Hannibal combed the labyrinthine halls, sniffing the air to catch a scent of his prey. He bared his teeth slightly as he prowled. A schematic layout of the corridors unfurled in his mind as he burst through door after door, leaving no room unsearched. He carefully approached a room with the door wide open, and saw someone dressed as a wolf servicing someone on all fours, dressed as a sheep. Hannibal watched in astonishment as the man grunted, abruptly stopping his violent rutting to turn and face him. It was old Jackie-boy! But how?

Lecter had no sooner begun to laugh at the preposterous sight than his world came crashing down as Clarice turned to face him, her face flush with exertion. He stared in disbelief. Infuriated, he hefted the axe to his shoulders and headed for the hapless fucker when something flashed in his periphery.

Turning, he just caught the tail end of something moving around the far corner of the hallway. But in the mere seconds he'd looked away, the spectacle in the room had disappeared. He looked around urgently. Where could they have hidden so quickly? Cursing, he decided to follow whatever had rounded the bend.

He would deal with Clarice later. Right now, he was after a murderer.

Clarice gathered the screaming boy into her arms and sprinted out the door, looking for Hannibal. What the hell was going on? 'I do not like thee, Doctor Fell?' Where the hell had he learned that name? And what drug had she taken to experience that bathroom scene? Damn! She pushed the memory out of her mind to keep from going insane as she searched from room to room.

She paused at the door to the piano lounge with the red, red walls and saw a man in a bar apron polishing shot glasses with his back to her. He turned to her then, and gave her a broad, warm smile.

"Daddy?" Her voice was a bare whisper, and the room whirled around her.

"Hi, hun," he said gently, as he set down a glass and filled it with her old friend Jack.

Clarice walked forward, as if in a daze, and didn't notice Hanni quietly walking away, still in his trance.

"C'mon and have a drink with your old man. Attagirl," he said as she slowly mounted the barstool, staring at him in shock.

"But—how? How can you be here?"

"I know, honey. You're not going crazy, I am dead. But not forgotten, huh?" he joked, his voice gentle and sad. "You really have to get over it, baby. It really wasn't that bad."

"Not that bad? But you died!"

"Yes, but everyone does, eventually. At least it was just a bullet with me. There are a lot worse ways to go, you know."

"How can you say that? And what about me? Aren't you aware of what I had to go through when you left me?"

Her father wiped his big hands on his apron and took it off, saying, "I am very well aware of what your life has been. That's why I'm here. Come with me," he said, suddenly stern as he held out his hand. Clarice took it, surprised at how cold and bony it felt; nothing like it looked.

He led her out of the lounge, down the main hall and she heard the screams getting louder and louder as they walked.

"Daddy! No! Please, let's go the other way!" He said nothing, grasping her hand tighter, dragging her along.

Hannibal heard a faint echo of screams as he turned the corner and found himself ten feet from the elevators. In front of him was a little girl, her hand tangled in the dark hair matted to her face with blood, her blue eyes glazed with death. But she spoke—more like sang in her baby voice, an old nursery rhyme:

"The north wind doth blow,
And we shall have snow,
And what will poor robin do then,
Poor thing?

He'll sit in a barn,
And keep himself warm,
And hide his head under his wing,
Poor thing."

These last words she spoke with blistering contempt, and Hannibal could only stare openmouthed at his dead/alive sister.

"Mischa," he whispered, "I tried…" his voice trailed off.

Her eyes seemed to look through him, and she dropped the hand that was holding her head as she pointed and said, "You did this!"

For a moment, Hannibal thought horribly that she meant him, but then a harsh blow from behind sent him spiraling into darkness. He fell, even as he watched Mischa's unsupported head fall to the floor beside him.

A hand bent to retrieve the fallen axe.

Hanni rounded a corner and faced the dreaded Big Wheel for the first time since the day it had tried to run him down. It was parked before the door to room 217.

The shock was enough to bring him out of his trance and he pulled his Merlin from his pocket, prepared for battle. It was then the strange man with the axe walked around the corner ahead of him, calling:

"Daaaaaannnnnyyyyyyyy…" He stopped when he saw Hanni. "Son! There you are. I've been lookin' all over for ya. Where the hell ya been?" He slowly advanced forward, his features frightening and intense.

"I—I'm not your son," Hanni said, fearfully holding his ground.

"Aw, come on, Danny. Don't be that way!" he said, releasing one hand from its grip on the axe to hold it out beckoningly to the boy. "Come give your old man a hug!

"I'm Hanni, not Danny. You're not my father!" he screamed as the man approached faster, raising the axe above his head. Just then, the Big Wheel launched itself at the surprised man who started to run, before feeling ridiculous and stopping to face the toy.

Hanni slipped into the room to hide as the man ferociously mangled the plastic contrivance with repeated swings of his axe.