Chapter 2
Alana’s bladder woke before her. She tried, warm, comfortable, half conscious, to ignore it, but a moment of lucidity caused her to remember why she had gotten up at two in the morning to drink a full glass of water. Her eyes flicked open, mind slamming into consciousness.
She rolled over, reaching out, and her fingers met soft skin. Palm gripping a bare shoulder, giving it a gentle squeeze.
“Margot.”
“Mmm.”
Soft but firm. “Margot I’m going to take it.” Sitting up, pulling back sheets and swinging her legs over the side of the bed. Margot shifted, sighing into the pillow.
“Ok, wait for me.”
Alana, standing, muscles pulling tight in her legs, sleep still clutching at her body. Her stomach jumped, urgency lighting up her spine. “I’ll try.” Shrugging on her robe. “No, actually, I might pee myself if I wait. Hurry up.”
She paced to the bathroom, quick, a calm control of her movements as she ripped open the kit, grabbed the cup she’d placed by the sink. She was still peeing when Margot appeared in the door, hair pulled up into a messy bun, halfway through a yawn.
“I might have overdone it.” Alana, careful, precarious, trying not to spill as she placed the cup on the counter.
Margot’s sleepy laugh. “You practically drank half a gallon.”
“Well, I wanted to be sure.” Alana speaking through a smile. “You get the most accurate results early in the morning.” A light warmth tingled through her limbs, into her hands, her fingers. Miniscule trembles as she dipped the stick into the cup, and placed it, careful, onto the counter.
Margot, silent, strode over to Alana, sat across from her on the edge of the bathtub. Neither spoke. Alana’s eyes fixed to the tiny plastic window of the stick. Margot’s hand on Alana’s leg, running gentle, reassuring, up and down the length of her thigh. The first line turned blue. Alana sat up straighter, tucked a flyaway behind her ear. Waited, foot tapping against the floor, for the second line.
Waited. And waited. And waited.
“Well?”
Alana’s head snapped up, to Margot, then back down at the stick, as if she might miss something in the half second she tore her eyes away.
That can’t be.
She grabbed the test, stood, held it underneath the light above the mirror and studied it close, eyes squinted.
Nothing. No line. Not even the faintest hint of a line.
Alana’s arms fell to her sides. She let the test fall from limp fingers onto the counter. The warmth had left her, the excitement of anticipation. She felt, wholly and unexpectedly, hollow, as though her lungs, her heart had vanished from her chest.
Deafening silence. Then, “I was so sure this time…”
Margot appeared behind her in the mirror and Alana realized that she had been staring at her own reflection. Arms slipped over hers, fingers gliding down forearms, hands, lacing between her own. Margot pulled her tight, resting her chin where Alana’s neck met her shoulder.
“Are you ok?”
Her voice, the warmth of her skin, her soft breath, and Alana could feel her chest slowly filling again.
“Yes, I’m fine. I’m just… surprised.”
Margot nodded. “You seemed pretty confident.”
Alana nodded as well, eyes fixed at a random spot on the sink. “I was.” She leaned into Margot, face against face. “What do we do?”
“Well…” Margot rocked slow from side to side, moving Alana with her. “We try again. Third time’s the charm.”
The hollow feeling came creeping back, manifested itself in Alana’s words. Bitter, flat. “It’s not like we have an unlimited amount of sperm.”
Margot’s arms left hers. Alana turned to face her and found nothing but warmth in soft eyes and parted lips. Still, the room felt cold. She crossed her arms in front of her chest. Margot placed a hand on the side of her face.
“I love you. And we’ll figure this out. Ok? Try not to be too upset.”
A deep, heavy breath. “I know. I love you too. I just… I really could have used this. Today of all days.”
Her meeting loomed ominous in the early afternoon, a dark and opaque cloud over her day. It would be her first time seeing him in months, the first visit to his cell since the trial.
“I know.” Margot nodding slow. “It would have been nice. But you’ll be ok. And now you can have a glass of wine or three with me when you get home.”
Alana smiled. “I like the sound of ‘or three’.”
Margot leaned forward, a quick and lovely kiss. “You should get dressed. Don’t want to be late.”
