Disclaimer: These characters are of the mind of Thomas Harris. The story is of my own.
Silence held high above all else, emitting a haze into the ears and mind, sending the imagination off into a dark streak of ideas. All to be seen was a pale brown color that varied in shade as it moved along. Attention was upon none else than an entertained idea that threaded itself into every open space in the mind, every thought and imagined exchange. Cold and clouded were the thought of Hannibal Lecter. So many things about him drifted between truth and myth, lies and hopes, death and dreams. Clarice sat, her eyes set on the hardwood floor of the room she rested in. "Where am I?" she wondered out loud. She stood to stretch, a sharp pain ripping through her side. She slowly looked down to examine the wound that she knew had been sewn and aided. In "aw" she stared at her side. She had pulled up the side of her shirt revealing no wound, just pale unscarred skin. "What…..but he…." She traced her hand strongly around her hip bone as though the wound was unseen but could be felt. Nothing. She was untouched.
Suddenly a machine blasting like sound rattled her mind. The sound was soft and almost scratchy yet set apart and dissected in its sounding. Clarice looked up swiftly her surroundings suddenly becoming familiar to her. "Don't be modest, who else is clever enough to make my suit?" a smooth voice penetrated her ears. Her eyes followed the sound to its origin. Playing across her TV was a scene in which Jack and Sally spoke about the santy suit. The same seen in which she had been engrossed in just before Hannibal had come knocking. Suddenly another burst of raps flew to her ears from the front window. Her eyes grew wide in curiosity and fear. She swiftly made her way to the window her breath being held in her lungs, stale and sour. She slowly moved the curtains aside, expecting to see a tall dark figure but being met with a set of amber eyes familiar to her for the past two and a half years. She waved and moved to the door, opening it for her best friend and roommate Ardelia Mapp. Just as she hit the dead bolt she realized she had imagined and thought it all in less than two minutes, she had imagined his stare, the dress, the wound, the ball, the exchange from the cell; everything. She opened the door, her friend smiling as she walked in. A single thought resounded through her mind "You don't want Hannibal Lecter inside your head"
FIN
A/N: Thank you for sticking with me to the end. I hope you enjoyed the story. Thank you.
Q.S.