A/N: I had no idea how this story would be received. I'm glad you're all liking it. Thank you so much for the reviews!
Chapter 6:
The case file was open on the pulled down tray as he stared out the window. Below him were white clouds and to his right blue sky. Nick was taking a nap across a row of seats. Sara was in the lavatory. Kevin was sitting across from him, looking over the case file of the Hayashi murders.
His head was aching. He wanted to follow Lecter's movements since his escape in Tennessee. Lecter had killed two police officers, two EMT's, and a tourist at the airport during his escape from custody in 1990. He learned of Dr. Fredrick Chilton's disappearance. Then Lecter laid low for years until 2000. The case file was about what happened in Italy, at Mason Verger's estate, and at Paul Krendler's lake house. Seeing the pictures, Gil felt his stomach turn at the deaths.
In his hand was a photo of a leather journal. It was found in the Palazzo Capponi in Italy. As he stared out the window, he imagined himself standing in the foyer of the Palazzo Capponi. He let his eyes roam over the rooms. The height itself was jaw-dropping. It was open, unconfined yet private, and home to the Capponi library. Why wouldn't he want to live here? And the smell of the palace. Even in his mind's eye he could smell it. There was something very intoxicating about it as a tapping filled his head.
The metronome, back-and-forth, but distant, as if the sound was coming through a fog. A steady tap…tap…tap…
…There was vellum in the air…
Taking the left just inside the foyer, he entered the Capponi library. At first sight, he couldn't breathe. It was a historian scholar's dream come true. As he made his way deeper into the room, he couldn't take his eyes off the spines and covers of every manuscript he passed. As he let his eyes wander over a desk in the back, he took in the piles of yellow parchment and vellum. On the desk, he spotted an open manuscript. Next to it was something out of place: a modern leather journal.
Fingering the journal, he could feel the grooves where the sides had been worn down. He had to turn on his flashlight so he could read the small writing that filled the pages. As he read over the family tree, he'd realized that it was Lecter's family. Shining his light over the manuscript that was next to the journal, he saw that it was historical records. Lecter had been researching his family history. Once he got to Lecter's immediate family, he frowned and stared at the information. It completely stopped.
Both of his parents had been killed during World War II, and he had a sister: Mischa. She was also dead but there was no description or reason for her premature death. Lecter was the only child after his sister had died. There had only been two surviving members of his extended family: Count Robert Lecter, an Uncle, and his wife, Lady Murasaki Lecter. She was Japanese.
Hannibal Lecter came from royalty—
"Grissom?"
—He dropped the journal.
His eyes blinked and he saw the blue sky once again. He was back on the jet. Sara handed him a cup of tea as she sat down next to him while picking up the parts of the case file that he'd discarded.
He sipped the tea, picked up his pen, and let out a breath as he started talking it out. "Lecter has an eye for art. He's an artist in his own right. I've seen his impressive collection first-hand. He had a Picasso, Van Gogh, Da Vinci, and a Chagall." He'd asked himself once "Where did he get the money for all of it?"..."Rich clients of Lecter's would leave him large sums of money in their wills. His pay was also very, very good as a psychiatrist. Lecter started as a surgeon. He actually hates psychology. He just used it as a tool to get into people's heads."
"So," Kevin said across from him, "The Hayashi's were rich. They hosted dinner parties for the Las Vegas socialites and the so-called elite. Lecter could have been posing as a museum curator or surgeon who was new to the city. They served him tea. They ended up in the kitchen, drinking wine. He killed them, cooked what he wanted, and ate them for dinner."
Gil gave a nod as he imagined the kitchen along with the wine bottle and glasses. "He could have spiked the wine." Turning to Sara, he asked, "Any news from the lab?"
