Ravenous
Disclaimer: I don't own anything related to Hannibal Lecter. He belongs to his creator, Mr. Thomas Harris. I'm just borrowing the Good Doctor for a little while. I promise to play nice then put him back right where I found him.
Summary: Based on the film "Hannibal Rising". This takes place two years after the events of the movie. After a stressful residency at John Hopkins University, the Good Doctor decides to take a long needed holiday.
Being a connoisseur of fine wine, he travels west to the lush vineyards of Napa Valley, California. Soon after arriving, he is unexpectedly reunited with someone from his past. Much to his surprise, feelings of longing and desire are rekindled. But as he is getting reacquainted with his lost love, an old foe and rival also comes calling.
With his security in jeopardy, will young Dr. Lecter have to resort his unique culinary talents once more?
A/N: This is my first "Hannibal" fic ever. . And I wrote this at the behest of a favorite authoress of mine, Mishka Germash. So please be kind. I do welcome constructive criticism.
Rated M for gore, violence and sexual situations. Hannibal/Lady Murasaki and of course Inspector Popil.
Chapter One
"Good afternoon, Dr. Lecter. And welcome to the Napa River Inn. I am Alfred Napier, the hotel concierge. If there is anything I can do to make your stay a more pleasant one, please do not hesitate to ring me at any hour. Day or night, I am at your disposal."
The tall slender young man with a pale face that accentuated the indigo irises of his eyes, nodded slightly, silently acknowledging Mr. Napier's greeting. He stood perfectly still as he coolly regarded the nervous little hotel employee with a discriminating eye.
Wordlessly, his hard cold gaze never wavered as he visually dissected the poorly dressed caretaker, mentally taking note of all of his faults and weaknesses in a matter of seconds.
Dr. Hannibal Lecter inwardly smiled when he finally deciphered the concierge's closely guarded secrets.
Simply put, the man was a fraud.
He was nothing more than a two-bit huckster. From the cheap time piece he wore on his hairy wrist to the distasteful malodorous aftershave that tainted the very air around him. The man blatantly offended anyone of good taste merely with his presence.
It did not surprised the learned physician, that Napier, like a lowly grifter, was hustling Lecter for an extra dollar or two with his counterfeit charm. To make matters worse, his attempt to disguise his mediocrity with a continental accent was downright laughable.
Napier, if that was his real name, may have been trying to sound suave and well traveled, but to Hannibal's discerning ear, he could still hear the traces of a Kentuckian twang. He might have been able to fool his unsuspecting employers and some of the nouveau riche clientele that frequented this hotel. But Hannibal Lecter saw Mr. Napier for what he really was: a peasant, a miserable little sycophant desperately trying to elevate his station in life by posing as a man of breeding and sophistication.
It was very hard to believe this five-star establishment would hire such a man. Hannibal quickly made a mental note to remedy the situation as soon as possible.
It was a good thing that he had insisted upon procuring a suite equipped with a kitchen. It's been awhile since he has allowed himself the pleasure to indulge in the culinary arts. And the doctor's mouth practically watered as he imagined what a fine soufflé Napier's sweetbreads would make. Perhaps he would accompany the meal with a bottle of the one many wines he had come here to sample during his stay in Napa Valley.
I will be sure to ask Mr. Napier what his recommendation will be before I cut out his heart. I wouldn't want to partake of an inferior vintage. Perish the thought!
Oblivious of the murderous musings of the impeccably attired young guest towering over his desk, Mr. Napier tried his best not display an ounce of the trepidation he was feeling.
However, being subjected to the weighty gaze of those two dark orbs that appeared almost violet as the scrutiny intensified, Mr. Napier couldn't help but feel the unwelcome sensation of cold beads of sweet start to form as the base of his receding hairline.
Upon seeing the first hints of nervous perspiration on the concierge's brow, the faint smile that had tugged at the corners of Hannibal's well formed mouth became broader.
Lecter so enjoyed asserting his superiority over weak-minded men. And his ability to immediately dominate and intimidate them without uttering a single word is what made him an alpha-male in every sense.
But alas, he had tired of this game and was anxious to be shown to his suite so that he could freshen up a bit before dinner.
When at last he spoke, Dr. Lecter's voice sliced through the air like a hot knife through butter.
His silky tones, never once betrayed the complete contempt he felt for this man. "Thank you, Mr. Napier. It's good to know that a man such as yourself is so accessible. Rest assured I will call upon you when the occasion arises."