The morning was still dark when Alana pulled out of the driveway. Cold, colder the farther she drove. The Verger estate shrunk in her rearview mirror before disappearing behind a line of trees, with it, Alana’s hopeless but overwhelming desire to stay home with Margot all day. Her thoughts swarmed around her head, echoing off the sides of the car, clouding her vision. Margot and Hannibal, swirled together, clashing, colliding.
She could decide to find a surrogate that isn’t me. It’d be the most practical option at this point after two failed attempts. Why does he want so badly to talk to me? What could he possibly have to say? She’d be right to. I couldn’t blame her but I just wish I could give her what she needs. If he tries to pull anything at all, I’m walking away.
At least her buzzing thoughts busied her commute, distracted her from the nagging emptiness. She hardly noticed she had arrived until she pulled robotic into her parking space, knuckles white from her grip around the steering wheel.
A deep breath. Another, and another. There were four hours until her agreed upon meeting time. Four hours. She could do four hours.
Unusually bitter coffee. An obnoxious ray of light landing right across her face as she sat at her desk. She snapped a bit too harshly at an overly enthusiastic journalist who had, somehow, managed to get an appointment with her. The minutes dragged themselves reluctantly by. Alana spent a large portion of them pacing. She didn’t know why being pregnant would have helped this. The fulfillment, maybe? The joy it would have brought her, the surge of confidence to quiet the tiny tremors she pretended not to feel. She tapped her fingers on her desk. On a whim, opened the surveillance stream on her computer.
Hannibal sat on his bed, cross-legged, against the wall. Eyes closed.
She closed it, quick. Too quick. Took her thousandth deep breath of the day. He’d know, in a second, if she was nervous. Use it against her. Alana rubbed at her eyes, leaned back in her chair. She wouldn’t let him. She refused to give him anything. Nothing about this situation should have him feeling like he was in any control at all.
She opened her eyes. Realized the mistake that was allowing Hannibal to pick the meeting time. Decided, in a dizzying rush of assurance, to take that decision from him. Got up. Strode out of her office and down the hall.
“Ma’am?” A guard outside the door, eyeing her with a slight frown.
Determined. “Tell Bowman to observe the feed. Record everything.”
One curt nod. “Ma’am.” He stepped aside, bending his head down to his radio, repeating the orders into it. The other guard, at her gesture, pulled the door open for her.
The tremors returned in full force, shooting into her arms, her legs, squeezing the muscles in her shoulders. Alana ignored them as she walked, long, confident strides, clicking of her heels echoing loud off the glass.
He didn’t even open his eyes.
“Hello, Alana. You’re early.”
She didn’t allow her voice, her body, her face, to betray the icy chill that filled her stomach, the horrific paralysis coiling around her at the mere sight of him.
“I decided to move our appointment.” Bored and indifferent. “I have a busy afternoon.” As if to say she had better and more important things in her life than Hannibal Lecter. Knowing full well how much that would bother him.
His eyes flicked open. Alana, silent, forced her breathing to stay slow. He got up from his bed, walked to the glass. Mirroring the way Alana stood tall, shoulders wide.
Despite the glass, the cameras, the guards, she knew she was totally and completely exposed. Hannibal did too. He looked annoyingly amused.
“I’ll get to the point, then.”
“Please do.”
“I’d like to request some reading material, if I may.”
Alana’s eyebrows shot up. She thought of laughing, but decided against it. Too patronizing, too childish.
“And what makes you think you have the right?”
“I don’t claim to have the right to anything. I’m simply making a formal request.” He put up his hands in mock-defeat. Words light and friendly. Casual. The hair on Alana’s arms stood up, goosebumps thankfully concealed under her blazer.
“I see.” She nodded slow, pretending to deliberate. She paced to one side of the room, then back to the center. Hannibal’s unblinking eyes tracking every minor movement. “And why do you think I’d let you have anything at all?”
Hannibal sighed, eyes on the ceiling. “Well, if I’m going to be here for the rest of my life, I’d like some way to stay sharp. I can’t imagine it would be much fun for either of us to sit her and watch me grow old and dull.”
A scowl creased Alana’s face. “Nothing about this will ever be ‘fun,’ Hannibal. It’s not supposed to be. It’s prison.”
“Of course. Forgive my poor choice of words.”
