" …And, while with silent, lifting mind I've trod

The high untresspassed sanctity of space,

Put out my hand, and touched the face of God."

 

From a poem by pilot John Gillespie Magee, Jr

*****

Emily stood silently in the kitchen, sipping her tea and looking at the heavily falling snow. She sighed and turned back to the file that lay spread across the counter. She set the mug down next to the sink and picked the small tape recorder and turned it on again. She had been taking notes for two weeks now on it, musing over the Lecter profile she was building. Today, Agent Starling had sent tapes of her conversations with Dr. Lecter. She had begun listening to them, hearing Starling's voice ring clear from her living room speakers. The ringing of the phone had interrupted her listening and she paused the tape, lunging across the couch for the phone. It wasn't him, and she cradled the phone moments later, biting her lip. Edward had left two weeks ago, gone like the wind. He had left a note, tucked inside her sketch diary, but it contained nothing more than an apology and a promise to return. She had sat and cried the morning she had found it, blaming herself for his absence. The phone call she had received that morning had brought her back to her senses. The director at the hospital was on the other end of the line. Emily sat unmoving, unfeeling as he explained what had happened. Marian Christophersen was gone.

The details were gruesome, Emily had viewed the tape. She had watched as her mother hit and shattered the mirror that hung on her cell wall. The lone watch nurse had thrown open the cell door, trying to stop the crazed woman. She had been rewarded for her bravery with death. Emily had already written a letter of grievance to the nurse's husband and family, extending her deepest sorrows. Her mother had then cut her own throat, bleeding to death before the doctors could reach her. Emily had buried the woman in the cold ground, relief flooding her as she watched the last shovel of earth be thrown on the grave. The screams had ceased abruptly at that point, and Emily left the cemetery in peace.

But her mind drifted back to Edward as she settled back into the couch. She had a transcript of a psychological evaluation in her hands, one done by the late Dr. Frederick Chilton. She flipped through it aimlessly. Same old song and dance, the same things every other Ph.D. had said about Lecter. Looking for a different angle, she rose and approached the stereo. Instead of pressing play on the tape from Starling that was in the A deck, she put on an old Aaron Copland tape. The strains of 'Simple Gifts' filled the house as she went back to the kitchen.

She was pawing through the stack of papers, looking for something. Anything. The song came to an end and silence crackled momentarily over the speakers as 'Fanfare For The Common Man' came on. Her finger tapped the beat as she pulled out an old copy of the tabloid. She spread the copy of The National Tattler on a clear spot on the counter. She was flipping through the pages, looking for the story touted on the cover. She found it, running under the byline of Freddy Lounds. The headline was accompanied by a photo of Will Graham, standing outside the now defunct Baltimore Hospital for the Criminally Insane.

She felt a chill in the kitchen but ignored it as she read over the article, if one could call it that. There was a picture of Lecter accompanying the story as well. She nearly jumped out of her skin when the voice of Clarice Staling echoed through the house. She glared over at the speakers, the Copland tape must've ended and switched over to the other deck. She was about to marched over and shut it off when Lecter's voice hissed over the speakers. She cocked her head to one side, listening. She slowly looked down at the grainy photo in the Tattler. It all came together suddenly, and Emily placed a hand over her mouth. She picked the page up, peering at the photograph. The eyes, she had seen those eyes before.

Emily dropped the paper, pulling a magnifying glass out of the drawer that was under the counter. She looked at the photograph, whispering to herself. "My god, Edward….Dr. Hannibal Lecter." she didn’t feel the breath on the back of her neck, didn't sense the presence behind her.

"Thrill us with your acumen, Agent Starling. What does he do? What needs does he serve? You’ll be close to the way you’ll capture him if you can make effort to answer." Lecter's voice cut through Emily's thoughts like a knife. She began to turn, holding the Tattler and staring at it absently. She hadn’t taken a step when the hands closed on her shoulders, pushing her back against the counter. The paper fell to the floor, fluttering slightly like a dying bird. She gasped as she looked up at the person restraining her. It was him, he was smiling ever so slightly, watching her.

"Hello, Emily."

She just stared, trying to work her mouth. "Dr. Lecter." she finally managed, unable to tear her eyes from his gaze. Static crackled from the speakers in the living room. He looked out there, frowning at the noise. He released his grip and spoke softly.

"Why don’t you go and turn off that tape, Emily. Then we can have a little chat." he moved aside and Emily slipped out, walking into the living room. She bent and hit the power button on the stereo. The sudden silence pounded in Emily's ears, she stood back up and looked back into the kitchen. Dr. Lecter was setting the tea kettle on the stove. He met her gaze and raised a hand, beckoning her back to the kitchen. She obeyed, and silently wondered about her lack of fear. No screams, no fear, nothing but a feeling of calm. She came to stand at the same spot by the counter and waited, silent. Dr. Lecter removed two mugs from the cabinet and stepped to stand in front of her. He studied her, tilting his head to one side, his stare penetrating into her thoughts.

"Are you afraid of me, Emily?"

Not a tremor in her voice as she answered. "No."

"Really? You should be afraid of me. Haven’t you read the stories they print about me?" he asked, leaning close to her. Her face remained calm. "Hannibal the Cannibal."

"I think that's a crude name." she shook her head, showing her distaste for the nickname.

He blinked. "It is an apt name." he reached into the drawer and pulled a sharp filet knife from it. He looked at the blade cover and carefully removed it. The knife glinted evilly in the light. "So you're truly not afraid of me, hmmm?" he laid the knife against her cheek. Emily felt the cold blade pressing gently against her skin.

"No, Dr. Lecter, I'm not afraid of you." she repeated quietly, seeing the knife at the edge of her vision.

"Really now? That is interesting." he let his hand and the knife drift down to her neck.

She met his eyes, the maroon glint in them, reflecting in her own. The screams had stopped when her mother died, she had control again. "You won’t kill me. You can't kill me, no more than you could kill Clarice Starling." she didn’t break the stare, and she felt rather than saw his surprise.

The blade pressed a little harder, drawing a tiny drop of blood. "You really believe that?" His face was inches from hers, she could feel the breath of his words on her lips. So close. She closed her eyes and lifted her chin defiantly.

"Yes. That's your downfall Dr. Lecter, you can’t hurt the ones you love."

*****

 


Back to My Mind Palcace
Of Debussy and Bach | Her Mother's Daughter | Days Past | Marian Christophersen | Screams in the Locked Palace | Interludes of the Damned | Dance With Me | The Good Doctor | Lessons in Making People Mad | Burying the Screams | Admittance | A Viewing of the Soul | Just Alike | Where We Go From Here | Requiem | Dare to Trespass the Final Threshold | Epilogue | Home