"Tox came back positive for xylazine in the wine. It's a tranquilizer used on animals: horses, cattle—but opioid users have been taking it to mimic the effects of fentanyl. The street name is "zombie drug". Rich said he sent his report to your email, and Neil found traces of an aftershave on the photograph. It'll take time to narrow down the brand—"
"It's Old Spice," he said as he glanced over at Kevin. "I used to get it all the time for Christmas."
Kevin's neck reddened slightly before pushing down whatever he was feeling. They both tended to have that habit of not saying what they were feeling. "Has your M.E. completed the autopsies yet?"
He shook his head. "It was a busy night for the morgue. I had to pull Warrick off a 4-19 suspicious circumstance. Catherine was working a homicide…There had also been a wreck on I-15 earlier in the day. He said he'll have something for us when we get back."
Kevin went back to reading over the file as he went back to thinking. He only had one question: why. Why did Lecter do this at all? Lecter and Starling had disappeared together for five years. Now, this? A killing spree. He breathed out the frustration that filled him and stood.
"What is it?" Sara asked.
"We're missing something."
The lavatory was empty. He still felt the sickness that rose up his chest from his stomach. He kept his head bowed, afraid that if he glanced into the mirror that he wouldn't see himself at all. The last time he did that was during the Millander case. At the time he did it, he had only seen a shadow of himself. And in that shadow, he'd seen a glimpse of the killer. Instead of going with that instinct, he'd shut it down, ignored it, and Millander had gotten away.
The plane tilted and the seatbelt light came on. Then the Captain spoke. They were making the final approach into the Charleston Airport.
As he exited the jet, he felt the humidity hit him in the face. It was a thick wall of wet air and immediately had his shirt stick to his body. He was dressed in a short-sleeved button up shirt but it wasn't doing anything to stop him from sweating. Nevada was a dry heat. There was hardly any humidity. He remembered the southeast and how he could sweat through his socks. It could've been worse, he thought. The sun could have been out. It was after ten o'clock at night and he was nowhere near tired despite being awake for over twenty-four hours.
Kevin noticed as he stopped him before they got to the government vehicle that was awaiting them. "Hey, uh, they set us up at a hotel. The Inn across the street. It's been a long day—"
"I'm not going to be able to sleep—"
"I know you were at the Hayashi house all night. You didn't sleep on the plane—"
"Agent Collins," he said since they were in the company of Nick and Sara. "You don't understand. I will not be able to sleep until I see the scene."
Kevin glanced over at Nick and Sara, both equally awake and ready to go, before addressing him. "I don't give a damn if you sleep or not, we're not going tonight. You don't want to undermine me as the lead agent, right? I need my profiler, that's you, fresh in the morning, and not running on twenty-four hours of no sleep. So, you can either take some melatonin or down a bottle of ZzzQuill for all I care, or, we're going to stand out here on this tarmac all night. Your call."
He wasn't used to anyone telling him what to do, yet alone his son. But at the moment Kevin Collins wasn't his son, but an FBI agent and the lead on the case. Letting out a breath, he shook his head as he grabbed his overnight bag and headed for the SUV. "Guess I need to find a bottle of Zzzquill."
"There's a CVS pharmacy nearby," Kevin shot out after him. "We'll drop you guys off and I'll go pick up a bottle."
Sara got in beside him. Nick headed to a car rental service, saying, "I took a nap on the plane."
"Make sure you get the insurance," Gil told him, causing Nick to laugh. "And keep the receipt."
Kevin got into the passenger seat as the driver, another FBI agent started the engine.
"You okay?" Sara asked.
He didn't say anything as he closed his eyes and tried to ease the tension away. They arrived at the hotel and as he got out, Kevin told him from the front passenger seat, "I'll send that ZzzQuill up to your room."
Grabbing his overnight bag out of the back, he shut the door and joined Sara on the curb as the SUV pulled away.
"Well," she said, "could be worse. We could all have to share a room."
He chuckled as they headed inside the hotel. The FBI had gotten them all their own room and as he handed Sara her room key card, he asked, "Dinner?"