Alana’s scowl remained, her arms rigid at her sides. Hannibal’s eyes ran up and down the length of her body, studying its language.
“I can offer you information, in exchange.”
Alana said nothing. Mind flipping through thousands of possibilities but landing on none.
Hannibal filled the pause. “If you want.”
“What information could you possibly give to us that wasn’t revealed in the trial?”
Hannibal smiled to himself and Alana felt overwhelmingly small.
“I revealed as little information as possible during the trial.”
“You revealed a lot, Hannibal.”
“There is far more yet uncovered.” He paced now, hands grasped behind his back. “Not just grisly details. Useful information. Wouldn’t you like to know what techniques I used on Miriam Lass?”
Alana did everything she could to not let show how much she actually did want to know. Straightened her spine. Stood centimeters taller.
“And you’d willingly give that information in exchange for a few books?”
Hannibal nodded. “I have a list.”
Alana chewed the inside of her cheek for a moment. It was an… oddly reasonable proposal. “What’s the catch?”
“No catch. No agenda.”
“You always have an agenda.”
“Not this time.”
Now, Alana allowed herself to laugh. “Forgive me if I find that hard to believe.”
Hannibal inclined his head. “You may find it hard to believe, but it is the truth.”
It was certainly an interesting proposal. Had he been anyone but himself, Alana would have been tempted to take it. Still, there was something so eerily sinister about him. The way he walked, folded his hands, the way his eyes meandered casually around the room, talking to Alana as though they were still friends and colleagues. The calm, the cooperation. Even if he was fully sincere, and there was no more to this plot than the exchange of goods and information… it was an exchange on his terms, for something he desired. It’d be giving him what he wanted, a win.
Everything in Alana screamed no. But a tiny corner of the back of her skull yelled over the fray. How did you pull off Miriam Lass?
Alana frowned. Began pacing once more.
“There are ways for me to get that information from you, you know.”
Hannibal cocked his head. “They won’t work.”
Voice wavering with a slight chuckle. “You may be fairly confident with your ability to hold your tongue, but I doubt you can chemically resist a healthy dose of sodium amytal.”
She didn’t mean it. But Hannibal might not know that. There was a shift in his demeanor, slight enough that by anyone else it might have gone unnoticed.
“Hm. I thought the end of Chilton’s reign would bring change.”
Alana stopped pacing. Turned to face him. Close now, inches from the glass, from him.
“How very dull, Alana.”
Her skin grew hot, anger simmering low in her throat.
“Someone will be by tomorrow to collect your list.” Standing tall, speaking stern. “I will think about it. No promises.”
“Thank you, Alana.”
“It's Dr. Bloom.”
He smiled at her correction. Her skin grew hotter, more uncomfortable. Alana turned on her heel, taking a few strides towards the door, intending on putting a close to the conversation, when,
“Dr. Bloom?”
She stopped. Sighed, visibly, letting her shoulders rise and drop. Turned.
“I can’t let you go without extending my sincerest congratulations.”
Alana frowned. “What?”
“I said congratulations. And give my regards to Margot as well. You’ll make excellent mothers.”
She turned. Slow. Forgoing any attempt at composure. Brows low, eyes narrowed, lips parted slightly. The anger in her throat bubbled over, muddling her words. They came in a forced whisper, taking measured steps towards the glass.
“Are you mocking me?”
“Mocking you about what, Alana?”
She didn’t correct him. She didn’t notice. “About-“ Stopped.
How could he possibly know?
Alana opened her mouth to speak. Closed it. Her heart beat heavy and loud, filling the entirety of her chest, quickening by the second.
Hannibal stood calm and patient, unnervingly kind eyes searching Alana’s expression.
“You think I’m pregnant.”
“I know you’re pregnant.”
“How?”
“I can smell it.”
Alana took a few more steps forward. Silent. Up to the glass, right in front of it, squared off against Hannibal. She said nothing, every mechanism of thought had short-circuited, every cell in her body shook while she stood stone still. Hannibal tilted his head, bending down slightly, face in front of one of the holes in the glass. Inhaling. Deep, slow. Intimate.
“Six weeks.”
