Killing must feel good to god, too…

Sally lay awake in the dark, eyes blankly staring at the ceiling above her. It would be so easy… She blinked and glanced at the clock on the mantelpiece. The moonlight drifted in through the open window, illuminating its face – almost four o'clock. A chilly breeze blew in. Sally shivered and turned onto her side, pulling the blankets tighter around her. The movement stretched the muscles in her shoulder and neck and she grimaced against the pain. It had been two weeks since her close encounter with Dr Lecter and the scars were still fresh.

Sleep had not come easily since that night. Nightmares plagued her almost every night when she did manage to drop off, but they were not nightmares that she was well-equipped to deal with. Sally expected to dream about being attacked by Lecter, tortured, eaten while she watched, but none of this had transpired. Instead, she dreamt of murder. Specifically, the murder of other people by her own hand. Sally was terrified of these dreams because they felt so real – and so good.

The absolute power over life and death, watching the life leave someone's eyes and knowing that she had made that happen – these were things that Sally craved. But it had grown to more than that. To remove the still beating heart and hold it in her hand; to devour those who had wronged her. This was not something that Sally ever thought she would become, but become it she had.

"I've spent too much time with Dr Lecter," she muttered to herself, and tried to put the thoughts out of her mind.

Lecter found Sally curled up on the couch watching TV when he went downstairs at seven o'clock. She was not immediately recognisable; however, he decided that there was probably no other explanation for a vaguely humanoid sphere of clothes and blankets to be in his living area.

"Are you cold?" he asked. The lump turned with some difficulty to regard him.

"No. It's a fashion statement." With that it turned back to watch the end of Monsters Inc. Lecter turned up the heat pump in addition to the fire that was already blazing and wondered for a moment if Sally might be ill. That would be inconvenient.

Twenty minutes later the movie ended, so Sally made herself breakfast and joined Lecter at the breakfast bar, noting smugly that he had subconsciously come to sit there habitually despite his initial hatred of it.

They ate in silence for a few minutes before Lecter spoke.

"You're still having trouble sleeping." It wasn't a question. Sally nodded. "I have some mild sedatives that would help—"

"No," Sally cut him off quickly. "I mean, thank you, but it's alright, I'd rather just let my body take over when it's ready." Lecter's eyes held her shrewdly for several moments.

"You don't want to sleep, do you." Sally looked back up at him and slowly shook her head. "You fear it." She nodded. "Tell me about your dreams." When Sally raised her eyebrows at him he simply replied, "I am a psychiatrist," and she was forced to concede the point.

"I dream about death."

"Whose?"

"Other people's. Sometimes I know them, occasionally not."

"How do they die?"

"I kill them." Her voice was barely more than a whisper. A strange expression came over her face for a moment, but then she downed the rest of her coffee and stood up. Without another word, she deposited her dishes in the dishwasher and went up to her room. A few moments later, Lecter heard the shower turn on.

Lecter steepled his fingers and peered into the distance over the top of them for a while. He was brought back to the present by a short scream from above, followed by a slightly muffled, "I'm okay!" Sighing, he stood up and made his way upstairs. Sally's bedroom door was ajar, but he knocked before entering. Sally was sat on her bed, holding her left foot.

"I slipped in the bathroom," she said sheepishly. Lecter turned and left, returning with a roll of bandage. In silence he felt her ankle, checking for breakages, and then began to bind it, ignoring her winces and half-hearted protests.

"It's just a sprain. Stay off it for twenty-four hours, and then I'll review your progress."

Sally grumbled a reply and lay back on her bed when he left. She stared up at the ceiling for a long time, finding patterns in the wood. Cracks and whorls made by time, swirling above her to form new shapes and patterns, faces of people she once knew and people she would never know, could never know… She screwed up her eyes and shook her head, trying to dislodge the images. There was no point thinking like that anymore; she was never going back.

A sudden movement made her jump. Her head whipped around and she shuddered slightly as she found Lecter standing in the doorway. It was uncanny; whenever Sally opened that door it creaked like the entrance to the tomb, but for Lecter the hinges moved as softly as silk.

