Bram Stoker's HANNIBAL

Chapter 12: Woe for My Heavy Heart

Someone was humming, a warm, sentimental tune he didn't recognize. Light made the inside of his eyelids blood-red. Will turned on his stomach in the bed with a little sound of discomfort, climbing the ladder of consciousness one rung at a time. The clatter of dishware. The sound of liquid being poured into a cup.

Will turned over in bed and squinted into the light. A female figure was setting up breakfast on the table near the fireplace, humming as she went. Backlit, he could only see the outline.

When she stepped away from the window and came closer to his bed, Will's breath stopped.

Mary Kelley smiled down at him, her strawberry hair a twisted halo around her head, glowing in the window's light. She looked like how he'd seen her last, brave and resolute. Yes, she was being paid to play the part of a sex worker to lure the Ripper, but she'd also said, "I'll do my part to end this killing of women. Who knows? When this is over, maybe you'll put in a word for me at Scotland Yard. I'd make a lovely investigator, wouldn't you say, Mr. Graham?"

She would have. In the short time he'd known her, he'd been stuck by her intelligence and instincts.

Though both of them had failed her when she'd agreed to help him. She trusted him to keep her safe, and he'd betrayed that trust.

"M..." her name shriveled in his lungs. He blinked desperately in the bright sunlight. For a fraction of a second, she stood over him as he'd seen her last – her face sliced away from her skull – and then–

"Good morning, Will," Avigeya said, putting a tentative hand on his where it was balled up on the top of the quilt. He relaxed his grip and took a thin, slow breath, then tried to smile at her. She reached out slowly and put her hand on his sweaty forehead, checking for a fever. "Hmm," she mused, then motioned to the table where his breakfast was ready.

Will had no appetite, but he gamely pulled on the dressing gown and sat at the table while she bustled about, tidying, hanging up his clean clothes. "Food," she said in English. "Ty dolzhen yest'."

He attempted as much as he could. She sighed when he indicated he was finished, clearly disappointed at how little he'd put away, then left him to wash and dress.

Will postponed these chores and pulled out his writing things instead, sitting in the warm sun thrown in by the window.

Dear Mr. Brauner,

Count Lecter let me read your letter. Thank you for your compliments, and I hope to live up to them. We have yet to complete the paperwork. The Count has many questions, and I want to be sure our firm has served him to the best of our ability. I will remain in Transylvania until he is satisfied, and transport the documents back by hand.

Sincerely, Will Graham

Dear Alana,

I hope you aren't worried. I'm sorry I haven't written since Budapest. I have arrived at Castle Lecter and I am staying here until the paperwork is complete. Then back to London. Thank you for keeping the dogs for me. I hope Mrs. Bloom is well.

Christ, what else was there to say? That he missed her? That he still cringed all over every time he thought of that bitter moment when she'd rejected him? That he would give anything to have done things differently? To be someone else entirely?

To him, Alana was the same as she'd always been. Kind, nurturing, clever, an excellent listener. His protector, always, his advocate with the Blooms, the one who ordered his clothes and made sure he had what he needed at home, the only person who remembered his birthday. Well, what they celebrated as his birthday, since the Blooms had no way of knowing his real one, and Will didn't remember. The family used the anniversary of when they'd picked him up off of the streets of New Orleans like a bedraggled kitten or a motherless puppy in place of a true birthdate. In all honesty, Will didn't know for certain how old he really was.