Title: "The Blood of a Cannibal"
Chapter 10 "Pull of Gravity"
Author: Jerome Mullins
Rating: R, adult language and later for adult situations.
Summary and Disclaimer: See previous chapters.
Author's Notes: It's about time that I get back to the heart of this story, the budding romance between Jerome Lecter and Clarice Starling. While there haven't been any fireworks yet, the sparks are flying. Meanwhile, Dr. Lecter gravitates closer and closer to a reunion with his son.
I should also mention that I have used the titles _Rosemary's Baby_ and _The Omen_ without permission. If you are reading this Mr. Ira Levin (which I doubt) I do apologize. Please don't sue me.
This chapter is in dedication to my dearest and closest friends in the entire world; Dell, Carla, Mike the Greater, and Mike the Lesser who are the inspirations for the characters in Jerome's circle of friends later met in this chapter. Thank you for permission to use you, gents and Carla; I hope I have done you justice and have not offended any of you.
* * *
"I understand _why_ you have to go back, but I just don't understand why _now_." Jerome grunted as he finished knotting his tie in the bathroom mirror.
"My boss has called me back to Washington for a couple of days, I will be back." She said as she continued to pack her things back into her suitcase. "You can't get rid of me that easily," she added softly.
"Who would ever want to be rid of you?" Jerome leaned back to smile at her and then went back to the mirror. "_They_ were the ones who assigned you to come out here, now they want you to go back and leave me completely unguarded."
"First of all, you aren't going to be completely unguarded; the school has been notified about your situation and has added on extra security, so you should feel special. Second of all, I have to go back because they've added another member on to the task force to find your father. I'm to go back to report in and get this new agent up to date. You do want us to find your father, don't you?"
"Of course," Jerome replied. "But you've been sending them reports everyday, you're keeping them well informed. What good would it do to have you go back there and just repeat everything you already told them?" he sounded a little impatient, almost hurt.
Since their walk together that night, Clarice Starling and Jerome Lecter had begun to spend much more time together. No one in the family seemed to notice the quick and playful banter between the two of them, nor the looks and gentle touches. They didn't even seem to notice it themselves. Not right away at least. It had seemed all too natural for the both of them to carry on that way. They had become so comfortable with each other that they spent more time alone down in his basement room where he would read while she worked. They watched a few movies together up in the family room and down in the basement via the DVD player installed in his notebook computer. They took walks and actually ventured into town together with the whole family for dinner, but most of the time they would talk alone in the basement.
It was a far cry from the dank and moist dungeon where she had first met Jerome's father. At first Starling had been hesitant to talk with Jerome, fearful that their discussions would turn towards unfavorable topics. Topics where Jerome would unconsciously slip into a mocking and probing tone. Times when he would sound all too much like his father, Dr. Hannibal Lecter. He had done that a few times before since they met just before Christmas; when she drove him home to his uncle and aunt's home from Boston College after they first met and when she had first arrived to the winter house and sat alone in the living room with him. She had not been offended either time when his words and playfulness had sounded all too much like his father, but she much rather preferred his words, his genuine insight and banter. Starling had fallen for a Lecter, and it wasn't Hannibal. She wasn't sure yet how to feel about it so she pushed these feelings aside, for the time being at least.
Starling stood from the bed and walked over to the bathroom door and looked in, she leaned against the door frame to watch as he straightened his blue silk tie and smoothed the wrinkles from his long sleeve blue shirt. She was quite fond of watching him.
"You're going to miss me, aren't you?" a smile crossed her face.
Jerome turned to face her and slit his eyes slightly, "That would be incredibly territorial of me."
"You're falling for me aren't you?" she teased. "Not that you could really help it, I mean, I _am_ irresistible."
Jerome smiled slightly and shook his head. "I'm. _fond_ of you."
"'Fond' of me-you're a horrible liar." She gently shoved his shoulder and went back to her packing.
"I would hope so," Jerome finished grooming and stepped into the room and took up his dark navy suit and draped it over his arm. "I was raised better than that. Women don't fall in love with liars."
"They don't?" her smile widened.
"I should rephrase that," he turned to face her.
"I think that might be best." She nodded.
"Women don't want to be _lied_ to. They don't want to be deceived." He corrected himself. "No one does."
Starling nodded and packed away her notebook computer while Jerome gathered his notes together into a yellow folder and tucked it into his brown leather briefcase along with copies of Dante's _Inferno_ and _La Vita Nuova_. Two books which rarely left his sight.
"Can I ask you something?"
"Please do." Jerome glanced over to her quickly while he continued to pack.
"Are you afraid of your father?"
His father. A topic she had not dared to bring up before, she had always avoided it on the grounds that she did not want to offend him. She had a few times, only a very few, and they had been brief comments that went no farther than a quick mention of his name. The truth was she just didn't want to think about him. She would do her job and look at the evidence, learn everything she could about the subject, just as Crawford had taught her, but she never wanted him in her thoughts on her off time. Not since she began spending more time with Jerome. Yet, with all the time spent not talking about him and not wanting to think about him, he was always there. She recalled the answer she had given Barney when he asked her if she ever thought of him-
_"At least thirty seconds everyday. he's still there with me, like a bad habit."_
Within these last few days, the question had built up within her. She had never really asked him, truly asked him, how he felt about his own father. The man who is partly responsible for his existence. She had to know, no matter how uncomfortable it might make either of them. She had to know.
"No." Jerome shook his head. "I have no reason to be, I've never come face to face with him."
"Are you afraid that you might someday?" Starling had stopped packing and was now sitting on the foot of the bed watching him.
"I don't know," he shook his head. "I might not be calm if I ever came close too him, I don't think anyone could. Especially knowing what he's capable of."
Jerome turned to meet her gaze, he could see that she was lost in thought, back somewhere in time. She had told him of her encounters, not in detail, but she had mentioned the kiss six months ago. She hardly ever brought him up and he avoided doing so out of consideration for her. By the look on her face he was able to guess that she was standing on the peer, looking up at the fireworks display on that warm July evening. She had described the encounter as surreal to her and not just because of the morphine, but the kiss, having her lips covered with the mouth of a cannibal. The kiss had been soft, experimental, yes, but gentle. Passionate. But not her passion, the passion had come from _his_ lips. That was the most surreal part of the whole encounter. Dr. Hannibal Lecter had a gentle side to him that he had only shown to her.
"I wonder if Annabelle saw it too?" she muttered softly to herself.
"Saw what?" Jerome sat down next to her.
His voice had shaken her out of her thoughts, she was a little fearful at first of mentioning his mother's name, fearful he might take it the wrong way. There was no look of offence on his face, however, and she decided to let the matter drop. She wasn't ready to go into it at the moment.
"Nothing," she shook her head and looked down to her hands. "Are you almost ready to go? I'm sure they're waiting upstairs for you."
Jerome looked to the stairs. "I'm sure they are, and I can imagine Uncle Luke standing there at the ready, camera in hand, already focused on the door." He returned to his briefcase and closed it up while saying, "Another role of film to add to the family album of shame."
"This is a big thing for them, Jerome, they're very proud of you. All that hard work you've put into your studies has earned you a top spot among your peers. How many invitations go out to the Boston College English Convention?"
"Too many." He said gruffly.
He picked up a small black duffle bag from the floor in one hand and slid his briefcase off the desk with the other. Starling too was finished with packing and collected her things and followed him up to the ground floor of the cabin the family had retreated to for the winter.
Just as he had said, Luke Harrington was already waiting for them, camera in hand, and immediately started to take pictures as they came up from the basement. Waiting at his side was his wife, Dana, and their four children, Mike, Sarah, Alex, and Anna. Jerome made it to the door quickly but half a role had already been spent. Starling laughed with delight at seeing him run for the door. His cousin, Sarah, grabbed hold of the door and kept him from passing to the outside.
"You're not going anywhere," she took hold of the knob with both hands and shoved Jerome away from the door. "My poor antisocial Jerome has to get his photo taken."
"I will get you in your sleep, you foul wench." He whispered to her.
Sarah gave him a broad toothy smile and held the door tighter.
"Oh, come now, Jerome. Let them take a picture of you," Starling called out to him from behind Dana.
Jerome quickly reached for her and firmly wrapped his arms around her waist, holding her firmly close to him. "If I must be humiliated you shall join me, Clarice. Now smile for the camera."
Luke was able to capture several snapshots of them in that position before Starling was able to break free. The pictures finally stopped when the role was gone and Luke had to reload.
"It's not nearly as bad as it seems, Jerome." Luke shook his head. He turned to Starling and said, "He's always had an aversion to photographs."
"I just have an aversion to be paraded around like a caged lion." Jerome shook his head.
"I can't blame him, especially with all those vultures snooping around out there." Dana said and looked out the living room window. "It'll do him some good to be out of the house for a day or two. We can pack up here and then go back home for the weekend before the semester starts."
"They're getting closer," Mike joined his mother and looked to the wooded area surrounding the house. "They were in town yesterday afternoon asking about us, I'm pretty sure that they know we're out here."
