Chiltxn

"As would it be wise for you not to make me think I’m a serial killer again." He leaned forward in the metal cage, getting a better look at the man. "You look well." For what it’s worth, he’s not mocking him.

"Oh, he’s certainly something alright. So that’s your professional opinion then?" She narrowed her eyes at him. "I’m here to see you. You are one of his colleagues, aren’t you, at least to some extent? I thought you could offer some insight.  I’ve heard you’re a very insightful doctor." She batted her eyelashes a little. 

Meme

     The  simple  fact  that  Chilton  was  so  unwilling  to  share what was in his mind made  Bedelia want to  stop  the  session immediately and to  refer him to one  of her colleages. Unlike Hannibal,  he  would  probably  not try  to continue to see her as his  therapist.  He  might  want  to be like her patient she had  known for so many years, yet he was only  himself, another  psychiatrist  attacked  by one of his patients and  who was trying to get  better.

     Bedelia  was  the  only  because  she  agreed  to see him,  but  if  he  decided  to  not  put  his  mind  into  his therapy,  she would not hesitate to let him  deal with his  problems on his own. There was no  acceptable excuse  to miss a session,  especially when  it was so important  for the  patient’s  future  life.  She  had the possibility to  allow him to work or  to  force  him to leave  his position with a simple letter  to  the right  person and  she would  do it  without  any  doubt.  No  one  could play  with her.

    “A former patient of Doctor Lecter who  was referred to me attacked me and nearly killed me. He  swallowed his  tongue  while he was attacking me. That is the only thing that saved my life.” Bedelia  looked  at  her hands  before  focusing  her  attention on the man again. “I am  not hiding  anything  from  you, Doctor Chilton, I simply  do not  enjoy  talking about this to someone who is not  involved  with  the  police  or with  that specific patient.”

     Half-truth.  That  was  what  he  would  get  since she  knew he would not give up until he had what he  wanted.  There was  nothing  else  that Bedelia  could  say  to him concerning her assault  without  taking  the  risk to  draw Hannibal’s attention on her. What the F.B.I did not know,  Frederick Chilton did not  have to know. Her  hands now  folded on her  delicate  legs,  she  gave  him a  faint  and cold smile, some sort of  warning that he  had to stop his  little questioning if he wanted to keep her as his therapist.

     ”Now, Frederick.”  The blonde woman insisted on his first name,  knowing  that  it  would  make him react. He was  not  the  psychiatrist,  not  when  she was sitting in front of him. “If you are in therapy  to  gossip about your  therapist,  you will have to  find  someone else. I will not  tolerate  that  you  act  with  me as  if I was  one of your  patients.  It  does  not  matter  to  me  that  your  career depends  on  those  sessions.  Truth  is that  I could not care less.”  Her voice was calm,  but it was a real threat. 

    Chilton fixed Bedelia with a small, knowing gaze as she shared what had apparently happened to her. “Swallowed his tongue? How unfortunate.” He glanced over at his left hand, playing with his cane absentmindedly. “Such a shame that he died, don't you think?” It was clear that there was more to the story that Bedelia wasn't telling, but he decided not to push it any further.

    “I understand.” was his only reply. “Though I admit that I am not the police, this is surely a horrifying experience that has happened to you. Does it not help to talk about it?” Frederick knew that he was turning the focus of the session away from himself, which was excatly what he was trying to do. He had no interest in talking about his own problems, yet he did love to talk in general.     Despite how unaware Frederick was of the details he was missing, he couldn't help but wonder what exactly it was that Bedelia was hiding. She had already insisted that she was hiding nothing, but as one who spent most of his time around criminals (notorious liars) he had the honed ability to detect whenever someone wasn't telling the truth. 

Carolyn couldn’t help but smile back at him, “Good thing for both of us then. People may talk, Mister…”

Stylish, well tailored suit, well groomed. He’s vain, used to money, or knows poverty well enough to maintain his wardrobe now that he can. Forward, but not to the point of impropriety. Proud of his position, enough to include it in his introduction. Habit? Or flaunting his status to seem more desirable? What field?

The thoughts were practically instantaneous, his own observations sinking in even before he really considered the gentleman’s words. The man, Frederick, was flirting. Asking for his phone number. And according to proper social custom, likely expected a name at some point. "Sherlock Holmes," he replied politely, noticing that Frederick didn’t offer a handshake and therefore not offering in turn. Informal, or just unaccustomed to physical contact? “And it seems presumptuous to say you could help me, seeing that you don’t know what I do.” Not what Frederick meant by being “more productive,” he knew, but he found himself curious how he’d respond. Would he see it as rejection of his advances, or invitation to ask?

                 Frederick knew nothing of what went through the man's               mind,  but  most  of  his assumptions were not wrong. He               grew up  in  a  household  with a modest income — or as               modest  as  possible  with  only  his  mother  in the home.               His suits of rather horrid taste were  part  obligatory,  part               desire  to  show  off  his  wealth.  He was neat and clean,               but  only  because  he  was  a  sort  of perfectionist, who               didn't let a single flaw slip past his appearance.

                 Not  one  to   analyze  people,  Frederick  didn't remark               anything  about   the  man  before  him,  except   for   his               impeccable    features.   He  smiled   thoughtfully  at   his               response,  an  avoidance  to  his  first question. “Sherlock               Holmes...”  The  name  rolled  over   his  tongue  and  he               pondered it, letting it sink  into  his memory. “A wonderful               name,” he commented, at last.

"I don’t think so. I’m Margot Verger.  I was a patient of Hannibal’s." She stuck out her hand.

"Dr Chilton… Always a pleasure."

Will didn’t even bother to try and mask the venom in his voice. He’d long gone past the point of being polite.

"However I’m not here to exchange pleasantries. Agent Crawford wants your… expert opinion on something." 

                 The doctor leaned forward, feigning interest. He               brushed  off  Will's sarcastic remark, a smug smile               upon his face.