Chapter 23: To the Harvest…
Hannibal was dreaming… and in the dream he could only see one thing. A blurry image – when usually the images he saw in his mind were so vivid they could easily terrify someone – even him. A mass of white. A blanket of white in front of him. Such a white that made him understand he should feel cold… and shivered under the blankets where he huddled with Clarice in the back seat of the BMW. In the mass of white that completely overcame his inner eyesight, were streaks of a dark, frightening, ugly red. In the back round, he heard repeated thuds… as though something were being struck against a hard object with extreme force. It wasn't unlike the sound of a butcher knife slamming down onto a wooden cutting board.
Clarice, beginning to awaken beside Hannibal, furrowed her brow in discomfort. She then opened her eyes and turned to look at his restless face. His eyes were shut tightly, and there was a look of utter pain and despair in his face. Immediately, she reached up to take his shoulder, feeling him pull her very, very tightly against the length of his body.
"Mi… Mi…" He murmured, distressed, before her grip on his shoulder made his eyes snap open.
"Shhhh…" She whispered softly, meeting his gaze immediately. "Hannibal… it's all right. What's wrong? Was it some sort of nightmare? Are you hurting somewhere?"
His ragged breathing was almost completely imperceptible to her. As Hannibal stared at her, his hand came up to gently caress over her swollen, pregnant belly. He calmed himself inwardly, cursing the damnable dream that chose to visit him now, when he was happier than he would have thought possible under such conditions.
"I'm here." Clarice insisted softly, trying to make certain he was all right in his total silence. "We're here with you, Hannibal. Will you tell me about the dream?"
He shook his head, and closed his eyes as though to try and get back to sleep. But he knew he wouldn't. It was only a façade, to try and assure Clarice that he'd be all right. He would never tell her about the childhood visions that came back to terrorize him with every chance they got. It was better she not have to see even more ugliness in the world than she'd already seen. Guiltily, he remembered that a lot of that ugliness had been seen by her because of him, and he was about to give her even more to see.
Kevin had been evacuated from the D.C. area when the threatening phone calls from Dr. Hannibal 'the Cannibal' Lector continued for three months on end. Yet already Hannibal knew where they'd placed him. He was very sharp, and his hearing sometimes better than he wanted it to be. Yet overhearing that Agent Kevin (ex-agent Kevin now, since he'd been charged with the rape of Clarice Starling while she was in custody of D.C. police… and discharged from the FBI) had been moved to California, the Beverly Hills area, had come as a blessing. He had visited there once. It would be only too easy to find Kevin's home, make it inside, strike, and make good his escape before the police undoubtedly keeping a close eye on the man knew he was in California.
"I love you, Hannibal." He heard Clarice whisper. Slowly, his maroon eyes re-opened, and his hand went up to her hair.
"How's the baby?" He asked softly.
"Fine…" She promised. "Almost ready to meet us, I think. Now I don't really know what contractions feel like… but I feel as though it might be days now."
"Good." He said softly. "I mean… especially that we're in such a remote area. We could even find a Bed and Breakfast in a county where few people hear of national news… and I'll help you have our child. It couldn't have happened any better."
"I know. That's why you came here, isn't it?"
"Yes." Hannibal admitted. "But if a criminal is going to be caught anywhere in the country, I'll admit that Texas is the last place you'd want to be captured. But that will not happen to us."
"I know." She repeated. "I know."
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The little house was dark, as very few houses were at that time, in one of the most party-going cities known to mane in the Western states. Even Hannibal was surprised that a man being taken care of by a program much like Witness Protection wouldn't be out on the streets enjoying his good fortune. Women and liquor would be paid for by the government. How could a man not take advantage of that? Then again… who's to say the government wouldn't tell him to go to Hell for acting like that when they've been so lenient to him over such a serious charge as raping a woman he was supposed to be trying to both protect and prosecute fairly?
Inside the house, one could see from a side window that there was a very small screen TV on somewhere. A black and white TV at that. How very boring, Hannibal thought to himself as he very quietly and efficiently cut through the old screen in the back right window of the house. There were no alarms in the place, which he found almost startling. Then again, the man would be stupid enough to live somewhere without even a decent burglar alarm.
