There wasn't much Dr Gateway Normal Gateway 2 1 2001-11-01T22:33:00Z 2001-11-01T22:33:00Z 11 3606 20556 171 41 25244 9.2720

There wasn't much Dr. Fell wished to take with him.  A house full of things, objects, replaceables…there were a few Rembrandts he stored, a bottle or so of his finest wine, but everything else lacked the personal touch, and remained discarded on shelves or cabinets.  Perhaps fifteen minutes was spent in scrutiny of the manor after he cleaned up the mess Pilcher made on his Persian rugs.  The body itself found a resting place in the pool.  In the unlikely circumstance of facing complete failure in his attempt to get Clarice out of the house, he would cover it up with the rest of the winterization. 

However much he was tempted to do so now, Dr. Fell schooled himself to patience and sensibility. 

Fell hesitated only to consider what he might bring to persuade Krendler to listen to reason.  However, with the blood of Pilcher staining his hands, he acknowledged his immediate danger already.  Eventually, quicker because of Gracie's death, the disappearance of her husband would be reported.  And as swiftly as he could, Krendler would leap at the opportunity to incriminate the last man who saw him alive.

Killing was inevitable, and while he accepted this, it was with some irony that such links came with reluctance.  Five years had successfully worn the last of his patience, yet also enhanced his already superhuman durability.  Though to reinforce the distance from Clarice would pain him, he likewise knew things were different now.  She knew to wait for him; she knew he would come back for her.

However, Fell did not anticipate encountering much difficulty with Krendler.  The man was spineless, shying behind doors and locks.  Petty threats were his forte, and once he saw they no longer carried leverage, his stamina would break.

Standard case. 

Before leaving the Fell Manor, the doctor traced the trail between the lawns of the two houses, perhaps for the first time since Crawford orchestrated the reunion between himself and Clarice.  Though he had not made the journey nearly as often as his neighbor had, he found himself coursed with an air of familiarity, stuck in one of those earlier summer days.  From here, the view of her dock was vibrant, perhaps even more so than his.  Dr. Fell indulged in a few seconds to gaze across the bay, but quickly turned his attention back to the task.

Crawford was on his porch, sipping coffee.  When he realized he had company, he turned with some surprise.  To his memory, Fell had only visited once before, and that was with a distinct motive in mind.  If ever additional attention was desired, they were only separated by a phone call.  His intentions tonight carried an ambiguous aura.

"Good evening, Jack," greeted the doctor courteously.

"Evening?  Not quite."

"Close enough for my tastes."  Fell turned to follow his gaze once more across the bay, though his eyes lingered from the green light that flickered mockingly.  "There are some things you should know," he said after a minute, deciding against a hefty preface.  In the past few weeks, Crawford proved himself a reliable individual, perhaps one of the only good-to-honest friends he made since his incarceration.  It seemed odd; a friendship with this man when it seemed they should be enemies.  Perhaps at another time in another place, but not now.  Now, he offered as much of the truth as he could without endangering either of them, if that was even possible anymore. 

"Things?" Crawford replied innocently, shifting slightly to gaze at him, which he did not gratify with a returned look.  "All right.  What things?"

"Firstly, I visited the Krendler residence today, after our chat," he stated.  "I know several things now.  Things you perhaps will not believe.  However, before I begin, I want to let you know how grateful I am to have met you this summer, Jack.  Your assistance has not gone unnoticed, and I thank you for everything you have done.  I know I was not the easiest person to assist, if only for my spontaneous requests."  At this, he turned to hold Crawford's gaze and shook his head when he saw he wanted to speak.  "Please, let me continue.  You never asked where I came from, never mentioned the gossip or rumors, unless, of course, I asked it of you.  You politely refused to make a spectacle out of an odd situation.  I thank you for your courtesy and consideration."

There was a short silence in which he allowed him to gather his thoughts and summon some form of reply.  "Dr. Fell…" Crawford began, eyes wide with bewilderment at his sudden onslaught of praise, hyphenated as it was.  "It…I really…it was no problem."

The doctor smiled.  "I know better than that.  It was plenty of trouble, but it has passed now, and I will not dwell.  Just know you have my thanks, and promise of assistance if ever you need it."  He took a breath in preparation for what he had to tell him.  "Now, I have reason to believe that Paul Krendler has done something to restrain Clarice in one of the upper rooms.  He refused to let me see her, even speak with her to confirm any sort of altered decision."