He then punctuated his statement with a smile intended to be friendly in nature. But the affable intention failed to reach his eyes. Indeed, Hannibal was staring daggers at the man. Malevolent intent danced in those orbs whose shade had now deepened to a dark maroon. Eyes so cold, so calculating, that the little concierge could not help but shudder at the sight of them.
It was at that moment that Napier decided that he no longer wished to be in this man's presence. There was something about this young Dr. Lecter that was not quite right, and bit off kilter.
He could sense it.
But that was not surprising. After spending 16 years doing hard time in a Kentucky prison, a man picks up on things, develops an almost sixth sense on how to spot the crazies, the really dangerous inmates. Those really quiet bastards that seem normal one minute. But in the next instant, could easily slice a man's belly wide open, let his innards spill out and not think twice about it.
Yep, there's no doubt about this one. This guy's as crazy as they get!
Nervously, Napier began to tug at his collar, when he suddenly felt the garment constricting around his neck like a hangman's noose.
"Well then, Dr. Lecter. If there is nothing else that you require of me, I'll have Ramon assist you with your bags and show you to your suite. If you'll excuse me, I have other duties that I must attend to."
"Of course you do. And far be it for me to keep you from your obligations. Thank you again for your most generous offer. Please be assured that I plan on taking you up on it…soon."
Again, a small shiver of revulsion shot up Napier's spine as he snapped his fingers to get Ramon, the bellboy's attention.
A young Chicano wearing a smart looking royal blue uniform adorned with shiny gold buttons immediately heeded the call that had beckoned him. He quickly walked over to where his supervisor and the slick looking guest were standing. He stood rigidly, like a solider at attention, ready to receive his next instructions.
Casting a callous gaze at the Mexican-American employee, Mr. Napier addressed his underling with crisp supercilious tones that did little to conceal the bigotry he felt toward him. "Ramon, I want you to escort our guest, Dr. Lecter to suite 727. Make sure to also bring up his bags. And be quick about it, is that understood?"
Hannibal noticed that despite the obvious attempt to belittle Ramon in his presence, the young man held his head high and leveled a steady gaze at Napier before he replied.
"Yes, sir, Mr. Napier, right away."
lllll
There were two things in this miserable world that Hannibal Lecter abhorred. One, of course was rudeness of any kind. The second was prejudice. The latter was born out of intolerance, ignorance, hate and fear, nothing more.
And that is what made it so evil.
First there had been Intolerance. Like a careless mother, she had turned a blind eye as millions perished in the wake the Great War.
Next was her ugly cousin, Ignorance. It was his ill-begotten seed that had spawned monsters like Hitler and the Third Reich, followed by Grutas and his little band of bloodthirsty cohorts.
Soon enough Hate had shown her beautiful wanton face. As she encircled her hungry arms around him, Hannibal had allowed Hate to consume him. It was she that had whetted his appetite for retribution.
Like a secret lover, Hate had whispered to him maddening words of conviction and self-righteousness, arousing his bloodlust. Hate had been his constant companion, his only comfort at times. Until one day he had decided to let her out of her cage and play.
Hate had been unleashed and with her followed all of the powers of Hell. And how she had danced! Gleefully, she had pirouetted around Hannibal in a macabre ballet. Like a demented cheerleader, she had loudly rooted for her killer, delighted that she had played a crucial role in the creation of such a creature. Every cut, every gouge, every pound of flesh Hannibal had consumed had been for his dearly departed sister, Mischa.
But later he had found that he had done it mostly for himself. Revenge, Hannibal discovered is a selfish, self-serving emotion and the one that doles it out is never satisfied.
And then came the worst one of all, Fear. In her icy grip Hannibal had been rendered impotent, as the memories of his sister ravaged his soul night after night.
It had been Fear, heartless, soulless bitch that she was, that had robbed him of his one chance at love. It was that hated Fear he had last seen in his lady's eyes, cruel and taunting. That spiteful emotion had stared back at him as Lady Murasaki's words of rejection cast Hannibal out of her life forever, and had consigned him to a life of blood and death.
lllll
Lady Murasaki.
Just the thought of her evoked so many memories of Hannibal's not so distant past.
As he followed earnest bellhop to the elevator doors, he fondly he recalled her dark eyes. They were endless, timeless pools of mystery that carefully guarded the innermost secrets of her heart. That never stopped him though from staring intently into them in a futile attempt to discover her clandestine truths.