"Jesus, Dr Lecter, every time…"

"I merely thought you might have fallen asleep, and didn't want to wake you," he replied, bowing his head in apology. "I've brought you some lunch."

"Lunch? But I've only been up here for ten minutes…"

"When did you last check the time?" Sally's eyebrows furrowed slightly and she turned to the clock on the mantelpiece. It was almost one o'clock. Her eyes widened. "I looked in on you earlier, but you seemed distracted."

"What do you mean, distracted?"

"Staring at the ceiling, lost in thought. An almost murderous glint in your eye – I do hope you weren't thinking about me."

Sally's eyes narrowed.

"How close were you if you could see into my eyes?" Lecter's mouth twitched up, but he did not respond. Setting the tray of food down on her bedside table, he left without a word. Sally, still suspicious, began picking at the food he had left for her.

How had she lost so much time? The thoughts whirled around her head until something about her food struck her as a little off. With no small amount of grimacing, she hopped off of her bed and hobbled out onto the landing.

"Dr Lecter?" she called down over the railing.

"Go back to bed." She could see the back of his head where he sat on the couch.

"Did you put something in my food?" She inwardly chuckled at the notion of asking that to a cannibal. Lecter turned to her and raised an eyebrow. Sally thought she saw a wink.

"I don't know what you're talking about."

"No, but, seriously, there's something… different about it. And my ankle doesn't hurt anymore."
"Really? Then why do you grimace every time you put weight on it?"

Seriously, how does he know this shit? Sally flicked her hair out of her face nonchalantly and pretended she hadn't heard.

"Go back to bed," he repeated, more kindly. "I've left something on your dresser, I thought you might find it interesting." He turned back to his book and Sally knew that that was all she would get out of him. She sighed quietly and began to limp back to her room before remembering that her ankle no longer hurt and rolling her eyes.

On her dresser, she found an old, worn-looking copy of Milton's Paradise Lost. Her face lit up when she saw it – bound in a dark brown leather, it was beautiful. Opening it, she saw faded in the top right-hand corner of the title page 'Property of Hannibal Lecter, 1944'. Sally blinked at it. This was the most personal thing she had seen of him in the nine months she had spent in his home. She picked it up gingerly, as if it might crumble through her fingers. This was special, a gesture of trust, trying to rebuild what had been broken the night they attacked each other.

Settling down on her bed, she began to read. It was slow going at first, as she reacquainted herself with the seventeenth-century English; but once she got into it, the imagery was evocative and she found herself entranced. Satan, in particular, conjured up conflicting emotions. He seemed almost to be the hero of the story, villainising God as a hypocritical tyrant. Satan just wanted freedom.

Sally jerked awake, her eyes suddenly wide, frantically trying to push away the dark. She forced her breathing to slow, bringing herself back to the present and blocking out the visions of death clouding her mind.

"It was just a dream," she whispered to herself. But she was not reassured. Shaking her head, she picked up the book from where it had fallen and looked out the window. The very beginnings of twilight were showing, a glow coming into the edges of the sky. Scents of rosemary and garlic wafted up to her; Lecter would be just starting on dinner. Sally sat, fidgeting impatiently, energy from a day of bed rest having built up inside. In an attempt to distract herself from her nightmares, she filled her head with a thousand different things, unable to focus on any one for more than a minute. She couldn't concentrate on her book; she longed to run, burn off the adrenaline and the edginess she felt from being trapped inside all day. The shadows outside had deepened slightly; she stood up, wincing slightly, and hobbled out to the landing.

"What's for dinner?"

"Lamb."

Normally, the description of a meal would be much longer and contain numerous unknown words. Lecter's mind was on something else – she hoped it wasn't her.

He bade her return to bed without looking up at her, focussed on the food. He, too, had been growing jittery, restless. He, too, had been thinking about murder since their encounter. It had been a while, a long while, since he had given in to that part of himself. And now, having had a taste of it (literally), he knew that it was time.

Lecter brought Sally's dinner up to her on a tray, before returning downstairs. He barely even tasted the food as he consumed, thinking instead forward to what he had planned for later that night. It troubled him slightly; it was reckless, and he had someone to care for now. If anything were to happen… but no. Nothing would happen. He was practiced, a master, and now that he had someone to come home to he wouldn't allow anything to go wrong.

