The Collector
"What do you think of The Collector?" He asked, looking up at her from his writting.
The fifth day in Alissa's home had been very much a silent one.
He suspected she was still attempting to grasp the entire concept he had spoken of yesterday.
She had put off working on the traveling plans in fvor of the book The Collector.
He had spent the day sketching outside, and was very surprised when Alissa decided to follow him outside, book in tow.
The had spoken little all day, but he sensed her interest in him. She continued to glance at him from time to time,
almost as though looking for the answers in his face.
He knew the questions must be buzzing in her mind, and he also knew she could find the answer to most of them on her own,
if she looked deep inside her mind. Her words seemed more vibrent, though she still had the look of remorse,
he found that sparking her curiosity, giving her a taste of himself, had brought back the curiosity in her, which was a start.
As Hannibal looked at her, he found the idea of filling her mind with his knowlage, bringing her back to life,
rearanging her thoughts and perceptions, heightening her senses,
and showing her the world through his eyes quite excited him.
Not a student but a consort. Possibly.
She set the book aside, brushed a few stray hairs from her face and took a deep breath.
"The story is excelent but...Caliban, the Collector, he is such a...ordinary, plain, normal person. He's even dull.
But for some reason, it's still a frightening thought." She said, rubbing the bridge of her nose.
"The concept of a conpulsive kidnapper being so average, like the man next door,
is much more frightening a figure than a dark, mysterious captor.
People are frightened at the idea of not being able to tell evil from good,
thus The Collector is all the more frightening due to his...average personality." He explained.
She nodded looking at him. "Hannibal...since yesterday,i've had this uncontrolable...desire to...understand...everything."
"It's like i'm seeing the world for the first time...yet all over again, in a whole new light.
It's thrilling...and frightening, and disturbing."
HE continued to merly look at her, silent, waiting.
"And, true and exciting as it is, I don't want to see it" She said finally.
"I don't want you to show me all this, I like my world, my concepts, my justice, my morals. I'm a 33 year old attorney:
I don't need my perception changed, or my world shaken. I need to live this, even if it is a lie.
For now, maybe forever. I'm not ready for what you are showing me."
She looked at him, determined, strong, and he glimpsed the stubborn,
feirce and powerful woman she must of once been. A rekindled flame in her voice told him she was alive,
only silghtly, but she had survived.
And now, he watched her flare up, just slightly emerging from the shell of her grief.
He looked at her, unmoving, unflinching, always sure, and never wrong, with those nearly-always calm eyes.
"Alissa, most people will never be ready to know what I'm offering. You however, are not ready, for today.
"I won't ever be ready, I think, certainly not in the next ten days." She declaired softly, strongly.
"That is for me to decide" He said lightly. And she knew he was right: The knowlage was his to bestow;
but that didn't mean she had to listen.
The light chirping of crickets was the only noise other than their voices. The night chill had just set in,
and the sun was down, leaving no decent light to draw or read in.
Alissa, having set aside her book for the conversation, no longer felt the desire to read anyway.
"I don't want any part in this. I don't want to understand you." She spat.
"You want the truth, you constantly search for it, for the meaning. All knowlage comes with a price.
This isn't free. And, in the end, your rational mind won't care what you want, you'll want to know what there is,
you'll want to see the truth. I know you, Alissa" Her name came out as almost a hiss.
He gathered his drawings and enterd the cabin, leaving her in a slight stunned silence.
When her anger finally flared, she peiced together her words and stalked inside after him,
A retort on her tounge.
Author's Note: The Collector is actually an exsisting book by John Fowls.
An excellent book, one of my two favorites.
I think many Hannibal fans would be able to appreciate it.
"What do you think of The Collector?" He asked, looking up at her from his writting.
The fifth day in Alissa's home had been very much a silent one.
He suspected she was still attempting to grasp the entire concept he had spoken of yesterday.
She had put off working on the traveling plans in fvor of the book The Collector.
He had spent the day sketching outside, and was very surprised when Alissa decided to follow him outside, book in tow.
The had spoken little all day, but he sensed her interest in him. She continued to glance at him from time to time,
almost as though looking for the answers in his face.
He knew the questions must be buzzing in her mind, and he also knew she could find the answer to most of them on her own,
if she looked deep inside her mind. Her words seemed more vibrent, though she still had the look of remorse,
he found that sparking her curiosity, giving her a taste of himself, had brought back the curiosity in her, which was a start.
As Hannibal looked at her, he found the idea of filling her mind with his knowlage, bringing her back to life,
rearanging her thoughts and perceptions, heightening her senses,
and showing her the world through his eyes quite excited him.
Not a student but a consort. Possibly.
She set the book aside, brushed a few stray hairs from her face and took a deep breath.
"The story is excelent but...Caliban, the Collector, he is such a...ordinary, plain, normal person. He's even dull.
But for some reason, it's still a frightening thought." She said, rubbing the bridge of her nose.
"The concept of a conpulsive kidnapper being so average, like the man next door,
is much more frightening a figure than a dark, mysterious captor.
People are frightened at the idea of not being able to tell evil from good,
thus The Collector is all the more frightening due to his...average personality." He explained.
She nodded looking at him. "Hannibal...since yesterday,i've had this uncontrolable...desire to...understand...everything."
"It's like i'm seeing the world for the first time...yet all over again, in a whole new light.
It's thrilling...and frightening, and disturbing."
HE continued to merly look at her, silent, waiting.
"And, true and exciting as it is, I don't want to see it" She said finally.
"I don't want you to show me all this, I like my world, my concepts, my justice, my morals. I'm a 33 year old attorney:
I don't need my perception changed, or my world shaken. I need to live this, even if it is a lie.
For now, maybe forever. I'm not ready for what you are showing me."
She looked at him, determined, strong, and he glimpsed the stubborn,
feirce and powerful woman she must of once been. A rekindled flame in her voice told him she was alive,
only silghtly, but she had survived.
And now, he watched her flare up, just slightly emerging from the shell of her grief.
He looked at her, unmoving, unflinching, always sure, and never wrong, with those nearly-always calm eyes.
"Alissa, most people will never be ready to know what I'm offering. You however, are not ready, for today.
"I won't ever be ready, I think, certainly not in the next ten days." She declaired softly, strongly.
"That is for me to decide" He said lightly. And she knew he was right: The knowlage was his to bestow;
but that didn't mean she had to listen.
The light chirping of crickets was the only noise other than their voices. The night chill had just set in,
and the sun was down, leaving no decent light to draw or read in.
Alissa, having set aside her book for the conversation, no longer felt the desire to read anyway.
"I don't want any part in this. I don't want to understand you." She spat.
"You want the truth, you constantly search for it, for the meaning. All knowlage comes with a price.
This isn't free. And, in the end, your rational mind won't care what you want, you'll want to know what there is,
you'll want to see the truth. I know you, Alissa" Her name came out as almost a hiss.
He gathered his drawings and enterd the cabin, leaving her in a slight stunned silence.
When her anger finally flared, she peiced together her words and stalked inside after him,
A retort on her tounge.
Author's Note: The Collector is actually an exsisting book by John Fowls.
An excellent book, one of my two favorites.
I think many Hannibal fans would be able to appreciate it.