Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

There is a death of a lamb far away. It has been slaughtered, it has always been slaughtered. A man would know better than to entertain such madness but I am no man. It is in New Orleans, the city of Mardi Gras and swamp. It is disgusting here. You find at a very young age just how hard it is to leave where you were born at, especially looking like this, feeling like this. Bugs crawling at your skin, lambs dying, millipedes, centipedes, everything awful eating away at vital organs. You cannot leave and you cannot stay.

The money came in late summer, inheritance. I inherited fifteen thousand dollars and a house when my family died. They were involved in a car accident. There was a gnawing pain. They were bad people but they were my people. My family lived in Eunice. I, the young man who desperately needed freedom and fun, lived in Baton Rouge at the time. I went to school to be a writer. I had always found a knack for it, I mostly did the paper under an alias. Perhaps it was death that led me to the swamps. More accurately it was funds and the promise of a home.

The house was two stories, fully furnished. My sister, Clara took all of my parents' things, their personal items, their pictures, their bedding, anything. She was two years younger than me. She had pretty blonde hair and brown eyes like our mother. She had worn outdated florals that went down to her knees and laced up brown boots that you would find a lumberjack in.

“You don't need all of this, Will. I'm doing you a favor. You know, you don't really need this house” She said, tugging a box to her car. I watched her in annoyance.

“What would you do with this house? You're lil’ kids would have to move schools, they'd have to relocate, you'd just make yourself depressed livin’ here” I called, the heat making me annoyed.

“Yeah… yeah you're probably right. I mean I'm being selfish, I got most of the money… I think.. How much did you get?” She called. I felt another wave of mild annoyance.

“Two thousand bucks and a house” I patted the side, the lie leaving my tongue.

“Hah! I got twenty thousand! They screwed you! Anyways, I've gotta get lil’ Amber home before her daddy comes home with dinner” She smiled at the baby left in the sweltering car. In the connotation that she spoke in I thought she might eat Amber for dinner.

My sister Clara had two children and a strange husband who could not properly form sentences without stumbling over his words. He had avoided me the best he could. I could not have cared less. Her children were Amber (Who was a one year old) and Cormac (Who was Seven and an annoyance).

Clara got into her Jeep Cherokee and left. It was satisfying to see her leave at the time, I will not lie, if she hadn't left I would not be writing from the Louisiana Federal prison.

My name is and will always be Will Graham. It will never be changed and neither will I. Throughout the years I was increasingly afraid of a head injury. I was afraid to forget who I was. So I made a simple list to bring back some memories. Not of my parents or my family because they could be easily forgotten. Of me. The list is as follows;

Under Pressure, Queen
Apocalypse Now, Francis Ford Coppola
The Great Gatsby, F. Scott Fitzgerald
The Wicker Man, Robin Hardy
Logan's Run, Micheal Anderson
Etouffee
Chocolate covered pretzels
Po’Boy Sandwich
King Cake

It was irrational but it was mine. It was my fear. Everything that had escalated had started with my neighbor. He moved in right next to my parents house. He had no wife, no children, not even a pet. He was just by himself. You could tell he was from the northern coast. He wore a suit and black boots. He had a white car and a strange smile. A striking and distinctive face. He had sharp, angular features that gave him an intense presence. His cheekbones were high and prominent, and his jawline was strong and well-defined. He had deep-set eyes that were slightly hooded. His eyebrows were thick and slightly arched, adding to his intense gaze.
His nose was straight and well-proportioned, like a ruler, and his lips were thinner, I had noticed they were often set in a neutral or stern expression. The man's skin had a rugged, weathered texture, it had grown with age, but he was not old. His hair was usually slicked back or kept short, often graying, giving me the slightest clue on his age. He was both familiar and unfamiliar. If you were to picture the perfect man you would find him in your head. He was attractive and unattractive. He reminded me of a dish that tasted amazing, looked amazing, but had one imperfection that you couldn't place. The first thing I noticed was that his shoes did not sink in the mud. They did not go under, they just floated slightly. As if he was an apparition. I watched as he struggled to open his door, the door was stuck. I had seen the previous neighbors struggle with it my entire childhood. The perfect conversation.

“The doors are the wrong size” I called from the porch as he tried to unlock it again. I watched in curiosity as he smiled to himself and looked back at me. I could absolutely not tell his age. He was either twenty or sixty.

“Sorry?” The man said, stepping to the side. I stood up a bit.

“The neighbors struggled with that door.. The old neighbors. It's too big for the door frame, you have to force it open” I said. I watched as he tried, pushing his body against it. He was too weak.

Go help him. A ghastly voice in my head said. I jumped slightly and my legs moved on their own. I walked over to the door and gestured to the door. He moved out of the way as I slammed my shoulder into the door and it opened. He smiled.

“Thank you very much, Mr…?”

“Will, Will Graham” I nodded appreciatively.

“Hannibal. Hannibal Lector” He nods. A crow suddenly crashed against the wall, splattering against the house beside Hannibal. I jumped back and gasped in disgust. Hannibal seemed even. He knelt down and picked up the bird.

“Have you lived here long?” He asked, throwing the bird into the air. The bird lands in the mud.

“Yes, but I just recently moved back in after my folks died” I nodded.

“That's so awful, what happened?”

“Car crash. But it was fine they were terrible people”

Hannibal laughed and nodded.
“Where are you from Hannibal? You can't be from Louisiana, you're wearin’ all whites and you got no accent”

Hannibal smiled to himself, an almost resigned way. It was almost like a funny joke.
“I'm from Lithuania, but I'm coming from France” He smiled. I nodded and looked into his house. Confusion filled my gut.

“Already furnished?” I asked, almost noisily.

“Yes, the movers did everything a week ago. I didn't want to come when the weather was bad”

“The weather's always bad. I'm surprised you didn't get mud on those shoes” I looked down at his shoes, they were clean and shining.

“I'm surprised too, I walked very carefully-”

A telephone rang from inside the house. Hannibal looked inside the house and turned back to me.

“Well it was wonderful meeting you Will, if you'll excuse me I have to take this phone call” He nodded.

“No problem” I said, turning and walking back to my house. My feet sunk in the mud. I looked down at them and frowned. How could his shoes be so dry?

Chapter Text

I sat at my typewriter with boredom, my head empty. I needed to finish my novel. It was my father's office, at least before I moved in. There was a need for renovation and I acted on that need. The house was new, renovated, and modern. I could see Hannibal's house from the window. I stared at the house as my boredom overtook me. He had painted it a gaudy little color. He had painted it yellow and was in the middle of resizing the door. A fan blew air into my cheek as I looked around the plains of Louisiana. I started to type.

The body sank into the disgusting swamp, the mud and filth engulfing Mr Palmer. There was a numbing sensation in James’ chest. He watched as it sank deeper and deeper. He pushed the body down with the stick, the mud bubbled and the rain fell harder. A desperate feeling quickly came rushing to James. Paranoia and disgust mixed into it too. After all he knew when he watch being watched

I looked out the window. A car pulled up into my house. Clara. Hannibal watched from his porch. His eyes flickered up to me. I quickly looked away, not turning my head but looking at a tree behind him. A pebble hit my window and I looked back at Clara, who waved excitedly. I left the room.

“You know it's kind to offer a visitor a drink, Will,” Clara said on my porch, holding her baby as her delinquent son ran around.

Cormac played with his action figures, dragging them in the dirt, making his way to my plants. I had planted angelonias and salvia's hoping to bring more hummingbirds. Cormac gazed over to them.
“Mac. Don't go near those flowers” I called. He crossed his arms and glared at me, moving away hesitantly. I watched him for a second, then turned back to Clara.

“Anyways, I heard you renovated, so I wanted to see the place” She said, touching the pillar on the porch. Amber giggled as her father grabbed her from Clara's arms.

“Mac! Get away from those flowers” I called again. He looked back at me annoyed.

“You're not even my boss or even my dad!” He said, stamping his foot.

“Buddy, get away from the flowers, this is your uncle's house we gotta respect it” His father called. Cormac groaned loudly and dramatically.

“Cormac if you don't go near the flowers we'll get a cherry pie on the way home” Clara called.

“Why would you offer him a dessert, he's already bein’ bad Clar”

“No he'll be good now!” Clara insisted.

“He loves a good cherry pie” His father leaned in, as if he was telling a secret. The truth is, the ugly truth is that Cormac did not need a cherry pie, because he was overweight. He had a sweet tooth, and so did I, but his parents do not know how to say no. It was sad, or at least it would be if the kid wasn't a prick.

“Let's go inside and see the renovations, Will,” Clara said. I watched Cormac, staring him down. He would rip up my flowers if I left him alone. I knew it. I was no gardener, I had spent two days planting them, a day researching, I had driven to town and spent money to buy them. I would not let him ruin this house.

“I won't let your kid stay outside alone” I said, watching Cormac. “You know how messy the mud is, I couldn't live with myself if I left him out here and he tracked mud all over that white interior”

Comac stared at me and I stared at him.

“Yes! You're absolutely right, let's go Cormac, inside!” Clara clapped her hands together. I watched with joy as he walked past me, kicking my welcome mat. His parents lightly scolded him and he kicked it back. From the distance I saw Hannibal on his porch and waved at him.

“How's the door going?” I called.

“Alright, we finally got one to match the frame, the original was three sizes too big” He called back. I nodded and glanced at the door, fully taken off.

“Can I have the old door… if you're not doing anything with it? I could make it into a porch swing” An absentminded request.

“Of course, I have no use for it, just tell me when and I'll help you move it!”

I nodded and looked back at Clara and her family. They had left without me and gone inside. I rushed inside to find Clara looking at the crown molding, her husband looking at the tile on the floor and baby Amber in her brother's arms and he sat with her on the couch, watching television. I went upstairs and locked my bedroom and my office. They could have any other room, just not those.

“Oh Will! I love what you've done with the place!” Clara called. I walked back downstairs to see her husband opening and closing the door.

“Did you do this yourself, shoddy job Will” He smiled as the door made no sound.

“What do you mean?”
“It's creaking, do you hear that?” He said opening and closing. I frowned. It made absolutely no sound. Clara raised an eyebrow and shrugged.

“I think he did great” She grinned, pinching my cheek. I looked back at the couch. Amber was sitting alone. Cormac was gone. I looked back. The front door was open and I heard grunting. I was about to rui

n this get together. I walked outside and saw it. Cormac was pulling out my Salvia's.
“You fat piece of shit” I called, stomping towards him. His eyes widened as he released the Salvia's from his fists. He was not expecting this. Days of work. Days. I was dead tired when I planted them. I was starving when I planted them. I was thirsty and sick. It is hard to start a garden in Louisiana? I bought six bags of mulch and dozens of pre grown plants. My living room housed about thirty to forty plants. I kept them alive, I dug all around the porch, my knees were burning and muddy. I had to buy pest spray to make sure pests wouldn't eat my plants and here it was. This prick, this brat, this waste of space was here. He tore them up like it was nothing. I walked over to them and shoved him onto the floor. Then, worst of all, he had the audacity to start crying. I got down to his level and laughed.

