Ooooohhhh, chapter. Amazing what I will do when properly inspired by a lack of sleep. As soon as I finish this chapter, I'm off to remedy that situation. The end of the chase, and gore. So as to assure Kurt that I am not headed over to the Light Side with the mush in 'Tragedy's Sister.' Have fun, all.

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The thin, high pitched cry of a bat cut through the night instants before Lin's cry shattered the relative quiet. She fell heavily to her knees, gasping for breath as she rolled away from her attacker. The searing pain that ran across her shoulders assured her that he meant for her not to survive this encounter. She moved cautiously as she pushed herself back to her feet, barely dodging another swing from the man that had moments before been her prey.

The third swing proved to be unlucky for Lindsey, as she instinctively threw an arm up to ward off the blow. The searing pain caused her knees to buckle and she crumpled ungracefully into the red dirt. Her head was pounding and her breath came in short quick gasps. She held her left arm tight against her chest, protecting the wounded limb as much as she could, leaving her defenseless. Seeing the dim figure raise the iron rod again she backpedaled as much as she could in the soft ground. She felt the outstretched arms of a scrub oak press into her back, reminding her of the injury that lay across her shoulders. The tree did little to protect Lindsey.

The last thing Lindsey clearly remembered was a glimpse of the stars through the branches of the oak. She blinked, once, felt time slow and clearly saw the rod come down towards her head. The pain was instantaneous, but fortunately, so was unconsciousness.

*****

The night seemed to tremble at that point. Here he stood, towering over the limp and unprotesting form that lay at his feet. His heart beat rapidly and he could feel the rush of adrenaline pouring through him. His sense were heightened, and he felt that at that moment, he could feel every living thing around him shiver. The crickets had fallen silent, and nary a sound was heard, not even a breeze dared to break the hold he felt he had on the world at that moment.

And then the moment was gone.

He heard the twig snap before the shadow launched itself from the brush almost a meter away. The shadow moved quickly, not wasting a single movement as it swept towards him. Pete brought the grill rod up to bear, swinging wildly at the attacker as it lunged for him. His bellowed cry reverberated off the stone, a sound not heard in this area for an unknown time. As the echo bounced back to him he felt the rod being torn from his grasp. For the first time, fear entered Pete's mind.

He heard the rod ping against the red sandstone a distance away as it was cast aside. The smell of sweat hung in the air, mingling with the juniper and the metallic scent of fresh blood. Sirens screamed in the distance, and barely visible over the tops of trees were the flashing strobes from the police cruisers that now filled the park. He was trapped, but he was less concerned about the FBI and local law enforcement than he was about the man that stood in front of him.

Pete outweighed and overshadowed the doctor, but that meant little in this situation. Dr. Lecter has the strength of an ant, and if pushed, makes for a very dangerous opponent. Barely visible in the nearly lightless night, a wicked blade curves from the doctor's grip. If he could see the fire in Lecter's eyes at that moment, Pete Adamowski would have no doubt that he was looking into the fires of hell, the eyes of the devil himself. Doubtless, Pete would not be the first nor the last man to see those eyes in such a moment.

Lashing out with his hands, Pete lunged for the doctor, hoping to gain purchase on the doctor's throat. It was his only chance, and if he could succeed, he could escape this encounter alive. Lecter was too canny to be taken like that, and sidestepped the lunging man with catlike reflexes. The curved blade of the Harpy cut through the air at the same instant, slicing deep into Adamowski's side.

Pete recoiled from the sharp pain, and felt his skin slicken with blood. It hurt now to draw deep breaths and he gasped a little as he tried to bring himself to stand upright once more.

Lecter was on him in a moment, knife in hand, striking at the man's exposed and vulnerable abdomen. There was barely as trace of blood on the Harpy as it flashed in and out so quickly in the night. Unlike with Gnocco, he was careful not to cut the artery. Pete deserved to have a slow death. Not as slow as Lecter would have liked, for circumstances would not permit that, but slow enough. Pete was toppling forward onto his knees at that point as Lecter stepped back. Blood mixed with the red dirt, forming an awful red mud that Pete knelt in. He was crying, Dr. Lecter noticed for the first time, and whispering something. Lecter leaned close enough to hear the words, which he found to be amusing.

Pete Adamowski was reciting the 'Hail Mary', reciting it over and over with a fervor, as if the words themselves might be enough to save him. The heartless murderer who had sought to take Clarice and Lindsey from Hannibal Lecter praying to God in his final moments. Not even God would be able to save Pete from his fate.

"Hail Mary…"

"Pete…"

"…full of grace, the Lord is with thee…"

"Praying will do you no good, Pete."

"…and blessed art thou, amongst women…"

"You are not blessed, Pete."

"…and blessed is the fruit of thou womb, Jesus."

"Do you know what you sought to do, Pete?"

"Holy Mary, mother of God…"

"You sought to take from me what is mine."

"…pray for us sinners…"

"God won't hear your prayers, Pete."

"…now, and at the hour of our death…"

Pete looked up at that point, and Dr. Hannibal Lecter stood before him like the reaper himself. The edge of a helicopter searchlight swept over them at that precise moment, filling Pete's eyes with an image that was straight out of hell. Lecter was smiling at him, the white teeth against the red lips, the fires of hell burning in his gaze. His head titled fractionally as his lips formed a word Pete could not hear over the helicopter approaching them. He knew what Lecter was saying though, and opened his mouth to scream.

"Amen."

The Harpy struck, cutting deep into Pete's throat, severing his carotid artery and then continuing through his larynx. He gurgled, the scream dying before it began as he fell forward into the dust. Slowly, bathed in the light from the helicopter, Lecter bent and wiped the harpy on the back of Pete's shirt. Turning away, with the men above him watching and taping this all for posterity, he stepped to Lindsey. The full extent of her injuries was clearly visible in the bright light and Lecter carefully felt for a pulse at her neck. It was there, thready and light, but it was there. In the dust storm generated by the rotorwash from the helicopter, in the first light to have pieced the night since this deadly chase had begun so long ago, Lecter showed compassion.

The cameras onboard the police helicopter caught t and it was played in the news the next day. Dr. Hannibal Lecter, MD. Feared serial killer and sociopathic madman, carrying the wounded FBI agent to safety. Clarice watched it from her hospital room bed the next evening, listening to the reporters ponder the reasons behind the cannibal's sudden compassion. Clarice turned the TV off, sick of the voices telling her about things they didn't know about. Her head sank back into the pillows and she closed her eyes, thinking of Lindsey, who lay two floors below in the ICU. Thinking of Lecter, and knowing the reason why he had done what he did. The same reason he had helped her that night. Not out of compassion, not out of love, not out of anything like the media thought. No, all he wanted to do was preserve what he saw as his. Lecter would not be denied what he wanted, and he would do everything in his power to have it. A little sigh escaped Clarice as she drifted into a restless sleep, the slight throb of her leg reminding her of the costs involved with seeking out Hannibal the Cannibal.

*****

Okey dokey then. No, this is not the end, merely the end of the first half. There's still a bit of story to go. (yes, I know, I need to learn to write shorter stories) Thank you all for sticking by me, and dealing with all the delays that have been encountered throughout the writing of this damned thing. But, time to get cracking and onto part two. Enjoy, dear ones.