"Well we couldn't keep it a secret forever," Luke sighed, slightly disappointed. "I love this home, I would hate to think that they could ever spoil our happy little getaway out here, but-" he took in a deep breath.
"It won't be so bad," Sarah shook her head. "We might enjoy the attention. Besides, we know better to keep a tight lip."
Luke winked at her, "That's my girl."
"Clarice could always shoot them," Alex suggested in a bright and hopeful voice.
They all laughed except for Alex and Anna who both thought it was a good idea.
"Well, we should get going before they find us out here. It might give you guys more time if I leave now," Jerome suggested and looked to his watch. "Just in case they do find you here, I could be gone. It could always buy you some time by saying that you don't even know me, or where I am."
"We're not going to hide from them," Dana shook her head and placed a loving and tender hand on his shoulder, rubbing it gently. "We aren't ashamed of who we are and we are very proud of you. We won't let them have the satisfaction of forcing us to hide, and you shouldn't hide either."
Jerome smiled and hugged her first before bidding farewell to all of them. He would be joining them again for his last weekend at home before he headed back to school for the start of the new semester. Outside of the cabin he loaded his things into his two door blue Chevy Cavalier which was parked next to Starling's Mustang. Now came for the last good-by, for the time being at least.
"They're going to miss you. They've become terribly fond of you." Jerome came over to her car and stood with her at the trunk of the car.
"I'm going to miss them too, especially the little ones." Starling looked down to the gravel driveway that had a thin layer of snow on top. "They've invited me over for dinner, open invitation for whenever I'm in town."
"I hope you'll take them up on it. I'll make sure to come home for that, being with the entire family and you."
Starling smiled.
"You're really are going to miss me, aren't you?"
"I'm missing you already." He said softly.
Without another word he gently bent down to kiss her softly on the cheek, it was their first kiss. It warmed the flesh of her cheek which had flushed with the feel of the cold New England wind, or possibly due to his mere presence. Starling wasn't sure but she was enjoying both.
"I'm going to miss you too." She whispered to him while he was still close.
They were now standing apart from each other, a comfortable distance that wasn't too far. Jerome then cleared his throat and moved closer to his car, he was going do his formal good-by now.
"I'll write you, I have your e-mail address." He looked down to the snow covered gravel.
"I'll write too. I'll be coming out to check on the security measures at your school. It will be more of a business visit, I'm afraid; I'll probably be bringing another agent with me."
"Of course," he nodded. "You do have a job to do, I appreciate that." He nodded.
"But I will make sure to cut out some time for the two of us," she said boldly, at this point not caring who heard her. Jerome smiled at her courage and met it with an invitation.
"Certainly. Dinner and a show? I'll make sure to clear my class work for your arrival."
"Absolutely." She nodded her head.
Jerome nodded and moved closer to his car. They smiled to each other, neither wanting to actually say the words. And so they didn't. Starling was in her car first but was the last to pull out of the driveway. She had to painfully follow behind Jerome's Cavalier for three whole miles before they headed in opposite directions on the Massachusetts interstate highway.
* * *
The attendance had been slowly rising at the Venable Plaza Hotel. The lobbies on the ground and second floor were filled with students and instructors from Boston College for their annual English and Communications Department Convention. The ballroom housed over fifty round tables that could seat six easy all over the room. A podium was set on stage with two large tables set on either side facing out to the audience. One the right side of the stage was the Boston College flag and the national flag set on the far left side.
It was an hour before the convention started with a noon lunch when Jerome Lecter pulled into the parking lot and was directed to a spot close to the back of the hotel. Upon entering the hotel lobby he was spotted by the English Department Chairman, Dr. Greg Anderson who rushed over to greet him.
"Jerome, my dear boy, I was wondering when you would be getting here." They shook hands.
"Combination of traffic and bad drivers held me up," Jerome shrugged. "Waiting long for me?"
"Not at all, I just arrived myself. There's still a full hour before we start things off. I saw Matt, by the way, and John. They're waiting for you on the second floor in the lobby outside the ballroom."
Jerome nodded to him and to a few of his other professors as he went upstairs. There gathered around a waist-high counter top were two young men and a young woman, all roughly Jerome's age, with their backs turned to away from the stairwell. Jerome paused and smiled at them before joining them.
Matt Mallory was the first to notice him and greeted him with a warm and hearty handshake. "Jerome, good to see you. Another couple of minutes and Mary was ready to send up smoke signals for you." He smiled and led him over to join the group.
Matt was a twenty-one year old English major with brown hair and eyes and a bright smile. He and Jerome had been friends since their early school years on Martha's Vineyard, their friendship was based on their common love for books and movies. From there they both built a common interest in sports, particularly golf and bowling.
"Sorry gents, and Mary," he turned to the tall girl with long sandy- blond hair, she gave him a smile. "Traffic was terrible, not to mention the jackass in front of me nearly went head first into a phone pole."
"I had a guy behind me that tailed me all the way here," Matt said with a slight laugh. "He nearly followed me right into the parking lot."
Matt handed Jerome a tall glass of coke and a sugar packet and Jerome leaned in and instantly became one of the group.
"Did I miss anything important?" he looked around the group.
"Not at all," the girl shook her head. "John's just giving us his views on romance."
Mary Barrett was the second youngest in the group, almost six feet with long flowing sandy-blond hair and blue eyes. She was the only one in the group who was not an English or Communications major. She had been invited to the convention because of her award winning short stories she contributed to the school's newspaper and writing contests. She had always loved reading but loved to write her own stories all the more. While she took many English classes with the others, she was more interesting in History. Both Jerome and Matt had been able to convince her to select English as her minor.
"Wonderful," Jerome nodded his head and took a step back from them. "I'll just go talk to Dr. Anderson about all the renovations being done to his office, after I remove my brain through my ears first, of course." He rolled his eyes.
Matt and Mary laughed and the other young man gave Jerome a slight smile.
"Actually, Jerome, we were discussing our love lives and your _lack_ of a love life." The other said teasingly. "We're very worried about you, Jerome."
"Oh?" Jerome raised an eyebrow and took the sugar packet Matt had given him and poured it into his coke before drinking it.
"Yes, _very_ concerned." Mary added with a slight giggle.
"Just because I haven't dated anyone since last year," Jerome shook his head.
"Try our senior year," the young man corrected.
John Devlin had been friends with Matt since their kindergarten days and the CCD classes they took together at their parish where they had met Jerome the following year. The three boys formed and instant and tight friendship that grew even tighter as the years went on. They forged their strongest bond over their common love of good books and good movies, many of which they read and saw together. John was over six foot with curly brown hair and dark eyes. He was majoring in theater with the hopes of being an actor; he was also working on a novel which he had been inspired to write by his vast collection of fantasy and science fiction books and magazines he had in his private library. A library which was ever expanding and becoming larger and larger every time he passed by a bookstore, often he went with Jerome who had a way of convincing him to add another book. Jerome often teased John that his library would become as extensive as his own one of these days.
"Senior year?" Jerome paused and shook his head. "That's an awful long time."
"It sure is," Mary nodded.
"I think we need to help you find a girl," Matt said turning to face the students who were heading inside the ballroom behind them. "Question is, with whom?"
"Don't you guys have anything better to do than to play matchmaker?" Jerome took his drink and headed for a wingback chair next to the stairs. Matt and John followed him while Mary excused herself to freshen her drink in the ballroom.
"Do we have anything better to do?" Matt looked over to John who shook his head. "No, no we don't."
"Not until next week of course when classes start again," John yawned and sat down in the wingback chair next to Jerome. Matt sat in the chair on Jerome's other side.
"It's a shame they put this blasted thing together now, so close to the new semester and all." Matt looked around with a sneer.
"Why? Didn't want to see us until class?" John asked with a smile.
"I don't mind you guys at all, I've actually missed you if you can believe it," Matt shook his head.
"We don't." Jerome assured him.
"But I just didn't want to see some of these other people, especially the instructors, until next week."
"You could have stayed home." John shrugged.
"You're kidding right?" Matt laughed. "My mother wouldn't allow me to miss this. She practically shoved me in the car."
"You could have fought back." Jerome said flatly.
"I could have," Matt agreed. "But then I wouldn't get to see you guys."
"Sure," John nodded warily. "What he really means, Jerome, is that he wouldn't have been able to see _her_."
Jerome furrowed his brows for a second and then suddenly remembered the girl Matt had met right before Christmas.
"Ah, yes. Have you seen her yet?" Jerome leaned in closer to Matt.
"Who do you mean? I don't know what you're talking about." He then quickly drank his coke to keep himself from talking.
"I think I did see her in the parking lot when I was coming up," John winked at Jerome who stifled a smile. Matt coughed slightly on his drink and leaned his head back on the chair and gave a slight, uninterested nod.
"Did you send her a card for Christmas, Matt?" Jerome prodded. "Send her a special holiday greeting?"
"Alright, that's enough you two. First we were picking on Jerome's love life, now you're picking on mine?"
