Title: "The Blood of a Cannibal"
Chapter 7 "The Cannibal and The Dragon"
Author: Jerome Mullins
Rating: R. Language.
Disclaimer and Summary: See previous chapters.
Author's Notes: All is not well in the world since the discovery of Dr. Lecter's son, Jerome. The FBI's efforts to capture Dr. Lecter are at a stand-still, it's time for the "Hannibal House" team to bring in some extra help. a former FBI agent with a connection to Dr. Lecter.
* * *
"This is wrong and something has to be done about it!" she shouted into the microphones arranged in front of the podium. "How is it that no one knew the bastard had a son? There is something seriously wrong here if the FBI has been withholding information!"
Her fiery words were met with cheers and encouraging roars from the small crowd that had assembled before the front steps of the J. Edgar Hoover Building. All shared in the outrage that was being voiced by their group leader on this rainy January morning.
"They _claim_ to have known nothing about this! How could they not know for twenty-one years that Hannibal Lecter has a son? It's an outrage! When the guilty are imprisoned, they should not be allowed to have the same rights as those who are innocent! They should have no special rights of privacy!"
Another round of applause and cheering from the crowd. The press was there recording the demonstration and the reaction from those in the crowd. The group was a collection of family members who had lost someone to Dr. Lecter. They first received press notoriety after Dr. Lecter's escape from Memphis as they rallied to demand his immediate recapture. Then they came back into popularity after the discovery that he had returned to the United States and had been here for several months while completely undetected.
Within the six months between the murder of Paul Krendler and the "horrors of Muskrat Farms" and the discovery of Dr. Lecter's son, the group had gone from the front headlines of the associated press to the back pages. Now they were making front headlines once again in expressing their outrage and disgust of how Dr. Lecter's family had been withheld from the public. No one seemed to except that the FBI was just as clueless as anyone else.
Looking down from his fifth story window, Assistant Director Noonan watched the press swarm around the small rally. Special Agent Pearsall stood at his side.
"Darleen Taylor," Noonan gestured to the front speaker with his chin. "Her daughter was the Yale student whose body was never found."
"She started this thing didn't she?"
"After the breakout in Memphis," Noonan nodded. "She called the press last night to give them a head's up, I found out about it when those damn hacks from the _Tattler_ called me asking me for a quote."
"You should have told them to 'fuck off.' That's what Starling would have said." Pearsall smiled to himself.
"She's a spitfire," Noonan said walking back to his desk. Pearsall didn't move from the window. "She's a great agent, gives a lot to her work."
"Sure does." Pearsall nodded. "I wouldn't want her working on anything else. She knows Lecter better than anyone."
"All most." Noonan corrected.
Pearsall turned around to face him. He was disappointed the Assistant Director hadn't considered his request, but he wasn't surprised.
"We still have one more person we can call."
"He's a drunk." Pearsall protested. "Lecter's done so much damage to him already, a third run would kill the poor bastard."
"Not if _he_ kills Lecter first."
"You would rather have Lecter dead than locked away? You should be happy Starling isn't here right now, she would rip you a new one." Pearsall walked over and took a seat in front of Noonan's desk.
"We don't have any other options," he shrugged. "Starling's up in Massachusetts guarding that young man's life, I don't want her anywhere else."
Pearsall's eyes narrowed. "Because she's the only one who can protect Lecter's son or because you don't want her here to make you and all the other agents look bad?"
Noonan let out a loud sigh and leaned forward with his forearms on the desk.
"Clint, you know FBI policy better than anyone. If it looks bad coming from an agent, it's bad for the FBI. Let's face it, the only reason why she couldn't capture Lecter six months ago was because she was drugged out of her fucking mind. Had she not been impaired."
"Sir, I would hate to remind you that it was _Lecter_ who drugged her, she's not an addict. Not like the one you want to bring in here. You said it yourself, if it looks bad coming from an agent-"
"All right." Noonan put a hand up calmly. "I appreciate that you're putting the Bureau first."
"I'm not. I'm doing my job as the leader on this task force you have Starling and I working on. You want us to get Lecter, we will. But you and the others have to let us do our job. We will find him, it's been done before."
"And that's exactly why I'm bringing in the extra help." Noonan cut him off. "Starling isn't the one who captured Lecter, but we do know that he's drawn to her."
"You've reduced Starling to bait?"
"Not at all. I agree completely with you Clint, she's the best agent to have on the task force. Like you said, she knows Lecter better than anyone. But she doesn't know how to get him into custody."
Pearsall sat back farther in his chair. He sighed heavily and shook his head.
"You're making a mistake. Crawford would agree with me, he won't survive this."
"I want to thank you for your insight, Agent Pearsall. Your request has been noted. You may return to your office now, I'm sure there's some work that had to be caught up on. I would hate to keep you from it." Noonan didn't look up from his work as Pearsall was dismissed.
Pearsall wasted no time in getting out of the office. He headed down to the "Hannibal House" where he had left the television on. The press was covering the demonstration going on outside of the FBI Headquarters as well as including the interviews that had been complied from the neighbors of the Harrington family.
"I can't believe he never told me," a young girl stood next to her parents in front of the camera. Tears were streaming down her cheeks. The text at the bottom of the screen identified her as Mary Sullivan, a former girlfriend of Jerome Lecter. "He never mentioned anything about his father being a murderer. Why would he hide that from me?"
"Did he ever harm you?" a reporter interrupted her. "Did he ever bite you?"
"Christ," Pearsall spat under his breath. "You're the son of a cannibal and you're instantly labeled a fucking vampire."
"No," Sullivan wailed dramatically as her parents lead her away from the reporter and back to her own home.
