BEHOLD A GOD

Hannibal was enraged and immediately retreated to the other side of the room, pacing back and forth beside the bed. He would not look at Clarice. He stared at the ground his body shaking, fists clenched at his side. His exhalations steamed from him much like a mighty bull snorting breath through its nostrils. He stalked and he paced as if cornered, scuffing at the ground, preparing to gore.

Clarice knew that to show weakness would endanger her further. She must not shrink from him…she must not cower in fear even though every instinct in her body told her to run, told her to hide.

"H? Talk to me."

He didn't speak. He wouldn't look up. He paced, back and forth. The silence was terrifying.

Blind terror surged through her, not of Hannibal, she would never fear Hannibal; but of this…man. This being in front of her…this was not Hannibal. This was not H…this was not Husband.

"Talk to me…I need to know you're in there…please, talk to me, H."

But this wasn't her husband. This was the man Clarice watched on video…the man who attacked and savaged the nurse. Behold, Hannibal the Cannibal, few had been in his presence and survived. Clarice Starling was not sure that she would survive and… if this is what her love had become…she was not certain she wanted to.

His pulse never got above eighty-five…even when he ate her tongue.

Clarice needed to reach him… to break through, but he was Terror and she was afraid. "I know you can smell the fear and I know I shouldn't be afraid, you won't hurt me, but I'm scared, H. I'm really, really scared."

She tried to move toward him but quickly he turned from her and faced the chest of drawers in the corner of their bedroom. Briefly, his eyes flashed across the mirror and Hannibal caught sight of the hand print on his face. His jaw clenched and quivered with rage. He drew back, tightened his fist and punched his hand through the mirror sending shards of glass exploding across the room. He withdrew his now bloodied hand and turned toward Clarice.

She could see the anger flashing in his eyes. The comforting warm maroon glow she had come to love now flamed like the raging gates of hell. Quickly and without warning, he charged at her. Within the blink of an eye he was looming over her, growling in her ear.

"No, H!" She flinched, but held her ground.

Hannibal swung his arm, his fist balled tightly. Clarice closed her eyes but did not move, expecting to fall when the punch hit. She felt the breeze as his fist cut through the air crunching into the sheetrock wall beside her head. The wall crushed, his blood spattered across the paint, large hunks of the plasterboard broke away.

Raging uncontrollably, Hannibal punched both hands alternately into the wall. Clarice closed her eyes as the dust from the plaster board fogged the air around her. He pressed his body against her, leaning into the wall, crushing his weight against her petite form. From his throat came growling, guttural sounds that passed through his bared, clenched teeth. Within his mind, he tore through his memory palace, running, chasing, barricading…trying to cordon off the predator within.

Blinding rage spilled over, blood spurting, teeth biting, ripping flesh as Hannibal's mind spun, dizzy from the images of violence churning from the depths of his memory. Clawing, grasping, pulling, crushing, crunching, tearing, burning, boiling, begging, pleading, screaming, all consuming, the battle raged within him. There were no words…only the images of blood red crimson swirling around him. There were scents and tastes, metallic serum, sticky and warm, the pulse of it barely gone.

Clarice recognized the struggle and shifted uncomfortably still trapped against him. She had never felt so exposed, so vulnerable, as she clutched at the thin fabric of the robe she was wearing. It would be no protection…there would be no protection if his full fury were unleashed, nothing would stop his destruction.

Searing heat grew from the pit of his belly, like molten hot lava churning at his center, swelling, nauseous as the volcanic bile rose in the back of his throat.

Clarice summoned the courage to look him in the eye, she needed to assess her situation.

Of Hannibal's countenance a warning as his terrifying maroon eyes sparked and spun like the chrysanthemum shaped fireworks Clarice remembered from childhood. She searched deeply into those savage, mercurial eyes…his eyes…through the rage… in a flash of a moment…buried deeply… she saw him. She knew.

"You're still Hannibal… you're my Hannibal… I know your Nature and I am not afraid."

Still locked on his eyes she extended her arms and reached for his hands.

Hannibal shook his head and pulled back raising them high above his head, his eyes wild. He could barely mouth the warning. "Clarice… no… no control."

Hannibal stepped backward away from Clarice, his arms still raised. He did not trust himself any longer to touch her. His body was tense every muscle taut, like bundled cords of steel he crossed his forearms and pressed them painfully against his forehead.

She raised her hands in supplication and moved closer still.

Barely a whisper hissed from his lips as he trembled, desperate to keep her at bay.