"We didn't know you had a love life we could pick on," John leaned forward with a silly grin on his face.
"I wouldn't tell you anything even if I did." Matt shook his head and looked to Jerome. "None of you."
"Don't trust us, do you?"
"Nope. And not that it's any of your business, or anything, but it just so happens that she is _not_ an English or Communications major. So she wouldn't be here at all." The three of them fell silent for a moment. Matt shook his head and stirred the ice in his glass with his finger then cleared his throat. "So who _was_ the last person you dated, Jerome?"
"Back to me all ready?" he sighed and slumped in his chair. "Well, I too am taking the Fifth Amendment and not saying a bloody thing to either of you."
"How would you like a date next week?" Mary asked crossing the lobby to join them.
Jerome lifted his head curiously towards her.
"What would you say if I told you I could arrange it for you to escort two lovely girls to the movies next Thursday night?" she wagged her eyebrows slightly.
"You're sick." Jerome muttered and shook his head. "No, no thank you. I shall arrange and schedule my own romantic outings if you please."
Matt then shot him a suspicious glance and looked over to John who gave the same look.
Matt leaned in closer to Jerome and said, "You're found someone, haven't you?"
Jerome stared back at him in disbelief. Matt looked harder at him and then nodded.
"You _did_ find someone. Who is she?"
"No one that you know," Jerome said slowly. "And I am certainly not going to talk about her when she's not here. Not like some people I know," he gave them a smile and reclined in the chair.
"We weren't talking about you the whole time," Mary said defensively. "There are more interesting things to talk about."
"The wall paper for one," John quipped.
Jerome smiled and yawned.
"Who's presenting first?" Matt asked.
"Lord knows," John shrugged. "I know they shifted some things around to make more time for the essay presentations. That's what I heard anyway."
"They cut down on the time for poetry and short stories," Mary sat down next to Matt. "They cut the questions segment entirely."
"I had a good question for you too," Jerome winked at her.
"It's not that stupid question about inspiration is it?"
"Not at all," he said softly. "I assure you it's ten times more embarrassing."
John laughed and stretched his legs. "Sitting here waiting for this thing to start feels like waiting for Armageddon."
Matt furrowed his brows, "Where the hell did that come from? How can you compare the B. C. English Convention to the end of the world?"
"It was a gut reaction." John smiled. "But that's just how I feel at the moment. I also feel like we are in the presence of evil. Does anyone here think we shall see the Anti-Christ in our own lifetime?"
The three of them turned to look at Jerome who rolled his eyes. "The 'D' stands for 'Dante' _not_ 'Damien.'"
"According to Ira Levin, the Anti-Christ's name is Adrian." Mary said.
"Andrew." Jerome corrected her. "In the book, it's Andrew John Woodhouse. _Rosemary's Baby_ is much more interesting than _The Omen_."
"You read too much." Matt shook his head.
"He should, there's nothing wrong with that," a voice came from behind them at the stairwell. "Nothing wrong with reading a lot."
Matt turned around and stood up when Dr. Susan Kennedy approached the group. Jerome and John followed Matt's lead and stood up to greet her. Mary turned to smile at her but went back to nursing her coke.
"Good evening, gentlemen." She shook their hands. "I trust you are all staying out of trouble."
"Indeed we are," Matt nodded. "Except for Jerome, of course. He's been nothing but trouble since he got here."
Jerome gave them a bright smile and winked to John who chuckled slightly.
"I know Mr. Lecter is a bright and kindly gentleman," she paused thoughtfully. "And yet, somehow, I actually believe that he _is_ the type who finds trouble easily."
The five of them laughed heartily and she bid them a temporary farewell and her best wishes for their presentations later that afternoon. John, Matt and Jerome returned to their seats and settled silently before starting a new topic.
Mary was the first to break the comfortable silence when she began looking around the lobby and to the clusters of students and instructors searching for the only missing member of their group and then turning back to the others. "Where's Mark?"
"Mark?" Matt said looking around, curious himself as to the whereabouts of their fifth clansmen might be. "I do no know."
"I didn't see him when I arrived," John shook his head. "And he always gets here before I do."
"Strange." Jerome said putting down his drink and looking around. "I know he was coming, he's been asked to take photographs and write an article on the convention for the school paper."
As if on cue, Mark Allen appeared at the stairwell coming up from the ground lobby. He was dressed richly in a dark suit with blood red tie, an obvious way of making him stand out amongst the sea of blue and black suits and ties that surrounded him. Jerome involuntarily clucked his tongue, disapproving of his friends' vanity.
Mark was the youngest of the group, an ambitious young man who pushed himself to become a rather distinguished freshman, the only freshman to have been invited to the convention which was held only to honor second year students and upper classmen. Mark was hardworking, respectable, but extremely arrogant. Jerome liked the young man, enjoyed his quick wit and sharp mind, in many ways the first year Journalism student reminded him of a younger version of himself; although Jerome had been more respectable and humble at the age of 19. Mark had become a member of the group after befriending John, who was also his roommate, and impressing the others with his smooth and well-written articles for the Boston College newspaper.
"About time you showed up, Mark." John called to him from his chair, coke in hand and en route towards his dry mouth.
"Traffic." Mark said as he briskly crossed the lobby to join his friends, smiling and shaking hands all around.
"Nope, sorry. Jerome all ready used that excuse. You'll have to think of something better." Matt smiled as he shook his hand.
"A truth is hardly an excuse." Mark smirked. "Especially when it's." he looked to Jerome for help.
"True?" Jerome raised an eyebrow.
Mark snapped his finger and pointed at him. "Precisely, it's the gospel truth that I was late and so here I am, a full twenty minutes before show time and I don't have a drink." He looked at Mary expectantly.
Mary was far too much comfortable in her chair and pointed to the ballroom. "In there."
Mark drooped his mouth as if he were a hurt puppy dog, "You're going to make me get my own drink? After I've been sitting in traffic for the last half-hour?"
Mary took a deep and refreshing gulp of her drink and brought it away from her lips. She let out a loud sound of relief before she replied, "Yep."
Mark turned to the others. "Guys? Sympathy?"
"For the devil?" Matt quipped.
"I know that tune." John raised his finger. "Heard it on the radio once."
"I have the album." Jerome chimed in quickly. "_Rolling Stones_, can't beat Mick."
"I like the four apostles better." Mary shrugged. "Paul, John, George, and Ringo."
"All right," Mark rolled his eyes. "I'll go get it myself. No one else wants anything, _do they?_" he added sarcastically.
"Cheese burger!" Jerome said and looked over to Matt. "Pickles on yours?"
"Right," Matt nodded. "No onions. Mary?"
"Million dollars, small non-sequential bills. Plain brown bag, you know the drill." She waived her hand dismissively.
"The entire world under my control, thank you." John said and leaned back in the chair.
"Don't you already rule the underworld?" Mary snorted.
"Which realm?" Jerome asked with a smile.
"Neither." John shook his head. "Heaven wouldn't take me and Hell's afraid I'd take over."
The four of them laughed heartily.
"I believe you were just wondering who the Anti-Christ was," Jerome gestured to John quickly with his head.
Mark turned and headed into the dinning room while muttering something inaudible against his friends.
"I love torturing that guy," Mary giggled.
"Easy target." John said.
"Too easy." Mary agreed.
"Did you guys hear they invited someone from Oxford to join us today?" Matt asked changing the subject.
"Eh?" John sat up slightly with interest.
Matt nodded his head, "A new English professor if I'm not mistaken."
"Did you get his name?" Mary asked.
"No," Matt shook his head.
"Is he replacing Dr. Hollaran?" Jerome leaned towards his best friend. "I heard that she's taking the semester off for maternity."
"I think it's a little more permanent than that." Matt shook his head. "I think they're looking for someone to award tenure."
"He must be pretty damn good." John whistled through his teeth slightly.
"Makes you wonder though," Jerome said thoughtfully. "Why would anyone leave such a prominent school, such as Oxford, to come and teach at Boston? There _are_ better schools to teach at, certainly with better English Departments."
"I don't know," Matt shrugged. "I heard something that he was originally from the area, maybe a little farther south and he just wanted to come back to the states."
"He supposed to be here? At the convention?" Mary asked.
Matt nodded, "I think he's here to give a formal interview, as well as take a look at what is expected of the professors here."
"I hope we get a chance to meet him." Jerome sat back in his chair, deep in thought.
"Meet who? What are we talking about?" Mark asked coming back over to join them. "Lunch is ready to be served; people are starting to file in."
"We were just talking about the new professor, the one from Oxford." John said standing from his chair and stretched a bit.
"Dr. Morrison." Mark nodded.
"You've heard then?" Matt asked as the group moved towards the ballroom.
"He came in last night from London," Mark nodded. "I'm to take pictures of him and Dr. Anderson later the afternoon. He's giving his formal interview."
"Sounds like they've already handed him the position," Jerome chuckled. "What shall he be teaching, I wonder?" he added in a mock British accent.
"Probably British works," Mary matched his tone and British imitation. "Things that are right up your ally I would imagine."
