Interview with Dr. Lector
Author's Note: This story takes place in between Silence and Hannibal, mainly because I haven't seen the new movie yet. So be kind.
The characters of Hannibal Lecter and Clarice Starling are the property of Thomas Harris and MGM pictures. And possibly Universal too, I'm not sure. No infringement is intended. I'm simply doing this for my own self-indulgent entertainment.
Jay stood in the doorway of his editor's office, talking with two of his coworkers. Jay and his two co-workers were waiting for their editor to get in so they could chat with him before the story meeting.
Jay was 25 years old and a bit of a rookie in comparison to his co-workers. He worked his tail off to make features before his 25th birthday, and had been mostly successful. Jay worked at the Chicago Sun-Times newspaper, and liked his job.
"Name the one person you'd like to interview. They have to be living," asked Kevin, one of Jay's co-workers. Kevin was completely in love with himself. He was also a kiss ass. If he could have had his lips surgically attached to the Editor-in-chief's ass, I'm sure he would have by now.
"Nelson Mandela," offered another.
"Good choice," responded another co-worker. Others nodded in agreement. Jay looked out into the bullpen, and watched others running around, in a panic. Jay wondered what was going on in their heads.
"Jay?" asked Kevin.
"Yeah," responded Jay, being drug back to reality.
"Who would be the one person you'd love to interview?"
Without thinking, Jay responded, "Lector. Hannibal Lecter."
"Whoo. Newbie has balls. Hannibal the cannibal."
"Yeah, well, at least it's not some bullshit yearbook response like Nelson Mandela. Heck, how many times has that guy been interviewed?" asked Jay.
"Too many," offered a co-worker.
"My point exactly."
"But however would you be able to interview him? He's been missing for seven years. The F.B.I hasn't been able to find him. How would you get a hold of him?" asked the c-worker.
"I have no idea. But this what-If game isn't exactly reality, now is it?" asked Jay.
"No, it's not," agreed Kevin.
The features editor David McCarthy made his entrance.
"All right boys! I just got out of a meeting with the Mike and he says that public response to the Sun-Times is an all time low. We need new stuff to entice the readers back." Said David, matter of factly.
"What do you suggest?" asked Kevin, being the kiss-ass, as always.
"Upbeat stuff. Our paper is looking more like the night's murder update than a newspaper. Crime scenes splashed onto the front page along with big bold headlines proclaiming more death in the city is not what readers like to stare at while drinking their coffee!"
"That is the news," muttered Jay.
"And you, you little screw-off, you may have worked you butt off to make features at 25, but you're not going to stay here unless you start putting some serious investigation into the articles you are assigned! And if you hand in one more article about Hannibal fucking Lector to me, I will send you packing all the way back to research!" exclaimed David.
"All Right!" exclaimed Jay as he walked back to his desk, in a huff.
"That guy drives me crazy!" muttered David.
***
Jay walked into his apartment and let the door close behind him all by itself.
"Honey? Is that you?" asked a voice from the kitchen.
"Yeah," replied Jay.
"How was work?"
"Terrible. This city's crime is an all time high, and the paper wants us to act like everything is hunky-dory," complained Jay.
"Oh the poor journalism major hasn't lost his morals in favor of the all-mighty dollar."
The voice belongs to Sierra Jones, who was in the kitchen attempting to cook dinner. Jay walks into the kitchen.
"Oh honey, you cooked. Where's the phone?" asked Jay.
"Hush. It'll be good, trust me."
"Okay. But just this once," muttered Jay.
***
"Well, I've never seen anyone make Hamburger helper that way," said Jay, throwing his napkin on the table.
"I told you I'm completely inept in the kitchen. Was it really bad?" asked Sierra, worried.
"Nah...it's okay."
"You sure?" asked Sierra, concerned.
"Yeah." Jay got up and walked towards the bedroom. "I got some more work to do."
"Really? Hun, I was hoping we could spend some time together tonight," said Sierra, with a slight whine.
"I'm sorry. I really need to get something typed up for tomorrow's edition," said Jay as he went into the bedroom and closed the door behind him.
"Dammit," muttered Sierra.
***
Jay walked into the office the following morning, looking rather worn out. He headed right for the feature editor's office and walked in. David was no where to be found, thankfully. Jay pulled his article out of his briefcase and placed it on David's desk.
"Here you go, you chump."
***
A stranger, dressed in a black and wearing a white fedora dropped a letter onto Jay's desk. He was an older man, but looked strong and well.
***
Jay walked to his desk, not noticing the older man in the black suit who was walking out the door, and sat down. He immediately noticed the strange envelope. On the front, it was written in nice cursive handwriting:
"JAY"
Jay flipped over the envelope. It was sealed with a nice red wax stamp. Jay peeled the envelope open and unfolded it. It was a two-page letter. Jay went directly to the end of the letter. It was signed:
"Sincerely,
Hannibal Lecter"
Jay dropped the letter and looked around the office in a panic. How did this letter get here?, he thought to himself.
