Tralala… Back from my slightly impromptu vacation. I've been home three hours and I already miss the Bay. Pitiful, no? The little excursion proved to be fruitful, providing me with wonderful locales for the tale. Thank you to all who have been reading my stuff, especially chameleon302, Kurt, troesnaja, Steel, and Nanci. Kurt, I am still truly flattered by being compared to Thomas Harris' writing style. I can only try.
Okay, now for the normal disclaimers, since I seem to forget about them lately…. The dear Dr. Lecter and the dearly departed Agent Starling are not mine, I have only borrowed them for my own use for a short time. Emily Christophersen and her daughter Mischa are mine, although, they are up for rent. LOL Oh, and not wanting to give the story away (what fun would that be?) there are a few other characters popping in that are also property of Thomas Harris. Okey dokey, here we go…. Again.
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She watches as the man she was sitting next to steps from the gangway and onto the pier. He walks towards the ferry building, his stride is unmistakable. She follows behind, trying to be discreet. All she needs is one good look at his face, to confirm that it is him. She steps through the doors and sees him going down the left hallway. She follows, her heels clicking on the tile and echoing back to her off the walls. She sees him turn the corner and she quickens her pace. Rounding the corner she finds herself in an empty corridor. She stifles a curse and stalks towards the door on the other end, helpfully marked with an exit sign. She bursts out into the late afternoon sun to find an empty sidewalk. He is gone, disappeared into the crowd not surprising, since he has made a habit of doing so.
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The man known as Dr. Antonio Rinaldi steps into the foyer of the Nob Hill home and hangs his coat and fedora in the closet. He carries with him into the kitchen a bottle of wine, and is greeted by a truly domestic scene. His wife, known as Dr. Amelia Rinaldi, is seated at the table, trying to feed something green and pureed to the baby girl sitting in the high chair before her. She didn't hear him come in but his daughter did, instantly brightening at the sight of her father. His wife turns a moment later smiling at him, taking the washcloth from her shoulder to wipe at some of the green puree that decorates her right cheek. The cheek is smooth now, plastic surgery having removed the scars that her mother had given her. He shows her the wine and receives an approving nod before he sets it on the counter and coming to stand behind her. He picks up one of the glass jars she has on the table, eyeing the label. He looks from the barely touched puree inside and to the smears that covered the tray of his daughter's high chair. He took a seat opposite his wife and opened the jar.
"Someone doesn't want to eat her dinner tonight?" he asks, sniffing the pale brown puree in the jar he holds.
A sigh before she answers. "No. We have tried everything on the menu for the evening. She only wants the strained peaches, but those are for dessert." She holds the tiny spoon out to him and he takes it. "Feel free to try, if you're up to the task." she grins as he takes a spoonful of the brown puree.
"I believe I am." His daughter is watching with skepticism as she sees him near her mouth with the spoon. She clamped her mouth shut and refused to budge.
"Hmmm. Maybe if you try the airplane thing with her." his wife suggests, shrugging lightly. He does, with the same results. He taps the stuff on the spoon back into the jar and tries the next jar. Green puree, which the label identifies as strained peas. Still, his daughter refuses.
"Okay, little Mischa, you don't like the main course or your vegetables." he is once again tapping the spoon's contents into the jar. He looks at the jar that has orange puree, the strained peaches she does like. "Mother says no dessert until you eat your dinner, and your mother knows best." he smiles across at his wife who smiles pleasantly in return.
"Try the roast beef again." she suggests. He once again scoops a spoonful form the jar. This time he looks at it intently before trying to feed it to his reluctant daughter. Maybe… He makes sure she is watching as he begins to go "Mmmmm," and inserts the spoon into his own mouth. As the puree hits his tongue his face contorts into something like his daughter's face when he entered the kitchen. He quickly swallows the tiny mouthful and takes the water glass that is sitting at his wife's elbow. Mother and daughter are finding this rather amusing he notices. His wife has a hand covering her mouth, trying to hide her laughter. He looks at her, mock anger playing on his face.
"Dear Emily, do you find this amusing?"
Giggles as she lowers the hand. "Oh, if you could only see your face, Hannibal!" Emily pulls the washcloth from her shoulder and wipes a spot of the puree from his lower lip. "You look like you disdain it even more than Michelle." she is still laughing as she rises from the chair and goes to the sink.
"Indeed I do." he looks to his daughter as she claps her chubby little hands. "You are right not to eat this swill." he informs her in a stage whisper. He gathers up the jars and begins to replace the lids before he dropped the strained peas and the roast beef into the trash compactor. Emily turns and places her hands on her hips.
"What are you doing with those?" she asks, her tone is serious but he can see points of laughter in her eyes. She doesn't have the contacts in, considering she rarely wears them at home.
"Placing them with the other rubbish. May I ask what we are having for dinner tonight?"
She points a pale finger at the trash compactor he is closing. "You just threw it away." she watches as he closes the compactor fully and hits the compact button.
"Hmmm. It seems you will have to select something else."
She laughs and begins to collect Michelle from her high chair. "So I see. You choose, I'm going to get her bathed and changed." she pauses for a quick kiss from him as she steps from the high chair. she looks from his maroon to his daughter's matching ones. "Then its bedtime for little Mischa here."
He nods, and she heads to the stairs. Minutes later he hears the water in the master bath upstairs. Amazing. He never saw himself in this role, the thought of him as a doting father was rather amusing. He lingered on that thought as he opened the wine and began to pull out the necessities for the meal's preparation. Very amusing indeed.
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