A/N: Thank you, my darlings, who are enjoying this. Another thank you for those you PMed me. It makes me happy that others find it interesting. It really is a thrill like no other to know others enjoy the work that I love doing.

I am using (most of) the ending of the movie, Hannibal, for this particular story. I do believe that I mentioned that this story is a combination of the books and the movies, but if I have not, you all now know.

Oh, and one last thing. Some of you may be having a hard grasping what Audrey looks like. The "book cover" I made for this story contains both Audrey and Clarice in it. If you want to know exactly what she looks like, there it is.

Also, as you could tell in the Prologue, this story will be touching on some extremely dark topics. I'm sorry if it causes anyone discomfort.

Disclaimer: Look at the Prologue for it.

Chapter 1: Domino Effect

Eighty-two minutes. Eighty-two fucking minutes. Hell could not possibly be worse than this. No god would be that cruel. Not even to the damned. On second thought, if this was to be her eternal torment, she wanted a damn refund. Though perhaps she was past the point of no return on this round. Well, if that was the case, she might as well enjoy the ride down to pit if that was to be her destiny. And through all the uncertainties that came with complexities of religion, there was one thing she was absolutely certain of:

Hell would be this damned beige waiting room in the FBI.

She had gone through almost every stage of impatience in the last —her eyes cut to the clock — eighty-three minutes. Her position had changed no less than a dozen times in the short-term comfort, standard issue, waiting room chairs. Her body posture had hit the entirety of the spectrum: from classy and professional to passed out on tequila. Now, however, she had managed to circle back around to looking like a semi-normal person in public. Which was saying something considering the word 'normal' had been pretty much erased from her vocabulary.

Audrey's eyes nonchalantly surveyed the cameras in distaste through her lashes. They had to be fake. Or no one was watching her. Logic dictated that someone would have drug her out by now. Her behavior had a tendency to get increasingly weirder the longer she didn't think anyone was watching. Although, from what she had seen as of late, the FBI seemed to constantly have logic on back order.

Through some kind of superpower, she had so far refrained from picking at the polish on her newly painted black nails. But Audrey was desperate for entertainment. Almost anything would do at this point. Her eyes glanced over to the black screen of her phone out of sheer habit. An exasperated sigh left her red painted lips as she silently reminded herself for the umpteenth time that it was dead. Like an absolute idiot, she had forgotten to charge it the previous night. One would think that a woman with eidetic memory would not need reminding. Perhaps her brain was decaying from lack of stimulation.

More importantly, how was there absolutely nothing of interest happening inside the FBI? It was so bland. She could be sitting in a dentist's waiting room for all she knew. From all the crime drama shows on television, shit seemed to go down everyday. She had been in DMVs with more excitement. Hell, standardized school tests were more entertaining than this.

Not to mention room was empty. There was no one to psychoanalyze. No one to give a touch of mental anguish on the way out with a small, devastating phrase whispered ever so gently.

The magazines were bland. Audrey had tried to read them. It was plan 'B' after her phone died. Somehow they were worse than doing nothing. She wasn't a sports lover nor did she care to be told what her body should look like and what she could change in her life to attract a man. For the life of her, she couldn't think of anyone who still read magazines. But it wasn't as though she was being bombarded with offers of friendship left and right.

Audrey frowned as her brow furrowed. Did she actually have friends?

No names came to mind.

Well, that's depressing. Wonderful.

Oddly enough, it had never dawned on her to have human companions before. Well, that wasn't entirely accurate. There were people she spoke to and interacted with but it seemed strange to create meaningful bonds when she ate other humans. It was like a cat asking a mouse to hang out when mice remains were locked away in their freezer. She couldn't wrap her head around it.

In her defense, it wasn't as though there was a rule book on being a cannibalistic serial killer. But was that truly where she was at in her life? So indescribably bored with everything that she wanted come kind of regular human interaction?

God help her.

Plan 'C' had gone out the window the second she realized (through an elaborate show for the possibly functioning cameras that included the old searching-a-nonexistent-contact-on-the-floor routine) there was no possible way to bypass the lock. Why would you need to have your receptionist do a rectal scan to enter her place of work? The only conclusion she could come up with was the security measures were there in case this exact situation came up. Apparently, she was not the only one who enjoyed action movies and had too much time on their hands.