"Room service," she said as they headed towards the elevator.
"Think they have vegetarian options?"
They found their rooms on the third floor. Sara's room was right across the hall from his. That was convenient. He slipped the key card into his back pocket as he waited for Sara to enter the hotel room. He followed her inside and shut the door. Dropping his bag on the floor, he took a quick search of the room.
Once he was satisfied that they were alone, he turned to her, saying, "I'm going to the scene."
"What about Agent Collins?"
"I can get the local police to give me a ride."
"Is that a good idea?" she asked as she started inspecting the bed. She pulled back the sheets and used a flashlight she'd pulled from her bag to search around the edges of it.
"What are you doing?"
"Don't you inspect an unknown bed before sleeping in it? I know you're an entomologist, but I bet you don't like sharing it with bed bugs."
He smiled as he leaned against the wall and watched her. She inspected the entire bed, and then the curtains that covered the balcony door and window. When she pulled out the infrared, he pushed off the wall and grabbed it out of her hand. "Did you bring your own sheets?"
"Yeah."
"Then just change them. You don't need to see the proof as to why you should." He tossed the light down into her bag before taking a hold of her waist and pulling her closer. "Thank you." She wasn't sure why he was thanking her. "For staying with me, thank you."
"Gil," she said as she placed her hand over her heart. "I'm here if you need me."
"I need you." He cupped her jaw as he rested his head on hers. "You have no idea how much."
There was a knock on the door across the hallway. He let her go as he went to the door and peered through the peephole. It was Kevin. He left the bag from the pharmacy on the floor, checked his watch, knocked again and then after several seconds waiting, he finally walked away.
He grabbed his bag and unlocked the door. "Want this ZzzQuill?"
"No, you're going to need it. Be careful."
"I'll be back for dinner in a few hours."
He left her hotel room and stepped across the hall to his room and finally went inside, after grabbing the bag off the floor. Tossing the bag down on the bed, he removed his gun and put it on his hip. Even though he knew that Lecter was nowhere near Charleston, he wasn't taking any chances. He grabbed his cell phone and credentials before leaving the room. Careful not to be seen slipping out of the hotel, he used the stairwell. Once out onto the sidewalk, he called the local police department and started asking questions until he got a hold of the lead detective on the case.
"This is Detective Reiner."
"Detective, this is CSI Gil Grissom from the Las Vegas—"
"Yes, Mr. Grissom, I know who you are. Hard to miss the resurgence of a long presumed dead FBI profiler. You're here with the FBI, about Mr. Crawford's death."
At the name, he jerked his head up as if he'd been shot in the back. It took him a moment to respond, and when he did, he asked, "Jack Crawford?"
"He's why you're here, isn't it? Victim was the retired Director of the FBI's Behavioral Science Unit. Jack Crawford. You two brought Hannibal Lecter down together and now with him back, I'm assuming that's why you're here. Did I presume wrong?"
Kevin didn't tell him the name of the victim. The lights of the city started to blur as he took in a deep breath. This was why he wanted him to wait until tomorrow to go to the scene. "I, um, I was unaware of the victim. I was wanting to see the scene tonight, if that's okay. I'll need an escort and permission to enter the scene."
Almost an hour later, he sat in the CPD's patrol car and stared out the windshield. It was a remodeled old Victorian with painted white siding and blue trim. The sight of it made his blood run cold. The inside the car was cool as the A/C ran and he shook from the chill. It was night, but the outside temperature was still ninety-five degrees, and the humidity was suffocating, just like he knew the house would be: suffocating.
"Aren't you going to get out?"
Gil blinked back and glanced at the police officer who'd given him a lift. He didn't want to get out but he grabbed the CPD's case file on Crawford's murder and then opened the door. "Can I use your flashlight, Sergeant Greer?"
Greer removed his flashlight from his gun belt and handed it over to him. "Do you know how long you'll be in there?"
