OBSESSIVE, hannibal lecter

iii. corpse

CHAPTER THREE
CORPSE

THE FOUR MEMBERS of the Blackwater family sat around the mahogany dining table that was much too big for them. It was much too long, made to host dinner guests. However, on most nights, only two were seated in the velvet chairs surrounding it. Tonight was a rare exception. Once a month the Blackwater children were required to attend dinner with their parents. That was tonight.

Charles Blackwater, a leading detective in London, sat at the head of the table. His placement solidified his position as head of the family. Margaret Blackwater, the curator of a famous London art museum, sat to the left of her husband. Women are expected to give their hearts to their families and devote their lives to their husbands. For this reason, she sat to his left, the side of his heart.

Rowan was seated to the right of their father. Forever the favorite, he was granted the place next to Charles. Abigail occupied the chair next to Rowan much to her dislike. No matter how hard she protested, she was never allowed to sit anywhere else.

Their father filled the silence as the family waited on dinner. It was a tradition for Charles to do so. In fact, no one else ever dared to speak. It would be informal, impolite, grounds for a stern talking to. He spoke at length about a serial killer referred to as "The Chesapeake Ripper".

"Why did they decide on such a name?"

Charles' eyes bore into his daughters, an insult on the tip of his tongue. He had raised her better than to interrupt. He was tired from work. Too tired. He allowed it.

"A killer with a similar profile was active in the United States a few years ago. The FBI gave him the name. They believe he left America in search of a new hunting ground and relocated to London where he's become active once more."

"How do they know it's a male?"

She was asking too many questions. She was interrupting too much.

"The horrific crimes he has committed are those in which only men are capable of. No woman could ever do what he has done."

She opened her mouth to object.

"Abigail! That's enough."

Her lips closed in silent dismay.

Dinner was finally served on a silver platter. The finest meat and greens were produced, paired with a glass of aged wine.

The wine was almost sour on Abigail's tongue. She would much rather be drinking Dr. Lecter's beer.

The meal was completed in silence, only the sound of forks against fine china to be heard. Finally, once everyone was done, the twins were dismissed. They parted ways to their childhood rooms. During their monthly dinner visits, they were also expected to stay the night.

Abigail grabbed her phone, seating herself in the window seat that overlooked the perfectly manicured lawn. She loathed how perfect her family pretended to be. The Blackwater's were more than a green garden and white manor. They lived in a dollhouse. They were dolls living an artificial life of lies.

Her carob eyes finally focused, the front lawn finally becoming a stilled picture instead of a haze. She wished her eyes hadn't focused. She wished she had stayed zoned out.

Before her, next to the stone fountain, framed by the cherub on top, stood a figure. The silhouette stood motionless on the stone pathway that led to the front entrance. She became uneasy and got a subconscious need to empty the contents of her stomach.

The figure was staring back at her.

Abigail let out a blood-curdling scream, her wits finally catching up to her racing mind. She lept from the seat, racing across the second floor of the manor. She couldn't remember the last time she willingly ran towards the arms of her father but here she was.

"Father!" She yelled into the emptiness of the house.

Rowan emerged from his room, a look of confusion present on his face. He followed after his sister, not understanding what was wrong in the slightest.

Abigail found her father in his study, his attention on whatever was in his hands. He had either not heard her yell for him or didn't care. Probably the latter.

"Father!" She insisted, forcing him to look at her. His eyes lazily shifted from the folder he held to her. "There's someone on the front lawn!"

Rowan made his way into the office, catching the tail end of what his sister said. "What are you going on about? You interrupted my studies."

"There's someone on the front lawn!" She said again, adrenaline still coursing through her veins.

"Don't be dramatic, Abigail. Your eyes are playing tricks on you." Charles replied, not taking an ounce of what his daughter said to heart.

Rowan rolled his eyes, turning on his heel to return to his room. Abigail shook her head in frustration. Slamming her hands on his desk, her chest heaved in anger.

"No! You need to go fucking look!"

Charles' eyes were wide with bewilderment. The last time his daughter had ever talked back or had an outburst was when she was younger. She had learned her lesson not to let it happen again. Or so he thought.

"Abigail Diana Blackwater! Do not raise your voice at me!" Charles was standing now.

Tears of frustration were beginning to form in the corner of her eyes. "Just go look... please." There was so much desperation in her voice. She was begging her father of all people.

With a sigh of annoyance, he made his way down the stairs. She was a few steps behind him. In her left hand was a letter opener she had snagged from his desk; She was taking no chances.

A few steps out the front door, Charles froze, refusing to move any further. "Go inside."

She should have listened. For once in her life, Abigail Blackwater should have listened to her father. But her curiosity got the best of her. It clawed at her, latched into her mind, and forced her to look around him.

She wished she hadn't.

The water circulating through the fountain was completely red. All of the blood had left the body and entered the water fixture. The body was on full display, facing the manor. The body was of a girl who had similar features to her own.

She was practically looking at her own corpse.