The Lost Wages of Sin - Chapter Two
Chapter Two
A week later, Dr. Hannibal Lecter was in the spacious kitchen of the mansion, trembling with fury at his seat at the kitchen table.
It was early afternoon, not long after lunch. He had been monitoring the progress of a complicated chicken stock he was fashioning, and had been looking through his mail at the same time. A note from Margot Verger lay on the tiled tabletop, dropped there from nerveless fingers a moment before as though it were a handful of maggots.
Two of the servants, one housekeeper and one maid, huddled in a corner of the lovely room and tried not to make any noise. They did nothing that might attract the attention of the man they knew as "el Doctor Griffin" at all. They had never before seen their employer in such a state, and they never wanted to see anything like it again.
"That BITCH!" Dr. Lecter cried in English, infuriated. "I'll kill her!"
Clarice, who'd been fussing with some of the avocado plants she'd been trying to grow in the kitchen garden, just outside, heard this exclamation and came running in through the patio doors. She had not often heard this tone from her normally controlled beloved, and knew instantly that something was seriously wrong. Besides, when Hannibal Lecter said he was going to kill someone, it was unwise to take it as a mere figure of speech.
When she saw him, he had gone stark white, his dark red eyes were on fire, and he looked very much like a small but cosmically pissed-off goblin that had somehow gotten into the kitchen.
"What?" she said, moving to his side and putting a hand on his shoulder at once, hoping to calm him. "What's wrong?"
"What's wrong?" he raved. "What's wrong!!?? I'll show you! Read THAT!"
She could feel his coiled shaking under her hand. Not a good sign at all. He pointed at Margot's note on the table the same way someone else might have pointed at a bucket of raw sewage.
Clarice didn't even look at the note. First things first.
"Hannibal, calm down. You're scaring the help."
Her use of his given name, something she rarely did, even after a year, helped to penetrate his enraged fog, and he glanced at the two women cowering in the corner.
"Maldiciones. Estoy apesadumbrado, senoras," he hissed at the two, in a largely ineffectual effort to lessen their terror. "Excuseme. Acabo de tener ciertas malas noticias. Noticias horrorosas."
Clarice could see that his hissed apologies were not having the desired effect. If anything, they were making the situation worse. She left Dr. Lecter's side and gently shepherded the two women out of the kitchen, murmuring softly to both in pretty good college Spanish.
When she returned, some ten minutes later, she was relieved to see that Dr. Lecter had regained some control over himself. His face was still an odd ash-white, and his eyes were still glowing balefully, but at least he'd stopped trembling.
"Now you've done it," Clarice said quietly. "They both gave notice. And they both lit out for the local church just now, to go light candles. What could possibly be so bad?"
"Read the note," he growled, voice like an arctic wind.
Clarice came to the table and took up Margot's note. Her eyes widened progressively as she read. Once she had finished the short missive, she read it through one more time, just to make certain there had been no mistake.
She gazed at Dr. Lecter, face frozen.
He gazed back. Silently daring her to comment.
It was too much. Her whole face slowly crumpled, and then she was laughing so hard she had to sit down.
"I'm. So. Glad. You. Find. This. Amusing," he ground out, through his sharp white teeth.
Which only made Clarice Starling fairly howl with laughter.
When she'd regained enough breath to talk, she asked brightly "Ever been before?"
"Are you mad? I'd rather be steamed to death in kettle full of live rats."
"You wanted to have some fun," she argued, trying internally to stave off a new outburst of laughter. "It is the vacation capital of the United States."
"We don't HAVE to go, anyway," she added, mildly, ignoring the twin laser beams that were currently aimed at her head. "We can make some excuse."
She knew perfectly well that they'd already sent their RSVP, and that Dr. Lecter could no more renege on a social engagement once he'd agreed to attend than he could strike a match on a wet bar of soap. She had to admire Margot's tactics.
And she wasn't above needling her generally invulnerable SO a bit. It wasn't often that the joke was on him.
"I take it YOU have some familiarity with the ghastly place?" he asked, biting each word off, like chewing on ice. "Is there ANY remotely habitable accommodation to be found?"
"Oh, sure," she answered cheerfully. "Plenty. And we'll be going in the off- season, too. Bargain rates!"
He glared at her for a moment, then gave it up. Margot Verger had outfoxed him, and he knew it. He dropped his head into his hands and just moaned.
My poor fugitive monster, she thought, pity warring with glee within her. How will he ever survive?