Tick, tick, tick…

Audrey threw a glare at the clock's second hand as it continued to mock her. It was growing harder to ignore the ticking as if the volume was being raised. Her head fell back with another sigh on her lips and the top of her head gently brushing the wall. Not even a pattern on the ceiling. Just smooth, solid white. She closed her eyes.

For fuck's sake, just get on with it and kill me already. Death has to be better than this.

All good things come to those who wait…

The soft words descended through the darkness in her mind in an entirely too familiar voice. A snort was accompanied by an eye roll. Recently, the voice of Hannibal that lived in her head seemed to have taken on a taunting nature. Before everything went to absolute shit, his velvety vocals would have calmed her. Made her feel warm and at home. Now they only brought waves of annoyance and frustration. No comfort.

Having patience was one thing. She didn't mind a little wait. But over a decade? And his first letter of correspondence was just instruction about giving Clarice a letter from him? Come now, Doctor. That's just plain rude.

I am not going to be your fucking friend texting the girl you like to see if she likes you back. I have so much more dignity, feminine pride, and self-respect than to lower myself to doing such a demeaning task.

Yet here she was. Doing just that.

What a lovely world she lived in.

A small voice of reason reminded her that he surely had his reasons for the radio silence. That she should appreciate his trust in her to deliver that letter. That everything he did had a reason. That if he didn't care, she wouldn't be living in a house he bought her. Or driving the car he bought her. Or financially stable for the first time in her life.

If he truly didn't care, he wouldn't.

At thirty-seven years old, one would think that she would be beyond being passive aggressive. But that was simply not how life worked. It wasn't as though she minded confrontation but being a grown adult, that sort of behavior was frowned upon. Particularly if one was trying to not draw attention to herself. So pettiness it was. And her pettiness had wanted to burn that fucking letter.

She almost went through with it too, but only an edge got singed before she pulled it away from the flame. As much as she wanted to burn that thing, Audrey felt like doing so was betraying him. Despite all her hurt and anger, she would not return the favor. That being said, it did not stop the murderess from throwing the envelope at the wall like a child.

Suddenly, the knob was turning and front door was opening. Well, Audrey was pretty sure it opened. She was too busy seeing stars. Her body had jumped at the unexpected noise causing her to smack her skull on the wall. Feeling disgruntled and a bit embarrassed, she tenderly rubbed her head. Oh, there was definitely going to be a knot. Fantastic.

Her self-pitying motions screeched to a halt, however, when she opened her eyes to see the most stereotypical receptionist the world had ever seen walk past her. Audrey couldn't stop herself from staring incredulously at the woman. It was like she had wandered off a porn set. Busty, blonde, those black rectangular frames every woman seemed to wear in movies. A inch-too-short pencil skirt, heels, and just one to many buttons undone on her hideous pastel top.

Heaven hath forsaken me. I truly am in hell.

The receptionist scanned in and went to her desk, shutting the door without even a backwards glance. Didn't even ask if she was okay or apologized for the long wait. Audrey's eyes narrowed. Rude. She might have to make an exception to her normal diet.

Standing up, she walked over to the counter and… nothing. Regret at leaving her Spyderco Civilian in the car started to creep into her mind. No matter. Audrey could kill with her bare hands. Or a chair behind her.

She forced herself to gently knock on the opaque glass and an annoyed sigh came from the other side. Keys jangling followed by an unlocking click could be heard. The woman then slid the glass to the side and continued typing. "Yes, how can I help you?" she asked in, possibly, the most monotoned voice Audrey had ever heard.

Oh, I'm sorry. Am I disturbing you from doing your damn job correctly? My bad.

A polite smile as fake as the receptionist's boobs made its way onto Audrey's lips. "Is Clarice Starling here?"

No answer. Just more typing.

Audrey blinked a couple of times out of sheer astonishment to the situation. She almost wanted to laugh. No way this was happening. No way this was real life. How could an individual be so rude to someone they just met?

Impossibly remaining calm, she flashed her most charming, patient smile that, in all honesty, probably made her look like the cheshire cat. "Ma'am?"

"She's not here right now. She's out." The receptionist went back to work typing, clearly dismissing her.

This woman was really pushing her luck. Her free hand curled into a fist. Through bared teeth, she managed, "In the field?"

"That information is classified and not available to non-agents."

Oh, no.

I don't fucking think so.

The entire reason she was supposed to deliver the stupid damned letter was to keep a low profile. It was why she was wearing an itchy blonde wig and uncomfortable brown contacts. It was why she was here and not at home asleep.

