Um, don't ask where it came from, seeing as I have no idea either. Little something that just magically appeared on my computer screen last night. Thought I might share. (And no, its not going beyond this. I'm not going to write a full fledged lambchop.)

House Call

It is in the midst of quickly cooling October when he came to her. He had heard the rumors and had seen some of the stories, but none that had proved the rumors to be true. It had taken some doing, which was made quite easy with today's ready access of information on the Internet. He had arrived in the city the day prior, and had decided that tonight would be appropriate for his visit.

The neighborhood was quiet and located in an affluent part of town. Not quite in the mountains, but not out east on the plains. The only thing that shattered the tranquility was the proximity to a set of railroad tracks and a nearby interstate. He drives through the neighborhood, glancing once at the map he had printed off of Mapquest, and scanning the porches for the required address. There. It was lit by a lamp to the right of the door, illuminating the door itself, and the three-inch high numerals that displayed her house number. He backed the rented Lincoln up a little bit, then turned down the nearby cross-street, parking it and pocketing the keys.

He can see a very dim light from behind the window blinds as he approaches, coming up the walkway. There is a cheerful autumn swag on the front door, above the window in the door. His view there is blocked by a curtain, but he leans forward to see anyway. The windchimes next to him tinkle lightly in the breeze and he looks to them. The chimes themselves hang from a small roughly oval plaque that is engraved with a pair of entwined Celtic dragons and the word 'Imagine' in script. Imagine, indeed. One of three front windows is open a crack and he leans to it, looking in.

His field of view is limited to the back of a couch, but he can hear the quiet tapping of fingers on a keyboard and a quiet voice singing along with something. The song is interrupted as the typing stops and the voice proceeds to read something aloud. The impromptu imitation and reading is met with a squeal of delight and a single clap of the hands. The singing returns, as does the typing.

Carefully, quietly, he slips the thin leather case from his pocket. A look at the front door and he selects a pick from the leather case. The storm door is eased open and he pauses, awaiting discovery. There is no movement inside the house, so he proceeds. Moments later the lock clicks and he wraps a hand around the doorknob. Turn and push, a slight hesitation. Deadbolt yes or no? No. The door swings open quietly, and he is greeted with his first view of her life. And her.

She sat with her back to him, facing the glowing screen of a laptop as she typed furiously, pausing once to sip from a can of Vanilla Coke and pop a small red gummy bear from a bag into her mouth. She was oblivious to her presence in the dimly lighted room. Her desk was the only illuminated spot, courtesy of a green-shaded banker's lamp occupying one corner of the desk. There was a pleasant spicy scent emanating from the kitchen beyond. Her ignorance of his arrival became apparent as he realized she was wearing a pair of headphones as she sat before the computer.

He came closer, close enough to read over her shoulder what was on the LCD monitor. He scanned the text, and was relieved to see that there was nothing incriminating there. A murder, and she seemed to revel in describing the amount of blood there was involved. She scrolled back up to the top of the page as he watched, adding a note to a section in italics. She smiled and returned to the section she was working on, changing her mind on part of the dialogue and highlighting it. She winced and reached for the volume control on the side of the computer, lowering it before she returned to the task at had. She lingered a moment longer, finger poised over the delete key. It came down and she lifted her hands from the keyboard. As her hand came down on the 'H' key his hand come down on her shoulder.

"I rather liked that particular line." He said at the same time and was greeted by an extremely shrill scream. She whirled in her chair as she shot it away from the desk, running into the coffee table that sat behind her. He smiled at her in the half-light, showing small white teeth. She stared for a moment, shook her head, blinked, then stared again. Slowly her hands came up the headphones and removed them, setting them on the desk. Strains of the Goldberg Variations came from them.

"Oh my god…" she breathed, lifting a hand to her mouth. She looked from him to the screen, then back again. "You… You're…"

"Dr. Hannibal Lecter." he supplied, "And you, if I'm not mistaken, are Samantha Bridges."

"Dr. Lecter…" she murmured. She didn't quite believe what she was seeing, and it was made obvious by her next comment. "But how can you be here? You're a character, something created by someone's imagination…"

"So it would seem." he extended his right hand to her, palm up. "I assure you I am quite real." She rose from the chair, taking the step closer to him and reaching out with her own hand. She seemed a bit startled by the feel of his hand, but she didn't pull away as he closed it around hers. He led her to the old-fashioned loveseat that sat against the far wall of the room. She sank to the cushion and watched intently as he sat opposite her. He turned to face her and she shivered for the first time at the sight of his eyes.

"I'm not afraid of you, Dr. Lecter." she whispered, almost involuntarily. And he smiled gently, patting her hand. Her gaze instantly darted there, and he saw the recognition at the scar that was all but invisible beneath the tanning agent.

"And I assure you there is nothing to fear." He waited for her to take another breath and relax slightly before he leaned forward. She didn't move, but sat unnaturally still as she locked her gaze with his.

"Now, Ms. Bridges, we have a few things to discuss…"

*****