***
Author's Note: This story takes place in between Silence and Hannibal, mainly because I haven't seen the new movie yet. So be kind.
The characters of Hannibal Lecter and Clarice Starling are the property of Thomas Harris and MGM pictures. And possibly Universal too, I'm not sure. No infringement is intended. I'm simply doing this for my own self-indulgent entertainment.
Jay stood in the doorway of his editor's office, talking with two of his coworkers. Jay and his two co-workers were waiting for their editor to get in so they could chat with him before the story meeting.
Jay was 25 years old and a bit of a rookie in comparison to his co-workers. He worked his tail off to make features before his 25th birthday, and had been mostly successful. Jay worked at the Chicago Sun-Times newspaper, and liked his job.
"Name the one person you'd like to interview. They have to be living," asked Kevin, one of Jay's co-workers. Kevin was completely in love with himself. He was also a kiss ass. If he could have had his lips surgically attached to the Editor-in-chief's ass, I'm sure he would have by now.
"Nelson Mandela," offered another.
"Good choice," responded another co-worker. Others nodded in agreement. Jay looked out into the bullpen, and watched others running around, in a panic. Jay wondered what was going on in their heads.
"Jay?" asked Kevin.
"Yeah," responded Jay, being drug back to reality.
"Who would be the one person you'd love to interview?"
Without thinking, Jay responded, "Lector. Hannibal Lecter."
"Whoo. Newbie has balls. Hannibal the cannibal."
"Yeah, well, at least it's not some bullshit yearbook response like Nelson Mandela. Heck, how many times has that guy been interviewed?" asked Jay.
"Too many," offered a co-worker.
"My point exactly."
"But however would you be able to interview him? He's been missing for seven years. The F.B.I hasn't been able to find him. How would you get a hold of him?" asked the c-worker.
"I have no idea. But this what-If game isn't exactly reality, now is it?" asked Jay.
"No, it's not," agreed Kevin.
The features editor David McCarthy made his entrance.
"All right boys! I just got out of a meeting with the Mike and he says that public response to the Sun-Times is an all time low. We need new stuff to entice the readers back." Said David, matter of factly.
"What do you suggest?" asked Kevin, being the kiss-ass, as always.
"Upbeat stuff. Our paper is looking more like the night's murder update than a newspaper. Crime scenes splashed onto the front page along with big bold headlines proclaiming more death in the city is not what readers like to stare at while drinking their coffee!"
"That is the news," muttered Jay.
"And you, you little screw-off, you may have worked you butt off to make features at 25, but you're not going to stay here unless you start putting some serious investigation into the articles you are assigned! And if you hand in one more article about Hannibal fucking Lector to me, I will send you packing all the way back to research!" exclaimed David.
"All Right!" exclaimed Jay as he walked back to his desk, in a huff.
"That guy drives me crazy!" muttered David.
***
Jay walked into his apartment and let the door close behind him all by itself.
"Honey? Is that you?" asked a voice from the kitchen.
"Yeah," replied Jay.
"How was work?"
"Terrible. This city's crime is an all time high, and the paper wants us to act like everything is hunky-dory," complained Jay.
"Oh the poor journalism major hasn't lost his morals in favor of the all-mighty dollar."
The voice belongs to Sierra Jones, who was in the kitchen attempting to cook dinner. Jay walks into the kitchen.
"Oh honey, you cooked. Where's the phone?" asked Jay.
"Hush. It'll be good, trust me."
"Okay. But just this once," muttered Jay.
***
"Well, I've never seen anyone make Hamburger helper that way," said Jay, throwing his napkin on the table.
"I told you I'm completely inept in the kitchen. Was it really bad?" asked Sierra, worried.
"Nah...it's okay."
"You sure?" asked Sierra, concerned.
"Yeah." Jay got up and walked towards the bedroom. "I got some more work to do."
"Really? Hun, I was hoping we could spend some time together tonight," said Sierra, with a slight whine.
"I'm sorry. I really need to get something typed up for tomorrow's edition," said Jay as he went into the bedroom and closed the door behind him.
"Dammit," muttered Sierra.
***
Jay walked into the office the following morning, looking rather worn out. He headed right for the feature editor's office and walked in. David was no where to be found, thankfully. Jay pulled his article out of his briefcase and placed it on David's desk.
"Here you go, you chump."
***
A stranger, dressed in a black and wearing a white fedora dropped a letter onto Jay's desk. He was an older man, but looked strong and well.
***
Jay walked to his desk, not noticing the older man in the black suit who was walking out the door, and sat down. He immediately noticed the strange envelope. On the front, it was written in nice cursive handwriting:
"JAY"
Jay flipped over the envelope. It was sealed with a nice red wax stamp. Jay peeled the envelope open and unfolded it. It was a two-page letter. Jay went directly to the end of the letter. It was signed:
"Sincerely,
Hannibal Lecter"
Jay dropped the letter and looked around the office in a panic. How did this letter get here?, he thought to himself.
***