▫Point of Possible Return▫ [Hannibal Lecter FF] ▫AU▫

Ch. 20

"I am just a poor boy, though my story seldom told.
I squandered my resistance with a pocket full of mumble such are promises."
-The Boxer by Simon and Garfunkel

"Remember when we were kids, and every time we went to the hospital, we were worried that we would get something?" Jason wiped the edges of his mouth as he said this.

"I remember that I thought cancer was contagious." Luke laughed as he leaned back.

"You thought that AIDS was something you got when you touched bad Band-Aids." I rolled my eyes but still couldn't help but smirk. It was true, and he knew it, because he let out a I remember that laugh.

"Ha-ha, Miss Smartie." Luke went to push on my shoulder, but I drew back from his touch, my smile dropping instantly. He saw this and returned to his position. I don't care how many times they apologized, I still wouldn't forget.

I pushed back a hair behind my ear and shifted forward. I took a breath in. This situation was awkward at best. The air felt stale already and we've been in here just for a few minutes, barley even five at best. This was one of those situations where anything one would say would be filled with stifled laughter and reluctant thoughts of past medical experiences.

I started to think of Patrick Smith. Elvis. That was what he wanted to be referred as. I asked him why, and he said it was his name. It wasn't actually, but if you remember, he had multiple personalities, so Elvis was what one of the persona's wanted to be called at the time -and still wants to be called. This persona was more musical than the rest, though he did play his mandolin quite often. He just jammed out to it when Elvis was out. It was his thing. It was what that persona was known for. Music. Hasn't everyone jammed out to a couple of Presley songs at one point? Played Can't Help Falling In Love to a valentine on that special day?

Besides that, Patrick was a normal guy. He was your average joe. He wasn't out of the ordinary. His tales, however, were another story. He was a story teller, for sure. He went on about tales of South Africa and the Congos; Europe and castles; even some hitting close to home. Of course I didn't believe all of them, but sometimes you have to play along to make the patient feel more comfortable.

"Does anyone remember Saving Hope?" Luke's mouth opened before he could even process what he was thinking. That's what gets people in trouble, but like I said, they got their halos.

"That was a TV show, dumbass. There's no way in hell anyone can come out of their body... Right, Amelia?" Jason looked over at me.

I shrugged my shoulders. The reasonable answer was 'no, of course not' but there were lots of things that can't be explained, even in today's standards. "No." I shook my head.

"You can never know! What about that guy you brought with you?" Luke asked once again, looking to me.

I crossed my arms and looked at him. "He would say the same thing."

"Would he?" He asked absent mindlessly.

"Shut up, Luke." Jason rolled his eyes.

~

[Hannibal's POV]

I rubbed my eyes and pushed down a yawn that was coming up. I sat back in the chair, shifting awkwardly in my seat. The sound of feet tapping the linoleum was nothing new. The nurse at the desk -a short, chubby lady with medium-brown hair and equally colored eyes- typing away on her computer. She was probably adding to a patient's file or getting a prescription filled. She yawned herself and cracked her knuckles towards the screen of the computer, pushing her shoulders back and up to get them loosened and feel better.

She seemed bored out of her mind.

Down the hall, I started to hear the sound of grouped footsteps, almost in sync with one being a half-step behind. I didn't even care about those feet until the owners came around the corner. A small herd of police -three to be exact- dressed in blue came to the front desk. I watched them closely and curiously as they stopped in front of the nurse.

The one in the center, a middle-aged man with softening features and dark hair was holding a picture in his right hand, the thumb of his left around the loop of his belt. He handed the nurse the picture and asked in a monotone-baritone voice, "Have you seen this man before?" As he was handing her it to her, I thought I caught a glimpse of the face.

The nurse carefully picked the photo from the officer and squinted, as if trying to remember or to force it to come up. "No, I can't say I have." She handed the picture back to the officer just as gently as she had received it, as if worrying that she was going to ruin the ink.

"Can we look around, just to be sure?" The officer twirled his finger in the air.

The nurse nodded and the police were on their way. I leaned forward a bit before settling back down. I crossed my arms across my chest. I thought that this couldn't be, that this wasn't who I thought it was. The image flashed in my mind, giving me a reminder about who it was. I bit my lip but tried not to get it to show.

It was Zack. The same dark-haired boy that Amelia was worried about leaving after they had a fight. And one of the officers went past her mother's room, by chance giving them signs that something was wrong.

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