CHAPTER 1

BEEP BEEP BEEP BEEP BEE-

A delicate, lightly tanned hand flew out from under the mass of seemingly infinite burgundy blankets, fumbling for the right button to silence the blaring alarm that was sounding in her ear. As Emma's fingers came into contact with the furthest unyielding metal button, she pressed down harshly. Groaning, she flung the covers off of her petite frame. As she stood, she raised her slender arms above and stretched out the kinks in her back that had developed over the course of the night before walking to the large window to the right of her bed, blearily rubbing the sleep out of her drowsy, chocolate eyes as she went. Emma threw the cream-colored curtains to either side, flinching as the gleaming rays assaulted her sensitive eyes. Padding over to the opposite side of the cozy room, she opened the frosted glass door to her modest closet, assessing her clothing with a slight frown. She had her first appointment with her new psychiatrist today and Emma was determined to look her best. As her agile hands flicked hanger after hanger of vibrant blouses and neutral skirts to the side, she considered what she knew of the doctor.
Dr. Hannibal Lecter, she thought to herself as her hands paused over a cerulean, scoop-necked dress. Definitely an unusual name. When she had called and scheduled the appointment, she hadn't been able to place the man's thick accent. European, maybe? She pulled the dress off the rack to examine it more closely before subtly shaking her head, and with a slight frown replaced it. She skimmed through more dresses before landing on a blouse of the same color. After a moment of consideration, she snagged it along with a sleek, black, pencil skirt, tossing them the few feet that distanced her from her bed and hooking her fingers onto the back of a pair of matching black pumps. She kicked the closet door shut, shuffling back over to where her clothes now lay somewhat haphazardly.
This was Emma's first psychiatric appointment since moving to Baltimore, and although Dr. Lecter had come highly recommended by the few people she had become acquainted with since her relocation, she was hesitant. The transition from old psychiatrist to new was hard for her after having developed such a close affinity with Dr. Hopkins back in St. Louis.
Really, Emma, what's the worst he can do? Diagnose you with yet another mental illness? Turn you away after one session? You can handle this. Just remember, he's a professional. He has definitely handled more severe cases than yours, she reassured herself as she tucked the bottom of her blouse into the skirt and deftly zipped up the tight black fabric. As she plopped onto the edge of the bed to slip on the heels, she noticed her hands trembling. Shaking them forcefully, she reapplied herself to the task before striding out of the pale bedroom and into the spacious, well-lit bathroom right across the hall in order to add some structure to her messy, borderline-black waves and apply some light makeup to her heart-shaped face.

Once that was accomplished, she examined herself in the full length mirror next to the vanity. Emma turned to the side, checking her profile to make sure the clothing was flattering from all angles. Satisfied, she walked down the narrow hallway to the living room, unplugging her charging cell phone and scooping up her keys as she walked to the door. As she locked up, she glanced at the time on her phone. 10:40. Perfect; I should arrive about 5 minutes early at this rate. She jogged down the narrow steps of the apartment building staircase to the black 4-door that was parked right in front of the adjoining walkway. She unlocked the door and smoothly seated herself, gently shut the door, and started the car.

Fifteen minutes later she was walking into the waiting room of the one Dr. Hannibal Lecter. With no receptionist to observe, she merely sat and busied herself with the solitaire app she had downloaded to her phone. The wait was always the worst for her; doubts gnawed away at her, whispering unwelcomed scenarios to her already anxious mind. As the clock on her phone finally turned 11, the office door opened and a well-dressed man stepped out. Startled, Emma stood rather abruptly. She gave him a quick once-over and was far from disappointed. One word popped into Emma's mind to sum up Dr. Lecter: impeccable. From his grooming and apparel to his solicitous body language and kind smile, he was the very embodiment of the word. She was jogged from her thoughts as she heard the muffled chiming of her keys clashing together as they collided at her feet. Emma jerkily bent over to retrieve them, quickly righting herself. She peeked out from under her bangs at the patiently waiting psychiatrist, blushing profusely at her minor blunder.

