It was a dark, rainy night. The moon was hidden behind the clouds, and there wasn't a star sight, just a big, dark, black sky. The way it was outside was the way I felt inside. I had just lost my father, the one and only person who I ever trusted, my mother died when I was a baby, now I was alone. Nineteen years old with the mind of someone twice my age, but barely on my feet. My father had left me some, but not enough to live on, we had very little to begin with. I was going to live with my godmother, a friend of my parents until I could get on my feet.
At first glance I may seem like your average young woman, 5'6" slender, dressed like everyone else. But I'm different in a sense that I usually think outside the box. A struggling musician with a strong sense of self, and a hatred for weakness, but mostly a somewhat dangerous fascination with a monstrous man by the name of Dr. Lecter.
Before my father died I used to talk to Clarice, my godmother, on the phone quite frequently. She would tell me about her sessions and conversations with Dr. Lecter, and after awhile I became addicted. I think it would be incredible to meet him and absorb his knowledge. Well, little did I know but my wish would come true very soon.
Finally arriving at Clarice's I put my belongings in what was now my bedroom, and walked downstairs into the kitchen.
"Do you want something to drink?" She asked as she looked into the refrigerator.
"No, I'm fine thanks," I said. "So tell me more about your times with Dr. Lecter."
"Well, what do you want me to tell you, I have told you everything that has happened," she said.
I sat down at the table and started to roll a cigarette, I prefer to roll my own for the simple reason that it saves money. As I rolled we talked, catching up on each others lives. We talked until about eleven o'clock, then decided it was getting late so I went to bed.
The next day I decided to walk around town and do a little sight seeing. And of course, I ran into trouble. I was carrying my guitar case, with acoustic guitar inside because I never go anywhere with out it. It was a beautiful day, the sun was shinning, and there wasn't a cloud in the sky. I was also hoping to find the park, I was planning on finding shade and sitting down to play my guitar.
"Hey baby," I heard someone say behind me, it sounded like a guy, maybe my age but I wasn't sure. As I turned around to see who it was, I felt a sharp pain explode in my head. After a few moments everything went black.
When I woke up, I felt something cool on my forehead, and an extreme pain pounding at my head like boxer with a punching bag. When I opened my eyes I was in a semi dark room. There was a light on somewhere, which seemed very far off.
"I'm glad to see you have finally awoke," a man said in a smooth, soothing voice, as he took the cool thing off of my forehead, which turned out to be a washcloth.
The man was sitting on the side of the bed, on which I was lying. He seemed to middle aged, his hair was neatly slicked back on to his head, the corners of his mouth slightly curled upward as if he were going to smile. But the thing that caught me, was his eyes. It seemed as though there was some type of a fire burning somewhere deep within them, and the color of them...maroon.
There was only one person it could be, and I had heard aunt Clarice describes his eyes many times before.
Hannibal Lecter
"Where...who." I said trying to find my voice.
"My name is Dr. Hannibal Lecter, which I am quiet sure you knew. And you are at my home, where that is, I can not tell, for my sake, not yours." The Dr. Lecter said with a faint chuckle in his voice.
"What happened, why am I here?" I asked as I sat up.
"You were mugged," he said with a sigh. "Hit on the head my dear. Lucky I had been following you or you would still be out in the street."
"What? I was mugged, did they get anything?" I asked looking around the room in search of my belongings.
"No, he got nothing of importance to you. Only the money in your wallet, which wasn't much."
"What about my guitar, where is it, did he get it also?" I asked starting to get worried. That guitar was the only thing I considered of value to me.
"No, he didn't get your guitar, it's right here," he said. "Now if you don't mind, I must run a few errands. You are free to walk around the house if you like, but don't try to escape, all of the doors and windows will be locked and have an alarm. All except the balcony but it's a very long way down so I don't think I have to worry about that."
After he left I did what he said and walked around the beautiful house. All of the rooms in the house were beautiful, but so far my favorites were the library, which had shelves stacked to the ceiling with books, and a room which contain a Baby Grand piano which also had a balcony.
After awhile, I found my self on the balcony, over looking a beautiful city, playing my acoustic guitar. This is where he found me when he came home. I was playing and singing a song called "Chalice" by a band called "Glass Harp".
"To love is to be broken, but to love nothing and no one,
We must close our own selves up, shut all the doors
And let no one in.
Locked within ourselves where it's safe and dark and motionless
Where love will cease to be
And all the while the air is wearing thin.
...Chalice
When suffering restores us, burns away the empty shallowness,
And softening the heart, to be broken bread and poured out wine
When it rains it pours; turns a life into a chalice.
There to nourish every soul.
One at a time."
"You play well," he said as the last few notes floated into the darkness over the balcony.
Turning around I saw he was standing directly behind me, his eyes burning into mine.
"Thank you," I said.
Now he was moving to sit in the chair next to me.
"Did you write that?" He asked.
"No, I wish I did, but no," I said studying my guitar.
"You're a musician I assume," he said stating, not asking.
"Yes, in more ways than one," I said chuckling to myself.
"I don't understand my dear," he said with a questioning look.
"Simply a starving artist with a twisted artist mind. I don't think of myself as such, but it seems people have a tendency to classify me that way," I said with a crooked smile. "The mind is a powerful, mysterious thing, it's amazing how often someone's creativeness is over looked and they are considered to be simply..." I thought a moment. "Crazy."
He cocked his head studying my face, his a wall of stone. My heart skipped as his infatuating eyes flickered.
"Deep thoughts for such a young woman," he observed.
"Sometimes it seems as though it's my own worse enemy," I said with a sigh, carefully putting aside my guitar.
"The mind is the only true friend or enemy one has," he said thoughtfully.
I nodded my head understanding perfectly as I glance out over the beautiful city.
"You don't fear me?" He asked. Now he was standing in front of me, leaning against the railing, staring me right in the eye. "And don't lie, or I will know."
A beat.
"No I don't fear you Dr. Lecter," I said staring him in the eyes just as he was doing to me.
"Why not," he asked rather surprised and amused.
"I don't fear you because I feel as though I know you, I have heard so much about you from Clarice. And because to me, unlike many others, you are not a monster, you are a man. A man who feels, loves, cares, and hurts just like everyone else. In fact to be quite honest with you, you fascinate me. Fear is only a mindset, it's a weakness," I said.
"And why is that I fascinate you so?" He asked, again quite amused.
"Because of your sense of knowledge. Your knowledge in culture, art, life, your strength."
"Well, you are a very fascinating young lady," he said. "Fear can not only be seen, but smelled as predator sensing his prey. Your honesty is appreciated."
And that is how my friendship with Hannibal Lecter all started.