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Will hasn't taken his seat in front of his psychiatrist yet. He doesn't need therapy anymore but he needs to stay close to him. It isn't therapy, he isn't officially his patient. They're only having conversations and Will knows what he wants to discuss that evening. He had been thinking about it last night when he couldn't sleep, wondering if, for some reason, God was more protective of Hannibal Lecter than of any of ther latter's victims. Hannibal had taken so many lives, Will is sure of that. What goes beyond his head is why it has taken so many lives to catch Hannibal and still, he's not even entirely cornered.
"Do you think God has his favourite human beings?" Will approaches, blinking when the sight outside the window becomes blurry due to being focused for too long. "Some people he likes over others." He clarifies, turning around and stays there for a few seconds before he makes his way to the armchair he always occupies.
Hannibal keeps his manners so he doesn't answer until Will has made himself comfortable.
"I believe what God likes over everything else is to remind us he is the upper hand. That's what feeling powerful is about, causing havoc or joy to happen to his creations as he pleases. By choosing to whom he delivers a greater amount of joy and to whom a greater amount of misery is how he highlights his superiority. He gloats in his power to decide what happens to us and what doesn't. What we can do and what we can't do in order to make things happen or stop them from happening to us."
"That somehow creates the illusion that we are in control of our lives, to some extent." He pauses to make sure Hannibal agrees on that. Of course he does. "Are we ever?"
"Only when we defy him."
Will tilts his head and dampens his lips as though he is tasting how the words in his mind will sound out loud.
"Is that why we kill? To take control?"
"Conceptually, the act of killing is motivated by as many reasons as times a killing happens. There is always at least one reason per crime and the reasons might be different each time." Hannibal and Will both hold each other's gaze. The doctor is smart enough to know he hasn't answered the younger man's question. Smart to know he's patient enough to wait until he does answer it. "Nonetheless, it does offer control. You decide the fate of one of his creations and thwart the plans he had for them. You can go as far as deciding the very second when they will breathe for the last time. That is no illusion, it is control, it's what God does to us. Deciding who lives and who dies has the power of bringing us closer to God. Given we were created in his image, it is to what we should aspire."
"We may have been created in his image but I highly doubt he ever intended to make us just as powerful. That's what they call playing God because you can't become him."
Hannibal doesn't reply to that. His sight is still but doesn't seem to be fixed anywhere in particular. Will analyzes the situation and takes the chance to drive Hannibal's thoughts in the direction he wants the conversation to take.
"Do you ever feel punished by God and feel it's his genuine response to what you do?"
"Yes." Hannibal goes silent for a moment where he closes his eyes as his lips spread in an ironic smirk. "I felt punished yesterday, to take a case in point."
Will frowns, curious what he will hear and what was God's punishment for Hannibal. He imagines nothing as harsh as the punishment Hannibal himself inflicts to others.
"I saved a life yesterday." His countenance doesn't change as he pronounces this nor does he raise his eyes to look at Will, whose brow has grown even more puckered. "I prevented a very young girl -around nine years old- from crossing the street right before someone drove by. I believe she was chasing a butterfly or something of the like. I couldn't see what distracted her from hearing the sound of the car rushing her way. I grabbed her from her coat and quickly pulled her back. When she turned around I was rendered speechless." Another pause comes along. Hannibal seems to be once again visualizing the scene in the very space between him and Will. "I still ignore who she was but I saw Mischa... She had her exact hair and eye colour. My memories of her are distant but still quite vivid. I can even remember her sweet childlike scent." His words space out as he speaks of his sister but the irony in his smile gives way to a tender nuance. "I saw her same features in that young stranger's face. God punished me by setting before my eyes this scenario where I was able to save a little girl who looked just like Mischa. Only to be reminded I couldn't do anything to save my own sister's life. Making me helpless when I cared most and making me capable when I cared less, both were his will."
Both men become pensive. The loudness with which Hannibal draws in a breath wakes Will up from his own trance. Blue eyes meet amber ones that seem to darken in proportion to his owner's speech.
"Cruelty for cruelty? His for yours."
"I demonstrate a more physical kind of cruelty. Regularly, I start causing pain not so long before I put an end to it. God doesn't. He plants his cruelty into our soul, plunges us deeper into darkness with the pain he causes and creates the monsters he allegedly doesn't want us to become. He allows us to live for longer than we allow others when we kill them but it is also in that way that he stretches out our agony. I let you live just so you live what I want you to. For my amusement, because I can. That is God's mercy, Will. He shows none. Why should we?"
Will gulps. For every time he thinks he's closer to doing the right thing, Hannibal sows doubt all over again about what is in reality the right thing.