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.
"I'm scared."
Two words. A simple declaration. A feeling. One that carried weight and cut the silence like a searing knife, burning the safe facaded atmosphere with it.
"Of?" This question was a courtesy. It was to make her feel heard, listened to, answered. He already knew her reply.
"The Ripper. I'm petrified that I'll be the next person to be strung up. I'm scared the next time my family will step foot in a church will be my funeral."
A single tear slipped down her cheek.
Lecter finally looked at her. Abigail's eyes were glossed over, beautifully reflecting the moonlight. The reflection was more elegant in her eyes than the real light that entered through the fractured glass. He offered his hand to her, a symbol of support. She carefully placed her smaller one in his, letting it rest there. Her palm fit perfectly in his.
She was made for him.
"You're scared of God then."
The confusion was etched into the features of her face. He explained, "Killing must feel good to God, too. He does it all the time. And are we not created in his image?"
His thumb gently stroked her soft skin, knowing that she would begin to react anxiously to his words.
"Does the Ripper believe he's God?"
"Maybe. We all have the ability to end someone else's life. However, most people would never think about doing such a thing. It appears that the Ripper likes having the option, the power. Since only a few people and God choose to kill, the act of killing may bring him closer to God in his eyes. Or perhaps he just wants to be worshipped as such. He may simply want someone to get on their knees and treat him as God."
The man stood, his fingers loosely interlocking with the girls' so he pulled her up with him. Just as their palms had, their fingers fit perfectly together.
She was made for him.
He led her up the stairs, behind the altar, directly to the statue of Mary. Her hands were pressed together, eyes raised to the heavens, seemingly mid-prayer.
"What does she pray for?" He asked.
"Her son?"
Lecter moved his hand from hers to the small of her back. It fit perfectly.
She was made for him.
"That's one option. What if it's a more human reason, a more selfish one? What if she prays for recognition? She did bring Jesus into the world."
Abigail's skin burned through her sweater as she felt the pressure of his fingertips on her back. It set her on edge. An edge she would happily jump off.
"Pride is one of the cardinal sins. We aren't supposed to be selfish or we'll be punished for it." Her head was turned towards him, locks of dark hair framing her face.
"Why shouldn't we be? No one knows with certainty what happens after death. Who will punish you in this life for being selfish, Abigail? Lack of punishment often causes humans to be selfish." His maroon eyes holding hers.
They were slowly gravitating towards one another unnoticeably. Whether it be divine intervention or the mere principle of attraction, their lips were drawing closer.
"Religion," the word fell off her lips softly. "Religion sparks fear in our heart so we won't act selfishly in this lifetime."
"Abigail, you must know I'm not a religious man." Their lips were mere inches apart. "And I fully in end to be selfish in this lifetime."
With his final words spoken, he closed the gap. Had she been able to, an audible gasp would have left her lips. However, there was no physical way for that to be done. Her breath had been stolen by the man who now had both hands on her hips. He slowly backed her up until her back came in contact with the marble pillar of the statue.
The man pulled away for a small moment, wishing so badly to peer into her vulnerable soul. Through her eyes, he saw it. It was shaking like a small child; slightly frightened, partially excited, completely curious.
"Dr. Lecter," she started to speak.
"Hannibal." He swiftly silenced her.
His right hand moved from her hip to the hollow of her throat. His long fingers curled as her breath became uneven. His eyes continued to hold hers in submission as his presence dominated the church. Any trace of God that had been lingering in her mind was gone. She was consumed completely by him. Just him.
"Say it," he urged her, almost begged.
"Hannibal." His name fell from her lips like honey. Her tone was just as sweet. His name was perfect in her voice.
She was made for him.
His thumb pushed past her lips, making a home in the warmth of her mouth. She stood frozen, the only movement being her heaving chest. Even if she had been able to move, she wouldn't have wanted to.
"Get on your knees." Hannibal slowly guided her to the ground.
The light of the high moon 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 consumed as her mouth was defiled.
"I'm your God now."