The Transporter

Chapter Three- Revised (what is it with me and re-writing chapter threes? phhff..)

Dr Lecter came back to himself with a slight wrinkling of his nose. His eyes opened, pupils swelling in the gloom of his new surroundings and took everything in with a series of blinks. A bedroom, looked under furbished- possibly a guest bedroom? Or a hotel, possibly but if so how did the woman get him in? No, it must be an arranged lodging. He had noticed many religious motifs- crosses and bible illustrations in his inspection. Mason Verger was the most likely benefactor of such a place. It did not come as a surprise.

He heard noises in the adjoining room and tilted his head towards it- he had found himself bound in a way that restricted any other movement but was not uncomfortable. His captor was slightly compassionate- a weakness he intended to exploit if he could, he thought darkly. A woman- the same Asiatic who had sedated him and whose trunk he had ridden in her guessed- was singing along to some music. An Alanis Morissette song about learning'. Her voice was strong and held a tune rather nicely but she was no Alanis Morissette. Her voice moved closer, then away. A bump and a tinkle of metal on china. The music was turned down and a crack of wan light shot across the room he lay in as the door inched open.

The woman's face peered into the darkness and sought his eyes, seemed surprised to find them open then retreated momentarily. Dr Lecter blinked once as the light was switched on and the woman re-entered with a large bowl and a cloth, setting them down by the bed.

"How are you feeling?" She asked, respectful with a slight tremor.

How did she think he was feeling? Pissed off for a start. He said nothing, just stared at her, locking his gaze to hers until she looked away. The victory did nothing to sate his anger but it did prove his captor to be fallible. He kept that knowledge in the forefront of his mind.

"You-"She broke off with a nervous cough. "You had a bullet wound in your leg. Not by me." She met his eyes but he remained silent. " I removed the bullet but the wound, it's a bit messy. I may need to clean it again. The wound, it's on your thigh. Just so you know I'm not being…indecent."

He muttered a small, derisive laugh but didn't waver his gaze. She coloured with anger but seemed to think better of saying anything. She eased his trousers down gently, lifting the material over the seeping wound, face concentrated. Dr Lecter looked at the ceiling. A series of cracks riddled the plaster and he found shapes in them- they spiralled it seemed into an eye with hugely elongate lashes like a Dali work. He realised the woman was talking again as a warm cloth ran over the ripped skin of his leg.

"-under the employment of Mason Verger, as you may have guessed by now. My orders are simply to transport you from here to him, without harming you excessively or alerting the authorities. This isn't personal. I know nothing of you."

She chanced meeting his gaze again and found those sultry eyes fixed on her again, the raw power they radiated still inhibiting her usual professional calm and confidence. He bothered her, was the plain truth of the matter. Deeply and undeniably. She regretted taking on this mission- money would no longer rule her decisions.

Dabbing a little astringent onto the wound to help it seal and mend, she looked into his face, half hoping he would wince at the sting, show he was human under those terrible eyes. But he simply glared right back at her, unmoved it seemed.

Finished with his wound she lifted his hips and re-adjusted his clothing, avoiding that terrible gaze and staying a good distance from his mouth, aware of the tearing teeth that it housed and the diabolical mind willing to use them.

As she stood to leave, lifting the now red tinted water in the basin, she turned to leave. As she flicked the ligth off again, his voice cut through the dark room to her, his words chilling her to the bone.

"The wounds are white now, aren't they? You know they aren't going to heal."

He spoke softly but each word was tipped with poison malice and it cut her, although she was loathed to a admit it.

She slammed his door and took the basin hastily back to the bathroom. Placing down shakily, she tugged up the tight sleeves of her jumper. The reason for her long absence from the business glared back at her, identical white stripes of scarring running down her inner wrists. All the anguish and misery that had caused them and the long, painful recovery period.

How the fuck did he know? How the fuck could he know? He had only seen her for five minutes and she had kept her sleeves down, as she always had, and now it seemed always would have to.

'The wounds are white now' Two white lines, two white scars. Bright against her dusky skin. Bright and awful. Bright and disgusting. Bright and damning.

And her mind was finally forced to agree with that strange man, and with the small rational fraction of her traumatised mind. No, they wouldn't fade, they wouldn't heal. Scarred. Reminded. Forever.

She sat on the edge of the bath and tried to stop her trembling body. She would not be weak again, she would not give in to her demons. Not anymore. Not because of some fucking nut tied to the bed down the hall. Not for him, not for anyone. Even as she was repeating her mantra n her head, the tears had begin to fall and her weakness overcame rationality once more.