The video then cut to a diner that Jerome had frequented often while in high school. The interviewee was a waiter who had attended school with Jerome.
"He was real quiet, kept to himself." He nodded. "He would just sit in the back corner and read his books until late in the afternoon. Sometimes his uncle and aunt would come and find him. He was really quiet," the boy leaned in closer to the camera. "It was like he had his own _secret_ life, you know? Like he was trying to hide something from everyone."
"Do you think he's capable of killing someone? Like his father?" the reporter asked.
"I don't know," he shook his head. "I didn't know much about Jerome, he wasn't very popular. But if he was killing people at night, wouldn't surprise me with his Dad being a vampire and all."
"Lord!" Pearsall rolled his eyes and turned off the television.
Exhausted all ready from the media hype, he decided to get back to work and investigate the facts he had. He had taken over for Starling during her time away, he knew not to expect much. The last solid lead they had was the latent prints that had been found on the note Dr. Lecter had sent to the widow of Renaldo Pazzi. That had been two months ago, just before Thanksgiving.
To pass the time, Pearsall decided to educate himself on all that there was to know in the case file on Dr. Lecter, beginning from his discussions with the young trainee, Clarice Starling, during the Buffalo Bill case. It would be twelve years since that case had been closed in the coming fall. Before Pearsall could finish reviewing all the taped conversations between Starling and Dr. Lecter, Assistant Director Noonan had approached him with the idea of bringing in a third agent to help in the search for Dr. Lecter.
Pearsall looked down to the pile of files stacked on his desk. Reaching for the first file on top, he read the name handwritten on the folder tab: "Francis Dolarhyde/The Tooth Fairy/The Red Dragon." Opening the file to the first page he read the name of the agents assigned to the case, "Jack Crawford and Will Graham."
* * *
The room was a mess. As it always was. But for some reason it bothered him even more this particular morning. Looking to his alarm clock, he corrected himself on his perception of time. "Afternoon?" he muttered. He then slammed his head back into his pillow and pulled the covers over his shoulder. Reaching to the night stand, he picked up the remote control and flipped on the television while keeping his head crammed into the pillow and his eyes tightly shut. He then dropped the remote back on the night stand next to the alarm clock.
"You don't work, why do I keep you?" he questioned the alarm clock. Opening one eye and glancing at it, he found the answer. "Molly."
Printed on the face of the alarm clock, which had refused to work in the last few months, was a picture of his beloved Molly. She smiled brightly, her hair waving in the Florida breeze. She was wearing her torn- up jeans and tight fitting green sweater. His favorite outfit. He wished he could see her in it now, it would give him a reason to get up. or to stay in bed and snuggle at her side.
No. No, this morning he would have to get up. He had another reason to live, even if she wasn't it. Outside his bedroom door, he could hear his son taking a shower in the bathroom down the hall. Josh had decided to come home during his Christmas break from college, he would be returning to his studies at the University of Florida in another week before the start of the next semester. Although Josh knew his father could operate by himself, his drinking hadn't been improving. Christmas was Will Graham's heavy drinking time. Josh was there to be with his father and to keep him out of trouble.
"Couldn't end the world right now, could you Lord? Have to make me suffer through one more day." He grumbled as he slid out of bed. "Just as it has always been _Your_ will to let us suffer."
Ever since his last conversation with Dr. Hannibal Lecter in the dungeon, and the following personal encounter with Francis Dolarhyde, it had been proven to Graham that there was a God and He was a sadist. Graham actually agreed with Dr. Lecter, killing _does_ feel good to God. He crushed parishioners in His churches. The Almighty allowed innocent people to be killed all the time.
Graham had been wrong too, another point for Dr. Lecter, a roof could fall on anyone, including Molly and Josh. Molly's death had proven that point. After He took her, Graham never questioned, nor doubted, God's malevolence again. The sickening part for Graham was the fact that Dr. Lecter had been right all along. That fact alone was enough of a reason to get him plastered every night. Dr. Lecter was with him everywhere he went, in his dreams and ringing in his ears. Graham couldn't escape him and had since given up on trying.
Looking to the television, he suddenly realized he had it on MUTE. Taking the remote control, he turned the volume up loud enough so that he could listen while he cleaned up in the bathroom. He slowly opened the door, as was his morning ritual, and prepared himself to see the mirrors smashed with the smallest pieces taken out. Only the smallest ones would suit the Dragon's needs.
Graham paused at the door, held his breath and quickly looked in. As always, and the best part of his routine, the mirrors were not smashed. Dolarhyde was still dead. He did jump back upon glancing himself in the mirror, however. The scar on the side of his abdomen was still deep and thick. The bullet wounds were completely healed and had left behind white patches that stood out from his tanned skin along with the scar that ran along his upper chest. The scar above his left brow was white from the sun as well. He looked at them each and sighed. He was amazed that he was still living. The fact that God had not allowed him to die, like his beloved wife, was another proof of God's twisted and sadistic plan for His tortured creation, Will Graham.
Getting a good look at himself in the mirror, he observed the growing stubble on his face and rubbed his chin. His hair was shortly cropped, almost to a complete buzz. His blonde hair had only the slightest flecks of white in it. Out in the sun, one would not be able to tell he was nearly fifty. He looked tired and scrawny, nothing like the well built man he had been when he left the FBI, either time.
"The hell with it," he muttered and made his way back to bed.
He lay on the covers with his eyes closed, just listening to the sounds of the room and to the television.
