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]

"Are you trying to convince me, or yourself?" Hannibal observed.

[alcuin]

Alcuin looked surprised. "I'm not - I don't question that I loved him. Truly. Maybe I've... I think I'm feeling a lot of confusing things right now, I might not be giving you a good impression..."

[anamusebouche]

"I have no doubt you loved him," Hannibal replied. "That is what you feel and what you felt. You mentioned there was no coercion. I wonder how certain you are of that."

[alcuin]

"Not - not with him - " And then suddenly Alcuin's throat felt tight, and his heart was pounding. For a second he thought he might be on the verge of a panic attack. His voice was a little choked as he asked, "May I have a glass of water?"

[anamusebouche]

Hannibal nodded and got up to get him one. "Would you like a glass of wine too?"

[alcuin]

Alcuin looked surprised. "Is that - normal for a therapy appointment?"

[anamusebouche]

"No," Hannibal agreed. "But you'll find me a somewhat unconventional therapist."

[alcuin]

"Then yes, please," Alcuin said, grateful.

When he took the glass of water first though, he held it with both hands because they were shaking, a little.

[anamusebouche]

As Alcuin calmed a little, Hannibal sat back down and spoke. He'd poured a glass of wine for himself as well, but he set it aside for now. "I can see your relationship with Anafiel was emotionally straining. Love can be very complicated sometimes. You're now seeing your relationship from another perspective. That can be hard to face."

[alcuin]

Alcuin took a drink of the water, set down the glass, and reached for the wine. "But what's even the point? He's dead. Shouldn't I just move on?"

[anamusebouche]

"Then let me help you find a place for what happened, so you can move on."

[alcuin]

Alcuin took a drink, his hand slightly steadier now. “What does that mean?” he asked.

[anamusebouche]

"Moving on can be hard when the events of the past haunt our minds," Hannibal explained. "You're here for a reason. If you could simply close the book and move on, then why are you here?"

[alcuin]

"Because I guess I'm not sure... how to do that," Alcuin said. "What to do now without him, and also how to get past the jumble of emotions I'm feeling about his death."

[anamusebouche]

"Let's talk about the jumble then. More than sadness alone?" Hannibal guessed.

[alcuin]

Alcuin put the wine glass to his lips again and drank. “I feel guilty…” and that hung for a moment before he added, “because there’s some amount of relief too, maybe. It’s terrible. I’m terrible.”

[anamusebouche]

"Relief?" Hannibal asked neutrally.

[alcuin]

Alcuin winced. As if having it repeated back to him made it more real.

"I just, I wasn't sure what I was going to do, given how things were going between us. He didn't like that I was pushing back against his - " Demands. "Advice." He paused. "Not relief that he's dead, relief that... I don't have to make the decision I was grappling with."

[anamusebouche]

"The decision to leave him?" Hannibal continued.

[alcuin]

Alcuin hesitated, and then nodded. "I mean I didn't want to. I wanted our relationship to stay the same, except just... I thought maybe I didn't want him managing my career anymore."

[anamusebouche]

"Was he advising you, then, or was it stronger. Insisting, perhaps."

[alcuin]

"... perhaps," Alcuin conceded.

[anamusebouche]

"It doesn't help to deny your thoughts," Hannibal replied. "Do you think he was using you?"

[alcuin]

Alcuin took a beat to answer. “Yes,” he said. “And I think he also loved me.”

[anamusebouche]

"The two can coexist," Hannibal agreed. "Must have been difficult to navigate, though. For you."