After dinner, he went upstairs to collect her tray. At the door, he paused.

"I'm going out."

Sally glanced at the clock.

"At this hour?"

"…yes."

Sally's eyes narrowed.

"Is this the sort of going out like… like when we met?" He nodded. "Okay. Be careful." She picked up her book again and continued reading. Lecter stood in the doorway for a moment, surprised how coolly she was taking this. Then he left, heading out into the night.

With Lecter gone, Sally was free to roam around the house. Even though he would be able to tell and would be annoyed, it was a risk she was willing to take. She needed to get out of her room. On the countertop downstairs she found the glass of wine he had left for her, and she smirked. Of course he knew that she wouldn't keep to her bed.

Outside, the dusk was heavy now and she could see the first stars beginning to twinkle softly. The evening air was cool as she limped out the back door, wine in hand. There was a chair swing suspended between two trees and she headed towards it. Although the house and grounds were always quiet, with no road noise, she found it the most peaceful in that chair. She climbed in and stretched her legs out on it – that was as good as being in bed. A warm breeze stirred the hair around her eyes and made the chair rock slightly. Sally closed her eyes and smiled, absorbing the sounds of birds and the rustle of the grass, this perfect night made more perfect by wine.

A sound disturbed the stillness.

It was barely even a sound, she felt it rather than heard it. She froze instantly, eyes still closed. She had ingratiated herself into the tiny movements of the night so that she knew all its secrets, but now something had changed. Something was wrong.

Someone was here.

Lecter whistled to himself as he drove, filled with a quiet enjoyment at the prospect of his evening. Tempted to return to the place he had met Sally and her parents, he in turn decided against it. It had been a long time since the incident, but lightening never strikes the same place twice, and there was a risk, there was always a risk.

This outing had been his most spontaneous, however, and as such he was mildly unprepared, although fortunately he always kept a spare tarpaulin in the trunk. He searched his memory palace for a spot that could be useful, and eventually discovered one, only an hour's drive away. It would do. He headed out, and waited.

He did not have to wait long.

A car approached, and he grinned, the beam from the headlights glinting off a canine. This would be fun.

What would Hannibal do?

Nothing.

Hannibal would not act rashly. Would not spring into action, or make mistakes. He would sit, quietly, and consider his next move.

Sally sat, for several minutes, silent, listening. She had not locked the house, nor had Lecter. She heard the intruder move around to the back door, and slowly slowly opened it, slipping inside. Sally cursed herself for turning off the inside lights, cursed herself for liking the dark. Although the intruder was only twenty yards away, she couldn't make out any features, except for the height, which was similar to her own.

The back door opened into the laundry room, which came off the kitchen. The intruder hadn't closed the door. Slipping off her shoes, Sally moved through into the house, her socks making no noise on the tiled floor. Like a cat stalking her prey, she slowly pulled one of the chopping knives out of its block. Lecter always kept them sharp.

The intruder was in the dining room now.

Moving faster, Sally approached. At the entrance of the dining room, she paused. The intruder was just a few feet in front of her now. Although she knew she should just attack, she was curious; who was this person, how had they managed to find them? And the feelings that she was trying to repress – nausea, nervousness; excitement. Too scared to attack, but so eager as well. Holding the knife out at the ready, she turned on the lights.

"Aleisha?"

The intruder span around.

"Sally!"

Sally lowered the knife, but maintained her grip.

"You're alive!" her school friend gasped as she ran and hugged her. A part of Sally wanted to hug her back; the other part remained wary. Aleisha pulled back, still beaming, and then paused. "Are we alone?" Sally nodded slowly.

"He's out. Look, uh… let me get you a drink. He won't be back for a while. Although I must ask you to give me your phone." Aleisha was confused, but, trusting her friend, got her phone out of her pocket and handed it over. "Thanks." Sally placed it on the counter, and smashed it with the handle of the knife. It shattered.

"Hey!" Aleisha cried indignantly. "What the hell?"