"Protesters today, lead by Darleen Taylor, rallied outside of the FBI Headquarters in Washington. All those who were present today came to voice their outrage against the recent discovery that notorious serial killer, and former psychiatrist, Dr. Hannibal 'the Cannibal' Lecter, had sealed documents which were recently reopened for the first time since before his capture in 1982. Their rally raises the question of whether or not prisoners should have privacy rights. This comes after the most shocking discovery that Dr. Lecter had a family prior to his incarceration."
Graham instantly sat straight up on his bed at the announcement and turned up the volume.
"Found within these documents were a marriage and birth certificate, proving the existence of a wife and son. A death certificate was also found for Annabelle Lecter, former wife of Dr. Lecter, dated two years before Lecter was captured after murdering nine people. Dr. Lecter's whereabouts are still unknown at this time since his escape from his Memphis cell in the fall of 1990 and his evasion from being captured last summer after murdering both Mason Verger, a former Lecter victim, and Paul Krendler, former aid to the office of the D. C. District Attorney. At this time, the whereabouts of Dr. Lecter's son is also unknown."
Graham was stunned. He had absolutely no idea that Dr. Lecter had a family of his own. He knew everything about Lecter, his background, his parents, his murdered sister, his education. everything. He had never read anything about a marriage, or a birth of a child. Graham felt nauseated. This was just one more thing that he had in common with his worst enemy. The words suddenly flooded back into Graham's tortured mind:
"Do you know how you caught me, Will? Because you and I are most alike."
For years Graham had pondered those words. Was it because he felt guilty for murdering _Tattler_ reported Freddy Lounds? No. He hated Lounds, he didn't feel anything over the death of the reporter. But what else would have lead Dr. Lecter to put Graham in such close proximity? What made Graham most like Dr. Lecter?
Graham suddenly slapped his forehead, he could feel his heart and stomach sink. The floor seemed to have fallen out from under his feet. He could see it clearly, that night at Dr. Lecter's home, the night Graham knew Dr. Lecter to be his hunted prey:
"We went to Molly's parent's house, and her father was showing my son, Josh, how to carve a chicken."
"Yeah?" Dr. Lecter leaned in closer, his eyes fixed on Graham's every word.
"And he was telling my son that the best parts were at the oysters on either side of the back. I had never heard that term before, 'oysters'."
Graham put a hand over his eyes, how could he not have seen it then? Dr. Lecter's eyes fixed on him, not because Graham had finally understood that each victim was being dissected for their "sweet breads," Dr. Lecter could have cared less whether or not Graham knew what he was doing to his victims. It was Josh. Dr. Lecter had been completely transfixed upon hearing about Graham's only son. The flash in his eyes had been so brief, so out of character, that Graham had completely forgotten he had seen it. Both were so much alike because they were family men.
Ever since finding out that Dr. Lecter had returned to the United States, Graham had been unwillingly trying to get into his head. He knew that the Bureau would be contacting him soon to return, every morning when he went out to get the morning paper, he half expected to see Jack Crawford standing at the bottom of his porch stairs holding up crime scene photographs from a new Lecter murder. Although he would outwardly dismiss the idea of returning to the Lecter case, he had been trying to get back into shape, mentally at least. At night, he would try to see if he could get into Dr. Lecter's mind, something he had been close to doing over fifteen years ago. With the sudden announcement that Dr. Lecter had a family, he could feel himself inch closer into the mind of Hannibal Lecter, the living, breathing nightmare of humanity.
Graham was so absorbed in his thoughts that he didn't even hear his son Josh enter into the room until he placed a hand on his father's shoulder. Graham jumped at the touch.
"Dad, relax. Just me." Josh sat down next to him.
He was a grown man now of twenty-three, handsome with rugged features. He was a lot like his father in his broad shoulders and muscular build, all of which had since faded on the elder Graham. But his hair and his eyes were unmistakably Molly's.
"Sorry," he yawned and patted his son on the shoulder. "Didn't hear you come in."
"I gathered," Josh muttered. "What's this I hear about Lecter?"
"Nothing." Graham said quickly and shut off the television. "Nothing, we're not getting involved."
Josh nodded. "Like Mom asked."
"Like Mom asked." Graham repeated. He pushed the memory of her voice out of his mind, he didn't want to torture himself any more over her today.
Josh got up from next to his father and picked up an empty bottle of Scotch from the dresser near the door. "Mom also asked that you stop drinking."
"I know," Graham nodded. "I'm trying."
"Right." Josh said and put down the bottle. He knew better than to challenge his father on a personal level, after all, his father was "functioning alcoholic." Drinking was the only thing his father had to escape from reality; the near death of his family, the conversations with Dr. Lecter, the death of his wife. His father needed to drink, that's how Josh rationalized it.
"Pancakes?" Graham got up and stood next to his son, they were about the same height as well, but Josh was taller by an inch.
"Out of milk." Josh shook his head. "What to eat out?"
"Yeah." Graham nodded. "Fine, what time is it?"
"Almost twelve, just in time for lunch." Josh shrugged. "You get cleaned up, I'll get the mail."
Graham snapped his fingers and pointed at his son as he walked back into his bathroom and shut the door. Josh listened to his father for a moment as he turned on the water in the shower and then picked up the empty bottle again. He ran his thumb over the label where he had marked the level of remaining alcohol in the bottle the day before. It was at the half way point then.
"Gone now." Josh sighed and collected it under his arm as he gathered all the remaining empty bottles next to the television and headed out.
Josh and his father lived in a small one story house just outside of Gainesville. They found it hard to remain in their former house after Dolarhyde had added to the family's nightmares, along with those originally started by Dr. Lecter. Josh still remembered the night he and his family had almost joined the Jacobi and Leeds families in the Dragon's "Becoming." He hated to refer to that horrible night as such, but he refused to acknowledge it on an even more personal level. Josh had his own scars that were just as damaging and as deep as his father's. Josh too dreamed of the Dragon. And like his father, he too was living without his sanity's feminine anchor.
