disclaimer: not mine.
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"Stand beneath this stained glass window
Watch my colours bleed and run
Beneath a slice of silver moon
Lie broken pieces of the sun."
Hannibal Lecter and Angelus Antoine stand together covered in blood in an elegant room from one of the estates in the south of France. Sunlight streams in the room, the rays catching the floating dust particles in a suspension. They stare passively at the mangled and mutilated corpse of Marie' Jacqueline Antoine, the former Comtesse de Valois. Their pulses are in sync at a constant eighty-five. Angelus reaches down and pulls the locket from the dead woman's throat roughly. Its delicate chain and the design etched in it are soaked with blood. She opens the locket. In it is a beautiful miniature of a young boy and a little girl. She raises her star shaped baby hands high up in the air as her brother continues to hold them aloft. She is smiling and her blue eyes catch the light perfectly.
She knows without looking over at her father that the little boy is he. Even as a child Hannibal Lecter already had that frightening stillness law enforcement around the world would come to associate with Hannibal the Cannibal. The little girl intrigues her, though. She has seen those blue eyes somewhere before, but they do not anymore belong to the happy child. Lecter leans over and looks at it.
"This is you, isn't it?" she says.
"Yes. And that is my sister."
"Hmm. Where is she now?"
"She is dead."
"I see." She takes a closer look at the portrait before putting it away in her pocket.
Lecter turns to her. "No you don't," he whispers.
She steps away from the carpet as Hannibal begins to roll it up, covering the deceased. Together they lift the body and go down the stair to the basement, where they dispose of it by throwing it in the ancient incinerator.
As they go back upstairs, no words are exchanged. They understand each other perfectly, these two. Angelus rolls up her shirtsleeves and dips a mop into a bucket of soapy water. She starts to wash away the blood that has seeped through the carpet. Like the rain through the cobblestones almost two weeks ago. With each sweep, she finds herself being released, reborn. Hannibal Lecter watches her with the pride that only a father could have. He does not feel any remorse due to the disposal of his former paramour. Jacqueline Antoine has gotten her just desserts, so to speak.
Task finished, they walk out of the room. Before leaving, Angelus takes one last look. Saints on stained glass windows watch, preternaturally knowing. The floor in front of the cold fireplace looks conspicuously bare without the rug, multicoloured patterns from the glass on the hard wood. It does not matter. The servants are not a chatty bunch, and they will forever hold their peace.
Beyond the massive doors and the stone steps of the Antoine estate they go. In the bright sunlight sit two expensive sports cars. Both are Ferraris, one a silver 456 M and the other a red 365 GTS/4. Angelus gets into the silver car, Dr. Lecter standing outside, leaning down to speak a few words to his daughter.
"Angelus."
She looks up at him, her maroon eyes warm at long last. He sees his features reflected clearly in them. She raises one eyebrow, waiting. He does not say anything further apart from the initial whisper of her name.
"I suppose you shall want to return to Clarice now, doctor." She says.
"Yes."
"You had better get going then. The night descends quickly." Angelus starts up her car, shifting the gear into neutral. It purrs like a great cat, engine running smoothly.
"Where are you off to now?" he remains motionless.
"Russia."
"What will you do in Russia?" the gravel crunches slightly as he shifts his weight from one leg to the other.
"Nothing. Just a long overdue visit to an old friend."
"I understand."
"Do take care, doctor."
"Oh, I will..."
She shifts the gear into primary and pulls away.
Angelus smiles whimsically. Through the rear view mirror she can see Lecter still standing in the drive, watching her car. Her plane leaves for Russia in three hours. She is eager to see Mischa. And this time, it is she with the stories to tell.
Far across the cold and frozen tundra, an older woman waits for her young friend, her blue eyes tired of life. But for now there is a softening in her features, as she thinks about Angelus. This young woman has her dead brother's eyes.
-Fin-
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ooookay. that was it. i know it sucked, i know it didn't have much to do with Lecter, i know y'all want to flame me, but pleeeease do it via e-mail, okey-dokey?
