Beaten Chapter Twelve
NOTE: A huge thanks to all those who reviewed the last chapter..you give me the will to go on and resist my sadistic urges to leave you hanging! Also a big Hello! To any one reading off Hannibal Studiolo..it's a great forum and I was chuffed to bits with the recognition I received. hugs to all!
Retribution
Clarice Starling rushed out of the plush ladies bathroom where she had been gathering herself somewhat, finding herself emotionally unable to fly or make any significant decisions just yet. The fizzing boom of the gasoline-induced explosion had shook the very building and people were streaming around in the sweaty, breathless mingle that always follows any significant destruction.
"What was that?" she quizzed a young woman, standing stock still by the bathroom door.
The woman looked at her, twisting her head round jerkily. "Flight 143 to London..it just..the flames ..Good God.." The woman appeared to be in shock so Starling left her and moved to the huge windows she had stood at not an hour earlier. That was her goddamn plane- she was supposed to be on that strewn pile of smoking wreckage. She was supposed to be dead. That thought chilled her more than anything else yet filled her with a sick sort of hope, or gratitude to the fates, not that she believed in all that nonsense. What mattered was that both she and her baby were safe, unharmed and safe.
"Good God" Starling whispered the other womans sentiments. It seemed the only thing fitting to such a freak escape, such terrible loss for others. Who would have missed her if she had died, she suddenly wondered with a feeling a s despair. Possibly Jack Crawford, if he ever heard. But he had his wife's death still torturing him. No-one at work gave a damn. The only person she could think of, the only person who had ever really shown her love since her father died wanted her child dead then most probably little more to do with her. That had hurt more than Starling had ever let him know. She felt the fragile bond of trust she had developed had been broken without s seeming care. He had hurt her, but she still wanted him, she realised with a pang, she needed him here for her. Would he come for her even after all that had happened? Would he come because of all that had happened? The thoughts buzzed round her aching head like fireflies round a flame and she retired tot the ladies room again, feeling slightly faint.
From afar, the turmoil in the Departures lounge was being observed by the cool, calculating gaze of Misters William and Michael Alexander. Both were physically impressive with blonde ponytails, slim yet well-muscled, strapping bodies and each over six feet. Wild amimal meets entitled prince. They were the chosen ones. Their pockets were still heavy with Mason Vergers money, their ears full of the strict instructions and warnings of the crippled man and their mind full of the pictures of the ones they sought. They had traced a Miss Clarice Starling from her hasty booking records, and were assured a certain Doctor would be here to 'see her of' so to speak. It appeared that one strategically placed C4 explosive inside the left engine of the 19:10 to Gatwick had seen to half their mission but the second they was to bring alive and unharmed. They had told Mason they didn't do 'unharmed' and they had compromised with 'alive and without any grievous internal injury'. Now that they could live by, William thought with a grim smile as he set about completing his mission. God, it was almost too easy. However, the brothers took little pleasure from killing in such a way. Not the actual killing, which bothered them very little, but the brusque, crude manner in which they had been instructed to take the life of Miss Starling. They preferred a much more intimate killing ritual as they believed the ultimate ecstasy could come from the intense pain of death and the last glimmer in the eye of a victim often told them as much.
They had been instructed to kill in such a way so as not to link their other crimes to this one in any way. They were made to understand this was Mason's plan, Mason's revenge and Mason's extensive financial rewards kept it this what even though the brothers loathed to be so confined in the art of murder.
"I see him, William." Michael, the younger of the two hissed in his brothers' ear. Their eyes locked onto the solitary figure all alone by the seats, scattered with magazines and abandoned luggage in the panic.
William laughed, deep and predatory. "This will be too easy, brother. So far below our capability. Let's go hunting."