"Sorry," Sally said, thinking quickly. "He has security, it would detect the signal and notify him. He would know someone was here."

"Oh," Aleisha said, frowning. "Thanks, then. You could have just turned it off, though." Sally didn't respond. She opened the fridge.

"Red or white?"

"White, I guess."

Sally poured them a glass each and led Aleisha into the lounge, gesturing for her to sit down in an armchair, while she curled herself up on the couch. She had left the large knife in the kitchen, but palmed a smaller one up her sleeve. Just in case.

Aleisha looked incredibly uncomfortable.

"Sally, this is nice and everything, but I really think we should leave. I need to get you out of here!"

"We've got plenty of time," Sally reassured, although her voice sounded strange and empty. "He'll be hours yet. Let's just enjoy one last glass of wine." Aleisha did not look reassured. Sally attempted to brighten up her expression, and smiled. "So! Tell me, how is everyone? How's school going? Exams must be coming up." She took a sip of wine, not breaking eye contact.

"Y-yes. We're on study break at the moment. Everyone's fine, although we still miss you. The teachers and the police tell us we need to move on with our lives, but we knew not to give up hope. I knew. I've really missed you, Sally. It's been hell without you."

"I've missed you too," Sally said quietly. She noted the tears welling in her friend's eye and was hit by a deep pang of sadness. With difficulty, she pushed it aside. "How did you find us?"

"It was when the police gave me back my phone. The search for your body actually ended a week after they publically announced that it did – they thought it might prompt the killer to show remorse or something, seeing us on TV. But after a week, they decided that that was enough, they weren't going to be contacted, and they gave me my phone back. The sergeant told me a friend had called about homework. I looked at the call history; but the number was blocked. Things have changed since you left; I've learned a lot. I learned self-defence, I got my driver's licence… I learned how to trace calls. It took me while to trace this one. But I did it. I followed it here. I can't believe it worked, that I have you back again."

Sally listened to the story in silence. That damned phone had brought them nothing but trouble.

"I'm impressed," she said, after a pause. "I'm touched you would go through all of that for me."

"I would have done anything to find you again."

"I see that now."

"I guess we should probably be going then," Aleisha hinted with awkward cheerfulness.

"But you haven't even touched your wine."

"I'm driving. Still only on my Restricted licence, can't make any mistakes."

"Fair enough." Sally leaned forward and set her now empty wine glass down on a coaster on the coffee table. "But I'm not going with you."

"What?" Aleisha looked distraught. "I… I don't understand."

"I'm different now, Aleisha. Or, I'm more myself than ever. I couldn't go back to your life. I thought I wanted to, but seeing you has made me realise… It's not who I am anymore." Aleisha shook her head, slowly, looking incredulous.

"You're joking, aren't you? You have to be. This is ridiculous. What, has he—has he brainwashed you?"

"No. That would have been rude."

"Have you got Stockholm's Syndrome or something?"

"That's absurd," Sally scoffed. "I'm not in love with Dr Lecter." Aleisha's eyes widened and she gasped at the mention of his name. "Oh, didn't you know whose house you'd broken into? You may have thought twice otherwise. Although I guess you did say you'd do anything…" Sally blinked, cutting herself off. She could feel where that sentence was going – it was turning into one of Lecter's insults. She really had spent too much time around the man.

"O-of course I would. I still would have come here. I'm just… I'm so sorry. It must have been awful for you, being his prisoner. What has he done to you? Your neck?" Sally felt suddenly self-conscious of her scars and the bandage on her ankle. Aleisha wouldn't be able to comprehend that she had come to wear them like a badge of honour. "Come on, you're free now. Let's get out of here!"

"No, I don't think you're quite equal to the intellectual pressures of this conversation." Here we go, the insults were starting to come out. "It's you who is the real prisoner, held captive by society and its stupid rules. I wasn't free until I met Dr Lecter – I never understood my captivity until I was finally outside it. He's taught me so much, so much, that you will never, can never know. I have a full life here. I'm not going with you."

Aleisha sat, dumbfounded, staring at the girl she thought she knew. It was several moments before she spoke again, and when she did her voice was a whisper.

"Who are you?"

