THE LONG DAY'S END

Hannibal stood at an angle, shifting his weight onto his left leg as he leaned his right hip against the washing machine, propping himself up on his right elbow. His left hand clasped loosely over his right wrist. His eyes rolled closed, as he clutched the joining of hand to limb, running his thumb along his radiocarpal joint, naming sub-consciously the scaphoid, lunate, triquetrum and pisiform.

The spacing between the natural ridges of his bones caused a sudden alignment of the windows within his mind. He remembered a time long ago, running his fingers over the hilt of weapon just as he completed cleaning it and moved to set the blade on it's stand. The evenly spaced ridges of the tsuka-ito forming the grip of the hilt fell perfectly within his hand as well, as if the weapon had been made for him. The harpy was the only other weapon that he enjoyed the heft of, the feel of; the weight of the knife gripped in his hand seemed almost an extension of his body. It was not the only means by which he dispatched offensive individuals, but it was, by far, his favorite, though the katana ran a close second.

The butcher was like butter.

His life intensely satisfying, his days and nights so full, it was the rare opportunity now that he passed the time visiting his memory palace but the events of the day tugged at him. Remembering the feeling of separating a head from the neck, he revisited the day he killed the butcher.

As the machine whirred through the delicate cycle, he remembered the sheer size of the man, a mountain of fetid flesh, filthy, rank and offensive. The man's bulky body was of no interest to Hannibal as a food source. The only sustenance consumed from that kill had been the fish the man caught earlier in the day.

The second head he lifted was far more rewarding. Though the horse and the rope had done all the work, this man's death brought more than mere satisfaction. His cheeks, combined with Hannibal's spontaneous harvest of indigenous mushrooms quickly gathered; ample boletes, morels, and chanterelles proved to be quite tasty having been prepared on the heat of the open fire a few feet away from the man's cooling body. He wondered whether or not the bones had been discovered or scattered by the animals of the forest. The skeletal remains of Mischa's precious body deserved his love and attention therefore her remains were buried with respect and adoration. The carcass that provided his meal that afternoon was left to the scavengers; as Predator, he felt no need to show respect or care for his prey.

As a medical student waiting for the body of a condemned man, Hannibal recalled placing a crucifix on the fated man's tongue just before said convict's trip to the guillotine. The inspector had been surprised that Hannibal understood the man wished the representation of Christ to remain with his head. Being Catholic, Hannibal understood the importance of the rosary to a man facing death. He remembered seeing his mother pray, rolling the beads between her thumb, index and middle fingers, the excess wrapped around her wrist, coiled around the limb like the serpent depicted on the rod of Asclepius.

A serpent…

A serpent much like the story of Eden, Hannibal mused. The representative of temptation and the desire to know that which god knows, that, he understood. The apple, much like the head left at the gate, was an offering, too: a temptation. The killer believed Hannibal would be attracted to the gift of human flesh and, in fact, might wish to consume it. The man, or men, sought to fill that desire for him dropping off the head as if delivering take-out.

Surprised at the body part in the context of this form of offering, Hannibal instead would have expected a vial or other container of human blood. The actual delivery of this body part, unless it was considered simply meat and thus a meal, was surprising.

Ever seen blood in the moonlight…it appears quite black.

Remembering the scent flooding his sinuses the moment he lifted Paul Krendler's skullcap, Hannibal's cheeks pooled with saliva. He could all but taste the flesh and thought that, had he not had his disembodied hand with which to concern himself that evening, he might have taken some of that brain. The scent of it, simmering with shallots and butter was enticing, though Hannibal knew of a lovely recipe requiring mace and sunflower seed meal he had once prepared with calf brain and thought it might be appetizing with human as well. Instead of leaving carrying his left hand, he would have much rather been fully intact and carrying Krendler's brain.

Yes, there's a distinct scent to a head removed from its body, the leakage of cerebrospinal fluid mixing with the blood, the marrow too, if the bone were impacted. Yes, yes, very distinctive and very pleasant as well. Had I not promised Clarice…that self-important detective's brain might have served my culinary needs quite nicely.

Not that he found the head tucked in the cage pleasant, not even remotely. He considered himself a predator, not a scavenger and as such another man's kill was of no interest to him. The note, however, that did interest him.

It is a week of letters, is it not? First, to have received the letter included with the armor for my son, next another letter with an offering, momentous, truly. My son will one day inherit the armor, the katana as well…perhaps my harpy, if Clarice has no objections.