I got up before noon for this, dammit.

The personification of irritation sitting before her had the audacity to give her a look over those obviously fake glasses as if asking her, 'Really? You're still here?' Death was imminent for this one. But not here. She had better self-control than that.

While planning for —she checked the name plate (really? For the receptionist? How much money did the FBI just have to blow on nonsensical things?)— Barbara's torture-filled death, Audrey looked at the clock behind her before turning back around. Without Audrey's eyes on her, Barbara had apparently tried to subtly start sliding the glass shut. Just to be petty, Audrey put a bit more of her weight on the countertop and placed her hands in the way of the glass. "Well, she and I were supposed to go out to lunch together at one o'clock and it's now 1:21. Do you have any idea when she might be back?"

Should've been an actress.

"Nope."

Audrey tilted her head and stared at Barbara through narrowed eyes. The polite facade was starting to crack. "Okay—" She cleared her throat and faked looking at the stupid name plate. "—Barbara. Could you at least let me in and point me in the general direction of her desk? I promise I won't disturb you anymore."

"Unauthorized personnel are not allowed in the main building unless they have permission from an administrator or other supervised official," Barbara recited dismissively, still not bothering to look up at her. She was clearly quoting some FBI manual and thought she sounded smart. In reality, she sounded like a bitch.

In the end, it really didn't matter how smart she thought she sounded because Audrey's self-control snapped in half. Leaning further into the camera's blind spot, she growled out under her breath. "Look at me."

Barbara froze in her chair at her menacing tone. The change in her demeanor was a satisfying one. Slowly but surely, her green eyes slowly made their way to Audrey's indigo ones. And while she took her sweet time doing that, Audrey memorized every personal item in that office area with one sweeping glance.

"Now, I want you to listen and listen well." Her voice was like poisoned honey as she spoke almost insultingly slow to the idiotic woman. "I need to access Clarice Starling's desk. Whether or not you think you will allow me to do so is your business, but I would highly advise you to think carefully before answering. Your son —Benjamin, right? Age three, sandy blonde hair, and dark brown eyes? Currently in pre-school?" The other woman's face went a delightful pasty white. "It would be a pity to have to, ah, deal with him." Her lips split into a menacing smile to punctuate her words. Fear was, after all, the best at changing one's behavior.

Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Barbara's hand stray over to the phone. Oh, she thought she was a clever girl, did she?

"Oh, honey, you don't want to be doing that," Audrey said smoothly with the deadly casualness that came easy with being a serial killer. She could feel her body relaxing into the familiar predator territory of threatening someone's life. But it wasn't the child she would kill. She would not kill a child. Their horrifically obnoxious mother? Oh, yes. In a heartbeat. Regardless, watching the fear on her face was still fun though. "Let's recall little Benjamin, hmm?"

"Who are you? What do you want?" Her voice shook as panic clearly set in.

A chuckle left her lips, only further terrorizing her future victim. "It's not important who I am. All I want to do is deliver this to Agent Starling. Now," she gestured to the door with a charming smile. "Allow me inside, please."

After delivering the letter to her sister's desk, she strolled out of the building as if she owned it. Audrey had been in the damn place for so long, the weather had noticeably heated up. She took off her gloves and placed them in her jacket. Still warm. Audrey shrugged off the jacket and hung it over her arm as she entered the parking garage. Before reaching the cool shade of the concrete structure, her exposed skin soaked up the sun's rays appreciatively. There was a light breeze but her backless, long sleeve dress allowed for the perfect balance of the elements.

Only when she was inside her McLaren P1 did she finally begin the long process of unwinding. Thank god, or whoever was listening, that whole ordeal was over. It only made her already questionable emotional stability even more unstable. It was remarkable that Barbara was still alive. There weren't that many women who made her want to kill them.

She needed a drink and a nap.

A bit more aggressively than she intended, Audrey pulled out of her parking spot with minimum difficulty and approached the gate. She rolled down her window, ticket in hand. A low whistle greeted her.

Goddammit. This was why she couldn't have nice things.

An idiot with a confidence level he did not deserve stuck his head out of his window and stared at her car appreciatively before swinging that gaze in her direction. "Nice ride. What's she go?"

Audrey slowly turned her head and gave the guard a sarcastic smile. Grimace was probably more accurate. It appeared his coworker was in an equal amount of pain as she was and looked at her apologetically. "As hard and fast as she wants."

