He tried to imagine a world in which someone would release Hannibal Lecter, and yet not release him. He could not.
"They released you. And a large angry man blew apart a wall I was attached to as part of his escape distraction."
This made him wonder if the City meant to keep him and study him. For decades, this had been Lestat's worst fear. And even now, he could not confirm that samples of his hair, blood, and skin had not already been taken.
He absorbed everything Hannibal said. Of course Hannibal would know these things. "Isn't White Oleander simpler? Less artistic, I suppose."
... come in for a checkup.
"I've had enough of doctors. And I do mean 'had.'" The vampire laughed, and it was not a nice laugh. "I supposed not enough then. I wouldn't feel week and half high."
He watched Hannibal sketch. It was nicely hypnotic, the scratching of the paper. Lestat sighed in an almost human way. "River?" he asked.
Lestat had lost track of her, after a while. Or perhaps just respected how awful he knew she'd felt in Arkham, and left her alone.