Okay, okay… There will be giant radioactive ants, in the NEXT story. Somehow I've been lured into writing this really campy horror tale, so everyone prepare yourselves. Anyhoo, they really don't have a place in this tale, so I hope you will all be patient with me in waiting for them. And here I thought I could write you guys a story or two, then sink back into obscurity. Fat chance of that happening, though I have to say I'm enjoying this. Okay, enough blathering, back to what's important: The chapter!

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Silence. The sound of it was deafening, even though she had been longing for it for days now. The screams had finally stopped, but she didn't really recall how or when, it was just… quiet. Quiet and warm, and not in her own bed. She rolled over and felt out the distance between her and the edge with her foot. Small bed, not the huge king that she was accustomed to. Twin maybe. The sheets could be felt slipping across her silk pajamas, and she identified the source of the warmth. She blinked and focused on the window which was facing east, allowing the morning sun to stream in. She was in the guest bedroom above the porch. As to why she was in there, that was her next question. Slowly working her way through the 'Five W's' that had been ingrained in her in grade school. Who, what, when, where, why.

Emily had gathered the when and where and what, now to surmise the why and who as to her current location. Who is a relatively easy question, since there was only one person who would place her here. Okay, so Dr. Hannibal Lecter had placed her in the guest room. She hadn't remembered coming in here with him. Odd, she didn't really remember anything of the past few days. She slowly sat up, careful of the lingering knot on her skull from her shower accident and the dizzy spell that was now accompanying her movements. A glass of water sat on a bedside table, along with two white pills. The water was cool to the touch, but not cold, indicating that it had been there for a little while. The pills, thankfully nothing more than aspirin. She swallowed them with a sip of the water.

Emily pushed herself up from the bed, slipping her feet into a conveniently placed pair of slippers. A dressing gown hung from a hanger on the door. The bookshelves that lined the room were dusty and she made a mental note to have Marta dust up here next week. She could hear a child's laughter coming faintly through the door, and she reached for the knob. A twist and the only thing that moved was her hand on the knob. She crouches and looks at the knob. The one off the basement door, installed with the lock on the outside of the door. Emily took a deep breath, standing again, and running a hand back through her hair. A prisoner on her own home.

No answers in that moment, only an additional one being piled on top. Surprised that she didn't have an urge to scream and try to break down the door itself, she retreated to the bed. She sat on the edge of it, staring forlornly at the obstacle to her freedom. He had better have had a good reason for doing this. One does not encourage trust within a marriage by locking ones spouse in the guest room. Nor does one encourage trust by killing people, intoned a little voice in the back of her mind. Cold ran through her body as effectively as if the blood in her veins had been turned to ice water. She had murdered not just one, but three people. And for what purpose? Before she could begin to decipher an answer there came a gentle knock on the door. She blinked, unable to command her mouth to speak. They came again after a few moments, three precise raps.

"Come in." she found her voice and heard a key in the lock. Her pulse had elevated as she waited on the bed, tense and struggling to control the fight or flight response. The door opened and Hannibal stepped in, carrying a tray with him. He didn't quite smile at her as he set the tray on the desk, and then turned to close the door. Emily watched him with the eyes of a curious bird, questions tickled her lips but she couldn't find a way to voice them, so she just watched.

Dr. Lecter drew the old desk chair away from the desk and moved it to sit in front of his wife. She looked like she was ready to bolt at the slightest noise, eyes wide and round as she watched him. She still looked tired, but better than he had seen in past days. She blinked once or twice during the minutes that followed, but did not react beyond that. Surely she wanted to know why she was being imprisoned. A loud burst of laughter followed by a shrill yell came up the stairs. He watched as her perception left him and focused on the door. Palms were placed on the bed, ready to propel her forward on motherly instinct.

"Who's with our daughter?" it was a little above a whisper as she glanced from door back to his eyes. There was fear in them, as if she would think that he would put his baby girl in harm's way.

"An old friend, I assure you, she is in safe hands." She regarded this for an instant, then relaxed a little, bringing her hands back into her lap. Her head shifted and she looked around the room, gaze deftly sliding everywhere where he was not. They settled on him after another few minutes of silence and study of the armoire in the corner. She drew a deep breath, preparing herself to ask the single question that was hammering through her mind.

"Why?"

No indication of what it was referring to. The why of her imprisonment, the why of her actions, the why of his being here now. General and demanding an answer. But where to begin? At the beginning of course.

"You've made much progress over the past few days, Emily. Not that I expect you to remember much. We've talked, delved into your shadows and have begun to dispel them."

"How?"

"A number of hypnotics. Similar to what I used on you in Baltimore. Much more similar to those I used on Clarice in Chesapeake."

"Oh." she was quiet and not willing to really go beyond monosybillic words for the moment. He continued, talking to her in a calm manner, voice as soft as the silk she was clothed in.

"What you did, Emily was…" Wrong? he questioned himself. That was tantamount to informing himself that the deeds he had committed were also wrong. What word then? He was at a loss, as he had been on the subject for the past seventy two hours. She noted his lack of words and finally spoke something more to him.

"You want to say 'wrong', Hannibal? Then say it, and condemn yourself along with me." the words were not spoken with a hint of anger in them. Just soft, but unyielding, laying out the truth. A shadow of a smile fluttered across her lips, gone as quickly as a shooting star. She knew what she was, knew what he was, and was willing to see it for what it was.

"I killed. Part of me is frightened by this, part of me is not." She was finding explanations for herself, and trying to grasp them as best she could. "The part of me that's not frightens me. It is the one that assures me that it is okay to do the things that I did." She waited for him to say 'Its not' even though she knew he wouldn't, almost couldn't.

"My mother was a murderer, I reveled in pain in my youth. Took pleasure from seeing myself physically dominate others. You made me face that and offered yourself to me. Your flesh and blood."

"You didn't take it."

"No, I didn't. I took it from others, when I became overwhelmed. I never did take it from you."

"Why not Emily?" Hannibal felt himself lean forward, watching her as she spoke.

"There's still something stopping me."

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