“You're gonna cry? Do you know how long it took to plant all of this? Huh? How many times did I tell you to stay away from my plants? Answer me” I said. He cried and scrambled away. I crossed my arms and watched as he ran into the house. He sobbed and babbled to his mother, turning tens into twenties. His father yelled, a weak man who I could easily overpower. I shoved him, I believe, in the chaos. The family left, all of them looking bitterly at me. I didn't care. I didn't care if they never came back. I watched in satisfaction as they left. A strange annoyance leaving me.

“You know I would've done it too” Hannibal said, as workers put in a new door. I looked over at him.

“Do you want a drink Hannibal?”

Chapter Text

Hannibal drank politely on my porch. I drank my whiskey, trying to cure my coldness. The gentle feelings of the whiskey touching my uvula, tickling my throat.

“Who was that woman?” He asked politely.

“She's my sister, Clara. The baby's Amber and the kid is Cormac” I said “I have no idea what her husbands name is, all I know is the general annoyance that comes with him”
Hannibal laughed politely and nodded.

“I know what you mean. My daughter comes around with her husband every so often and I can't really find why she married him” He recalled almost gently.

“Daughter? Were you married?”

“Oh yes. I was married to my ex wife, we divorced a while back after she took my daughter and went to California. I'm afraid they don't speak to me anymore”

“Why not?” I asked noisily. I couldn't help it. The man is a complete mystery. I knew nothing about him. I didn't know his family, his age, all I knew was his name. It may not sound like it, but it is completely unsettling to not know who your neighbor is when you live in the Louisiana countryside alone with only one man. It is completely terrifying to not know if your neighbor is safe of evil. I had no idea who this mad man was, other than that he was maddeningly polite.

“I was a heavy drinker when I was a younger man, around your age” He said, gesturing.

“Around my age? Now how old do you think I am?” I smiled. It was funny, it was also a prop question, I would find out how old he was in this way. He smiled like it was a game.

“If I had to guess, twenty five or thirty five” He grinned.

“Thirty two, thirty three this coming June, what about yourself?” Fourth nine, Sixty one, any age you want me to be.

“Forty seven, I had my daughter, Abigail, when me and my ex wife, Bedelia were nineteen. We divorced when I was thirty. I wasn't violent, I wasn't cruel, I was simply sluggish. You see, Abigail was a precarious child. She'd get into all of this trouble. There was an instance where she cut off chunks of her hair, trying to give herself bangs like Shelley Duval in The Shining” He recalled greatly, almost with a smile “A couple more instances like that and they were gone. I threw all my alcohol in the garage Will, I went from drinking entire bottles to small cups. I ignored the urge and I came out the other end. Of course, my daughter calls me every so often, and so does Bedelia. They're worried you see, worried I'll take up the habit and get myself killed”

“I don't think you will” I said, looking over at him “After experiencing things like that, a child taken from you… I can't even imagine you drinking”

“Have you ever thought about having children?” He asked after a while. I looked at him and laughed. I laughed before I could stop myself.

“Me? A father!” I laughed “Hannibal I can't even stand my nephew, I can't stand anyone. That's why I live alone”

“It's a shame about those flowers you know,” He said. I looked at the scraps in the yard. The ones that had been grasped in an ever so suffocating manner in Cormac’s fist. The phone rang from the window. I reached my hand mindlessly and grabbed the phone off the receiver.

“Hello?” I called into the receiver. There was slightly breathing for a second. It sounded like my fathers, wheezy and quiet. Methodically annoying.

“Is the house hungry yet?” A voice asked. Then the line clicked.

“Hello?” I paused, then put the phone down, off the receiver.

*Anyone special?” Hannibal smiled.

“No… it was so weird it was… it sounded like my dead father “ I said. Hannibal's smile turned into a frown. I was almost sad to see the smile go. He looked back at the phone.

“Were you expecting a call? It didn't ring” My blood ran cold. The phone had most definitely rang. I had heard the shrill cry of the phone ring. I had felt it in my ears. I was without a doubt positive that the phone had rang. But perhaps it was the alcohol. I looked down at the cup, then back up and Hannibal.

“Maybe this whiskey is too strong” I smiled, shaking my head. I still to this day do not know if the house was playing tricks on me. I do not know if a local teenager had heard about the house and decided to play tricks on me. I did not know what to make of it. Perhaps it never happened at all. My brain was so scrambled that I didn't know what to think about anything.

My father liked to drink. He liked to beat with his belt while I screamed in terror. He liked to buy my sister clothes and dolls. He bought me nothing. My sister liked him because he wasn't hitting her. She was nice to her. I hated the man. My mother was just as complacent. She ignored the noises and gave me a sideways glance whenever I walked weirdly or used gauze on my arm. I brought a train ticket to Baton Rouge, went to my sister's graduation, then back to Baton Rouge. When I heard of their deaths I was surprised they left me everything. I didn't realize they cursed me to loneliness. The house was quiet and disgusting. I could hear the sound of the belt, I could smell the smell of the alcohol, and worst of all I could feel myself becoming him. The screaming and pushing of Cormac made me uncomfortable. I couldn't get it out of my head. One act of violence and then I was my father. I drank on the weekends, rationing myself. I grew to like Bourbon. I spoke to friends on the phone from the baton rouge to further tell them about my misery. My one friend, Alana Bloom, called frequently. I remember her fondly. She liked Jeff Buckley and the Beatles, she enjoyed Bob Dylan and she had hair that reminded me of a tree. The long brown hair was often braided, acting like vines going down an old decrepit tree. She was an white woman, her parents lived in Baton Rouge. She had a beauty mark right under her eye, and neutral makeup. She liked wearing scarves and patterns, she insisted that one should never dress plainly. I remember how much she would laugh. She was such a joyous woman. Maybe that's why I was so excited when I saw her car.

I saw as she got out of her car, wearing wedge sandals and a red dress. She smiled and waved at me, and I went down stairs to greet her. She smiled and engulfed me in a hug, I could feel her heartbeat. She was taller than me with the shoes, it felt strange.

“Will! This is where you're living!” She said, walking inside.

“Yeah, this is where I'm living, Alana,” I nodded, looking up at the house's skeleton.

“You know, it's such a big house. I always considered you as an apartment guy, or maybe a side of the road guy. This is a mansion, Will. Were your parents like… rich?”

“Yeah, I'd say so. Dad was a college professor and mom was a…I think she was either a nurse or receptionist at a hospital. I don't know, she was something”

“Ah, born with a silver spoon in your mouth, huh? What the hell is that?” She said, pointing to a family photo.

“Oh, that's-”

“Look at you! So small and weird looking” She laughed “You have a little ascot on”
She inspected the photo while I kicked aside a couple bags.

“What are those?”

“Bird feeders, I've picked up bird watchin’ by the way. I forgot to tell you, I'm lame now” I said, grabbing the bags and moving them to the living room. “Wanna see the upstairs, I renovated the entire house myself”

“Oh god, I can't wait to see the upstairs” she laughed. I started towards the stairs. It is important to note that every flooring in this house was hardwood or tile. The kitchen was tile and the mudroom was tile. The entire rest of the house was Brazilian walnut hardwood. I had picked it out and laid it down specifically. I liked rugs, I enjoyed them very much so that was why I picked them. I thought the color complimented the sleek navy blue. I was no interior designer. There were eleven stairs, I counted them as I went up. The eleven stairs had a hallway runner, a white one. I started going up the stairs.
1

2

3

4

5

6

7

8
Alana is behind me. She runs and taps my shoulder, moving in front of me. It is now a chase. I start to run, and then it happens. The hallway runner slips underneath my foot.
8

7
6

My head hits against the stair, Alana screams.

5

4

3

Blood is coming out of my head. My body stops on the third stair. “Oh my god!” Alana screams. I can hear her footsteps running down the stairs. My arm is in between the railing. I groan and kick one leg. I close my left eye, I can feel blood running onto my eyelashes.

“I'm gonna go get someone! Okay!” Alana screams, running out the house.

“Kay” I mumbled, moving my arm.

I groan because I feel an uncomfortable pain. I kick one leg, it works but I can't get up. I kick the other leg, It doesn't work, I can't move it. I fell in a strange direction. On the 7th stair my leg touched the tip of the stair, I fell back on it. I think it broke. I don't know what's happening. It feels like a couple hours before I hear the door opening again.

“He's right here!” Alana says, her shoes against the floor. I can feel the vibrations of her shoes against the floor. I feel incredibly sluggish and alive. It feels strange.

“Where did he fall from?” A voice asks. I recognize it.

“Hannibal…?” I called out. My tongue is bleeding, I must have bit it.

“Yes, I'm here Will, do you need anything? We called the ambulance”

“He fell from the eighth stair, going onto the ninth” Alana says shakily.

"Iff you feel tho inclhined, you could get me a Bourb'n” I said. Hannibal laughed.

“I'm afraid I can't do that for you Will”

"Ugh, f-fine… jush get me a whishkey.”

“Did you bite your tongue?” Hannibal asked. I could see him kneeling down over me. His hair was wet and he was wearing a polo shirt with white pants.

“Mhm” I said “I can’th move my armsh or legsh..."

“You're okay Will, the ambulance will be here so-”

Chapter Text

I woke up in the hospital. It was wrapped in gauze. I had three broken fingers, pinky, middle, and ring. I had a broken leg with a large cast wrapped around it. The last thing I had was a cast wrapped around my head. I hated it. The medicinal smell of the hospital, the disgust, the fear. Alana visited every day, each day she brought me a little piece of chocolate. On the second day Hannibal visited, holding a soda. He handed it to me and smiled.
“Hello Will” He said, sitting down.

“Hello Hannibal, sorry for frightening you”

“You should never apologize for being hurt. I was happy to help you. It was the neighborly thing to do” Hannibal smiled.

His smile was rare, rare in the hospital, rare in the gloom. The fact is and will always be that even though I went on to do terrible things, I was always happy to see him. I was happy to see his face at the hospital, out my window, on my porch, in my dreams, in my nightmares. His presence was comforting and unsettling. He is a type of person that you will only see in your life once. He is a spiritual experience, he is “The good man”. I just didn't realize it at the time.

“Thanks Hannibal,” I smiled.

