Two eyes
Hidden forever
Ten fingers
Always in view
My identiy is in these things
The music I weave
And the sights I partake.
Are my soul
Broken in pieces
The piece for the world to marvel
And
The
Dark piece
For the world to fear
But never see
This is me
The "thinking" music Elizabeth plays to day is not the classics she usually plays, but instead "Winter" by Tori Amos, a beautiful song with a stunning piano part. Trista had given her the "Little Earthquakes" sheet music book as a gift when Elizabeth had been new to the school. It had collected dust like most of her other piano books (she prefered playing without the music there) but now she is learning. The song flows like a river.
She wonders about Mr. Drascof. Friend or foe? Though she loves her father and mother, every word, every phrase, every syllable this strange man has uttered seems to be for her own safety.
"Your father does not harm you in any way?"
"No. Never."
"There are things I could tell you about him that would shock you."
"Nothing more than I already know."
"If you know, then how can you think of him as human?"
Elizabeth was not quite sure what scared her more: the possibility that James Drawcrof knew her family's true identity, or the deep, penetrating results of his question that had gone un answered. This man, this man who was her father, who loved her mother with a love so thick and deep that it was almost tangible in the atmosphere of the house, and had taught Elizabeth enough to enrich her mind, was also a cold-blooded murderer. She had always known all of this, but never really thought about it until the mysterious stranger. What if he had never changed? What if this "reality" was all just a front? What if her father was not as human as Elizabeth had thought him to be?
***
James Drawcrof sits at the window of his hotel room and looks down at the world. The first phase in his plan is complete. Now he just has to get the girl to trust him.
When he had played this scenario over and over in his mind, he had to convince himself that he was right. Now, he is past convincing. What must be done must be done. He thinks of Clarise, or whatever one would call her now. What is she doing there, with this madman?
Elizabeth is pretty, like her mother, but has a sophistication that could only have come from her father. This is what scares him. He knows that there is a balance, and only if he could tame the tiger in the lady, his plan will succeed. His plan must succeed. It is only what is right.
***
"This man, in his own, perverse ways has proved himself crazier than the patients he was supposed to help. He is a disgrace to the profession, a boil on the word "psychiatry". Today, ladies and gentlemen of the courtroom, it will be shown that Doctor Hannibal Lecter should be....I can't do this!" Elizabeth's voice had been growing more and more emotional as she had continued on with her opening statement. Her mother was her practice audience, and her mother alone, as she could not bare to say any of her testimony in front of her father. They are in the drawingroom, and Clarise sits with Mischa on her lap. The cat seems to be listening as intently as the mother.
"Yes you can. You just have to be commanding. Act like you own the classroom," her mother advises. Elizabeth smiles at her goddess-like mother, who always taught her to be tough and not to act as man's objects, but Elizabeth is in no mood to be cooperative.
"Would you like to have to do this?"
Clarise sighs. "Do I really have to answer that?"
"Well would you?"
"Elizabeth, I've had to mask my feelings for many years! Think about it! Sometimes, when we are at a fancy party and people talk about where they think he's been, or whatever BS the FBI has come up with. And I want to scream, but I can't, and so I tell them stories. The more heated, the better."
Guilt overcomes Elizabeth, and she goes over to her mother. Soon she realizes that Clarise was not trying to give her grief, but is simply reminding her of what she went through. The thought makes Elizabeth involuntarily shudder. She has heard too many stories, both from the net and from her parents to last a lifetime or two. To love a man such as Hannibal Lecter, whether wife or daughter, requires sacrifice. That is why Clarise and Elizabeth are strong: both physically and mentally.
"I...I'll try again," she whispers, picking Mischa up from where she had so comfortably been sitting and carrying her for good luck. The kitten struggles at first - she had been more than happy to sit down and watch Elizabeth struggle than be a lucky charm, but once she finds her self a comfortable position, she surrenders.
She clears her throat, "Alright, Today, ladies and gentlemen of the courtroom, it will be shown that Doctor Hannibal Lecter should face the harshest punishment that can be given in our criminal justice system: the death penalty. I cannot lie, and I am afraid that the evidence which I present today will not be pretty. It may shock you, offend you, even cause you to loose your lunch. Unfortunately, all this evidence is the truth, and the truth will set you free. My openent will present you today with arguments filled with emotional sentiment. They will tell of World War II scares, and other fluff to attempt to rouse pitty for this...." here Elizabeth struggled, "madman. Ladies and Gentleman of the jurry, I invite you to look at the facts, not the emotions. I am asking you today to condemn an obviously very guilty man to death. My friends, you have a very important decision to make. I put my trust in you that it will be the right one....Dang..." Elizabeth sets Mischa down on the ground, and the kitten promptly returns to Clarise. "That was....difficult..."
"Very convincing," her mother gives an approving nod.
"It's...not...easy."
"No...no...it's not easy at all.
***
James Drawcrof is putting clips of newspapers from the Lecter Trial in Elizabeth's locker. He smiles, arranging each one carefully where it will be in plain site. It is first period, and all the students are in class. The campus seems dead and abandoned, like a ghost town.
