Hannibal

[alcuin]

Alcuin Delaunay sat at a small metal table in a police interrogation room, his hands folded tightly in his lap to stop them from trembling. The fluorescent light above him buzzed faintly.

He had dressed carefully that morning, choosing a dove-gray cashmere sweater and black slacks—simple, elegant, deliberately unassuming. His usual style, though today it kind of felt like a costume. He tugged at the cuffs, his fingers brushing the faint smudge of charcoal still clinging to his skin from sketching the night before. He hadn’t been able to sleep and had tried to distract himself, but his drawings had turned out like every other attempt for the past three days: dark, jagged lines, incomplete.

He had barely stepped out of his car at the studio lot that morning when two detectives intercepted him. Their tone had been polite but firm—Could he come down to the station to answer a few questions about Anafiel Vessar?—and the polite veneer didn’t fool him for a second. He had agreed, of course; refusing would have only made things worse.

Alcuin rubbed his thumb along the edge of his palm, an old nervous habit, as he replayed his last moments at Anafiel’s house for the hundredth time. He had been careful, hadn’t he? The door locked behind him. The lights off. He'd already admitted to the police that he'd been there that day, and (convincingly, he thought) expressed his uncertainty about the exact time. Perhaps someone had seen him to pinpoint it more exactly, in a way that might be damning? A neighbor? A camera? Or even worse, had he left behind some damning piece of evidence in his panic? His fingerprints all over the house could be explained easily enough...

His breath hitched at the thought. You could have saved him, a small voice in his mind whispered, insidious and relentless. If you’d stayed—if you hadn’t run—he might still be alive.

Thank God, he thought, that was an actor. He thought he'd gotten through that interrogation pretty well, but they'd told him to stay put, that someone else would be coming to talk to him.

Comments

[anamusebouche]

Hannibal regarded him closely. "I think you would benefit from talking to a psychiatrist, but I don't see any reason not to sign this form."

Upon which, he did indeed sign the form.

[alcuin]

Alcuin looked at him for a moment more, as if taking the measure of the man, and then nodded.

"Do you have a card?"

Though he hadn't decided yet if he was asking because he wanted to, or as a show for the cameras.

[anamusebouche]

Hannibal reached into the inner pocket of his suit jacket and produced a plain card. "The first session is always free of charge," he promised.

[alcuin]

Alcuin slipped the card into his pocket.

"Am I free to go then?" he asked.

[anamusebouche]

"The officer will decide that, but I don't think that will be a problem," Hannibal said with a small, kind smile.

[alcuin]

Alcuin hesitated, and then got to his feet. "Ah. Thank you, then, Dr. Lecter," he said, and politely offered his hand.

[anamusebouche]

Hannibal shook it with a curious nod.

The telephone call came a week later and Hannibal was truly pleased when it was Alcuin calling for a first appointment.

He arrived in time, and when Hannibal opened the door to the waiting room he was seated there already. "Do come in."

[alcuin]

Alcuin just briefly hesitated in the doorway, the heavy oak frame pressing against his fingertips. "Thank you," he said politely, and looked around as he walked inside. The space was somehow both soothing and intimidating. He did very much appreciate the walls lined with books though.

He was again dressed in muted tones, as though trying not to draw attention to himself. He wore the same soft, dove-gray button-down that clung neatly to his slender frame, and a cream-colored cardigan loosely over it. He was carrying a black leather satchel, worn edges showing age and use, though it was impeccably clean and well-maintained. On his right ring finger there was a slim silver band.

A wrinkle on his trousers near the knee showed where he’d been gripping them too tightly in the waiting room. Each detail of his attire seemed deliberate, but underneath it all, Alcuin was close to unraveling.

[anamusebouche]

Hannibal very clearly did not mind standing out, even here. He wore a perfectly fitted three piece blue suit and a finely embroidered tie. Elegant, but unafraid to be noticed.

He took a seat on one of the two large armchairs and gestured for Alcuin to sit opposite. "Please, have a seat."

