As we know I owe nothing, all the characters belong to T. Harris, I just borrow them for fun and no profit

OK, first I want to thanks all of the wonderful folks who encouraged me to go on. You have been incredibly inspiring. And I could never thank you enough.

Here is Chapter II: Monolog. Now new and improved thanks to Green Jewel's generous help and coaching. I hope you like it.

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Exchanges II

Monolog

Hannibal Lecter, perusing his daily periodical, read the ad, took a deep breath, and leaned his head against the headrest of the overstuffed chair. The newspaper forgotten on his lap, he experienced one of those rare moments of complete peace.

Eyes closed, he stepped lightly into his Memory Palace. He hoped he would need to build a new section, a whole new wing where he would keep the memories he'd gather from now on, the memories of what he hoped will be their life together, starting from this message that he had feared he'd never receive.

He entered the Starling Room, where he kept all things Clarice from the very start.

There she was, as he first saw her in the dungeon; respectful and polite, the pure honesty emanating from her hit him like an unexpected spring breeze in the staleness of the dungeon.

"I wished then I was a different man," he said, remembering, "free to reach out for that soul, the likes of which I did not think existed."

"Instead, all I could do was strike her with bold, cutting observations about herself, daring her to fly away so I would never again be faced with a purity that would be forever beyond my reach".

"Not that I make excuses for myself or my actions. We are what we are," he further reflected.

He did not want to be overwhelmed by the memories of those early days. He had many things to do and he needed a clear mind.

With one last look at her face, he departed the room.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

On his way out, he decided to pay a short visit to the rooms of his early childhood. Here he visited his beloved grandmother, a formidable woman, small and thin, with a straight back, piercing eyes and a dark complexion. Her influence during his childhood had left her mark on him forever. He remembered her, gentle and kind, reading storybooks and coaxing him to read them himself, which he proudly managed at age three and a half, his tiny index finger following the words as he voiced them.

His grandmother had been intensely feared by the servants, suspecting she possessed supernatural powers. They often talked about it in private, whole they glanced about furtively and crossed themselves repeatedly after every sentence.

"Always embrace your true nature, Hannibal," she used to tell him.

Dr. Hannibal Lecter had been an intense child; he felt deep love for his parents and grandmother and an unconditional devotion for his sister Mischa. When, during his sixth year, they were violently taken from him, he felt incredible pain, then guilt for surviving them, then rage, and then nothing—the place inside him, once occupied by his feeling was blank—only emptiness. From then on he found himself unable to feel anything more than a compelling curiosity and a sincere wish to feel again.

Through the years, he tried many things, including debauchery and murder but felt nothing but the emptiness. Then, when he thought he was finished with the world; Clarice came to the dungeon—to him— her magnificent soul radiating thru those huge eyes, reflecting no guile. At their first encounter, he was transfixed; he found emotions inside him he thought were gone forever.

The rest was history.

She became his goal, the crock of gold at the end of his rainbow—his key to healing, redemption, and rebirth.

He left the Memory Palace a hopeful man. There was much to be done.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

There were plans to be made, preparations to refine.

Planning and preparing was one of Hannibal Lecter's favorite pastimes.

He stood up, folded the newspaper, and made some curious but graceful dance steps, which seen by a stranger would have appeared improbable and appalling.

"Okey dokey," he mused, rubbing his hands as he began to organize a plan.

His first impulse was to go to Baltimore to get her, but he knew it would work in his favor if they met abroad instead—on neutral ground where it would be easier to make a fresh start.

He wanted a new beautiful setting, a house in Switzerland, in Lugano, by the lake, perhaps, with all the proper furnishings and amenities—a secluded villa, where they could talk, become reacquainted, add new dimensions to their bonds.

Dr Hannibal Lecter was exhilarated.

He was also a little concerned, which was something he was not used to dealing with.

As is widely known, gods and monsters that walk this earth don't have the concerns of common mortals, and he was ill at ease attempting to identify the cause of his own foreboding.

"Failure at this point is out of the question," he reflected, "not now when we have come so far."

"I'm not worried. What concerns could I have now?"

"Plenty," answered his inner voice, "there is plenty to be concerned with. When was the last time you shared your living quarters with someone?"

"At the dungeon?"

"NO!" Snapped his inner self, "think again."

"I don't remember," he said evasively. He paused, then added tentatively,

"Never."

He grimaced; after all, this was supposed to be his day of triumph. Who was this idiot raining on his parade, anyway?

"Hannibal Lecter," he said impatiently to himself, "there are complicated issues that come to light when two people live together...."

"This woman knows me like no other living person ever has," he defended. "From the very beginning she saw the man inside the beast, the sanity behind the madness."

"She knows what I'm capable of. I made sure to provide her with a live demonstration when I opened Paul Krendler's skull and served his brains for dinner. What could have been more explicit?

"Still, somewhere in the back of her mind—as in the forefront of mine—we both knew from the start that we were linked together for eternity."

He shrugged,

"It was only a matter of time for her to come to terms with her feelings. There is no place to hide from them, for either of us."

"Enough talk of her right now, Hannibal, let's talk about you," said his inner self, playing devil's advocate.

"You are the one balancing on a high wire; without a net".

"Are you, Hannibal Lecter, prepared to give up your life of independent solitude and share it with another human being." he questioned himself firmly.

"No." he answered quietly, "not with another one. Just with this one."

"I would make allowances to share my life with this one, only." He was definite now.

"This one who didn't fear the beast and had the temerity to look below the surface to discover a kinship with the man inside."

"Yes!" he asserted, "this unique soul, whose uncompromising honesty makes her a misfit in a conventionally corrupt society—my soul mate, if ever there was one."

The inner voice was not about to let him off the hook—not just yet.

"What if things don't go as planned? What if you don't quite function as a couple?" The devil's advocate within made a last attempt to quantify him.

"Then she'll have to go" he responded quietly.

"How, Hannibal, just how would she go?" queried the voice, whose task it was to neatly iron the wrinkles out.

Hannibal Lecter chuckled, which was, at best, a semi-frightening sight.

"By plane, train or automobile," he answered simply

At that, the inner voice was silenced.

He had come full circle. All that remained was to bring her in.

He thought of Barney Jackson.

The first move was to respond to her communique.

Dr Lecter placed an ad in the national edition of the Times, the International Herald Tribune and the China Mail...

Mary the lamb keeper:

We may. Will be in touch.

Be prepared.

Yours,

AAA A Gourmet, MD

He then sat down and began a letter to his old friend.

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I hope you like, so far. Please send me some feedback.

C