At first, he was unsure of the stability in his parent's marriage after such an ordeal. Years of counseling and marriage therapy lead to a brief separation. Molly had taken Josh away from his father. The time apart had been less than four months. One day Graham came out to Montana, got down on his knees on the front step of their new apartment and spent the entire afternoon out in the rain until she agreed to let him in. Graham hadn't said a word all day and was soaking wet when he came inside. He claimed he was repenting. They spent the entire night talking and the next morning, proudly announced that they had decided to renew their wedding vows before returning to Florida. Josh was twelve-years-old when his father made him his best man.
Life in their new home was peaceful and pleasant. As Josh grew older, he started to have nightmares featuring Dolarhyde. Graham and Molly did everything they could to help him, sending him to various psychiatrists and counselors, all of whom Graham avoided, but he was more than happy to attend to the bills. Family happiness became extremely important to Graham and for a while, things seemed to settle.
Josh was sixteen-years-old when his mother died. It had been a freak accident in a fifteen car pile-up along the Florida state highway. Molly had been on her way home from the supermarket during a sudden harsh rainstorm. The tractor trailer ahead of her suddenly went into a skid, the driver lost complete control, and the trailer jack-knifed. Molly had no time to slam on her breaks, she crashed into the side of the trailer. Cars behind her skidded and crashed into her rear, the trailer then came crashing down on her and three other trapped drivers. She had died instantly when the roof of her car pinned her head over the steering wheel is such a way that her neck had snapped. The coroner assured her destroyed husband that she had felt no pain.
Graham sent Josh to his grandparents' briefly before the funeral. After the services for his mother, Graham turned to drinking, heavily. Molly Graham had died three days before Christmas. She had been on her way home after picking up the turkey for their Christmas Eve dinner. He had called her up from his small boat repair shop and asked her to get it, something he had promised to do himself that morning, but a rush order from a client kept him from his promise. He never forgave himself. From that day on, Graham became a firm believer that Dr. Lecter has been right, God was a sadist and His only purpose for the drunkard Graham was that he suffered throughout the rest of his life.
Outside, Josh slowly walked to the mailbox and observed the cloudless, blue January sky. The benefit of living in the south was that so- called "Winter Weather" required a short sleeve shirt and pants rather than short sleeve shirt and shorts. He ran a hand through his shaggy brown hair and decided that he better get a hair cut before his classes resumed.
The mail was light, one piece addressed to him from his school, his class schedule for the next semester and attached tuition bill. The other two pieces of mail were for his father. He closed the mailbox and looked up to see two well dressed men across the street. Josh sighed, he knew they were unmistakably FBI agents.
"Hey there, Josh," the taller agent smiled taking out his badge.
"Agent Hurley." Josh nodded then to the other. "Agent Murdock, good afternoon gentlemen."
"Know what we're here for?" Murdock asked.
"Nope. Don't care." He shook his head. "If you've come here to recruit my Dad to come back to you, you're wasting your time."
The two men crossed the street and approached Josh who remained next to the mailbox.
"Your father has heard about the latest in the Lecter case, hasn't he?" Murdock asked.
"I'm sure he has, he won't have anything to do with it." Josh shook his head again. "Off the grass if you please."
Neither agent moved. "It's important that we speak to your father, Josh. That is if he isn't too. busy." Hurley gave a brief glance to his partner with a smirk.
"Nothing doing." Josh folded his arms across his chest. "My father is not going to be dragged through this again. You'll just have to call upon someone else to help you catch him."
"Speaking for your father?" Murdock asked smugly.
"Good day gentlemen." Josh turned and walked back to the house.
The agents followed in pursuit and cut him off in his tracks.
"Just five minutes, we want to hear the rejection from him." Hurley said.
"A rejection is still a rejection, regardless of who gives it." Josh said coolly as he continued walking. "You've got your answer, please leave us alone."
"We'll be back Josh." Hurley warned.
Josh came back inside to find his father in the kitchen clad in his bathrobe searching for a bottle of water in the refrigerator. He looked to his son, and then went back to his search.
"They want you back Dad." Josh said handing the mail to his father.
"You don't say." Graham said sarcastically as he accepted the letters and placed them on the kitchen counter.
"What happened? What's the 'new development'?"
"Nothing that we have to worry about, Josh." Graham closed the refrigerator door and shook his head. "We're done."
"They'll keep asking."
"We'll keep saying no." He said calmly. "No is a complete answer."
"What if you could save some lives?" Josh asked, avoiding his father's piercing glare.
Josh was becoming more like his father every day. Graham had tried to dissuade his son from pursuing a degree in Criminal Justice but Josh wouldn't budge. As a boy, Josh had admired his father's conviction to help others. He proudly told all his friends and teachers that his father was an FBI agent. Even after his encounter with Dolarhyde, Josh was sure that he was going to go into Law Enforcement to keep men like Dolarhyde from hurting others. It broke Josh's heart to know that his father no longer believed in the same thing he once had.
"No." Graham said coldly.
* * *
Thus ends chapter seven, a nice long one this time. I thought it was about time to take a break from the Jerome/Starling plot and focus on another favorite Harris character. How about that? Clint Pearsall, Will Graham and Josh in the same chapter. More is on the way.
Thanks to all who have been kind enough to send reviews and feedback, please continue to do so. I enjoy reading them very much. Special thanks to Holly Graham who gave me her kind and expert advice on how to write Will Graham, thank you. Next chapter I shall introduce a new character and bring back an old favorite.