He waited for Alcuin to sit. "Would you like me to explain how I work first?"

[alcuin]

"Yes, please," Alcuin said as he sat, folding his hands in his lap.

He had never seen a therapist before. Once, one of his costars had gently suggested it, observing that Alcuin seemed a bit overwhelmed. Alcuin had raised it to Anafiel, as he tended to get his opinion on most things, and the older man had immediately shot down the idea.

[anamusebouche]

Hannibal began by explaining the practical side to things; how Alcuin could make appointments, what regularity of sessions were most beneficial what the entrance and exits were - guarantee of privacy for the patient. He also mentioned that he appreciated timeliness.

"From a therapeutic perspective," he continued. "The conventional setting is this; we sit opposite each other, I will make notes, and we will discuss whatever you want to discuss. Often what is on ones mind can be the first step in uncovering the true cause of whatever distress is ailing us."

[alcuin]

"I see," Alcuin said, nodding. He had, throughout this, been paying close attention. Even though he wasn't taking notes, it seemed somehow clear that he was committing the information to memory.

"And I feel I need to confirm, given our initial meeting, that your relationship with the police department does not implicate confidentiality. My understanding is that a psychiatrist is only required to report imminent threat of harm to self or others, abuse or neglect, or in some jurisdictions communicable diseases that pose a public health threat."

Alcuin was the sort of person that did research.

[anamusebouche]

A smile tugged at Hannibal's lips. Clearly Alcuin had done his research well. He nodded. "Everything you say here, stays here. I'm under no obligation to report anything you say. I take doctor patient confidentiality very seriously."

[alcuin]

“All right,” Alcuin said, satisfied. “Could we start by you telling me what you already know about me? My Wikipedia page, my films, the tabloids… I would just like to be aware.”

[anamusebouche]

"I'm aware of your Wikipedia page, but I put no value on its contents," Hannibal supplied. "I did conduct some research on you - I imagine you did the same with me. So, I'm aware of what the tabloids wrote about you, though I'm more interested in how that impacts you and not the content of what they say about you. From our brief encounter, though, I do believe that there is some truth to what the press says about your relation with Vessar. I'm sure we will explore it."

Then, after a short beat. "I quite enjoyed 'Echoes of Glass'."

[alcuin]

A little smile tugged at Alcuin’s lips. “I’m… very proud of that one.”

[anamusebouche]

"It was quite a performance," Hannibal conceded. "How did you land the role?"

[alcuin]

There was a brief flicker of discomfort across Alcuin's face. Not at the answer, but at the question. "The director saw my guest spot in Law and Order," Alcuin said. "He requested that I audition." And he was proud of this, too. It was a role the the was proud of, and getting it had nothing to do with Anafiel pulling strings or... other things.

[anamusebouche]

Hannibal saw the minute show of discomfort as if it were written plainly on his face. "A straight-forward way to land a role," Hannibal said, suggesting in his tone that he knew there was more to it.

[alcuin]

“It was,” Alcuin said. “It hasn’t always been.” There was a long pause. “I don’t - I don’t really know where to start. This feels a bit like I’m in a confessional.” He hadn’t been in one of the those in nearly a decade.

[anamusebouche]

"We can start in more comfortable places," Hannibal suggested. "But first, what made you accept my offer of therapy?"

[alcuin]

"I ah... I realized I don't... have anyone to talk to," Alcuin said. "And that perhaps that wasn't good." There were a number of things he'd been realizing in the time since Anafiel's death. One was how isolated he was. Another was how much that may have been intentional.

[anamusebouche]

"Since Anafiel's death?" Hannibal guessed gently.

[alcuin]

Alcuin nodded. “And I’m between roles right now, I start shooting something in a few weeks. I haven’t really known what to do with myself, I’ve found myself just… staring at the wall sometimes.”

[anamusebouche]

"Did you spend a lot of time with him?" Hannibal asked. Finally, the young man would have to admit to him what the relation was between them.