"Oh, it's beautiful! Look, Doc, that's where we're going to live this winter!" exclaimed Clarice. "Aren't you excited?"
They'd just rounded a corner high up on the mountain road that afforded a magnificent view of the valley below.
"Yes. It's lovely, mother," he replied sedately. She looked at him with a curious smile. He was always so serious. She and Hannibal battled over the matter of the education of their son, but for the time being she reigned victorious and her little Hanni was to have some semblance of a normal childhood upbringing. Well, as normal as it could get, considering the circumstances. Not only were his parents an odd pair, but he was an odd child. He was more than precocious—he seemed almost prescient at times, more so than even his father, and she wondered just how much of the truth he was aware of when he began reciting the story of the doomed Donner party the locale brought to his mind.
"And exactly how did you learn of that charming story?" she asked, tossing a suspicious glance at Hannibal's carefully bland expression.
"From TV."
"What did I tell you about television, young man?" The voice was menacingly quiet; Hannibal Lecter stern was a man you didn't want to mess with. His son used the only weapon he had against his father: his mother.
"Mother watches television."
Hannibal gave Clarice a look that spoke volumes, much of it sounding like 'I told you so.' Clarice turned in her seat to look her son full in the face before gritting, "You're six years old—wanna see seven? You're to be in bed at those hours, and NO television. Ever! Comprende-tu?"
"Oui, maman." He wore the same poker face his father used, but Clarice heard her own sassy tone in his voice and her heart melted. He was the best of them both as far as she was concerned. She loved her son beyond reason and couldn't help but to lean over the seat to plant a loud smacking kiss on his soft cheek. He rolled his eyes, and she smiled because, for once, his baby-fat padded cheeks didn't seem so out of place on him.
Her glance crossed Hannibal's as she resumed her seat and the smile faded. There was still so much about her husband that she didn't understand. She knew he was quite capable of a loving relationship with another person, as evidenced by the year preceding the advent of Hanni. She'd been floored more than once by how very tender and loving he could be. It was only the memory of that version of him that had allowed her to forgive him over the years for his aloofness with their child, but she fully intended to rectify their problem in the coming months.
They hadn't had much trouble eluding the authorities until their son turned five and was enrolled in the best school in Geneva, where his keen intellect had attracted much attention. They'd moved fast, but things were tougher now that the FBI was aware that not only was she alive and well, but was also part of the newly notorious family of three comprised of Hannibal 'The Cannibal' Lecter and their son.
This winter caretaker job in the secluded resort was perfect for turning their still warm trail ice cold, but her real goal was to learn the truth about Hannibal so she could heal the rift between father and son.
At the massive double-door entry framed on either side by beautiful stained-glass lites, Clarice battled with the lock, but the key was jammed solidly. She turned and descended the steps to where her husband was unloading the Mercedes-Benz ML430.
"Hannibal, can you hand me the tool box, please? The lock's stuck. Hanni! Come back here, honey!" she yelled at the curious little boy wandering towards some seriously anal hedgery.
Little Hannibal junior obediently returned to his mother, but not before he snipped an offensive bit of shrub from the snarling topiary guarding the entrance to the enchanting maze. And it was only he who heard the scream of the beastupon losing its unwise tongue.
He hadn't pouted when his parents had declined his request for a Harpy like his father's. When they'd specifically stated that he was never to lay his hands on a Harpy, Tony had urged him to go online and find a Spyderco Merlin, which was practically the same other than having a lighter heft than the Harpy—and it had a pleasing reversible clip that well served his peculiar ambidexterity.
"Here, I'll get the door," Lecter said as he easily hefted the two largest suitcases and walked up the stairs to the entrance. He reached for the key, prepared for a struggle, and was surprised when it turned effortlessly and the door swung open. The hinges groaned like an angry giant, the monstrous sound reverberating throughout the cavernous interior of the behemoth called The Overlook.
Hannibal and Clarice looked at each other. Clarice shrugged.
"I guess it likes you better," she muttered and walked in, Hannibal close behind her.
Outside, Hanni stood on the lowest step and watched as the cutting he dropped seemed to crawl back towards the lion from whence it had come.
They found a thick sheaf of instructions on the counter at the reception area, headed by a brief letter of apology that no one had been able to meet their arrival. There were passwords and instructions for the office computer, the email address she was already familiar with, and a number to call should they find the detailed job description insufficient instruction for the care of the facilities. Clarice flipped through the pages, as they toured the main areas of the immense structure.
Hannibal made little disapproving noises as he took inventory of their store of food. How was he expected to survive the winter?
"I'm going to have to make a trip to Denver before the first snow."
"They've already had their first snow, and you're not going anywhere."
"Clarice, I—"
"—will stay put with your family. Here, where it's safe. It's too dangerous out there." Her tone brooked no argument, and he pushed aside the desire to rebuke her for her rude interruption, settling instead for working out a ration for the two cases of supplies he'd brought along.
It was going to be a long six months.