Only the Beginning

Part Two - The Letters

The room-service waiter, of St. Louis' elegant Marcus Hotel, was nervous as he knocked on the door of Suite 91. The man creeped him out. Oh, Lloyd Wyman was polite and even tipped generously, which was the only reason why he continued to serve this particular guest, but there was something about this guy that made him feel like he was in the crosshairs of someone's rifle.

Travis heard classical music coming from the room and loud laughter, which abruptly ceased after his knock. He called out, in the prescribed manner, "Room service."

Dr. Hannibal Lecter came to the door and looked at the young man who was wearing a liberal amount of a ghastly, cheap cologne....Old Spice, if he wasn't mistaken, and decided that he didn't want that smell lingering in his room. He quickly took hold of the cart with his dinner and told the waiter, "Wait here while I get your tip," and wheeled it into his room.

Travis stood there wondering, why the break in the routine? Dr. Lecter came back with the tip and when Travis reached out to take it, Lecter held it out of reach and said, "Another tip for you, Travis. You could very well instigate an allergic reaction in individuals sensitive to perfumes and colognes or cause an asthma attack in others. Enhancement and subtlety are the key in such matters. I suggest that you find it." With that, Hannibal handed the waiter a ten-dollar bill and shut the door. With a red face, Travis quickly went to find a bathroom to rid himself of the cologne he had put on thinking to impress the female guests of the hotel.

Lecter smiled as he set the dishes on a table by a window, giving him a view of the sun setting beyond distant trees. He breathed in the delicious aromas, much better than that slop they called food that was served at the institute. With Bach playing in the background, the food and wine, the view, and the two, very interesting letters Barney had given him right before he had left Baltimore....yes, Barney had been especially helpful in that regard. Lecter enjoyed his meal, recalling his last day in Baltimore.....

"Dr. Lecter?" Barney, an orderly at the institute, approached the last cell with the Plexiglas covering the bars. Hannibal was sitting in his bolted-down chair sketching when the large, black man made his way toward him.

"Yes, Barney?" Lecter looked up, sensing Barney's emotions: excitement, discovery, trepidation, curiosity....hmmm, quite a mixture.

"I was cleaning and organizing supplies in a closet that hasn't been used in awhile when I found a canvas bag in the back of it, underneath old linens. I discovered a few old psychiatric journals dating back three years and some unopened mail addressed to you."

"You obviously discovered more than just that," Lecter's maroon eyes grew redder as his interest was piqued.

"Dr. Chilton will be down here any minute to have you transported to the plane taking you to Memphis, but after seeing the contents of these two letters..." began Barney, who hastily added, "Not that I read all of the contents. You know I have to check the mail, but I really think you should see these."

"Yes, Barney, I am well aware of the security procedures. There is no need to apologize. Three years....yes, I believe that was one of the occasions Dr. Chilton decided to punish me by taking away my mail privileges." Hannibal was now standing, head cocked slightly to the side, "I do believe we have company, Barney."

Knowing how Lecter's senses were much more finely-tuned than his or anyone else's, for that matter, Barney didn't waste time but quickly put the opened letters, still in their envelopes, in the metal carrier and pushed it into the cell. Hannibal removed the letters from the carrier and tucked them in at his waist, smoothing them down.

There had been no opportunity to read them since he was soon strapped to a gurney and remained that way for the entire flight and during the meeting with Senator Martin until he was placed in a cell afterwards. Then he was a bit preoccupied with his escape. Yes, that had gone so well. All that time waiting, making his "special key" out of the metal tube in the pen Dr. Chilton had so thoughtfully or carelessly, as some might say, provided him, and letting Dr. Chilton "overhear" him talking to Barney about knowing who had Catherine Martin. Chilton played into his hands so beautifully. Things went just as planned especially with his request to only tell Senator Martin the information in Memphis. Things were executed perfectly, everything had gone very well, indeed.

Finding Lloyd Wyman (getting a suitcase from the trunk of his car in a deserted aisle at the underground garage of the Memphis International Airport) was another opportunity not to be missed. With a little "help" from the doctor, Wyman joined his suitcase and Lecter had a new identity and transportation. Driving around in an ambulance was a bit too conspicuous.

It took him five hours to get to St. Louis, after he had obtained the money and credentials hidden in the wall of a cottage by the Susquehanna River. A trip to his memory palace provided him with the perfect location to alter his features and make his plans to get out of the country. He decided to stay at a hotel across the street from a hospital that housed one of the foremost centers for craniofacial surgery, a hotel he had stayed at, years ago, while doing research. His bandaged face was not out of place here, other patients enjoyed the convenience of the hotel's proximity to the hospital.

It was only then that he had the opportunity to read the two letters Barney had given him:

Dear Dr. Lecter,

Hi, my name is Mercedes Anne Jones and I am 5 years old. My birthdate is March 16, 1983. Please take note of this fact for it has a significance in what I'm about to ask you.

Did you know a woman called Rachel? That is the name I found in my file. She gave birth to me at the Community Memorial Hospital in Chicago and then abandoned me there. I have been staying at an orphanage called The Children's Home of Chicago.

I have black, wavy hair, purple eyes with red-violet in them and six fingers on my left hand. I am also very intelligent, these factors make me believe we may be related.