“I've got your carpet runner cleaned, it had some blood on it, all throughout the third stair to the sixth stair. Your railing had some blood on it so I cleaned that too, and I couldn't help but notice some blood on your floor so I mopped” He said. “I couldn't help but notice some bird feeders by the door, are you a birder?”

“No, I just thought they'd compliment the garden… I should pay you for cleaning my house”

“No, I can't let you do that Will” He held his hands up as if he was showing me he had no weapon. “In truth I enjoyed it. I love cleaning, it takes my mind off things. It's been.. Lonely in truth, I miss having a neighbor”

I looked at his perfect American blue eyes. They looked like the ocean, a vacation in ocean city. I wanted to touch his face and feel it. I wanted to feel the satin in his pores and the beautiful microfibers. I wanted to see his eyelashes closer. The perfect American man.

I groaned and shifted, sitting up.

“I hate hospitals” I said as someone screamed outside the door, I looked at the door. It was open. There was absolutely nothing there.

“I agree, I hate the smell and the feeling” Hannibal said, smoothing back his hair. I stopped listening momentarily. The room was bleeding away, it felt like there was cotton in my lungs, I felt sick and defiled. The heart rate monitor beeped. My head started bleeding again.

The kettle whistled with readiness and heat. I was discharged the week before. There was a strange sickness in the house. The hallway runner was removed. My fingers were in splints and I was still on crutches. It was hard to move around, but it was manageable. I sat outside most days. I watched as hummingbirds flocked to the bird feeder. It was a life.

The kettle still whistled with screeching, like someone was dying. I moved to get it.

“I got it,” Alana said, coming out of nowhere. She scared me to death. I jumped and looked at her. How did she get into my house?

“... Thanks” I said, feeling myself grow sick.

“Are you alright Will? I thought I heard you last night. I thought I heard gagging”

“Yeah… I was sick last night… How did you hear me?”

“Well your room is right next to mine” She laughed as if it was obvious. She turned and looked at me, suddenly concerned. “You alright? You look pale”

She poured the water into a mug. Suddenly I realized that I hadn't put the kettle on. She had. How long had she been here? I nodded and smiled sheepishly. My fingers were splayed as if they were braced for something, an attack. The room was bright and loud. I stood up and grabbed another mug and some raspberry tea.

“Here, you should have some too” I slid over a pink mug. She smiled and took the two teabags.

“I worry about you Will. I mean… when you fell I swear I could feel my heart stop”

“I'm okay now, you don't need to worry” I smiled. “Is someone here?”

Alana looked out the window and her shoulders dropped. I saw it too. It was Clara and her brat. Her husband and amber trailer along. Amber… walked? How could Amber walk now? I grabbed my crutches and went outside. Clara smiled and waved.

“Look at you! All crippled!” She laughed. I frowned and nodded. “What happened?”

“I slipped on the hallway runner and fell backwards on the stairs” I said grimly, looking at Hannibal's house. He was not home. Alana came out and handed me my tea. I sat down and groaned. The tea tasted bitter, something I wasn't used to.

“Is this your girlfriend Will?” Clara said, walking up the stairs. Amber walked up the stairs too. Clara's boring husband held her small hand as she walked up the stairs. Cormac looked almost older, maybe he had grown. He looked a little bit skinnier too. Alana and Clara spoke together.

“How's it been, Will?” Clara's husband sat down. I looked over at him.

“It's been… A weird time. I think my memory's fighting against me” I smiled, my hand shaking.

“Really? Did you get a scan.. What are those things called? A brain scan?”

“MRI”

“No… it's uh..”

“CAT Scan?”

“No.. God.. It's called.. C?”

“CT Scan?”

“Maybe… I think it's like Magnetic.. Resource Image…”

“MRI, Magnetic resonance imaging. I don't think I got those uh…” I paused on his name. He looked back at me and stared. “Yeah, but I got an X-ray, broke my fingers”

I held up my fingers and grinned. I saw Cormac lingering.

“Can I sign your cast?’ He asked, a marker in hand. I felt bad for yelling at him earlier.

“Of course you can. Do whatever you want with it” I smiled. He nodded and knelt down. I don't know how long they were drawing (I say they because eventually Amber joined it). They joyously colored my cast with smiles on their faces. I could never be a father.
I became suddenly distracted. It was because Hannibal's car pulled up. He walked out of his car and smiled at me. The sun shone on his face, he shielded his delicate eyes. I waved at him with a grin. He waved back. I noticed his tan in the golden hour. It was like the sun had kissed his beautiful skin, he was like a perfectly toasted marshmallow. Beautiful. Perfect. All American man. The thing that F. Fitzgerald wrote in the Fantastic Gatsby. I suddenly felt strange and went over my list.

Under Pressure, Queen
Apocalypse Now, Francis Ford Copola
The Fantastic Gatsby, F. Fitzgerald
The Wick Man, Robin Hardy
Logan's Run, Micheal Anderson
Etouffee
Chocolate covered pretzels
Po’Boy Sandwich
King Cake

Something with the list felt so wrong. It seemed not allowed, like an alternate reality. It was wrong in a way to think like that. Something was wrong.

“You okay Will?” I looked up at Alana. She looked concerned. My eyes felt glassy. I noticed her car was here. Why hadn't I noticed it?

“I'm so fucking tired and sick” I said. My voice sounded hoarse. Cormac and Amber looked up at me. So did everyone else. There was a strange moment of shock. I leaned down and put my head in my hands and groaned. I could feel someone rubbing my back. The kids had finished coloring. I sat up and rubbed my face. I was sweating heavily.

“Where's my tea?” I asked, looking around for the mug. Alana raised an eyebrow.

“You finished it in the kitchen, you didn't take it out”

“I know I didn't take it out, you took it out, you handed it to me Alana”

“No I didn't, why would I hand you an empty mug?” She crossed her arms.

“It wasn't empty when you handed it to me. It was like half full” I looked around for it. I could see Hannibal in his window, turning on the television.

“Go look inside, you left it on the counter” She said, making her way to the door. I stood up and grabbed my crutches. I rushed in front of her and quickly went into the kitchen. I could hear Alana, Clara, and everyone else following after me. I reached the doorway and frowned. The brown mug was sitting on the counter. Abba was playing softly from the speaker that had not been on. I stared at it. It could not be.

“So I say thank you for the music! The songs I'm singing
Thanks for all the joy they're bringing
Who can live without it? I ask in all honesty
What would life be?
Without a song or a dance, what are we?
So I say thank you for the music, for giving it to me”

The lyrics played methodically. I had an Abba CD, I had just lost it a long time ago. I hobbled to the CD player, past the empty cup and took out the CD. It came out with a tik.

“Did you put this CD in?” I asked as I turned the CD.
“I thought you did, I told you I found it yesterday” She said from the doorway.

Everything was fuzzy. I could absolutely see myself putting in the CD but… I don't remember.

“Maybe I hit my head harder than I thought” I smiled, putting the CD in the case. “Why don't you guys stay for dinner, I'll get a pizza or something”

“You shouldn't be driving Will, if you want, I can go pick up a pizza” Clara's husband said.

“That's so sweet Dan,” Clara said. Dan, his name was Dan.

“Yeah thanks, I'll pay you” I said, tossing him my wallet. He inspected it.

“Wow, what a nice wallet, where'd you get it?”

*I got it in ocean city Maryland. There was this…” I trailed off, remembering the salt, the smell, the disgust, the fear, and most of all the sanity.

“Maryland? That's like..”

“Twenty hours. It took two days to get there by car. Nonstop driving” I recounted, pointing to a picture. Alana grabbed it off the wall and inspected it. The photograph was of me, I was in ocean city, my hair was shaved and I was seventeen. I had a wife beater and a pair of jeans shorts on. I was noticeably younger. My face was rounder. I was tanner and happier. You could even see a small light in my brown eyes. Perhaps it was the sun, perhaps it was just the sight of happiness. Two friends stood next to me. One was a man with a white Elton John shirt and baggy jeans. He had a blonde shaved head and stubble. he died of an overdose the year before (1992). A woman was on my left in a pink bikini top and daisy dukes. She had straight black hair and a strange sort of grin. Her name was Beverley. I heard that she had permanently moved to Baltimore.

“That's when Will ran away for the first time,” Clara said, pointing to the picture. It was a whirlwind of anguish that caused me to run away. I looked at the teacup again, completely empty. I grabbed it and put it in the sink. It sat alone. Dan left to get the pizza and everyone remained. Alana and Clara spoke, Amber and Cormac played, the phone rang. I picked it up and looked out the window. I could see Hannibal in the window. He was on the phone.

“Hello?” I called into the receiver, an endless void.

“Hello Will, your back door is open” Hannibal said. I smiled at his voice.

“My what?” I said, touching my hair.

“Your back door, the screen one. It's open” He said, a smile in his voice.

“Oh alright, thanks Hannibal” I smiled “Hey, do you wanna come over for dinner? We’re having pizza”

“I’d love to,” He said. I nodded.

“Alright, see you”

“If you want, I can close the door on the way”

“No, i got it” I could see him through his window. He was smiling. I had heard it over the phone. I said my goodbyes and went to close the door. I saw Hannibal leaving his house. He waved at me and I held my door open for him. He met me there and looked at my fingers.

“How are you feeling Will?” He said, closing the door behind him. We were alone in the mudroom. It was cold and damp.

“I’m feeling fine. I feel…Kind of disgusting”

“Hm, perhaps it's just being hurt, maybe it takes you back to your childhood?”

My blood froze. How did he know that? How did he know I was hurt? How did he know I was hit? I was terrified and disgusted. I didn’t understand it, I would not have told him that.

“How did you know that?” I asked, taking a step back. He tilted his head.

“You told me in the hospital. It was after your head started bleeding, you took a five minute nap and then you started speaking about your father, your mother, your sister, her children, the house. You spoke a lot about your father, you seemed to really resent him”

“I did…Like what did you do with that information?”

“Well after my wife left me I was a practicing psychiatrist. So I tried to guide you. You often spoke over me though, you were hard to guide. You repeated a lot” He said with an almost affection. He said it softly and smoothly, so I could easily understand. I nodded, confused, touching the bandage on my head.

“That must have been weird… listening to that?”

