A hoarse scream rent the cool night air.
"MISCHA!"
Hannibal Lecter sat bolt upright in bed, feeling a cold sweat breaking out all over his body. His eyes were wide, staring, as he groped wildly in the dark for the light. He was desperately seeking out the small form of his sister, so close he had almost been able to reach her.
"Hannibal!" Sally cried, bursting through the door. She had heard his scream from her room, and with no thought of personal safety had hastened up the stairs to discover the source of the commotion. Her first thought was that they had been attacked, and so she had grabbed the first thing that came to hand on the way out of her room – a small lamp with a wide shade and, most importantly, a heavy, sturdy base.
The sight that met her was worrying – Lecter's pillows and blankets were scattered over the bed and room, the sheets were torn, Lecter's pyjama top was ripped open and several buttons were missing, and he was staring around manically, Harpy in hand.
He blinked at the sound of his Christian name; it seemed to bring him back to the present. The last of the dream melted.
Sally was still in the doorway, face full of concern, lamp raised. Lecter cocked his head slightly at it, and tried to focus on the situation at hand, banishing his night terrors back to the locked, screaming corridors of his memory palace.
"…I thought you might be under attack," Sally explained sheepishly. Lecter raised an eyebrow.
"And so you brought a lamp. How thoughtful."
"It was the first thing that came to hand, okay?"
"And a useful weapon it would have proved, I'm sure. I myself cannot think of a sight more terrifying than you wielding a bedside lamp. Did you plan to shed some light on the situation?"
Sally glared at him, then glanced around the room once more. There had been only one door at the top of the landing, and Sally now realised that this was because Lecter's bedroom was in fact the entire third floor. It was just one huge room (with a small door at one end, presumably to an ensuite bathroom) that seemed to meld several rooms into one: it started with the bedroom area, nearest the door, and then as you walked through became a lounge, complete with its own small library, and then a study. There was also a door, in the lounge section, that opened out onto a balcony that Sally had often seen from the ground. She now understood why she so rarely saw Lecter outside of tuition and meals; he had everything he needed up there.
The floor was covered in a pale Axminster that was at least an inch thick, and the walls were panelled in dark wood. All the furniture looked expensive and old, but well cared for. Sally wondered how long this had been Lecter's home. She lowered the lamp.
"Are you alright?" she said.
"Fine."
Sally's eyes again took in the scene.
"Clearly." When he didn't respond, Sally set the lamp down and went into the bathroom. There was a conveniently placed flannel next to the sink. She ran it under the tap and went back to Lecter, handing it to him so that he could clean away the blood on his face. He accepted it, and told her to go back to bed. But Sally was now feeling wide awake and knew that she would never get back to sleep, much though she may try. She felt a rumbling in her stomach and decided that she would make them both breakfast.
"Are you sure you're alright?" she said.
"Yes." Lecter looked down at the bloodied flannel. "I bit my tongue. It will be fine. My kitchen, however, may not be if you are let loose in it." Sally pouted.
"I find that unfair."
"Life is unfair."
"Touché."
He put on his dressing gown and followed her downstairs.
Sally ignored the disapproving look she received as she sat on the bench top and swung her feet, just stopping short of kicking the cabinets behind them. There was the occasional rattle or clank as Lecter pulled out ingredients and pans from various cupboards around the room. Eventually, Sally began to recognise a familiar pattern in his actions.
"Are you making pancakes?" Lecter didn't even raise his head, only continued whisking the batter until it was smooth and lumpless. When that was completed, he switched on the stove and greased his largest frying pan with a goodly knob of butter, which spluttered slightly as the heat intensified. The pan was a foot and a half in diameter, and when Lecter flipped the first pancake in one fluid motion, Sally gasped, because she had to admit that that was pretty darn impressive. Sally had never flipped a pancake in her life. She stared in wonderment at his proficiency, until he noticed her rapt expression and sighed. After a small pile of cooked pancakes had accumulated and enough mixture for two smaller ones remained, he turned to her.
"Would you like to try?" he asked, with a hint of resignation about the survival chances of his kitchen. Sally nodded eagerly and jumped down from her perch. The searing temperature meant that the mixture began to bubble almost as soon as it reached the pan, and Lecter had to grab Sally's wrist to stop her pouring too much in. Sally protested, but he reminded her that the bigger it was, the harder it would be to flip.
"Does it look ready to you?" he asked after a few minutes. Sally inspected it, looking panicked.
"Yes, I think so."
"Then tilt the pan towards you until the pancake has slid to the edge. Ready? Now flick that edge up, and the pancake should fly up. Do it quickly."
