The clock… stopped.

They did that, Lecter explained. When they get old, the mechanisms wear down, and they just – stop.

"Like men."

"Exactly."

Lecter returned later that night with a new clock that Sally helped him carry inside. He cooked diner and they ate, chatting about Paradise Lost as Sally had just finished it. Only when she began to yawn did they realise how much time had passed. It was just after eleven. Sally took herself off to bed and was asleep in moments, the wine at dinner having made her drowsy. Downstairs, Lecter unpacked the clock.

He had taken some pains in selecting it. Eight feet tall and made of a dark rosewood, it cut a striking figure at one end of the long ground floor living area. The pendulum was heavy, much heavier than was normal – a solid twelve pounds. The man in the antique store said that it should not be possible for the clock to function, for the pendulum be able to slice the air into exact seconds. Somehow, it did.

Lecter hung the pendulum and raised the weights. The clock ticked, loudly. Satisfied, he retired.

It was the tolling of the clock that woke her. Midnight. With each stroke, Sally felt her mind clear, truly, as though it had been clouded by fog.

Sally sat up. A ray of moonlight filtered through the gap in the curtains. She got out of bed and went to the window, still experiencing the blissful moment just after waking when one feels entirely at peace. The valley was lit by the moon and stars, the only road out visible as a thin ribbon winding up through the forest. The sky over the valley was clear, but Sally saw clouds closing in from beyond the hills. She felt as if she was seeing it all for the first time.

Then the illusion of peace was shattered as everything returned to her. Her abduction, Lecter's teeth against her skin; blood, so much blood… and Aleisha. Sally felt her blood run cold. Aleisha.

"Oh god."

She had to get out, get away from this place, away from that man. She dressed quickly and quietly, knowing that Lecter might hear, or even smell, her at any moment and stop her. Knotting the sheets together and tying them to the bedpost, Sally opened the window and lowered her rope down. She cursed silently. There was still a two metre drop at the end.

The few items of jewellery on the vanity were the only things she owned; she put them on. There was a moment of indecision over the bracelet that Lecter had given her. Without quite knowing why, she slipped it over her wrist.

The descent was short. Sally let her body go limp as she fell the final two metres, but bit her tongue on landing in an effort not to cry out. She spat out the blood and set off.

Sally decided to take the road. There was no point in trying to mask her escape and it was much faster than braving the forest.

Dawn was approaching when a car finally pulled over. Sally had grown frantic. Her heart was pounding, her eyes darting frantically around as she gasped for breath. By her estimate, she had made it two miles from the entrance to the valley. By this time, the hysteria had set in.

The driver slowed down, stopped next to her. Leaned over to wind down the passenger window.

"Excuse me, miss, are you alright?"

Without a second thought, Sally opened the door and climbed in, shaking. Her future couldn't possibly be worse than her past.

"I think I'm in shock."

"Why, what happened?"

"I don't—I don't know." Her voice cracked and she looked at the man for the first time as she began to sob. "I can't remember."

Dr Lecter knew that something was wrong the moment he woke up. It was only 6am, but in the height of summer the sunlight was already streaming through the windows. It should have been a perfectly ordinary morning. But the house felt wrong. It smelled wrong.

He slipped out of bed and padded silently downstairs to Sally's room. He knew before he opened the door. He could smell her blood on the grass outside.

"I'm David, by the way."

He glanced over at the girl as he spoke, but she was staring at her hands like she could hardly see them.

"Sally," she whispered.

"Nice to meet you."

David turned up the volume on his tape player again. The voice of Tom Petty seemed to help Sally relax a little. It was something familiar.

They drove in silence for a while, and through a series of sideways glances Sally took the opportunity to study her saviour a little more.

David looked to be in his early thirties. She glanced at his hands. No ring. He had a strong profile, cheek and jaw bones so sharp she thought she might cut herself if she touched him, and cursed herself for the cliché. Short, dark, well-groomed hair and beard. A stern brow above deep brown eyes. He looked almost… frightening. But then he looked back at her and smiled, and his gaze filled her with warmth.

