Cometh the Man

Along the Canal

Clarice moved back the curtain and looked out over the drab town.

"I'm bored," Everleigh said, from the bed.

She exhaled, but didn't respond.

After the two of them had boarded the train and left Hannibal behind, they had stayed on until the final stop – perhaps another 30 minutes or so. Their destination was entirely unremarkable – a grey town which resembled the Lithuania Clarice had previously imagined, littered with high rise apartment blocks and dilapidated concrete monuments.

From there, they had checked into the only hotel they could find – a one star motel-esque accommodation with faded floral décor and the distinct lingering smell of cigarette smoke.

A sleepless night on top of a mattress with several broken springs followed, and by the following morning, Clarice had begun to question whether she had made the right choice.

Now, as afternoon dragged on and the clouds above the town grew gradually darker with the promise of rain, she wondered what she had been thinking at all. In fact, as she thought back to their exchange on the platform, Clarice wasn't entirely sure why she had reacted as she had. In the cold light of day, it felt somewhat irrational.

She had been surprised to see Petrauskas on that television set, unnerved even. What she didn't know was why she hadn't given Hannibal the benefit of the doubt – a chance to explain.

"How long do we have to stay here?" Everleigh enquired.

"I dunno," she muttered.

The truth was, Clarice wasn't exactly sure what to do next. In her haste to get away, she had left most of their belongings behind. The majority of the cash she had on her had been used to secure the room, and she knew that using her American Express was risky, less the FBI have a trace on it.

She had half expected Hannibal to have come after them by now.

In fact, she had banked on it.

But he had not.

"Momma, I'm hungry," Everleigh told her.

Clarice glanced across at her daughter, a feeling of guilt stirring in the pit of her stomach. Aside from a couple of candy bars that had been in her bag, neither of them had eaten in nearly 24 hours.

Picking up her coat, she rummaged through the pockets for the loose change, deciding she probably had enough to get them some groceries.

"Where are you going?" her daughter asked.

"To get some food," Clarice told her, putting her coat on .

"From where?"

She shrugged her shoulders. "I'll figure it out. I want you to stay here, okay? I'm gonna lock the door behind me. Do not open it to anyone, you hear me?"

A pause.

"What about Daddy?" Everleigh asked, sincerely.

"Don't open it to any strangers," she said – because she didn't have the heart to tell her that her father wasn't coming.

Everleigh nodded.

∞∞∞

Clarice wasn't sure how long she had been walking.

The town was no more pleasant on foot than it had been from the window of their motel, and she found nothing of any substance nearby, save for a liquor store and an abandoned news stand.

Knowing she couldn't go back empty handed, she decided she would need to go a little further afield, and so she had taken to walking along the canal that ran through the centre of the town, hoping to discover some sign of human life along the way.

Filled with litter and emitting a pungent smell, the canal was not exactly picturesque, but Clarice concluded that as long as she followed it there and back, she couldn't go wrong.

As she pushed on the rain began to fall, slow at first, then steady and finally, a heavy downpour.

Despite this, Clarice kept going – at some point, rows of tired-looking houses had begun to appear on the upper bank of the canal, and she was sure she could hear the distant roar of traffic over the rain.

Clarice was glad to finally reach a large bridge, which provided some much needed shelter from the weather as she moved nearer towards what she hoped would be civilization. She was not entirely sure when she became aware of a presence behind her, though it seemed to happen under the bridge, in the relative darkness.

At first, she kept moving, in the hope that it was simply another pedestrian, perhaps somebody from one of the houses she had passed.

But the quickening pace of the footsteps told her that this was not the case.

A small part of her hoped that it might be Hannibal, but a larger part knew that he would never make so much noise.

Finally, reminding herself that she was once a highly skilled FBI agent, Clarice turned around to confront her pursuer.

The figure slowed its pace when she stopped, but kept moving towards her. A man - several inches taller than her and shrouded by a hood. Behind him, two others hung back in the shadows.

"What'd'you want?" she asked, hoping she sounded braver than she felt.

The man said something to her in Lithuanian, gesturing to her pockets.

"I don't have any money if that's what you're askin'," she told him, taking several steps backwards until she found herself against the wall.

The man said something to his friends, moving closer still.

"I don't know what you want but–"

He sniggered, cornering her and giving her the once over with his eyes.

"American," he said, simply.

Clarice said nothing, swallowing hard.

With that, the man pushed a hand against her shoulder to pin her against the wall, using the other to rifle through her pockets.

Clarice struggled, trying to wriggle free of his grip.

"Money? Phone?" he demanded, in heavily accented English.

"I told you I don't have anythin'!" she cried, trying again to struggle free.

But the man held her firm, pulling the motel key from her right pocket and examining it, before saying something to the other two.

Clarice went to grab the key from him, knocking it from his hand and onto the floor.

Angered, lunged at her again, taking her by the shoulders and slamming her against the brick. At the impact, Clarice bit down hard on her tongue, and a metallic taste filled her mouth in a matter of seconds.

The man reached out, unzipping her coat and pulling it down from her shoulders.

And then he froze.

His eyes widened and he opened his mouth as if to speak, instead emitting only a gurgling sound.

To their left, the fading sound of footsteps told her the other two men had taken off.

It took Clarice a moment to realise that there was blood, and lots of it. By the time she had, the man had already dropped to the floor, throat gaping open.

And there behind him, wiping off his harpy, stood Hannibal Lecter.

∞∞∞