Chapter 25: Scent of a Killer
N/A – the chapter title will probably have nothing to do with what occurs in this chapter. I am using this title to acknowledge another Hannibal fiction writer on this web site. They are the last words in his/her story (I'm very very sorry but I didn't think to look at who wrote it Smacks self). They were the last words in the story… took place within SOTL with a power outage in the asylum. If it's you, I hope you know I really liked the story. I just wasn't signed in at the time.
1 Chapter 25: Scent of a Killer
Time has passed, and with Kevin dead, Clarice has forgotten her nightmares. Sometimes, however, Hannibal still wakes up in the middle of the night from dreams of his own. Dreams that will undoubtedly never stop altogether, but have lessened with each week he spends in the arms of his Clarice. They did manage to escape with their son. And Hannibal has also had the good luck to be able to return to the United States to claim his hidden fortunes from all of his old stocks and old aliases. After so many months of living in squalor, he had desperately wanted his old sense of taste back in his life.
The large house in France was only one of several he now owned under different names. He had grown his hair long enough to tie back like one would have seen gentlemen do in movies of the old American South. The facial hair he'd grown while they were in hiding was carefully shaved off, and he now wore fashion contacts that turned his eyes a dark cobalt blue. They nearly matched the color of Clarice's eyes, who had stopped wearing her designer contacts, and dyed her hair once again, from the Irish orange- red, to a far lighter dirty blonde. Their son grew without health difficulties, and a fake birth certificate was created for him. Although they would always address him as Toni, the nickname for the name they'd given him at birth, the certificate said Demetri Francesco Ledoux.
Although they had no financial distress to worry about for a very, very long time, Clarice had decided she would like to have some employment to keep herself busy. Lector had decided to do the same, and began to teach her French at an alarmingly fast pace. Sometimes, it was hard for her to keep up with him. But within two years, she spoke fluently, as though she'd been born and raised in the heart of Paris. Their son would grow up speaking English, French, and Spanish. As a consequence, Clarice soon began going back to school in France to become a language teacher for Middle School students, and Hannibal became, once more, the leader of a very large library. No one ever questioned who they were. No one had need to.
Hannibal had decided upon a new way to keep his fingerprints from making it to any lab in a justice department. He wore little round bandages on the tips of his fingers and thumbs, instead of gloves. Still, though, he would carefully wipe down anything he had come into contact with. Book covers, tables, glasses, silverware. He did these things even when no one seemed to ever give him a second glance. One could never be too careful, and Clarice had been instructed to be careful about her fingerprints as well. But he wasn't worried about her. She wasn't wanted in the United States for being a serial murderer.
"Madame Ledoux?"
Clarice looked up from where she sat in the back seat of her cranberry colored 2001 550 Ferrari, beside the car seat of her son. The roof was down, as it was a very pleasant summer day, and she wore a spring dress of pale green. She smiled easily at Msr. Devonts, one of the staff members of the library the man everyone new as her husband worked at. He was pleasant enough, although sometimes Clarice would know with her back turned that he was eyeing her appreciatively. Still, he was discreet about it, and obviously meant no disrespect, so she let it happen.
"Good afternoon, Monsieur." She greeted casually, leaning back in her seat, holding onto the hand of the three year old child with wavy brown to dirty blonde hair. His hair was so light that no one could ever tell exactly what color it was supposed to be. Especially when it was bleached by the summer sun. "How can I help you today?"
"Oh, I don't need anything, Madame." The man answered with an easy going smile. "I just wanted to tell you that your husband isn't here at the moment. I know you expected him to come out… but one of the Professors from the university uptown asked him to a drink. She is very interested in a lecture he helped her to prepare for her students, and wanted to find out what else he knew."
Clarice smiled, and nodded, feeling just the vaguest twinge of jealousy that he'd go out for a drink with a female professor. She trusted Hannibal, and why shouldn't she? Anyone else could one day find out who he is, and turn him into the police. If they could move quicker than him, at least.
"Your son is getting so big." Monsieur Devonts admired the boy as he clung to his mothers hand with his little chubby fingers, and flipped through a cardboard picture book at the same time. "He looked a great deal like his father. Except for those unusual eyes!"
"Yes." She agreed simply, knowing that the boy had dark maroon eyes like Hannibal. "It comes from his fathers side of the family. His grandfather, or great-grandfather I believe. It does skip generations." Climbing out of the back seat of the car, she took Monsieur Devonts offered hand of assistance, and straightened out her dress once her sandals touched the hot pavement. "Do you know where they went for that drink?"
"I'm sorry, Madame. I don't." He replied with sincere regret. "But you're welcome to stay until he comes back." Reaching into his pocket, he pulled out a fistful of change for the parking meter in front of the car. "Here… don't waste your emergency change on that piece of junk."
"Merci, Monsieur." Clarice replied with an honest smile. Yet a few minutes after he walked away, Hannibal came walking around the corner, dressed in cream colored slacks, a button-up tailored shirt of such a pale blue it seemed nearly white… and an overcoat of the same cream color as his slacks. He wore one of his favorite pairs of expensive shoes, and sunglasses with a light violet tint. On his head of long hair he wore his favored fedora from Italy.