Jerome gave her a playful nudge as they entered into the ballroom. They had previously arranged with Dr. Anderson that they would sit together at lunch and dinner and found their table with their names printed on a small rectangle of stationary at their seats towards the middle of the room. John took the plastic card from the center of the table and presented it proudly to Jerome.
"I believe this to be your lucky number, sir."
Jerome took the card and smiled down at the large number 13 and returned it to its proper place setting.
They greeted those around them that they knew, waited for their table to be served lunch, a fresh Caesar salad and variety of sandwiches followed by an assortment of cookies for dessert. As their meal was winding down, their conversation switched back to their interest in the mysterious professor from England.
"We certainly do need another anglophile in these parts. It's exhausting to carry the work with just Jerome and myself." John added dryly.
"If he was an anglophile he would still be in England," Matt said. "Why would he be coming to work here?"
"What do they call people who are fanatical about the United States?" Mark asked.
"Nit-wits." John replied quickly.
* * *
Dr. Hannibal Lecter, at the moment Dr. Ivan Morrison, sat at the head table near the front of the stage; a welcome guest among the English and Communications Department faculty. Dr. Anderson introduced him to the group of teachers as if he were an amateur hunter presenting his first ten-point buck fresh from the kill. Dr. Lecter hadn't felt as if he were being put on display like this since his transfer from the Baltimore dungeon to his temporary confinement in Memphis. The tone in Anderson's voice as he made the introduction rang so close to the tone in Dr. Fredrick Chilton's voice as he was introduced to Senator Ruth Martin. Dr. Lecter felt like taking hold of Dr. Anderson's vocal chords and dragging the man off to an unimaginable horrible fate, just like he had done to Dr. Chilton so many years ago.
Dr. Lecter stifled the feeling with a deep breath and smiled pleasantly as he shook each of the instructors' hands and took a seat among them, careful to keep his left hand from sight.
It was Dr. Kennedy who was the first to engage him in conversation, "Greg has been kind enough to show us some of your work, including your doctorial thesis on the character of Falstaff from Shakespeare's _Henry IV_ and _Henry V_. Quite interesting material."
"Thank you," Dr. Lecter gave her a bright and toothy smile. "Did you enjoy it?"
"Very much," she nodded. "But not as much as your recent works on the great betrayers of literature which, even more interestingly, include King Henry himself. Although I gathered from your thesis paper that Falstaff is one of your favorite characters."
"Indeed, he is."
Dr. Lecter couldn't stand Falstaff. He was a bumbling and drunken fool, nothing more than ill mannered lush who had clung to young Hal's tailcoat in the hopes that he would be remembered when Hal finally took his father's thrown. He had laughed giddily when he read of Falstaff's death in _Henry V_ back when he was in school. He could recall the strange looks he received from his instructor and fellow classmates when he had first read the play in class, he couldn't help but laugh at the lush's death. He was overjoyed by the ancient tavern rat's death.
Had Dr. Lecter known of all of Dr. Morrison's works before he had taken his identity, he might have had second thoughts about killing him in London.
"A very sympathetic and complex character." Dr. Lecter added in his soothing and rich voice.
"He is an interesting character," Dr. Kennedy agreed.
"I never liked him," the professor sitting to Dr. Lecter's left had spoken bluntly. "Lush." She added harshly.
Dr. Lecter gave her a polite smile, he suddenly remember how much he hated being around college professors. Too many minds at work and conflicting views. Dr. Lecter kept quiet through the rest of lunch, listening politely to others and answering the questions put to him, the way that Dr. _Morrison_ would have answered them. But his mind was elsewhere.
Since Dr. Lecter had come down stairs to join to convention and meet Dr. Anderson in person, he had been playing a game with himself. Searching through the crowds of faces of the young and bright minds, he was looking for the face of his son. He wondered if he would recognize him just on looks alone. Would his own son look more like him or his beloved mother? Somewhere during the meal, his body operations took over in full to appear as if he were still very much apart of the convention going on around him, but his mind was wondering through the halls of his mind palace.
Past the rooms of artwork and the studies full of his files and favorite books, deep inside the room he hardly entered anymore. It was a corner room, still well cared for, but otherwise untouched. Opening the door he was met with the brilliant white smile of his deceased wife, Annabelle. Her beauty and warmth had been forever preserved in the form of a portrait painted with great care in the finest oil paints. He had tried to resurrect her once, returning all of her soul and energy to a form of flesh and blood within this room, but failed. Her body had quickly withered to the cold and stiff body she had been the last time he had laid eyes upon his beloved wife. The last time he had touched her as she laid in that Godforsaken casket. It was too painful for him to see the metamorphosis from a happy, vibrant woman, a mother-to-be in the delivery room who used all her might and energy to bring a new life into this world and then turn into a weak and withered body the next. She had gasped in her last moments alive, reached for her husband who had never left her side and begged him, not for her life but to see him just once more.
She then asked for their son, to gaze down at the perfect combination of mother and father that they had created together in love. She was so weak she couldn't even hold him, only look at him through glassy eyes and heavy eyelids, and then they closed for the last time. She was gone. She hadn't even had enough time to say anything about their son. He was sure that she was happy, but he wasn't sure if she was even able to see him, to know that he was there.
Now he stood before her portrait. Her youth and beauty forever preserved in the large framed canvas that covered the wall in this private study. Here he kept his most cherished memories, the memories of his wife and his son. Everything he had on them, every moment he had spent with the both of them, was stored right here in this room.
He cocked his head slightly to the left and leaned forward towards the portrait and then came back to leaned on his heels. _Blue or green eyes?_ he asked himself. He looked deeply into his wife's eyes, those brilliant green eyes, and wondered if their son had the same shade of green eyes as his mother. _Tall?_ was his next question. He had always hoped that his son would be tall, he wasn't exactly sure why. He wasn't a very tall man himself, nor his ancestors. Annabelle, however, had a whole family full of tall men and women. He could easily recall that his son did inherit his father's dark hair, as an infant his head had been covered with scattered wisps of jet black hair. _My son,_ he took the thought in deeply. _My son whom I have not seen in nineteen years, nineteen very_ long _years. My son, named after his mother's favorite saint and my favorite poet. Jerome Dante- _
"Lecter?"
The mentioning of his name broke his concentration and brought him out of his mind palace to the dining table. In his mind's absence, his body had taken control and was conscious enough to light one of his miniature cigars, one his many activities he had programmed his body to do to make it appear that he was still very much conscious of the things around him while his mind was elsewhere. When his mind did regain control of his body, he took a drag of his cigar and gave his full concentration to the conversation. Someone had mentioned his name.
"Yes, I did see him." Anderson was nodding and talking to the professor sitting across from him and to the left of Dr. Kennedy.
"I saw him as well. He's with the others of course. They are inseparable." Kennedy laughed delightfully. "Every time I've had them in class, the first day they find a place where they can all sit together and they never move from those seats for the rest of the semester."
_Others?_ Dr. Lecter was curious.
"Any idea where they're sitting?" one of the professors asked.
"Somewhere in the middle," Anderson looked to the other side of the room. "I thought I saw them as they were coming in."
Dr. Lecter moved his head to look in the direction Anderson had gestured. He scanned the faces quickly but none of them struck him as familiar. _He must have his back turned away from me,_ he concluded and turned back to his group with a polite smile.
"I know Matt and John are going to be discussing the theater, specifically giving us a preview of what is to come for this season. And Jerome's here for his essay on Dante, something on the betrayers." Kennedy turned to Dr. Lecter and gave him a smile. "Something right up your alley, Dr. Morrison."
"I should say so," he nodded. "A student of yours?"
"One of my best," Kennedy nodded proudly. "Very bright, he's always been a pleasure to have in class. Always full of ideas and fresh interpretations."
"I'll say," Anderson laughed. "He once wrote a paper for me giving one of the most original and interesting interpretations of the ending of _One Flew over the Cuckoo's Nest_ I have ever read."
"He sounds like quite the young man," Dr. Lecter chose his words carefully. "I'd be very interesting in meeting him."
"You should meet him," the professor sitting next to him said firmly. "To come all this way and not meet Jerome Lecter would be a pity."
Dr. Lecter smiled, if one were paying close attention they could see the spark of paternal pride that quickly flashed in his eyes and then vanished.
* * *
Thank you again to Mike, Mike, Dell, and Carla for allowing me to use you guys as inspirations for the characters met in this chapter. I think it would be a sin if I did not give Jerome a group of friends who are just as kind, caring and understanding to him as you. Not to mention just as funny and interesting. And who better to use for inspiration than the four of you who have influenced me in more ways than one? You guys are truly the best.
Thank you as well to all my readers and reviewers, please do continue to send along your words of encouragement and kindness. Honest reviews also welcome. Coming up in the next chapter: "Meeting of the Minds." Introductions are exchanged between Clarice Starling and Will Graham as the hunt for Dr. Lecter continues; meanwhile, Dr. Morrison and Jerome meet face to face for the "first" time. Until then, ta-ta.
