Disclaimer- most of the characters belong to Thomas Harris, a few are mine. I am not doing this for profit

Ok guys, this is me, Magick. I was bored at work, and the night before I had been reading some wonderfully tear-jerking angsty fics. I havent been getting many reviews, so please, they are VERY welcome. And, welcome to part three

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I was four when Dr. Hannibal Lecter and his wife Clarice were caught. Caught, captured, apprehended, murdered, either way, the result was the same. They were taken from their home and justice was served. The agent's form of justice was loud. Guns were drawn as they broke down the door, a couple of shots were fired as a warning. I was sitting in the stairwell, he knew I was there. My Dad always knew where I was. I think the police were surprised when my Mom and Dad decided to go quietly; and I know they were surprised when my Mom told me to go get my shoes. Looking back, I think my Mom was trying to keep everything calm, for me.

Looking back, she should have run. They both should have, but hindsight is always 20/20.

I remember bringing my shoes over to my Mom, there was a knot in the laces. I was scared, but I wasen't able to comprehend what was happening. I should have been terrified. They took me away then, said they would keep me safe. The FBI agent with me was nice, but she told me that I couldn't see my parents anymore. The nice agent, I admit her name escapes me now, seemed worried when I didn't cry.

She didn't understand; Dad always told me what a brave girl I was, how much I was growing into a little version of my Mom. I couldn't see my Mom to know if it was alright to cry, so I didn't.

It's funny what seems important when your scared. For weeks, I had been trying to copy my Father's smile, the one Mom said she could never resist- my idea was that, with the smile, I could have cookies and ice cream for dinner, instead of what my parent's called 'real food'. So, I looked up at the agent, noticing that a few more had gathered, and assumed my best 'lecturing mom' tone. "I'm not s'pose to talk to strangers, I'm gonna go see my Mommy and Daddy now, they'll worry if I don't." and gave her that smile.

Everyne laughed, and I remember very clearly one man commenting that there was no doubt about my blood-line. Everyone laughed, and I was confused. I just wanted to be in my home with my parents. I tried, but I couldn't help it, I cried.

Three months is a long time to wait. In retrospect, it wasen't a long trial at all, especially considering how much had to be covered. Not long, but when your four, it seems like a small eternity. During that time, I was set up in an orphanage. Kind of ironic, considering both my parents were alive, even if I wasen't allowed to contact them. The other children stayed away, as did most of the nuns that ran the place. I was alone, but my Dad always told me that good things come to those who wait. So I waited, and to pass the time, I prayed. I prayed to keep my hope alive.

I'm greatful to them now, that they never let me see the trial.

The judge decided to make an example of my parents, he responded to the public's call for blood. I can't believe that my parent's had expected that decision, but I know they weren't naïve enough to discount it completely.

I can't forgive the court, but they did let me see them, one last time.

Daddy made me promise to keep smiling, no matter what. Mommy told me never to stop fighting for what I know is right. They told me they loved me, and how proud they were of the little woman I was becoming.

I thought it was unfair that they were kept in separate cells. My Mom told me to give Dad a kiss for her, if I could.

I learned a long time ago that they were never given the chance to tell eachother Goodbye, or I love you. And it took me a lot longer to realize, They didn't need to.

Both sides of the Law commit murder. The only difference is that one side uses the word "Justice" and thinks it makes all the hurt go away. It dosen't, and the victims are still just as dead.

Money will never be an issue for me, but I have nothing to buy. No birthday presents, or Christmas mornings to look forward to anymore. Not for almost twenty years. Justice took my birthdays and Christmas time, I robbed me of the chance to have my Father walk me down the aisle, or to have my Mom tell me that all men are jerks after my first broken heart. Justice gave their lives to God, and he wouldn't give them back!

Sorry, I'm rambling. It's like opening the floodgates sometimes, and I lose track. You're a very good professor of Law, Mrs. Davis. I enjoy your class, and the University is lucky to have you. Unfortunaty, I don't like being used as a test subject. I enrolled under an alias for a reason. What finally clued you in?

My eyes? Their the same as my Father's. So is the polydactly, extra fingers are rather noticable. Maybe it's just the way I look like my Mother, Dad said I had her smile.

My real name? Mischa Lysette Lecter.

Is insanity genetic?

Oh, I'm not crazy Mrs. Davis, and I'm no doctor. But I do believe in genetics.

You see, I don't like rude people either.

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So? What did you think?

Reviews are welcomed with open arms. Constructive criticism is greatly appreciated (I can always learn more!) Flames will be used as paper fans in the summer, and heat in the winter.