"No." He got out of the car as cedar filled his nose. He didn't immediately go into the house. Instead, he clicked on the flashlight and took a walk around the property.
The area surrounding the house was full of red cedar trees. Yellow jasmines were planted up the walkway to the porch. A birdfeeder just to the right of the only white hickory tree in the yard. It was empty. The owner would no longer be able to feed the birds. There was a garden along the length of the fence. Crawford's wife had always tended to the garden, the flowers, and bird feeders. It seemed like in his retirement years that Jack took up the mantle. He noticed some missing peppers, green beans, and tomatoes.
He picked a sweet pepper off the vine and brought it up to his nose. He had the feeling that Lecter had done the exact same thing. Glancing at the tree next to him, he shined the light on it and watched as a papilio glaucus (Eastern Tiger Swallowtail) caterpillar used its six legs to walk up the side of the bark.
He broke the pepper into pieces and put them in the bird feeder. Most birds ate peppers as part of their natural diet. Walking up the patio, he stopped before entering as he waited for his mind to be still inside. Closing his eyes, he saw a pendulum. It swung in the darkness, and he didn't move until it went still. Pulling his pocketknife from his pants pocket, he used it to slice the crime scene seal on the balcony door.
Upon entering directly into a sunroom, his body readied for a fight. His eyes took in the rooms and all the array of Crawford's things as his mind mapped the layout of the house. Standing in the hallway outside the kitchen, he took the file in hand before walking into the kitchen. There was no door he could shut, but it didn't matter. He was alone.
When he saw the kitchen, he didn't even flinch at the spray of blood on the walls. He swallowed at the taste of copper in his own mouth. There was a pool of blood on the floor and they had found blood in the sink and drain. He flipped through the reports but avoided the pictures. The autopsy wasn't completed so he didn't have the report. The toxicology report was positive for alcohol and prescription medication for heart disease.
Closing the file, he sat it on the table as he looked around the room. The images were implanted in his mind and when he closed his eyes it was like they were still open. He could see everything just as clear and vivid.
Then, like a movie on rewind, it rushed back to what it must have looked like before Jack was killed. He watched as the pool of blood reversed up the side of the sink. The splatter on the walls peeled off and vanished to reveal the white subway tiles. Crawford reappeared and walked backwards out of the room. Then everything froze, stopped, until he was ready.
Opening his eyes, he watched as Jack re-entered the room. He had been reading the book American Prometheus: The Triumph and Tragedy of J. Robert Oppenheimer before coming into the kitchen to start dinner. He placed the book upside down on the table so as not to lose his spot. He turned on the television across the room on the counter, turning it to channel 8 before preparing dinner. As he took out the ingredients, utensils, pots and pans, he would glance over at the television to watch a sporting event or the evening news.
What time had he started dinner? Gil could hear the sizzling of the oil in the pan, smelt it in the air along with the peppers and onions.
Now. A figure entered the kitchen from the dining room. Not the back door. He was that figure. In his mind, he took Lecter's place. He was quick, yet delicate as he was never heard. He had taken his shoes off. A knife was in his right hand. Jack was at the sink with his back to him. He wrapped his left arm around him from behind as his right hand went to his neck to slice Jack's throat from ear-to-ear. Arterial spray was all over the sink and backsplash. He shoved him forward, down into the sink, to let his blood drain as his body eased into death. Once dead, he let the body drop to the floor.
There had been no hesitation. It was quick and to the point. Painless. Unlike Paul Krendler who Lecter drugged and then made to not only watch as he removed parts of his brain to eat but fed it to him. He took no joy in killing Jack.
The thoughts cleared as he was brought back to the present. His body shook at the images that flashed through his head. Still, he rushed to tell his racing mind. It had to settle and be still. Breathing in deeply, he coughed out at the smell of death and wondered what in the hell happened to his control. It left when he heard Hannibal's name, and when he allowed Will to take in the room.
