal decided to do some concentrating of his own. He started to gather his energy, focusing his anger.
“You are banished from this place!” Alana shouted.
The bed started to shake.
“You are banished from this place!”
Hannibal allowed his fury to give him power, which he then launched at the high priestess. She screamed, staggered back a few steps.
Freddie looked to her with concern.
“I'm alright.” She came forward again.
Hannibal then felt something rush through him that he had not felt in years, if ever.
No no no this was not possible.
She should have been thrown across the room, into the wall, with force enough to kill her.
“You are banished!”
Hannibal looked down at his hands... or rather, where his hands were meant to be. They had vanished.
What's happening to me?”
“Banished!”
His arms were starting to vanish as well.
“Banished!” Now all three women were repeating the same intonation, over and over.
“Bedelia!” Hannibal cried out, watching his ghostly body start to shimmer, then vanish before his very ghostly eyes. “Please, help me.”
“I'm sorry, Hannibal.” She did, indeed, look as though she meant it.
I will not allow this to defeat me.
Hannibal closed his ghostly eyes, hearing the words and feeling his body start to dissipate, to who knows where.
*
Footsteps.
Two sets.
Hannibal rushed to the bars of his subjugation, with some anticipation. Since his banishment from the apartment block, back to the cell that occupied the other half of his life, not many people had visited, to converse with him.
“I wouldn't be too worried about tomorrow. I know it's been a while, but you'll be fine. You always were one of the best.”
Interesting.
Jack Crawford.
“I'd be lying if I was to say that I'm not a little... concerned about how getting back into the job will affect me.”
More interesting.
Finally, Will stood before him. Hannibal had etched the face in his mind, but he still could not account for his loveliness, made lovelier still by the vulnerable expression that he held.
Jack stood behind him, looking far less vulnerable.
From the shocked, then disgusted expression on his face, Jack spotted Hannibal straight away.
“What are you expecting to find, coming here?” Jack asked, still glaring at Hannibal.
“I'm not sure. It just felt... apt. Considering I am living in his old apartment. He was a brilliant psychiatrist, I hear,” Will said.
“He was a lot of things. Mainly, he was a cannibalistic serial killer. One of my finest catches.”
Hannibal grinned at Jack.
“He's still beautiful, Jack. I've been thinking about him, constantly.” He focused his attention on Will, who was glancing around the cobwebbed, dirty cell, with clear curiosity. “When I'm free from this cell. And believe me, I will be, I'll come visit him. Again. Will intrigues me, greatly.”
“In the end, being a serial killer undermines any good deeds a man does. That's just my opinion. I don't think we should let Hannibal take any more of our time.” Jack deliberately looked away from Hannibal, placing a hand on Will's shoulder. “Come on, Will. We need to prepare you for tomorrow.”
“You'll see me again,” Hannibal called after them, as they disappeared from view.
He then went to a dusty, weed filled corner of his cell and sat down, a vivid picture of dark curls and haunted blue eyes filling his mind, as well as a plan to eventually escape his current predicament.
Yes, he would succeed in getting out of here, he told himself.
Hannibal always got what he wanted, in the end.