The Watchmaker
Demeter, 2010
Fanfiction based on the characters of Thomas Harris, owned solely by him and not by me
Prologue
A house rests on the shores of the Chesapeake, occupants nestled deep in its warm cocoon and sheltered against the frosty December chill. No Christmas decorations adorn this residence, though elegance fills each room. Snow will fall soon, though, draping the home and the surrounding woods in nature's gleaming shards, icicles and soft snowflakes, too small for the naked eye to see their own sharp edges.
One occupant sleeps while the other watches and waits. He moves from her side with only a moment's hesitation, and walks the dark corridors to the kitchen. He prepares herbal tea and muses over his provisions. They will likely be snowed in for several days, but he will not leave now. They have enough to weather the snow in comfort, of that he is certain. He cannot be sure if he or his companion will weather the events that will follow.
She has healed physically, and his ministrations have eased some of her emotional anguish. She has more yet to face. He decided to stop giving her the drugs days ago, slowly weaning her from the powerful hypnotics that facilitated his rather unconventional therapy sessions. The framework is set, construction complete, the mainspring wound such that the gears move according to the laws of her nature and her own will. What happens next is not within his power to predict. Chaos. Uncertainty. A dangerous game and a challenge rarely faced by the monster.
She still sleeps, so he moves to the drawing room to enjoy his tea and a warm fire. He considers the teacup, thinking that she has all of the ammunition she needs to craft his doom, or perhaps their salvation . . . he places that thought deep within his Memory Palace, engraving it on the lock that sometimes bars the doors to the depths, though it can do nothing for the reeking breaths released by the oubliettes. He seats himself at the harpsichord, banishing thoughts of bitter cold and snow from long ago. The screams are not as easy to banish. He plays now with passion bordering on fury, eyes blazing as he controls the sounds echoing through darkened halls. He will play a while yet, finding his calm center while he awaits the coming storms.