Chapter 7 "The Cannibal and The Dragon"
Author: Jerome Mullins
Rating: R. Language.
Disclaimer and Summary: See previous chapters.
Author's Notes: All is not well in the world since the discovery of Dr. Lecter's son, Jerome. The FBI's efforts to capture Dr. Lecter are at a stand-still, it's time for the "Hannibal House" team to bring in some extra help. a former FBI agent with a connection to Dr. Lecter.
* * *
"This is wrong and something has to be done about it!" she shouted into the microphones arranged in front of the podium. "How is it that no one knew the bastard had a son? There is something seriously wrong here if the FBI has been withholding information!"
Her fiery words were met with cheers and encouraging roars from the small crowd that had assembled before the front steps of the J. Edgar Hoover Building. All shared in the outrage that was being voiced by their group leader on this rainy January morning.
"They _claim_ to have known nothing about this! How could they not know for twenty-one years that Hannibal Lecter has a son? It's an outrage! When the guilty are imprisoned, they should not be allowed to have the same rights as those who are innocent! They should have no special rights of privacy!"
Another round of applause and cheering from the crowd. The press was there recording the demonstration and the reaction from those in the crowd. The group was a collection of family members who had lost someone to Dr. Lecter. They first received press notoriety after Dr. Lecter's escape from Memphis as they rallied to demand his immediate recapture. Then they came back into popularity after the discovery that he had returned to the United States and had been here for several months while completely undetected.
Within the six months between the murder of Paul Krendler and the "horrors of Muskrat Farms" and the discovery of Dr. Lecter's son, the group had gone from the front headlines of the associated press to the back pages. Now they were making front headlines once again in expressing their outrage and disgust of how Dr. Lecter's family had been withheld from the public. No one seemed to except that the FBI was just as clueless as anyone else.
Looking down from his fifth story window, Assistant Director Noonan watched the press swarm around the small rally. Special Agent Pearsall stood at his side.
"Darleen Taylor," Noonan gestured to the front speaker with his chin. "Her daughter was the Yale student whose body was never found."
"She started this thing didn't she?"
"After the breakout in Memphis," Noonan nodded. "She called the press last night to give them a head's up, I found out about it when those damn hacks from the _Tattler_ called me asking me for a quote."
"You should have told them to 'fuck off.' That's what Starling would have said." Pearsall smiled to himself.
"She's a spitfire," Noonan said walking back to his desk. Pearsall didn't move from the window. "She's a great agent, gives a lot to her work."
"Sure does." Pearsall nodded. "I wouldn't want her working on anything else. She knows Lecter better than anyone."
"All most." Noonan corrected.
Pearsall turned around to face him. He was disappointed the Assistant Director hadn't considered his request, but he wasn't surprised.
"We still have one more person we can call."
"He's a drunk." Pearsall protested. "Lecter's done so much damage to him already, a third run would kill the poor bastard."
"Not if _he_ kills Lecter first."
"You would rather have Lecter dead than locked away? You should be happy Starling isn't here right now, she would rip you a new one." Pearsall walked over and took a seat in front of Noonan's desk.
"We don't have any other options," he shrugged. "Starling's up in Massachusetts guarding that young man's life, I don't want her anywhere else."
Pearsall's eyes narrowed. "Because she's the only one who can protect Lecter's son or because you don't want her here to make you and all the other agents look bad?"
Noonan let out a loud sigh and leaned forward with his forearms on the desk.
"Clint, you know FBI policy better than anyone. If it looks bad coming from an agent, it's bad for the FBI. Let's face it, the only reason why she couldn't capture Lecter six months ago was because she was drugged out of her fucking mind. Had she not been impaired."
"Sir, I would hate to remind you that it was _Lecter_ who drugged her, she's not an addict. Not like the one you want to bring in here. You said it yourself, if it looks bad coming from an agent-"
"All right." Noonan put a hand up calmly. "I appreciate that you're putting the Bureau first."
"I'm not. I'm doing my job as the leader on this task force you have Starling and I working on. You want us to get Lecter, we will. But you and the others have to let us do our job. We will find him, it's been done before."
"And that's exactly why I'm bringing in the extra help." Noonan cut him off. "Starling isn't the one who captured Lecter, but we do know that he's drawn to her."
"You've reduced Starling to bait?"
"Not at all. I agree completely with you Clint, she's the best agent to have on the task force. Like you said, she knows Lecter better than anyone. But she doesn't know how to get him into custody."
Pearsall sat back farther in his chair. He sighed heavily and shook his head.
"You're making a mistake. Crawford would agree with me, he won't survive this."
"I want to thank you for your insight, Agent Pearsall. Your request has been noted. You may return to your office now, I'm sure there's some work that had to be caught up on. I would hate to keep you from it." Noonan didn't look up from his work as Pearsall was dismissed.
Pearsall wasted no time in getting out of the office. He headed down to the "Hannibal House" where he had left the television on. The press was covering the demonstration going on outside of the FBI Headquarters as well as including the interviews that had been complied from the neighbors of the Harrington family.
"I can't believe he never told me," a young girl stood next to her parents in front of the camera. Tears were streaming down her cheeks. The text at the bottom of the screen identified her as Mary Sullivan, a former girlfriend of Jerome Lecter. "He never mentioned anything about his father being a murderer. Why would he hide that from me?"
"Did he ever harm you?" a reporter interrupted her. "Did he ever bite you?"
"Christ," Pearsall spat under his breath. "You're the son of a cannibal and you're instantly labeled a fucking vampire."
"No," Sullivan wailed dramatically as her parents lead her away from the reporter and back to her own home.