Safe.

"So, uh, where can I take you?" he asked conversationally. Sally blinked.

"I don't know. I have nowhere to go."

"Well, I know that you shouldn't trust strange men that pick you up on the side of the road, but if you like then you're welcome to use my spare room until you work something out."

Sally considered this. He was right – she probably shouldn't trust a man she knew nothing about. But whatever happened, it couldn't be worse than the hell she'd left behind. Even if she couldn't remember it, the thought filled her with a sense of dread.

They drove for another three hours. Sally didn't even think to ask what he'd been doing so far away from home at the crack of dawn, or why he was dressed in sneakers and sweat pants like he'd been for a run.

David lived in the city. She didn't know which city; she barely knew which country she was in. The tape player and the steady hum of the car had lulled her to sleep. It wasn't until they had pulled into his driveway and David had switched off the engine that she regained consciousness.

The house was quaint, with a small and well-kept front lawn and painted awnings that matched the front door. Inside, it was simple, obviously a resting place and not much else. David went into the spare room first, saying that he had been using it for storage and it was in a state.

Sally sat, huddled in a corner of the sofa, and looked around. The room was sparsely decorated. Light filtered through the net curtains. There was one framed photo, on the mantle above the fireplace. It was a young woman, but the photo looked dated – probably mother rather than wife. A garish, hand-knitted blanket was draped over the back of the sofa. It made her smile.

Finally, David re-emerged.

"You look like you could use some rest," he said softly. "But first, a hot shower. Doctor's orders." Sally took the towel he was offering and looked down at herself. Her clothes were spattered with mud and dust, and her hands had dried blood from where she'd grazed them when she tripped. She nodded, and went down the corridor where he was pointing. At the bathroom door, she paused.

"So are you a doctor?"

"Counsellor," David replied with a smile. "Close enough."

Hannibal Lecter was a complicated man. But he was, still, just a man. And like all men, Lecter craved love and acceptance. He tried to tell himself that he didn't; it was the only lie he had ever told himself. He thought he had found it only once before, and had been betrayed. That was when Lecter had decided – it was one disappointment too many. He had spent many years alone, and was resolved to spend the rest of his life that way.

Weeks turned into months; months turned into years. Lecter retreated into himself, further than ever before. He had never had to hide from himself before. Life had begun to lose its sweetness, its piquancy. There was no longer pleasure in wine, or food, or music. Even his memory palace seemed dark and closed to him.

Until… her. He had taken her in on a whim, something to amuse him for a time. He had never intended to keep her. But the prospect of a young mind, eager and willing, that he could mould, was too appealing. Who looked up to him, as protector and role model. Someone who accepted him. And so, once again, Hannibal Lecter decided that, for him, this was it. She was his reason to live. She was his life now. Unconsciously, because some things remain hidden, even from him, he had pinned all remaining hopes onto Sally. His last chance at happiness.

Now that had left him. All that Lecter could feel was anger. Anger at himself, for being so foolish. He should have known as soon as she had phoned the police; should have finished her then. He thought that the incident with Aleisha had been the tipping point, where Sally had committed herself entirely to him. Perhaps it had been the tipping point.

She now posed an even more dangerous threat to him. Let loose back into the world, who knew what she might do? Once she made it back to the city, to her friends, the police would find out and it would be all over the news. 'MISSING GIRL FOUND, WOUNDS STILL FRESH'. And then the hunt would be on. But it would not last, because she would tell them exactly where to find him.

Lecter had two choices. He could run – or he could find her first.

David cleaned and disinfected Sally's cuts and scrapes. Although callused, his fingers were soft and moved gently across her skin. Something deep in her belly stirred at the contact. He watched as she wolfed down the toast he had made for breakfast, before insisting that she go to bed and rest. Sally didn't try to resist, and fell asleep as soon as her head hit the pillow. She hadn't realised just how exhausted she was.