“No, on the contrary my last patient was a murderer. He killed four people. That's why I quit. I felt I was… inadequate. I couldn't save him” Hannibal said, a brief bout of sadness flicking over his face. I frowned and looked down. I could not picture an inadequacy with the man. He was too perfect. A man who was both decaying and flourishing. I could not imagine a better man. Amber stood at the doorway, she made a noise that made me jump. It was then when I realized how close me and Hannibal were. Our lips could have locked but at that time it would not be alright if they did. I myself was too fearful to try, I was too fearful to even touch him. I didn't know what I was, and he probably did. He had spoken of a wife, a strange thing, a detail that would keep us apart. Hannibal smiled and walked toward Amber. Before I knew it Alana was greeting him and I was left in the shadows. I forgot that the sun did not just shine on me, it must give light to others. I felt a wave of sickness as he left. I wondered if I should do something to gather his attention, maybe I should fall or make my head bleed somehow. But I didn't. I watched as the all American man ate pizza, then chatted about France. Something I could not do.

Chapter Text

He was in my bed.

He was right next to me. I could see Hannibal. He smiled and stroked my cheek. His hair was ruffled and he was wearing nothing at all. My leg, fingers and head was healed. His lips were close to mine. His eyes were half closed and his mouth was agape. I would call it eroticism if it was real. He was there and relaxed. I reached out to touch him, maybe even console him. He was right in my grasp. I reached out to touch his skin, his cool, satin skin. I reached out and felt sluggish. The bed felt weird. It was not mine. I awoke seconds later, Alana at my bed.

“I brought you some eggs and sausage links” She smiled, putting them down. I grabbed the fork and started eating. It felt like mush in my mouth. All I could think about was Hannibal. I looked down, feeling sick, a wave of shame. I was in a loop. It was the house, I was getting hurt, I was seeing Hannibal. It was all so strange.

“How'd you sleep?” Alana asked, laying her head on my shoulder. I stiffened and
nodded.

“I slept fine, did you sleep okay?” I asked politely, wrapping an arm around her. It was easier to show her affection. It was easy to show her affection because of the dream with Hannibal. I did not want to be ostracized from the world. I did not want to be hated. Alana smiled.

“I slept fine.. You look so deep in thought” She grinned.

“Yeah, I'm just.. Happy you're here Alana” I said. She laughed.

“Well someone's gotta take care of you” She said “I'm gonna go run some errands today, okay?”

“Yeah, alright. I'll see you later” I smiled, touching her hair. She grinned and blushed, the red of blood hitting her cheeks. I thought of my book. My typewriter. I finished my breakfast and went to get it. I hobbled to my study to see no paper. Nothing. I groaned. There was spare paper in the basement.

I started down the stairs and noticed something.

A footprint.

A child's footprint. I did not have a child. It was caked in the Louisiana mud. I followed the footprints in fear.

Did a child wander into my house?

They bled to the basement. The void stares back at me with disgust. I turned on the light and followed the prints to… a bird. There was a hummingbird in a cage. In my basement.
I did not put it there, I would never put that there. Yet there it was. It tweeted fearfully as it hit the sides of the golden bird cage.

“I thought you didn't keep birds Will” A voice called from above. I spun, startled at the intrusion.

Hannibal.

Hannibal..
He was smiling, not threateningly but almost teasingly. He knew something I didn't. I looked up to see him in a white suit. He descended from the stairs. I wanted to scream but there was nothing in me. I didn't say anything. The bird tweeted and flew around.

“Is this how you feel Will? A bird in a cage unable to escape me? A beautiful being that's trapped in your own psyche?”

“I didn't do this Hannibal…You gotta help me, this is all wrong” I said hoarsely. I didn't know if I was lying. Hannibal was close again, uncomfortably.

“No, you brought this for me. Does it remind you of your father? Of your home? Of my home? Do you think you'll be free once you're in my bed?”

Memory presses through like a fog. Hannibal's parted lips, his smile, his half lidded eyes.

Hannibal takes the cage from me, our fingers brushing. His touch is cold, but not unkind. I let him.

“You’ve been forgetting things,” Hannibal says, voice low, intimate. “It’s all right. Forgetting is a kindness, sometimes.”

“You're not real. You'd never come into my house uninvited…” I whispered. “Get out, I don't like you. I don't… you're not a real man, just a figment”

“Then why,” Hannibal murmurs, stepping closer, “does it hurt when I’m gone?”

His breath was like a ghost. I walked up the stairs and left my house. I walked to Hannibal's house and knocked on the door. He answered quickly. He smiled, then looked concerned.

“Will, are you-”

“Were you just at my house?” I demanded, almost tiredly. He looked surprised.

“Will, of course not, come in, come sit down” He said ushering me inside. I was ashamed to admit it but I wanted him. He sat me on his couch. His house was dark, organized and ornate. I loved it. It was so… him.

“Tell me what happened Will” He said gently, kneeling in front of me. I sobbed. I couldn't help it. I coughed and sobbed, shaking my head.

“I keep dreaming of you! You're in my head! You're in my house! And everything's so violent, I hate everyone!” I sobbed, wiping my eyes. “Is this real? Show me this is real”

I looked up at him. His maroon eyes looked down at me and he smiled. He rubs my shoulder and grabbed my wrist. I couldn't move my arm, I didn't want to move my arm.

“Are your hallucinations warm? When you touch them?” He said gently.

“No…They're cold, cold as ice. They don't have human warmth” I said with a hiccup.
“Touch me Will, touch my face, touch my neck, touch my hands”

So I did. I touched him all over. He was warm, like a hot meal. I touched his face, the back of his neck and his beautiful hands.

“You're here… you're real” I whispered. Hannibal rubbed my head, damp with sweat. His eyes were filled with sorrow.. Or was it hunger? Did he hunger for me?

“I'm real Will. I always have been” he stroked my cheek and sat down next to me. I sobbed and went closer to him. He hugged me. He smelled like American Cologne. Beauty, grace, god.

“How do you see me in your hallucinations?” He asked, soothing me. I shook my head.

“It's perverted” I shook.

“It's alright. All of mankind is perverted. Perversion sets boundaries, makes art, builds character. You may not even know what perversion is Will”

“I know what perversion is, It's something disgusting”

“Ah so you think your visions are disgusting? Does that make me disgusting?”

“No”
“Perversion is an alteration, it's disorientation or corruption. When you say perversion you think of a person who is disturbed, you think of a degenerate-”

“Stop”

“Do you think of me in a degenerative way? In perhaps an indecent way? In some way that would make people frown?” He asked. I didn't speak. He knew that my silence was confirmation. “Do you picture me in your company, guiding you, telling you what to do”

“No! God… I picture you… All American, even though you're not American. It's borderline obsession”

“Obsession is flattering. I wouldn't even call what you're feeling obsessive, I'd say you're longing for a companion. One that isn't Alana because she dotes on you. You want to be seen, you want someone to know you. I know you” Hannibal looked into me. My ribs felt as if they would cave in. I felt sick. This could not be real. The man should be cursing me, scorning me, yet I was here with encouragement. I was faced with acceptance.

“Where is Alana? Her car isn't there” He said, raising an eyebrow.

“She went to run errands”

“I should take you back home” He nodded, grabbing a coat. I felt a strange shakiness about his offer. Why would he offer that? He just wanted me out of his house. He found me disturbing. My mind went rampant.

“I can make you some food, I'm a wonderful chef, have you ever had Pappardelle alla Lepre?”

“What?” I was confused. What the hell was Pappardelle alla Lepre?

“I'll make it for you, let's go” He touched my shoulder blade. We went back to my home, the house echoing with our arrival.

“You can write while I cook,” He said, opening a bag. He had brought his own meat. He insisted upon it in fact. I nodded and went upstairs to get my typewriter in my office. Two more chapters until I was done. My deadline was months away. I looked at it in horror when I saw it. Someone, probably me, had written something over and over again.

HANNIBAL HANNIBAL HANNIBAL HANNIBAL HANNIBAL HANNIBAL HANNIBAL HANNIBAL HANNIBAL HANNIBAL HANNIBAL HANNIBAL HANNIBAL HANNIBAL HANNIBAL HANNIBAL HANNIBAL HANNIBAL HANNIBAL HANNIBAL HANNIBAL HANNIBAL HANNIBAL HANNIBAL HANNIBAL HANNIBAL HANNIBAL HANNIBAL HANNIBAL HANNIBAL HANNIBAL HANNIBAL HANNIBAL HANNIBAL HANNIBAL HANNIBAL HANNIBAL HANNIBAL HANNIBAL HANNIBAL HANNIBAL HANNIBAL HANNIBAL HANNIBAL HANNIBAL HANNIBAL HANNIBAL HANNIBAL HANNIBAL HANNIBAL HANNIBAL HANNIBAL HANNIBAL HANNIBAL HANNIBAL HANNIBAL HANNIBAL HANNIBAL HANNIBAL . HANNIBAL HANNIBAL

I tore out the page in horror and threw it away. I grabbed the typewriter and went downstairs. I sat at the table, seeing Hannibal start to cook. He smiled at me and continued. I got one chapter done as he cooked. I couldn't tell if he was a man or a hallucination. He worked so effortlessly, he smiled and made no error in cooking, the sounds and smells brought me to earth. He looked over at me periodically, I could feel his eyes on me.

“You've stopped typing” He said, looking up at me.

“My head hurts,” I said. He walked over to me and felt my forehead. It was covered in gauze. He smoothed my hair back and rubbed my cheekbone.

“You've told me you've seen me in a perverted sense. How so? What do I do in your hallucinations?” He asked, going back to cooking.

“I saw you last night… you were laying next to me. Your lips were… parted, your eyes were lidded, your skin looked soft… you didn't say anything, you just stayed in front of me. You were touching my cheek and you were wearing nothing at all” I recalled “Then earlier today I thought I saw you in the basement. There were…children's footsteps and I followed them to my basement and I saw a bird cage. It was embarrassing. You were standing at the top of my stairs. You said.. You were teasing me. Making all of these psychological evaluations about a bird and a cage and this house and my father and your”

“My what?” Hannibal raised an eyebrow.

“.. Bed, your bed”

“My mattress? Or perhaps the concept of sleeping together?” Hannibal mused. I wanted to throw something at him. I took a breath.

“I hate to break it to you Hannibal, but I'm not… queer. I'm not with.. That crowd”

“I wouldn't care if you were,” Hannibal said, cutting something up. It sounded harsh. “It is funny though, hearing you say that and have no interest in women-”

“I have an interest-”

*Picturing a man in your bed-”

“That's not-”

“When do you get the cast off?” He asked, shifting the conversation completely. I shrugged and pointed to the calendar on the wall. He walked over at it and smiled.

“Next week”

“If that's what it says” I nodded. I stood up and looked at the calendar. The thing looked scrambled and strange. The dates were unfamiliar. I didn't recognize when things happened. When was I released from the hospital? When did I fall? When did I type Hannibal's name? Hannibal's strange French dish turned out to be a type of pasta. It smelled delicious and I was delighted to find that it tasted delicious. I couldn't help but groan softly. I watched him smile and take a bite. He seemed proud of the cooking, proud of himself for making me happy. I wondered if he was queer. He couldn’t be, he had a wife. He had a wife.