"Ah, there you are." He teased lightly as he came up to put an arm about her, and pull her into a warm hug. "Your tutoring didn't last very long today. You usually get here late."
"Yes, well, Nicolette had to cancel, because one of her distant relatives died." Clarice explained, just before drawing him into a lingering kiss. From behind her, as she was pressed back against the side of the car, she heard Toni laugh in his high pitched octave. Hannibal pulled away from her with a smile.
"I believe we have an audience." He stated, moving around the car to the passenger side where the toddlers car seat was. He reached down to run his hand over the top of his tiny head with a grin. "Hello, my good lad."
"Papa!" Toni exclaimed happily, reaching out with his pudgy arms. Hannibal gave into him, leaning down for a hug which was restrained by not only the car seat in which Toni was locked, but the side of the car which Hannibal had to lean over.
"I'm here." He assured his son, as Clarice climbed into the drivers seat to start the car. Hannibal took a moment to adjust the makeshift hood he'd created to keep sun and wind off of Toni when the convertible had it's roof down and they were on the move. Then, climbing into his passenger seat, he popped a CD into the stereo, gave Clarice another kiss, and then just watched her admiringly as she drove out of the area towards home.
"He's going to be as strong as you." She told him once it seemed Toni was nodding off behind them. "Today… he nearly broke the Playschool electronic game you gave him for his birthday when he threw it against the wall in a fit."
Hannibal laughed, leaning his head back against the head rest, and closed his eyes. His fedora now rested on his lap under one heavy hand, so that it would not be taken away by the wind. He dozed contentedly, just like his son, until they reached the large state house they owned nearby the Paris Opera House… on the same street where Andrew Lloyd Webber had once lived. They could see his old home from their bedroom window if they stood to the extreme right of it. Bringing Toni up to his crib for a nap, Hannibal then drew Clarice once again into his arms, and pulled her down the hall.
"Something on your mind, Monsieur Ledoux?" She asked teasingly, as he pressed her against the door frame. Hannibal looked at her wickedly. A look that used to frighten her as much as it now excited her.
"Maybe…" He admitted. "I hope you didn't want an early supper tonight. We won't be leaving this room for a while."
They laughed as he lifted her up into another deep, searing kiss. This had been a part of their lives for a long time. Once their son was born, they could never seem to keep away from one another. The few weeks they'd been separated because of Clarice's arrest had been too much for them, and they clung to one another's company, and the pleasure of each others bodies, as though they might never again have that opportunity.
N/A – the chapter title will probably have nothing to do with what occurs in this chapter. I am using this title to acknowledge another Hannibal fiction writer on this web site. They are the last words in his/her story (I'm very very sorry but I didn't think to look at who wrote it Smacks self). They were the last words in the story… took place within SOTL with a power outage in the asylum. If it's you, I hope you know I really liked the story. I just wasn't signed in at the time.
1 Chapter 25: Scent of a Killer
Time has passed, and with Kevin dead, Clarice has forgotten her nightmares. Sometimes, however, Hannibal still wakes up in the middle of the night from dreams of his own. Dreams that will undoubtedly never stop altogether, but have lessened with each week he spends in the arms of his Clarice. They did manage to escape with their son. And Hannibal has also had the good luck to be able to return to the United States to claim his hidden fortunes from all of his old stocks and old aliases. After so many months of living in squalor, he had desperately wanted his old sense of taste back in his life.
The large house in France was only one of several he now owned under different names. He had grown his hair long enough to tie back like one would have seen gentlemen do in movies of the old American South. The facial hair he'd grown while they were in hiding was carefully shaved off, and he now wore fashion contacts that turned his eyes a dark cobalt blue. They nearly matched the color of Clarice's eyes, who had stopped wearing her designer contacts, and dyed her hair once again, from the Irish orange- red, to a far lighter dirty blonde. Their son grew without health difficulties, and a fake birth certificate was created for him. Although they would always address him as Toni, the nickname for the name they'd given him at birth, the certificate said Demetri Francesco Ledoux.
Although they had no financial distress to worry about for a very, very long time, Clarice had decided she would like to have some employment to keep herself busy. Lector had decided to do the same, and began to teach her French at an alarmingly fast pace. Sometimes, it was hard for her to keep up with him. But within two years, she spoke fluently, as though she'd been born and raised in the heart of Paris. Their son would grow up speaking English, French, and Spanish. As a consequence, Clarice soon began going back to school in France to become a language teacher for Middle School students, and Hannibal became, once more, the leader of a very large library. No one ever questioned who they were. No one had need to.
Hannibal had decided upon a new way to keep his fingerprints from making it to any lab in a justice department. He wore little round bandages on the tips of his fingers and thumbs, instead of gloves. Still, though, he would carefully wipe down anything he had come into contact with. Book covers, tables, glasses, silverware. He did these things even when no one seemed to ever give him a second glance. One could never be too careful, and Clarice had been instructed to be careful about her fingerprints as well. But he wasn't worried about her. She wasn't wanted in the United States for being a serial murderer.
