Alana is staring at the letter that came to her desk this morning.
The last one was on Christmas Eve. Polite as usual, but a dirty undercurrent is hidden beneath the friendly greetings.
She has to see it. It’s her responsibility.
She gulps down a mouthful of wine and swallows back her pounding heart,then quickly opens the envelope that says"Mr.Will Graham".
If you come to see me,
I will tie you up.
I will crush you.
I will penetrate you,again.
I will kiss you.
I will bite you.
I will swallow your tears,your flesh,your blood,your saliva,your semen.
I will tear down your bones.
The skull will be polished into a goblet.
An agreeable satisfaction will drop among the stunning curve of that,and move into every moment of my remaining dinner times.
The phalanges will be inlaid into exquisite cuffs.They will shine on my wrists as I dress up to be a chef.
The ribs will be made into harpsichord keyboards.
Every night your lamentation will accompany me to sleep.
The femur and tibia will be ground into dust and cast into a crutch.
When I am old,we will support each other.Finally.
The skin,which is intact and gently peeled off,will be immediately soaked in brime,and tanned with lime.
It will be sewn into a garment,the most intimate layer of mine.
That is how you hug me till death do us part.
If you come to see me,Will.
It will be my turn to chase you.
After then,not even death can do us part.
Trembling so hard that she can barely hold the goblet,Alana manages to swallow the remaining crimson liquid. She feels cold all over, like back to that painful rainy night. She is so frightened and her leg hurts so much that she has to lean hard on her crutch to keep her balance.
After much thought, Alana puts the letter into the shredder and stares at it until the last corner disappears.
Then she notices today's newspaper in the trolley.
In a humble corner, a news with the headline "former FBI special agent Will Graham walks down the aisle" is lying in silence. There is no photos, just a few statements, The words"walks down the aisle" glow in Alana’s eyes like trumpets of victory.
That's enough. Alana's blood red mouth slightly curved.It’s not even a smile.
"Good morning, Alana. How's your leg?" Hannibal stands erect behind his table, his light-colored jumpsuit looks particularly funny today.
"Very good. After all, I can go anywhere I want." Alana, almost smiling, tosses the newspaper through the drawer into the cage.
"Semele was burned alive for accidentally peeping into the real body of Zeus, leaving only a cripple. I'm glad you're alive." Hannibal, his dark brown eyes fix on her, walks slowly toward the glass wall and gracefully picks up the pad of papers.
Alana is in no hurry to hit him back.
She waits for his gaze to inch closer to that corner, and after a few seconds of silence he walks quickly back to the table.
"You are not the father, Hannibal. No one loves you."
Instead of giving him a chance to answer, Alana simply turns away, satisfied with the small revenge.
But she can't help looking back as she walks out the door.
The man remains motionless behind the table,as if he is becoming a statue.He will never grow old and he will never die. For the rest of his long life, at every dark night when he lost his freedom, waiting for someone who would never come to see him.