The timing is also right. I would have been conceived before your trial which is very likely why Rachel would have wanted to abandon me. Some people just don't have any fortitude. Maybe she was one of those snobby types who can't abide having any skeletons in their closets or cannibals in their lives.

If there is any possibility that you may be my father, please write to me and let me know. I'm still "in the system" because many around me think I am or might be your daughter. Actually, I would be very honored and happy to be your daughter. I realize a paternity test would be needed to verify if it's a yes or no, assuming that you knew a Rachel, if that was even her real name that she told the nurse who named me. The nurse had been wanting a luxury car so she thought Mercedes would be a good name for me. I like people to call me Sadie. Please, don't call me Mercy, I really don't like that.

I "obtained" a post office box so I could be sure that I'd get your letter. I don't know how long I'll have it so you'll need to answer this as soon as possible.

Thank you,

Sadie

That was the first letter, going by the date on the envelope. The second one was dated a month later.

Dear Dr. Lecter,

I don't know how things are there, where you are, but I do hope you received my first letter. Since I haven't received a letter from you, I've been wondering. I'll just repeat a few pertinent facts here, just in case.

My name is Mercedes (Sadie) Anne Jones, but not really Jones because the woman who gave birth to me on March 16, 1983, only gave her first name, Rachel, to the nurse who ended up naming me. Rachel left the Community Memorial Hospital the next day, and I've been living in an orphanage called The Children's Home of Chicago. I have the rarest form of polydactylism, identical to yours and a high I.Q., another trait I may have inherited from you. Many people think you may be my father. I am inclined to agree. I know a paternity test would be needed to make it definite but I'm hoping you'll let me know if there's even a possibility that I may be your daughter.

You can mail me at the post office box, I included at the end of this letter, but I don't know how long I'll have it so please write back as soon as possible. If I don't hear from you, this will be my last letter. I don't want you to feel obligated or think I'm a pest, I just wanted you to know that you might have a daughter.

Something I didn't tell you in my first letter, there was another possible person who could be my father, Peter Daniels, an accountant in Michigan, who is married to a woman named Sarah and has two children. What I have found amusing is that whether Peter Daniels (very unlikely) or you (much more likely) are my father, both your last names give me a very interesting acronym: M.A.D. or M.A.L. which means bad - so I'd be mad or bad (in the good sense), just like when someone says, "That's wicked," they're really saying, "That's cool!" When something is "bad" it is "really good." I know this sounds confusing, but as a psychiatrist, I believe you know the way things are with the youth of today.

I plan on graduating high school in two years by taking the G.E.D. test. I'm learning and studying independently for this since I am forced to attend Kindergarten where the other five year olds are learning their A, B, C's and 1, 2, 3's. It's so boring!!! Miss Jenkins, the Home Director, says it wouldn't be "normal" for me to be in another grade since so many other things are already "not normal," and we must not encourage or give anyone wrong ideas in relation to another that we shall not name (you, Dr. Lecter). Last, but not least, we don't have it in the budget to finance something like this. It is in your best interest that you remain with your own age group...she does go on and on about things, Dr. Lecter.

This is just a little of what I must deal with. I think you'd understand and let me advance at my own speed, even encourage it. You're not afraid to be different like so many around us are. Having a left hand with six fingers hasn't helped either, that only adds to the speculation about you and me.

I have to admit, Dr. Lecter, that I have encouraged that. I hope you don't mind. It's just so amusing to see how gullible people can be and fun too.

There was the time I put a plastic bag, filled with water and ketchup, in the meatloaf before it was brought to the table so when it was being cut, red juice squirted out like it was bleeding. I acted very excited about it, wanting to have the first piece of the "murdered meatloaf." Yes, that's what I called it. Of course, it was attributed to "who my father was." This also makes me feel like I do, indeed, have a father, more than just a "genetic contribution" of some unknown male.

Your potential daughter,

Sadie

Lecter, at turns, laughed out loud and was silent as he read the letters. The waiter had interrupted him while reading the first letter. The second letter was read after his dinner. Travis had also served breakfast and lunch that day, Hannibal wondered if he'd see him tomorrow. Hannibal had, for the most part, just slept and ate this first day of being free. Now, feeling refreshed and rested, and after having read the letters, his mind returned to the time before he was discovered by Will Graham.

He did know a woman named Rachel, who he had been seeing before his capture and trial. He knew Rachel had a sister who lived in Chicago. Yes, the facts did add up to present a distinct possibility that he may have a child, a daughter named Mercedes. Dr. Lecter sighed, he definitely wouldn't have named his daughter after a car, luxury or not! He also may have a daughter who never received a letter from him...three years that he could have had, already having missed the first five years of her life. Chilton had even more to pay for! That had been one of the items on his "to do" list: to pay a visit to Dr. Chilton and have him wish he was dead until he was dead. Perhaps, he'll carve some "letters' into Chilton's body, while he was still alive, for the crime of withholding his letters and as a result, his daughter. Chilton would pay for all the petty punishments, the disrespect, the subtle cruelties, the deprivations and indignities he suffered under Dr. Chilton's "care."

"I'll take care of you," Hannibal thought with a gleeful anticipation, "But first, I have a possible daughter to see to after my appearance has been altered sufficiently." Lecter would have been hard-pressed as to which thought elated him more: both were so appealing!