"No, Clariiiicce…No."

She hadn't heard that drawn out metallic rasp from the dungeon in years. It chilled her…still she pressed on. Clarice, his Love, wrapped her arms around his neck and drew herself as tightly to him as she could manage, resigned to bring him back to her or die in his arms…at his hands.

"Come back to me, H…come back to me."

"RRRRRAAAAAAAAGGGGGHHHHHHHH!" Hannibal's body convulsed violently as emotions he could not verbalize poured out in this savage primal roar, as plaintive as it was terrifying, the explosive vocalization so deep, and sorrowful that Clarice's heart tore in two at the hearing of it.

He wrapped his arms around her and lifted her off the ground. Her legs hung down, swinging like a rag doll in his hold. He held her, squeezing her body aggressively. This was not a hug it was the crushing constriction of an anaconda, his arms like pythons compressing her torso, asphyxiating her.

Instead of calling out, she pulled him to her tighter, holding his quaking frame, willing him to stillness. She could not see the expression in his eyes as they were shut tightly, though she could feel moisture, the track of the tear that had passed down his cheek the moment she reached to hold him.

He is not Predator…he is Pain.

Clarice searched her memory for the Dante he often read and spoke the words into his ear softly, her breath a whisper of comfort on his skin.

"Ne li occhi porta la mia donna Amore…"

In her eyes my lady bears Love.

She hoped he would remember the rainy day they spent together the first week of their marriage, Clarice resting her head in his lap as he read Dante sonnets to her aloud in medieval Italian. The day was heavenly.

Her mind was now dizzy from lack of oxygen, her chest crushing from the want to breathe she closed her eyes and remembered that day. She concentrated on his perfect pronunciation, of his velvet intonation, his voice so smooth and comforting. He was gentle. He was tender. He was Love.

As she held him she could feel his mighty muscles tremble, still, she continued.

"E qual soffrisse di starle e vedere divverria nobil cosa, si morria."

And he whom she suffered to gaze upon her would become noble or die.

Though he did not increase the pressure, still he held her tightly, his body offered no relief.

How to reach him? Krendler's kitchen…the kiss...

Clarice Starling took his face in her hands and closed her eyes. Trusting, she moved closer to the lips and teeth that had maimed and killed so many and kissed him gently, tenderly, lovingly. He did not return the kiss, though his lips became pliant. She pulled back and whispered.

"Stop…if you loved me, you'd stop."

Upon hearing her words he lightened his grip but did not fully release her. Still holding her, though now quite gently, he buried his face in her neck. Clarice could feel the rise and fall of his breath and the jackhammer beating of his heart pounding against his rib cage. He shuddered, trying to slow his respirations.

"Come, H…let me take care of you."

Clarice took his hand, led him to the master bathroom and turned on the water. Slowly, she began to remove his clothing. Hannibal did not resist, moving when she directed him to move. When he was fully unclothed, she led him into the shower, took off her robe and stepped in with him.

Clarice soaped a plush washcloth and moved it gently over his skin. Hannibal placed his palms on the tile and leaned forward, his head hanging low between his shoulders.

Still out of breath, his respirations began slowing as his wife cared for him. Clarice lovingly tended his body, content to do so, heartened as the tension eased from him. Though both were nude and Clarice did not ignore his genitals as she soaped his body, there was nothing sexual in this loving exchange. Her touch on his flesh was compassion. It was empathy. Passion was for another day.

Clarice cleansed the night's exertion from him, lingering over his spent muscles, massaging him vigorously where she could feel tension and gently cleansing the areas where he was bruising. She turned off the water and stepped out of the large glass stall.

"It's time for bed, H."

She then guided him out, dried his body, reached a clean towel and wrapped it around him.

Hannibal, feeling much more himself, reached for another towel, dried his wife's body and helped her with her robe. He whispered in her ear.

"Ecce deus fortiori me, qui veniens dominabitur michi."

Behold a god more powerful than I who comes to rule over me.

They walked to the bedroom and climbed into bed, collapsing naked into each other's arms. They cuddled against one another, Hannibal taking the more protective position, cradling his wife against his body. Sleep found Clarice first. Hannibal rose up on an elbow and watched her for more than an hour, admiring the mighty warrior that had chosen to share his life. He kissed the gunpowder scar on her cheek.

"My brave Clarice..."

Before drifting off to sleep he entered his memory palace and opened the door marked Husband.

Clarice had already closed the door to Predator.