Alana exhaled, shaky, unaware she had been holding her breath. Everything flooded her at once, crashing into her limbs, whole and wonderful and terrifying. She turned from Hannibal, back to the glass, head ducked down. Trying and failing to think, to catch her breath. She needed to leave. She needed to tell Margot.
She needed to get herself, her baby, as far away from the creature behind her as she possibly could.
“I detect a hormone imbalance.” Hannibal continued as though the whole world hadn’t just changed. “Nothing monumental. It’s the least of your worries, in fact.”
Alana’s lungs grew small.
“What?”
She turned. Hannibal looked far too pleased.
“What exactly? Is there something wrong with the baby?” Frantic, forgetting the necessity of composure. The word 'baby' rolled heavy off her tongue and made everything so overwhelmingly real.
“Not yet.” Head tilted slightly to the side. “I imagine things will appear perfectly normal for quite some time. Years, perhaps. Before…”
“Before what?”
“Oh, Alana.” Sweet. “Don’t you know?”
Her heart stopped when she realized she did. The nightmares, the sickening thoughts she couldn’t help but entertain the moment she and Margot started trying to conceive. An entirely unnatural sickness took hold of her stomach, a clammy wave of nausea throughout her body. The thought cast a monstrous shadow over the moment, snuffing out the dim flicker of joy she had felt barely a minute prior. Hannibal continued, somewhere far away from Alana, his voice echoing around the chambers of her head.
“I imagine your child will be but five or six when it starts taking an interest in harming the horses. A few years after that it will turn its attention to any other children you might have. Or you.”
Closer, louder. Alana reminded herself to keep her breathing regular. Her eyes fixed on Hannibal’s face, sliding in an out of focus. She fixed on his words, used his voice to pull herself back to reality.
“Just because it’s Mason’s child doesn’t mean it’ll be anything like him.”
Hannibal smirked. “Doesn’t it?”
“It doesn’t.”
“The child of a murder, raised by two murderers.”
A new sort of horror filled Alana. This one white hot, prickling under her skin.
“Quite a gruesome family you’ve built for yourself, Dr. Bloom.”
Scorching the surface. He’d gotten to her, quick and easy, as if she were a plaything for him to amuse himself with. It was her fault, too. She knew it. She’d let him in, allowed herself a moment of emotional honesty, vulnerability, when she should have shown him nothing but flat indifference. It angered her, watching him stand with his shoulders back, face up, tall, proud of the way he could make her squirm.
Inhale. Alana took hold of the rage the coursed through her veins and with it, built a wall. Exhale. She was pregnant. She could give Margot everything they wanted. This was the beginning of their life, the security of their future. Alana pictured how Margot might look once she told her. Refused to let Hannibal take that from her.
“Gruesome, perhaps. But a family all the same.”
Hannibal’s bemused face became replaced by hesitant curiosity.
“I’ve been working hard to build this family, Hannibal. I’m going to continue to work for them.” She spoke slow. “I can’t imagine doing to them what you did to the family you so hard worked to build.”
Hannibal froze.
Alana took a step forward. Then another.
“You worked hard. For a while.” Whispering now, harsh. “But they didn’t love you in the way you needed them to. So you threw them away. And look what’s happened to you.”
“I’m here of my own accord.”
“I wasn’t talking about your imprisonment.”
His eyes turned black.
Alana’s smile felt so perfectly petty. “My family is my world Hannibal, and in whatever ‘gruesome’ way it manifests itself… I will adapt. Because I love them, and they love me.”
“That’s a bit premature of an assumption, don’t you think?”
“No. And you know how I know?" She tilted her head. "Because unlike you,” Leaning in. Barely audible. “I am capable of being loved.”
A horrid rage flashed underneath Hannibal’s still expression and Alana turned on her heel, long and confident strides towards the exit.
She’d forgotten about his request for books until she reached her office and pulled up the live feed. He stood in the exact spot where she had left him, arms limp at his sides. He paced for a minute or two before sitting down on the edge of his bed, elbow on knees, head in his hands.
Alana smiled.
She rested her palm against her lower belly, tried to feel the life that was there. She knew, of course, that she couldn’t, but the awareness alone was enough to fill her with warmth. To stave off, if only for a moment, the very real fear that inside her grew a monster.