Chapter 10 "Pull of Gravity"
Author: Jerome Mullins
Rating: R, adult language and later for adult situations.
Summary and Disclaimer: See previous chapters.
Author's Notes: It's about time that I get back to the heart of this story, the budding romance between Jerome Lecter and Clarice Starling. While there haven't been any fireworks yet, the sparks are flying. Meanwhile, Dr. Lecter gravitates closer and closer to a reunion with his son.
I should also mention that I have used the titles _Rosemary's Baby_ and _The Omen_ without permission. If you are reading this Mr. Ira Levin (which I doubt) I do apologize. Please don't sue me.
This chapter is in dedication to my dearest and closest friends in the entire world; Dell, Carla, Mike the Greater, and Mike the Lesser who are the inspirations for the characters in Jerome's circle of friends later met in this chapter. Thank you for permission to use you, gents and Carla; I hope I have done you justice and have not offended any of you.
* * *
"I understand _why_ you have to go back, but I just don't understand why _now_." Jerome grunted as he finished knotting his tie in the bathroom mirror.
"My boss has called me back to Washington for a couple of days, I will be back." She said as she continued to pack her things back into her suitcase. "You can't get rid of me that easily," she added softly.
"Who would ever want to be rid of you?" Jerome leaned back to smile at her and then went back to the mirror. "_They_ were the ones who assigned you to come out here, now they want you to go back and leave me completely unguarded."
"First of all, you aren't going to be completely unguarded; the school has been notified about your situation and has added on extra security, so you should feel special. Second of all, I have to go back because they've added another member on to the task force to find your father. I'm to go back to report in and get this new agent up to date. You do want us to find your father, don't you?"
"Of course," Jerome replied. "But you've been sending them reports everyday, you're keeping them well informed. What good would it do to have you go back there and just repeat everything you already told them?" he sounded a little impatient, almost hurt.
Since their walk together that night, Clarice Starling and Jerome Lecter had begun to spend much more time together. No one in the family seemed to notice the quick and playful banter between the two of them, nor the looks and gentle touches. They didn't even seem to notice it themselves. Not right away at least. It had seemed all too natural for the both of them to carry on that way. They had become so comfortable with each other that they spent more time alone down in his basement room where he would read while she worked. They watched a few movies together up in the family room and down in the basement via the DVD player installed in his notebook computer. They took walks and actually ventured into town together with the whole family for dinner, but most of the time they would talk alone in the basement.
It was a far cry from the dank and moist dungeon where she had first met Jerome's father. At first Starling had been hesitant to talk with Jerome, fearful that their discussions would turn towards unfavorable topics. Topics where Jerome would unconsciously slip into a mocking and probing tone. Times when he would sound all too much like his father, Dr. Hannibal Lecter. He had done that a few times before since they met just before Christmas; when she drove him home to his uncle and aunt's home from Boston College after they first met and when she had first arrived to the winter house and sat alone in the living room with him. She had not been offended either time when his words and playfulness had sounded all too much like his father, but she much rather preferred his words, his genuine insight and banter. Starling had fallen for a Lecter, and it wasn't Hannibal. She wasn't sure yet how to feel about it so she pushed these feelings aside, for the time being at least.
Starling stood from the bed and walked over to the bathroom door and looked in, she leaned against the door frame to watch as he straightened his blue silk tie and smoothed the wrinkles from his long sleeve blue shirt. She was quite fond of watching him.
"You're going to miss me, aren't you?" a smile crossed her face.
Jerome turned to face her and slit his eyes slightly, "That would be incredibly territorial of me."
"You're falling for me aren't you?" she teased. "Not that you could really help it, I mean, I _am_ irresistible."
Jerome smiled slightly and shook his head. "I'm. _fond_ of you."
"'Fond' of me-you're a horrible liar." She gently shoved his shoulder and went back to her packing.
"I would hope so," Jerome finished grooming and stepped into the room and took up his dark navy suit and draped it over his arm. "I was raised better than that. Women don't fall in love with liars."
"They don't?" her smile widened.
"I should rephrase that," he turned to face her.
"I think that might be best." She nodded.
"Women don't want to be _lied_ to. They don't want to be deceived." He corrected himself. "No one does."
Starling nodded and packed away her notebook computer while Jerome gathered his notes together into a yellow folder and tucked it into his brown leather briefcase along with copies of Dante's _Inferno_ and _La Vita Nuova_. Two books which rarely left his sight.
"Can I ask you something?"
"Please do." Jerome glanced over to her quickly while he continued to pack.
"Are you afraid of your father?"
His father. A topic she had not dared to bring up before, she had always avoided it on the grounds that she did not want to offend him. She had a few times, only a very few, and they had been brief comments that went no farther than a quick mention of his name. The truth was she just didn't want to think about him. She would do her job and look at the evidence, learn everything she could about the subject, just as Crawford had taught her, but she never wanted him in her thoughts on her off time. Not since she began spending more time with Jerome. Yet, with all the time spent not talking about him and not wanting to think about him, he was always there. She recalled the answer she had given Barney when he asked her if she ever thought of him-
_"At least thirty seconds everyday. he's still there with me, like a bad habit."_
Within these last few days, the question had built up within her. She had never really asked him, truly asked him, how he felt about his own father. The man who is partly responsible for his existence. She had to know, no matter how uncomfortable it might make either of them. She had to know.
"No." Jerome shook his head. "I have no reason to be, I've never come face to face with him."
"Are you afraid that you might someday?" Starling had stopped packing and was now sitting on the foot of the bed watching him.
"I don't know," he shook his head. "I might not be calm if I ever came close too him, I don't think anyone could. Especially knowing what he's capable of."
Jerome turned to meet her gaze, he could see that she was lost in thought, back somewhere in time. She had told him of her encounters, not in detail, but she had mentioned the kiss six months ago. She hardly ever brought him up and he avoided doing so out of consideration for her. By the look on her face he was able to guess that she was standing on the peer, looking up at the fireworks display on that warm July evening. She had described the encounter as surreal to her and not just because of the morphine, but the kiss, having her lips covered with the mouth of a cannibal. The kiss had been soft, experimental, yes, but gentle. Passionate. But not her passion, the passion had come from _his_ lips. That was the most surreal part of the whole encounter. Dr. Hannibal Lecter had a gentle side to him that he had only shown to her.
"I wonder if Annabelle saw it too?" she muttered softly to herself.
"Saw what?" Jerome sat down next to her.
His voice had shaken her out of her thoughts, she was a little fearful at first of mentioning his mother's name, fearful he might take it the wrong way. There was no look of offence on his face, however, and she decided to let the matter drop. She wasn't ready to go into it at the moment.
"Nothing," she shook her head and looked down to her hands. "Are you almost ready to go? I'm sure they're waiting upstairs for you."
Jerome looked to the stairs. "I'm sure they are, and I can imagine Uncle Luke standing there at the ready, camera in hand, already focused on the door." He returned to his briefcase and closed it up while saying, "Another role of film to add to the family album of shame."
"This is a big thing for them, Jerome, they're very proud of you. All that hard work you've put into your studies has earned you a top spot among your peers. How many invitations go out to the Boston College English Convention?"
"Too many." He said gruffly.
He picked up a small black duffle bag from the floor in one hand and slid his briefcase off the desk with the other. Starling too was finished with packing and collected her things and followed him up to the ground floor of the cabin the family had retreated to for the winter.
Just as he had said, Luke Harrington was already waiting for them, camera in hand, and immediately started to take pictures as they came up from the basement. Waiting at his side was his wife, Dana, and their four children, Mike, Sarah, Alex, and Anna. Jerome made it to the door quickly but half a role had already been spent. Starling laughed with delight at seeing him run for the door. His cousin, Sarah, grabbed hold of the door and kept him from passing to the outside.
"You're not going anywhere," she took hold of the knob with both hands and shoved Jerome away from the door. "My poor antisocial Jerome has to get his photo taken."
"I will get you in your sleep, you foul wench." He whispered to her.
Sarah gave him a broad toothy smile and held the door tighter.
"Oh, come now, Jerome. Let them take a picture of you," Starling called out to him from behind Dana.
Jerome quickly reached for her and firmly wrapped his arms around her waist, holding her firmly close to him. "If I must be humiliated you shall join me, Clarice. Now smile for the camera."
Luke was able to capture several snapshots of them in that position before Starling was able to break free. The pictures finally stopped when the role was gone and Luke had to reload.
"It's not nearly as bad as it seems, Jerome." Luke shook his head. He turned to Starling and said, "He's always had an aversion to photographs."
"I just have an aversion to be paraded around like a caged lion." Jerome shook his head.
"I can't blame him, especially with all those vultures snooping around out there." Dana said and looked out the living room window. "It'll do him some good to be out of the house for a day or two. We can pack up here and then go back home for the weekend before the semester starts."
"They're getting closer," Mike joined his mother and looked to the wooded area surrounding the house. "They were in town yesterday afternoon asking about us, I'm pretty sure that they know we're out here."
