The fire licks and basks the walls in a soft glow. The soft tempo of music filling the air around our ears as it settles into the background…
“Hannibal, I have to get going, dinner was lovely as always" Alana rises from her seat and places her empty wine glass on the coffee table.
“But of course," I say, rising from the seat and setting my glass down next to hers, “It's always a pleasure having you at my dinner table”
“How could I resist when I have my own brewery…” she amuses, following me as I lead her to retrieve her coat, “Still, I haven’t guessed the rest of the flavors in the beer..”
“Ahh, your palate may not be as refined as mine, but I still enjoy putting yours to the test”, I say as I hold open her coat for her.
“And, I love it being tested” Alana dips her arms through and swirls around, stepping into my space. Giving her a placid smile as she grins and leans in. I indulge her by making it last no more than the appropriate response time before gently stepping away to hold open the door for her.
“Goodnight, Alana,” I say, arranging my features to a warmer tone as I smile down at her.
“Night, Hannibal,” she says, as she wrapped her scarf around her small delicate neck, brushing her dark brown auburn hair-that is seemingly almost black in the pale light of the moon. Turning she waves half down the driveway, before continuing to her car. I watch her as she pulls out and down the road before I shut the door.
Locking it, I return to the living space, and collect our wine glasses. Stalking towards the kitchen, I’m vaguely aware of the opera music coming to a brief stop as the bravado cuts out. With a twitch of an impressioned smile, I turn my back to wash the glasses as I hear footsteps padding in.
Taking a brief inhale, the familiar scent filling my lungs, deriving a small ‘home’ pull from my chest as I dry the glasses before putting them in the cabinet. I turn amused as I stare into the deep aqua blue eyes and lean against the counter, “spying, were you?”
“God I thought she’d never leave”, Abigail says, plopping down on the island stool.
“Abigail, she could have-”
“I was careful” she insists, crossing her arms over her chest, “besides, I couldn’t sleep”
“No, more of like… nothing” she says huffing.
“Nothing?” I ask, raising an eyebrow.
“Lately just a blackness...I get flashes images here and there but… I feel.. regret...guilt” she says her voice growing small which each passing word.
“Dreams are a mere reflection of what's hidden deep within our subconscious. Emotions tend to have a correlated derive from the images in your dreams. Your emotions are washing over you so strongly in your dreams, as you mind feels no need to keep them at bay anymore. Tell me, why do you think you feel regret?” I ask walking over to her side.
“Do you regret faking your death?” I supply
She looks up from her hands and knits her eyebrows, “No, of course not… being here with you… and the thought of us leaving with Will someday… its.. It's the closest feeling to home I’ve ever had”
“Then, what is it?” I ask, pulling her into an embrace, smoothing her hair out of her face and behind her right ear. Her only ear.
“I regret that I don't feel as remorseful as I should, after what I had done,” she says, nuzzling her head in my shoulder.
“Killing is a powerful thing. It's a capability we are all born with, but is something not many have the act to do. Taking a life is no small act. It derives from our more primal and basic instincts like our fellow wild kin. You feel no remorse, not because you are unable to. But because it is in our nature. It is something our dear Will fears himself. The fear of coming into his own. But soon, he will be ready” I say, a small smile ghosting my lips as I stare above her head.
“I miss him,” she says sadly.
“I know, but before we can all be together,” I say kissing her temple, “he must want this for himself”
“Will he ever be ready?” she asks almost in despair.
Hugging her tightly before releasing her, I smile down fondly at her, “Yes, but time will tell”
Guiding her back to her room upstairs, I can’t help the small tightness in my chest that blooms briefly, at the thought of maybe he never will ready. Maybe Wills moral compass is so ubsuqued from what he’s trying to be-- rather than what he’s meant to be. But with his on-set new promising air of darkness and power that's accompanied him since his release, beats back the previous thought, as the night ends...