Hello, and thank you for stumbling upon my second fanfiction. This story takes place after the beginning of Hannibal. Yet, in this story, Clarice is put on paid leave after the Evelda Drumgo shooting. Her house has also been altered. All characters and past story-line are property of Thomas Harris ; current story-line is mine. Please read and review. I appreciate any feedback. Thank you!
Puddles formed endlessly in the front of the wooden porch; the weatherman had declared the thunderstorm the new temporary neighbor of the northeast. The rain fell hard throughout the week, making it nearly impossible to reach the front porch without getting my shoes soaking wet. The lake near the front of my house was becoming twice its normal size; soon, I thought, the road leading to my house would become flooded. But I was too tired to worry about that right now. I made a cup of the green tea that had been sitting in the cupboard for weeks, and fixed myself a sandwich.
I had gotten use to rain outside; I thought of it like a faithful friend. I grabbed my so-called dinner and sat in rickety wooden chair on the porch. I watched a small drop of water hanging from the roof, vibrating to the thumping of the rain on the covering. I ate my sandwich in silence, while the tea became lukewarm. I tried my best to forget this day's events, but it would play like a movie in my mind.
Mr. Crawford thought it would be good idea to suspend me for a couple of weeks after the mess I had caused. I had pleaded my case, but no matter what I would say, and even though I had done exactly what the FBI had trained me to do, I had been shunned by my coworkers. I had been isolated from the only source of normalcy in my life.
A rain of blood, flooding my mind: the blood of Evelda Drumgo. I had killed before, many times, but that was regrettably part of my job.
God damn it all. The blood wouldn't wash off, would it?
But no matter what I did, I was always a monster. Others saw me as an accomplice to a monster. Others saw me as the bride of Dracula, Satan's concubine, and whatever else the Bureau could make up about me. It had happened seven years ago, but that didn't matter. I had saved the life of a kidnapped woman, with help from the devil himself. Soon the media tore me apart, and I knew I would always be known as the Cannibal's lover.
My eyes stung from the hour I took crying in front of Ardelia. I didn't want to seem weak, but it didn't matter anymore. She promised to come by later this week, making sure I would be okay. As much I wanted someone here with me, I told her not to worry. I knew she was working on another case, and I didn't want to disturb anyone else.
The plastic box containing most of my supplies still stood as a reminder in the hallway inside. Note to self; hide as soon as possible. I pushed my legs up into my chest, rocking the wooden chair a bit faster with the humid wind. I could feel my messy hair, an unwashed knotted mess. The headache drilled harder into my head. The ibuprofen seemed useless. I had no idea what time it was; the clouds had been dark the entire day.
It soon became too chilly for my thin pajamas, and I entered the small house. I looked about the small living room, filled with a simple couch and an extra loveseat for the non-existing guest. Papers adorned every table in the house, including the two person dinner table in the kitchen. It seemed I never really had time to organize everything in the house. I smiled bitterly to myself; I now had time. The clock in the kitchen read ten o' clock; I knew that if I went to sleep now, I wouldn't be able to rest. My mind usually kept me up on regular nights, and tonight, it would happen yet again.
A scratching at the door echoed throughout the house. I couldn't see anyone in the doorway, but the scratching continued. I almost reached for my gun, sitting in the box in the hallway, but soon, another noise calmed my nerves. A meow escaped the cat's mouth, now propped up against the entrance. It was black, and its eyes were a deep amber color. I couldn't help but feel a little less lonely. I opened the door to a very grateful male cat, rubbing its coat on my pajama pants.
"Well, aren't you a pretty little thing", I proclaimed, picking up the soft cat into my arms. He replied with a soft meowing sound, as I walked to the kitchen. I put him down as I found my last can of tuna in the pantry. The little cat was silent as it ate every last morsel. Tempted, I pet him as he finished his meal.
The clocked chimed; it was midnight, and the rain was a soft trickle outside the windows. As I climbed the stairs to my bedroom, the black cat trailed behind me, meowing energetically. Seems like I had made a friend.
I flipped my bedroom light, yet darkness followed.
"Shit", I swore loudly in the dark, trying to find my way toward my dresser. I usually had spare light bulbs in the bottom drawer. I kneeled down, looking into the drawer with the little illumination coming from the nightlight in the bathroom.
The cat had crawled to the corner of my bedroom, toward the ragged chair. He started purring deeply. I tried seeing where he was but I couldn't make him out. My heart started beating fast against my chest, as the smell of fine men's cologne filled my nostrils. It smelled of morning dew, the allure of a forest, and the rest was man. It was intoxicating.
I was not alone.
Still crouched near the drawer, I reached toward my leg, where the small but deadly pocketknife slept soundly. The moment I touched the cold steel, a low piercing voice tore through the silence of the night. The strong purr did not come from the cat.
"Oh, now that wouldn't be very wise, wouldn't you think so…Clarice?"
Please Read and Review. :)