"I'm the same person I've always been, Aleisha," Sally sighed, standing up. "But now there are no rules."

There was only one man in the car, and he got out, concerned, to approach. Lecter's car was parked on the side of the road, bonnet up, hazard lights on.

"Are you alright there, mate?" the man called. Lecter turned around.

"Thank god you're here," he said, voice dripping with heartfelt gratitude, "I had no idea what I would've done if someone didn't show up soon…"

Aleisha leapt to her feet, backing away as her friend advanced.

"Sally, I—I don't understand. What are you doing?"

"Don't worry, Aleisha. There's nothing to be afraid of."

"Well, I wasn't afraid until you told me not to be, and now I'm quite afraid," she rambled, stumbling slightly and twisting around to see where she was going. The instant her back was turned, Sally lunged, grabbing hold of one of her arms and twisting it up behind her back until she cried out in pain, pinning her again the fireplace.

"What are you doing?"

"Aleisha," Sally said calmly. "I need you to leave this place. You will tell no one that you came here, or what you saw, or that I am alive. Can you do that? You have to promise me." She could feel her friend trembling and smelt the fear reeking off her. Is this what Dr Lecter first saw in me?

"I c-can't do that," Aleisha replied, terrified and yet determined. "I've done this for you, I've come here to bring you back. And that's what I'm going to do—" Apparently she had found some inner strength, because at that moment she twisted free of Sally's grip and tried to run.
Sally closed her eyes and flicked off the lights, hearing Aleisha stumble as she did so. Sally advanced slowly, her eyes already adjusting, avoiding obstacles instinctively. Her friend's pace was more cautious now, and she kept bumping into things; Sally could hear her trying to keep her breathing steady.

"Ready when you are, Aleisha. Let's just sit down and talk about this." She let the knife she had palmed slide forward so that the handle rested comfortably in her fingers.

"You're insane."

"Perhaps." And this time the voice was right behind Aleisha and she turned, lashing out with a fist but instead of making contact with Sally it connected with the blade, slicing deeply into her hand, causing her to cry out. Before she could move, Sally summoned her anger and frustration and punched hard, knocking Aleisha to the ground. A ray of moonlight fell conveniently across her face, allowing Sally to see into her eyes as she knelt over her. "I'm truly sorry, Aleisha," she said sadly, and she meant it, "but you really shouldn't have tried to run."

Satisfied, Lecter rolled up the man's body in the tarpaulin and, not without some protests from his knees, hoisted the large bundle into the trunk of his car. Using a bottle of water and washcloth, he cleaned the blood from his hands and from where it had splattered onto his face. There were some drops on his collar, too, and he cursed himself for not bringing a spare shirt. But no matter; he would just have to hope that he didn't somehow get caught on camera on his return drive through the city. It was a little out of his way, but was an excellent way to cover tracks – drive aimlessly around the bustling city for half an hour before heading home, and no one, no matter how good, would be able to track you.

His car door closed with a snap, and, after one last check in the mirror to make sure he hadn't missed any blood, Lecter drove off once again into the night, wondering vaguely how Sally was getting on.

Aleisha's eyes were wide in horror, and she struggled against her friend's surprisingly strong grip. Blood from her wrist was oozing all over Lecter's Axminster and Sally flinched in anticipation of his face when he saw it.

But back to the task at hand. Sally felt a tremendous sense of power as she considered the different ways to kill the girl. It was regrettable, yes, but now inevitable. Strangulation appealed to her greatly – the incredible intimacy of it was intoxicating. But the knife was still in her hand; she looked at it, eyes glazed, appearing to Aleisha almost as though she were in a trance.

"Sally, please—" was all Aleisha managed to croak out before Sally's face contorted and she slashed sideways in front of her, cutting through her friend's throat, severing the vocal chords and just grazing the trachea. She let Aleisha's hands fly to her throat, desperately trying to stem the blood flow, but it was too late now. It was also too late for Lecter's carpet, Sally thought absentmindedly. Damn.

