Chapter 22
N/A – Thanks so much for your reviews! I can't believe you actually like my work. I always thought people I knew face-to-face were always gilding the truth a bit, but you haven't said things very different from them at all! I'm so honored and humbled!
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Chapter 22: The Still Before the Storm
It was a cool night. Not quite cold, for nearly mid-winter. But the weather this year had been unpredictably warm. A dark maroon 1985 BMW was parked at the Snyder Bridge Scenic Area on US Route 2 in New Hampshire. The front driver side door stood open, the inside light creating a warm light down over Clarice, who lay in the back seat. A small red pillow was tucked under her Irish red hair. A white blanket covered her body, which had begun to show the delicate condition she was in.
The soft volume of the radio played Hannibal's beloved Goldberg Veriations.
Standing at the hood of the car, stood the good Doctor himself. Like Clarice, his hair was died, and he had grown a small mustache he found extremely distasteful and intolerable. But those were the sacrifices of disguise. When she woke, Clarice would put in contacts that made her eyes a dark olive green.
Watching the sunrise, Hannibal leaned back onto the low hood of the car, wearing a blue cotton sweater, and brand new blue jeans. Only the expensive loafers on his feet showed his ultimate taste for style. To keep the breeze off his hair, he wore the white fedora he'd bought while living in Florence, and his favored pair of dark tinted sunglasses to hide the maroon of his eyes.
Out of his pocket, he pulled a cell phone – another stolen one. He'd gone through twelve so far. He pushed a single button before bringing it to his ear. After seven rings, a groggy voice answered on the other end of the line.
"This had better be Catherine Zeta-Jones."
Hannibal smirked momentarily.
"I'm sorry to disappoint you." He said in a quiet voice. "I just thought it was time for that talk I promised you."
There was a long pause. In the back round, he could hear movement. The man was probably sitting up in bed, hitting his head on a shelf above the pillow… or stubbing his toe on the foot of the bed. It sounded as though he swore, and that made Hannibal lose his smirk.
"Doctor?"
"I haven't called for pleasantries." Just hearing the voice made Hannibal clench his free hand into a tight fist. The knuckles turned white. "You will call me 'Sir', Agent. Is that understood?" He didn't let people he didn't like call him doctor. Not people who he completely detested.
"Yes… Sir." There was a click over the line that had begun a few seconds after the man recognized the doctors voice. It was obviously very hard for him to choke out the word one would normally use for their superiors.
"Take off the tap." Hannibal ordered. "What I have to say is private. For you only. If you can remember it all when I hang up, then write it down."
There was no reply. Hannibal put his free hand on the hood of the car behind him as he leaned back.
"Are you still there, Agent? Are you quite awake now? I certainly hope so. I won't be repeating myself."
"I'm awake, and listening."
"Did Agent Mapp show you my case file?" He asked curiously. "Pictures of Mason Verger? What remained of the others I encountered? I hope she told you all of the stories. Because I'm going to do twenty times worse to you."
"How do you expect to do that, Sir?" Kevin's tone was getting arrogant. Yet Hannibal was pleased to hear the smallest hint of apprehension behind it.
"You'll find out." He told him quietly. Behind him, the radio volume abruptly went down. He could no longer hear the piano. "Talk to you again very soon, my good agent. Oh… don't bother changing your cell phone. Or your home number. Don't bother with traces or taps. They're utterly useless… especially since you'll never find me. I, on the other hand, will always find you."
As the car door behind him opened, on the passenger side, Hannibal tucked the phone back into his pocket. Turning, he smiled at Clarice as she stood tiredly from the back seat, wearing thick sock slippers underneath fluffy Tweety slippers. Under a plain cotton robe, she wore a velour set of Pajama's from T J Max of a dark burgundy. The color nearly matched Hannibal's eyes.
"Where are we?" She asked quietly. Her arms slid about his shoulders as he approached.
"New Hampshire."
They looked at one another for a long time. Hannibal was thinking to himself. Oh… Agent Kevin most definitely deserved what was going to happen to him. Perhaps it was more twisted than what Mason Verger had had planned for him. He wasn't sure yet. He'd decided he was going to do whatever came to mind when he found Kevin and stood face-to-face with him.
Clarice reached up to kiss him briefly.