“What’s the meat?” I asked, inhaling the dish hungrily.

“Its venison”

“It tastes richer”

“I’ll take that as a compliment” He smiled, touching my hand. It was almost like a lover’s dinner. A dinner shared between a couple. It was incredibly intimate, not like the dinners that me and Alana had. She spoke while I listened and reacted quietly. Here it was a comfortable silence. Here it was a home not a house.

“You know what might help with your delusions, Will?”

“What?” I perked up.

“Quetiapine, only a little bit. I could help administer it” Hannibal said, his eyes glinting.
I took a minute and looked up at him.

“Medicine?”

“I strongly believe that medicine and structure could help with your delusions, and maybe even your identity”

“I have absolutely no problem with my identity”

“You have every problem with your identity, you don’t know who you are”

“I’m Will Graham, I’m from Eunice, Louisiana-”

“You dream of your neighbor laying next to you in bed,” Hannibal said. I was getting annoyed with him. I had told him that in confidence, yet he lorded it over me. I did not think it was shameful, or disgusting or strange. I thought it was fine. I looked down.

“I told you that in confidence, you’re taunting me” I said. Hannibal's face fell. He grabbed my hand and rubbed my thumb.

“I’m sorry, i’ll stop” He said, “So medicine and structure”

“Structure…like a schedule?”

“Precisely.” He stood up, went to my cabinet and grabbed two glasses. He came back and handed me a glass. “Daily tasks. A plan. A way to measure the hours so you can mark reality, moment by moment.” He tapped the side of my glass. “Drink with me.”

I lifted it, searching his face for hidden mockery, but found only concern. I mirrored his gesture. The burn of the whiskey trailed down my throat, igniting a clarity I hadn’t felt in days.
He sat back down beside me at the table, one arm draped over the back.

“For example: every morning, you rise, you write for an hour, you eat a proper breakfast, and you take a walk. You check your typewriter for fresh paper—no surprises in the basement—and then you settle in, focused. Do you think you could follow that?”

I sipped again, this time tasting the comfort of a plan. “I could try,” I said, voice steadier. The cage in the basement, the child’s footprints, the dream of him in my bed—they all felt less like inevitabilities and more like things I could guard against.

“Good.” Hannibal’s smile was gentle. “And if you find yourself slipping, you call me. I’ll come by. We talk. Maybe I will sit with you while you write. I’ll hold you to your schedule. You need accountability.”

My heart pounded—part relief, part dread at the dependency. But beneath it all was a flicker of something like hope. “Okay,” I whispered.

He reached out, brushed a loose strand of hair from my forehead. “You’re not alone, Will. And you’re not broken. You just need a little guidance.”

I exhaled, the tightness in my chest loosening as I leaned into him, his warmth real beneath my fingertips. “Thank you,” I said.

He nodded, rising. “Now,” he said, with that serene, unfathomable grace, “let’s get you back home. Tomorrow morning, we start fresh—chapter one of reality.”

I closed my eyes, the world settling into place around us—structured, orderly, and for the first time in a long while, entirely my own. A quiet before the storm

Chapter Text

I stuck to my schedule and let Hannibal administer injections of Quetiapine. I got my cast off and began walking normally, speaking to Hannibal whenever I could. I spent days on his porch, in his living room, he’d come over and sit with me in my living room and kitchen. I began to wonder about my identity. In the 90’s, if you were gay you were treated unequally. Gay marriage wasn’t equalized, “Gay” was an insult, Violence was rampant and AID’s were being treated better. I grew up in the 60’s. My father taught me that Gay was wrong. It was taboo, a mental disorder, ostracization. You tell yourself that you just haven’t found the right girl yet. You watch the Rom Coms, you watch Pretty Women, you watch Sleepless in Seattle, you watch Grease and Annie Hall but it’s just a film. You will never feel the feeling of snowfall and happiness. It’s just a fantasy. You can never feel that with a woman.

The more Alana called, the more I knew. I was Hannibal’s. Some nights he slept in my guest room. He should’ve just stayed with me. It is a strange hunger that was him. He was a drug and something else entirely. The delusions stayed, but I didn’t voice it. I saw birds in my house, I heard them too. The beating of their wings, their tiredness. They were trapped. I could see my house moving. My railing moved like a snake. It squirmed and hissed. Walls talked, floors moved, my delusions continued. I could feel eyes on me. I took pieces of duct tape and covered the eyes of all of the paintings. It was embarrassing to do this. Hannibal didn’t notice this act of paranoia and if he did he didn’t dare show it. His eyes remained at me.

I took walks along the Louisiana woods, alone in desperation. The woods were quiet and led to a lake. The lake was small and deep. It was great for kayaking, but not much else. There were no fish in the lake, I noticed it when I tried my luck. There were an increasing number of birds in the area. They flocked at the lake, sitting still, unmoving. There were cardinals, fowls, crows, sparrows, any kind of bird you can think of, it was there. There was one bird that drew my eye, one swan, one beautiful swan in the middle of the lake. I ignored it as much as I could, until I noticed it in my house. The imagery was everywhere. Carvings on the table, embroidery in the curtains, the carpet patterns. It was delusional. I only got worse. I didn’t really care about getting worse though, as long as I got worse with Hannibal. He’d talk with me over dinner, we smiled and ate his amuse bouche bullshit. His cooking was masterful and deconstructed. His conversation was calculated. He was frequently kind, then every so often a comment was thrown in that stung your skin like acid. You could be the happiest you’ve ever been at one second, then the next you’re the saddest man in the world. He used my questioning sexuality against me more times than I could count. It didn’t take much to make him mad.

“You know, this could use salt,” I commented once. “I think you got lost in the seasoning”

“I may have lost myself in the seasoning,” he said, dabbing his lips with a napkin, “but at least I’ve developed a taste. You, on the other hand, still can’t decide what you’re hungry for - unless it’s self-pity.

It was degrading. It was hatred masked beneath politeness.

“You should just live here at this point. You practically live in my guestroom” I said, scooping up soup. It was some kind of french onion soup. I wasn’t listening when he said what it was. He looked up with a smile.

“I suppose it would be close to my office”

“Yeah, thirty seconds, imagine what you can do with the gas money” I grinned. He laughed, a happy echoing laugh that shook the disgusting skeleton of the house. The phone rang and I got up to grab it. He watched with vigor and happiness.

“Hello?” I answered cheerily.

“Will, are you living with your neighbor?” Clara's voice called through the phone. I froze with prominent fear and anxiety.

“What?”

“Are you living with your neighbor? Are you guys queer?”

“I'm not a queer Clara, why would you ask me that?” I said, confused. Hannibal stood up abruptly from my table and rubbed my shoulders. I leaned into him.

“The people in town say they've seen you embracing. All of this queer shit. They say you're his gigolo or whatever. You know those queer carry all sorts of diseases, AIDS, pox, all of that”

“I know Clara. I'm not a queer. In fact, Hannibal hasn't been in Louisiana for months. The man's been in California visiting his daughter Abigail” I said into the phone. Clara was silent for a second.

“He's had a wife?”

“And a girlfriend more recently” I lied through my teeth in desperation. Hannibal was rubbing my neck while I told Clara that he was in California. I pictured him in the summertime of California, the sun shining on his face.

“Oh… but then who did that-”

“Maybe it was Alana. You know the folks in Eunice, they turn tens into twenties. Lyin’ through their teeth” I looked back at Hannibal and smiled.

“Right… I'm so sorry Will-”

“Don't even worry about it. Hey, I'm in the middle of dinner, can I call you later”

“Alright, sorry. I'll talk to you later”

“Bye” I put down my phone and turned to Hannibal. He smiled and held me against him. I could feel his heartbeat pounding loudly. It was a lovely sound, brilliant and loud, but also quiet.

“I think you’re right. I should live here. We can pretend I moved away back to California to my ex-wife and daughter”

“What’s your daughter like?” I asked, grabbing my beer. He grabbed his glass of wine and we walked to the living room.

“Sweet, melancholic, funny in a sad sort of way. If you were to picture a doe you would see Abigail” He smiled fondly. “She’s sixteen now, and wants to live here. She hates California. She’s a skilled pianist”

I imagined her and Hannibal, sitting at a piano playing something pretentious, Bach or Beethoven. He spoke of his daughter with great pride, a glint in his eyes as he rubbed the back of my neck. One of my biggest joys at the time was Hannibal talking about himself. His life was interesting and long. He was beautiful like the saw at the lake. I wanted him. He was laced into my life. I looked down and leaned against the wall.

“you're… you're not queer are you?” I looked up at him. He smiled and folded his hands in front of himself. He looked up.

“Do you want me to be queer?”

I didn't know.

He began walking closer.

“You think attraction is a compass,pointing directly to the truth, but sometimes it spins. You can think you're attracted to women, then your compass spins and suddenly you're enthralled with a man” He was close now.

“So you're attracted to both men and women?” I asked hoarsely.

“Life has given me some beautiful women, and some beautiful men. Why not try both?” he shrugged. “Have you tried both, Will?”
My throat was dry and wet at the same time. I was aroused and un-aroused. I shook my head.

“Would you like to try both, Will?” He had me cornered. I did want to try both. More specifically I wanted to try him. I nodded before I could stop. He obeyed me as soon as me head moved and pressed his lips against mine. Suddenly I was tasting heaven. I grabbed his waist and pressed harder against him. He gave us a gentle moan and kissed me with such vigor that my head started to hurt. I took control quickly and grabbed his hand. He pulled away.

“You're shaking” He said, pulling back and holding my head. His hands were warm and heavenly.

“I'm just… Excited” I shrugged sheepishly. He smiled and kissed my temple.

“I've never seen your bedroom, why don't you show me it?”

I got what he meant instantly. He was going to fuck me, and not casually like a fumbling attempt of a one night stand. I knew it would be passionate. I knew I would love it. I led him to my bedroom, my hands sweating and nervous. I looked back occasionally, to see if he was still there. The bedroom was messy with clothes and the occasional empty bottle.

“This suits you, cluttered like your mind, utterly tragic, private” He started loosening his tie and unbuttoning his shirt. “Lie down Will”

I did.

He crawled in between my legs and rubbed my cheek. He slid his hand underneath my shirt and touched the muscles, the ones I had earned through my labour. I arched into him, he smiled. He began kissing my neck as he slid my shirt off, unbuttoning the plaid garment. I reached down and took off his belt. He laughed softly against my neck. We undressed quickly, before I knew it I was on my knees on the bed. I wish I could see him as he entered. I felt his hardness press against me, then it invaded me.

