XI
When you find true love it lives on
We crossed Alabama. Our last night in a motel taught us a lesson. We had to be careful. Milder temperatures in this state had allowed us to sleep in the car, a couple hours. Well, "sleep" was a big word. But at least, we had eaten up the miles as if stop meant surrender. Just enough time to fill up the gas tank and buy food, then we left.
"I want to see the ocean." I sighed, offering my face to the sun through the open window.
"We'll going to be passing close to the beach." Answered Hannibal.
"When will we arrive to Mexico City?" I asked, trying not to feel as a kid who would be too impatient to arrive at Disney Land.
"We must cross Louisiana, Houston and the border."
"Say like that, it looks like we'll be there in one hour." I was joking.
"No. But, this evening, certainly. And it's for the best. It will be easier to enter in Mexico at night."
I approved, relieved that our escape comes to an end soon.
…
"Why didn't you let Alana kill me?" He asked suddenly, after several miles.
"I'm sorry? I thought I answered that question before."
"Not at all. You explained to me why you had come to the hospital this morning, and you tried to explain to me your reaction, but failed. If I remember correctly, your words were: "I don't know. I haven't really thought." And finally, you admitted to me that a part of you wanted to run away with me. But, none of this explains why overhear this conversation pushed you to act in this way."
I knew he was right, but kept a stubborn silence, for several minutes.
"Why do you want to know?"
"Answer my questions with other questions is not really something which works with me, Will."
I was thinking an eternity, staring the horizon. Then, decided finally to be honest.
"Your life belongs to me. The right … to kill you … belongs to me." I said, articulating every word, slowly.
He simply smiled.
"That's all I wanted to hear."
"Seriously? You don't have anything to add?"
"I vowed to eat you, one way or another, the second I saw you. My life belonged to you well before you are conscious of it. Just like yours belongs to me."
I smiled, thinking about our first meeting.
"Do you remember this morning, when you came into my hotel room with the breakfast?"
"How could I forget? You told me that you didn't find me that interesting."
I burst out laughing, remembering my boldness.
"And you answered me that I would."
"And that is exactly what happened." He snapped out the answer.
"I admit it." I agreed, remembering his pushy and presumptuous behavior when he had invited himself without asking me, just because he brought one of his home-made dishes… "Who was in my plate this morning?" His smile became more marked and his look challenged me to guess. "Cassie Boyle. I remember. The first crime scene you gave me. It's not the best flirtation technique, you know."
"Admit that it drew your attention more certainly than any poems or other banalities of the same kind"
"You became my white whale, just as I saw this dead girl in the middle of this field." I murmured.
"No, Will. You are Ishmael. The orphan, the exile, the outsider who wishes to flee the society where he feels alienated. The only survivor, when Moby Dick gobbles up the ship of Captain Ahab."
"Which makes Jack the Captain."
"Exactly."
…
We had just crossed Houston, on the 59, when, arrived near a city named El Campo, Hannibal suddenly turned left, on the 71.
"A shortcut?" I asked him, when he ignored the road sign which indicated our destination.
"Quite the opposite, in fact."
"A detour? But to where?"
In answer, he gave me his all-star mysterious look. And I decided not to insist and enjoy the surprise.
He drove for half an hour, when we reached the city of Palacios. We crossed the city center, to the end of a long avenue. It's when it blew up in my face. The ocean. Hannibal parked near a beach and went out, before going around the car to open my car door. His gallantry made me smile and roll my eyes.
"What are we doing here?"
"You said you wanted to see the ocean." He said. "So, voila."
"Thank you." I murmured, accepting his present without making a fuss, even if it profoundly touched me.
At this time of year, the place was almost deserted and I found myself alone in front nature's wrath. My shoes sank into the fine sand and I stopped when waves almost licked my feet, before sitting where the ground was more or less dry. Hannibal followed me, stood behind me for a while, before sitting down against my back. I settled comfortably between his legs and he embraced me. He put his chin on my shoulder, his hot breath came to tickle my cheek, and he tightened me against him.
We stayed like that an eternity, rocked by the flow of the swell, our faces swept by sea sprays, to watch the setting sun. Then, I turned on the side, crossed my legs over his thigh and rested my cheek against his chest. One of his hands caressed my hair disheveled by the sea breeze, the other one settled on my hip, his lips kissed my forehead, and I listened for a long time the quiet and regular beatings of his heart.
"Will it be possible to live near the beach, in Argentina?" I whispered.
"On the beach."
"What do you mean?"
"The house that I own over there is on the beach. On stilts." He specified.
"Isn't it risky to take refuge in one of your properties? How many have you, anyway?"
"Some. But, none is really in my name. A man is in charge of maintaining this one in good condition, I warned him of our arrival. There will be no problem."