"Is that so surprising?" Crawford retorted cynically.  "After all, you two did announce you were eloping yesterday.  *And* he lost his mistress."

"Yes, I took that into account.  However, I have a knack for detecting when I am being lied to.  Furthermore, I know Clarice would have at least attempted to tell me herself, should these accusations be true."  Dr. Fell chuckled lightly.  "He suggested she considered me a monster for the brutality of seizing Gracie's life.  Ignorance is a bliss, I suppose."

Without glancing to Crawford to confirm his visual realization, Fell allowed his eyes to fall on the green light at the end of her dock, and he knew time for action was nearing.  "As a result, Mr. Krendler decided to send me a very misguided Noble Pilcher, thirsty for revenge."

"Noble was at your house?"

At that, Fell turned and locked eyes again, holding his voice definitively a single word.  "Was."

A dead silence as Crawford regarded him with some astonishment, though there was also a lack of surprise.  "You mean he's…?"

"He arrived with a shotgun.  I don't believe it was his intention to talk civilly."

"But you…?"

"Don't assume, Jack."  And he swiftly maneuvered to another matter.  "Such has convinced me to get her out of that house, no matter the cost.  I came here to say goodbye, for chances are, you will not be hearing from me for a while.  Also, should I be unsuccessful, I would like your assurances that you will watch after her."

"Watch after her?"

"I do not anticipate encountering much trouble, nevertheless, I must be prepared." Growing weary of the time, Fell glanced in the direction of his drive.  "I should leave now.  I've told you too much as it is.  Goodbye, Jack.  Thank you."

Obviously wanting to say more, Crawford drew in a breath, coaxed another glance from the doctor, then released with a wan smile with a nod.  "Goodbye, Dr. Fell.  It's been a pleasure."

The farewell was short and not overdramatic, both presented with the knowledge they would most likely never see the other again, despite promises made to compensate for services.  As Dr. Fell moved away, he felt his neighbor's eyes on his back, and likewise knew it was not in disapproval.  Of the few people he could respect in this world, the very few, Crawford was one of them.

But now was not the time to dwell.  There were more important matters to address.

*            *            *

Dr. Fell was particularly grateful when Krendler neglected to answer the door.  Instead, he was greeted by the butler, Frank, whose eyes widened briefly in recognition.  Before he could react, Fell let his Harpy slide out of his right arm sleeve, precisely where he had it stored before, and swiftly tore a bloody swipe across his throat.  Smoothly, he stepped over the man as he fell and closed the door behind him. 

The coast was deviously clear, and while he didn't trust Krendler not to sneak behind him with a baseball bat or some mediocre weapon that would similarly fail to put his reputation as a decent human being at stake, Dr. Fell refused to settle in the entry.  Instead, he headed upstairs and stopped at the landing.

There was a hallway and every door was closed.  Fell frowned and listened for something to betray itself, discouraged when his usually superb hearing failed him. 

Softly, though audibly, he drew in a breath and released her name, knowing that she would hear him if she were anywhere in the proximity.  "Clarice."

Much to his joy, there was an immediate reaction.  From the secondary guest room, not the master bedroom nor the chamber he suspected she had occupied for the past five years of her marital relationship, came a very sharp, pronounced tapping.  "Here!" she screamed, not modest with the volume of her voice.  "I'm in here!"

Quickly covering the space between himself and the door, Fell tried the knob, though already knowing how far he would get with it.  As he considered, he spoke, if only to ease her.  "Where is he?" he asked, voice deliberately calm. 

"I don't know!" Clarice declared in return.  "Oh God, I was so worried.  I heard…did Noble come by?  Did he…?"

"Hmm…yes," Fell replied, nearly decided to simply kick the door open.  By this time, he was eager just to see her face, her liberated face, and get her out of here.  Broken locks meant nothing to him.  "With a shotgun."

"Where is he?  Did he follow you over here?"

"I rather doubt it."

There was an uncomfortable pause on the other side of the door, and while he wasn't in the position to see, he knew immediately her concern.  Without voicing recognition, he waited patiently for the accusatory, "You killed him, didn't you?"