He takes the opportunity to look at the contents of the girl's locker and see what they may say about her. He withdraws a portable CD player with Sarah Brightman's "La Luna" inside. He nods. The combination between opera and popular music is no surprise. There are several piano books, in addition to her textbooks (she had a break after her first three periods in which to switch her books). He examines the courses she's taking: Honors Government (Civics), Italian III (advanced), Adv. Mathematics, Psychology (an elective) . There's a copy of her schedule on her locker door written neatly on a magnetic white board (her first three periods being Chemistry Honors, European Literature, and Music Theory), in addition to several notes that had been slipped through the metal vents and into a small magnetic basket that attached to the metal door. So, she is intelligent. Of course, he expected her to be as such. Also, there is her lunch bag (he shudders at this, wondering what sort of lunch she would eat). He opens this and is relieved to find nothing that appeared to be human. She has a lovely salad in a plastic container, with a little balsamic vinegar in a smaller containers, some smoked salmon, and little mini toasts to put the salmon on plus some biscotti for dessert. She has fine tastes. After examining her lunch, he takes the time to examine the notes in the basket. The first one is as follows:
-Trista
and the writing is followed by a japanese-style drawing of a pixie. Most of the notes are similar, from the Trista character. He concludes that she tends to keep mostly to herself, choosing her friends few and carefully, but keeping them at a safe enough distance so that they don't learn anything. Fascinating. He is beginning to get a mental picture of what sort of person she is in his head.
This is when the conscience grabs him. Is this how he would go about his business? Stalking the girl? But he reminds himself of the very different motives. If he had to think like a monster to save the girl, so be it. He is quite interested in his findings, but the bell rings, and he hastily slams the locker door and vanishes into the shadows.
When Elizabeth returns at break, she knows someone else has been there. Though everything is mostly back in its place, there is something not quite right. Then, she sees the newspaper clippings.
***
Hannibal Lecter watches from the shadows as Elizabeth meets James Drawcrof. Usually Elizabeth would notice his presence, but she is so overwhelmed with curiosity and wonder that her perception seem have vanished. Bad, bad judgement.
"You went through my locker today, didn't you, Mr. Drawcrof?" it is not a question, but a statement of fact.
"Yes, I did."
"Why?"
"Because, Elizabeth, I want to make sure that you have everything in order."
"What do you mean?"
"Do you remember what I told you yesterday?"
"It was nothing I didn't already know."
"Then why wouldn't you answer my question?"
Elizabeth bites her lip, as her brain struggles for an answer, she clenches down harder and the salty tint of blood fills her mouth.
"How can I think of my father as human? Mr. Drawcrof, he is my father. He has taught me much about the arts, and about life than most people learn in a life-time."
Hannibal smiles at this.
"Yet he killed so many. He ate them Elizabeth. Have you forgotten who he is? Has your mother forgotten who he is?"
"He is my father! He is my mother's husband! Isn't that answer enough?"
The man is playing games with her mind. Lecter clenches his fist. Two can play at this game.
"Your father has taught you to live a lie. He is inside your head. Elizabeth, I am telling you the truth. Did you find the newspaper clippings I left you?"
"Yes."
"What did they say?"
"Details."
"About what?"
"You know damn well about what!"
"Elizabeth, don't yell. You saw the clippings! They told the truth! You've been living a lie Elizabeth!"
"NO!" she cries, reaches in her pocket and takes two of the newspaper clips and crumples them and throws them at Mr. Drawcrof and she begins to run, letting the wind carry her. There are still three other clippings left in her pocket.
"The truth will set you free Elizabeth!" the man calls after her.
Hannibal Lecter sees all this. This man, what had his name been....Drawcrof....knows the family's little secret, yet has no desire to tell the FBI. Interesting. Drawcrof. Hmmm.... Hanibal retreats into his brain, into his memory palace. It is not even a second, but he knows. He knows. He knows the game. Perhaps you too have some idea.
Dr. Lecter knows that he must continue on cautiously. He cannot let Elizabeth know that he has any idea of this. Should he tell Clarise? Well, the very idea may upset her, and the lambs already have been screaming with fear, however, she has every right to know. Thousands of little plans and calculations zoom in his brain, as he tries to plot the best way to deal with this pest.
***
Elizabeth lies on her bed with her head resting on her knees, which she hugs to her chest, Mischa is nearby, playing with the tastles that are the curtain pulls for her window.
Something about watching the kitten comforts her. She pulls the newspaper clippings out of her pocket and begins to read.
And she read.
And she read.
And she felt like screaming. And crying. And exploding.
Never in her life had she been so confused. Which was right? Who was right?
Was she a cat, a tiger, a creature of the night that belonged in the world of her father and mother?
Or
Was she a bird who was destined to fly away? A sparrow in search of summer? A little bird gaining wings for the first time? Flying on the freedom of the truth that had long avoided her.
TO BE CONTINUED! (stay tuned for chapter three!)