I groaned loudly and shook. Hannibal let out a rough groan and rubbed my back. He began to move, and I felt it. I felt a strong pulsation. I groaned and twitched. It was pleasure that I felt. Not pleasure from getting myself off, but a connection, a strong connection to someone I cared for. The love was passionate and you could feel it through the thrusts. I couldn't help but grip the sheets and let out moans. My arms gave out and my ass stayed up.

Hannibal must have been satisfied with this because he went faster. He was hitting a spot I hadn't known existed. There was no talking, no whispers, no god, no holy matrimony. It was just two men alone in a bed. Before I knew it I could feel myself jerk and come undone. I whimpered as the pleasure left my body, molten cum drying on the sheets. Hannibal took two more minutes then slowed down. He draped himself overtop of me and groaned, his body sweaty. Ieaned over and kissed him fondly. I could feel his warmth in my channel, even if he hadn't pulled out yet. The swan closed it eye and turned away from the horror of two people of the same sex making love.

Chapter Text

Hannibal was in my bed. He moved in with me and I ghosted my family. It was nice, the quietness. I loved the silence. It was happy and sickening. The swan watched me carefully, its black eye glinting in the light. Hannibal slept like a scarf around his neck, warm and protective against the cold. I found the days bleeding away, the calendar's pages flipped by itself. There were things I noticed too. I noticed the people at the grocery giving me dirty looks, I noticed them looking at me with disgust in their eyes. It noticed it all. When the cashier took my money she was careful not to touch my fingers. I heard them whispering about aids, pox, queerness, everything about my identity.

I could feel Hannibal at home pacing the floor. The clocks seemed to change quickly. The time could be three o’clock, then five minutes later it was nine. I longed for the time in bed. Hannibal would grab my hand and run it along his arm, his chest, his face, anywhere to prove that he was there. His eyes were expressive at this time, he slept soundly. I often woke up to see him still asleep. The night terrors next stopped. Sometimes I would jolt awake, sitting up straight, waking Hannibal. I would feel copious guilt and even more fear. He always grabbed my shoulder and pulled me back down, easing my back to sleep. The most embarrassing thing about our relationship was Bedelia, his ex-wife. I found myself wondering about her.

What was she like?

Did she cook? Did she endure the sweet insults that Hannibal dispensed?

That was another thing. I started to crave the degradation from him. I smiled as he told me I didn’t know who I was. I romped with joy as he raged over me leaving things askew.

“How’s your meal Will?” He asked one night. I chewed the meat, only tasting one thing. Sometimes you can imagine what something tastes like just by looking at it. For “example, Chalk. When you visualize chalk you imagine it would taste dry, and as you chew it the chalk would create a cement like mixture in your mouth. For me, Hannibal's meal tasted like a swan. A rich gamey flavor, maybe like a duck, but more fishy
.
It tastes like swans, what’s the meat?” I asked. His smile fell.

“What?”

“It tastes like swan”

“How do you know what swan tastes like Will? You’ve never had a swan”

“How do you know”

“I know you’ve never had a swan. Why are you saying my meal tastes like a swan?”

“It does!” I laughed, taking another bite. It was grody almost, kinda disgusting. Hannibal stopped talking to me for the night.

This mood was unlike any of her other moods, it felt cold and despondent. I spoke to myself while he sat there, ignoring me. He was a cold autumn winter to my warm summer. He talked to Abigail on the phone, they usually spoke every night. It was embarrassing. He sat there and spoke about me and his life as I, an outsider, awkwardly listened in. The world was turning sideways and inside out for me while he sat still.

I wondered if this was how drugs felt like. A world devoid of color and happiness, a changing world, a moving world that made me nauseous. I think deep down I knew I should go to the doctor’s, but if I went Hannibal would have no reason to stay. I was a bug in a glass, a bird in a cage, a science experiment, a lover. He was here to care for me. I knew that if the feeling of withdrawal stopped it was all over. Then the lost time happened.

Blackouts were another thing entirely. I would blackout at 7:00 am, then wake up. I’d be in a different place, doing something different, but it would be 3:00 pm. I didn’t know how to deal with this. With the hallucinations and the strange feelings I just pretended like they weren’t there. The blackouts were different, I didn’t know what I was doing. So every time something was askew, I had to lie.

“Why are all the blankets outside?” Hannibal would ask.

“They were wet, I was drying them” I’d lie.

“Why is all the fruit stacked into pillars?” He’d ask another day.

“Got bored” Another lie.

“Why did you send your publisher a paper with the word ‘Swan’ typed out 47 times?”

“It’s a running joke” Lie, Lie, Lie, Lie, Lie.

They started catching up with me. I was making phone calls to Alana, asking her trivial questions. She later told me about the calls when I got arrested. She said I was mumbling and sounded hypnotized. Hannibal worried too. He’d talk to me while we were in bed, the holy tryst. He’d mumble things and rub my head.

“Have you ever thought of a brain scan, an MRI?”

I ignored the concerns. The day’s bled together. Suddenly it was April, then December. I longed for the bed. I didn't know who I was. I started to rot there. Hannibal would come home and give me food. It didn't matter anyways. The safest way for me to coincide along the living was to not be with the living. The food tasted chalky, despite its extravagance. I was tired and stupid. The foolishness ran through my pretty little head.

Eventually Hannibal stepped in. He began drugging my food. I knew every time. I could taste the chalk of medication, the strange aftertaste. I tasted his food and then mine. I could easily tell. It helped, as much as I hate to admit it. It helped. The blacking out stopped, and when I looked at myself in the mirror I saw it.

I had lost weight, my face was gaunt and tired. I suppose that's what you get when you only eat breakfast and dinner. My face was pale and my hair was knotted. I wondered what Hannibal saw when he looked at me. When I went outside it was winter. The snow fell just like my weight had. Feathers kept my skin warm, white feathers that started to materialize out of thin air. I was becoming a swan. It was me, it was always me. I was Will Graham. Hannibal's car pulled up. He parked and stepped out. Would his footprints stay on the snow? He looked at me almost apologetically. Then a young woman stepped out of his car.

Chapter Text

Hannibal's daughter had come to live with us.
Bedelia had dropped her off and left for India. She looked like Hannibal in a ghastly way. She had long dark hair, and bright blue eyes. She looked American like Hannibal. I pictured him, Bedelia and Abigail in the perfect American home, the type of picture you'd see in a true crime documentary before everything goes wrong. She smiled at me and looked back at her father.

What.

“You didn't warn me, you didn't tell me anything!” I angrily whispered in the kitchen.

“I did, you probably were just rotting in bed. You look like a heroin addict, there's no meat on your bones-”

“What does your kid think about a man sleeping in her father's bed?”

“She doesn't know that, she thinks you're just a friend”

“Why is she here”

“She wanted to live here, her mother's shaken up after a patient attacked her and she's going on a self exploration journey in India. Abigail can't go to India so obviously she's staying here” He stirred something on the stove, his face filled with concentration.

“Where's she gonna stay?”

“There's plenty of rooms”

“Yeah but… I mean should we fix one up for her? Paint it or something like that? I feel bad.. She only arrived with one bag of clothes” I said nervously.

“Feeling paternal?”

“I don't know what to feel,” I snapped.
There were footsteps down the stairs. She smiled and peered into the kitchen. I couldn't blame her. There was a strange disturbance that came with her. It was like someone was watching us. I felt disgusted. If Hannibal had been a clean tile floor, I was the dirt in the grouts. I knew I looked bad. I had been drinking heavily, and I knew he didn't tell me. I was suddenly tired of the little game. I wanted to anger him, but I had no energy. I just watched his profile as he cooked. He let me stand and watch him, even instructing me to cut up an onion at one point. My anger didn't matter. It was just us, it was just us and Abigail.

She ate his dinner and I started to feel bad for opposing her. She was kind and not like the bratty kids I hated. She was of some semblance of politeness.

“Do we like… have to enroll her in school?” I asked Hannibal at the table.

“I already did that, a week ago. Remember I told you I was keeping papers in your study? How's your food, does it taste like swans?”

“No, it tastes like chalky medicine, any idea why?” I shot back.

The table was quiet. It didn't really taste like medicine. It tasted rich, it tasted like heaven. Abigail ate heartily.

“So where did you meet my dad?” She asked me. I looked at her.

“A party” I lied through my teeth “He was… Fun”

“You were pale and shaken”

“I'm always pale and shaken Hannibal”

“No, you were different. You were less quiet, you had a rare smile and a disgruntled attitude, like a poked bear that didn't have the courage to attack” He said, his words flowing out like poetry “You were violent like a bear, bold and withdrawn. But you were never withdrawn with me”

“What am I like now?”

He looked over at me, my gaunt face, my ugly attitude.

“You're trying harder. You're like a prisoner of war. More withdrawn. But I can tell you're trying”

“Really?”

“You're sitting at this table aren't you?” He said. A beat.

You're next to me aren't you?

You're trying aren't you?

You're dressed aren't you?

You're eating, aren't you?

You're still here with me, aren't you?

“You're different too Hannibal. When I met you… At the… Party… You were patient and golden. Like the sun. I recognized you easily out of the room”

Hannibal smiled. The night progressed with my determination. I held a conversation with Abigail and even made her laugh. Conversation flowed like wine. I found it sort of funny in a sad way. I was winning but I was losing. A normal man wouldn't find this so hard. Hannibal didn't hesitate, he exhibited no tiredness, he talked and talked. When it was over we watched a movie. I promised Abigail that we would go tomorrow for furniture for her room. It was joyous and devoid of joy. I had thought for the briefest second, the stupidest second that Abigail had saved us.

Abigail was the lighthouse that had stopped our ship from crashing. It was embarrassing and a happy thought. It should've ended up like that. Hannibal tucked Abigail in. He and I went to bed. I watched as he undressed, his eyes held mine in the mirror. I turned on the television and fiddled with the remote. He sat on the edge of the bed and grabbed the remote from my hands. He changed it to my favorite channel. His shirt was off and he looked beautiful. He pulled the blankets back and sat beside me.

“You conducted yourself well tonight”

“I was acting,” I said, looking over at him.

“A stunning performance then, you acted like your soul was stitched back together,I could even see the seams. I meant everything I said about you Will. I'm happy you adjusted so well. I'm sorry we've been… we haven't been us”

“It's been me, I know-”

“No, it hasn't. I haven't shown you the affection you needed” He said, rubbing my chest. I looked down at his hands, they were not claws or feathers, they were flesh. I was not queer. I have never felt so attracted to a man. But god I wanna kiss him.