Sally took a deep breath and thrust the pan up. The pancake rose, flopped onto the opposite edge of the pan and, as if in slow motion, slithered off, first onto the edge of the stove, then to the floor. Sally froze, eyes squeezed shut, before swivelling to look at Lecter apologetically.
"I'll clean it up, shall I?" she tried.
"I think that would be a good idea, don't you? But first, let us finish the mixture while the pan is still hot." If Sally was surprised that Lecter had just placed the importance of pancakes above a clean kitchen, she didn't show it. This time when the time came to flip the pancake, Lecter, without saying a word, moved to stand behind Sally and put his arms around her, placing his hands on hers on the handle of the pan. Sally's brow furrowed for a moment, and her heart rate leapt at the sudden unexpected proximity.
Lecter noted the change in her breathing and smiled. The fact that she still didn't know whether to treat this as a threat, some strange sexual advance or something else entirely was rather endearing.
With Lecter manipulating her, Sally was able to successfully flip the second pancake and catch it in the pan. She grinned widely and, after Lecter had released her, held up her hand for a high-five. Lecter looked pointedly at the hand until she gave in and lowered it sadly.
They went about decking the table with various sauces and toppings until the child within Sally swooned at its beauty. A thought struck her, and she hurriedly went upstairs to retrieve her new Polaroid camera from her room. When Lecter raised an eyebrow she just looked at the table with a glazed expression.
"If I dined with you every day, forever, I would remember this meal," she whispered, and took a photo of the perfectly spread table, which she later stuck on her wall as the first thing up there that was truly hers.
Later that day, Lecter informed Sally that he was going out to get supplies for dinner, and would return in two hours. Sally bade him farewell from her seat on the couch. When he was halfway out the door, a thought struck her and she called out to him.
"Ooh! Could you get me some ice cream?"
He turned back to face her and raised an eyebrow. She placed her palms together under her chin pleadingly and tried to look as wretched and puppy-like as possible. Lecter blinked once, and then gave the closest thing to a smile as he ever did. He would show her the true meaning of ice cream.
Once his car was gone, Sally put away the book she was reading and went upstairs to the piano. She much preferred practicing when Lecter was gone from the house; she always felt like he was judging her, just a little bit.
That was enough to keep her occupied for an hour, until she felt thirsty, so headed back downstairs in search of liquid sustenance. A bottle of red wine had been left tantalisingly open on the countertop, but Sally turned away, knowing that it was for dinner and that Lecter would know if she had any, even the tiniest sip. He was slightly scary like that.
The fridge was a much better option – Sally poured herself a glass of orange juice and settled back on the couch, disregarding her Kafka novel (which was giving her a headache) in favour of the television. It was time for the six o'clock news. The first three items were hardly of interest - the clean-up operation after the flooding up north, a bank robbery, and a murder which Sally recognised as Lecter's handiwork and which gave her a worrying surge of pride. The next bulletin, however, caught her off guard. Her own photo, laughing against the backdrop of the beach from her last birthday party, greeted her.
"Although the search for missing person, Sally Barron, is officially over," the newsreader was saying, "there are those who still believe that there is a chance for her discovery." Her blazer didn't quite match her shirt. "The 18-year-old disappeared three and a half months ago after the murder of her parents, Thomas and Lucy Barron. Sally is presumed dead by the police, but her friends refuse to give up hope of her return." The camera panned back to show Sally's school friends, Pamela, Aleisha and Guy, doing their darnedest not to cry on national TV.
"Sally is our best friend," Aleisha said, as steadily as she could manage. "We'll never give up on her." The others nodded emphatically. There was the usual request to the public to phone the police immediately with any information they may have. Then it moved on.
Sally switched it off and sat frozen, staring at the place on the screen where Aleisha's face had been. Her mascara had run down her cheeks, and on national television. She would be mortified. Sally had been telling her for months that she needed waterproof, but clearly to no avail. Nothing changes, yet life goes on.
Sally's life had changed, but not gone on.
The best reception, Sally eventually discovered, was the balcony outside Lecter's room. She knew that she should stay away from the third floor, but a reckless feeling had come over her, along with the desperate desire to hear her friend's voice again. She checked her watch. She had at least fifteen minutes before Lecter would return, and she would hear the car when he did. It was safe.
Lecter had, in fact, arrived while Sally was still watching herself on TV, which was why she hadn't heard him arrive. He did not enter the house immediately, however. The radio was playing popular arias and Lecter sat with his eyes closed, head resting back on the headrest, and finished listening to Purcell's Dido's Lament. The story of Dido and Aeneas had always seemed far too melodramatic to him, until recently. It was not until now that Lecter understood how deeply one could be affected by love. Dido's Lament caused a slight tightness in his chest.
The memory of sound was allowed to hang in the fragile air for a full ten seconds after the music ended before Lecter opened his eyes and finally exhaled. Then he got out of the car and went inside to put his groceries away and start on dinner.
