A/N: I do not own Hannibal, Clarice, Will Graham, or other Thomas Harris characters. But I DO own Harper and everyone else in the Devereux-verse . . . I assume.

A/N: This story is for Bekkah – who wants to read this when it's done. I'd like to say I've been writing fan fiction for two years now – and have not finished a story yet. Good luck!

__________________________________________________________

In a small village-like town in Argentina, there's a large house. In the attic room of this house, there's a girl. She lives there and she likes her attic bedroom. Though this night, her sleep is troubled. She's tossing and turning, and mumbling things to herself. Her sheets are strewn all over the place.

In the doorway, there's a man. He has sparkling red eyes. He looks upon the girl wearily – he's very worried for her. He leaves the room and closes the door behind him.

He walks down a spiral flight of stairs and then enters another room. His wife is in bed, reading. Her book is 'Dead Reckoning: The New Science in Catching Killers.' She is reading for interest and for precaution – she needs to know what to watch for and what to use herself.

He crawls into bed next to her.

"How is she?" She asks.

"Not good. She's talking in her sleep now. Nonsense about people 'out to get her.'"

"She can't be onto it, can she?"

"No. But I do have a theory . . ."

"I'm open to any possibility."

"I think she may be Claircognizent, or maybe Clairsentient."

"What?"

"She knows things without knowing them, and feels things without knowing what they are."

There's a pause.

"Are you sure? Or are we just being paranoid?"

He looks her in the eyes, "I have no idea – but I think that we'll find out soon."

They frown and try to resume their business – Clarice resuming her reading and Hannibal picking up a book himself.

It was going to be a long night.

*Harper Lee Lecter*

Oh my god – I'm gonna die! They're everywhere – every villain that ever entered my imagination. The thought-police, from 1984, the Repo men, from REPO! The genetic Opera, Low Men, from Hearts in Atlantis, with their yellow coats – it was pure horror. They were all there to get rid of me – I was being chased -- hunted down. Why, I have no idea of – something I didn't do, but was caused and resulted with myself getting hunted, I assume. But I have no idea – all I know was that I had to get out of there – NOW. They were about to close in on me when I hear a scream –

I snap out of my dream with a ringing in my ears. The ringing is the sound of my own screaming.