I give you Chapter Five…and this is v.v. quick for me…amazing what many a cup of very strong espresso can prompt you to do. takes biiiig slurp of sweet, sweet coffee.
Jeff- I apologise for depriving you of that crucial 'introduction' moment but I assure you it being postponed is for a reason. As for Lecter and Warwick, I can say they were briefly acquainted through a 'mutual friend'…
Blyndsyght- Thank you for reading! Yes, my erratic chapter lengths are my downfall. I think this one is longer, though.
GuessWhp- (Who? Who?) shuffles feet Yes, well I am afraid due to plot development that moment has been postponed…but only for a while! Keep reading!
Bibbiddyboo- (cool name!) Yay! New reader! You think my chapter lengths are right? Yay! Im always told they're too long or short.
Nanci- Hello! Thank-you for reading! The whole 'wall breaking' thing is a lot harder to write believably than I had anticipated but I hope you enjoy.
Anyhoo, I need to add the great and brilliant M. Night Shyamalan to my disclaimer after seeing 'The Village' (anyone else love that film!) and using the lead, Ivy as a base for observing the realistic behaviour of a young, blind woman, although I think it is important to note Gretchen is her own character and in no way based on Ivy…just little trends used…I also listen to the soundtrack of said film whilst writing this fiction…it is just so relevant and moving…now onto the fiction cavalry charge style horn blow
Hindsight Chapter Five
Hannibal Lecter looked down at the young woman requesting his name with some surprise. So Chilton had decided to leave her unaware of her cellmates identity. Should he tell her now? How lucid could she be toward him after such a revelation? He was not sure exactly how long she had been socially constricted in asylums and the like, but if she knew of him it would most likely be from the exaggerated trash sales of the Tattler. Not good. He knew he would not shy from telling her when the time came, but her casual tone suggested it was simply a conversation starter and his answer would certainly halt any chance of that.
He pondered for several seconds then spoke.
"Do you find that completely relevant?"
She seemed to think about that, intrigued that he did not simply answer.
"Is it such a great secret you cannot tell me straight out?" Her head cocked to the side like an inquisitive rodent, a trait he noted once in himself.
"It is no great secret, I wondered if a name can truly open a person up. Names are simply labels after all."
She looked ever so slightly irritated.
"Then what am I to call you?"
"You have not addressed me at all in over a week. Why do you feel the sudden irrepressible urge to reach out now?"
"You are drifting, and don't you think I can't see it." A small smile was on her lips. "Why you ask? I…" She broke off, apparently thinking how to phrase her reasoning.
"…you have a kindness in your voice, a respect I suppose when you spoke to that man. I did not expect that." She sounded genuine, even to the doctors' skilled ears. There was innocence in her frank honesty that intrigued him. The innocent were so easily manipulated.
"Hmmm…I am in a hospital for the criminally insane therefore I must also be a inarticulate raver?"
"For the criminally insane? Well, James certainly has out done himself this time, I must say. And I apologise for my stereotyping but I have had…interesting experiences in my time."
Her voice donated a carefully placed tone of dark humour to hide the true pain linked to these memories.
"James Warwick." The doctor mused. " I certainly did not expect to hear that name again."
Gretchens' fingers were moving over the mouse corpse once more, seeming to gain a primal comfort from the touch but its maturing scent of decay was intolerable to the doctor.
"What do you gain from that mouse? Its aroma is utterly disagreeable, you must notice."
She opened her mouth then shut it with a sigh, looking down at her hands and the flaccid mouse lying there.
"I didn't mean to kill it." She said very softly, as if to the mouse itself. "I really didn't, I just needed to…it was just…so little" Her voice crooned slightly with disappointment. She gave an exasperated sigh, trying to form an articulate summary of her intention.
"I just…like soft things. I like the way they feel. Fur or feathers or silk are exquisite to my touch. Beautiful in their texture, their soft, smoothness. Its what I have instead of sunsets and seasons." She shrugged with a humourless smile.
She frowned slightly as if on reflection.
"I suppose I'm not here under false pretences after all." She said softly, as if to herself, then uttered a harsh laugh. "Criminally insane, indeed."
"False pretences?" The doctor frowned slightly. "You have never been diagnosed with a psychiatric malfunction?"
She shook her head thoughtfully with a dry smile.
"Oh, of course. By the good Dr. Doemling. Clipboard in one hand, a thick wad of dollars in the other, courtesy of my ever loving 'guardian'."
"He really wants you out of his way."
"Bingo." She said, slouching down the wall slightly, arms tucked around her knees.
