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The first thing that hit his ears was the soft voices of a popular nineties sitcom. A box of tissues on the coffee table and a book bag on the floor between it and the couch. He had his phone open, silent, waiting for Clarice's call. Like she'd expected, Bella was fast asleep on the couch with a blanket over top of her. The same blanket he had covered her up with less than a week before. He could see the blankets rise and fall with her chest as her lungs expanded, but he ceased breathing until he heard hers.
In and out.
Another piece of Bella to commit to his memory palace.
He could still smell the vanilla cinnamon shampoo she had used the night before, a vast contrast to the almond one Clarice used. Her eyes were slightly puffy and the tip of her nose was red. Judging from the lack of used tissues, she had been asleep since Clarice had left for work. Only one set of dishes sat on the counter by the sink.
Then, a deep breath. In and. . .out.
Bella sighed in her sleep before turning onto her other side, leaving her back exposed as she curled into the back cushions. Her fingers peeked out of her sweatshirt sleeves that were too long for her arms. No nail polish, not even a clear coat. But, her nails were healthy, no signs of a biting habit.
He moved around the back of the couch to gaze at her when he saw the screen of his phone signal the incoming call from Clarice. His eyes didn't move from Bella as he answered. "Well done, Clarice."
Clarice smiled as she snuck into the building as one of the tenants was leaving. She weaved her way to the apartment log and glanced through them, not seeing Will's name listed on the tenant board. "He must not be listed under is own name."
"Too easy for the FBI to catch him. Try an anagram of his name. I taught him those." Hannibal suggested before moving behind the island and raiding the fridge for ingredients. He set his gift to Bella down on the counter.
Clarice's finger ran over the plastic pieces covering the paper name tags given to each apartment. "Liam H. L. Graw." She saw the apartment number and began climbing the stairs. "Not exactly the best anagram, Doctor."
Hannibal smiled and shrugged. "It made you pause, Clarice. Most agents from your precious FBI would've turned seeing no evidence of him there." He set out a carton of eggs along with some of the vegetables from one of the bottom drawers on the counter. "Remember to check behind doors and corners."
Clarice reached the landing and immediately reached for her gun, pulling it out of the holster and keeping it down by her thigh. "The door is open. I can already see debris on the floor."
"I'm coming there now."
"We don't have time. Will could be bleeding out in there." Clarice whispered. She looked through the narrow space into the apartment. She didn't see a body from where she was, but there were papers all over the floor and boxes tipped over. A light bulb lay broken around the lamp shade it belonged to. "I'm going in."
She heard Hannibal's protests, but slid the phone inside her pocket to leave the call running. "This is Special Agent Clarice Starling. If there is anyone in there, I need you to speak up now. Slowly make your way to the door with your hands up."
Nothing.
Not even a rustle of the papers on the floor.
With one hand trained on her gun, she lifted it up to point inside as her other hand pushed the door open with fingertips. It was a small one bedroom apartment with the doors leading to the bedroom and bathroom wide open. A quick walk through, checking closets, corners, and behind doors, allowed her to holster her gun back on her hip knowing that she was alone in the apartment. She began scanning the apartment when she brought the phone back to her ear.
"It's clear."
Hannibal sighed on the other end and was silent for a moment. He took two deep breaths before his voice flooded her senses again. "What do you see, Clarice?"
"File boxes tipped over. It looks like he was working again." Clarice examined the case files scattered on the floor. Some of them were from Will's famous Red Dragon suspect. Those crime scenes were gruesome. She crouched low on the floor and looked around, her eyes landing on a curdled puddle in the kitchen. "There's blood. No body. The drag marks only stretch a couple feet. The victim must have been carried out after that. The killer would have had to have a considerable amount of muscle to carry dead weight out of here. Too much blood for the victim to live through that."
"What else?" Hannibal closed his eyes, trying to picture the scene in his mind.