The asshole obnoxiously smacked on some gum with his mouth open and a sad attempt at a seductive smile on his lips. "Oh, yeah, baby?"

Fucking hell.

She wrinkled her nose at that. She hated it when people called other people that. So belittling. It had a sickeningly juvenile air to it. "And do you know what she wants?"

He was practically orgasming in his pants. "What, babe?"

To kill you dead.

"She wants to get the fuck out of here and go home so she doesn't have to deal with a prepubescent child like you."

It was like the entire man became a raisin. Behind him, his coworker was cracking up and reached over him to get her ticket. The man then smacked a button and the barrier lifted. He gave her a salute of sorts and grinned widely. "Have a wonderful day, ma'am."

She returned the smile and nodded once. "You too," Audrey replied politely as she put her car in gear and drove off.

When she was a safe distance away, she pulled off to the side of a backroad. Audrey couldn't remove the wig and contacts fast enough. As soon as they were off her body, she felt herself relax a little more. She snatched the avatar sunglasses in the cup holder and put them on before taking off again.

Audrey drove like a manic back to her home. Road rage was a horrible trait of hers but driving while angry had an odd release for her. She felt so powerful behind the wheel. It was like nothing could stop her. Same reason she enjoyed running at night. The whole thing cleared her head better than any medication.

She yanked the front door open and slammed it close. There was now a dent in the wall from the door handle but she couldn't be bothered to give a damn. Audrey then proceeded to kick off her burgundy platform pumps in the most chaotic manner possible. They landed haphazardly, with one knocking off a vase she had bought from an art auction a few weeks ago. She stared at it accusingly, as if everything was its fault. Huffing, she stormed by it without a second glance.

Audrey entered her kitchen like hurricane winds upon glass. A familiar smell wafted through the air. Was that his fucking cologne? Good lord, she was imagining smells now. Pathetic.

She threw down her jacket and sheathed blade beside the stove. Yanking open the liquor cabinet with almost a strong enough force to rip off the door, she grabbed a bottle of fire whiskey. Audrey snatched a glass from the fancy little display she had. No fifth for her. The whole glass was pretty much full before she stopped pouring. She brought the glass to her lips and chugged it down like it was a timed Olympic event. The familiar warm burn down her throat was exactly what she needed. A blissful sigh came from her lips as she set the glass back down. Feeling better all ready.

Without rhyme or reason, she glanced down at the drawer she was in front of. Audrey knew it well. She slowly opened it, sadness creeping over her upon seeing the contents. Inside laid an open decorative red box containing a dark, brass-encased Harpy eagle talon with a matching chain. At one time, it had an almost supernatural comfort but now it only brought sorrow. She gently moved it aside to see familiar, elegant script written on heavy, expensive paper.

My dearest Audrey,

As you probably are aware of by now, I have escaped imprisonment. My current whereabouts I cannot disclose in this letter, due to the risk that this might be seized. Although it is rather unlikely, I do have to be careful. It is not that I do not trust you—there should never be a doubt about my trust in you, my dear. It is just simply that the sense of freedom is an indescribable pleasure after being locked away like an animal for eight years.

Which brings me back to my original purpose of writing this letter to you. I do believe that I missed your eighteenth through twenty-fifth birthdays. And for that, I do apologize. In my defense, I did not have the ability to send things to people from my cell. As we both know, Doctor Chilton does enjoy his petty torments. I trust that you will enjoy my gift. For the next few weeks, you will receive gifts for every birthday I missed. I know that you most likely will be hesitant in accepting them as they are quite expensive. Do not worry. I have plenty of money.

This necklace is for your eighteenth birthday. I do hope that you will remember me when you wear it.

I now wish you well until we meet again, which will hopefully be soon. Until then, my dear…

Ta,

Your Hannibal

P.S. I do plan on keeping my promise.

True to his word, over the next few weeks, there were seven more packages delivered to her. The first was the key to her current home. A few days later, after she had moved in, a piano arrived. She recognized it as the same one she had played on when they first met. Then came the keys to her car. It must've killed him to get something not at all in the realm of his tastes. All the more reason she loved her red and black beauty. Then came a new wardrobe, then a generous knife collection, his own signed cookbook The Joy of Cooking (how in the world he managed to obtain it was beyond her), and finally her beloved Spyderco Civilian. It was underneath that gift she had received the last piece of communication from him up until this morning. A small simple note. Three words that would haunt her.