“You seem so alive tonight” Hannibal mumbled, touching the back of my neck. He traced my body like a blind man traces a sculpture.

“I'm surprised, I'm so hungry”

“Hungry?” He raised an eyebrow.

“Yes, your soup was delicious… But…” I said moving closed “I think it would taste better on someone else's lips”

Hannibal smiled. He had been waiting for this. Months of denying my queerness, months of denying my real identity. Months of waiting. His lips ghosted over mine. He smiled and pressed his lips against mine. It was animalistic, it was hungry. I could taste him, his desire, his hunger. His lips touching mine, his bare hands on my bare hips, touching my waistband. I would've loved to remember the moment, but I don't even know if we went that far. I remember very little. I remember when Hannibal was above me, and I hated how much I loved it.

There was no rush, no frantic clawing. He didn’t have to hurry-I wasn’t going anywhere. Every movement was deliberate, patient, like I was something he had all the time in the world to ruin. His hands mapped my ribs like he was reading braille. His mouth found the places where my skin was thinnest, where the veins pulsed, where my body would betray me. He whispered things against my throat- things I didn’t understand, maybe didn’t want to understand. Latin, prayers, curses. Maybe all three. I wanted to fight him. I wanted to win. But instead I just sank.

I let him fold me down into the mattress, let him tear me apart without ever raising his voice. I let him have me. And worst of all -I wanted it. God, I wanted it.I clutched at him like he was the last thing keeping me tethered to the earth, even as he hollowed me out from the inside.

Every kiss was a brand. Every touch was a nail through my skin. When he whispered my name, it wasn’t a name anymore. It was a possession. A death sentence. A prayer.

And when I finally broke apart underneath him, it wasn’t from pleasure. It was from the unbearable grief of knowing I would never belong to myself again. I was his. I had always been his. I had just been too proud to admit it until now.

Chapter Text

When I woke up he was gone. I didn't know if it had happened. It was strange to think about, not remembering such intimacy. I got dressed and went downstairs. He was making breakfast. He seemed in a good mood. I grabbed a drink from the fridge and pretended not to see him looking at me.

“How did you sleep?” I asked, putting back the carton of orange juice.

“I slept beautifully, how about yourself?”

“I slept fine” I stood next to him. I wondered if my presence was suffocating. “What’d you put in my food…Before Abigail arrived”

“I don’t know what your-”

“It helped. Whatever you put in my food helped Hannibal. I could taste the medication, I know you did. I’m not…I’m not mad-”

“It was an antidepressant” He cut me off before I could continue my tirade. I did not want to anger him. I did not want to pick another fight.

“I’m not…depressed though?” I laughed, stealing a sausage link off a plate. He smiled at this and looked back at me, amusement in his eyes.

“It worked, did it?”

Mocking and annoying with the smallest bit of venom behind it. I smiled and looked at him. He went back to cooking. I grabbed some plates and started setting the table. It was almost mechanical, like a wind up doll. Abigail came down as breakfast finished, a feast with scrambled eggs, bacon, sausage, and pancakes. She had a backpack on.

“Will, after breakfast, could you drive Abigail to school?” Hannibal asked.

I had absolutely no idea where her school was. I nodded anyway and walked towards him.

“Where's the school?” I mumbled close to his ear. He grabbed some orange juice and set it on the table.

“Your old high school,” He answered. The memory came rushing back at me.

“How do you know where my old high school is? There's two, north and east”

“You told me, Will?” He said, looking back at me. He sat at the table and I joined him. He asked Abigail trivial questions,

“Are you excited for your first day?”

“Do you think you’ll make friends?”
“What color do you want your room to be?”.

Abigail had cut out pictures from a home magazine and excitedly showed Hannibal. It was all dark wood furniture. I could easily do that. The breakfast was delicious. It went by fast. The food vanished like a dream. The next thing I knew I was in the car, behind the steering wheel.

“Are you alright?” Abigail asked.

“Yeah, it’s just been…a while since I've driven,” I said, starting the car.

“Do you have like…one of those stay at home jobs?”

“Yeah, I’m a writer” I pulled out of the driveway and started driving.

“Woah, that’s cool!” She exclaimed “What do you write, like what genre?”

“Horror and thrillers. I write under a pen name though. A fake name” I drove down the road as Abigail spoke of books. I tried to remain calm but it was a lot. It was a lot to drive. I waited in a line at the school. I tried to make polite conversation, but honestly I didn’t want to.

“What was it like when you went to school here? Dad said this was your old school”
I thought for a minute.

“I was a delinquent. I hated my family, I was actually good at my classes, I just never… put the work in. One time I cut class for a week with my friends and went to ocean city maryland..then another time I cut for a month and drove to Vegas…then in my senior year I bought a flight to Florida and stayed at St. Augustine.” I recounted.

“I don’t think I’ll be able to do all that” She said, looking over at me with a laugh.

“Well yeah, I mean I had a car…I stole money from my dad because I knew how to open his safe so I had the funds…Maybe you should ask your dad about his time in school he seems like a real do-gooder”

“Yeah, all of his friends from his doctor school say he was great,” Abigail said.

“Doctor school?”

“Yeah, Johns Hopkins Medical Center in Baltimore” She said, opening the door.

“That's in Maryland” I looked over at her as she unbuckled her seatbelt. Hannibal was from France. Why would he have gone to school in Maryland?

“Yeah, that's where we lived” Abigail grabbed her bag “thanks for driving me”

“Yeah, have a good day at school”

When she got home I took her furniture shopping. The fluorescent lights messed with my head. We went to a warehouse. She looked around and touched faux fur couches, wood, bed sets.

“What about this one?” She said, touching a wooden loft bed. “I could make like a little reading corner underneath”

“Do you have books?” I asked, looking at her.

“Yeah a couple,” she shrugged. “So this one?”

We told the salesman we wanted the bed, then it was onto throw pillows. Abigail picked out a bed set that was pale blue, like her eyes. She picked out a rug, a television stand, a lamp, curtains, everything. She made sure the room would be cozy for her.

“Will, are you alright? You look really spaced out? If you want, we can just like go home”

“No, I'm fine. I'm just really tired” I said, nodding. The store seemed uncanny. Stage bedrooms, salesmen in matching outfits, fraternal twins, nothing was exempt from my disgust. I was not exempt from disgust either. People glanced at me in disgust. They looked disgusted. I knew why. I felt bad for Abigail for having to walk next to me.

“Will Graham?” The salesman said. I looked up.

“yeah, that's me”

“I think we should already have your address,” He said with a nod. “Yeah we do”

“Great” I said nervously, handing him my money.

We took the paint home, that was the only thing that wasn't getting delivered. Two cans of dark blue paint, they clicked in the car like a metronome. It was maddening. By the time we got home Hannibal was there and the furniture was in the guest room that would soon be Abigail's.

“Hey” I said to Hannibal, cradling his face.

“Hello” He smiled, kissing me softly before pulling away. Abigail was still in her room. Abigail. Baltimore. It reminded me of John Hopkins.

“Hannibal, I… wanted to talk to you about something” I said, following him to the kitchen. He smiled and nodded. Hannibal had made duck à l'orange. It smelled incredible. I wasn’t hungry. I had become increasingly not hungry.

“Abigail said you went to Johns Hopkins,” I said, stabbing a piece of meat with my fork.
He didn’t look up. “She did?”

“She said you lived in Maryland. That's where you two were before all this.”
He took a sip of wine. “She may be confusing me with someone else.”

“She said your friends from ‘doctor school’ talk about how great you were.” I gave a short laugh. “That’s pretty specific for a mix-up.”

Hannibal finally met my eyes. Calm. Controlled. “Children construct narratives. Especially ones who have lost a parent. I wouldn’t take everything she says at face value.”

“I don’t.” I pushed the food around on my plate. “But I’ve known you for years, and not once have you mentioned Baltimore. Not once.”

“Does that offend you?” he asked lightly.

“It confuses me,” I shot back. “I don’t like not knowing things about the people in my house.”

“You mean me.”

“Yeah,” I said. “I mean you.”

A moment passed. The ticking of the clock was suddenly loud. Hannibal returned to his plate, unbothered.

“I’ve never hidden anything from you, Will. You simply never asked the right questions.” he said matter of factly. My chest tightened.

“I’m asking them now.”

“Then ask,” he said smoothly, slicing into his duck. “But be prepared to hear the answers.

“What is that supposed to mean!” I laughed “you are acting so cryptic lately Hannibal, I don't… it's driving me crazy”

“I don't mean to be cryptic, what are-” He started before Abigail's footsteps were heard down the stairs. I looked at Hannibal, my eyes boring into his. He touched my shoulder and set the table.

Chapter Text

Heaven was the bedroom. Hannibal was here, Abigail's room had been set up, Christmas was approaching.

He looked up at me as I picked from the channels on the television. He had rested his head on my stomach, as if he was trying to hear inside of it. Outside, a swan clawed at the window, the swans were being shot on TV, the swans were invading my body and mind.
Feathers broke through my skin and found their way into my bones. I had lived the life of a stay at home mother.

Hannibal had taught Abigail to play the harpsichord, which I listened to. Music filled the house. I learned how to cook better and I enjoyed my garden. There was an absence. Hannibal and I made love every so often, Abigail was flourishing but it was wrong.

Everything was perfect suddenly. Abigail playing the harpsichord, movie nights, dinner, friends, vinyls. People stopped looking at me strangely when I was in town. There was a deep rooted evil in this perfect life. One day while gardening I was pulling out some weeds when it occurred to me. How could I be gardening in 70 degree weather when it was January? I pulled feathers from every conceivable place. It was maddening. I stopped drinking at that point. My paranoia was the perfect rehab. The Beatles played in our house as Hannibal and Abigail made dinner. The CD player blared loudly.

Oh, please, say to me

You'll let me be your man

And please, say to me

You'll let me hold your hand

You'll let me hold your hand

I want to hold your hand

“Hannibal?” I called out.

The sink had a dead swan in it. It looked real. God, it looked real. Its eyes were black and its neck was slack. It looked pitiful in a way. Its throat was slit. Blood leaked steadily on the floor, it was goopy and red. I watched with disgust. I closed my eyes and breathed deeply.

And when I touch you

I feel happy inside

It's such a feelin' that my love

I can't hide

I can't hide

I can't hide

I couldn't stand the sight of the swan. I left the room and walked to the stairs and sat down. There was blood on the railing. Suddenly a sickening feeling crossed my mind. I didn't exactly remember going to the hospital… I didn't remember anything.

The hospital I remembered had no name, no nurses, no food, nothing. When I thought about it, when I really thought about it the hospital was the hospital from a movie.

This is an episode.

This an episode.

