An Argument in an Ambulance

A possible conversation in the ambulance that took 'Pembry' out.
Timeline: Chapter 38 of SotL, follows canon.

I smiled under my false face; I was free! I considered letting the paramedics live–after all, they were only trying to help. Unfortunately, they were also a danger, as I didn't need anyone that could be a witness to where I went. And I was still a bit peckish . . .

"Hello, my dears," I said.

The paramedics jumped.

"What the hell? You were half-dead!"

The other grinned. "It's a miracle!"

I laughed. "If so, it's a very dark one. Dr. Hannibal Lecter at your service. The corpse of the officer you thought you were carrying is . . . hmm, it's probably still in the elevator shaft, unless they've already managed to get him out, which is doubtful." I took off my 'mask.'

That was when the radio crackled. "B-52? B-52? Come in, this is an emergency! You must return at once; you have an escapee on board! Over!"

I grabbed it. "Hello, my dear fellow. I am the escapee you were yelling about? Yes? Well, you needn't worry for your friends; I'm having them for dinner. Over and out."

I turned back to the paramedics. They were terrorized by this point. "Keep your eyes on the road, if you'd be so kind," I told the driver. "It's no good to anyone if you hit something."

"You are Hannibal 'the cannibal'?"

I grinned cruelly. "I hate that nickname, but yes. I am." I licked my lips.

"For dinner, you said. You meant that literally, didn't you?"

"Oh yes. I can't have you telling anyone where I'm going, can I?"

The radio crackled again. "Are the hostages okay? Over."

I took the radio. "They aren't hostages, just people in the wrong place at the wrong time. And they won't be okay for long, is that understood? Over and out."

I took out Boyle's pocketknife and winked. "Goodbye, my dears."

"Please, no! I have a wife and three kids!" one of them cried.

"Do you really? Yes, I'm sure you do. Noone would use such a cliché if they did not. But I'm sure you have insurance, so they probably won't care, will they? And even if they do–I don't."

I flicked open the blade and the one closer to me nearly fainted. I cut him open–from stem to stern, as the old saying goes. The organs slipped out, and I took a bite of tongue. His heart was still beating as I ate it, and I grinned.

"Mmm, I've needed that," I hissed. "How I missed that taste. Ah, delicious."

I turned to the driver. He gulped. "No!"

"Yes."

I tore him out of his seat and broke his neck, taking his place.

It was the first good meal I'd had in much too long . . .