The video then cut to a diner that Jerome had frequented often while in high school. The interviewee was a waiter who had attended school with Jerome.
"He was real quiet, kept to himself." He nodded. "He would just sit in the back corner and read his books until late in the afternoon. Sometimes his uncle and aunt would come and find him. He was really quiet," the boy leaned in closer to the camera. "It was like he had his own _secret_ life, you know? Like he was trying to hide something from everyone."
"Do you think he's capable of killing someone? Like his father?" the reporter asked.
"I don't know," he shook his head. "I didn't know much about Jerome, he wasn't very popular. But if he was killing people at night, wouldn't surprise me with his Dad being a vampire and all."
"Lord!" Pearsall rolled his eyes and turned off the television.
Exhausted all ready from the media hype, he decided to get back to work and investigate the facts he had. He had taken over for Starling during her time away, he knew not to expect much. The last solid lead they had was the latent prints that had been found on the note Dr. Lecter had sent to the widow of Renaldo Pazzi. That had been two months ago, just before Thanksgiving.
To pass the time, Pearsall decided to educate himself on all that there was to know in the case file on Dr. Lecter, beginning from his discussions with the young trainee, Clarice Starling, during the Buffalo Bill case. It would be twelve years since that case had been closed in the coming fall. Before Pearsall could finish reviewing all the taped conversations between Starling and Dr. Lecter, Assistant Director Noonan had approached him with the idea of bringing in a third agent to help in the search for Dr. Lecter.
Pearsall looked down to the pile of files stacked on his desk. Reaching for the first file on top, he read the name handwritten on the folder tab: "Francis Dolarhyde/The Tooth Fairy/The Red Dragon." Opening the file to the first page he read the name of the agents assigned to the case, "Jack Crawford and Will Graham."
* * *
The room was a mess. As it always was. But for some reason it bothered him even more this particular morning. Looking to his alarm clock, he corrected himself on his perception of time. "Afternoon?" he muttered. He then slammed his head back into his pillow and pulled the covers over his shoulder. Reaching to the night stand, he picked up the remote control and flipped on the television while keeping his head crammed into the pillow and his eyes tightly shut. He then dropped the remote back on the night stand next to the alarm clock.
"You don't work, why do I keep you?" he questioned the alarm clock. Opening one eye and glancing at it, he found the answer. "Molly."
Printed on the face of the alarm clock, which had refused to work in the last few months, was a picture of his beloved Molly. She smiled brightly, her hair waving in the Florida breeze. She was wearing her torn- up jeans and tight fitting green sweater. His favorite outfit. He wished he could see her in it now, it would give him a reason to get up. or to stay in bed and snuggle at her side.
No. No, this morning he would have to get up. He had another reason to live, even if she wasn't it. Outside his bedroom door, he could hear his son taking a shower in the bathroom down the hall. Josh had decided to come home during his Christmas break from college, he would be returning to his studies at the University of Florida in another week before the start of the next semester. Although Josh knew his father could operate by himself, his drinking hadn't been improving. Christmas was Will Graham's heavy drinking time. Josh was there to be with his father and to keep him out of trouble.
"Couldn't end the world right now, could you Lord? Have to make me suffer through one more day." He grumbled as he slid out of bed. "Just as it has always been _Your_ will to let us suffer."
Ever since his last conversation with Dr. Hannibal Lecter in the dungeon, and the following personal encounter with Francis Dolarhyde, it had been proven to Graham that there was a God and He was a sadist. Graham actually agreed with Dr. Lecter, killing _does_ feel good to God. He crushed parishioners in His churches. The Almighty allowed innocent people to be killed all the time.
Graham had been wrong too, another point for Dr. Lecter, a roof could fall on anyone, including Molly and Josh. Molly's death had proven that point. After He took her, Graham never questioned, nor doubted, God's malevolence again. The sickening part for Graham was the fact that Dr. Lecter had been right all along. That fact alone was enough of a reason to get him plastered every night. Dr. Lecter was with him everywhere he went, in his dreams and ringing in his ears. Graham couldn't escape him and had since given up on trying.
Looking to the television, he suddenly realized he had it on MUTE. Taking the remote control, he turned the volume up loud enough so that he could listen while he cleaned up in the bathroom. He slowly opened the door, as was his morning ritual, and prepared himself to see the mirrors smashed with the smallest pieces taken out. Only the smallest ones would suit the Dragon's needs.
Graham paused at the door, held his breath and quickly looked in. As always, and the best part of his routine, the mirrors were not smashed. Dolarhyde was still dead. He did jump back upon glancing himself in the mirror, however. The scar on the side of his abdomen was still deep and thick. The bullet wounds were completely healed and had left behind white patches that stood out from his tanned skin along with the scar that ran along his upper chest. The scar above his left brow was white from the sun as well. He looked at them each and sighed. He was amazed that he was still living. The fact that God had not allowed him to die, like his beloved wife, was another proof of God's twisted and sadistic plan for His tortured creation, Will Graham.
Getting a good look at himself in the mirror, he observed the growing stubble on his face and rubbed his chin. His hair was shortly cropped, almost to a complete buzz. His blonde hair had only the slightest flecks of white in it. Out in the sun, one would not be able to tell he was nearly fifty. He looked tired and scrawny, nothing like the well built man he had been when he left the FBI, either time.
"The hell with it," he muttered and made his way back to bed.
He lay on the covers with his eyes closed, just listening to the sounds of the room and to the television.