"Well we couldn't keep it a secret forever," Luke sighed, slightly disappointed. "I love this home, I would hate to think that they could ever spoil our happy little getaway out here, but-" he took in a deep breath.
"It won't be so bad," Sarah shook her head. "We might enjoy the attention. Besides, we know better to keep a tight lip."
Luke winked at her, "That's my girl."
"Clarice could always shoot them," Alex suggested in a bright and hopeful voice.
They all laughed except for Alex and Anna who both thought it was a good idea.
"Well, we should get going before they find us out here. It might give you guys more time if I leave now," Jerome suggested and looked to his watch. "Just in case they do find you here, I could be gone. It could always buy you some time by saying that you don't even know me, or where I am."
"We're not going to hide from them," Dana shook her head and placed a loving and tender hand on his shoulder, rubbing it gently. "We aren't ashamed of who we are and we are very proud of you. We won't let them have the satisfaction of forcing us to hide, and you shouldn't hide either."
Jerome smiled and hugged her first before bidding farewell to all of them. He would be joining them again for his last weekend at home before he headed back to school for the start of the new semester. Outside of the cabin he loaded his things into his two door blue Chevy Cavalier which was parked next to Starling's Mustang. Now came for the last good-by, for the time being at least.
"They're going to miss you. They've become terribly fond of you." Jerome came over to her car and stood with her at the trunk of the car.
"I'm going to miss them too, especially the little ones." Starling looked down to the gravel driveway that had a thin layer of snow on top. "They've invited me over for dinner, open invitation for whenever I'm in town."
"I hope you'll take them up on it. I'll make sure to come home for that, being with the entire family and you."
Starling smiled.
"You're really are going to miss me, aren't you?"
"I'm missing you already." He said softly.
Without another word he gently bent down to kiss her softly on the cheek, it was their first kiss. It warmed the flesh of her cheek which had flushed with the feel of the cold New England wind, or possibly due to his mere presence. Starling wasn't sure but she was enjoying both.
"I'm going to miss you too." She whispered to him while he was still close.
They were now standing apart from each other, a comfortable distance that wasn't too far. Jerome then cleared his throat and moved closer to his car, he was going do his formal good-by now.
"I'll write you, I have your e-mail address." He looked down to the snow covered gravel.
"I'll write too. I'll be coming out to check on the security measures at your school. It will be more of a business visit, I'm afraid; I'll probably be bringing another agent with me."
"Of course," he nodded. "You do have a job to do, I appreciate that." He nodded.
"But I will make sure to cut out some time for the two of us," she said boldly, at this point not caring who heard her. Jerome smiled at her courage and met it with an invitation.
"Certainly. Dinner and a show? I'll make sure to clear my class work for your arrival."
"Absolutely." She nodded her head.
Jerome nodded and moved closer to his car. They smiled to each other, neither wanting to actually say the words. And so they didn't. Starling was in her car first but was the last to pull out of the driveway. She had to painfully follow behind Jerome's Cavalier for three whole miles before they headed in opposite directions on the Massachusetts interstate highway.
* * *
The attendance had been slowly rising at the Venable Plaza Hotel. The lobbies on the ground and second floor were filled with students and instructors from Boston College for their annual English and Communications Department Convention. The ballroom housed over fifty round tables that could seat six easy all over the room. A podium was set on stage with two large tables set on either side facing out to the audience. One the right side of the stage was the Boston College flag and the national flag set on the far left side.
It was an hour before the convention started with a noon lunch when Jerome Lecter pulled into the parking lot and was directed to a spot close to the back of the hotel. Upon entering the hotel lobby he was spotted by the English Department Chairman, Dr. Greg Anderson who rushed over to greet him.
"Jerome, my dear boy, I was wondering when you would be getting here." They shook hands.
"Combination of traffic and bad drivers held me up," Jerome shrugged. "Waiting long for me?"
"Not at all, I just arrived myself. There's still a full hour before we start things off. I saw Matt, by the way, and John. They're waiting for you on the second floor in the lobby outside the ballroom."
Jerome nodded to him and to a few of his other professors as he went upstairs. There gathered around a waist-high counter top were two young men and a young woman, all roughly Jerome's age, with their backs turned to away from the stairwell. Jerome paused and smiled at them before joining them.
Matt Mallory was the first to notice him and greeted him with a warm and hearty handshake. "Jerome, good to see you. Another couple of minutes and Mary was ready to send up smoke signals for you." He smiled and led him over to join the group.
Matt was a twenty-one year old English major with brown hair and eyes and a bright smile. He and Jerome had been friends since their early school years on Martha's Vineyard, their friendship was based on their common love for books and movies. From there they both built a common interest in sports, particularly golf and bowling.
"Sorry gents, and Mary," he turned to the tall girl with long sandy- blond hair, she gave him a smile. "Traffic was terrible, not to mention the jackass in front of me nearly went head first into a phone pole."
"I had a guy behind me that tailed me all the way here," Matt said with a slight laugh. "He nearly followed me right into the parking lot."
Matt handed Jerome a tall glass of coke and a sugar packet and Jerome leaned in and instantly became one of the group.
"Did I miss anything important?" he looked around the group.
"Not at all," the girl shook her head. "John's just giving us his views on romance."
Mary Barrett was the second youngest in the group, almost six feet with long flowing sandy-blond hair and blue eyes. She was the only one in the group who was not an English or Communications major. She had been invited to the convention because of her award winning short stories she contributed to the school's newspaper and writing contests. She had always loved reading but loved to write her own stories all the more. While she took many English classes with the others, she was more interesting in History. Both Jerome and Matt had been able to convince her to select English as her minor.
"Wonderful," Jerome nodded his head and took a step back from them. "I'll just go talk to Dr. Anderson about all the renovations being done to his office, after I remove my brain through my ears first, of course." He rolled his eyes.
Matt and Mary laughed and the other young man gave Jerome a slight smile.
"Actually, Jerome, we were discussing our love lives and your _lack_ of a love life." The other said teasingly. "We're very worried about you, Jerome."
"Oh?" Jerome raised an eyebrow and took the sugar packet Matt had given him and poured it into his coke before drinking it.
"Yes, _very_ concerned." Mary added with a slight giggle.
"Just because I haven't dated anyone since last year," Jerome shook his head.
"Try our senior year," the young man corrected.
John Devlin had been friends with Matt since their kindergarten days and the CCD classes they took together at their parish where they had met Jerome the following year. The three boys formed and instant and tight friendship that grew even tighter as the years went on. They forged their strongest bond over their common love of good books and good movies, many of which they read and saw together. John was over six foot with curly brown hair and dark eyes. He was majoring in theater with the hopes of being an actor; he was also working on a novel which he had been inspired to write by his vast collection of fantasy and science fiction books and magazines he had in his private library. A library which was ever expanding and becoming larger and larger every time he passed by a bookstore, often he went with Jerome who had a way of convincing him to add another book. Jerome often teased John that his library would become as extensive as his own one of these days.
"Senior year?" Jerome paused and shook his head. "That's an awful long time."
"It sure is," Mary nodded.
"I think we need to help you find a girl," Matt said turning to face the students who were heading inside the ballroom behind them. "Question is, with whom?"
"Don't you guys have anything better to do than to play matchmaker?" Jerome took his drink and headed for a wingback chair next to the stairs. Matt and John followed him while Mary excused herself to freshen her drink in the ballroom.
"Do we have anything better to do?" Matt looked over to John who shook his head. "No, no we don't."
"Not until next week of course when classes start again," John yawned and sat down in the wingback chair next to Jerome. Matt sat in the chair on Jerome's other side.
"It's a shame they put this blasted thing together now, so close to the new semester and all." Matt looked around with a sneer.
"Why? Didn't want to see us until class?" John asked with a smile.
"I don't mind you guys at all, I've actually missed you if you can believe it," Matt shook his head.
"We don't." Jerome assured him.
"But I just didn't want to see some of these other people, especially the instructors, until next week."
"You could have stayed home." John shrugged.
"You're kidding right?" Matt laughed. "My mother wouldn't allow me to miss this. She practically shoved me in the car."
"You could have fought back." Jerome said flatly.
"I could have," Matt agreed. "But then I wouldn't get to see you guys."
"Sure," John nodded warily. "What he really means, Jerome, is that he wouldn't have been able to see _her_."
Jerome furrowed his brows for a second and then suddenly remembered the girl Matt had met right before Christmas.
"Ah, yes. Have you seen her yet?" Jerome leaned in closer to Matt.
"Who do you mean? I don't know what you're talking about." He then quickly drank his coke to keep himself from talking.
"I think I did see her in the parking lot when I was coming up," John winked at Jerome who stifled a smile. Matt coughed slightly on his drink and leaned his head back on the chair and gave a slight, uninterested nod.
"Did you send her a card for Christmas, Matt?" Jerome prodded. "Send her a special holiday greeting?"
"Alright, that's enough you two. First we were picking on Jerome's love life, now you're picking on mine?"