It was slightly concerning, when he got inside, to hear muffled footsteps coming from the third floor of the house.
The phone rang three times. On the fourth ring, an unfamiliar voice answered.
"Hello?"
"Uh… hi, is Aleisha there please?"
"No sorry, this is Detective Sergeant Lawrence. I'm investigating the Barron case, we borrowed Aleisha's phone in case Sally attempted to contact her on it," said the voice. "Who is this?" Sally froze, not quite sure what to do at this point.
"I'm just a friend of Aleisha's from school, I just had a question about the homework. I'll try her home phone." Good save, Sally.
Unbeknownst to Sally, with her back to the unlit bedroom, Lecter entered the third floor and shut the door behind him without a sound.
"Okay. Did you know Sally?"
A pause.
"I do, but not well."
Lecter approached the balcony door.
"Well, let us know if you hear anything from her."
"Thank you, Sergeant, I will." Sally ended the call.
The phone fell from her hand.
A few seconds later, with her eyes still shut, Sally was aware of several physical sensations that were not entirely pleasant. The iron railing of the balcony was digging into her lower back, pushing her belt into the soft flesh above her pelvis. Her face was tingling slightly, that odd sensation you get when you instinctively know that there is someone standing very close inside your personal bubble. But the most discomforting sensations were the hands that held her, one gripping her wrists more tightly than was comfortable, and the other holding a blade gently but uncomfortably pressed against her windpipe. She tried really hard not to swallow or breathe.
Hannibal Lecter was not amused.
Sally opened her eyes. Lecter's were mere inches from her own and she looked into them. They were a dull brown in the darkness.
Neither person moved for a long time, until finally Sally spoke softly.
"Hannibal—"
But she was cut short as Lecter suddenly tilted his Harpy with a sharp flick of the wrist. Blood oozed from the cut, which carefully missed all major arteries but still hurt like a bitch. There was a sharp intake of breath and Sally squeezed her eyes shut against the pain.
"Calling the police, are we?" Lecter said quietly. He was trying to hide how shaken he was by this. It was not just that the phone call could potentially threaten his free existence; it would be easy enough to disappear and start again somewhere new. It was more the fact that he realised how complacent he had become. Without realising it, he had come to trust Sally implicitly, and now she had betrayed him and he hadn't even seen it coming.
Sally took as deep a breath as she dared.
"Please, listen, I can explain…" Her racing heart caused the blood flow to increase around the blade.
"Explain what, hmm? How you called the police to turn me in and take away my freedom? After I spared you, took you into my home, and gave you a better life than you've ever known? You owe me your life, and you should do well to remember that." Lecter leaned closer to Sally's face, nostrils flaring, inhaling her blood and fear. "Because I can take all of that away, should the need arise." His voice was barely audible now. Sally felt the words rather than heard them. She felt his breath on her neck as he bent his dark sleek head. "You can go the same way as your poor old Mummy and Daddy, and no one will ever know…" Slowly, Lecter extended his tongue and placed it on the cut on Sally's throat, against the blood. It was thick and metallic and clung to his upper canine when it scraped across her skin, tugging slightly at the edge of the wound. With a great effort of mind, Sally did not flinch. He drew back and moved his lips close to her ear. "It would be so easy," he breathed. His head moved far enough back that he could look into her eyes.
The moment hung suspended in the air. Sally tried, as calmly as possible, to decide on the best course of action. She mustered her courage. Maybe if she had the element of surprise…
Without her eyes leaving his, Sally slowly leaned forward until her nose was almost touching Lecter's. To her relief, he let his knife hand move with her rather than let her slice her own neck open with the movement.
"Killing must feel good to God, too," Sally said, the quote coming back to her from somewhere in the depths of her memory. "And that's what you want – to play God. To have dominion over all living things, because you do what others can't, or won't. Well let me tell you what, two can play at that game—" And with that, she let every violent urge she'd ever felt swell to the fore and she lunged forward, ignoring the pain as the blade moved further into her neck, sinking her teeth into Lecter's cheek and trying to tear off a souvenir before he pushed her away. Whipping his head around, he pinned one arm to Sally's side and with the other pushed her head away from her left shoulder, exposing the trapezius muscle towards which he dived. Sally screamed as his teeth pierced her skin and he growled as their blood merged and trickled down her chest. Trying to compartmentalise the pain, with her free hand, she sought out his right, which still held the Harpy, and while he was preoccupied she snatched it out of his hand and slashed in front of her, crosswise across his belly, and let her arm continue the motion, allowing the blade to fly out of her hand and over the balcony. Lecter recoiled with the sudden unexpected pain and Sally crumpled, clutching her wounds.