When he was sure she was asleep, David crept into her room, wincing as a floorboard creaked beneath him. He stood watching her for almost an hour, intrigued by the trust she had so willingly placed in him and the way her eyelids fluttered as she dreamed.

Lecter put on his record of Glenn Gould playing Bach's Goldberg Variations and sat down. It had always helped him to think, to clear away the panic that had begun to bubble in a dark corner of his subconscious. By the time the Aria returned, he hadn't made much progress, so he made a cup of coffee and went upstairs to the piano where he played through the Variations from memory, his right hand occasionally wandering off and improvising over the bass line. Then he stood up.

The drops of Sally's blood had dried in the sun on the grass outside. Lecter followed the depressions her sneakers had left there and didn't bat an eyelid when they led to the road. He noted the skid marks where she slipped and fell in the gravel, another drop of blood marking the spot. A grazed elbow, perhaps.

At the lip of the valley, Lecter paused and sniffed the air. The sun was nearing its zenith by now, and he had built up a sweat, his shirt sleeves rolled up to his elbows. Crushed patches of grass on the side of the road indicated her direction. When a passing car slowed to ask if he was alright, Lecter responded that he was looking for his runaway dog.

He found the spot where a car had pulled over, and the footsteps stopped. With a sigh, he turned around and walked back home.

Lecter had always been able to sense another human's presence. The scent of their sweat, their cologne, their shampoo, coupled with the sound of their breath and the pattern of their heartbeat. He had always known, without looking, exactly where Sally was, and assumed that it had been because of these physical sensations. But in that moment, he knew that this extended beyond that. Their link passed beyond the physical world. Maybe she truly was Mischa, returned to him. Maybe, Sally had died the night he abducted her, and Mischa had taken her place. Because in that moment, he knew. She was in danger. He had to find her, now.

Clarice's obsession with saving the lambs had always been a mystery to him. Finally, he understood.

Sally slept most of the day while David was out at work. Unpleasant dreams made her twitch, toss and turn, jerk awake with a breathless panic; but the images slipped away as soon as she tried to focus on them.

The fridge was surprisingly well-stocked for a man living on his own, and she made a hearty sandwich with chicken and salad for lunch. There wasn't much else to do. David didn't own a television, and even though his bookcase was full to bursting, she felt uncomfortable taking one without his permission. Books were personal. It would be an invasion of privacy.

It was early evening when David returned home, clutching one bag containing numerous boxes of Chinese takeout, and another bearing the legend 'H&M'. A voice in the back of Sally's mind whispered 'Cheap', but she barely heard it. David handed her the bag, apologising in case he incorrectly guessed her size, and said that she should change before dinner. Sally looked down at the t-shirt and sweat pants that he had loaned her and agreed. Although he was wiry, so was she, and she had to keep tugging the pants up over her hips.

The bag contained just a few items – jeans, a sweatshirt, two t-shirts, and some underwear. None of it sat right, but she appreciated the thought and it was better than nothing. Sally noted with amusement that he had neglected to purchase a bra.

When she returned to the living area, David had covered the small dining table with the boxes of Chinese, and Sally was eager to get started. She accepted a plate and began heaping fried noodles and chicken onto it. David sat opposite her and allowed her to eat in silence for a few minutes before he spoke.

"How was your day?"

"Good, thank you," Sally managed between mouthfuls, then realised that she would get a stomach ache if she didn't slow down. She set down her chopsticks and had a mouthful of water. "I slept for most of it. Feel a bit better now." Noticed David's gaze piercing her and blinked uncomfortably. He sensed her beginning to shut herself off and cleared his throat, looking down to the chopsticks he was awkwardly wielding.

"I'm glad to hear it."

Sally feigned a particularly grisly piece of chicken to give herself a moment to recollect. She swallowed, hard.