"Madame Ledoux?"
Clarice looked up from where she sat in the back seat of her cranberry colored 2001 550 Ferrari, beside the car seat of her son. The roof was down, as it was a very pleasant summer day, and she wore a spring dress of pale green. She smiled easily at Msr. Devonts, one of the staff members of the library the man everyone new as her husband worked at. He was pleasant enough, although sometimes Clarice would know with her back turned that he was eyeing her appreciatively. Still, he was discreet about it, and obviously meant no disrespect, so she let it happen.
"Good afternoon, Monsieur." She greeted casually, leaning back in her seat, holding onto the hand of the three year old child with wavy brown to dirty blonde hair. His hair was so light that no one could ever tell exactly what color it was supposed to be. Especially when it was bleached by the summer sun. "How can I help you today?"
"Oh, I don't need anything, Madame." The man answered with an easy going smile. "I just wanted to tell you that your husband isn't here at the moment. I know you expected him to come out… but one of the Professors from the university uptown asked him to a drink. She is very interested in a lecture he helped her to prepare for her students, and wanted to find out what else he knew."
Clarice smiled, and nodded, feeling just the vaguest twinge of jealousy that he'd go out for a drink with a female professor. She trusted Hannibal, and why shouldn't she? Anyone else could one day find out who he is, and turn him into the police. If they could move quicker than him, at least.
"Your son is getting so big." Monsieur Devonts admired the boy as he clung to his mothers hand with his little chubby fingers, and flipped through a cardboard picture book at the same time. "He looked a great deal like his father. Except for those unusual eyes!"
"Yes." She agreed simply, knowing that the boy had dark maroon eyes like Hannibal. "It comes from his fathers side of the family. His grandfather, or great-grandfather I believe. It does skip generations." Climbing out of the back seat of the car, she took Monsieur Devonts offered hand of assistance, and straightened out her dress once her sandals touched the hot pavement. "Do you know where they went for that drink?"
"I'm sorry, Madame. I don't." He replied with sincere regret. "But you're welcome to stay until he comes back." Reaching into his pocket, he pulled out a fistful of change for the parking meter in front of the car. "Here… don't waste your emergency change on that piece of junk."
"Merci, Monsieur." Clarice replied with an honest smile. Yet a few minutes after he walked away, Hannibal came walking around the corner, dressed in cream colored slacks, a button-up tailored shirt of such a pale blue it seemed nearly white… and an overcoat of the same cream color as his slacks. He wore one of his favorite pairs of expensive shoes, and sunglasses with a light violet tint. On his head of long hair he wore his favored fedora from Italy.
"Ah, there you are." He teased lightly as he came up to put an arm about her, and pull her into a warm hug. "Your tutoring didn't last very long today. You usually get here late."
"Yes, well, Nicolette had to cancel, because one of her distant relatives died." Clarice explained, just before drawing him into a lingering kiss. From behind her, as she was pressed back against the side of the car, she heard Toni laugh in his high pitched octave. Hannibal pulled away from her with a smile.
"I believe we have an audience." He stated, moving around the car to the passenger side where the toddlers car seat was. He reached down to run his hand over the top of his tiny head with a grin. "Hello, my good lad."
"Papa!" Toni exclaimed happily, reaching out with his pudgy arms. Hannibal gave into him, leaning down for a hug which was restrained by not only the car seat in which Toni was locked, but the side of the car which Hannibal had to lean over.
"I'm here." He assured his son, as Clarice climbed into the drivers seat to start the car. Hannibal took a moment to adjust the makeshift hood he'd created to keep sun and wind off of Toni when the convertible had it's roof down and they were on the move. Then, climbing into his passenger seat, he popped a CD into the stereo, gave Clarice another kiss, and then just watched her admiringly as she drove out of the area towards home.
"He's going to be as strong as you." She told him once it seemed Toni was nodding off behind them. "Today… he nearly broke the Playschool electronic game you gave him for his birthday when he threw it against the wall in a fit."
Hannibal laughed, leaning his head back against the head rest, and closed his eyes. His fedora now rested on his lap under one heavy hand, so that it would not be taken away by the wind. He dozed contentedly, just like his son, until they reached the large state house they owned nearby the Paris Opera House… on the same street where Andrew Lloyd Webber had once lived. They could see his old home from their bedroom window if they stood to the extreme right of it. Bringing Toni up to his crib for a nap, Hannibal then drew Clarice once again into his arms, and pulled her down the hall.
"Something on your mind, Monsieur Ledoux?" She asked teasingly, as he pressed her against the door frame. Hannibal looked at her wickedly. A look that used to frighten her as much as it now excited her.
"Maybe…" He admitted. "I hope you didn't want an early supper tonight. We won't be leaving this room for a while."
They laughed as he lifted her up into another deep, searing kiss. This had been a part of their lives for a long time. Once their son was born, they could never seem to keep away from one another. The few weeks they'd been separated because of Clarice's arrest had been too much for them, and they clung to one another's company, and the pleasure of each others bodies, as though they might never again have that opportunity.