Palace of Horns

The ground near the brook was muddy enough to preserve the trails very well. It was difficult to exhume the remains without contaminating the crime scene and ruining the footprints that led them from the cabin to the very spot. This guy wasn’t lousy as Jimmy Price had suggested, he simply didn’t care. “When they stop caring, they start making mistakes,” Zeller was obviously thinking the footprints were a great sign. “It’s just a matter of time from now on.” Will knew they all hoped the guy would commit a suicide but he didn’t believe that was possible. The person they were trying to catch wasn’t suicidal. “Why do you think he isn’t suicidal?” “There are no signs why he should be.” “Zeller believes otherwise.” “Zeller believes what he wants to believe.” “What do you believe, Will?” He didn’t answer that question straight away, taking his time to absorb the tranquility of the space. It was a good place to be, a good place to think. Dr. Lecter’s office didn’t have enough bright colors to overstimulate mind or imagination. Will was frequently tired of his imagination and gratefully took this opportunity to rest. “Are we getting that personal, Dr. Lecter?” he smiled and turned to face the older man. Hannibal raised his eyes from the drawing he was working on and offered Will a pleasant half-smile that could mean anything at all, from “a shrewd observation, Will” to “oh, come on!”.  “Would you like that? I thought you wanted to keep things professional.” “I don’t think there is an option for keeping things professional after you’d forged the papers about my normality for Jack.” Will grinned, and it felt good to be able to produce any other facial expression than a frown. “Don’t make it sound worse than it was. Jack needed those papers to quiet his consciousness. And, as a friend, I provided.” Hannibal resumed drawing, his sharp pencil quietly scratching the paper. These meetings had started as a personal request – or an order, to tell the truth – from Jack, but they have evolved to something Will learned to enjoy. Sometimes both Hannibal and he were silent, each of them lost in his own thoughts, and that was extremely beneficial for Will. For some reason it became not an easy task for him to think while being alone. All those sounds he heard, all those thoughts that would randomly occupy his mind… Dr. Lecter offered the luxury of his silent presence, and that was also good. There were moments when he didn’t even need Hannibal to be around, Will just needed his space. “Anyway,” Hannibal didn’t look at him. “We let ourselves get a little distracted. You mentioned that he wasn’t suicidal. I would very much like to know your trail of thoughts on this topic.” “If I tell you that he doesn’t feel suicidal to me, will you keep on pestering me with questions about my reasons?” “Hardly.” Dr. Lecter sounded so business-like that Will couldn’t help but chuckle. Hannibal took no offense at that. “How does he feel to you? If not suicidal.” That question made the half-formed smile on Will’s lips disappear. He sank into the arm-chair for a couple of minutes. Hannibal didn’t talk, nor did he repeat the question. “He felt… thrilled,” Will finally said, caressing the leather of the armchair with his fingertips. “The way a kid feels thrilled to go on an adventure. On a quest.” “That is not a unique emotion among serial killers that you described. The thrill of hunting their victims. The way a predator…” “No,” Will interrupted him. “Not that way.” Hannibal put the pencil aside and looked at him patiently.  “I’m sorry… I interrupted you.” “There is no need to be sorry about that. You weren’t rude.” “Wasn’t I?” “No. You were passionate.” Somehow that felt wrong, but Will couldn’t put his finger on the reason why it did. “Tell me, Will, what is it, the way he feels thrilled. What is his adventure?” Will took a full five minutes to think it all over. Hannibal kept silent and didn’t move. Will closed his eyes and for a moment he felt that there was nobody in the room but him. Then he realized he could hear Dr. Lecter breathing, soft and quiet, and looked at the man. “This is not about the process for him. Not the thrill of the hunt, nothing that savage… He likes making these little discoveries, likes digging out his treasures… yes, that’s it. Have you ever played the Secrets as a kid?” “I’m not sure I am familiar with this game.” “That’s not really a game… you can play on your own. You don’t need anybody else. You take something that you like. Like a marble. Then you take a piece of bottle glass… or a candy wrapping, a shiny one. You dig a little hole in the ground, put your marble, or anything you chose, your little treasure, inside and cover it with a shiny wrapper, or a piece of glass, or both. And then you cover it up with the earth. You have to remember the spot well, that’s where your Secret is hidden, and then you go away.” Hannibal didn’t utter a sound, he was the best audience one could wish for. “You come back after some time. Maybe that very day, maybe in a day. And you look for your Secret, and then you unearth it. And when you do that… I don’t know… it feels like you found a secret treasure. The candy wrapping or glass, they shine when you take away the ground. And then it’s yours again, your treasure. And it feels great.” Will stopped talking because he felt ashamed for bringing in too much of his own experience, of his own thoughts and emotions… that wasn’t what Jack wanted him to do. Jack wanted him to tell the thoughts and emotions of those others. Evoking his memories was in a way like contaminating the crime scene. “It’s stupid.” finally said Will not even trying to offer an apologetic smile. “No… no. It is beautiful.” Hannibal looked at him with the expression too serious and understanding to be ashamed of these words. “I think I can see it now. The joy of reclaiming something that was yours all along. Finding pleasure in something over and over again…” Will nodded. He didn’t have it in him to talk now. “You told me you were a lonely child. Always on the move. Always the new kid at school…” “Yeah.” “Did you invent this game, the Secrets, on your own?” “No. My Dad taught me.” There was silence again, and Will sank in it even deeper than he sank in his arm-chair. “How does it feel sharing something so intimate as a childhood memory with this killer, Will?” “It doesn’t feel intimate,” Will shrugged his shoulders. “It feels like I’m walking in his shoes… no, not shoes. Boots. He was wearing rubber boots when he dragged the body to the brook. Didn’t want to get the mud all over his shoes.” “Or didn’t want to leave his real footprints.” Silence fell like a soft blanket, and in five minutes Dr. Lecter started drawing again.