"We didn't know you had a love life we could pick on," John leaned forward with a silly grin on his face.
"I wouldn't tell you anything even if I did." Matt shook his head and looked to Jerome. "None of you."
"Don't trust us, do you?"
"Nope. And not that it's any of your business, or anything, but it just so happens that she is _not_ an English or Communications major. So she wouldn't be here at all." The three of them fell silent for a moment. Matt shook his head and stirred the ice in his glass with his finger then cleared his throat. "So who _was_ the last person you dated, Jerome?"
"Back to me all ready?" he sighed and slumped in his chair. "Well, I too am taking the Fifth Amendment and not saying a bloody thing to either of you."
"How would you like a date next week?" Mary asked crossing the lobby to join them.
Jerome lifted his head curiously towards her.
"What would you say if I told you I could arrange it for you to escort two lovely girls to the movies next Thursday night?" she wagged her eyebrows slightly.
"You're sick." Jerome muttered and shook his head. "No, no thank you. I shall arrange and schedule my own romantic outings if you please."
Matt then shot him a suspicious glance and looked over to John who gave the same look.
Matt leaned in closer to Jerome and said, "You're found someone, haven't you?"
Jerome stared back at him in disbelief. Matt looked harder at him and then nodded.
"You _did_ find someone. Who is she?"
"No one that you know," Jerome said slowly. "And I am certainly not going to talk about her when she's not here. Not like some people I know," he gave them a smile and reclined in the chair.
"We weren't talking about you the whole time," Mary said defensively. "There are more interesting things to talk about."
"The wall paper for one," John quipped.
Jerome smiled and yawned.
"Who's presenting first?" Matt asked.
"Lord knows," John shrugged. "I know they shifted some things around to make more time for the essay presentations. That's what I heard anyway."
"They cut down on the time for poetry and short stories," Mary sat down next to Matt. "They cut the questions segment entirely."
"I had a good question for you too," Jerome winked at her.
"It's not that stupid question about inspiration is it?"
"Not at all," he said softly. "I assure you it's ten times more embarrassing."
John laughed and stretched his legs. "Sitting here waiting for this thing to start feels like waiting for Armageddon."
Matt furrowed his brows, "Where the hell did that come from? How can you compare the B. C. English Convention to the end of the world?"
"It was a gut reaction." John smiled. "But that's just how I feel at the moment. I also feel like we are in the presence of evil. Does anyone here think we shall see the Anti-Christ in our own lifetime?"
The three of them turned to look at Jerome who rolled his eyes. "The 'D' stands for 'Dante' _not_ 'Damien.'"
"According to Ira Levin, the Anti-Christ's name is Adrian." Mary said.
"Andrew." Jerome corrected her. "In the book, it's Andrew John Woodhouse. _Rosemary's Baby_ is much more interesting than _The Omen_."
"You read too much." Matt shook his head.
"He should, there's nothing wrong with that," a voice came from behind them at the stairwell. "Nothing wrong with reading a lot."
Matt turned around and stood up when Dr. Susan Kennedy approached the group. Jerome and John followed Matt's lead and stood up to greet her. Mary turned to smile at her but went back to nursing her coke.
"Good evening, gentlemen." She shook their hands. "I trust you are all staying out of trouble."
"Indeed we are," Matt nodded. "Except for Jerome, of course. He's been nothing but trouble since he got here."
Jerome gave them a bright smile and winked to John who chuckled slightly.
"I know Mr. Lecter is a bright and kindly gentleman," she paused thoughtfully. "And yet, somehow, I actually believe that he _is_ the type who finds trouble easily."
The five of them laughed heartily and she bid them a temporary farewell and her best wishes for their presentations later that afternoon. John, Matt and Jerome returned to their seats and settled silently before starting a new topic.
Mary was the first to break the comfortable silence when she began looking around the lobby and to the clusters of students and instructors searching for the only missing member of their group and then turning back to the others. "Where's Mark?"
"Mark?" Matt said looking around, curious himself as to the whereabouts of their fifth clansmen might be. "I do no know."
"I didn't see him when I arrived," John shook his head. "And he always gets here before I do."
"Strange." Jerome said putting down his drink and looking around. "I know he was coming, he's been asked to take photographs and write an article on the convention for the school paper."
As if on cue, Mark Allen appeared at the stairwell coming up from the ground lobby. He was dressed richly in a dark suit with blood red tie, an obvious way of making him stand out amongst the sea of blue and black suits and ties that surrounded him. Jerome involuntarily clucked his tongue, disapproving of his friends' vanity.
Mark was the youngest of the group, an ambitious young man who pushed himself to become a rather distinguished freshman, the only freshman to have been invited to the convention which was held only to honor second year students and upper classmen. Mark was hardworking, respectable, but extremely arrogant. Jerome liked the young man, enjoyed his quick wit and sharp mind, in many ways the first year Journalism student reminded him of a younger version of himself; although Jerome had been more respectable and humble at the age of 19. Mark had become a member of the group after befriending John, who was also his roommate, and impressing the others with his smooth and well-written articles for the Boston College newspaper.
"About time you showed up, Mark." John called to him from his chair, coke in hand and en route towards his dry mouth.
"Traffic." Mark said as he briskly crossed the lobby to join his friends, smiling and shaking hands all around.
"Nope, sorry. Jerome all ready used that excuse. You'll have to think of something better." Matt smiled as he shook his hand.
"A truth is hardly an excuse." Mark smirked. "Especially when it's." he looked to Jerome for help.
"True?" Jerome raised an eyebrow.
Mark snapped his finger and pointed at him. "Precisely, it's the gospel truth that I was late and so here I am, a full twenty minutes before show time and I don't have a drink." He looked at Mary expectantly.
Mary was far too much comfortable in her chair and pointed to the ballroom. "In there."
Mark drooped his mouth as if he were a hurt puppy dog, "You're going to make me get my own drink? After I've been sitting in traffic for the last half-hour?"
Mary took a deep and refreshing gulp of her drink and brought it away from her lips. She let out a loud sound of relief before she replied, "Yep."
Mark turned to the others. "Guys? Sympathy?"
"For the devil?" Matt quipped.
"I know that tune." John raised his finger. "Heard it on the radio once."
"I have the album." Jerome chimed in quickly. "_Rolling Stones_, can't beat Mick."
"I like the four apostles better." Mary shrugged. "Paul, John, George, and Ringo."
"All right," Mark rolled his eyes. "I'll go get it myself. No one else wants anything, _do they?_" he added sarcastically.
"Cheese burger!" Jerome said and looked over to Matt. "Pickles on yours?"
"Right," Matt nodded. "No onions. Mary?"
"Million dollars, small non-sequential bills. Plain brown bag, you know the drill." She waived her hand dismissively.
"The entire world under my control, thank you." John said and leaned back in the chair.
"Don't you already rule the underworld?" Mary snorted.
"Which realm?" Jerome asked with a smile.
"Neither." John shook his head. "Heaven wouldn't take me and Hell's afraid I'd take over."
The four of them laughed heartily.
"I believe you were just wondering who the Anti-Christ was," Jerome gestured to John quickly with his head.
Mark turned and headed into the dinning room while muttering something inaudible against his friends.
"I love torturing that guy," Mary giggled.
"Easy target." John said.
"Too easy." Mary agreed.
"Did you guys hear they invited someone from Oxford to join us today?" Matt asked changing the subject.
"Eh?" John sat up slightly with interest.
Matt nodded his head, "A new English professor if I'm not mistaken."
"Did you get his name?" Mary asked.
"No," Matt shook his head.
"Is he replacing Dr. Hollaran?" Jerome leaned towards his best friend. "I heard that she's taking the semester off for maternity."
"I think it's a little more permanent than that." Matt shook his head. "I think they're looking for someone to award tenure."
"He must be pretty damn good." John whistled through his teeth slightly.
"Makes you wonder though," Jerome said thoughtfully. "Why would anyone leave such a prominent school, such as Oxford, to come and teach at Boston? There _are_ better schools to teach at, certainly with better English Departments."
"I don't know," Matt shrugged. "I heard something that he was originally from the area, maybe a little farther south and he just wanted to come back to the states."
"He supposed to be here? At the convention?" Mary asked.
Matt nodded, "I think he's here to give a formal interview, as well as take a look at what is expected of the professors here."
"I hope we get a chance to meet him." Jerome sat back in his chair, deep in thought.
"Meet who? What are we talking about?" Mark asked coming back over to join them. "Lunch is ready to be served; people are starting to file in."
"We were just talking about the new professor, the one from Oxford." John said standing from his chair and stretched a bit.
"Dr. Morrison." Mark nodded.
"You've heard then?" Matt asked as the group moved towards the ballroom.
"He came in last night from London," Mark nodded. "I'm to take pictures of him and Dr. Anderson later the afternoon. He's giving his formal interview."
"Sounds like they've already handed him the position," Jerome chuckled. "What shall he be teaching, I wonder?" he added in a mock British accent.
"Probably British works," Mary matched his tone and British imitation. "Things that are right up your ally I would imagine."
