Clarice tucked Hanni in. He was always drained after one of his episodes, and she worriedly ran a hand across his forehead, brushing his hair back from his face. Even Hannibal had no explanation for these occurrences, and she wondered—not for the first time—if he cared enough to really look into the problem. Sighing, she went to run a hot bath.
Hannibal Lecter had never been a 'warm fuzzy' kind of person, and guided by her outraged maternal instinct, her thoughts once again turned to wondering what it would be like to have a loving father to her child. It was as if he was just going through the motions, and she had to wonder what kept him with them. But he did love her—or he had, at one time. She wasn't sure anymore.
She let her eyes drift closed as the warm, fragrant water soothed her. She was oddly calm when a pair of hands rested on her shoulders and pushed, stroking forward, cupping her breasts, massaging them and teasing the nipples. She tried to open her eyes and turn to her husband, but found herself too lethargic to move, her eyelids too heavy to lift.
One hand drifted lower, slipping between her thighs and she sighed as it stroked her to a low heat. A finger penetrated her and she moaned in delight before realizing the finger was thicker and rougher than Hannibal's fine boned hand. Shocked, her eyes flew open to see blue eyes in a handsome face leaning over her.
"John? John!" she gasped.
"Hi, Starling." He smiled and continued probing her beneath the water. "Does it feel good?"
"Oh my God! But how? You—"
"Nothing can stop love, Starling."
"I don't understand how you can be here. I thought you were dead. I must be dreaming!"
"Do you dream of me often, Starling?" His hand was working faster now, and Clarice grasped his wrist to stop him.
"We can't do this! I'm married to—"
"I know. You have a beautiful son. He's smart and strong, just like you. What happened, Starling? You were the best agent I knew. How could you end up like this?"
"You don't know anything about my situation. I love my son!"
"I know you do. What about your husband?" he asked softly, and resumed finger fucking her. "Say you'll let me be a father to Doc, a husband to you?"
His velvet voice and unrelenting hands were having the desired effect on her, and Clarice couldn't help her eyes drifting closed as she felt the tremors begin deep inside. Convinced it was all a dream, she gave in to the sensations and gripped the edges of the tub as his finger reached deep inside her. Through her orgasms, she became aware of her son's voice coming faintly from the bedroom, her turmoiled mind finally registering the litany as it grew louder:
"I do not like thee, Doctor Fell,
The reason
why, I cannot tell;
But this I know, and know full well,
I do
not like thee, Doctor Fell."
Her eyes flew open at the nursery rhyme, his voice louder now, sounding as if he was standing at the door. She looked up and saw that John Brigham's handsome face had evolved into a blatant mess of decomposing flesh over bone, his blue eyes shriveled like raisins in his eye sockets.
Clarice let out a shrill scream. She flung out her right arm and knocked him away. The bones fell into a pile on the floor, one finger erect amongst the rubble, still moving. Sloshing water everywhere, she jumped from the tub and threw a robe around herself as she opened the door.
Hanni stood there, holding up his extra digit in a mimic of the finger poking out of the pile on the floor, the finger bouncing up and down as he screamed:
"I do not like thee, Doctor Fell!"