Type type click type. These are the only sounds that fill the computer room in the library, other than the occasional sound of a car sloshing through the rain outside. The building itself was massive and with history in it's bricks. Unfortunately, the same can not be said for it's contents. Maroon eyes did not show much surprise at this as Brahams was a little town West Virginia with not many inhabbitants that could read. Wether they could or not didn't change Hannibal Lecter's mind on their intelligence.
Click. With that final sound the good doctor accessed the FBI's VICAP files. He flexed his wrist, the thumb still sore after being reatached after being chopped off to slip through the cuffs that nearly threatened his freedom. His eyes sparked as he saw former agent Clarice Starling's pitcure at number nine of the FBI's ten most wanted list. As amusing as that was, he was a bit put off to see his own only at number ten. He knew for them, embarassing the bureau and having the tools to reveal their corruption was a far worst sin than a cannibalistic serial killer on the loose. He clicked on her picture and read... Wanted for the aid and escape of Hannibal Lecter and orchrastrating the murder of executive deputy, Paul Krendler and Mason Verger.
It has been two years since that summer night and recently new evidence had come to light that exposed her involvement in that dinner. Quiet amusing and surprising as he knew personally that entire evening was his design and absolutly no evidence that could incriminate her existed. He flexed his hand again, a painful memory of who she actually harmed that night flickered.
Before the news of her arrest hit the press, she had fled. Fled to escape confinement, to escape shaming. Doesn't feel too good, does it, Clarice. There was a tip that she may have been hiding with family in Montanna, but it was a mislead that lead to a wild goose chase, as did the tip that she was seen in Arlington visiting her father's grave. Lecter knew such information was incorrect. He knew that she acted on instinct, and anybody's first instinct when in trouble is to go home. Montanna was not her home, nor the arlington cemetary.
He had looked at her father's obituary, the dead nightwatchmen whom she inherrited her flawed morals from. Behind his obituary was something about a fire, but he didn't care to read it as he only wanted the information on the dead policeman. After finding the adress of the sad little home, he left with in burned into his memory. A couple hours later, as he drove toward his destination, he pondered on what he was going to do once he found her. Anger boiled within him as he remembered her betrayal, saving him from Mason Verger only to attempt to profit from his capture herself. A part of him wanted revenge, but another part knew such an idea was laughable. The worst thing he could bring himself to do to her was a mocking 'I told you so'. It didn't matter, he had to find her first before the FBI did.
His musings stopped as he saw that he was almost at his destination. Hannibal focused on the road infront of him as he passed the faded sign "WELCOME TO SILENT HILL".