Gil would have just seen the evidence. He wouldn't have tried to envision the murder and the murderer until later, when he was in the comfort of the lab. Not here. Not around the madness that lingered in the air that yanked at the depth of his soul and caused a wave of fear to pound at his heart.
The fear was nearly paralyzing. The fear caused anger. His anger caused rage. And in his rage was when he had the nerve to kill.
A migraine pulsed through his temples; he had to get out of the room. Turning immediately to his right, he made his way down the hall and entered the living room. His hands fumbled for a packet of over-the-counter migraine pills he had in his pocket. When he pulled it out, he lost his grip on the small packet and it fell to the floor. As he knelt down to pick it up, he glanced up to see Kevin standing beside him.
"Okay?"
"Yeah," he said as he straightened. "You didn't tell me that the man who'd been murdered was Jack Crawford."
"I didn't know if you'd come if you did." Kevin looked pissed. "Sneaking out—"
"I told you—"
"You told me but now I'm telling you, if this goes sideways it's my ass is on the line. You're my responsibility—"
"I can't do this with other people here. I had to be alone—"
"We could have left you alone—"
"Kevin—"
"You don't fucking sneak out on me!" Kevin snapped as he stepped up to him. "You also don't go off half-cocked with no backup. God damn it, I don't want to bury you too."
He stared at Kevin as those words hit him. Kevin suddenly realized what he'd said as he turned and headed down the hallway. "Kevin."
Kevin returned a minute later and handed him a bottle of water. The case file was in his hand. Opening it, he handed him a picture. "You didn't look at the pictures, did ya?"
"Didn't need to."
"This was how Crawford was found."
He took the picture but didn't look at it. The pictures of Crawford dead had been something he'd been avoiding. He knew Jack. At one point, they had been considered friends. After he swallowed the pills, he finally turned the picture over.
On seeing the image, he let out a sigh. "It is far more interesting on display. That's why you left that picture."
"What?" he asked.
He swallowed hard as he realized he'd spoken that out loud. Now he had to explain. "The picture on the refrigerator in Hayashi's house made me remember something. A conversation Lecter and I had once. At the time, I thought it was a joke."
He walked into the dining room and saw the image in the picture Kevin had handed reflected on the table as if it was still there. Jack bound like a pig and gagged with an apple upon a silver platter upon the table. Looking back down at the picture in hand, he saw something on Jack's back. "What's this?"
"Something's carved into his back," Kevin told him. "I've scheduled us to be in the autopsy room at the Charleston Memorial Hospital. Have anything you'd like to share?"
He only had one thought on his mind. "Most serial murderers have a certain sense that overpowers all others. Dolarhyde was fixated with sight. Everything was about seeing. Lecter has a heightened sense of smell. As a chef, smell, and taste, are extremely important…despite what's being cooked. I think he used the vegetables out in the garden."
Kevin swallowed hard. "Right. That doesn't really help us. We're leaving. You need sleep."
Gil watched Kevin for a moment before shaking his head. But he was right. He did need to get some sleep. Sergeant Greer's patrol car was gone when they left the house. The FBI SUV was waiting for him in its place. "How'd you know I'd come out here?"
"I remembered how obsessive you can be. Glad to see you haven't changed much. You're very predictable."
He didn't know if that was a good thing or not. He figured it wasn't. Kevin drove them back to the hotel and neither said much on the drive. It was late, he was tired, and they had a long day ahead of them. Before he got out, he handed the flashlight to Kevin, saying, "Get that back to Sergeant Greer with the CPD. He'll need that."
Hours later, as he sent Nick and Sara to Jack's house to do their own processing of the scene, he was in the Medical Examiner's office. Kevin was talking directly to the M.E. while he sat down at the desk with the report. The body had already been cleaned and evidence collected and shipped off to Vegas. Since the body hadn't been released yet it was still under a sheet in a locker. He didn't want to see the body. He could deal with the pictures. He knew Jack wouldn't want him to see him like that; no matter how he died.
