It was not Hannibal. But it was his spitting image. Sook could see the tattoo, the scars and his god-awful shirt. Swearing.
It was not Hannibal.
"Okay, darling, seeing as you won't go to a doctor, how about I get you inside so I can patch you up? You're in no state to do it yourself and you're going to bleed out. I'll stitch you up, clean you up, get you some food and that's it?" She held out her hand, "My name's Sook."