The harpy…

Hannibal placed it in safe keeping the moment Ardelia and Logan notified him the lead detective would indeed be questioning he and Clarice. Confident by now that the undergarments were far enough into the wash cycle to have destroyed any trace of DNA, and that the detective and his entourage were gone, Hannibal left the laundry room. Instead of turning left, proceeding further down the hallway to the master suite, he turned right.

Entering his son's bedroom he stood beside the crib breathing deeply, enjoying the scent of his child and the returned calm of his home. Hannibal leaned toward the crib and placed his hand on his son's back, allowing it to ride up and down with the boy's breath.

"Sleeping soundly? It's been a difficult day, but your brave mother insured that all would be well. You are all that I am, more even, as you will exceed me in every way because your mother is a warrior. She will stand by your side, fighting for you long after I am gone. I chose well for you, my son. You can sleep well in that knowledge, Little One."

Preparing to leave the room, Hannibal ran his hand across the underside of the crib. Tucked safely along the frame supporting the box spring and mattress, was the harpy. Removing the weapon, with the flair of prestidigitation, Hannibal slipped the blade within his sleeve.

"Thank you for keeping this safe for me, Little One. We mustn't tell your mother I trusted you with this. She might not understand."

Hannibal smiled, not bothering to alter his statement although he realized from the scent that his wife was approaching from behind.

"We mustn't tell your mother what? I know you knew I was coming, so what the heck are you teasing me about?"

Hannibal took Clarice by the elbow and guided her toward the door to assure their conversation would not wake their son.

"I'm not teasing you, Clarice. I was simply talking to our son."

Clarice pulled her arm away from her husband. She wasn't upset as such, but she didn't really want to be tugged along like a child.

"What might I not understand?"

Not wanting Clarice to believe he was being condescending, Hannibal ran his hand down her arm, taking her hand in his.

"I tucked the harpy beneath the crib along the mattress support beam and I was mentioning to our sleeping son that it might be a hiding place you wouldn't exactly appreciate."

Hannibal's left hand, though surgically altered to correct the mid-ray polydactylism, was still uncommonly wide so instead of gripping this hand, Clarice had taken to holding the thumb only. She was swinging their arms back and forth leaning against the doorway as she spoke. There was no sign of reproach in her voice. She was in fact, amused.

"Well, I can appreciate the fact that if the home was searched, that's the last place they'd look, but it's not the safest choice for the baby is it, H?"

Hannibal interrupted the to and fro by bringing her hand to his lips and kissing her tenderly. Looking up from her hand, he explained, "I wouldn't tuck it under a toddler's bed, Clarice. It isn't as if young Hannibal can lift the mattress himself. He is an exceptional child, but that is beyond the scope of his capabilities at this stage of development."

"Well, since we're not trying to raise a little psychopath let's keep the harpy out of the baby's room. Deal?"

"Nor are we attempting to raise a Junior G-Man, Clarice. I shall bow to your wishes, but mind, my Love, that my harpy hidden under his crib will not inspire our son to crook his finger and scream, Redrum! Redrum!"

Laughing out loud at Hannibal's impersonation from the movie, 'The Shining', Clarice slapped her husband's shoulder playfully.

"Don't be such a wise ass, H."

Waving a hand, Hannibal gestured as if unsure as to whether or not they should return to the room.

"Heaven forbid, Clarice. Were you seeking me out, or did you plan on waking the boy and feeding him?"

Sliding her arm under Hannibal's arm and wrapping it around his waist, Clarice guided him from the room, reached back and very quietly closed the door.

"Well, it's late and he's sleeping, so let's head off to bed and see if he makes the night."

"Ah, not wanting to wake the boy. What do you have in mind, Clarice? Concerned that waking him might alter those plans? Of course, this is about the age he would begin sleeping throughout, but as you've always roused him for the last feeding, one suspects you might have thoughts as to the rest of the night."

"I'd like to finish what we started earlier, if you're up for it."

"I would be up for it with the proper motivation, my Love."Hannibal paused for a moment and kissing his wife briefly, questioned further, "And your friends are?"

"My friends have already gone to their wing so if the baby stays asleep, it's our turn, H. Let's take our chances, just go to bed and enjoy each other for the night. What do you say?"

