Bram Stoker's HANNIBAL

Chapter 26: While Body and Soul Shall Hold Together

"Mama!"

Will rushed into his mother's open arms. She lifted him into a hug and then set him down. "Oh, that nose just won't stop," she said, lifting the edge of her apron to wipe it for him. "Bonjour, Francois," she greeted the crab man as he haggled with a customer.

"Aft'noon, Lottie," he called during a lull in the negotiations.

"Oh, there's one runnin'!" Mama pointed out a crab that had climbed over the edge of one of Francois' buckets and was scuttling towards freedom. Will leapt after it and captured the creature, mindful of the claws, before returning it to captivity. That was his job, after all. He watched Francois' crabs while Mama worked.

"Now, I'll be back at sunset," Mama said, pulling a hunk of cornbread from her pocket. "You be a good boy."

"Billy, come play with us!" It was the bignet-baker's children, bouncing a ball on the wet cobblestone street.

"You better be watchin' those crabs," Mama warned after him as he raced off to play.

Lottie.

Lottie was short for Charlotte.

Always Lottie, never Charlie, God help you if you called her Charlie.

"God help you if you call her Charlie," Will murmured. "God h-help you... if y-you call her..."

The hand stroking his hair back from his forehead twitched each time Will repeated the Lord's name. Will stopped talking. He needed that hand, so sweetly cool and satin-smooth against his hot, aching skull. Will tried to lick his brittle, chapped lips; his mouth was a foul-tasting desert. His eyes felt like they were orbs made of splintery wood rolling around in his sockets and gouging the inside of his eyelids every time he moved them.

Still, he forced them open. His vision was grainy and he was forced to blink several times to get any indication what he was seeing. At last, the quilts of his bed swam into view. He could feel himself beneath them, clammy with sweat yet freezing cold, the chills wracking his body and jangling his bones in a constant sickened tremor.

His head felt like the skin was about to boil off of it and he grimaced at the sharp ringing in his ears. He tried to swallow, but there wasn't enough moisture. His hair hurt. Even the tiny bit of moonlight that snuck between the drawn curtains was enough to jab into his eyes and he closed them with the hollow shell of a moan.

"Will."

Hannibal's voice, a rumble of distant thunder, the pressured threat of rain.

Strong arms gathered him up, inching him higher in the bed. Will had his eyes shut again, even though the lids touching each other also ached – his fucking eyelashes ached – but he could tell Hannibal was holding him, both of them in Will's bed. He wanted to tell Hannibal to stop, that just moving hurt so much he couldn't bear it, but no sound came out when he tried to speak, just a rasp of a cough.

The clank of china. Hannibal brought a cup to his lips. Will let the water flow into his mouth, a precious relief. "Slowly," Hannibal instructed, holding him up easily with one arm, Will tucked into the crook of his elbow so that his head leaned back at just the right angle to drink and let gravity do the rest. Will tried not to gulp it down. Hannibal only let him have a few sips, then took the cup away. He moved his free arm; Will could feel the opposite muscles of his chest. The tiny jostling was broken glass to his nerves. It was only then he realized how miserably sore his muscles were on top of everything else.

Hannibal brought the cup to his lips again. Now the water tasted like laudanum. "You need to finish this one, but slowly," Hannibal instructed softly, releasing a little bit of the bitter, medicinal liquid into his mouth at a time. Will's stomach heaved, but he swallowed as much as he could. He told himself that he only had one task ahead of him – keep the medicine down.