"For means of survival, Clarice, yes I did."  There was no shame in his tone, and he suspected that wasn't what she was looking for.  "I also killed your butler.  And, should I find your darling husband…well…you can guess his fate."  Without awaiting her reply, Fell allowed the last of his patience to slip, uncharacteristically succumbing to the desire to kick the door open.  A small chunk of wood skated into the hall as the frame shook and gave in, swinging open to reveal her face.  Her beautiful, tense, and very reassured face.  Betraying his own relief, Dr. Fell waited for her reaction, knowing honesty was the foremost policy in this relationship.  Without it, they couldn't function on attraction.

When he saw what he needed to see, leaving perhaps a five second gap between dialogue, he swept inside, taking her in his massive embrace.  She squeezed back tightly, comforting him of her conviction, should anything be in question. 

"I don't think I've ever been happier to see you," she decided with a sigh.

"Never ever?" he teased, however mutual the feeling was. 

"Trust me."

They were still a beat after that, trusting each other's eyes for what couldn't be said.  After unhurried seconds, their lips met in blessed hope, as well as relief that the predominantly difficult part was over.  The taste was exploratory though brief, love and more than loved conveyed by eager mouths. 

The moment, of course, couldn't possibly last long.  Long before the man spoke, Fell smelled his intrusive aroma and detected disastrously delicate footsteps.  Thus, when Krendler took a swing at his head with a baseball bat, he was beyond prepared.  Despite Clarice's scream of warning, he whirled around and caught the assault in mid-air.  Krendler, taken aback, found quite quickly he was not in the position of strength, and gasped his terror as the bat was yanked from his grasp.

Clarice instinctively stepped away from the two as Fell turned him violently.  Then Krendler's back was to the window, the large window on the far side of the room.  Bat discarded and now in his wife's grasp, he watched the Harpy stained with Frank's blood as it made its way to comfortably rest against his jugular.  Fell's free arm went to rest against the glass, his eyes capturing Krendler's and smiling satisfactorily to see his fear.

"Now then," the doctor said conversationally, "that wasn't very nice, was it?"  There was no immediate response, just the horrified gaze of a man who knew he was seriously…

Fucked.

The silence received merited a wider smile.  A blind man could see the malevolence of his intentions gleaming in maroon pupils. "I can't understand why you feel short of words, Mr. Krendler," he continued a minute later.  "After all, your speech did not seem so constricted when last we spoke."

Pleadingly, Krendler ignored the statement and shot a fearful glance to Clarice.  "Don't let him do this!"

"Please, Paul, you brought this on yourself," Fell observed, pressing the Harpy further into his skin, though not deep enough to draw blood.  "Leave her out of this."

"Clarice!" he begged, pointedly ignoring the request.  "Don't let him do this!  He killed Frank, Gracie, probably Pilcher…God knows what he'll do to you—"

At that, the doctor hummed his amusement but didn't comment.  Clarice beat him to the punch.  "Paul, for Christ's sake, shut the fuck up.  Han…Arthur didn't kill Gracie.  He wasn't driving that car."

The room fell still as his eyes went from terrified to curious.  Perking an interested though conscious brow, Krendler divided his attention between her and Fell as he stuttered, "Oh?  Is that a fact?" 

"Dipshit.  I was driving."

The silence that followed stank of shock and disbelief.  Dr. Fell used his distraction to move the Harpy from his throat, tapping his cheek slightly in an attempt to bring him back to self-awareness.  "There, there," he sneered in a mock of condolence.  "No need to forget yourself, Mr. Krendler.  Rest assured, you will be joining her soon.

"Any suggestions, hmmm?  I could slit your throat.  Nice, quick, convenient, given our position.  However, I do hate redundancy, and I am a strong supporter of the old institution that suggests the punishment should fit the crime."  Dr. Fell smiled.  "I could make you smile, Paul.  A nice big smile.  From ear…" Slowly, he drew the Harpy from one side of his face to the other, blade whispering its threat over moist skin.  "…to ear.  I suppose I could filet your innards, but you see, I don't believe putting so much consideration into a man's demise, especially one such as yourself, unless there is some ulterior motive.  I never shy from symbolism. So Paul, not that I will necessarily adhere to your input, but I don't mind a proposition or two.  Do you have any personal preference?  Something reasonable, really.  For instance, I don't exactly have time to execute a successful Chinese Water Torture."   

"You could let me go…" Krendler pleaded, eyes large as he sensed the proximity of what was to come, even if he didn't know exactly what to expect.