*************************************************************************************************
"Stand beneath this stained glass window
Watch my colours bleed and run
Beneath a slice of silver moon
Lie broken pieces of the sun."
Hannibal Lecter and Angelus Antoine stand together covered in blood in an elegant room from one of the estates in the south of France. Sunlight streams in the room, the rays catching the floating dust particles in a suspension. They stare passively at the mangled and mutilated corpse of Marie' Jacqueline Antoine, the former Comtesse de Valois. Their pulses are in sync at a constant eighty-five. Angelus reaches down and pulls the locket from the dead woman's throat roughly. Its delicate chain and the design etched in it are soaked with blood. She opens the locket. In it is a beautiful miniature of a young boy and a little girl. She raises her star shaped baby hands high up in the air as her brother continues to hold them aloft. She is smiling and her blue eyes catch the light perfectly.
She knows without looking over at her father that the little boy is he. Even as a child Hannibal Lecter already had that frightening stillness law enforcement around the world would come to associate with Hannibal the Cannibal. The little girl intrigues her, though. She has seen those blue eyes somewhere before, but they do not anymore belong to the happy child. Lecter leans over and looks at it.
"This is you, isn't it?" she says.
"Yes. And that is my sister."
"Hmm. Where is she now?"
"She is dead."
"I see." She takes a closer look at the portrait before putting it away in her pocket.
Lecter turns to her. "No you don't," he whispers.
She steps away from the carpet as Hannibal begins to roll it up, covering the deceased. Together they lift the body and go down the stair to the basement, where they dispose of it by throwing it in the ancient incinerator.
As they go back upstairs, no words are exchanged. They understand each other perfectly, these two. Angelus rolls up her shirtsleeves and dips a mop into a bucket of soapy water. She starts to wash away the blood that has seeped through the carpet. Like the rain through the cobblestones almost two weeks ago. With each sweep, she finds herself being released, reborn. Hannibal Lecter watches her with the pride that only a father could have. He does not feel any remorse due to the disposal of his former paramour. Jacqueline Antoine has gotten her just desserts, so to speak.
Task finished, they walk out of the room. Before leaving, Angelus takes one last look. Saints on stained glass windows watch, preternaturally knowing. The floor in front of the cold fireplace looks conspicuously bare without the rug, multicoloured patterns from the glass on the hard wood. It does not matter. The servants are not a chatty bunch, and they will forever hold their peace.
Beyond the massive doors and the stone steps of the Antoine estate they go. In the bright sunlight sit two expensive sports cars. Both are Ferraris, one a silver 456 M and the other a red 365 GTS/4. Angelus gets into the silver car, Dr. Lecter standing outside, leaning down to speak a few words to his daughter.
"Angelus."
She looks up at him, her maroon eyes warm at long last. He sees his features reflected clearly in them. She raises one eyebrow, waiting. He does not say anything further apart from the initial whisper of her name.
"I suppose you shall want to return to Clarice now, doctor." She says.
"Yes."
"You had better get going then. The night descends quickly." Angelus starts up her car, shifting the gear into neutral. It purrs like a great cat, engine running smoothly.
"Where are you off to now?" he remains motionless.
"Russia."
"What will you do in Russia?" the gravel crunches slightly as he shifts his weight from one leg to the other.
"Nothing. Just a long overdue visit to an old friend."
"I understand."
"Do take care, doctor."
"Oh, I will..."
She shifts the gear into primary and pulls away.
Angelus smiles whimsically. Through the rear view mirror she can see Lecter still standing in the drive, watching her car. Her plane leaves for Russia in three hours. She is eager to see Mischa. And this time, it is she with the stories to tell.
Far across the cold and frozen tundra, an older woman waits for her young friend, her blue eyes tired of life. But for now there is a softening in her features, as she thinks about Angelus. This young woman has her dead brother's eyes.
-Fin-
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ooookay. that was it. i know it sucked, i know it didn't have much to do with Lecter, i know y'all want to flame me, but pleeeease do it via e-mail, okey-dokey?