Cometh the Hour

The Trouble With Everleigh

Clarice wasn't sure how long she had been lay on the bed, staring at the ceiling.

It was long enough, she knew, that dinner would be ruined, but perhaps not long enough for the child in the other bedroom to have calmed down.

Turning onto her side, Clarice exhaled as the earlier scenes played over and over in her head.

Had she lost control of the situation? Yes.

Had she meant to? No.

It wasn't as if she had ever raised her voice to the child before. She had never needed to – living with Everleigh was, Clarice surmised, something akin to living with another adult.

One that hates you, apparently.

She tried to remember her own mother, but the images were hazy. Had she ever raised her voice? Had they ever come to such blows? Clarice couldn't recall it.

Then again, her own mother had not been faced with the situation she had tonight.

She chewed her lower lip.

She had never planned for this – never planned to discuss him with her daughter, let alone have her meet him and then compare them in some kind of petulant playoff.

"He seemed nice. Nicer than you anyway."

What had she done that was so terrible?

Worked to earn a living? Her own father had worked the night shifts for most of her early childhood – she hadn't been terribly fond of it either, but that was just how it was. And besides, it wasn't as if Everleigh was ever left home alone like Clarice herself had been – there was always a babysitter on hand, the current one being 16 year old Lindy, the local vicar's daughter. Everleigh adored her.

As for the moving around...

Clarice swallowed hard. That was something different entirely.

How many schools had it been, now? Six. Seven at most.

Yet, she wasn't sure what the alternative was. It wasn't ideal of course, but in the grand scheme of things, it was the least of their difficulties.

And things were difficult – they always had been.

Her pregnancy was difficult – explaining it away to her friends and colleagues even more so. The birth was difficult, and Clarice's adjustment to motherhood no better. She had always been of the opinion that some women simply weren't mean to be mothers. Soon after the arrival of her own child, she swiftly came to the realisation that she might be one of them.

She'd found all of the usual 'mom stuff' difficult – she'd never been one to coo over her baby, or brag about the latest milestone reached to her work colleagues. Everleigh had spent most of her time with sitters and even the occasional nanny. Likely why she'd spent the best part of life calling her by her first name, Clarice supposed.

All in all, the child was difficult – forthright with a smart mouth, advanced way beyond her years – an old soul. So like the man who had helped to create her that sometimes, it took Clarice everything she had to see past it.

And yet despite all of this, she was only eight years old and Clarice finally decided that she would need to be the adult in this whole sorry mess.

Sighing, she sat up, running her hands over her face wearily before standing and making her away across the landing to Everleigh's bedroom.

She knocked lightly on the door and waited.

Silence.

"Everleigh?"

When she received no response, Clarice opened the door ajar.

Empty.

The room was empty.

Frowning, she took the stairs, calling out to her daughter again, only to be met with the now-familiar silence once more.

Clarice spent several minutes searching the lower level of the house before she finally came to the conclusion that she had been trying to push to the back of her mind since she had opened that bedroom door.

The child had gone, and she had a fair idea where.

She only hoped she was wrong.

∞∞∞

The farmhouse was large and not without its charm.

Granted, the décor was not particularly to his liking though bearable, save for the numerous taxidermy animal heads which adorned the walls – he found those to be most distasteful.

Once established, Hannibal Lecter wasted no time in scoping out the kitchen. The large AGA was bound to prove useful, and the extensive range of pots and pans did not disappoint.

The thick layer of dust that covered the solid oak table told him that the large dining room the rear of the house had not been used for some time, but several minutes of hard work had it looking far more presentable.

Besides, he pondered, as he brought out the finest silverware on offer, he felt sure he would be receiving dinner guests sooner or later.

As if on cue, there came a small knock on the front door.

Perhaps not that soon.

The Doctor hesitated, glancing out into the hallway with mild interest.

Another knock.

Setting down the last of the forks, he moved towards the door and unlatched it, the harpy knife stowed on the inside of his dinner jacket assuring he was, as always, ready for any eventuality.

But perhaps not this one.

Hannibal Lecter regarded his visitor for a moment before he spoke.

"Hello again."

"Hello. May I come in?"

"Please," he opened the door wider, allowing the child to step into the house.

Everleigh craned her neck to look behind him momentarily, almost warily.

"Where's Mr Miller?" she asked.

"Suffice to say, the honourable Mr Miller is unable to join us this evening. But I have, for the most part, found him to be rather accommodating," he told her.

Seemingly reassured, she stepped past him, glancing curiously at her surroundings before she turned to face him again, looking him dead in the eye.

"You're my father, aren't you?"

He smiled at her, allowing several moments to pass between them – during which time the obnoxious ticking of the grandfather clock in the corner of the room was the only sound – before he spoke again.

"I think there is some discussion to be had."

When the child didn't respond, he extended an arm to gesture her into the dining room.

"Come. Are you hungry?"

∞∞∞