" What threat do you pose?" He wondered out loud, looking sceptically at the slight build of the young woman. In the white issue clothes, she looked utterly bleached, void of any zeal or zest. Certainly not a danger to the business tycoon that was James Warwick if he had not deviated in stance since their very brief and very hostile acquaintance and if the stories in 'Vogue' were anything to go by he certainly had not. So why did he fear this scrawny young thing enough to pay great amounts of money securing her containment from society?
What was she hiding?
"It is a long story that I have no wish to account at this time."
Her voice never deviated from its quiet courtesy, yet there was an assertiveness that closed that branch of conversation. For now atleast, Dr Lecter decided to leave it. Only for the time being. His unending curiosity was piqued. Perhaps this little drama could afford him some solace from the monotonous oppressive atmosphere of this place.
Of course, if Chilton thought dangling this damaged young creature in front of him then whipping her away again would give him even the tiniest of peeks into his psyche he was sadly mistaken. But then again, the doctor mused, Chilton often found himself sadly mistaken…or simply sad.
The doctor smiled to himself.
"Give me your mouse"
She turned to him, a frown lowering her brows and twisting her mouth.
"Excuse me?"
"You heard me."
She turned her head from him, to her lap still cradling her mouse, then back up.
"If the smell is bothering you I can move over…"
"No, you will not. You will give me the mouse. You have no need for it."
"I just told you why..." She shrank away but it was anger, not fear that clouded her face.
"You just told me what I had already deduced myself and I also happen to know than you do not need that mouse in your hands. Give it to me."
She made to move along the bars but he was quick into a crouch, blocking her as a panther marks its prey. With one arm sweeping the near vicinity erratically she again tried to get away from the corner which had become her prison but again she felt the warmth of his body knocking her off balance.
She let out a strangled cry and swung with the fist holding the mouse, its dead tail whipping Dr Lecters cheek with a sharp sting. With a muted snarl he grabbed her wrist and thrust it out into the gap between the twine and the bars so her mouse was held haphazardly above the unreachable ground.
With a slight sob, half of grief, half anger to the point of fury she struggled fiercely, going for his throat with her free hand.
He captured that wrist too, and letting his thick dark hair fall into his face slightly he pushed her thin, world-worn fingers against it.
She stopped struggling almost instantly as her fingers explored the soft, clean hair wrapped around her fingers. It was waved ever so slightly at the tips and tendrils tickled her wrist.
"You do not need the mouse." He repeated, tilting his head back until her wrist rested on his nose and fore head, her fingers still locked in his hair. "There is softness all around- in taste and touch and smell. I can show you." His nose was blowing short snatches of warm breath down her sleeve, over the thin, pale skin that pulsed with her scent at every beat of her erratic pulse. "I am telling you, you do not need that pathetic mouse. Just drop it." He could smell her so strongly now, through that translucent skin. She smelt of cold days and bitter leaves and something beneath.
Her breathing was harsh, her fingers clenched into a fist, clenched hard, holding the soft, warm hair, as in her other hand she held the cold, limp mouse.
Ever so slowly, the fingers caging the mouse slackened until the rodent fell with a tiny thud to the concrete floor.
Both of her hands smoothed through his hair, her face tensed with interest and calculation and her eyes opened again. The brightness of their colour still intrigued him. Olive green, yet bleached almost white just around her pupils. He had never seen such types of iris markings before but he thought some memory thudded in his palace, as if falling from a shelf or desk, wishing to be noticed but he passed it by for later musings when his mind was not so occupied.
Her fingers smoothed his hair one last, reverent time then she sat again, turning to the final resting-place of her mouse. With the slightest of smiles she nodded to him and shuffled back to her corner, closed off again. Dr Lecter considered her carefully. What an enigma she was turning out to be, like a bundle of knots, but he had started the slow unravelling and he would not stop until his curiosity was sated. Or until she was taken from him. Whichever would occur first.
Silently he turned and sat at his desk, flicking through the mail Barney had just dropped off. One letter stood out although it was near the bottom of the stack. It was thick, heavy paper of a finer quality than the others yet picked with very little taste. Even before the offensive scent of equally expensive and equally tasteless after shave met his nostrils he knew who had sent him this letter. The notion was met with little welcome or anticipation.
Pulling the very top left hand corner free and into view the gold header confirmed his suspicions.
In gold embossed copperplate text it wrote, 'James Warwick and Partners'.
AN: Yes, I know I wriggled out of Hannibal revealing his identity but it was not cowardice but a sudden plot change that cause it… so don't flame! Hope you enjoyed it…wow this was a very speedy update for me, wasn't it? I really like this fiction so the next chapter is already half written but I need some feedback before my sensitive ego will allow it to be seen…shuffles feet Anyhoo R+R and all that jazz!
Capponi