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Chapter Two
A week later, Dr. Hannibal Lecter was in the spacious kitchen of the mansion, trembling with fury at his seat at the kitchen table.
It was early afternoon, not long after lunch. He had been monitoring the progress of a complicated chicken stock he was fashioning, and had been looking through his mail at the same time. A note from Margot Verger lay on the tiled tabletop, dropped there from nerveless fingers a moment before as though it were a handful of maggots.
Two of the servants, one housekeeper and one maid, huddled in a corner of the lovely room and tried not to make any noise. They did nothing that might attract the attention of the man they knew as "el Doctor Griffin" at all. They had never before seen their employer in such a state, and they never wanted to see anything like it again.
"That BITCH!" Dr. Lecter cried in English, infuriated. "I'll kill her!"
Clarice, who'd been fussing with some of the avocado plants she'd been trying to grow in the kitchen garden, just outside, heard this exclamation and came running in through the patio doors. She had not often heard this tone from her normally controlled beloved, and knew instantly that something was seriously wrong. Besides, when Hannibal Lecter said he was going to kill someone, it was unwise to take it as a mere figure of speech.
When she saw him, he had gone stark white, his dark red eyes were on fire, and he looked very much like a small but cosmically pissed-off goblin that had somehow gotten into the kitchen.
"What?" she said, moving to his side and putting a hand on his shoulder at once, hoping to calm him. "What's wrong?"
"What's wrong?" he raved. "What's wrong!!?? I'll show you! Read THAT!"
She could feel his coiled shaking under her hand. Not a good sign at all. He pointed at Margot's note on the table the same way someone else might have pointed at a bucket of raw sewage.
Clarice didn't even look at the note. First things first.
"Hannibal, calm down. You're scaring the help."
Her use of his given name, something she rarely did, even after a year, helped to penetrate his enraged fog, and he glanced at the two women cowering in the corner.
"Maldiciones. Estoy apesadumbrado, senoras," he hissed at the two, in a largely ineffectual effort to lessen their terror. "Excuseme. Acabo de tener ciertas malas noticias. Noticias horrorosas."
Clarice could see that his hissed apologies were not having the desired effect. If anything, they were making the situation worse. She left Dr. Lecter's side and gently shepherded the two women out of the kitchen, murmuring softly to both in pretty good college Spanish.
When she returned, some ten minutes later, she was relieved to see that Dr. Lecter had regained some control over himself. His face was still an odd ash-white, and his eyes were still glowing balefully, but at least he'd stopped trembling.
"Now you've done it," Clarice said quietly. "They both gave notice. And they both lit out for the local church just now, to go light candles. What could possibly be so bad?"
"Read the note," he growled, voice like an arctic wind.
Clarice came to the table and took up Margot's note. Her eyes widened progressively as she read. Once she had finished the short missive, she read it through one more time, just to make certain there had been no mistake.
She gazed at Dr. Lecter, face frozen.
He gazed back. Silently daring her to comment.
It was too much. Her whole face slowly crumpled, and then she was laughing so hard she had to sit down.
"I'm. So. Glad. You. Find. This. Amusing," he ground out, through his sharp white teeth.
Which only made Clarice Starling fairly howl with laughter.
When she'd regained enough breath to talk, she asked brightly "Ever been before?"
"Are you mad? I'd rather be steamed to death in kettle full of live rats."
"You wanted to have some fun," she argued, trying internally to stave off a new outburst of laughter. "It is the vacation capital of the United States."
"We don't HAVE to go, anyway," she added, mildly, ignoring the twin laser beams that were currently aimed at her head. "We can make some excuse."
She knew perfectly well that they'd already sent their RSVP, and that Dr. Lecter could no more renege on a social engagement once he'd agreed to attend than he could strike a match on a wet bar of soap. She had to admire Margot's tactics.
And she wasn't above needling her generally invulnerable SO a bit. It wasn't often that the joke was on him.
"I take it YOU have some familiarity with the ghastly place?" he asked, biting each word off, like chewing on ice. "Is there ANY remotely habitable accommodation to be found?"
"Oh, sure," she answered cheerfully. "Plenty. And we'll be going in the off- season, too. Bargain rates!"
He glared at her for a moment, then gave it up. Margot Verger had outfoxed him, and he knew it. He dropped his head into his hands and just moaned.
My poor fugitive monster, she thought, pity warring with glee within her. How will he ever survive?
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