Hey there all! First Hannibal fanfic that came of reading
several in one day and rereading the book and overall, just because
I was thinking about Hannibal and Clarice after the book. So this is
the product. Set twenty years after the end of the book. Enjoy, and
please review! I need the feedback! I live for feedback!
Disclaimer: No own Hannibal. Thomas Harris own, not poor college student.
Under Attack
by Lyra Matsuoka
Rated PG-13
Chapter 2 : The Chase
All right, you son of a bitch. This is not part of the game plan.
No matter what I've been taught, no one was supposed to recognize me.
The one battle I win with my father *would* have to be about plastic
surgery. I win, and now here I am, surrounded by FBI agents, yelling
at me to come out with my hands up.
Has Hell frozen over? No? Well, then, I'm not coming out. Who the
*hell* do they think they are dealing with here?
I can answer that question for myself. Hannibal Lecter's children
are who they are dealing with. Well, child. My brother, Jack, is who
I am worried about. God, I hope he's all right. We should have stayed
together, we should have at least lived in the same town...I don't even
know where he is living! Stupid, so stupid to have lost track of him.
I am in Washington D.C. Silly place to come, considering who I look
like and all the implications in one strand of my DNA. Memo to me, memo
to me...avoid D.C. in the future. If I get out of this alive.
I know exactly where I am. I am in the Chesapeake Bay area. I
have been chased here by overeager FBI agents who are rather desperate
to learn why a concerned citizen called their hotline to report that
Clarice Starling was wandering around the airport this afternoon. I know
that because I heard an all points bulletin while I was in a gift shop. And
as I knew that my mother is somewhere in Argentina, they were obviously
after me. This face is causing me no end of trouble. And the worst part
is, it was only a layover! I am not so stupid as to live in the capital
of the country where my parents are wanted by name. I underestimated the
memory of some people. 18 years after my mother disappeared, 29 years after
Hannibal Lecter escaped from Memphis, they remember my mother's face.
The American people need a different hobby.
I did not ignore the radio message. Instead, I pulled my trench coat
lapels up around my face and put my sunglasses on. I walked all the way to
the parking lot, security in tow. People got out of my way, which was nice.
I stole a parked car and headed north. And two black sedans
had been behind me since I paid the annoying man at the toll booth while
leaving the airport. They picked up an unmarked black van, and I knew I was
in trouble. So I just drove north until I hit the woods. Then I pulled over
and walked calmly down the trail, taking only my wallet and my gun. And now
here I am, kneeling on the slightly damp earth, leaves rustling around me,
in the middle of God's own nowhere.
I know they have followed me here, and that they are done playing nice.
Well, so am I. The trick is to get out of here without giving myself up to
the police. Escape is the objective here. Right. All over it. I have my gun,
but it only holds six bullets, and I know that there are more agents than I
can take down alone. So I need to escape. I look around, attempting to find
a useful tool to facilitate my escape. Trees, trees, and more trees...I hate
the woods. But I hear water. Water is good. Head for the water.
My trench coat flapping lightly, I begin walking. I know what I need
to do. I need to get home to my parents. Isn't that a childish thing to do?
Run home to Mommy and Daddy. But, when one is being pursued by the FBI simply
because of one's appearance, one feels the natural desire to be protected.
I want my Daddy, for God's sake!
Picking my way through the trees, I head toward the sound of
rushing water. And I find it...in goddamn spades. A waterfall. Great.
Since when are there *waterfalls* in New England? Of all the freaking
luck. Weighing my options, I hear the police closing in. Yelling all the
while for me to turn myself in. I resent that line. What have *I* done?
I suppose in the cosmic lottery of life, I was handed an interesting
set of parents, but that is hardly my fault. Come out with your hands
up indeed! My parents would never speak to me again.
I glance at the waterfall. It's a good drop. Not impossible, but
it's going to hurt. I wonder briefly if getting shot would hurt more.
Looking down, I see that I will have to jump out instead of straight
down. And I can't see how deep it is, so I will have to jump feet first.
That is horribly inconvenient. It means that there will be no momentum
when I hit the water. And it will hurt...probably a lot. I am weighing
the pain factor when a voice shatters my reverie.
"FBI!! FREEZE!"
I freeze.
"HANDS WHERE I CAN SEE THEM!!!"
Oooookay, rent-a-cop. Up go the hands.
"TURN AROUND! SLOWLY!"
Oh for crying out loud. Fine, fine, we'll play this your way. I
turn slowly.
The cop I am facing is older, perhaps around my mother's age. To
old for field work like this. Imagine what it might do to his blood pressure.
