The Ladder Scene

CHAPTER THREE: WHERE'S THE FLAVOR?

It had been a week of sleepless nights since Will dreamt of Hannibal. He was still trying to decode the message from his dream, if there was any. His performance in the theatre was shrouded in the same fog of confusion that had rolled in that night. Jack, Beverly, Molly, they all noticed. Molly even broke her vow of silence to tell him he was acting strange, and he agreed with her. He didn't feel like himself. Perhaps overanalyzing his own dreams was causing him unnecessary stress, but he was only trying to follow Hannibal's advice. Interpreting dreams counted as listening to his body, right?

He contemplated talking about it with the man himself. It certainly wouldn't hurt to hear his perspective.

After a far less eventful day of rehearsal and subway rides, Will found himself at the door of Hannibal's studio, hesitant to knock. But he did, and there were only a few quick footsteps on the other side before it opened. Hannibal emerged in his usual attire, a clear plastic suit covering it all.

This was his painting suit. Will remembered this from the last time he barged in on a major project. If Hannibal was wearing his painting suit, it almost always meant he was working on something big. Will wondered if this was the wrong time. He'd hate to interrupt.

"Hello, Will," Hannibal greeted him, pleasantly surprised.

"May I come in?" Will asked.

"Always." Hannibal felt a slight smile form on his lips. He took Will's coat and bag and hung them on a hook by the door.

Will entered to see a massive canvas leaned against the wall. The piece was barely halfway done, but Will could already tell it was going to be one of Hannibal's best works. Under a mulberry tree, a man lay dying, blade in hand. A woman sobbed over his body while a lioness lurked in the background.

"That's really something," he remarked, walking over to take a closer look. "Is it Pyramus and Thisbe?"

"The original Romeo and Juliet," Hannibal said, joining him. "Pyramus believed that Thisbe had been slain by a lioness, so he threw himself onto his blade. When Thisbe returned, she was so heartbroken to find him there that she did the same."

"People were very impulsive back then," Will said.

"They were only human," Hannibal said. "We all do crazy things for love." He paused, glancing at Will. "So, what brings you to the studio today?"

"My dreams are growing increasingly bizarre," Will told him, pulling out a stool. "Last week, there was one that really stuck with me. I can't stop thinking about it, trying to figure out what it means."

"What happened in your dream?" Hannibal asked, sitting opposite to him.

"I still don't entirely understand it," Will admitted. "It started here, in the studio. There was this tall ladder that reached all the way up into the clouds, where there was some kind of floating island. It was just big enough for two chairs—one for you and one for me. The way it was arranged, it was as if you were my therapist. You were saying very strange, cryptic things and asking way too many questions. Towards the end, it got kind of fuzzy, but you were making some metaphor about your art studio and your heart. It was all just very confusing."

"The words and symbols in your dreams can mean many things," Hannibal explained. "For example, I appeared in your dream as a therapist. Do you see spending time with me as therapeutic?"

Will hadn't thought about it like that. He often flocked to Hannibal in times of need. They talked not only about art and philosophy, but also about their own thoughts and emotions. Well, mostly Will's. Hannibal wasn't keen on sharing.

"Well, social interaction has been proven to have a positive impact on mental health," he said, "so I suppose the answer would be yes."

"Do you remember anything I said in your dream?" Hannibal asked.