Can we say 'Teaser' dear ones? Posted at Saavik's request, the next in the Emily series. I don't plan to really work hard on it until the Clarice fic is done, so don't expect anything soon. The normal disclaimers apply: the Good Doctor, no matter how hard I wish, is not mine, but property of Thomas Harris. I do lay claim to Emily, Alessandra, and Mischa. Do enjoy.
The wicked blade felt heavy in her palm as she looked dispassionately at the blonde girl now laying, unmoving, on the floor of the backseat of the SUV. Blood was everywhere, bright arterial sprays that decorated the seat and windows, one arc stretching across the ceiling. She brushed absently at a streak across her own face as she knelt, leaning over the driver's seat. Turning her head, she could see herself in the rearview mirror. Her eyes weren't the color that had struck fear into so many people, but they glowed eerily in the darkness nonetheless. Her pale face seemed to float above the dark interior and the dark clothes she wore. Leaning over the seat she wipes the knifes blade on the girls shirt, then snaps it shut. The closed blade slides into her sleeve and she reaches for the door handle. The interior light has been shut off and the door sensors disabled, ensuring that an annoying ding won't give her away. The slight drop from door to ground, and she closes the door behind her. Quickly and silently she takes off to the woods that surround the old access road, abandoning the girl's body and her fancy SUV in the ruts.
It surprises her that she really doesn't feel anything now that she's done the deed. None of the screaming guilt she was expecting, nor any of the excitement or gratification the books said killers felt. Nothing, just a sense that the job was done, and she wouldn't have to worry about rumors anymore. That brought a cold smile to her lips as she jogged through the trees. The terrain went easily beneath her feet, even in the darkness, partially from years of cross country running. One never knew what training in her life would become handy. An hour later she emerged on a path that wound its way thinly through the forest. She took it and continued at her steady pace, the thoughts of the girl's screams fading behind her as the distance between her and the body increased. She slowed slightly as she crested the hill, almost pausing to look down at the house that sat before her. Her momentum carried her down the hill, past the lake and the little dock.
Twenty five minutes later she is quickly losing ground to sleep as she curls in her bed. A beagle is curled tightly at the foot of the bed, snoring lightly and providing counterpoint to her quietly deepening breaths. Within minutes she is lost to her subconscious and is unaware of the figure standing in shadow at her door, watching as his child sleeps. His fingers brush the knife left on the dresser, still warm from being pressed close to her body. Crossing the space between door and bed he leans to brush a few tendrils of hair from her face, inhaling her scent. It is there, and he knows what she has done. It is of little surprise, especially if one takes the time to consider her origins. Bending further, he brushes a kiss against her cheek, and she stirs ever so slightly. His hand finds hers, gripping it lightly before leaving the room and returning to lay beside his wife.
*****