The day brought with it a beautiful shimmering sunlight that doused the rolling lawn in a golden light. Sandwiched between the two rolling lawns- a back lawn and a front lawn- was a manor. Not too big like those homes one sees in Beverly Hills nor too small. It proclaimed the owners had money but did not wipe their ass with one hundred dollar bills. William Graham rang the bell as Jack Crawford stood behind him. The manor belonged to none other than Hannibal Lector. And upon a dinner request from one Lecter, both men decided they had to come, especially with the word of a very important announcement.
Hannibal was tucked away in the kitchen, preparing the meat in clay as thuds pounded on the door. He wiped his hands on his apron after sliding that night's meal into the oven. Hannibal moved into the hallway and peered into the living room. "You can't answer that?" he asked. A woman lay on the sofa, eyes fixed on the carnage on the TV.
"Texas Chainsaw Massacre is on and Leatherface is about to kill a tresspassin hippie," she said, not daring to advert her eyes from the TV in front of her. Her voice carried with it, a Southern twang. It was amazing that someone from a dusty Utah farm could be on the same level as Hannibal. It was equally amazing, to the both of them, that they had fallen in love. He sat next to her-her feet-and reached over her slender body, which was draped in a gorgeous red dress with a plunging neckline. Pearls decorated her throat. She looked good enough to eat.
Hannibal ran his fingers over her hosed legs- the darker color hid her chainsaw scars well, such reckless teenage cannibalism- and reached over to grab the remote. He clicked off the carnage. "Answer the door, my love."
She sighed, sat up and slipped her freshly painted toes and hosed feet into black peep toed pumps. She smoothed her dress out and what seemed to be in a blink of an eye, Hannibal's arms were around her waist, lips on her neck. "Should I introduce myself as…"
He had cut her off. "That should be saved for dinner, May," Hannibal said, speaking into her pearl adorned ear. His teeth grabbed the nape of May's neck before he let go, watching her sway out of the room.
She answered the door to Will and Jack. "Oh, hello, miss, are you patient of Dr. Lecter?" asked Jack, feeling red in the face. Had they come too early? Did one of them read the date wrong? He had expected to be greeted by Hannibal.
May giggled that little Southern giggle women from the South have. "No, I am a good friend of Hannibal," she said. "Why don't you y'all come in?" Will and Jack stepped into the manor. "Hannibal is in the kitchen, putting the finishing touches on our dinner."
"Who is she?" asked Will.
Jack only shrugged. "She's on a first name basis with him, so who knows."
Hannibal looked down at the sleeve to see a print of May's lips in blood red staining his shirt. He left the kitchen and headed up stairs to the bedroom, to change. She sure loved her red, said it reminded her of life, death and food. Hannibal walked into the bedroom, smelling the air that was stained with love and perfume.
iShe collapsed onto his chest, clawing her nails through the light patch of hair, eyes sneaking a peek at her left hand. "That was amazing, Hannibal," she said through her heart racing puffs.
He absently mindedly twisted the ring on her finger and reached up to kiss her. She could tell her was smiling as he kissed her. "You're amazing, Mrs. Lecter."/i
He glanced at the wall by the door. A Winchester Model 1873 repeating rifle.
May was not a fan of guns but that car she had sniffed out when she was in the shed doing whatever she was doing- the kitchen was Hannibal's space and the shed was May's space- that car Hannibal knew, she whipped it out. The Sawyer family, May's family, believed a trespasser needed the rifle shoved up their rectum and has a fire shots fired. Hannibal agreed. Trespassing was rude but the kill would be so messy. The Sawyer's did not share the lifestyle of May or Hannibal.
Unless it came to deer. A whole family of hunters. Though May preferred a chainsaw.