"Ms. Chamberlin I presume?" Dr. Lecter inquired as the corner of his mouth tugged up into a hint of a smile. He gestured toward the black chair waiting inside his tasteful office.
"Yes sir, but please, call me Emma," she murmured as her petite frame slid past him and took a seat in the designated chair. As she passed, Lecter couldn't help but appreciate his newest patient's appearance. He appreciated pieces of art after all, and Emma was definitely that. Unlike some of his other patients, she had bothered to dress nicely and appear put-together for the occasion, placing her best foot forward if you will. The style and cut of clothing suited her, and the color of the blouse flattered her glowing skin. The long mane of lustrous waves framed her delicate features beautifully, and the thick lashes that brushed her cheek with her downturned gaze were a beautiful contrast to the healthy, rosy skin they tickled. Dare he admit it, he was impressed.

Lecter closed the door gently and seated himself gracefully in the seat across from her, crossing his legs and folding his hands together. "Emma, then. What brings you here today, Emma?"

Emma shifted in her seat, trying in vain to conceal her nerves. She clasped her hands in her lap, subtly playing with the hemline of her skirt. "Well sir, I just moved here from St. Louis a week ago. I was seeing a psychiatrist there, but obviously continuing a professional relationship from Baltimore wasn't exactly feasible," she chuckled.
He smiled, for what she assumed was at her small attempt at humor; in reality it was because of her prominent display of social etiquette and manners. He pondered over the last time he had been called sir not once, but twice, in less than a five minute span. He couldn't recall. Observing Emma closely, he reached onto the nearby table and picked up a pad of paper and accompanying sleek fountain pen. "Tell me, what were your reasons for seeing a psychiatrist in St. Louis?"
She tucked a stray piece of hair behind her ear. "At 20, I was diagnosed with bipolar II, Borderline Personality Disorder, and anxiety. Sometimes I feel like a walking mental illness factory," she said with a light laugh. She sobered quickly, looking worried. "I know that some psychiatrists refuse to touch borderlines with a ten-foot pole. It took me a year to find a competent psychiatrist, but once I found the right combination of meds and someone I trusted, I started making considerable improvement," she said with an air of desperation. She felt Dr. Lecter could help her greatly here in Baltimore, and was scared that he would be deterred by her diagnoses. "I'm much better now; my meds have been reduced in dosage and everything. All I really need is a psychiatrist adept enough to assist me in keeping my thinking patterns in check and to help me work through situations that might be self-destructive or harmful to others. It's still hard for me to distinguish that at times," she confided.
With a lightly arched eyebrow, Lecter considered her statements as his artistic hand moved fluidly across the page, jotting down notes as she spoke. Emma watched in fascination as his hand progressed neatly along the paper, down and to the left, and back across. The movements were so elegant. I wonder if he sketches. He set the pad down on his lap, focusing his attention back on her. He regarded her for a moment; it felt like ages to Emma. Right when she was convinced he was going to tell her that she would need to seek out someone other than him to assist her, he spoke.

"Emma, I would very much like to counsel you, I should think. You are an interesting case, and to be frank, I do enjoy a challenge."
Her eyes lit up and a slow grin spread across her lovely face. "Oh Dr. Lecter, I'm so pleased to hear that! I can't thank you enough!"
Lecter stood, before striding to his desk and pulling out his planner. He opened it and rested a hand on either side of the planner, leaning on the polished desk. "I'd like to see you twice a week; preferably Tuesday and Friday at 5 pm if convenient for you." He glanced up for Emma's response.
"Those work perfectly, Dr. Lecter. And if not, I'll rearrange my schedule to make them work." She nodded her head swiftly, as if confirming to herself the declaration.

Lecter straightened up and closed his planner with care. "In that case, I shall see you in three days' time Ms. Chamberlin. I look forward to our session."

As Emma stood, he walked back over to her, holding out his hand. She shook it firmly, smiling up at the much taller psychiatrist. "Thank you so much, Dr. Lecter. I'll see you on Friday." He held the door open for her, and with a gentle wave on her part, she walked out the door at the other end of the waiting room.
Lecter eyed his new patient with dancing eyes and a barely-concealed smirk. Oh this should be fun.