"How was… work?" She realised that she didn't actually know where he'd been all day. Never assume, you just make an ass out of you and me. Build a rapport, establish trust. You trust him, you have to, he is your saviour. But he doesn't trust you yet; he doesn't know you. Let him know you. These thoughts were unconscious, coming from a part of Sally's mind that was currently closed to her.

"Work was work," he replied, glancing up at her. "It's fulfilling, but if I'm honest, a little depressing."

"Yes, counselling people about their grief would do that." David smiled, an unsanctioned reflex. It made Sally smile too.

They had grown close in the short time she had been with him. He had been kind to her, had looked after her. Of course she had fallen for him. It was only natural.

He had turned up at dinner with, for him, an expensive bottle of wine. Throughout the evening, while he appeared to be drinking, she didn't realise that he never refilled his glass while she steadily drank her way through the bottle. It was one week since he had found her. It was cause for celebration.

She was happy. Warm, fuzzy, content. She felt like she was finally… where she was meant to be. With the person she was meant to be with.

He cooked her dinner. He lit some candles. There was music.

They talked, and Sally couldn't remember ever feeling this way before.

He put on a different tape, this one of ol' jazz numbers. Moonlight Serenade came on. The voice in the back of her mind whispered, Tacky.

And then he took Sally completely by surprise when he bowed and extended a hand to her, asking her to dance. She acquiesced, and they swayed together, rocking back and forth like a lullaby. Sally's eyes felt heavy, and she leaned her head against David's shoulder, finally closing the gap between them. His hand, which had been resting chastely in the middle of her back, moved gently down and around, until it wrapped around her waist, holding her against him. Sally felt her heart begin to race, pounding against her ribcage, against David. She wondered if he could feel it. If he could smell the increase in the pheromones seeping from her. Her hand on his shoulder crept to his neck, subconsciously feeling for his pulse. The sensation of his blood pumping hard, almost like it was trying to break through the thin skin under her nails, was enough to drive her over the edge. Her pupils dilated. She let out a soft sigh that vibrated through David's sternum. That was all it took for him to lean down and kiss her. For Sally, it was an explosion of sensation, like she was seeing the world for the first time. Stars exploded in her eyes, and—but wait. She was feeling short of breath. She tried to open her eyes and pull away, but found that her vision going black and she couldn't move. More importantly, she couldn't breathe. Her hands tore at David's fingers, clenched tightly around her throat, slowly crushing her windpipe. She felt lightheaded, bright stars popping in her vision and exploding into images, into—

Blood.

And then, on the brink of unconsciousness, Sally remembered.

Her parents' murder. Her abduction. Her time spent with Dr Lecter, where he had cared for her. The death of Aleisha. How she had liked it.

There was only one way to feel safe. To be in control.

But she had lost control; and now, she had lost consciousness.

Sally's unconscious mind teemed with images, with sensations. The hot, velvety feeling of blood running down her arms, down her throat. She let herself become lost in it, warm and safe.

When she came to, she had been stripped naked and tied to the bed in David's room by her wrists and ankles, lying on a plastic sheet. There was water running, in the bathroom. David was nowhere to be seen.

This was the most vulnerable Sally had ever felt. She had no control over anything, her body bared as a canvas, ready to be turned into art. She could not control what David was about to do to her; all she could control was how she reacted, and she was damned if she'd let him see her pain.

David entered the room, and Sally's eyes took in his muscled body, looking almost as if it had been oiled. This is it, Sally thought. She closed her eyes, and retreated into her mind. Her happiest memories were all at the front, from her time with Dr Lecter. Everything else was pushed back, into the dark, like a dream. She thought about the time he made her pancakes, and smiled.

The light glinted off the scalpel in David's hand. He hoped the camera caught that. His eyes locked onto Sally's for a moment, before she closed them, her face neutral. David advanced, slowly, then climbed onto the bed to straddle her. The scalpel rested against her breastbone. She smiled. David raised an eyebrow, but didn't comment. His eyes roamed over her, taking in her scars and how her ribs were starting to show. There was no lust in his eyes; despite what Sally thought, this wasn't about sex. This was about fulfilling some even deeper, insatiable demon inside of him.

