Chapter Two: Time With in Thoughts
Dr. Lecter quickly drove home and tried to clear all the rushing thoughts in his head. Clarice watched him closely but knew not to interrupt. He needed to think the "problem" out. If there was a problem, she thought. She didn't think a man with maroon eyes was worth that much trouble thinking about. How many countless others had maroon eyes? But then again, how many countless others had maroon eyes and lived near the birth place of the Lecters? Maybe it was a common trait of Lithuanians? Maybe the man had inherited them from the same family ancestry? It was possible. The only thing that Clarice's mind shot down completely was the thought that the waiter was somehow related closely to Dr. Lecter. That was not possible. Dr. Lecter was the only family member to survive. Clarice felt a touch of the green-eyed monster come on… But he did say he kept company with women even if he said it was a few… She felt treacherous for even considering that thought. But what if the man was his son? He was certainly around the right age. He had dark hair and a light complexion like Hannibal. And the eyes were similar… No, they were the same. Exactly. That was why Hannibal was so disturbed. Those eyes were frightening.
They had both made their way up to their bedroom. Clarice washed and changed quickly and settled herself under the covers. Dr. Lecter looked out over the city and stared. His eyes were glassy and his face was even more pale than usual. His dark hair had signs of going silver at the temples. It made him look more distinguished. He sighed and changed for bed.
He couldn't sleep. Clarice was laying half on top of him, her head resting on his bare chest. He could see the rhythmic fall of her chest that said she was sleeping deeply. Her thoughts were undisturbed. Light was coming in from the window. Shadows danced slowly on the ceilings and the walls. Maroon eyes flashed again through the Doctor's mind. Dr. Lecter slid out of bed slowly, hoping Clarice would not awaken. She didn't seem as interested as him in the young man. Dr. Lecter dressed quickly and stepped out of the room and into the large house. He made his way outside and started for the street. The dim streetlamps barely lit the area. The air was crisp with the smell of smoke and alcohol. The Doctor could hear some of the old gauchos talking about the "good ole'days" when knife fighting was an event that everyone saw at one time or another. They had their own honor system and would stick to it flawlessly or else. The mixture of Argentinean culture seduced him here. Dr. Lecter passed several porches with young lads strumming guitars and singing softly in Spanish. The lines of an old tango met his ears.
Adiós muchachos, ya me voy y me resigno… Mi vida termina esta noche… Mi hermana no puede comprender que yo necesita salir esta casa, mi prisión.
The song spoke too closely on what he was feeling. The past had a strange way of reminiscing about itself. He heard the boy's voice fade off in the distance. A slight wind blew in from the east. He felt the cold. He really felt the cold. It was in his heart that the wind had settled. There were plenty of logical explanations for a young man of Lithuanian birth with maroon eyes to be in Buenos Aires. Dr. Lecter turned left on the Calle de Suarez. His highly sensitive nose picked up the scent of sandalwood with a mixture of vanilla. His eyes saw movement in front of him. A silhouette of a tall figure was walking in front of him. The figure was walking away from him. His eyes lingered on the man and the way he moved. He was graceful and seemed to glide rather than walk. Dr. Lecter shook his head. People are not that graceful. The late hour was starting to weigh down on his sleep deprived brain. When has he felt this tired before? He was aging but still very healthy. He did not wake up in the mornings with pains and aches like other people his age. He didn't look his age. But at this moment, at this hour, he felt it. He gasped at the feeling, the man in front of him blurring slightly. The sensation overwhelmed him. How can a single moment feel like eternity? Dr. Lecter's next step faltered. He caught himself before he stumbled. When had he been this unnerved? It angered him. He felt weak. He felt he had no control over the situation. The man's profile in front of him disappeared.
He walked back to the manor. He needed to be some where that made sense. Dr. Lecter knew Clarice had already rationalized the situation in her head. But how can you rationalize an event that was never supposed to take place? There was no possibility of him having a stray family member. He had looked for and found his family tree and located all of his ancestors. They were all six feet under. Every single one. Even his precious sister. Mischa appeared vividly in his mind; her dark glossy hair swinging in the sunlight. Her skin was like porcelain. Nature, herself, was jealous of the beautiful child. Mischa's clear blue eyes stared at him. Suddenly her eyes were full of tears. In his minds eye he could see a young man—no—a monster carry her off, over his shoulder. He would always remember those last moments of her life, of his sanity.
He made it back to his home before dawn. Clarice was still asleep, curled up on her side of the bed.
Author's Note: Here's the translation of the tango: "Good bye, boys, I'm leaving and am resigned... My life ends this night... My sister cannot understand why I need to leave this house, my prison..." The first part was the beginning of a real tango but the rest I made up since I couldn't remember exactly how it went.