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The hum from the air conditioning was too loud, the whirring from the vents disturbing the silence of the night. Light from a nearby streetlamp shone in through the window, dimmed by thin curtains, fluttering ever so slightly in the soft breeze that barely entered the room.
Abigail scuffled around under the duvet, brunette hair knotting slightly from her movements. No matter how much she shifted under the covers, she couldn’t get comfortable. The noise and the light in the room were too intense. She wasn’t used to this place yet; it had barely been a week since she had moved in.
“I can’t sleep,” Abigail whispered, a gentle plea to some higher power that she would drift out of consciousness like tides pulling debris out to sea. No longer fighting the currents as she drifted away.
Abigail longed to be back in Minnesota. She imagined her bedroom, pitch black in the shroud of night. The only light, the dim glow of the moon. If Abigail reached far enough into the back of her mind, she could still hear the sounds of the forest. The tread of white-tailed deer, just audible in the nearby underbrush and the hoots from an owl further away in the distance. Abigail slipped further away into her mind. She remembered feeling the whoosh of air against her cheek as she let go of the bowstring, the arrow planting itself in the centre of a deer's chest. She watched it tumble to the floor, leaves rustling as the deer exhaled its final breath.
The sound echoed next to Abigail, mere inches from her face.
“Neither can I,” a soft voice murmured back.
Fear rooted itself in Abigail’s chest. She tried to move but couldn’t shuffle away from the voice, no matter how hard she tried.
“You’re not real,” Abigail muttered, hurt thick in her voice.
“Abigail, I am real. Stop telling me I’m not,”
“I saw you. You’re dead Marissa.” Abigail sucked in a deep breath, her voice trembling as she continued. “I—I saw your body suspended from antlers. How could I forget Marissa? How?”
Abigail felt fingers against her face, the coldness of the skin sending a shiver down her spine. It’s just a dream, it’s just a dream, it’s just a dream…
“I’m just a dream to you, Abigail? Is that all you think of me?” Marissa enquired, nails digging into the pockets of Abigail’s cheeks, forcing her to look at her.
“You’re not real Marissa! I saw you — dead!” Abigail exclaimed. Her chest grew tighter as she struggled to breathe. Her panic set in and her fear grew stronger, constricting itself around her like a python.
The duvet shifted as Marissa climbed on top of Abigail, dispelling any air still left in her lungs. Abigail looked down at Marissa’s chest and saw the tip of an arrow sticking out, right in the centre. Just like the deer. Marissa’s fingers were still pressing into Abigail’s face. By now, Abigail was sure there would be crescent shaped marks on her skin.
“Why did you run Abigail? Why did you leave me there? Do you not care about me? What about everything I’ve done for you?” Marissa seethed— except, it wasn’t only Marissa’s voice. There was another.
“Stop it, leave me alone! Please, I can’t—” Abigail choked out, tears thick and burning as they spilled. She closed her eyes, writhing around under the duvet as she sobbed. Eventually, she opened her eyes again, but this time — Marissa was gone.
Garret Jacob Hobbs stared back at her.
“Shh, hold still Abigail, it’s okay — it’ll be over soon,” her father said, a knife in his hand. His finger trailing along the side of the blade as he brought it up to her neck. “It’ll be ok, I’ve got you. Dad’s right here..”
The knife carved into the soft flesh of Abigail’s neck. Pain burned as the knife tore through skin. Abigail grunted through her teeth, desperately trying to hold back the urge to scream. The air slipped away further from her lungs as she began to choke. She fought with all of her strength but still couldn’t move. She was trapped — a lamb for slaughter.
Abigail couldn’t hold it back, she screamed loudly,; voice piercing in the room as her eyes shot open in the dark. Tears poured down her cheeks as she breathed rapidly, desperately attempting to get oxygen back into her lungs. She couldn’t move, her body still paralysed with fear.
Moments later, Abigail heard feet against wooden flooring as she continued to stare at the ceiling. The bedroom door swung open and two figures walked in, switching on the light as they approached her on the bed.
“Oh little elnias, it’s ok. I’m here, we’re here. Focus on us,” Hannibal whispered softly to Abigail, gently brushing some of her hair behind her ear.
Hannibal sat on the bed and pulled Abigail onto his lap, holding her carefully in his arms. He gently rocked her as she calmed down and her breathing settled.
He whispered promises that she was safe whilst Will traced comforting patterns onto Abigail’s arm, his touch soft, but reassuring. They promised that nothing in her dream was real and the nightmare slipped away from her mind.
In Baltimore, Abigail was safe. In Hannibal and Will’s home, Abigail was loved.