Chapter 2: Victims of Violence
WARNING: There is some dark scenes and thoughts in this chapter. So there's a trigger warning here.
He watched the young girl through his thick, black rimmed glasses. He watched as the five year old blonde girl with beautiful bright blue eyes pulled a small toy behind her, the toy made a loud musical noise as it moved over the white rocks that made up the road in front of an abandoned factory building, a perfect place for his victim. He watched as her pink skirt billowed as the chilly autumn air blew around her.
True, he normally enjoyed taking young boys; he could bend his own rules just this once. She did meet his criterion with her sparkling blue eyes and golden blonde hair, just as he had as a child. He hid inside the darkness of the factory like a black widow spider waiting in the corner of her web for the unsuspecting fly to get tangled in her intricate trap. He had watched her for weeks, he had only been seen once but he knew that no one had paid him any mind. He knew where she went to play after her kindergarten classes; he knew what she named her doll that she secretly brought to school with her every day without her mother's knowledge.
The papers had called him the Wolf Moon Killer. He would enjoy bringing fear into these young children before he ended their lives. He killed them during the day and disposed of their bodies at night when no one would be about to find him doing this horrific deed. The head, he brought with him as a trademark when he kidnapped a child, it sent more fear through the parent of the missing child than no evidence at all. He knew what he was doing was inherently wrong and evil, but he just didn't care. He enjoyed doing it. In his own mind, he believed that he was the perfect psychopathic serial killer. He believed that he would never be bested. He would simply be one of the greatest.
He turned from his view of the young girl and smiled as he taped a recording of a kitten crying for help upon the wall that he had tweaked for his little mousy detective. He wanted to test her, to see if she was really as good as the papers had said she was. He had placed the head of his latest victim perfectly on the floor so when the detective walked in, it would be the first thing that she would see. That lovely little detective that had been recently assigned upon his murders, oh he would enjoy playing with her.
"Kitty," he heard the soft, innocent voice of the young girl ask as she scurried into the dark building where she had no business being into, "Here kitty, kitty, kitty."
He watched with a demonic smile as the girl walked into his trap. He hurried behind her and readied the wrench that he held in his hand. With one quick blow he watched as his victim fell to the ground like a rag doll, blonde ringlets covered her face as her blood stained them.
He smiled as he looked down at his new toy, his new doll. She was a perfect angel that was so full of innocence that she had slipped into a trap that would lead to her own death.
"Come into my parlor said the spider to the fly," he announced with a chuckle as he picked the light body from the ground and threw her over his shoulder taking her to Hell with him.
Pictures of destroyed bodies stared back at Salome as she sat patiently in the silent waiting room as she waited for her forced appointment with Dr. Lecter. Her eyes ached as they moved over every detail within each photograph, her fingers lightly touched over the pale bodies just as a sudden pain from her stitched wound throbbed in an attempt to tell her not to touch. The heads from young boys had been removed from their bodies. That was one of the styles this crazed psychopath enjoyed. He would remove the children's heads and place them on display, seemingly to mock the parents of his victims and the agents involved. The rest of the body would be found miles down the road, days later. Three bodies and three heads had been found; the next would soon come, she knew.
The first photo that she held in her hand was from a murder in Virginia by the killer dubbed The Wolf Moon Killer, who enjoyed kidnapping young boys between the ages of five and seven. His victim's all had certain details in common. The three victims were blonde and blue eyed.
"Suspect may have unnatural obsession with German culture, specifically World War II," she said to herself as she held a small recording device in her hand, "Other theory is, killer may be blue eyed and fair haired himself. Killer is male, possible history of child abuse or rape from adolescence or teenage life based on semen found on the outside of victim's body, not on the inside-gives one the idea that he ejaculates after victim's death. No DNA matches found," she closed her eyes as she looked down at the bodies to see marks on each of the buttocks, "Forensics reports that child was whipped an hour before actual death occurred."
Salome scrambled through each of the photos, taking in each of the horrific wounds on the young bodies. She bit back the disgust that radiated through her body as she looked at missing chunks upon the boys' buttocks. It was horrific to look at. She didn't want to think of what the young boys went through, but she would have to eventually to save other victims.
"Killer removes the buttocks cheeks," she said into the recorder, "Theory is that he is," she paused as she shook her head in sympathy for the victims, "The leading theory is that he is eating them."
"Salome Ashwood," a distinct European voice announced from above her, ripping her out of her dark mindset.
"Hmm," she asked absently as she looked up quickly only to double take to see a tall man with cheek bones that one may break their hand upon if they made the mistake of taking a violent swing at him, "Yes," she smiled up at him, "That's me."
