Cometh the Hour

Sunset

Hannibal Lecter set down the small suitcase by the kitchen door.

He had never been a materialistic man and despite his wealthy origins, put little importance to possessions. This only served to help him as he travelled, particularly when he was required to make a swift exit.

Moving to the sink, the Doctor washed his hands, stealing a glance out of the window as he did so. The pinkish hue in the sky told him it would not be long until sundown.

Following the events of his childhood, he had been meticulous in ensuring that he remained strategically detached from the rest of humanity – he did not seek to form close relationships with those around him and had, for the longest time, been thoroughly content with a solitary existence.

So how, then, had she found her way into his mind? Into his heart? An FBI agent, the enemy, to whom he had once referred as being no more than one generation away from poor white trash.

He allowed his eyes to close momentarily, remembering the night at the lakehouse.

Of course, she had piqued his interest long before then, but she had always been far too engrossed in her own morals and the values of the FBI to be a real consideration. Yet, by the time of Paul Krendler's demise, Clarice Starling was starting to see the flaws in her beloved Bureau.

Still, it had come as a surprise to him - following his initially unrequited kiss and subsequent handcuffing – when she had reached for him with her free hand, brought him closer to her again.

Since then, she had never been far from his mind.

Reproduction, on the other hand, was not something that had ever featured prominently. Perhaps in his younger years he had, like most boys his age, imagined a wife and child, though in his mind's eye it had been a son. As he'd aged however, he had found no sorrow in its lack of fruition.

Despite this he was really quite taken with the girl. She bore all of the intensity of her mother, yet when he looked into her eyes, there was no question of paternity.

Opening the back door, Hannibal looked out across the land, watching as the sun dipped further behind the trees in the distance. Still the house remained silent.

With his suitcase in one hand and the previously-polished kitchen utensils in the other, he stepped out onto the back porch and began to make his way towards the barn.

It had been a while. Save for a porter in a Singaporean five star, who had been more than a little unhelpful, he had not taken a life since Paul's long overdue lobotomy. This neither surprised nor disappointed him, for as he had always told those that asked, his killings were there only as a service to society.

Or to protect those he loved.

Reaching the barn doors, the Doctor placed the items he was carrying down on the floor and began to unwind the large chain which held them shut.

Muffled cries came from within.

"Good evening, Frank. Just a few moments please, I will be with you shortly," he said pleasantly, locating the key to unlock the large padlock. "Okey-dokey. I'm afraid this might not be the outcome you were hoping for, but I thank you for your hospitality all the same."

He inserted the key into the padlock but did not turn it, sensing the presence behind him. Pausing, he waited, perhaps for the clicking of a pistol, but it did not come.

Instead, there was only a soft voice.

"Stop."

Calmly, he turned around.

Clarice Starling stood several feet away from him, looking as though she had slept no further throughout the course of the day, yet still breathtakingly beautiful to him, as the last rays of sunlight hit her auburn hair.

Tearing his eyes away for a moment, the Doctor glanced behind her to the back porch, where his daughter stood, two suitcases at her feet.

His eyes met Clarice's again.

She swallowed hard, blinking back her own tears.

"If you loved me, you'd stop," she whispered.

A small smile crossed his lips.

"Well," he began, stepping forward and away from the barn. "A thousand years certainly does fly by, doesn't it? Good evening Clarice."

END