See you soon.

Twelve years of silence. Perhaps 'soon' was a more relative term than she realized.

But it was that night upon receiving that little note that she realized she had fallen in love with Hannibal Lecter. And she had been damned ever since.

Why did everything have to go wrong? It was perfect —or as perfect as it was going to get. She couldn't wait for her eighteenth birthday back then. Because then she could run away from her horrible parents and be with Hannibal. Oh, yes. She had had a crush on him for as long as she could remember. How could she not notice him as a man? He was like royalty. Elegant, classy, treated her with respect. That was what did her in initially. He was the only one in her life who had ever respected her. And she adored him for it from a very young age. It had taken him running off trying to catch her sister's attention for her to realize it.

A sad smile came to her lips as she traced over the elegant talon. Even back then she romanticized what her life would be with him. A fool she was for thinking she had a shot. She knew better now.

She was there when he was arrested.

The images were burned into her brain. She had been walking down the hospital's hallway on her way to her daily visit to his room when it had happened. She watched the police officers take him away. She had felt like her heart had been stabbed with a knife followed by it shattering into a billion pieces. Shock, grief, and despair were just a few of the emotions that assaulted her being violently. She couldn't eat. She couldn't sleep. Hell, she couldn't function at all. It was as though she had been zombie-fied into a rapid down spiral into an abyss of depression. Her life seemed as though it was falling apart at the seams that Hannibal had so passionately sewn together all those many years ago. She remembered his trial like it was yesterday; every character witness, every juror's expression, every allegation, every argument…the verdict. She remembered their eyes finding each other as they took him away afterwards. His gaze said but one word: Understand.

When she killed her foster parents, she understood. She understood why he was the way he was on a level that Clarice never would. No amount of psychoanalyzing would make her understand any of it. How they were created out of brokenness. How the darkness filled the voids and mended back together the remaining pieces of their humanity. How they became society's monsters because being human was no longer an option.

No, Clarice could never understand.

Her sister got everything. Clarice had no right to complain. Oh, those poor little lambs screamed and they woke you up? Oh, dad died and she had to hear about it?

Gasp.

Did she think her life was bad? That it was so terrible, so horrible, so traumatic that she had nightmares? Poor little thing. Couldn't deal with how lamb chops were made. Yet somehow, somehow, she managed to wrap Hannibal around her little finger. What did she have that Audrey didn't? Besides, of course, the ability to cause Hannibal a horrific amount of pain physically and emotionally.

Audrey would never hurt him. She loved him too much. But that didn't matter. He wanted nothing to do with her. Not romantically. Not even platonically. She meant nothing to him. Her sister was his world. None of what she felt for him mattered.

Hannibal would always belong to Clarice.

After everything she had gone through, after all the hell she had dealt with, her happy ending was snatched away. A single tear ran down her cheek.

Fuck her.

Audrey slammed the drawer shut aggressively. She angrily poured herself another glass of whiskey causing a lot of spillage. But she didn't care. She turned away from the drawer so her hip rested against the countertop. Audrey closed her eyes and gently placed the cold glass to her temple. It gave her only a little comfort but she would take it.

As the tension began to leave her body, she could sense something was off. With her eyes still closed, her brow furrowed in confusion. Why was her gut telling her that something was wrong? Strange. There couldn't be anyone inside the house without her knowledge. Hell, no one even knew her house existed. It wasn't on any map. (Not that she regularly made a habit of checking maps.) She even legally changed her last name from 'Chikatilo' to 'Ragno' to further erase all of her past connections. And 'Audrey Starling' by all legal means didn't exist. So, why the fuck—

"Good afternoon, Audrey."

A/N: Ah yes. I do love a cliffhanger!

Fun fact: The last name 'Chikatilo' Audrey mentions is the last name of a Russian serial killer and cannibal, Andrei Chikatilo, who was dubbed the name the "Russian Hannibal Lecter". 'Ragno' is Italian for 'spider'.

If you wish to know exactly what her car looks like, literally just google 'McLaren red and black'. It's the first few images that pop up. Except she has normal doors because those other doors wouldn't work in a parking garage.

Hopefully that cleared up some questions you all might be having.

Any feedback is appreciated!

Ta ta,

Dreamiest Nightmare