Cometh the Hour

Old Friends

Hannibal Lecter stood patiently in the shadows, arms tucked neatly behind his back as he watched the house across the street.

It was a pleasant evening, and he was in no rush to move things along just yet.

It had been a little more than eight years since he had set foot on American soil, and he savoured the last moments of daylight as the sun dipped behind the trees that surrounded him and the crickets began their soft nightly trill.

Beyond that, he could not say he had particularly missed the place.

Her, perhaps.

His eyes moved over the house again. It was largely still for the most part, save for the odd light flicking on or off on the upper level, and the occasional shadow moving past a window.

Finally satisfied with the deserted nature of the neighbourhood, the Doctor moved toward the door.

Are those lambs still quiet?

He knocked.

It would be rude to do anything but. And besides, even Special Agent Starling wouldn't be expecting the former top of the FBI's 'Most Wanted' list to use the front entrance.

Except, when the door eventually opened, it was not Clarice Starling he saw.

Instead, he was faced with a girl no older than seven or eight years of age, who peered up at him from beneath long, dark eyelashes which matched the colour of her shoulder length hair.

Hannibal Lecter's face did not betray his confusion.

"Good evening," was all he said.

The child considered him for a moment.

"Hello. An interesting choice of hat," she began, sounding far more advanced than she should have. "Fedora?"

"Ah," the Doctor arched a brow, a hand moving to the brim subconsciously. "Indeed."

"You don't see many of those around here," she said, folding her arms as she regarded him.

"Is that so? I daresay there aren't many girls your age that know what one is," he commented. "You must be a rather extraordinary child."

"Well I've never heard it put like that before. Are you a detective?"

He chuckled. "I am a detective, of sorts. In fact, I was hoping that you might be able to help me. You see, I was looking for somebody."

"Who were you looking for? It's a pretty small neighbourhood so I'll probably be able to tell you. It's not mean old Mr Miller at the farmhouse is it?" she asked, gesturing off in the direction of the trees.

"Tell me, what makes him so terrible?" Hannibal enquired.

She shrugged. "If you get too close to his house, he'll set his horrible dog on you. He's grumpy, and if you ever try to talk to him, he's rude."

"Well, I'm quite sure he won't be rude to anyone anymore," he told her. "But as a matter of fact, the person I was looking for goes by the name of Agent Starling."

"Oh," was all she said , giving him a look that said 'why didn't you just say so?' before leaning back into the hallway behind her. "Clarice! Clarice!"

Some muffled noises from within, and the sound of footsteps on the stairs.

"What is it?" – that unmistakeable West Virginia twang.

"There's a man at the door!"

The footsteps descended the stairs.

"What've I told you about answerin' the door to strangers?"

The child rolled her eyes. "Since he's at the door, he's probably not a stranger. And even if he was, it's not like he's a serial killer, Clarice."

"Watch your tone," she said.

And then she opened the door wider, green eyes meeting his.

Hannibal Lecter smiled pleasantly as the colour drained from Clarice Starling's face.

He took in the sight of her; auburn hair pulled back into a pony tail, still wearing that trusty FBI get-up - fresh off a shift, no doubt.

For a moment, neither of them spoke.

And then Clarice turned to look at the child standing beside her.

"Upstairs, now."

"Why?"

"Because I said so."

"Because he's a detective and all you care about is the stupid FBI?" the girl suggested.

"Everleigh, I'm not arguin' with you," Clarice warned her, gesturing toward the stairs.

Huffing, the girl spun on her heel and disappeared back inside the house, and Clarice Starling turned back to her visitor, who flashed her another smile.

"Good evening, Clarice."

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