"I'll drive once I change…"
She wasn't even going to ask who he'd been talking to on the phone. Surely she had to have seen him talking before she turned off the radio. Perhaps that was because she assumed he was calling Ardelia. That was something he still did at least once a week. He enjoyed exasperating her. He kept her on her toes. He stood back while Clarice went briefly into the trunk, pulled out socks, sneakers, a pair of jeans, and a white fluffy sweater, then ducked into the back seat of the car to change. He turned back to the view in front of the car. In front of the row of parking spaces stood a guard rail, and below that the ground dropped off into a steep hill, looking down into a low valley. The sight was breath taking.
"How is the baby treating you today?" He called over his shoulder.
"I suppose that our child must be just fine." She called back. A few seconds later, he heard the door shut behind him, and then her sneakers on the gravel. "I don't feel any morning sickness anymore. But we're both hungry." She slid both arms about his waist from behind.
"So am I." Turning, Hannibal kissed her forehead, and then moved to the front passenger side door of the car. Clarice followed suit, moving to the already opened driver side door. They climbed in together, buckled up, and then briefly clasped hands.
"There's a Denny's down the highway, up three more exits. Does that suit you?"
"Or a Waffle House." She said with a little smile, before putting her arm over the back of his seat, and turning to back out of the parking spot. Then, much faster than he'd have preferred to go in such a high-class car, she sped out onto the highway.
"Do you mind, Clarice?" He asked irritably, one hand involuntarily gripping what many called a suicide bar, on the door beside him. "I would like to make it to breakfast without a scratch. And I'd prefer it if the baby made it there alive."
Clarice laughed, reaching out to flick an automatic switch between the seats. The sun roof above them slid partially open, and she snapped his cassette of Bach out of the player, and turned a bit of David Bowie up at nearly full volume. Shaking his head, Hannibal turned to look out the window at the blurring scenery they passed. He decided not to think about Kevin again for the rest of that day, until Clarice was again asleep. He didn't want her to know what he had planned. Because he knew there was at least a slight chance the master-mind he had might not get out of the situation alive. Yet in the end he was certain it almost didn't matter. Just as long as Kevin, the man who'd raped his beloved Little Starling, would pay for it in the end.
N/A – Thanks so much for your reviews! I can't believe you actually like my work. I always thought people I knew face-to-face were always gilding the truth a bit, but you haven't said things very different from them at all! I'm so honored and humbled!
-/-/-/-/-/-/-/-/-/-/-/-/-/-/-/-/-/-/-/-/-/-/-/-/-/-/-/-/-/-/-/-/-/-/-/-/-/- /-/-/-/-/-/-/-/-/-/-/-/-/-/-/-/-/-/-/-/-
Chapter 22: The Still Before the Storm
It was a cool night. Not quite cold, for nearly mid-winter. But the weather this year had been unpredictably warm. A dark maroon 1985 BMW was parked at the Snyder Bridge Scenic Area on US Route 2 in New Hampshire. The front driver side door stood open, the inside light creating a warm light down over Clarice, who lay in the back seat. A small red pillow was tucked under her Irish red hair. A white blanket covered her body, which had begun to show the delicate condition she was in.
The soft volume of the radio played Hannibal's beloved Goldberg Veriations.
Standing at the hood of the car, stood the good Doctor himself. Like Clarice, his hair was died, and he had grown a small mustache he found extremely distasteful and intolerable. But those were the sacrifices of disguise. When she woke, Clarice would put in contacts that made her eyes a dark olive green.
Watching the sunrise, Hannibal leaned back onto the low hood of the car, wearing a blue cotton sweater, and brand new blue jeans. Only the expensive loafers on his feet showed his ultimate taste for style. To keep the breeze off his hair, he wore the white fedora he'd bought while living in Florence, and his favored pair of dark tinted sunglasses to hide the maroon of his eyes.
Out of his pocket, he pulled a cell phone – another stolen one. He'd gone through twelve so far. He pushed a single button before bringing it to his ear. After seven rings, a groggy voice answered on the other end of the line.
"This had better be Catherine Zeta-Jones."
Hannibal smirked momentarily.
"I'm sorry to disappoint you." He said in a quiet voice. "I just thought it was time for that talk I promised you."
There was a long pause. In the back round, he could hear movement. The man was probably sitting up in bed, hitting his head on a shelf above the pillow… or stubbing his toe on the foot of the bed. It sounded as though he swore, and that made Hannibal lose his smirk.
"Doctor?"