Flipping the folder open, he barely heard the M.E. talking to Kevin as he looked over the autopsy report and photos of Jack's back. Carved into it were numbers that almost looked like code.
3, 2, 48 - 59.
When he had worked on the Dolarhyde case, Lecter and Dolarhyde had corresponded using code that was from a specific source. Maryland Statutes. The numbers could have been referencing page numbers and lines. Gil quickly flipped through the rest of the autopsy report.
He noticed the ligature marks on his wrists and ankles from being bound, the tearing at the edges of his lips from having the whole oversized apple wedged between his teeth. His only relief was knowing that all that had been postmortem. Jack hadn't suffered. He had also been correct that the throat had been sliced first. From the depth and lack of tearing the skin, muscle, and ligaments the blade was sharp and curved. A linoleum knife.
Leaving the M.E. 's office, he and Kevin caught up with the rest of the team at a restaurant where they were having a late lunch. He hadn't eaten all day and was starving.
Since he was in the southeast, he had to get the local cuisine. Normally around Sara he stuck to vegetarian meals but not today. He ordered the shrimp and grits, the South Carolina barbecue chicken, a side of fried okra, and their top-rated, famous, baked sweet potato. With sweet tea. Sara was staring at him and he handed the meal over to the server.
"When in Rome…eat like the Romans."
"And die of a heart attack." She smirked as she ordered a salad, fried green tomatoes, and the artichoke and spinach dip with bread.
"You should get the okra soup—"
"I don't want soup."
Kevin then said, "Or the frog stew."
Sara glared over at him as she said, "I'm a vegetarian."
Kevin looked disgusted before laughing. "You can't be vegetarian in the south—"
"Watch me," she shot back as Nick tried not to laugh.
Kevin smiled as he sat back and looked her over, saying, "If you insist."
Even if the obvious flirty was playful, he felt a tightness in his chest at the blush that appeared on Sara's face, despite flipping Kevin off. She looked at him and shook her head.
"What did you find out at the M.E's office?" she asked him, trying to change the conversation.
Nick cut off any response he had when he said, "Oh, no. We are not talking about cannibalism at the table."
"We always talk about the case—" she was saying when Nick cut her off.
"You don't like to talk bodily fluids while eating—"
Sara made a gagging face and he nearly laughed.
Nick did laugh before saying, "I normally have a pretty good constitution, you know what I'm saying? But this isn't a subject matter we're having, and I've eaten just about anything—"
"You ever eaten a grasshopper?" Kevin asked Nick as he glanced his way.
Nick gestured to him as he said, "It's a hazing ritual."
"I don't haze," he said as he pulled out his cell phone. He felt it vibrate in his pants pocket. "It's against regulations."
"Upon hire," Nick was saying, "we are required to give a pint of blood, sign a "death liability" waiver, and then we receive a chocolate covered grasshopper—"
"Yeah," Kevin said as he grabbed his beer that was placed in front of him by the server. "Mine didn't have chocolate on it."
Gil smiled at the memory as he checked the text from Catherine before flipping the phone shut. They found a recent purchase of Domaine Armand Rousseau in Argentina.
As Nick and Kevin started talking about college baseball—there was a game on one of the televisions mounted around the restaurant—he sat back in the booth, grabbed his glass of sweet tea, and looked over at Sara. She was watching him. He took a sip of the drink as he watched her right back. He wanted to touch her. It ached in his gut and made his hand twitch.
It was like he'd been in a fog the entire day; too busy thinking. Seeing her sitting across from him in the booth was the first time everything seemed to be in focus. The softness of her face, the color of her eyes, and the movement of her lips were crisp and clear. He saw the love in her eyes. He really hoped she saw the same.
Almost an hour later, they left the restaurant. Nick started for his rental car and Gil called out to him, "I'm driving. I need to find a bookstore."
