Twisted Minds

Aperitivo

VERGER ESTATE HOUSE - MASON'S BEDROOM - DAY-

"Each of us whose life intersected Hannibal Lecter lost something. A limb here, a lung there. A few feet of intestines. The dead–" In the background there's an unpleasant SUCKING sound. SLKGHHH. SLKGHHH. Chilton pauses, masking his irritation. "The dead at least have the luxury of being done with what they lost. But you and I, we still itch."

Sunlight slants through from a balcony. The only other light comes from MEDICAL EQUIPMENT surrounding Mason's bed; but the bed itself and its occupant are shrouded in shadow.

"That little itch should be telling you something." A large print of Blake's Ancient of Days is on the wall beside it. At Chilton's feet, the EEL swims in restless Möbius designs. Chilton faces the bed. He's speaking to – MASON VERGER Who listens, bored. Propped up in bed, rudely sucking some kind of smoothie through a straw in the mouth hole of his face mask. SLKGHHH.

"Would you like to discuss what that little itch is telling you?" Mason stares, studying Dr. Chilton, then: "Are you wearing makeup? How long does it take you to put on your face in the morning?" Chilton shows no sign of anger. Allows a slight smile. "Now that I've got the routine down, no time at all."

"Tell you what. You show me yours and I'll show you mine."

Chilton hesitates... then starts removing his cosmetics: A CONTACT LENS Pinched off his left eye, revealing a DEAD, WHITE EYEBALL. A LAYER OF MAKEUP Wiped from his cheekbone, revealing the PUCKERED BULLET SCAR. It pulls his face down at the corner of his mouth.
Finally, Chilton stands before Mason, with all his damage exposed. Defiant. Almost... proud.

Mason chuckles. His one mobile hand creeps up to remove his mask, revealing his own GROTESQUELY-DAMAGED FACE. The flesh below his cheeks is tight and raw, his nose absent. Mouth pulled back in a rictus grin. "There. Now we can talk face to face."

"I understand you've offered quite a substantial reward for any kind of relevant information on Hannibal Lecter, not just the usual apprehension and conviction."

"Yes, a million dollars. One million. We advertised worldwide. A high price for a fancy pig."

"Hannibal would be a prize pig if I had him in my hospital, but you do not intend to see him institutionalized, do you?"

"I'm saying nothing that would force you to break the bonds of doctor patient confidentiality."

"You don't want a therapist. You want a profiler."

"I want to understand Hannibal Lecter, to better understand myself."

"You survived him. That is chief amongst what you need to understand."

"Survived him"? That implies fortune or skill on my part that somehow allowed me to live. This is exactly how he intended me to live." His LIPLESS MOUTH contorts into what might be a grin. "I know somewhere Dr. Lecter is going to and fro in the earth and walking up and down in it, and very likely having a good, fun time."

"How do you relieve the agony of waiting for Dr. Lecter's capture? What do you fantasize about? I wonder what would happen if Hannibal Lecter was in your hands." Mason studies Chilton an amused beat before offering a small laugh and a limp-yet-delighted slap to his thigh.

"I worry we're heading into territory not secured by your fee. I think I need to look elsewhere
for someone to tend to my emotional well-being. Good-bye, Dr. Chilton." Dr. Chilton replaces the plate in his mouth and stands. "Happy hunting."

Mason watching Dr. Chilton exit...

HOSPITAL - WILL GRAHAM'S ROOM - DAY-

WILL GRAHAM'S EYES Slowly flutter open. He gasps, wincing as he draws air into his rib cage. He takes in his surroundings to find he is... A hospital bed holds him. Glowing monitors flank him. His abdomen is freshly bandaged and stitched.