Clarice entered the kitchen, mindful of keeping her shoes out of the blood. "The sink is full of dirty dishes. Looks like a couple weeks worth. Takeout containers. More than what I usually have. He must have been attacked while he was eating. The barstool at the counter is tossed towards the front door, and there's a dinner plate with half the food still on it." Her eyes traveled the room again. "No evidence of any other persons. The TV screen is cracked in a spider-web effect. Looks like something went through it."
Hannibal visualized the TV. "Bullet?"
Clarice moved towards the television herself as she shook her head. "No. The hole is too big. It's wider than it is tall. Like the remote was smashed into it."
"A remote is not a suitable weapon. Will would not use that to defend himself. If he was eating, he would've gone to the kitchen to get a knife." Hannibal determined.
"That's what I would do." Clarice agreed. Her feet carried her around the couch and small coffee table to see the remote laying on the ground with a few small pieces of loose television glass. The front of the black remote was chipped, most likely upon impact with the screen. Some of the buttons were tattered from getting caught in the shards. "Something must have upset Will enough to chuck his remote like that."
Her attention was averted when her actual cell phone started vibrating on her hip. She unclipped it to see Delia's name flashing on the screen. "I have to go. Delia's calling me. I'll come home soon."
Hannibal felt the words roll of his tongue as he began pulling bowls and tools out of cabinets. "Yes, dear."
Clarice smiled with a shake of her head before she picked up her other phone, hiding her burner back in her pocket. "Starling."
"Where are you right now?" Delia's voice rang clear over the phone. She must've been in one of the stairways with the echo it carried.
"I heard Will Graham was in town and got his address from the computer this morning. I figured I'd stop by and see him since I've never had the pleasure of meeting Doctor Lecter's other mind fuck tool." She glanced around again. There were too many files for her to dig through to see if Graham was onto anything relevant that could lead to an explanation for this scene. "Why? Did you call to tell me you have a court order for my daughter's DNA?"
Delia huffed out a sharp breath. "Clarice, I'm sorry. I know you better than that. I'm just worried about you, and Lecter is sick enough to mess with you like this." She didn't notice Clarice's own sigh of breath. "Graham is assisting us with the Beer Can Killer case. I guess he came up as soon as the first victim came in. It's been super hush-hush though. The Bureau was surprised when he gave in so easy. They usually have to beg for months for him to join an investigation, and he still says no. I guess the anniversary of Jack's death hit him a little harder."
Clarice swallowed the information and the apology. She could already taste the crow that would be coming around Christmas. "Will couldn't make it to the funeral. From what I've heard, he's always felt guilt over that." She paused a moment, allowing one final sweep of the crime scene. "Delia, I think you need to get over here."
Bella sighed as she woke up, her eyes squinting against the light in the room. It felt like she'd been on the couch for a decade, but her head continued to pound. Slowly, she sat up with aching muscles and looked around. The living room smelled amazing from whatever the pots held on the kitchen stove. The blanket that Clarice had draped over her was now tucked around her like a burrito casing. The struggle to break her arms from it was momentary.
That's when her eyes landed on the small gift on the coffee table. A stuffed animal hawk stood balanced on yellow clawed feet and long redish-orange feathers that blended into brown on the back. The plastic eyes were large black pupils with a ring of yellow around them. A small scroll sat between the talons of its right foot. She pulled it out and hugged the hawk against her chest as she unrolled the silky paper.
The answer is inside you, my little bird. If you still want to leave, plans have been arranged for December 23rd. Be prepared.
Love,
Your Dear Old Dad
The smile spread across her face as she buried it into the stuffed hawk. That's when she felt it. Her fingers pressed into the puffed chest of the bird. About four inches across, three down. Two circular holes.
Hannibal put a tape inside the bird.
Bella let her fingers fumble along the bird, finding a velcro hatch at the bottom of the hawk's chest. It was hidden by the plush feather-like fabric that kept the bird together. Under the velcro, the tape sat in a silk pocket that was most likely a spot for little girls to hide a friendship necklace or small denominations of cash from the tooth fairy. With her sickening pains forgotten, Bella wrestled with her blanket before sprinting for her room where the walkman was.
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