Without thinking, and ignoring the frantic gasps of her dying friend, Sally slowly lowered her knife to hover over Aleisha's chest. The blade was perhaps too small, but oh well – worth a try. She pressed the tip of the blade down between Aleisha's third and fourth left ribs, dragging it across to make a decent-sized gash. Aleisha was now writhing, almost seizing, but Sally appeared not to notice. Placing both hands inside the opening, she spread the ribs and reached in to take hold of the heart. A satisfied, but above all peaceful, smile spread across her face and her eyes closed as she felt the heart beat faster and faster until suddenly it just stopped.

For several minutes, Sally remained there, her hand inside Aleisha's chest, her heart still in her hand. She felt… incredible. Sublime. Utterly at peace.

However, everything must end. With a sigh, she retracted her hand and wiped it on her pants. She was covered in blood anyway, a little more wouldn't make a difference.

Sally wasn't really sure where to go from here; this was Dr Lecter's area. She stood up, but almost immediately fell over again, having momentarily forgotten her sprained ankle in the adrenaline rush. On the second attempt to be vertical, she was successful. Attempts to move her friend's now lifeless body were not, as she could only really put weight on one leg. Feeling a little sheepish that she couldn't clean up her own mess, Sally hopped back over to the coffee table and retrieved her empty wine glass, making it back to the fridge to refill it.

When Lecter returned home an hour later, he found Sally sitting at the breakfast bar, staring into her wine as though it could reveal the secrets of the universe. He noted the empty bottle beside her.

"Good evening."

Sally just nodded in reply, and gestured with her head to the living area. A little concerned, Lecter followed her gesture and moved through to the lounge. His eyebrows rose considerably.

"You have been busy."

"I'm sorry about the carpet."

"It's no matter. I will get a new one."

Sally finally lifted her head and turned to see that he had approached to sit beside her and was staring intently at her.

"Would you like to tell me what happened?"

So Sally told him, in a quiet, toneless voice, about her evening. He didn't interject, didn't comment, his face remained neutral until she had finished speaking. A little tentatively, he reached out and took her fidgeting hands in his.

"Sally." The sound of his voice cut through the mists of her thoughts like fire, and she looked up to meet his gaze. "You have done nothing wrong. You were threatened, our life here was threatened, and you defended yourself. That's all."

Sally searched his eyes and found nothing there but honesty and pride. She allowed herself a smile.

"So, how about we get this cleaned up?" Lecter asked, and she nodded, hopping up onto her one good leg.

Lecter did most of the carrying and cleaning, but gave Sally small jobs to do so that she could feel as though she were contributing. She appreciated it; she needed to take responsibility if she were ever going to come to terms with this, and for that she had to be involved in every part of the process.

To Sally's amazement (although she knew she shouldn't be surprised), Lecter had managed to get most of the blood out of the carpet. For the rest, he said that he would have to pick up a special machine from town.

When the house was looking somewhat back to normal, and Aleisha was safely packed away in the freezer room that Sally wasn't allowed in, Lecter helped Sally back to the lounge. She practically collapsed onto a sofa as Lecter made another trip to the kitchen to get them both a very large glass of wine. After Sally had had a few generous sips, he spoke.

"How did you feel when you saw your friend?" Sally considered the question for a few moments before replying.

"I thought I'd feel happy, or scared, or sad, but I didn't. I just felt… empty."

"And how did you feel when you killed her?"

Something flashed across Sally's face, just for a second.

"Powerful."

Lecter didn't respond, but inclined his head. Good.

There was one thing about this incident that had been bubbling away in the back of her mind that finally managed to burst to the surface.

"That phone has brought us nothing but trouble! Why do you even have it? Who were you gonna call, Ghostbusters?"

Lecter considered this for a moment, ignoring her last comment.

"It came with the house. It was an oversight not to remove it."

Sally raised her eyebrows.

"You mean you forgot about it? You must be getting old." Although she said it in jest, she wasn't quite sure how he would respond. He raised an eyebrow at her, but said nothing.

That night, as she lay half-asleep, she felt again the weight of Aleisha's heart in her hand; saw again the life leaving her friend's eyes; felt the power behind the knife as she stabbed. She smirked to herself; and then she closed her eyes, and embraced the dark.

Killing must feel good to god, too…
…and are we not created in his image?