There was a mocking chuckle in reply.  "Now why would I want to do that, Paul?  I killed poor Frank for answering the door, Pilcher for breaking into my home.  They performed entirely trivial, perhaps misguided tasks.  You, however, have intentionally pressed my good graces to the last and final straw.  In doing so, you willingly sealed your fate.  I cannot accept ignorance as a suitable excuse to what you have forced your wife, and I say that hesitantly, to endure.  You scream robbery, and yet you are a thief as well."  Dr. Fell's eyes shone with excitement.  Slowly, he moved his Harpy hand to the window, boxing Krendler in and tapping the glass lightly with the tip of the blade.  "The question is, what is appropriate for a man such as yourself? Poor Pilcher I could respect, perhaps offer sympathy.  Your dear butler, Frank, even held an ode of esteem.  Though I am not one to judge, I must say I believe they went out with style.  You, on the other hand…" As though lost in consideration, Fell drew back, eyes burning maliciously into his.  "You are simply not worth the effort." 

With torturous leisure, Fell's arms fell limply to his sides, teasing a sway of indecision, granting him time to run, should he decide on a chase.  The room grew silent once more with the absence of his voice, silent and uncomfortable.  Tension teetered and stretched, beads of perspiration trickling down Krendler's forehead and face.

Clarice, motionless beside the bed, watched with growing interest, aware of her heart cadencing in anticipation.

Given the silence that consumed them for those long minutes, what followed was loud and obnoxious, and took everyone save Fell by surprise.  With sudden velocity and strength, the doctor's arms shoved forward to the window, shattering it without much effort, as though punching in a storm-door screen.  Krendler barely had time to scream his shock.  He disappeared in a blur of broken glass and framework, tumbling out of sight.

There was a thud from below, and the shrill of his voice abruptly stopped.  

Fell took a minute to gaze over the side, his eyes lingering in appreciation.  The picture below was nothing overdramatic, which he liked.  A man, visibly dead, covered in shards of broken window, twisted to lie in his own misery.

However, the doctor did not consider him for long.  After a minute or two of satisfied inspection, he turned to look at Clarice, whose gaze was locked fiercely on the place the glass had vanished.  Her eyes were clouded with disbelief.

For the briefest second, Fell was unsure if she was disconcerted, having witnessed a murder.  But only a second.  It took very little to dissect the emotion bursting in her pupils.  She was not in disbelief because he was dead; she was shocked it was over. 

Over.

"Clarice?"

As he hoped, his voice coaxed her attention from the nonexistent window.  When he had her eyes, he continued.  "Clarice…it's over."

They shared a glance for a few seconds before hurriedly moving together, kissing with frenzy and reassurance.  Dr. Fell was prepared when she burst into tears.  Swiftly, he took her in his embrace once more.  As her frame broke into small, relentless quivers, he soothed her, encouraged her to recline on his shoulder, and promised everything would be all right from now on. 

*            *            *

In reference to the crashing sound Krendler's falling form produced, a neighbor took the liberty of phoning for the police.  Dusk was setting when the authorities arrived.  The case was almost dismissed as an accident, as no prints were found on the body.  However, that theory lost its value when the baseball bat was discovered under the bed, and a more extensive search that produced Frank's body. 

Given the events of the night before, the double murder was immediately linked by the press to Gracie's death.

From West Egg, where the authorities had not yet extended their investigation, Fell and Crawford stood outside, watching the flashing lights.  Not once did the doctor's eyes dwindle on the green light of the bay, for Clarice was here now, and they were minutes away from departure. 

They were at Crawford's place.  Though no one came knocking on the Fell Manor, the chance was too great.  Clarice said her goodbyes and again thanked her cousin for all his assistance.  It was warmly received and reciprocated. 

The sun was setting.  Crawford offered Fell one last drink, and they enjoyed it together, both steadily aware of the time, however, both correspondingly knowing this was the last time they would have together.  Even with their meeting earlier that day, the end hadn't seemed quite so close.  There had to be an epilogue, a finale to their friendship.  This arrangement had more closure.

"Where will you go?" Crawford asked softly, eyes not moving from the display across the bay.

There was nothing at first.  Dr. Fell tossed him a brief glance, shrugged and took a long sip of his wine.  "I don't know.  Overseas, most likely.  Europe.  Clarice says she has always wanted to visit Italy.  I believe she will like it there."  A second pause, and their eyes met.  "We can't stay here, old sport.  And contact for a while will be dangerous, otherwise I would encourage you to keep in touch."

