Chapter 4: the walls closing in

Hannibal

I stop, frozen in front of the door that is no longer there. My mind tenses, my vision blurs. The space around me begins to distort, as if reality itself were being twisted by an invisible force. This room... It's no longer an apartment. It's a trap. A trap I didn't see coming, a trap I can no longer escape.

I frantically scan the walls, looking for a way out, but everything around me changes. The corners of the room seem to curve, almost imperceptibly. The illusion of an enclosed space becomes more and more oppressive. The invisible labyrinth expands and the boundaries disappear into the shadows.

I turn to her. She is still there, calm, serene, observing my agitation with disconcerting tranquillity. It's crazy, but it's as if she has become the epicenter of everything that is happening to me. Her calmness, her certainty, are like blades stuck in my mind. She knows. She knows what is going on, and that destabilizes me more than anything else.

“You saw the door disappear, didn't you?” Her soft voice, almost like a whisper, pierces the air. It's a simple observation, but each word resonates in my head like an obvious truth. ”You are not in the world you think you are, Anibal.”

An icy heat takes hold of me, burning me from the inside. The uneasiness grows, squeezing me in a vice. I can't shake the panic rising up inside me, but I struggle to keep control. I am Anibal. I am not afraid. I am still in control of the situation. But now... Tonight, I am no longer sure of anything.

“What do you want from me?” My voice is dry, yet trembling with confusion. I am not here to understand, I am here to accomplish a mission. A single objective. But she... she changes everything.

She stares at me without replying immediately, an almost imperceptible smile playing on her lips. She seems to be reading my soul, as if every movement of my lips were a page of my life that she deciphers effortlessly. I am naked before her. And I cannot bear that.

“What do I want?” she repeats slowly, as if savoring her words. ”I don't want anything. You're the one who wants something. You're the one who's here to accomplish a task. But the real question, Anibal, is why you're here. Why you do what you do.”

Her words seep under my skin, pulling at my certainties, at my principles. I feel attacked, but I refuse to give in. She won't control me. I'm stronger than that. Smarter. More focused.

“I don't have time for your riddles,” I retort in a harder voice, pushing back the wave of confusion that threatens to overwhelm me. ”I'm not here to argue. Where's the exit?”

I scan the walls again, desperately searching for an answer, but all I see is the shifting darkness devouring me. The room itself seems to want to engulf me.

It moves slowly towards me, without a sound, as if it were floating above the ground. It is in no hurry. It just seems to be observing me, studying me. When it stops a few centimeters from me, a shiver runs through me. My breathing quickens, a palpable discomfort. I try to control it, but it's difficult. It's there, close to me, and every fiber of my being tells me that something is wrong.

“You have always acted without thinking about what lies beneath the surface, Anibal. You have created a mask for yourself. You have become what you believe yourself to be... a murderer. But deep down, you are much more than that, aren't you? You have killed, yes. But more than that, you have erased lives, memories, traces... so that you never have to face what you really are.” She pauses, and her eyes look deep into mine. She waits, as if she already knows what I am going to say.

I feel attacked, destabilized. But I refuse to give her that power. “I'm a professional,” I reply, my voice hoarse. “What I do is not about looking at myself in the mirror. You don't understand. You're just a target.”

She smiles, a sad but understanding smile, as if she knew I was going to say that. As if she had already seen this defense a thousand times.

“Ah, you're wrong, Anibal. What you do isn't just killing. You destroy everything that could remind you of who you are. You erase every memory, every part of you that could make you doubt yourself. But deep down, you know it, don't you? You lost yourself long before you got here.”

I clench my fists, trying hard not to give in. There's no way I'm letting her take control. I'm here on a mission, not to question myself. This is not the time. And yet her words... they pierce me. They awaken doubts I thought were buried forever.

“You know nothing about me,” I reply, my voice hoarse and trembling despite myself. ”You can't understand.”

She comes even closer, until there is no distance between us. I feel as if the air around us has become denser, as if everything has frozen around this closeness. I stare at her, gripped by a fear that I cannot ignore. It is the fear of myself.

“I know everything that has become of you,” she says calmly. ”And you know it too. You have tried to run away, but you are here now. You cannot leave until you have accepted the truth.”

I try to turn away from her, but there is no way out. No door. No window. Just this space that tightens around me, that traps me. The room is no longer just an apartment, it is a reflection of my own mind, an endless labyrinth.

“I don't have time for your games,” I say through gritted teeth, trying to push away this suffocating atmosphere. ”I'm here to finish what I started.”

She looks at me for a moment, her gaze not judging me, but understanding me in a strange, silent way. Then, in a soft but firm voice, she replies:

“You can try. But you will not leave this place until you have accepted the truth.”

And for the first time, a dull terror came over me. This mission was not just about killing. No. It was a confrontation with myself. And perhaps, quite simply, with my soul.