OBSESSIVE, hannibal lecter

v. god

CHAPTER FIVE
GOD

[TW: TALK OF RELIGION AND GOD, BLASPHEMY, SEXUAL CONTENT]

THE LIGHT OF  the sinking sun filtered through the stained glass windows, painting a multitude of colors across the interior of the chapel. Surrounded by the story of Jesus, erected statues of Mother Mary, and flickering prayer candles, Abigail Blackwater felt strangely calm.

The Blackwater family's history was rooted in Catholicism. A trace of the family tree roots would find them planted at the church. However, the further up tree one went, the further from tradition they were.

Abigail had few memories of attending church with her family. She had licks of flashbacks: eating the bread, drinking the wine, praying to one who just never seemed to answer. As soon as she was old enough to make her own decisions, she was no longer in attendance. Soon after, the family stopped going altogether.

The idea that she had come face to face with a serial killer, befriended him, even caught his interest, shook her core. It was as if someone had ripped the carpet from under her feet and she fell right to the ground. Now she was left with scraped knees and tears in her eyes.

For the past hour, the girl had been praying. She wasn't a firm believer in God. He had never answered her prayers when she was younger so why would he answer them now? But, she felt as if she had no other option. She couldn't talk to her parents, they would just tell her to be quiet. Rowan would laugh in her face. Her best friend, Ophelia, would find her absurd, refer her to a therapist even. God was the last person she had to listen.

So, with her knees turning red on the marble floor, directly in front of the altar, watched carefully by a statue of Mary and the Crucifix of Jesus, she talked to God. She told him everything, speaking softly, barely audible. If there was some all-powerful being, they would be able to hear her.

Once she ran out of story to tell, she began to ask for protection... begged for it. She pleaded to not be the next fair-skinned brunette corpse put on display. If someone was listening to her cries for protection, they didn't answer.

"Feeling spiritual?"

Her eyes lids fluttered open, meeting the soft glow of the dying sun that would soon be overtaken by a lively moon. Turning her neck, she saw the man who had put the notion of knowing a killer in her head.

Dr. Lecter.

"Something like that."

Desperation is what she truly felt. Desperate for safety. Desperate for answers.

"Did anyone answer?" He was sitting in the wooden pew closest to her now.

"No one ever does." She rose, knees bright red from use.

"You've been praying into the void for quite a while," Lecter noted, eyeing the marks.

Abigail took a seat next to him. She was far enough to give him space but close enough to reach out and touch him if she wished. He kept his eyes forward, his gaze trained on the statue of Mary.

The pair sat in silence, the church atmosphere enveloping them. The moon was fully in the sky, radiant as ever. It made the perfect backlight for the glass windows.