This was for Clarice. Although he wouldn't be able to take as much time as he'd like to … to savor the only kill he'd probably ever have again his entire life… to be creative and tormenting to the man… That was a little bit depressing to the twisted part of his mind. Still, he was going to get to kill the man whom had raped the mother of his three week old son.
Antonio Marcus Lector. Not even Lecter-Starling, or Starling-Lector. Just Lector. He'd been born with dark, dark blue eyes. Hannibal had wondered if perhaps he'd have maroon eyes like himself. Clarice herself seemed almost certain of it. Although the baby had her darker hair. Not lighter of color like Hannibal's had been, even as a child.
"Ready or not…" He murmured to himself as he used a crowbar to break the lock to the now screen less window in Beverly Hills. It was relatively easy to climb in through the window, although it took a great deal of his physical strength. Part of him decided to use an image that usually terrified him in order to commit this particular crime. The sight of blood stained snow, as it looked through the crack in a barn wall. His mind decided to tell himself that not only was he doing this for Clarice, but for his sister whom had died. He was now taking revenge on not only Kevin, but the bastards who'd killed his sister.
It had been very quick, but Hannibal made certain he could feel the fear running through his victim the entire time. Then, even as he was wearing gloves, used a very small art paint brush to write a large message on the living room wall.
I TOLD HIM HE WAS DOG MEAT.
And he was… Hannibal carried an axe with his paint brush, crowbar, and very small but sharp twig cutters out of the house as he made his escape, through the window which he'd used to get inside. The place was clean, except for the mutilated and bloody body inside. There were none of Hannibal's finger prints. There was not even the vaguest scent of the musky cologne Clarice had recently bought him.
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NA – yes another short chapter. I'm sorry about that. Reading Hannibal for the first time, and came across his nightmare on the Plane on the way to America. It inspired me – but apparently not enough.
Hannibal was dreaming… and in the dream he could only see one thing. A blurry image – when usually the images he saw in his mind were so vivid they could easily terrify someone – even him. A mass of white. A blanket of white in front of him. Such a white that made him understand he should feel cold… and shivered under the blankets where he huddled with Clarice in the back seat of the BMW. In the mass of white that completely overcame his inner eyesight, were streaks of a dark, frightening, ugly red. In the back round, he heard repeated thuds… as though something were being struck against a hard object with extreme force. It wasn't unlike the sound of a butcher knife slamming down onto a wooden cutting board.
Clarice, beginning to awaken beside Hannibal, furrowed her brow in discomfort. She then opened her eyes and turned to look at his restless face. His eyes were shut tightly, and there was a look of utter pain and despair in his face. Immediately, she reached up to take his shoulder, feeling him pull her very, very tightly against the length of his body.
"Mi… Mi…" He murmured, distressed, before her grip on his shoulder made his eyes snap open.
"Shhhh…" She whispered softly, meeting his gaze immediately. "Hannibal… it's all right. What's wrong? Was it some sort of nightmare? Are you hurting somewhere?"
His ragged breathing was almost completely imperceptible to her. As Hannibal stared at her, his hand came up to gently caress over her swollen, pregnant belly. He calmed himself inwardly, cursing the damnable dream that chose to visit him now, when he was happier than he would have thought possible under such conditions.
"I'm here." Clarice insisted softly, trying to make certain he was all right in his total silence. "We're here with you, Hannibal. Will you tell me about the dream?"
He shook his head, and closed his eyes as though to try and get back to sleep. But he knew he wouldn't. It was only a façade, to try and assure Clarice that he'd be all right. He would never tell her about the childhood visions that came back to terrorize him with every chance they got. It was better she not have to see even more ugliness in the world than she'd already seen. Guiltily, he remembered that a lot of that ugliness had been seen by her because of him, and he was about to give her even more to see.