Starting at her left shoulder, David made the first incision down towards the body of the sternum, then repeated this from the right shoulder. He cut down from where the two incisions met, down to her navel. He wanted to see what made her tick. Sally flinched, but it was an involuntary physical response. She was not aware of the pain, or the blood that was steadily draining from her. She thought about killing Aleisha.

When he had completed the Y-incision, David put down the scalpel and reached into Sally's chest cavity, traced his fingers along her ribs. They were sticky with blood and the remains of soft tissue. Blood flowed out over his fingers.

He retracted his hands. Now to remove the front of the rib cage, to expose the internal organs. The bone saw was not where he thought he had placed it, on the dresser behind him. David's brow furrowed, and he cleared his throat. When he turned back, the first thing he saw was Sally's eyes. They were open now, watching him. She looked very… alert. Then there was a sudden pain, and then blackness.

Before David opened his eyes, he tried to take stock of his surroundings. There was something soft but tight around his wrists and ankles, and he was vertical, his feet hanging limply. His wrists were already aching. He could hear voices close by, but couldn't make out what they were saying. Sally's voice, croaky and weak. And a man's voice.

"…no, it's okay, I'm okay, I can do it," Sally insisted.

"Alright," Lecter replied, after a lengthy pause. "But make it quick." He looked her over one more time. Patching her up properly would require more tools than he had brought, and a lot more time. He had stitched her up loosely, and heated his scalpel in the fire to cauterize what would in time become a two-foot-long scar. Sally had not screamed, barely even whimpered as the red-hot metal touched her skin. Drops of blood still seeped out between the stitches, stark red against the alabaster-white of her skin.

"Take what makes you vulnerable and let it make you strong," Lecter murmured, his lips against her ear. Sally nodded, and accepted the blade he was offering her. She felt the weight of the Harpy in her hand.

When David did open his eyes, he saw Sally, stitched up like a corpse. She had not dressed. Her skin was pale from blood loss and her eyes—he had to double take to check if she was actually a zombie. Dead eyes gazed back at him. There was no light there, just a sense of cold hatred. Her step faltered as she went to him, but Lecter caught her under the arm.

Sally paused and cocked her head. She put the Harpy back down in favour of the needle and thread that Lecter had already used to stitch her up. Lecter raised an eyebrow, but it was not for him to judge. This one belonged to Sally.

Slowly, deliberately, she threaded the needle through David's bottom lip and made sure the knot was large enough that it wouldn't slip through. He winced, but Sally could see that he was trying to stay strong. He wouldn't last.

Taking her time, indulging, she sewed his lips tightly shut. Lecter tied off the thread for her. When it was done, Sally looked questioningly up at him. David's eyes darted between them, desperately trying to discern the conversation passing unspoken in their gaze.

"Bowels in, or bowels out?" Lecter murmured. The corner of Sally's lips tugged up as she looked at David.

"What do you think?"

His eyes grew wide, but he couldn't move. Sally appeared to consider things for a moment.

"Bowels out, I think." She quickly slashed lengthways across his belly, forcibly but not too deeply. She needed his bowels to be intact.

Lecter smirked as she reached in unhesitatingly, finding each end of the small intestine and severing it. David had started to yell incomprehensibly through his stitches, watching his blood draining from the gaping wound. Sally knew that she had to act quickly before he passed out. She tied the entrails into a noose, and slipped it over his head. He was struggling quite violently now. She then threw the makeshift rope over the bed head and tied it to the bed frame, hoping it wouldn't break prematurely.

Lecter had picked up the scalpel and stationed himself on one side of the bed. Sally was at the other. In one final attempt at salvation, on the brink of unconsciousness and death, David looked at her, deeply, lovingly, pathetically. She understood his muffled plea.