It surprises me that he is alone. He must be a perimeter scout. Which means
they don't think I'd corner myself here. If I'd had any other choice,
they'd be right. I believe he once worked with my mother, or had seen her
around. I think this because his face freezes when he sees me. I hope he will drop the gun in shock, because for anyone who knew my mother, I am something
of a window to the past. Dark hair is pulled back from my face in a simple
knot, and Clarice Starling's face is mine. But I have my
father's eyes. Not in color, for my eyes have blended my parent's genes
to create an odd, hazy purple. But his cold expression, and his
dispassionate gaze is what the FBI agent sees. Fortunately, my mother was
also an excellent hand at these sort of withering looks, and he cannot see
the color of my eyes. It is to dark for him to see any identifying marks.
So for all he knows I could be Special Agent Starling.
"Good evening officer," I say, inclining my head.
He does not immediately respond. But when he does, it is with a
startling question, one I did not expect to be asked so quickly.
"Who are you?"
I smile. The sunglasses have long since been tucked away, and
the officer can see my face.
"Clarice Starling, FBI."
I say it in a normal tone of voice, and I see his eyes narrow in
suspicion. After all, they had been told that they were chasing Clarice Starling, and I certainly looked like Clarice Starling. Now I was giving him the proof he needed. His options were a) shoot me or b) arresst me. I gave him a full five seconds to call it. He waited too long. My hands were down and the gun out of my pocket before he could react.
"Put the gun down, you overgrown ape. I will not hesitate to shoot you where you stand, " I say, articulating clearly so that he would not misunderstand.
"FREEZE!" he yelled. And here I thought I spoke English with great clarity. He fired, and so did I. He missed me; the bullet flew
wide. I never miss. I fired three shots into his chest. Dead men can't testify.
Hey, I warned him.
Turning swiftly, I run to the edge of the embankment and throw myself off.
Above me I hear yelling and several gunshots. But gravity works, as these FBI
morons are discovering. I know they never thought I'd jump. They have obviously
forgotten who my parents are. Or rather, they have forgotten who they believe me to be. They have also underestimated me. And that is an incredibly stupid thing to do. They want my parents, not me, and though they aren't aware of that fact, I am. But I will never lead them to Hannibal Lecter. Not in a thousand years. And as I hit the water, I hear my father's voice ringing in my ears.
*That's my girl*
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Short, yes. But a perfect ending point.
Visit my website, review, mail me if you want and PLEASE......
SIGN MY GUESTBOOK!!!!
I'm begging. I'll make you cookies....
Peace, Love and All That Jazz,
Lyra
several in one day and rereading the book and overall, just because
I was thinking about Hannibal and Clarice after the book. So this is
the product. Set twenty years after the end of the book. Enjoy, and
please review! I need the feedback! I live for feedback!
Disclaimer: No own Hannibal. Thomas Harris own, not poor college student.
Under Attack
by Lyra Matsuoka
Rated PG-13
Chapter 2 : The Chase
All right, you son of a bitch. This is not part of the game plan.
No matter what I've been taught, no one was supposed to recognize me.
The one battle I win with my father *would* have to be about plastic
surgery. I win, and now here I am, surrounded by FBI agents, yelling
at me to come out with my hands up.
Has Hell frozen over? No? Well, then, I'm not coming out. Who the
*hell* do they think they are dealing with here?
I can answer that question for myself. Hannibal Lecter's children
are who they are dealing with. Well, child. My brother, Jack, is who
I am worried about. God, I hope he's all right. We should have stayed
together, we should have at least lived in the same town...I don't even
know where he is living! Stupid, so stupid to have lost track of him.
I am in Washington D.C. Silly place to come, considering who I look
like and all the implications in one strand of my DNA. Memo to me, memo
to me...avoid D.C. in the future. If I get out of this alive.
I know exactly where I am. I am in the Chesapeake Bay area. I
have been chased here by overeager FBI agents who are rather desperate
to learn why a concerned citizen called their hotline to report that
Clarice Starling was wandering around the airport this afternoon. I know
that because I heard an all points bulletin while I was in a gift shop. And
as I knew that my mother is somewhere in Argentina, they were obviously
after me. This face is causing me no end of trouble. And the worst part
is, it was only a layover! I am not so stupid as to live in the capital
of the country where my parents are wanted by name. I underestimated the
memory of some people. 18 years after my mother disappeared, 29 years after
Hannibal Lecter escaped from Memphis, they remember my mother's face.
The American people need a different hobby.
I did not ignore the radio message. Instead, I pulled my trench coat
lapels up around my face and put my sunglasses on. I walked all the way to
the parking lot, security in tow. People got out of my way, which was nice.
I stole a parked car and headed north. And two black sedans
had been behind me since I paid the annoying man at the toll booth while
leaving the airport. They picked up an unmarked black van, and I knew I was
in trouble. So I just drove north until I hit the woods. Then I pulled over
and walked calmly down the trail, taking only my wallet and my gun. And now
here I am, kneeling on the slightly damp earth, leaves rustling around me,
in the middle of God's own nowhere.