Pulling her close as they walked, arms still wrapped tightly around each other's body's as they ventured to their wing, Hannibal spoke with promise in his tone, "Where ever you lead, my Love, know that I shall follow."

Hannibal was brushing his teeth when Clarice came up behind him in the bathroom, slipping her hands along the line of his body, reaching around his bare hips to run her hands up his belly, moving upward across the span of his bare chest. Prepared for bed, neither spouse was clothed, though their nudity was of little concern.

Placing loving kisses on her husband's back and shoulders, Clarice questioned, "So, H? The detective?"

Ever mindful of his manners, Hannibal rinsed and dried his mouth before speaking. Turning into Clarice's body, he gathered her in his arms, pulling her close. Nuzzling his nose along her cheek he gathered in her scent with each inhalation, all the while brushing his lips as he spoke in short staccato bursts, teasing tiny bites of flesh between each phrase.

"No doubt…accustomed to…assuming…he's the…man with…the…most intelligence …in the…room."

Hannibal's hands slipped down her waist, settling on her hips, his thumbs tracing tiny patterns over the hollowed curve where hip sloped into belly. Turning his head into her neck further, he bit at the skin, sucking gently, teasing the flesh with his teeth.

Ticklish, Clarice coiled her arms around his neck, gripping her forearm to lift herself closer, the contact along her neck making her giggle and squirm.

"Yeah...no doubt."

Not that Hannibal minded the flood of sensations as she moved against him. Her body writhing against his, her typical response to this action was of course the primary motivation for his behavior; his typical response…quickly firming flesh as he continued relentlessly to nibble on the flesh.

"Oh, god! H…Stop…that tickles! Stop!"

Instead of stopping, the moment Clarice dropped her head back in a vain attempt to separate his teeth from her throat, Hannibal heightened the contact. Driving his face along the curve of her neck to the fully extended sternocleidomastoideus, Hannibal clamped his mouth over the muscle. Holding the band of tissue gently in his teeth he growled, turning his head from side to side, tugging as if he intended to tear out her throat.

Seeing that he had no intention of letting go, Clarice playfully slapped his shoulders arms and chest, laughing uncontrollably she was still swatting at him as he lifted her from the ground, her legs swinging as he carried her from the room.

"H…Jesus Christ!"

Hannibal unclamped his mouth releasing his grip on her flesh as he teased, "I believe the order of the appellation is Jesus H. Christ, Clarice."

"Oh, you are so witty! Put me down! Put me down!"

Her wriggling succeeding and not wanting to lose his grip, Hannibal bent at the waist, planted her feet for a split second to brace her weight, dropped his shoulder down to her waist, and tossed her over his shoulder, slapping her bottom.

"I'll put you down when we reach the bed, my Love. Until then, you are my captive."

Hannibal carried her to the bed, dropped her unceremoniously onto the mattress and vaulted over her body, quickly covering her body with his own.

Clarice lovingly tousled Hannibal's hair. She had behaved very confidently during her interactions with the detective, but truth be told, she had been terrified. It wouldn't have been the first time a law enforcement representative attempted to be overzealous with Hannibal and it wasn't as if there was anything Hannibal could do to stop it. If that obnoxious man wanted to drag him in, Hannibal would have had to oblige. He was at this man's mercy now that he carried his own name; he would carry the burden of it as well. Clarice, in her haste to show Hannibal how much she accepted him, saddled him with the a future that would no doubt be filled with this type of interaction.

Either that or he would have made a quick trip to his hiding place to retrieve the documents for the alternate identity he insisted they maintain for just this sort of likelihood. Clarice needed relief. She needed Hannibal, to feel him close. Her head resting on his chest, his heartbeat provided the comfort she needed to focus her thoughts.

"So, speaking of captive, that bastard really wanted a piece of you, H."

Understanding her angst, Hannibal slipped his hand under her hair and began to massage her trapezius as he questioned, "Not letting go of this, are you, my Love?"

No, he was certain she couldn't let it go; she was so angry. How dare that son of a bitch enter their home and try to push her husband around.

"He really got on my nerves, H. He wasn't even considering anyone else a suspect."

Kissing the top of her head, Hannibal pulled his wife to him.

"When he reads the letter and does some real investigative work, assuming he is capable of such, he'll understand that I had no part in the crime and that is all that matters, Clarice."

She lifted her head from his chest, seeking his eyes.

"What's the letter got to do with it, H?"

