Bram Stoker's HANNIBAL

Chapter 7: With a Swift and Searching Eye

Somewhere, far away, he heard a harpsichord. It faded, the notes fleeing into the darkness. Will opened his eyes.

He didn't know this place. A great stone hall with wooden tables, some pushed aside to create room for dancing.

Dancing. He was dancing with a girl with dark hair. Not Alana. He didn't recognize her, yet he knew her. Both things existed simultaneously. Another woman with a walking stick sat to the side, tapping out the time against the stone floor. "One, two, three, four!" she counted as Will and the girl moved toward one another and then apart. He missed the moment he was supposed to clasp her hand and stopped with a sigh, rubbing his hair with a frustrated hand.

"You're getting better," the girl promised. "Let's try again."

"Part of the problem, I think, is that you don't want to dance with Marissa," the woman with the stick observed from her chair.

"That's true enough," Will said, and the girl – Marissa – shoved his shoulder in mock-indignation.

"You're the one with lead feet," she accused.

"But if you hope to impress your handsome count, you'd better get this right," the woman with the walking stick warned him.

Will went to her and took her smooth, dark hand. "Dance with me, Reba," he begged through a smile as Marissa giggled behind him. "I can't stand her, she smells like the goats."

"Bastard!" Marissa yelled through a peal of laughter.

"Again," Reba ordered, though she was smiling as well. "You have no sense of rhythm."

"It's my partner," he insisted, grinning, arms crossed over the wide-sleeved blouse and vest he wore that was damp with the sweat of his exertions.

"May I cut in?"

Will turned at the sound of the male voice that brought a shiver up his spine, not in pleasant anticipation, but true fear.

Abel Gideon stood over the body of Marissa. He'd somehow eviscerated her in the span of a few moments, tossing her intestines over her shoulder. He'd carved off the lower half of her face, exposing her teeth and jawbone. Will was locked in the chains of his horror, unable to move as Gideon came closer. Will could smell the blood smeared all over him, coppery and hot, and his eyes darted from Gideon's to the crimson-stained surgical knife in his hand.

"May I have this dance, Inspector?"

Will shied away as Gideon approached, but the Ripper indicated Reba with the knife. The message was clear. Will knew what he had to do if he wanted to save Reba's life. He let Gideon fold him into his arms, staining Will's shirt with Marissa's blood. Gideon put the hand with the knife against the small of Will's back, and took the other in his stained palm, the blood already tacky and drying. They began to waltz, Will struggling against his instinctive revulsion of the Ripper touching him like this.

"Don't pretend you don't like it," Gideon chuckled. "Though I suppose this is a little bit like self-abuse. Since I am me, and you are me – a part of you, at least."

"I'm nothing like you," Will rasped, rage filling his veins with fire.

"Taking a life is taking a life, from the smallest fly to the largest whore." As they danced, they tracked through Marisa's blood, making intricate patterns on the floor in their footprints. "You're prettier than when I saw you last, Inspector Graham. Looking a bit less... world-weary."

Will jerked his head back as Gideon came in for a kiss, a hiss of disgust slipping through his lips. The Ripper just laughed. "What's this lovely glow? You're positively radiant. In love, maybe?"