Understanding A Killer

A simple thank you

"So tell me, do you hate me, or do you want to thank me?"

Hannibal's words cut through Eliana's mind like a knife. She ran a shaking hand through her hair, pacing the room with slow steps for a long minute. She no longer paid attention to him, only focusing on her scattered thoughts.  Hannibal stared eagerly, not wanting to rush the long-anticipated anwser.

Her distracted mind gave him a chance to slip the scalpel he hid in his sleeve and begin cutting through the ropes biding his hands. Slowly but surely, it'll play out just as he imagined it.

She finally stopped pacing and managed to look him in the eye. "I should hate you." - She let out a shaky breath.

"Why? Because it's the right thing to do?" - Hannibal kept her on edge with expressionless eyes, "It would've been right to kill Garrett Jacob Hobbs, and yet you didn't. You should've hated Stammens for almost killing you, but you wished to be his friend."

"You should keep your mouth shut." - She threatened, tears in her eyes betraying something different. "You don't know anything about what I felt. You're just running your filthy mouth to sway me."

"The reason you understand killers so well is because... It was a killer who understood you best." - He continued, "You felt close to them. Misunderstood and angry... Just like you. But no one ever understood their pain, so you wanted to be the one to do it. To return the favor, perhaps."

Eliana turned away impulsively, not being able to maintain the shared glare. She leaned into the table with clenched fists, fixing her gaze on the gun that laid there. Her heavy breaths filled the room, the gun in her sight getting blurry from tears.

A minute passed in silence before she finally grabbed the gun, turning around to face Hannibal. His expression remained the same, not a trace of fear in his eyes. She got closer, extending her hand to place the gun on his forehead.

"You deserve to die." - She said in a whisper, putting her finger on the trigger.

Hannibal's head tilted back a little from the pressure, but he continued staring directly at her.

Eliana tightened her grip around the trigger, her heart beating so loud she could barely hear anything else. Just a little more pressure, and it'll all be over. A killer like him deserved it, that much was clear to her. And yet, hesitation started to build up in her heart once again.

Why can't I do it?

Just pull the trigger, Eliana.

His eyes were so intense, making her question everything she knew to be true. Did she honestly consider him a friend? Is that why this is so hard? Or was he, perhaps, right about her?

She unconsciously softened the hold on the gun, letting Hannibal instantly notice the difference in pressure. He managed to cut the last thread of the rope biding his wrists, but kept still. Scanning the hestitation on her face, he waited for the moment to move. She finally averted the gaze, blinking twice to clear her vision.

Hannibal used her unguarded stance and rapidly moved his free hand. He grabbed her by the wrist, pushing the gun away. It went off, but the bullet only hit the floor.
Eliana struggled to get back in control, trying to push the gun towards him. His strength pushed her back until she crashed into the metal table. Her body ached from the impact, making her loosen the grip as she let out a cry. Hannibal twisted her arm until she let go of the gun. He pushed it away with his leg as it hit the floor.

She tried landing a punch with her other arm, putting her whole body in the movement. Hannibal's hold, however, was too strong and he used the momentum to twist her whole body into the table. Her face was now on the cold metal with Hannibal pressing her down firmly. With a swift movement, he pulled her by the hair and smashed her head into the surface.

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Eliana's eyes fluttered open, and the first thing she noticed was an abnormally high ceiling. It was a strange room, barely resembling a house interior. It couldn't have been Hannibal's house, unless he had another hidden room. Her memories were blurry, but she knew a horrible situation awaited. She tried moving her arm, bit it felt unusually heavy.

To her right was Hannibal who had his head buried in a book. His face was bruised, his hair still messy from their fight.

He closed the book and put it down, noticing her gaze on him. "How are you feeling? I didn't want to hurt you, but you really gave me no choice."

"You want to know how I'm doing?
She seemed shocked at his words, blinking in confusion. "Well, not good. My body seems heavy."

"I had to make sure you don't wake up too early. It'll clear out of your system soon. You also might have a concussion."

"You had me outsmarted from the very start. A killer that is always two steps ahead of the police. And yet I thought I had a great plan. That was very dumb of me." - A sour chuckle left her mouth. "And yet why... Am I still alive?" - She furrowed her eyebrows.

"The first step to completing therapy is being honest with yourself. You still haven't completed yours."

"What is that supposed to mean?"

"It means... I won't kill you until you thank me. Simple enough." - He crossed his legs, a smile forming on his lips.

"You want me to say thank you? Are you insane?" - She used all of her strength to try pulling her body up. "You should've just killed me."

Hannibal put his hands on her shoulder, pushing her back gently. "You should stay down. I told you you might have a concussion."

She laid back down, her breathing getting heavy from the movement. "And... when I do say it? Then what? You'll kill me then?"

"Yes."

His short anwser echoed in her ears as tears started streaming down her face. She tried hiding her face, but couldn't move her arm far enough.

Hannibal ran a thumb under her eyes softly, wiping the tears away. "You should get some rest until tomorrow. I'll get you something to eat."

He left the room and closed the door behind him, leaving her alone with tears that wouldn't stop pouring down.