Then there was her glorious hair, lustrous raven tresses that poured down her back like liquid midnight. Every soft lock was fragrant with the faint scent of jasmine and orange blossoms. The memory of running his long elegant fingers through that magnificent mane brought a smile on the young physician's face. He can't help but remember how sublime it had been.
Lost in his reverie, Hannibal watched with casual disinterest as Ramon depressed the "up" button for the elevator car.
"It won't be but a moment, sir." The bellhop said in a reassuring tone before he gave Lecter a genuine smile.
Impressed, Lector returned the smile and this time it was reflected in his eyes.
"How refreshing, to find someone that possesses both courtesy and sincerity. With attributes such as these, Mr. Marquez, you'll go far in the hospitality business."
Ramon was astounded that a guest of Dr. Lecter's caliber had addressed him in such a friendly manner. Most visitors to the hotel had treated him with indifference until they needed something and then it was "Hey you" or "You there, boy".
Almost no one had ever called him by his given name, "Ramon". And never did he dream in his wildest imagination that someone would ever address him as "Mr. Marquez".
Wow! That really meant something! And it seemed that Dr. Lecter liked Ramon. That was also a rare occurrence, especially in the world of the Haves and Have Nots. Where he came from Chicano kids knew their place, as his father liked to remind him everyday.
"This is the White Man's world, hijo. Don't forget that! You're lucky to even have a job at that fancy hotel! Just don't let it go to your head. Remember who you are and where you come from, Ramon!"
He sure was lucky. He got to lug around heavy bags for all of the rich, white pendejos and get paid minimum wage for his trouble. But he quickly deduced that it was probably better than being a dishwasher. Besides he couldn't afford to complain. He was working his way through medical school and needed this job in this worse way.
Then something odd had struck him:
Wait a minute, I never told Dr. Lecter my last name! How in the hell…?
Then as if he had read Ramon's mind, the youthful physician said, "If you're wondering how I know your surname Ramon, it happens to be engraved on the nametag pinned to the lapel of your jacket."
Ramon felt his cheeks grow hot as the blush of embarrassment spread across his face.
Thankfully, after being heralded by a loud "ding", the arrival of the elevator car saved Ramon from further humiliation.
When the metal doors slid open, Ramon quickly pushed in the cart that held all three of Lecter's suitcases into the unoccupied elevator car. When the cart was secured, the doctor stepped gingerly into the elevator.
The bellhop again smiled at Lecter as he pressed the button for the 7th floor. Lecter politely smiled back.
But just as the doors to the elevator were about to slide close, the familiar scents of orange blossoms and jasmine were suddenly in the air.
At first, Hannibal had attributed the exotic fragrance to a strong recollection from his early youth. But when the heady bouquet caused his nostrils to involuntarily flare, he knew that this was no mere phantom from his past.
Lady Murasaki.
She was here! It was his lady! And she was in this very hotel! Hannibal was certain of it!
But how could this be?
The last he had known of his aunt's whereabouts, she had returned to her life in the Land of the Rising Sun. Sadly, she had had her fill of the West and longed to be amongst her people, surrounded by the things she loved.
The doors of the elevator were almost completely shut, when a lyrical voice called out.
"Please hold the door!"
Hannibal's heart skipped a beat as his eyes fluttered closed. Recognition gave way to recollection as past and present collided. The dulcet tones were unmistakable. They could only have belonged to the woman that had been everything to him for so many years.
lllll
Aunt, mother, sister, teacher, companion and ultimately protector and accomplice, she was all of those things to Hannibal. But, oh how he had desired so much more. He imagined himself partaking of her body, as his hands caressed the perfection of her flesh, and his hungry mouth devoured hers. This had been his most secret wish.
How many nights had the hormonal young man spend in masturbatory pursuits?
There had been too many to count.
His once pristine white bed sheets would always end up drenched with the sweat of his body as he had pleasured himself thinking of her beautiful pale skin, her full red lips and those dark eyes that could see into his very soul.
Somewhere in his fevered brain the pitiful little voice of reason had spoken to him once or twice. It had reminded Hannibal that what he had felt for his aunt was wrong, immoral and even incestuous in nature.
And for a little while feelings of guilt had kept his passion in check. But when he had found himself in the solace of his room, alone with his thoughts of her, he just could not help himself.
Those hot nights had always ended the same way, with his hand pumping up and down his raging erection, furiously working toward the inevitable white sticky finale. And when it had all been over, all he could manage to say was, "Reason be damned!"