Twisted Minds

The Great Red Dragon

THREE YEARS LATER

HANNIBAL LECTER'S OFFICE - DAY-

Hannibal sits behind his desk, across from ALANA BLOOM, the gorgeous white truffle between them. There's a playful yet slightly-challenging tone. "How I found you in Florence."

"Betrayed by good taste. Is good taste itching at you in your daily rounds of institutional life?"

"An itch easy enough to scratch..." Alana takes a sip from her own glass of wine. "...when there's cause to celebrate. Congratulations, Hannibal. You're officially insane."

"There's no consensus in the psychiatric community what I should be termed."

"You've long been regarded by your peers in psychiatry as something entirely Other. For convenience, they term you a monster." Alana snickers, Hannibal piqued with Curiosity. "What do you term me?"

"I don't. You defy categorization." She takes another sip and makes a small "yummy" sound. "Do you still prefer beer to wine?"

"Stopped drinking beer when I found out what you were putting in mine." She looks directly inhis eyes, finally seeing all of him. "Who."

"Who." At that, Alana SLOWLY TRANSFORMS from reality into art: A CHARCOAL OF BOTTICELLI'S FORTITUDE WITH ALANA'S FACE The drawing speaks: "This means you'll be spared the federal death sentence." this drawing to reveal it is inside Hannibal's cell. Hannibal is now in BSHCI-issue garb.

BSHCI - HANNIBAL LECTER'S CELL - DAY-

Hannibal sits before the glass of his cage, facing Alana on the other side. His cell is a white canvas on which he can project his memory palace. A small scattering of books and drawings and articles that intrigue him, but minimal. On his table, a newspaper. Headline: "FAMILY SLAUGHTERED IN BUFFALO." We note it, but don't linger. "They had enough to convict you a dozen times over."

"A baker's dozen. Lest we forget Mason Verger. You're welcome." He smirks, amused. "You're welcome, Hannibal. The needle was guaranteed. But you beat it all on an insanity plea." Alana says, she is amused with herself, having caged the creature. "I'm not insane."

"You know that and I know that. A dozen or a baker's dozen, enough people have died."

"You haven't."

"A promise in waiting, isn't it? A promise you intend to keep."

"I always keep my promises."

MOOSEHEAD LAKE, ME - FISHING CABIN - DAY-

An achingly-beautiful view -- pine-forested hills surrounding a frozen lake beneath a vast blue sky softly painted with clouds. DOGS run among the trees, kicking up the snow. Down the

slope, a rustic fishing cabin sits overlooking the lake.

WILL GRAHAM, bundled against the cold, but enjoying the air on his face as he repairs a fence.

And then his face falls a little. He stands. A black SUV is coming down the track. He watches it, face inscrutable.

FISHING CABIN - VERANDA - DAY-

A mug of hot cider is set large in the foreground, steam rising from it in ghostly ribbons. Reveal it has been placed before Jack Crawford by Will Graham. The two men sit on the veranda overlooking the lake. Several stray dogs lie and mill at their feet. Will's posture is relaxed. He's unshaven. Jack is wearing a more formal overcoat, here on business. "Don't want to talk inside? Don't want to let me inside. Come too far to let the cold stop me, Will."

"Why should the cold do something common sense couldn't?"

"You don't want to talk about it here."

"I don't want to talk about it anywhere. You've got to talk about it, so let's have it. Just don't get out any pictures. Caroline and Brianna will be back soon." He glances down to the shore.