"I haven't called for pleasantries." Just hearing the voice made Hannibal clench his free hand into a tight fist. The knuckles turned white. "You will call me 'Sir', Agent. Is that understood?" He didn't let people he didn't like call him doctor. Not people who he completely detested.
"Yes… Sir." There was a click over the line that had begun a few seconds after the man recognized the doctors voice. It was obviously very hard for him to choke out the word one would normally use for their superiors.
"Take off the tap." Hannibal ordered. "What I have to say is private. For you only. If you can remember it all when I hang up, then write it down."
There was no reply. Hannibal put his free hand on the hood of the car behind him as he leaned back.
"Are you still there, Agent? Are you quite awake now? I certainly hope so. I won't be repeating myself."
"I'm awake, and listening."
"Did Agent Mapp show you my case file?" He asked curiously. "Pictures of Mason Verger? What remained of the others I encountered? I hope she told you all of the stories. Because I'm going to do twenty times worse to you."
"How do you expect to do that, Sir?" Kevin's tone was getting arrogant. Yet Hannibal was pleased to hear the smallest hint of apprehension behind it.
"You'll find out." He told him quietly. Behind him, the radio volume abruptly went down. He could no longer hear the piano. "Talk to you again very soon, my good agent. Oh… don't bother changing your cell phone. Or your home number. Don't bother with traces or taps. They're utterly useless… especially since you'll never find me. I, on the other hand, will always find you."
As the car door behind him opened, on the passenger side, Hannibal tucked the phone back into his pocket. Turning, he smiled at Clarice as she stood tiredly from the back seat, wearing thick sock slippers underneath fluffy Tweety slippers. Under a plain cotton robe, she wore a velour set of Pajama's from T J Max of a dark burgundy. The color nearly matched Hannibal's eyes.
"Where are we?" She asked quietly. Her arms slid about his shoulders as he approached.
"New Hampshire."
They looked at one another for a long time. Hannibal was thinking to himself. Oh… Agent Kevin most definitely deserved what was going to happen to him. Perhaps it was more twisted than what Mason Verger had had planned for him. He wasn't sure yet. He'd decided he was going to do whatever came to mind when he found Kevin and stood face-to-face with him.
Clarice reached up to kiss him briefly.
"I'll drive once I change…"
She wasn't even going to ask who he'd been talking to on the phone. Surely she had to have seen him talking before she turned off the radio. Perhaps that was because she assumed he was calling Ardelia. That was something he still did at least once a week. He enjoyed exasperating her. He kept her on her toes. He stood back while Clarice went briefly into the trunk, pulled out socks, sneakers, a pair of jeans, and a white fluffy sweater, then ducked into the back seat of the car to change. He turned back to the view in front of the car. In front of the row of parking spaces stood a guard rail, and below that the ground dropped off into a steep hill, looking down into a low valley. The sight was breath taking.
"How is the baby treating you today?" He called over his shoulder.
"I suppose that our child must be just fine." She called back. A few seconds later, he heard the door shut behind him, and then her sneakers on the gravel. "I don't feel any morning sickness anymore. But we're both hungry." She slid both arms about his waist from behind.
"So am I." Turning, Hannibal kissed her forehead, and then moved to the front passenger side door of the car. Clarice followed suit, moving to the already opened driver side door. They climbed in together, buckled up, and then briefly clasped hands.
"There's a Denny's down the highway, up three more exits. Does that suit you?"
"Or a Waffle House." She said with a little smile, before putting her arm over the back of his seat, and turning to back out of the parking spot. Then, much faster than he'd have preferred to go in such a high-class car, she sped out onto the highway.
"Do you mind, Clarice?" He asked irritably, one hand involuntarily gripping what many called a suicide bar, on the door beside him. "I would like to make it to breakfast without a scratch. And I'd prefer it if the baby made it there alive."
Clarice laughed, reaching out to flick an automatic switch between the seats. The sun roof above them slid partially open, and she snapped his cassette of Bach out of the player, and turned a bit of David Bowie up at nearly full volume. Shaking his head, Hannibal turned to look out the window at the blurring scenery they passed. He decided not to think about Kevin again for the rest of that day, until Clarice was again asleep. He didn't want her to know what he had planned. Because he knew there was at least a slight chance the master-mind he had might not get out of the situation alive. Yet in the end he was certain it almost didn't matter. Just as long as Kevin, the man who'd raped his beloved Little Starling, would pay for it in the end.