Jerome gave her a playful nudge as they entered into the ballroom. They had previously arranged with Dr. Anderson that they would sit together at lunch and dinner and found their table with their names printed on a small rectangle of stationary at their seats towards the middle of the room. John took the plastic card from the center of the table and presented it proudly to Jerome.
"I believe this to be your lucky number, sir."
Jerome took the card and smiled down at the large number 13 and returned it to its proper place setting.
They greeted those around them that they knew, waited for their table to be served lunch, a fresh Caesar salad and variety of sandwiches followed by an assortment of cookies for dessert. As their meal was winding down, their conversation switched back to their interest in the mysterious professor from England.
"We certainly do need another anglophile in these parts. It's exhausting to carry the work with just Jerome and myself." John added dryly.
"If he was an anglophile he would still be in England," Matt said. "Why would he be coming to work here?"
"What do they call people who are fanatical about the United States?" Mark asked.
"Nit-wits." John replied quickly.
* * *
Dr. Hannibal Lecter, at the moment Dr. Ivan Morrison, sat at the head table near the front of the stage; a welcome guest among the English and Communications Department faculty. Dr. Anderson introduced him to the group of teachers as if he were an amateur hunter presenting his first ten-point buck fresh from the kill. Dr. Lecter hadn't felt as if he were being put on display like this since his transfer from the Baltimore dungeon to his temporary confinement in Memphis. The tone in Anderson's voice as he made the introduction rang so close to the tone in Dr. Fredrick Chilton's voice as he was introduced to Senator Ruth Martin. Dr. Lecter felt like taking hold of Dr. Anderson's vocal chords and dragging the man off to an unimaginable horrible fate, just like he had done to Dr. Chilton so many years ago.
Dr. Lecter stifled the feeling with a deep breath and smiled pleasantly as he shook each of the instructors' hands and took a seat among them, careful to keep his left hand from sight.
It was Dr. Kennedy who was the first to engage him in conversation, "Greg has been kind enough to show us some of your work, including your doctorial thesis on the character of Falstaff from Shakespeare's _Henry IV_ and _Henry V_. Quite interesting material."
"Thank you," Dr. Lecter gave her a bright and toothy smile. "Did you enjoy it?"
"Very much," she nodded. "But not as much as your recent works on the great betrayers of literature which, even more interestingly, include King Henry himself. Although I gathered from your thesis paper that Falstaff is one of your favorite characters."
"Indeed, he is."
Dr. Lecter couldn't stand Falstaff. He was a bumbling and drunken fool, nothing more than ill mannered lush who had clung to young Hal's tailcoat in the hopes that he would be remembered when Hal finally took his father's thrown. He had laughed giddily when he read of Falstaff's death in _Henry V_ back when he was in school. He could recall the strange looks he received from his instructor and fellow classmates when he had first read the play in class, he couldn't help but laugh at the lush's death. He was overjoyed by the ancient tavern rat's death.
Had Dr. Lecter known of all of Dr. Morrison's works before he had taken his identity, he might have had second thoughts about killing him in London.
"A very sympathetic and complex character." Dr. Lecter added in his soothing and rich voice.
"He is an interesting character," Dr. Kennedy agreed.
"I never liked him," the professor sitting to Dr. Lecter's left had spoken bluntly. "Lush." She added harshly.
Dr. Lecter gave her a polite smile, he suddenly remember how much he hated being around college professors. Too many minds at work and conflicting views. Dr. Lecter kept quiet through the rest of lunch, listening politely to others and answering the questions put to him, the way that Dr. _Morrison_ would have answered them. But his mind was elsewhere.
Since Dr. Lecter had come down stairs to join to convention and meet Dr. Anderson in person, he had been playing a game with himself. Searching through the crowds of faces of the young and bright minds, he was looking for the face of his son. He wondered if he would recognize him just on looks alone. Would his own son look more like him or his beloved mother? Somewhere during the meal, his body operations took over in full to appear as if he were still very much apart of the convention going on around him, but his mind was wondering through the halls of his mind palace.
Past the rooms of artwork and the studies full of his files and favorite books, deep inside the room he hardly entered anymore. It was a corner room, still well cared for, but otherwise untouched. Opening the door he was met with the brilliant white smile of his deceased wife, Annabelle. Her beauty and warmth had been forever preserved in the form of a portrait painted with great care in the finest oil paints. He had tried to resurrect her once, returning all of her soul and energy to a form of flesh and blood within this room, but failed. Her body had quickly withered to the cold and stiff body she had been the last time he had laid eyes upon his beloved wife. The last time he had touched her as she laid in that Godforsaken casket. It was too painful for him to see the metamorphosis from a happy, vibrant woman, a mother-to-be in the delivery room who used all her might and energy to bring a new life into this world and then turn into a weak and withered body the next. She had gasped in her last moments alive, reached for her husband who had never left her side and begged him, not for her life but to see him just once more.
She then asked for their son, to gaze down at the perfect combination of mother and father that they had created together in love. She was so weak she couldn't even hold him, only look at him through glassy eyes and heavy eyelids, and then they closed for the last time. She was gone. She hadn't even had enough time to say anything about their son. He was sure that she was happy, but he wasn't sure if she was even able to see him, to know that he was there.
Now he stood before her portrait. Her youth and beauty forever preserved in the large framed canvas that covered the wall in this private study. Here he kept his most cherished memories, the memories of his wife and his son. Everything he had on them, every moment he had spent with the both of them, was stored right here in this room.
He cocked his head slightly to the left and leaned forward towards the portrait and then came back to leaned on his heels. _Blue or green eyes?_ he asked himself. He looked deeply into his wife's eyes, those brilliant green eyes, and wondered if their son had the same shade of green eyes as his mother. _Tall?_ was his next question. He had always hoped that his son would be tall, he wasn't exactly sure why. He wasn't a very tall man himself, nor his ancestors. Annabelle, however, had a whole family full of tall men and women. He could easily recall that his son did inherit his father's dark hair, as an infant his head had been covered with scattered wisps of jet black hair. _My son,_ he took the thought in deeply. _My son whom I have not seen in nineteen years, nineteen very_ long _years. My son, named after his mother's favorite saint and my favorite poet. Jerome Dante- _
"Lecter?"
The mentioning of his name broke his concentration and brought him out of his mind palace to the dining table. In his mind's absence, his body had taken control and was conscious enough to light one of his miniature cigars, one his many activities he had programmed his body to do to make it appear that he was still very much conscious of the things around him while his mind was elsewhere. When his mind did regain control of his body, he took a drag of his cigar and gave his full concentration to the conversation. Someone had mentioned his name.
"Yes, I did see him." Anderson was nodding and talking to the professor sitting across from him and to the left of Dr. Kennedy.
"I saw him as well. He's with the others of course. They are inseparable." Kennedy laughed delightfully. "Every time I've had them in class, the first day they find a place where they can all sit together and they never move from those seats for the rest of the semester."
_Others?_ Dr. Lecter was curious.
"Any idea where they're sitting?" one of the professors asked.
"Somewhere in the middle," Anderson looked to the other side of the room. "I thought I saw them as they were coming in."
Dr. Lecter moved his head to look in the direction Anderson had gestured. He scanned the faces quickly but none of them struck him as familiar. _He must have his back turned away from me,_ he concluded and turned back to his group with a polite smile.
"I know Matt and John are going to be discussing the theater, specifically giving us a preview of what is to come for this season. And Jerome's here for his essay on Dante, something on the betrayers." Kennedy turned to Dr. Lecter and gave him a smile. "Something right up your alley, Dr. Morrison."
"I should say so," he nodded. "A student of yours?"
"One of my best," Kennedy nodded proudly. "Very bright, he's always been a pleasure to have in class. Always full of ideas and fresh interpretations."
"I'll say," Anderson laughed. "He once wrote a paper for me giving one of the most original and interesting interpretations of the ending of _One Flew over the Cuckoo's Nest_ I have ever read."
"He sounds like quite the young man," Dr. Lecter chose his words carefully. "I'd be very interesting in meeting him."
"You should meet him," the professor sitting next to him said firmly. "To come all this way and not meet Jerome Lecter would be a pity."
Dr. Lecter smiled, if one were paying close attention they could see the spark of paternal pride that quickly flashed in his eyes and then vanished.
* * *
Thank you again to Mike, Mike, Dell, and Carla for allowing me to use you guys as inspirations for the characters met in this chapter. I think it would be a sin if I did not give Jerome a group of friends who are just as kind, caring and understanding to him as you. Not to mention just as funny and interesting. And who better to use for inspiration than the four of you who have influenced me in more ways than one? You guys are truly the best.
Thank you as well to all my readers and reviewers, please do continue to send along your words of encouragement and kindness. Honest reviews also welcome. Coming up in the next chapter: "Meeting of the Minds." Introductions are exchanged between Clarice Starling and Will Graham as the hunt for Dr. Lecter continues; meanwhile, Dr. Morrison and Jerome meet face to face for the "first" time. Until then, ta-ta.