"Protesters today, lead by Darleen Taylor, rallied outside of the FBI Headquarters in Washington. All those who were present today came to voice their outrage against the recent discovery that notorious serial killer, and former psychiatrist, Dr. Hannibal 'the Cannibal' Lecter, had sealed documents which were recently reopened for the first time since before his capture in 1982. Their rally raises the question of whether or not prisoners should have privacy rights. This comes after the most shocking discovery that Dr. Lecter had a family prior to his incarceration."
Graham instantly sat straight up on his bed at the announcement and turned up the volume.
"Found within these documents were a marriage and birth certificate, proving the existence of a wife and son. A death certificate was also found for Annabelle Lecter, former wife of Dr. Lecter, dated two years before Lecter was captured after murdering nine people. Dr. Lecter's whereabouts are still unknown at this time since his escape from his Memphis cell in the fall of 1990 and his evasion from being captured last summer after murdering both Mason Verger, a former Lecter victim, and Paul Krendler, former aid to the office of the D. C. District Attorney. At this time, the whereabouts of Dr. Lecter's son is also unknown."
Graham was stunned. He had absolutely no idea that Dr. Lecter had a family of his own. He knew everything about Lecter, his background, his parents, his murdered sister, his education. everything. He had never read anything about a marriage, or a birth of a child. Graham felt nauseated. This was just one more thing that he had in common with his worst enemy. The words suddenly flooded back into Graham's tortured mind:
"Do you know how you caught me, Will? Because you and I are most alike."
For years Graham had pondered those words. Was it because he felt guilty for murdering _Tattler_ reported Freddy Lounds? No. He hated Lounds, he didn't feel anything over the death of the reporter. But what else would have lead Dr. Lecter to put Graham in such close proximity? What made Graham most like Dr. Lecter?
Graham suddenly slapped his forehead, he could feel his heart and stomach sink. The floor seemed to have fallen out from under his feet. He could see it clearly, that night at Dr. Lecter's home, the night Graham knew Dr. Lecter to be his hunted prey:
"We went to Molly's parent's house, and her father was showing my son, Josh, how to carve a chicken."
"Yeah?" Dr. Lecter leaned in closer, his eyes fixed on Graham's every word.
"And he was telling my son that the best parts were at the oysters on either side of the back. I had never heard that term before, 'oysters'."
Graham put a hand over his eyes, how could he not have seen it then? Dr. Lecter's eyes fixed on him, not because Graham had finally understood that each victim was being dissected for their "sweet breads," Dr. Lecter could have cared less whether or not Graham knew what he was doing to his victims. It was Josh. Dr. Lecter had been completely transfixed upon hearing about Graham's only son. The flash in his eyes had been so brief, so out of character, that Graham had completely forgotten he had seen it. Both were so much alike because they were family men.
Ever since finding out that Dr. Lecter had returned to the United States, Graham had been unwillingly trying to get into his head. He knew that the Bureau would be contacting him soon to return, every morning when he went out to get the morning paper, he half expected to see Jack Crawford standing at the bottom of his porch stairs holding up crime scene photographs from a new Lecter murder. Although he would outwardly dismiss the idea of returning to the Lecter case, he had been trying to get back into shape, mentally at least. At night, he would try to see if he could get into Dr. Lecter's mind, something he had been close to doing over fifteen years ago. With the sudden announcement that Dr. Lecter had a family, he could feel himself inch closer into the mind of Hannibal Lecter, the living, breathing nightmare of humanity.
Graham was so absorbed in his thoughts that he didn't even hear his son Josh enter into the room until he placed a hand on his father's shoulder. Graham jumped at the touch.
"Dad, relax. Just me." Josh sat down next to him.
He was a grown man now of twenty-three, handsome with rugged features. He was a lot like his father in his broad shoulders and muscular build, all of which had since faded on the elder Graham. But his hair and his eyes were unmistakably Molly's.
"Sorry," he yawned and patted his son on the shoulder. "Didn't hear you come in."
"I gathered," Josh muttered. "What's this I hear about Lecter?"
"Nothing." Graham said quickly and shut off the television. "Nothing, we're not getting involved."
Josh nodded. "Like Mom asked."
"Like Mom asked." Graham repeated. He pushed the memory of her voice out of his mind, he didn't want to torture himself any more over her today.
Josh got up from next to his father and picked up an empty bottle of Scotch from the dresser near the door. "Mom also asked that you stop drinking."
"I know," Graham nodded. "I'm trying."
"Right." Josh said and put down the bottle. He knew better than to challenge his father on a personal level, after all, his father was "functioning alcoholic." Drinking was the only thing his father had to escape from reality; the near death of his family, the conversations with Dr. Lecter, the death of his wife. His father needed to drink, that's how Josh rationalized it.
"Pancakes?" Graham got up and stood next to his son, they were about the same height as well, but Josh was taller by an inch.
"Out of milk." Josh shook his head. "What to eat out?"
"Yeah." Graham nodded. "Fine, what time is it?"
"Almost twelve, just in time for lunch." Josh shrugged. "You get cleaned up, I'll get the mail."
Graham snapped his fingers and pointed at his son as he walked back into his bathroom and shut the door. Josh listened to his father for a moment as he turned on the water in the shower and then picked up the empty bottle again. He ran his thumb over the label where he had marked the level of remaining alcohol in the bottle the day before. It was at the half way point then.
"Gone now." Josh sighed and collected it under his arm as he gathered all the remaining empty bottles next to the television and headed out.
Josh and his father lived in a small one story house just outside of Gainesville. They found it hard to remain in their former house after Dolarhyde had added to the family's nightmares, along with those originally started by Dr. Lecter. Josh still remembered the night he and his family had almost joined the Jacobi and Leeds families in the Dragon's "Becoming." He hated to refer to that horrible night as such, but he refused to acknowledge it on an even more personal level. Josh had his own scars that were just as damaging and as deep as his father's. Josh too dreamed of the Dragon. And like his father, he too was living without his sanity's feminine anchor.