"I know," Crawford replied with a sigh.  "It just seems…I can't believe it's over."

At that, Fell grinned.  "You have no idea." A few more minutes of silence as he finished his drink and admired the scenery.  "I will miss it here.  The quiet, peaceful rural life.  Away from the city scene." His neighbor hummed his agreement and similarly finished his drink. 

"I will miss your parties," Crawford offered.

The doctor's grin broadened.  "I won't.  Ghastly things."  A sigh.  "Well, I think it's about time we made the off, don't you agree?"

"Yes.  They'll make their way over here eventually."

"Don't be afraid to tell them anything.  You won't incriminate us."

Skeptically, Crawford arched a brow.  "Ye of little faith."

There was an appreciative chuckle.  "Touché."  They turned instinctively to face each other, shook hands one last time, and smiled. 

"Farewell, then?" the doctor asked a minute later.

"Let me see you off."

Crawford followed him down to the car.  The Rolls-Royce and Jaguar were stored safely in Fell's garage, as he decided it was best to simply let his horrendous secret be discovered.  As he slipped into the driver's seat, he rolled down the window to speak once more.   

"I nearly forgot.  I prepared this for you," he announced, handing over a small container, capped with a blue lid.  It looked domestic and whimsical, provoking a short laugh from Crawford. The doctor continued: "I was going to hold an extravagant dinner later this week, however, life is spontaneous and likes to present issues when it is most inconvenient."

Studying the tubberwear curiously, Crawford arched both brows.  "What is it?"

"Oh, you'll see.  My assurances, it's to die for."

"Ah, well then.  I'll trust your judgment.  Thanks."

Fell smiled.  "Goodbye, Jack."

"Goodbye, Dr. Fell."

"Goodbye, Jack!" Clarice called pleasantly from the passenger seat.

Smiling, Crawford leaned closer to wave to his cousin.  "Bye, Clarice.  I wish you both the best."

"Thanks," she replied sincerely.  "That means a lot to me."

They could potentially extend their farewell for hours, trading thanks and accepting gratitude.  However, time ran short, and all recognized this.  When Fell rolled up his window, leaving the goodbyes at an awkward standstill, Crawford instinctively stood back, patting the hood of the car as sped off, leaving him to collect the dust of their getaway.

Though they promised to keep in touch, eventually write and get together, he knew he would never see either of them again.  The prospect didn't bother him; rather, he was happy they both finally had what they wanted.  He could never tell his story, never share how he assisted these two star-crossed lovers to untangle their fate and reach each other.  Not with the bloodshed in the past few days.  In a matter of seconds, the love of two people turned from a domestic issue to national news.  Once they discovered Fell's Jaguar, it was only a matter of time before the story pieced together.

But they were away now, safe, and together.

With a sigh, Crawford glanced to the container in his grasp.  He would prepare whatever was inside tonight before it spoiled and toast a glass to absent friends. His friends now, soon to be fugitives of the law. As his hands pried the lid open, Crawford's eyes danced to the scene against the bay.  Never again would it look the same, the lack of a single green light flickering for the hopes of his neighbor that time could reverse itself.  That he might defeat all logic and get that second chance many only aspire to.

A teacup shattered on the floor had pieced itself together.  What liberation and hope did that promise the future?

The lid opened with a quaint pop, and Crawford's eyes lingered a minute longer before traveling downward.  There was a generous slab of meat with an index card sitting on top.  Smiling to himself at Fell's presumptions, he lifted it to the light from his porch, expecting directions for the cooking procedure or what-have-you, something entirely predictable for the doctor to consider. 

In elegant script, though, the card read:

Jack,

Just a token of my esteem.  I hope you enjoy it. 

Thank you for the wine.

                                                            Regards,

                                                                        Hannibal Lecter, MD

With sudden sharpness, Crawford looked up.  A tightening constricted in his chest, his eyes alight with realization.  So it was true.  It was all true.  Despite his earlier revelation, he felt the taste of knowledge and found its flavor disagreeable.  Hannibal the Cannibal.  Dr. Fell.  His neighbor.

 As he dropped the container in disgust, or perhaps fear of what he held, Crawford glanced down the street where the Bentley disappeared, half-expecting to see the doctor there, laughing at his play.

The road, however, was empty.  In the twilight of evening, a small cloud of dust collected in the absence of passing vehicles, but nothing more. 

FIN