"Please," Hannibal Lecter said as he watched her with careful eyes as she hurriedly placed the violent photos back into her cheap bag. His sharp eyes took in the small details of the photos quickly in the brief moment that he had to see them.
"Sorry, work, you know how it is. Never a moment away from it," she apologized in the most polite, yet exhausted manner as she stood up from her chair and walked toward him. He took in her bruised hyphema riddled eye and her wounded arm that she tried to hide as he waved her politely ahead of him and into his office. Her soft yet sweet perfume wafted toward him and he inhaled deeply.
"So Jack told you about me," Salome asked as she stood anxiously and out of place in her plain, drab clothes within the large, luxurious office, "About what happened?"
"He didn't need to," Hannibal announced with a soft smile as he looked her over. Just a day after her physical altercation with her drunken fiancée and she was standing proudly with her pistol placed snuggly against her very defined hips, hips that were wonderful for future child bearing, very roomy for a child to make a home between for a short time frame.
"Ahh," she stated with a slight nod of understanding and a smile, "You read the Tattler," she looked around his office, taking in the large book cases filled with books that she knew were above the average college reading list, "I have to say, Dr. Lecter, I wouldn't have taken you to be the type of person to read that garbage. Ms. Lounds is especially a tick."
Hannibal smiled as he walked toward his own desk to lean against it in an almost resigned, lazy manner that, to Salome, seemed almost uncharacteristic of the things that Jack Crawford had warned her about.
"I have had the discourtesy of meeting Ms. Lounds," Hannibal informed her as he looked her over. Her hand rested upon her gun holster, as if by habit formed over many years of work in law enforcement. Her dark hair was thrown into a pony tail and fastened upwards with a black clip. She wore a form fitting white button up shirt for easy movement and simple black slacks with black shoes made for the sudden criminal chase on foot. He had known by the way she dressed and how she carried herself that her life predominantly revolved around her work as a FBI agent.
"Please sit," he demanded softly, "Make yourself comfortable."
"Thank you Dr. Lecter," she answered with a polite smile as she did what she was told, "Though I must say I don't plan on staying for very long," she looked over to him with a slightly lifted brow, "Only long enough for you to conclude that I am of sound mind and can continue working on this pressing case."
She allowed a soft smile to cross her features, though with the sharp gaze that he was giving her she quickly removed it and scooted back in her chair. Her back stood straight as she sat in front of his piercing eyes. She felt a strange aura around him as she looked him over in his sharp blue three piece suit and dark matching eyes that seemed to reflect an almost maroon shade in the light that they were placed under.
"You want me to rubber stamp you," he asked, "Agent Ashwood, I don't think that's very ethical. Do you?"
She shook her head at him and absently allowed her hand to move invisible hairs behind her ear as she replied, "Dr. Lecter, my life is my work. I have my reasons on why I can't let what happened to me yesterday affect my work."
"About yesterday," Hannibal said as he moved dangerously close to her, he could feel her apprehensiveness as he placed his index finger under her chin and lifted her chin up so he could see her bloody eye, "Did the hospital tell you to go to your optometrist?"
"No," she answered obediently as she looked into his own eyes that were inspected her bloody and bruised eye as well as the other cuts along her white flesh; she could feel his thumb absently touching her unblemished skin, "They said that it should be fine in a few days."
"Speaking as a medical doctor," he replied as he removed his hand from her chin, "I think, just for this one time, that the ER doctor was right. How's your wrist?"
"It's fine," she replied as she instinctively touched her arm, being careful of the super sensitive skin around the wound and stitches, "I was lucky. He almost hit a vein. Just a little sore."
"And they gave you pain killers," he asked.
"Yes," she answered, "But I haven't taken any. I have to have a clear head in order to do my job," she chuckled, "Can't have a high detective on a murder crime scene so I just have to bite through the pain."
"No we wouldn't, Agent Ashwood," he agreed with a small smile, he paused momentarily before continuing, "I read in the papers of your psychopath. What have they dubbed him?"
"The Moon Wolf Killer," she answered in a simple, straightforward tone.
"Why do they call him that," he smiled, "If you allow me to indulge my curiosity?"
"He kills according to the moon, the full moon to be exact," she answered obediently, "Local cops said the scenes were so brutal that they looked like a werewolf had killed the children, and there you have it…The Moon Wolf Killer."
He smiled and nodded at her explanation, "And there you have it."
"So," she replied with a slightly worried gaze, "How are we going to do this? You ask me about my parents? Ask me if my father ever did anything inappropriate? Do I think about killing people?"
He shrugged his shoulders coolly with a smile and answered, "It's what you want it to be. To be truthful with you, I've already signed Jack Crawford's papers."
She dropped her jaw slightly at his words as a smile overtook her features, her pearly white teeth shown bright in the light above her.