"Please."

Several moments passed. Sally reached up and put her hand to his cheek, stroking her thumb across his skin. It was a moment of affection; a moment of weakness, but one which she allowed herself. She was in control now. And in that moment, her expression changed.

"You disgust me."

As one, Sally and Lecter sliced through the bonds on David's wrists and he fell, caught in the noose of his own intestines. It was not long before he stopped twitching.

Sally remained still for many minutes. She examined David's body, noting how it changed in the moments after death. His eyes bulged, blood vessels burst with the pressure. Blood stopped flowing from his torso, and turned into a steady drip, then just the occasional drop. Bruising happened quickly from the ligature around his neck, which stood out starkly against skin that was steadily paling from lack of bloodflow. Sally slowly reached out to touch his arm. He was already cold.

Lecter helped her with the body. They dismembered it, wrapping each piece carefully in a rubbish bag (Lecter always kept a stash in his car. For emergencies.). Most of the waste from David's body had been caught on the plastic sheets that he had so considerably provided. For the rest, Sally stripped the carpet from the floor, and then scrubbed and sandpapered the boards underneath until her fingers bled. She let a few drops fall. How amusing to watch the police puzzling over how it got there, if they ever found it.

The first tendrils of dawn were creeping in by the time they had finished cleaning. Every trace of their presence was now removed – Lecter was very thorough. He had wrapped Sally's torso in a roll of bandages he had found in the bathroom. It was nothing more than another stopgap measure, but she was determined to be involved in every part of the process. She was incredibly weak, but did what she could.

While cleaning, Sally found the attic. It was barely more than a crawl space, but Lecter brought in a chair and pulled out the contents. There were two cardboard boxes. One was full of journals, containing David's notes on, and sketches of, women. There were ten journals, dating back six years.

The other box held two smaller, more ornate looking containers. Carved from a dark, reddish wood, they were beautiful. Lecter shook his head at Sally's unspoken question; no, she could not take them. That would be theft. Theft was rude.

One held locks of hair. All different colours, all tied neatly so that they wouldn't tangle.

In the other box were a few photos, of David as a child. In one, he was standing next to the woman that Sally recognised from the photo in the lounge. So, she mused, it was his mother. There was also a silver locket on a chain. It was not beautiful, or ornate. It was a small oval of metal, with a clasp, and nothing inside. When Lecter wasn't looking, Sally pocketed it. She knew that he would know; but also that he would let it happen.

They piled the rubbish bags into the boot of Lecter's car and drove off into the sunrise before the world began to stir.

Sally sat at her desk, staring blankly into the empty paper in her hands. The same position she'd been in for almost an hour. The clock chimed downstairs. A different chime, she noticed. A different clock.

Thoughts and memories flickered past. They never stopped. Her eyes landed on the silver bracelet around her wrist. She had caught Lecter glancing at it in the car on the drive home. The metal was cool against her skin. Calming her. A gift.

Finally, she picked up the pen. She couldn't even bring herself to write his name.

You changed me, in ways I couldn't have imagined. You taught me how to be strong. For better or for worse, I will always carry a part of you with me.

And yet, you will always be my biggest… disappointment.

Sally wiped her eyes, but they were dry. She had no tears left.

Lecter didn't even blink when she reappeared downstairs. Nor did he raise an eyebrow when she went to the fireplace, tore up the paper in her hands, and threw the pieces into the flames. Against his better judgement, he did not raise a hand to stop her when she went to the liquor cabinet, extracted a bottle of scotch (in her defence, she chose the least expensive), and sat down next to him on the sofa. She took a swig straight from the bottle, coughed a little when it hit the back of her throat. Turned her eyes on Lecter, daring him to judge her, but suddenly he was deeply immersed in his book. Sally settled back against the cushions and drank deeply, her other hand clutching the locket around her neck that held a lock of his hair. That night, Lecter taught her how to cook for the first time.