Hannibal wrapped his arms around his wife, her body warming his. He placed a gentle hand on her cheek and pressed her cheek to his chest. Placing his palm on her back he allowed it to ride up and down with the rhythm of their breathing just as he had done with his son earlier. Hannibal was as comforted by her physical presence as she was with his.

Kissing his chest, Clarice spoke, her breath gently moving the soft hairs of his chest.

Her lips on his body caused Hannibal's heart to thump; slowly he consciously controlled his body's responses realizing his wife was not seeking sex, but instead reassurance. An erection would have been an ill-timed response. His breathing slowed as he tempered his reactions, shifting his body's responses from anxiously anticipating lover to doting husband. Hopefully, lover would be wanted as well, but not yet. He would be patient and explain his thoughts. Not that the information would ease her mind. In fact, had he revealed all, she would have been terrified, but that wouldn't be necessary yet. No, information would be handed out in much the same way that Clarice herself would have doled it. This was a need to know basis only and there was certain information that Clarice, at this particular stage, didn't need to know.

"The letter is a plea for intercession. The head was left as an offering, though blood would have been the more traditional gift."

Realizing that Hannibal understood more about this case than he had let on previously, she questioned, "What kind of offering?"

Hannibal's hands left her shoulders, gliding along her back. He allowed his fingertips to trace aimless patterns in the valley just above the curve of her bottom at the base of her spine. She sighed, just an airy whisper of a sound, but it proved to Hannibal that her need was such as his. If they were to make love, she would have to initiate the contact. He wouldn't press his physical needs on her if in a fragile state of mind.

"The request is directed at me, not as myself, but in the form of San La Muerte."

She didn't like the sound of that, but Hannibal seemed unaffected, relaxed even, so she decided to take her cues from him and relax a bit. Still, the agent in her wanted details. Hannibal just wanted to touch her. As she continued to speak, he floated his hands outward, resting them on her hips, resisting the urge to center his body and enter hers.

"What? What the hell is San La Muerte?"

"A supernatural being not at all unlike the archangels, though not accepted by the hierarchy of the Catholic Church as it is considered paganism, but one that is traditional to the folk Catholicism practiced in this area."

Clarice was calming. Hannibal's voice had that affect. No matter how unnerving the situation, when he explained, even the most tumultuous circumstance seemed calm.

Her right hand floated down the outside of his thigh.

"What type of intersession, H?"

He copied the action as he spoke, using his fingers to lightly stroke her skin upward.

"Normally, as a request for protection against the evil eye, health, love, but the offering for such requests would be alcohol, food, etcetera. This is a particularly violent offering leading me to believe the request might be to keep someone out of prison, or to lessen a prison term…potentially, bring death to an enemy, any number of things. Rest assured, there will be more of them."

This time, she reached for his inner thigh, clasping the muscle, massaging.

"More of what? Body parts?"

Hannibal copied Clarice's actions once more.

"Potentially. With this cult, any manner of offerings would do. We must wait and see."

"Cult? Should I be afraid, H?"

"Not at this point, Clarice, though as I said…we must wait and see. It isn't a cult as such. It's an off-shoot of Catholicism that has taken root in this area."

Huddling against his body, Clarice ran her hand over his chest.

"Are you telling me everything, H?"

"I need more information, Clarice. I need to see that letter. The specific request would be written and that would direct me as to the intent of this person or persons. Without it, I can make no guarantees. This aspect of Catholicism, has filtered into the National Prison System therefore the individual making the request could be quite unsavory. There is no way to decipher the intentions without reading what would have been illustrated within that letter. We need to find a way to get a look at it."

"Pearsall?"

"Pearsall."

Hannibal could feel the tension seeping from every pore of Clarice's body. He thought of something that might comfort her.

"My Love?"

"Yes, H?"

"Hold me."

Smiling widely, Clarice wrapped her arms around Hannibal.

Hannibal smiled.

"Clarice?"

"Yeah, H?"

"Kiss me."

Lifting her chin to reach his lips, Clarice scooted her body upward atop Hannibal's until her mouth covered his. He groaned as she shifted her body settling her chest on his, their lower extremities aligned. Wrapping her arms around his head cradling him gently, her lips searched his for several minutes. The moment their lips parted, Hannibal smiled widely.

"My Love?"

"Yeah, H?"

"Take me."

Clarice smiled.

Until the next chapter my friends,

LH