For a long time the pair stayed on the ground, panting. Sally whimpered. Lecter was silent. After a quick self-assessment, he decided that there would be no lasting damage, only an ugly scar on his cheek and another on his torso to add to the collection. He then turned his attentions to Sally, who by this point had lost a fair amount of blood. It was tempting to leave her on the balcony while he tended to his own wounds inside, but he grudgingly thought better of it.
Sally felt lighter in his arms than the first time he had held her. She was quite weak now, light-headed from blood loss. He laid her out on his bed before switching on the light and heading to a cabinet to fetch his medical supplies. The main priority was to stop her bleeding, and also his own as an afterthought. All was still when he turned back to her, and he worried that she'd lost consciousness. He sat on the bed near her head.
"Sally? Sally, can you hear me?" Lecter's voice was insistent but calm. He patted her cheek gently. "Sally?" He was rewarded with a groan and Sally's eyelids flickered open.
"Dr. Lecter..?"
"I need you to keep your eyes open, Sally. Open and fixed on me. Understood?" Sally nodded. Her eyes widened slightly as they found the bloody mess that was his right cheek.
"Dr. Lecter… I'm sorry…"
Lecter ignored her as he began to dress her wounds. First the knife wound. Slow the bleeding, sterilise, stitch, bandage; then the bite. This was not as easy to stitch, as the cut was not clean like the blade. He did the best he could. Whenever Sally's eyes closed for more than a few seconds, Lecter produced his bottle of smelling salts, which caused her to jolt awake rather suddenly. Lastly he gave her some powerful pain killers that he had made himself, useful in that they had no sedative effect.
When he was satisfied with her, he turned his attention to himself. The stomach wound was worse than he had first thought; fortunately, the blade had missed his organs, but it was deeper than he expected, which was more annoying than anything else. He sighed and took off his now ruined suit jacket, shirt and tie, before sterilising and stitching the foot-long gash. An image came to mind... a riverside and the smell of fish... he smiled to himself, revelling in the memory. Was that how Sally had felt when she cut him?
Good lighting was essential for administering to his cheek, so Lecter went into the bathroom and switched on the glaring bulbs around the mirror, which threw the bloody mess into sharp relief. The girl had done a lot of damage in the short time she had her teeth in him. Lecter was not exactly sure of the best way to deal with this, and gazed at his reflection for several moments. He wasn't thinking straight. He blinked. The options were to cut off the loose flaps of skin and bandage it, or just bandage it and see how it healed. He decided to stitch the loose skin together and see what happened.
When he went back to the bedroom, Sally had lost consciousness again. Lecter lifted her and sat her with her back against the headboard. Her eyes still didn't open. Several really exciting ways to wake her up came to mind, but he settled for just patting her cheek with gathering force until she started awake. She took one look at him threw her arms around his neck, pressing herself against his chest, finding comfort in his warmth and his heartbeat. She didn't care if he thought she was weak; right now, she was glad to be alive and heartbreakingly sorry for the pain she had caused him. She clung to him for a minute or two, until the pressure she was placing on his stomach increased and he winced pointedly. Sally glanced down, and drew back apologetically. Lecter sat looking through her, trying to make her uncomfortable with what she had just done, but it had no effect as she couldn't really feel much worse than she already did. All the same, she chose to speak.
"There was a news item about me. My friends were there, they were saying that they love me and that they'll never give up. I felt nostalgic, I tried to call Aleisha." She took a deep breath and recounted the rest of the conversation. "Then the next thing I knew there was a knife against my throat." There was a pause before Lecter spoke.
"I overreacted," he said.
"So did I."
"I'm sorry."
"So am I." Sally smiled, and winced as the motion strained a muscle in her neck slightly. She put her hand up to the bandage. Her other hand reached up to the bandage on Lecter's cheek; she let it stay there, holding his face gently. "I'm so sorry." He held her gaze until she broke away, her eyes travelling down his chest and the myriad of scars already there until she came to her own creation. "Will it heal?"
"In time," he said. There was a pause.
"Can I sleep here tonight?" Sally said. Lecter blinked.
"Why?"
"I don't want to be alone."
Lecter could sympathise. He nodded.
"I shall sleep on the couch," he said.
"No! No, it's alright, you..." Sally paused. She hadn't thought this through and wasn't sure how to say it without sounding like she wanted to 'sleep with him'. "You can sleep here too. I trust you and I... just need to know there's someone there. I can't explain it. I just can't be alone right now." A thought came to her. "Plus, you can make sure I don't tear my stitches or something drastic."
Lecter considered the matter. It might also be nice for him to have her presence as a comfort, especially in the wake of his nightmare the previous night. He smiled.
"As you wish."