"A'ight," Nick said as he tossed him the keys.
"I'm heading to the field office if anyone—" Kevin stopped as he saw everyone heading to the rental car. "Never mind. I'll meet you at the hotel later."
"Hey, Nick," Gil said as Nick went to open the passenger door. "Go with Agent Collins."
Nick looked at him then the car, and back. "It's my rental—"
"I don't care. One of us needs to go with Agent Collins."
Nick didn't like it but did as he was told. "You're the boss."
He watched as both Kevin and Nick got into the SUV before he got into the car along with Sara. Then, he went in search of a bookstore.
His first thought of the source of the code was the book Crawford had opened in his kitchen. Upon entering the first bookstore, he grabbed a copy of American Prometheus: The Triumph and Tragedy of J. Robert Oppenheimer as Sara rummaged through the aisles.
After reading pages 2 and 3, lines 2 and 3, and words 48 through 59 on those pages, he quickly realized it wasn't the source book for the message. No such luck. It had to be from a book that Lecter knew he had because he was supposed to know and understand.
So, what does Lecter know about me?
He walked up and down the aisles as a thought occurred to him. In order for Lecter to know what books he had then that meant that Lecter had to have seen them. He had bookshelves in his office and at home. His home. Lecter had to have gotten into his house. There was no way he was in his office at the lab without someone noticing.
There were so many books in his house. In his head, he pictured his townhouse.
The rooms and the bookshelves appeared in his mind. The rows and rows of books piled on top of one another. He flipped through all of them as quickly as he could. Then he looked to the coffee table, picked up each one and then tossed them down. Up the stairs in his bedroom, there was a book on his nightstand.
Reaching down, he picked up the book and read the title. 'The Norton Shakespeare (Based on the Oxford Edition): Tragedies.'
His mind flipped back to the Hayashi kitchen. The note on the back of the photograph. Scanning the words, he saw: "I shall express my darker purpose."
Express my darker purpose…
He spun around and headed down the aisle to where he'd seen the William Shakespeare books. Finding the right copy of the tragedies, he opened it to the play King Lear.
Of course, he thought as he went straight to Act 3, Scene 2, lines 48 to 59. He read:
"Let the great gods
That keep this dreadful pudder o'er our heads
Find out their enemies now. Tremble, thou wretch,
That hast within thee undivulged crimes
Unwhipped of justice. Hide thee, thou bloody hand,
Thou perjured, and thou similar of virtue
That art incestuous. Caitiff, to pieces shake,
That under covert and convenient seeming
Has practiced on man's life. Close pent-up guilts,
Rive your concealing continents and cry
These dreadful summoners grace. I am a man
More sinned against than sinning."
He smelt her scent before he felt her presence. Lavender soap, tea tree oil shampoo and conditioner, and a smell that was uniquely Sara from the salt on her skin; it made the back of his neck tingle. Reaching up, he rubbed his neck.
"You've found the source?"
"King Lear. He's talking about a terrible storm. He's saying that now, with this stormy raging, is the time for the gods to find out who the real sinners in the world are. He lists various kinds of sinners who have good reason to fear the wrath of the gods. He says that sinners who have kept their sins hidden until now should stop hiding what they've done wrong, admit their guilt and beg for mercy, for grace, from the gods. And he finishes up by saying that he himself is a man who has suffered wrongdoing from other people more than he has done wrong himself."
"The storm is his killing spree?"
He shook his head as he closed the book. "I don't know. I have to think about it. Putting it into the context of his note…I don't know if I'm one of the sinners who's been hiding, an enemy, or…If I'm one of the gods." He still couldn't get over the fact that Lecter had been in his house. He had an alarm system, but it wasn't enough. "I'm getting a dog."
Sara hesitated before saying, "Oh-kay."
They left the bookstore and headed back to the hotel. He had a lot of thinking to do.
TBC…