At first, he was unsure of the stability in his parent's marriage after such an ordeal. Years of counseling and marriage therapy lead to a brief separation. Molly had taken Josh away from his father. The time apart had been less than four months. One day Graham came out to Montana, got down on his knees on the front step of their new apartment and spent the entire afternoon out in the rain until she agreed to let him in. Graham hadn't said a word all day and was soaking wet when he came inside. He claimed he was repenting. They spent the entire night talking and the next morning, proudly announced that they had decided to renew their wedding vows before returning to Florida. Josh was twelve-years-old when his father made him his best man.
Life in their new home was peaceful and pleasant. As Josh grew older, he started to have nightmares featuring Dolarhyde. Graham and Molly did everything they could to help him, sending him to various psychiatrists and counselors, all of whom Graham avoided, but he was more than happy to attend to the bills. Family happiness became extremely important to Graham and for a while, things seemed to settle.
Josh was sixteen-years-old when his mother died. It had been a freak accident in a fifteen car pile-up along the Florida state highway. Molly had been on her way home from the supermarket during a sudden harsh rainstorm. The tractor trailer ahead of her suddenly went into a skid, the driver lost complete control, and the trailer jack-knifed. Molly had no time to slam on her breaks, she crashed into the side of the trailer. Cars behind her skidded and crashed into her rear, the trailer then came crashing down on her and three other trapped drivers. She had died instantly when the roof of her car pinned her head over the steering wheel is such a way that her neck had snapped. The coroner assured her destroyed husband that she had felt no pain.
Graham sent Josh to his grandparents' briefly before the funeral. After the services for his mother, Graham turned to drinking, heavily. Molly Graham had died three days before Christmas. She had been on her way home after picking up the turkey for their Christmas Eve dinner. He had called her up from his small boat repair shop and asked her to get it, something he had promised to do himself that morning, but a rush order from a client kept him from his promise. He never forgave himself. From that day on, Graham became a firm believer that Dr. Lecter has been right, God was a sadist and His only purpose for the drunkard Graham was that he suffered throughout the rest of his life.
Outside, Josh slowly walked to the mailbox and observed the cloudless, blue January sky. The benefit of living in the south was that so- called "Winter Weather" required a short sleeve shirt and pants rather than short sleeve shirt and shorts. He ran a hand through his shaggy brown hair and decided that he better get a hair cut before his classes resumed.
The mail was light, one piece addressed to him from his school, his class schedule for the next semester and attached tuition bill. The other two pieces of mail were for his father. He closed the mailbox and looked up to see two well dressed men across the street. Josh sighed, he knew they were unmistakably FBI agents.
"Hey there, Josh," the taller agent smiled taking out his badge.
"Agent Hurley." Josh nodded then to the other. "Agent Murdock, good afternoon gentlemen."
"Know what we're here for?" Murdock asked.
"Nope. Don't care." He shook his head. "If you've come here to recruit my Dad to come back to you, you're wasting your time."
The two men crossed the street and approached Josh who remained next to the mailbox.
"Your father has heard about the latest in the Lecter case, hasn't he?" Murdock asked.
"I'm sure he has, he won't have anything to do with it." Josh shook his head again. "Off the grass if you please."
Neither agent moved. "It's important that we speak to your father, Josh. That is if he isn't too. busy." Hurley gave a brief glance to his partner with a smirk.
"Nothing doing." Josh folded his arms across his chest. "My father is not going to be dragged through this again. You'll just have to call upon someone else to help you catch him."
"Speaking for your father?" Murdock asked smugly.
"Good day gentlemen." Josh turned and walked back to the house.
The agents followed in pursuit and cut him off in his tracks.
"Just five minutes, we want to hear the rejection from him." Hurley said.
"A rejection is still a rejection, regardless of who gives it." Josh said coolly as he continued walking. "You've got your answer, please leave us alone."
"We'll be back Josh." Hurley warned.
Josh came back inside to find his father in the kitchen clad in his bathrobe searching for a bottle of water in the refrigerator. He looked to his son, and then went back to his search.
"They want you back Dad." Josh said handing the mail to his father.
"You don't say." Graham said sarcastically as he accepted the letters and placed them on the kitchen counter.
"What happened? What's the 'new development'?"
"Nothing that we have to worry about, Josh." Graham closed the refrigerator door and shook his head. "We're done."
"They'll keep asking."
"We'll keep saying no." He said calmly. "No is a complete answer."
"What if you could save some lives?" Josh asked, avoiding his father's piercing glare.
Josh was becoming more like his father every day. Graham had tried to dissuade his son from pursuing a degree in Criminal Justice but Josh wouldn't budge. As a boy, Josh had admired his father's conviction to help others. He proudly told all his friends and teachers that his father was an FBI agent. Even after his encounter with Dolarhyde, Josh was sure that he was going to go into Law Enforcement to keep men like Dolarhyde from hurting others. It broke Josh's heart to know that his father no longer believed in the same thing he once had.
"No." Graham said coldly.
* * *
Thus ends chapter seven, a nice long one this time. I thought it was about time to take a break from the Jerome/Starling plot and focus on another favorite Harris character. How about that? Clint Pearsall, Will Graham and Josh in the same chapter. More is on the way.
Thanks to all who have been kind enough to send reviews and feedback, please continue to do so. I enjoy reading them very much. Special thanks to Holly Graham who gave me her kind and expert advice on how to write Will Graham, thank you. Next chapter I shall introduce a new character and bring back an old favorite.