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

[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."

[alcuin]

Alcuin couldn't help but notice the questions that Hannibal was not asking. He didn't ask him what he was using him for. What he'd demanded he do. He also hadn't asked if Alcuin had killed him.

"Maybe that's what I should title my memoir," Alcuin said with a small smile. "Difficult to Navigate."

[anamusebouche]

Those questions required trust and Hannibal was curious to know what Alcuin would freely divulge.

Very little, it seemed.

"Would you write one?" Considering all the secrets.

[alcuin]

Alcuin snorted. "No, probably not. Sorry, that was a poor joke."

He did feel slightly looser now because of the wine. Though not that loose.

"Do you have a lot of actors for patients?"

[anamusebouche]

"Some, but we're not here to discuss other patients," Hannibal said.

[alcuin]

“Of course. I suppose I just wonder if there are ways that we present unique challenges for you.”

[anamusebouche]

"You do," Hannibal replied honestly. "You give off the impression of openness while saying very little. That's an interesting challenge."

[alcuin]

Alcuin offered him a small, embarrassed smile. “I actually feel like I’ve said rather a lot. But I’m accustomed to not… talking about any of this at all.”

[anamusebouche]

"You've said some things," Hannibal replied. "Would you prefer if I was more blunt?"

[alcuin]

"Actually, yes," Alcuin said. Whatever Hannibal might ask him, it wasn't like he'd be forced to answer. And he preferred to know exactly where he stood.

[anamusebouche]

Hannibal nodded. "Did you kill him?"

[alcuin]

Alcuin felt his mouth go a little dry.

There was a long pause.

"He fell."

[anamusebouche]

That was not a 'no'. "What caused the fall?"

[alcuin]

Alcuin hesitated. Then he just told the truth. “We were arguing. He grabbed me, I yanked away, and he lost his balance.”

[anamusebouche]

"Do you feel like you killed him?" Hannibal asked then.

[alcuin]

Alcuin took a gulp of the wine. “Not… exactly.” Pause. “I didn’t try to save him.”

Saying it out loud actually made Alcuin feel like he might throw up.

[anamusebouche]

"Was he breathing?" Hannibal asked. Well, he didn't mind being blunt.

[alcuin]

“Yes," Alcuin said finally after a long pause, his voice trembling. He swallowed hard, his throat tight as though the confession itself might choke him. “I think he was alive when I left.”

[anamusebouche]

"And then he died," Hannibal observed as he watched Alcuin struggle.

[alcuin]

"... yes, it seems so." Alcuin thought of the moment he'd heard. And the relief he'd felt, because what if Anafiel had told the police that Alcuin was responsible for his fall, and that he'd left him there to die? Maybe Alcuin deserved to go to jail.