Kevin had been evacuated from the D.C. area when the threatening phone calls from Dr. Hannibal 'the Cannibal' Lector continued for three months on end. Yet already Hannibal knew where they'd placed him. He was very sharp, and his hearing sometimes better than he wanted it to be. Yet overhearing that Agent Kevin (ex-agent Kevin now, since he'd been charged with the rape of Clarice Starling while she was in custody of D.C. police… and discharged from the FBI) had been moved to California, the Beverly Hills area, had come as a blessing. He had visited there once. It would be only too easy to find Kevin's home, make it inside, strike, and make good his escape before the police undoubtedly keeping a close eye on the man knew he was in California.
"I love you, Hannibal." He heard Clarice whisper. Slowly, his maroon eyes re-opened, and his hand went up to her hair.
"How's the baby?" He asked softly.
"Fine…" She promised. "Almost ready to meet us, I think. Now I don't really know what contractions feel like… but I feel as though it might be days now."
"Good." He said softly. "I mean… especially that we're in such a remote area. We could even find a Bed and Breakfast in a county where few people hear of national news… and I'll help you have our child. It couldn't have happened any better."
"I know. That's why you came here, isn't it?"
"Yes." Hannibal admitted. "But if a criminal is going to be caught anywhere in the country, I'll admit that Texas is the last place you'd want to be captured. But that will not happen to us."
"I know." She repeated. "I know."
^-^-^-^-^-^-^-^-^-^-^-^-^-^-^-^-^-^-^-^-^-^-^-^-^-
The little house was dark, as very few houses were at that time, in one of the most party-going cities known to mane in the Western states. Even Hannibal was surprised that a man being taken care of by a program much like Witness Protection wouldn't be out on the streets enjoying his good fortune. Women and liquor would be paid for by the government. How could a man not take advantage of that? Then again… who's to say the government wouldn't tell him to go to Hell for acting like that when they've been so lenient to him over such a serious charge as raping a woman he was supposed to be trying to both protect and prosecute fairly?
Inside the house, one could see from a side window that there was a very small screen TV on somewhere. A black and white TV at that. How very boring, Hannibal thought to himself as he very quietly and efficiently cut through the old screen in the back right window of the house. There were no alarms in the place, which he found almost startling. Then again, the man would be stupid enough to live somewhere without even a decent burglar alarm.
This was for Clarice. Although he wouldn't be able to take as much time as he'd like to … to savor the only kill he'd probably ever have again his entire life… to be creative and tormenting to the man… That was a little bit depressing to the twisted part of his mind. Still, he was going to get to kill the man whom had raped the mother of his three week old son.
Antonio Marcus Lector. Not even Lecter-Starling, or Starling-Lector. Just Lector. He'd been born with dark, dark blue eyes. Hannibal had wondered if perhaps he'd have maroon eyes like himself. Clarice herself seemed almost certain of it. Although the baby had her darker hair. Not lighter of color like Hannibal's had been, even as a child.
"Ready or not…" He murmured to himself as he used a crowbar to break the lock to the now screen less window in Beverly Hills. It was relatively easy to climb in through the window, although it took a great deal of his physical strength. Part of him decided to use an image that usually terrified him in order to commit this particular crime. The sight of blood stained snow, as it looked through the crack in a barn wall. His mind decided to tell himself that not only was he doing this for Clarice, but for his sister whom had died. He was now taking revenge on not only Kevin, but the bastards who'd killed his sister.
It had been very quick, but Hannibal made certain he could feel the fear running through his victim the entire time. Then, even as he was wearing gloves, used a very small art paint brush to write a large message on the living room wall.
I TOLD HIM HE WAS DOG MEAT.
And he was… Hannibal carried an axe with his paint brush, crowbar, and very small but sharp twig cutters out of the house as he made his escape, through the window which he'd used to get inside. The place was clean, except for the mutilated and bloody body inside. There were none of Hannibal's finger prints. There was not even the vaguest scent of the musky cologne Clarice had recently bought him.
/-/-/-/-/-/-/-/-/-/-/-/-/-/-/-/-/-/-/-/-/-/-/-/-/-/-/-/-/-/-/-/-/-/-/-/-/-/-
NA – yes another short chapter. I'm sorry about that. Reading Hannibal for the first time, and came across his nightmare on the Plane on the way to America. It inspired me – but apparently not enough.