I know they have followed me here, and that they are done playing nice.
Well, so am I. The trick is to get out of here without giving myself up to
the police. Escape is the objective here. Right. All over it. I have my gun,
but it only holds six bullets, and I know that there are more agents than I
can take down alone. So I need to escape. I look around, attempting to find
a useful tool to facilitate my escape. Trees, trees, and more trees...I hate
the woods. But I hear water. Water is good. Head for the water.
My trench coat flapping lightly, I begin walking. I know what I need
to do. I need to get home to my parents. Isn't that a childish thing to do?
Run home to Mommy and Daddy. But, when one is being pursued by the FBI simply
because of one's appearance, one feels the natural desire to be protected.
I want my Daddy, for God's sake!
Picking my way through the trees, I head toward the sound of
rushing water. And I find it...in goddamn spades. A waterfall. Great.
Since when are there *waterfalls* in New England? Of all the freaking
luck. Weighing my options, I hear the police closing in. Yelling all the
while for me to turn myself in. I resent that line. What have *I* done?
I suppose in the cosmic lottery of life, I was handed an interesting
set of parents, but that is hardly my fault. Come out with your hands
up indeed! My parents would never speak to me again.
I glance at the waterfall. It's a good drop. Not impossible, but
it's going to hurt. I wonder briefly if getting shot would hurt more.
Looking down, I see that I will have to jump out instead of straight
down. And I can't see how deep it is, so I will have to jump feet first.
That is horribly inconvenient. It means that there will be no momentum
when I hit the water. And it will hurt...probably a lot. I am weighing
the pain factor when a voice shatters my reverie.
"FBI!! FREEZE!"
I freeze.
"HANDS WHERE I CAN SEE THEM!!!"
Oooookay, rent-a-cop. Up go the hands.
"TURN AROUND! SLOWLY!"
Oh for crying out loud. Fine, fine, we'll play this your way. I
turn slowly.
The cop I am facing is older, perhaps around my mother's age. To
old for field work like this. Imagine what it might do to his blood pressure.
It surprises me that he is alone. He must be a perimeter scout. Which means
they don't think I'd corner myself here. If I'd had any other choice,
they'd be right. I believe he once worked with my mother, or had seen her
around. I think this because his face freezes when he sees me. I hope he will drop the gun in shock, because for anyone who knew my mother, I am something
of a window to the past. Dark hair is pulled back from my face in a simple
knot, and Clarice Starling's face is mine. But I have my
father's eyes. Not in color, for my eyes have blended my parent's genes
to create an odd, hazy purple. But his cold expression, and his
dispassionate gaze is what the FBI agent sees. Fortunately, my mother was
also an excellent hand at these sort of withering looks, and he cannot see
the color of my eyes. It is to dark for him to see any identifying marks.
So for all he knows I could be Special Agent Starling.
"Good evening officer," I say, inclining my head.
He does not immediately respond. But when he does, it is with a
startling question, one I did not expect to be asked so quickly.
"Who are you?"
I smile. The sunglasses have long since been tucked away, and
the officer can see my face.
"Clarice Starling, FBI."
I say it in a normal tone of voice, and I see his eyes narrow in
suspicion. After all, they had been told that they were chasing Clarice Starling, and I certainly looked like Clarice Starling. Now I was giving him the proof he needed. His options were a) shoot me or b) arresst me. I gave him a full five seconds to call it. He waited too long. My hands were down and the gun out of my pocket before he could react.
"Put the gun down, you overgrown ape. I will not hesitate to shoot you where you stand, " I say, articulating clearly so that he would not misunderstand.
"FREEZE!" he yelled. And here I thought I spoke English with great clarity. He fired, and so did I. He missed me; the bullet flew
wide. I never miss. I fired three shots into his chest. Dead men can't testify.
Hey, I warned him.
Turning swiftly, I run to the edge of the embankment and throw myself off.
Above me I hear yelling and several gunshots. But gravity works, as these FBI
morons are discovering. I know they never thought I'd jump. They have obviously
forgotten who my parents are. Or rather, they have forgotten who they believe me to be. They have also underestimated me. And that is an incredibly stupid thing to do. They want my parents, not me, and though they aren't aware of that fact, I am. But I will never lead them to Hannibal Lecter. Not in a thousand years. And as I hit the water, I hear my father's voice ringing in my ears.
*That's my girl*
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Short, yes. But a perfect ending point.
Visit my website, review, mail me if you want and PLEASE......
SIGN MY GUESTBOOK!!!!
I'm begging. I'll make you cookies....
Peace, Love and All That Jazz,
Lyra
