[Her fingers don't tremble when she takes the file from him. She is worried for a moment that they will, but they don't. They're steady, just like she's been steady. Strong hands help you survive.]
[The first thing that strikes her is a violent sense of deja vu. The second thing is that these pages are so thin, a whole life shouldn't be able to be contained on them. But here it is, her life, or at least all the parts that would be reported on television or the internet. Wouldn't Freddie Lounds kill to get her hands on this.]
[Her reactions are not so different than they were before. More muted, maybe. She reads over the stark descriptions of cannibalism without flinching. It no longer makes her want to throw up. It's just a fact: this happened, and she'll never get away from it having happened.]
[What stops her is the last mention of Alana. The file does not mention her death, just her fall, and that makes Abigail wonder. The other thing that catches her up is every later mention of Hannibal's name. Her fingers trace the name on the page, and sadness crosses her face. Or not just that. Sadness, regret, fear.]
[Eventually, she closes the file and hands it back, her expression shuttered, her hand tight on the teddy bear.]
Is he still here?
[She doesn't bother clarifying who she means. Ben will know.]
no subject
[The first thing that strikes her is a violent sense of deja vu. The second thing is that these pages are so thin, a whole life shouldn't be able to be contained on them. But here it is, her life, or at least all the parts that would be reported on television or the internet. Wouldn't Freddie Lounds kill to get her hands on this.]
[Her reactions are not so different than they were before. More muted, maybe. She reads over the stark descriptions of cannibalism without flinching. It no longer makes her want to throw up. It's just a fact: this happened, and she'll never get away from it having happened.]
[What stops her is the last mention of Alana. The file does not mention her death, just her fall, and that makes Abigail wonder. The other thing that catches her up is every later mention of Hannibal's name. Her fingers trace the name on the page, and sadness crosses her face. Or not just that. Sadness, regret, fear.]
[Eventually, she closes the file and hands it back, her expression shuttered, her hand tight on the teddy bear.]
Is he still here?
[She doesn't bother clarifying who she means. Ben will know.]