InsaneJournal

Tweak says, "Have you tried soaking it?"

Hannibal (i_consume) wrote in we_coexist,
@ 2008-05-17 16:49:00

Entry tags:

hannibal lecter, joanna harvelle, zz:status complete

Continued therapy (Jo)
Continued from here

"A map." Hannibal mused. He stood up and went to the pile of mail he'd left here some time ago. There was a map in that. "I don't know what good it will do you."

He set it down on the table next to the girl. "Most of the places move. But there are some that don't. And those are here on this map. It's good that you're already feeling a sense of familiarity. But don't push on it too hard, lest you lose it."

Hannibal took his seat and sat back again, waiting for a sign that she was ready to continue. They'd go at her pace, of course. He didn't want to break her, but help her. Maybe he'd regret this, he had no idea. He didn't know who she was or what she did. But the challenge was too much to ignore.

He stole a quick look at her notepad, instantly forming a memory of the names there. None of them were anything he recognized. But they'd be good to keep a hold of anyway, just in case.

"I think it's safe to say that if you're here now, you've been here a while. Maybe the sense of before that you have isn't that you left and came back, it's that perhaps you've been unknowing of your self for so long it just feels like another lifetime. Does that make sense?"

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i_shoot
2008-05-31 11:16 am UTC (link)

She gingerly took the map into her hands, smoothing it over in an attempt to ready herself for whatever might happen. Closing her eyes briefly, she took in a deep breath before she opened them again. Her eyes took in the map slowly, one piece at a time. The bells in her head were going off, and as she continued on her scan of the map, she found her head increasingly in pain. She was forced to put the map back on the table quickly as she dealt with the onslaught going on in her head.

She knew these places. They were ingrained into her skull somehow, and somehow, something made sense among them. She struggled to find them through the echoes of something in her head. She shut her eyes, unable to deal with just staring at something. She needed to see them, and that alone sent her right back into her fragmented memories.

She saw brick buildings, and one stood out in particular. Deep underground, there were ovens. Strands of blonde hair. Did buildings in the City remind her of these places? Maybe. But ovens, being stuck. The unbreathable air. The feeling of being trapped. And cold hands on her hair, her shoulder. The firm steady grip of something that sent it away. She caught a glimpse of what it was in her mind.

W.A. Harvelle.

She opened her eyes, forcing herself to breathe. "Daddy," she heard herself say, her voice a soft whisper.

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