"When did you find the time to contact him?" I asked him, confused.
"I sent him a postcard."
"Sorry? A postcard?"
"Yes, two days ago, when we were in a gas station. The photo on the card gave him our location, the postmark, the date when we were there, and the text is a code. And I put gloves to write it. It will arrive at least a day before us, to give him the time to welcome us, and it's untraceable."
"I bow before so much ingenuity, Mr. Professional of the escape." I was ironic, really impressed despite myself.
"Yeah, mock me." He muttered in my neck, before biting me gently.
Laughter escaped me and he kissed me to shut me up. I returned him his embrace which, as often between us, quickly slid towards something more carnal. I was going to lengthen him on the sand, almost forgetting where we were, but he stopped me.
"We have to leave, mano meilė." He murmured against my lips.
"Is it Lithuanian?" I questioned him, while he got up, before helping me to do the same.
"Yes." He confirmed, in a concise way.
"And it means…?"
"What you mean to me."
And I knew, in the tone of his voice, that I would have nothing more that this abstract explanation, but respected nevertheless his modesty.
We went back to the car, walking side by side without saying a word, before getting back on the road.
…
We followed the seaside, on the 35, until Corpus Christi, when it began to get dark.
"We have about three hours drive before reaching the customs. Then, approximately thirteen hours to Mexico City."
"We can get some rest once in Mexico. We are exhausted."
He agreed and I turned on the radio to search for a station which broadcasted some music when, in the middle of the interferences, I heard clearly the name "Lecter". It wasn't a good sign that they speak about us on a local broadcast.
"…in the car found in the surroundings of Wardensville, West Virginia, and which belonged to the Sergeant Johnson's killer. The investigators are categorical. It is Hannibal Lecter's fingerprints the infamous cannibal killer who escaped from the psychiatric hospital of Baltimore, and Will Graham's, the FBI ex-profiler, who they suspect of being his accomplice. Both men are armed, extremely dangerous and untraceable for three days now. This is the first real lead, even if the modus operandi doesn't match to the habits of those whom the press calls Murder Husbands. The investigators already set up roadblocks, to prevent them from leave the coun…"
Hannibal turned off the radio, putting us in a deathly silence. By reflex, I took his hand, and I wondered how long I had this instinct, before taking a deep breath to calm down.
"What do we do?" I asked.
"We keep going. They didn't say where the roadblocks are. We'll improvise if we run into one of them."
I felt he didn't even believe it himself. But he had no need to be reassured with some smooth lines. It wasn't like me anyway. I preferred to remain silent and pray.
…
I thought Hannibal wasn't aware that he slowed down. I could almost hear his brain run at top speed. I was thinking all the possibilities myself. And, unfortunately, they were limited in number. Hole up somewhere deep in Texas was one. But how long before they find us? Of course, roadblocks would not stay eternally in position, but they were not quietly going to wait for us, all along the Rio Grande, until we showed up, and no one would accept to hide us. Turn back was another option, but with same risks. Not to mention that we could not drive forever. And try to set foot aboard a plane on American soil was suicidal.
Meanwhile, we drove inexorably towards the border and the walls were closing in on us. Then, at a bifurcation on the 509, Hannibal took suddenly the highway 77.
"Weren't we supposed to avoid highways?" I asked.
"Precisely. Perhaps they won't expect us on this way."
His reasoning balanced on the Occam's razor's edge. His solution was simple, of course. But wasn't it too much? Anyway, now that we were engaged on this road, there would be no exit before several miles. However, I had a bad feeling. Hannibal was calculating something, an idea which he didn't want to share with me for now. And that wasn't reassuring.
We drove for about twenty minutes, when we reached Brownville, the city which separated us to our goal. We crossed the last exit before the border. Close to thereon, we found ourselves blocked in a traffic jam. For no reason, traffic seemed slowed down.
While we waited, we could see red and blue lights rose in the dark sky. There could be no more doubts now. But it was too late. Unable to go back, we looked two agents slowly approached on each side of the road, car by car, with flashlight which they pointed on every driver. Too much fast, they were on us. The white beams got through the windscreen, blinding me a second. Then, Hannibal violently swerved, running an officer down, before engaging in the opposite direction on the emergency lane and rushing towards the exit. He brutally turned, tires screeched and I was pressed against the car door. Then, he accelerated, running through the streets. Behind us, sirens were sounding. Strangely, I was not panicking.
"They're gonna catch up to us." I simply said. "We have nowhere to go, Hannibal. There's no way out."
"There's one."
A road sign indicated the port of Brownville.
"Will you follow me?"
"Where you go, I'll go." I claimed, gripping his arm.
He nodded his head, accelerated again, crossed the port's entrance, broke up the barrier and, without slowing down, rushed at the end of a dock, right into the ocean.