This episode.

Episode.

The house looked different. The room started moving. I got up and started running for Hannibal. I needed to tell him. I ran to him and grabbed him, but there was no warmth. There never was.

I woke up at the bottom of the stairs. Alana was screaming.

“I'm gonna get some help, alright!” She said before bolting. This was not right. I watched as she left. My hand was broken and I had hit my head. I looked at the staircase, my foot was trapped in between the railing. I kicked the wood until it broke and freed my foot. I knew what happened by now. My head was bleeding, I had dreamed it all.

Hannibal ran in and looked at me.

He was beautiful. He was not cold or family oriented, he was himself, he was Hannibal. He had on his suit, he had a pocket square, his hair was combed

I looked up at him and grinned. My husband was back. I coughed, blood escaping my mouth. He looked fearful. I passed out.

This time, I went to an actual hospital. I was not happy, I was angry. I was in the mood of murder. Abigail and Hannibal sat at the edge of my bed.

“What happened?” I asked, looking at the two. Abigail smiled.

“You fell while we were making lunch. Now you're back here” She said.

“So it was all a dream?” I coughed sadly.

“It was a mental hallucination, Will. You wanted a family so your mind made it up” Hannibal said, touching my head. I leaned into his touch. A nurse came in and took some tests. I felt sick as Abigail and Hannibal sat in the corner. The real Hannibal came in at 3. He smiled and brought French chocolates.

“Hello Will, how are you feeling?” He asked. When I looked at him all I felt was dread. I could not have him. I would never be able to have him. It took three seconds for me to start sobbing. I coughed and shook as I sobbed. He stood awkwardly.

I pushed him away and curled up as much as I could. I wanted to kill him. Maybe if I killed him I could see my Hannibal. The thought came into my mind like a blip. It was like a lightbulb turning on.

I could easily do it. I could have my family back if they were gone. I sobbed and shook all night. By the time Clara and Alana arrived I was spent. The bed was no longer warm. I wish I hadn’t noticed that it was January. Every conceivable beginning led to an end. I felt utterly sick. I missed the domestic household that I had.

When I went back home it was empty. I opened Abigail's door and there was nothing there. Alana chatted away as Clara spoke about decorum. There was no piano, there was no harpsichord, there was no food in the fridge, the plates were in the sink, and the worst part was the bed. It was so cold, so absent of warmth.

How was I supposed to move on? As I lay in the bed I wondered if I could go to sleep and see them again. There was no prevail in that. I felt sick in my stomach every time I thought of it. I began seeing them in the corner of my eye. I went to the hardware store and designed Abigail's room as she had it before.

“Renovating, Will?” Hannibal called out from his lawn. He had been walking to his car. I could almost feel the smoothness of his skin on mine.

“Yeah..yeah I am” I called coldly. He nodded.

“Are you alright, you haven’t really been speaking lately, and there's..bottles on your lawn” He gestured to the garden, bottles of whiskey littered on the soil. I looked down at them. “I’m certainly not judging you, it's just…if you need any help with the bottles-”

“I’m not an alcoholic, I don’t need anything from you” I said coldly. The tone that would’ve engaged our petty arguments just made Hannibal step back. He nodded awkwardly.

That night, I slept in Abigail’s room. Or what I made of it. The wallpaper peeled in places-I’d used too little paste-and the bed was too small for me, but I curled into it anyway. I placed one of her old hair brushes on the nightstand, even though it wasn’t hers. I had brought a look alike at the store.

“This for you?” The cashier smiled as he held up the hairbrush with the deer. It was a woman's hairbrush. I looked up coldly.

“No, it's for my daughter” I said, my voice devoid of emotion.

The moonlight painted the floor like it used to, back when everything wasn’t made of paper and memory. I thought I heard the harpsichord again. I almost cried with relief. I followed it to the hallway, to the dark kitchen, to the garden—anywhere it would take me. But it was just the wind in the chimney.

I stood barefoot in the dirt until I couldn’t feel my feet. I wanted to bury myself beside the bottles, to become one more forgotten thing in my Eden. Hannibal used to watch me garden. I think he liked how I touched things gently. I think he liked imagining his hands where the soil went. I knew nothing of Hannibal in the end. I knew what I wanted. I wanted Abigail and Hannibal.

The next morning I woke up in my garden, my leg slung on the porch. I groaned and rolled away from the dying flowers, my cast dragging with me. Hannibal watched from his porch with sorrow. My Hannibal would have presented degradation. He would have made me feel awful enough to not do it again. He would have kissed me sweetly and held me. This Hannibal, the Hannibal next door stared. I groaned and kicked a bottle away.

“Do you need help Will?” He called. I looked back at him, dirt on my face, my head bandaged and my disgust eminent.

“I don't know” I called back. He rushed over, taking long strides and helped me stand up. He patted my back.

“Let me take you to your bed so you can rest” He said, helping me to the door. I let him help. When we walked in I suddenly became aware of how damaging it had been. I noticed the paintings torn down, the dishes in the sink, the layer of dust, the empty bottles. Hannibal swallowed and kept his eyes straight as we walked up the stairs.

“Which room is it, Will?” He asked, glancing into Abigail's bedroom. I pointed to the blue door. I hated that he didn't know which door was which. It was our bedroom. He opened the door and looked down.

The floor had empty beer bottles, empty beer cans, clothes, food trash, magazines, empty pill bottles and all of my blankets. He frowned and helped me to my bed.

“How have you been feeling?” He asked, sitting down on the edge of the bed.

“I miss how everything was before”

“Before you got hurt?”

“Before I woke up. Everything was so amazing, Hannibal. Everything was so colorful and I was amazing. I was amazing at times. I was awful most of the time but I was loved, I was so loved. Now I'm here” I said sadly, looking at the mess on the floor.

Hannibal nodded and went to say something.

“You wouldn't get it Hannibal” I cut him off “you weren't there. You were there, but you weren't”

“Will I honestly think you should see a psychologist” He said.

My Hannibal would have delivered that opinion while smoothing back my hair. This was not my Hannibal. This was not my house. This was not my family.

Chapter Text

I drank my last bottle of beer and cleaned up my garden. I straightened up the house, cleaned Abigail's room, put in a Beatles CD and wrote three notes.

The first one was to Clara. I told her how much I hated her and her husband, I told her how much I resented her growing up, I told her how much I wished I was an only child, and I told her to sell the house. The next one was for Alana. It was quick and easy.

Thanks for helping with my leg.
-Will Graham.

The next one was for Hannibal and Abigail.

I’ll see you two soon, Sweet dreams.

This text is the last one. I typed it on my typewriter for the authorities. It would’ve been confusing if I had committed the act for seemingly no reason. You have to understand happiness and delusion. There is bliss in delusion. The next thing I did was grab a knife from the kitchen. I walked to Hannibal's house in long strides. I cut his tires before I went in. He opened the door as I stormed in with the knife. He put his hands up as I grabbed his shoulder and dragged him into the living room.

“Will!” He called trying to fight me off.

“I just wanna talk! We’re just talking!” I called as I pushed him onto the couch. I sat down. I had never been here. It smelled like orange and cloves, a benign summer smell, laced with fake kindness. It made me sick.

“You have a daughter?”

“Yes… Ab-”

“Abigail, I know, where is she, where does she live?” I said impatiently.

“Don’t hurt her Will, I don’t care what you do to me, Just don't-”

“Call her. Give me a pen and paper” I said impatiently. He pointed to a pen in my shirt pocket. My head was reeling, I didn’t know what I was doing. He handed me an envelope and I wrote quickly. “Call your daughter Hannibal. Call her now or I’m going to kill you”

He rushed to the phone and typed in the number. It rang and rang, a million billion times. It was like a dial tone in my brain.

“You’re gonna read what's on this envelope” I said, my hands shaking. He nodded distantly. Then I heard her voice.

“Hello?” Abigail's voice rang through the receiver, and I was back. I was back in the home, in the dream. I was back in the kitchen, I was renovating again, and I was back in the bedroom. I was in heaven again, I was underneath Hannibal, I was looking at the food in front of me, I was building a bed. I was Will Graham. Abigail snapped me out of it.

When he hung up the phone I knew it was over. I sat him down and waited for his daughter to arrive.

“Why are you doing this, Will?” Hannibal asked on the couch.

“I thought your daughter lived in California”

“No, she lives in new Orleans with her mother, why would she be in California?” He asked, his eyebrow raised, fear evident.

“I had a dream when I fell down the stairs. I started going crazy, I hallucinated you and ran to your house… you started living with me. We were lovers. You cooked a lot, you fell asleep next to me. Abigail came to live with us and we were a family… Then I woke up. I had dreamed that we were a family for years. You as my lover for years, Abigail as my daughter. I can't give that up”

“Then why would you kill us?”

“So you guys can come home with me” I smiled, rubbing Hannibal's temple “You'd never willingly go like this. We can all be together in heaven”

“That won't happen Will, I promise” The words hung like smoke. I didn't care if it wasn't hopeful, it was his promise. He had promised me. Then I heard it. Tires on gravel.

“Don't move” I said harshly before looking out the window. Clara was there. She was holding a Tupperware dish. It wasn't Abigail. She was walking to my porch. She turned her head and caught my eye. I shook my head. I looked back at Hannibal.

“You won't move, you'll wait for Abigail?”

He nodded.

That was all I needed.

I stormed out the door, cracking it. I walked towards Clara, knife in hand. She watched me and dropped the Tupperware. She started running away, she didn't run to her car, she ran through the field. It was easy to catch up to her, her feet caught in the mud. I held up the knife like a murderer as she screamed for help.

“Will! What are you doing! Will!” she screamed.

“What I have to” I said coldly as I caught up to her.

“Will!” She screamed. Then the entire field went eerily silent. No birdsong, no yelling, nothing. I was alive suddenly. I was here, I was Will Graham. Hannibal could have his life. I could have mine. Abigail could have hers. Clara however, could not have hers.

The blood was cleaned off easily in the pond. Abigail and Hannibal set up the tent and started the fire. They were wearing the same clothes I left them in. They looked so happy. I was back. I smiled as I stepped out the lake, my clothes dripping.

“Where's the marshmallow?” Abigail called, grabbing a stick for s'mores.

“Come on Abigail, you'll spoil your dinner” Hannibal fussed.

“It's fine, just this once” I smiled. I put a marshmallow on my stick. I toasted it and bit into it. It crunched disgustingly. I spit out a silver wedding band and some of Clara's blood. It was a little hard to chew the first time, but the second time was easy. I had completely lost my mind. I heard the sirens and smiled at Hannibal and abigail. So young, so filled with life. They would always be there. Whether I wanted it or not.