"That wasn't very nice," she replied, "I would have just went on talking about my family when I didn't need to," she shook her head in embarrassment and admonished herself, "What am I saying?! Thank you, Dr. Lecter. Really, you don't know what that means to me."
"Why does it mean so much to you," he asked, seemingly looking passed her eyes and into her soul in order to probe out the secrets that she hid from the world, "I've followed your career through the Tattler. FBI and the CIA, very successful I would say. I think you could have any job you wanted. Why this job?"
"Ugh," she said as she looked away from him and into the corner of his office, she looked at the small library he had that stood above them on the second floor, "My sister."
"What about your sister," he asked.
"She's in high school," she answered then paused before adding, "and she lives with me."
"With you and your fiancée," Hannibal asked, his brows slightly furrowed, "What events lead to a high school student coming to live with her older sister?"
"Ex fiancée," she cleared quickly, "Hit me once and your life is essentially over. And no, he and I didn't live together. We were in the process of finding a home. Marnie was the one that called for an ambulance. She walked in just as the bullet went through him," Salome shrugged her shoulders, "Might as well tell you this now. Our mother died of a meth overdose when we were young; she just got tired of all the abuse from her husband. Dad became an alcoholic and is somewhere in Kentucky cooking up the very drug that killed his wife."
Salome moved from her place and walked carefully around his office. Her fingertips absently brushed the leather of the couches as she moved passed them. She smiled as she looked at his drawings.
"Did you do all these drawings, Doctor," she asked as she looked away from the beautifully framed drawings.
"Yes," he answered as he watched her carefully.
"That's Duomo seen from the Belvedere," he answered as he watched a soft smile over take her features. "Do you know Florence?"
"No," she answered, "My CIA excursions took me to the Middle East, behind closed doors in Russia, and the death hole that is Africa. Unfortunately I never had the chance to visit the beauty that is Europe recreationally."
"So you and your sister grew up accustomed to violence," he asked, changing the subject as he watched the agent look over his drawings and doctorate diplomas.
"Which is why I don't give another thought to shooting or killing someone if the situation calls for it," she answered casually, she looked away from his doctorate and back at him as she added, "I've taught myself not to care. It's the best way to deal with these sorts of things. That's something Will Graham couldn't understand and something Jack Crawford refuses to acknowledge in me."
"You know Will Graham," Hannibal asked curiously.
"Know him enough to not be a fan of his work," she informed him quickly.
"Why is that," he asked, "I have no doubt that you are aware that I am working with him. I'd love to hear from a seasoned co-worker."
"Will and I work in similarly the same way," she informed him with a cocky shrug of her shoulder, "Where he is able to see what the killer is doing, I can see what the victim sees and the hidden evidence that Will cannot."
"And what do you see when you look at the victims of the Wolf Moon Killer?"
"Absolute fear," she answered honestly as her dark eyes met with his, "It's hard to get passed that fear sometimes, especially with children involved. I suffer in a way that Will Graham does not."
"I think I can help you," Hannibal informed her, "I can help you navigate through this suffering."
She smiled at him knowingly and replied, "In exchange for what, Doctor? Are we going to play quid pro quo?"
Hannibal smiled at her observance and nodded, "In a manner of speaking. I tell you about your boy the child killer and you tell me about yourself," he walked toward her and stood close to her, their body's mere inches from touching as he looked down at her with an unsettling smile as his dark blue eyes reflected the maroon color, "I can help you catch him Agent Ashwood."
She looked up at him, her mind raddled with mixed feelings at his proposal. A soft smile threatened to come over her face, she opened her mouth to reply but her phone rang loudly, interrupting her before she could speak.
"Sorry," she whispered as she dug in her pocket for her cell phone, "I thought I had turned it on vibrate," she looked at the phone and shook her head as Hannibal moved away from her, "It's Jack."
He watched closely, taking in every move that she made as she placed the phone up to her ear.
"Ashwood," she answered, "Yeah Jack, I'm with him now."
Hannibal watched as she looked down to the floor and nodded her head. He could feel the change of her mood with whatever information Jack Crawford had relayed to her. Her body became more rigid and her shoulders fell ever so slightly.
"I don't think it's necessary for Graham to be…yes sir," she replied into her phone, "I'll be over there in fifteen minutes."
She hung up the phone and shrugged her shoulders and said, "There's been another murder. Jack wants you to be a consultant on my case. He wants you to come with me," she shook her head as she hurried to pick up her bag and walk toward the door, "You don't have to if you don't want to. God knows Jack thinks everyone is at his beck and call."
"I'll drive you," he informed her with a smile as he opened the door for her and walked behind her. He could feel the urgency that radiated through the seasoned agent as she hurried out of the building in front of him as if her very life depended on her next few actions.
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