Hannibal stands in the
kitchen, busying himself with pans and ingredients. He is slicing
oranges and grating the zest. A plucked duck sits in a roast dish,
legs wound with string tied by surgical knots. There is music, Bach
in the background. Hannibal's hands work the knife, almost as if
they are dancing to the music on their own accord. He is pondering
the thought of storing Katy Opiela in his memory palace. Is she of
use to him, really? He could store the running bead of water on her
chest for amusement. He has not decided yet.
He thinks it odd
that she would ask such a bold question. Do you dream… She
is certainly outgoing. His mind flashed suddenly to Clarice Starling
running in the woods, the deer jumping, the little deer's skull
knocking against the sides of Mischa's tub-
His finger feels
warm and sticky. He looks down. The serrated edge of the knife has
dug into his thumb as he peels an orange. The fruit's acidity leaks
into the wound. He shows no indication of pain. Instead, he walks to
the sink calmly and runs his thumb under a stream of cold water.
After applying a bandage, he is back to work, erasing Clarice
Starling's image from his mind. He had not heard from her after she
had left him for Washington. He returned to his rented Chesapeake
house from Albania, as the place would only remind him of her. He
tries to erase most of her from his memory palace, but some shards of
memory, like tar, stick to the walls of the abandoned rooms and
refuse to be evacuated.
He wonders fleetingly why the thought of
Katy brought up this particular memory he used to favor of Starling.
Adding the orange rinds now to the duck cavities. His pan sizzles
over a burner with Grand Marnier and duck stock. He pours freshly
squeezed orange juice into the sauce pan, and the fragrance rises. He
drops in only a few caper berries for good measure. Unorthodox, but
satisfying. Is it perhaps that Katy somehow reminds him of Mischa, as
Clarice was the perfect place for Mischa? He thought of teacups. If
the teacups could not bring back Mischa, babyteethinastoolpit,
could they bring back Clarice? No, Clarice is gone. He shook her
from his mind.
Katy upstairs. In the guest bedroom, she opens her closet for the first time, remembering the note from Dr. Lecter. Her eyes grew wider as she rifled through the suit bags. She takes a long bag off a hanger and opens it. A beautiful sleeveless silk dinner gown, with a slight décolleté and tailored at the waist. She removed the housecoat supplied in the bathroom and slips the dress on over her underwear. It felt wonderful. She gathered her hair and pinned it up with a jeweled hair accessory put for her on the nightstand.
Moving to the bathroom, she regarded herself in the mirror and smiled. She was not wearing vulgarly cut rags, nor smeared black eyeliner. Her clean, natural face and the off-white of her dress, her now shining hair up off her shoulders, she looked better than she had in years.