Palace of Horns

“Wow. You look like shit.” said Beverly looking at him apprehensively. She cocked her head a little invoking the image of a German shepherd from a cop-show. It was called “Inspector Rex”, and the German shepherd there was the cleverest character of the whole show. Nevermind Lassie, Rex’s in the house. “Are you alright?” “I didn’t get much sleep tonight, that’s all.” “Okay. Let me buy you a coffee.”  She didn’t wait for his reply and marched to the counter. Watching her go, Will wrapped his jacket tightly around himself and thought about the totem they had to disassemble. Their team was very thorough and respectful, at least, as respectful to its components as one can get while tearing down the monument of flesh and bones, and though Will wasn’t really there to observe the whole process, he had all the pictures he needed to reconstruct all the steps. And his imagination, of course. In his mind this totem had become a turning point, a milepost of him losing the grip on reality. The totem was dismantled, not unlike half of his fireplace at home, Alana was kissed, and there was no turning back. She left saying he was unstable, he went to Hannibal to find proof he wasn’t. Those freaking noises from the fireplace were driving him insane.  He couldn’t sleep. “Here you go.” “Thanks.” It wasn’t about work but it wasn’t a date, God forbid. Everybody liked Beverly, and Will understood it was mostly because of her that Zeller melted a little towards him. Will wanted to say he didn’t care at all what Zeller thought of him but at the same time he couldn’t afford the luxury of self-deluding. They worked together and it was better if they could work together without any sort of bitterness.  She also helped him to steady his grip at the shooting range. Beverly was easy to like because she didn’t expect to be liked. She expected to be taken seriously, and she was, she expected to be respected, and she was, and nothing more. Therefore, liking her came naturally. Will tasted his coffee, and Beverly smiled at the suspicious expression that appeared on his face. “You don’t like it?” “Not that… it’s okay but it tastes… exotic?” She laughed at the word he chose. “It’s just chili. I love it like that, it makes me rise and shine on dull mornings like this one… or at least helps me pretend I’m awake until 9 a.m.” Beverly paused and raised her eyebrows. “You don’t seem too happy, though. Should I get you anything more traditional?” “Nah, thanks. I’m good.” Will made another sip and now it tasted better.  “You don’t like exotic flavors, do you?” “I kind of had something exotic yesterday. Now my stomach tries to tell me I made a mistake.” “What did you have?” “Dr. Lecter brewed some extra-special tea. It would have been rude to decline.” “So, you suffered through it.” “Kind of,” Will smiled. That tea had made him sleepy and tranquil, it had helped him get rid of the thoughts attacking his poor mind like a murder of crows. The thoughts of Abigail whom they both had to protect… surrogate fathers. One of which had killed her biological one, and the other had helped her get rid of Nicolas Boyle’s body. Perhaps, she had had too many father figures in her life for her own good. They fucked up so much it hurt. It also hurt to be “they” with Hannibal Lecter. “He’s quite exotic himself, isn’t he? Dr. Lecter, I mean.” “He is.” “I love his ties. They always have sophisticated patterns… Brian told he would have loved to have a tie like that and get high. You know, to stare at it.” The laughter came easily for both of them. Coffee tasted much better now.  “So, about those feathers we found in the body…” It wasn’t about work until it was, but it wasn’t a date. God forbid. Dad had taught him to make fishing lures with feathers, and Will was working carefully on a new one. He was meaning to give it to Dad as a gift, and he chose the best feather he could find. The red one, light and pretty. Might have been from an exotic bird. Next time they go fishing together, he would give it to Dad without making too much fuss about it. Will had already planned what he was going to say. I got you something, Dad. Guess, you can try this one if you’d like. The fishing hook made his finger tip bleed, Will winced and quickly put his thumb into mouth. That was alright. If you prick us, do we not bleed?  Will didn’t quite get why Dad was so fond of this saying. But he didn’t get Shakespeare at all. That was alright too. Dad had promised he’d get it one day.